It's a Wonderful Journey

       Life is but a journey, a pathway, that we travel daily. Along this pathway, we face many obstacles and snares, pitfalls and road-blocks. It's how we choose to handle them that determines our destiny. I heard from a friend, that we used to be spirits before we entered this world and we were given the opportunity to choose our family to complete our mission. Now, I don't know if this is a fable or not, but I do know that we were placed where we are in this life for a specific purpose. Some of us were born into wealthy families and others, in the deep dark recesses of a jungle where human civilization can be found in, not really hours but, days. Almost 32 years ago, I was born into the Wetzl family as Elizabeth Ann Wetzl. Born to Joseph and Lillian Wetzl, I was the eldest of 3 children who were all 4 years apart.
       I have many vivid memories of being an only child, but one stands out clearly in my mind. Every morning after the breakfast dishes were finished, my dad and I would kneel down beside his bed and pray. My dad was and still is a prayer warrior, and God supplied all of his needs without fail. As a 4 year old, I remember becoming weary of this daily routine as I would rather be playing. I am glad that my dad was able to teach me, not just by words, but also by actions. I remember the day one specific prayer was answered, and my dad ran into the living room to tell me. He was crying, and looking back, I now know they were tears of joy. I remember he grabbed my little hands, and together we jumped up and down. As a little kid, this was amazing! My dad and I jumping and laughing and giggling together. You see, my dad had been out of work for quite some time, and at the time, my mom was the only one with a job. People were telling him to move where jobs were in abundance, but he stood firm in his faith and believed God would provide. God laid it upon several people's hearts throughout the months to do things for us. One deacon from the church bought us a dryer. Another man bought us groceries and formula for my baby sister. God never let us starve, neither did he allow for us to freeze in the winter. My dad never asked for a hand-out. All he did was kneel beside his bedside with his little girl beside him, and he told God all of his needs and believed he would provide.
       The job my dad received was a well-paying job with phenomenal benefits. My mom would work during the day, and my dad would work the afternoon shift. I have great memories of my daddy getting me ready for school and my mom tucking me in at night. My life seemed like a perfect set-up, and when my sister, Joanna, was born, I was even more thrilled to have a play-mate.
       Another huge answer to my dad's prayers probably stands out more in my mind today than any of the others. When I was 8 years old, I became very ill. It was towards the end of my 2nd grade year, and no one knew what was wrong with me. I would fall asleep in school and would come home and my mom would have to shake me awake for dinner. I'd then fall asleep directly after, and she'd have to wake me up for my bath and bedtime routine. I ran low-grade fevers, and I would complain that my body ached off and on. My parents decided to take me to the doctor, and I remember that day as if it was yesterday. My mom, as you know, was working; so, my dad took me. My little sister, who was then 4, tagged along as well. I remember my regular doctor was on vacation; so, they sent me to another doctor who in turn sent me to the hospital for blood-work. I was terrified of hospitals and even more terrified of needles. My dad was patient and he kept telling me what a "big girl" I was and that it'd be over before I knew it. We went home, but since my mom worked at the hospital, she was able to keep tabs on the blood-work. Then the call came that they wanted to admit me into the hospital. I became almost hysterical as my dad remained calm. At that age, I believed that whoever entered the hospital, not only had surgery but they also died. I'm sure my dad choked back the laughter as he assured me everything would be ok. We knelt and prayed for God to give the doctors wisdom in finding the truth in what was wrong with me. Those next couple of days were a blurr. They kept me in my own room as the doctors weren't sure what was wrong with me and decided not to infect anyone else.  My mom, at the time, was 8 months pregnant with my brother. She slept on a chair that folded out, and my dad and sister visited me daily. The doctors and nurses poked me and ran all kinds of tests only to find out that I had mononucleosis. I didn't understand what that meant, but my parents did. All that I knew was that I was exhausted all of the time. My mom would have to encourage me to eat and drink my fluids. I was sent home eventually with orders not to return to school. Thankfully, it was the end of the school year, and I wasn't kept behind. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere or do anything. The doctors told my parents that it would take months to recover, and that it would never fully leave my system. When I went back for more blood work a few weeks later, the doctors were stunned that they couldn't find any sign of the virus inside of me. They scratched their heads in disbelief. My dad wasn't concerned neither was he shocked as he knew in his heart that God had answered another one of his prayers. I was completely healed and allowed to play again without any worries.
        These are only bits and pieces of my spiritual journey, and oh, what a wonderful journey it is! I have so much to be thankful for today because of these memories. I truly can say that I am blessed beyond a shadow of a doubt. Last week, I wrote about the struggle through it all, but I also want to remember the good parts as well as they shaped me into what I am today. It's a wonderful journey, and I'm still on it!!!!!!!