The beautiful spring day turned a horrid black when Amy heard the ripping sound of zippers closing the ugly black bags that held the bodies of her beloved husband and daughters, Missy and Laura.

Gone? How could they really be gone? How could she go on? Where would she find comfort if not in Tom's strong arms? Oh, God, this can't be happening. It has to be a horrible dream. Surely, she thought she would wake up soon.

Try as she might, however, she did not wake up. Somehow, she made it through the funerals. She couldn't bear to pull herself away as Tom's casket was lowered into the ground. Saying good-bye to her daughters took all her strength. Amy could feel her heart slamming against her chest as two white caskets were carefully lowered into graves beside Tom's.

Tom and Amy had many friends. Their church provided food and comfort through the haze of the funerals and the months of smothering loneliness afterwards. She went back to work after a few weeks, and that did help, some. The long evenings were the hardest. Amy dreaded going home to a dark, empty house that no longer rang with laughter. Oh, how she missed the laughter.

Crying herself to sleep had become a ritual. In the beginning, her doctor gave her sleeping pills. She just needed something to help turn off her busy mind. After three visits, however, he refused her pleading and told her to see a counselor. She didn't want counseling; she just needed something to get her through the lonely nights of deafening silence. She found another doctor who gave her more pills, for a while. After he refused her, Amy went from clinic to clinic looking for the drugs she needed to still her tormented mind.

Amy tried to pray. In the past, she and Tom prayed with the girls every night. She loved God, but Tom had always been the strong one. Amy never understood where he got his strength. He was always reminding her of God's love and encouraging her to grow. She depended on him to guide her in her Christian walk. Now it seemed that God was even further away than ever.

For eighteen months, Amy found herself caught up in a cycle of drugs, tears, anger, guilt, and bitterness. So many endless nights of watching a clock that never moved. The pills no longer helped, but they were still necessary just to survive. She was toying with the idea of ending her torment. Why not? What could be worse than her present existence?

Her carefully worded note lay on the bed beside her, ready to console those she would leave behind. With pills in hand, she picked up the glass of water and the picture she kept by her bed. In anguish, Amy cried out to the picture frame, "Oh, Tom, I don't want to die this way. Show me what to do. Please. How did you stay so strong?"

In the frame, Tom had his arms around her and the girls. He was laughing, as always. But wait; there was something else. What was different about this picture? Love. God's love is what gave him such inner strength? God! This man knew God. He knew God personally. That was it! That's what made him so strong.

Amy knew she couldn't do it by herself. She needed to know God too. That's what Tom was telling her. Through her sobs, she cried out to Heaven. She prayed until there was nothing left of the old Amy. When she was finished, she fell into a deep, restful sleep. Amy McPherson was ready to face the future, pregnant with the promise of God's love.

Pain plagued Meg's powerless form. Duct-tape suppressed any movement in the tiny trunk. Three-hundred-horses under the hood, potholes, darkness, and searing pain joined forces against her. Terror wrapped its icy fingers around her throat, suffocating her. Bound and gagged, Megan Sanders, Lincoln High's Cheerleading Captain, was at the mercy of her captors.

 Meg had no warning that afternoon that her life would take such a drastic turn. The day started like any other. After school, at the soda shop she joked around with friends. Blonde hair hung loosely around slim shoulders; hazel-eyes scanned the room, her thick red lips puckered at the corners for effect. Joking around was a euphemism for tormenting the kids from the tenements across town, especially Beth Alexander, the waitress who worked after school to help her family.

 Meg's crowd hurled cruel insults at her. Beth had the audacity to challenge Meg's hypothesis that one couldn't be happy without money. Beth's Scriptural response, "I have come so that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly"(John 10:10 MKJV) wasn't appreciated.

 Beth Alexander, with her flawless countenance, long auburn hair worn back, contagious smile, explained that Jesus came not only to atone for our sin, but we receive abundant life when the Holy Spirit lives in our spirit. This abundant life includes spiritual power through a personal relationship with God. Meg was livid as Beth concluded, "In this kind of relationship, we can find joy in any circumstance."

 Meg was especially hard on Beth that day. She made an order and then refused to pay for it, saying that Beth must have written it down wrong. She knew Mr. Strickland would take half the cost out of Beth's paycheck, but she didn't care. "Let's see her find joy in that," she smirked, backing out of the soda shop.

 A quick stop at the Post Office changed everything. She never looked in the back when she returned to her car. He was crouching in the floor, behind the passenger's seat. A thin sun-baked hand held a gun to her head, forcing her to pull over down the road to pick up a friend. Grinding her teeth together Meg slowly inhaled when she saw his friend's beady black eyes and leathery face. "Drive 'til I tell you to stop. You'd better not do anything stupid."

 Just outside of town, Meg went in the trunk. Ghoulish laughter permeated the car. Meg's eyebrows furrowed in pain as she listened. Desperate to hear what they were saying, she couldn't make out their words. Her thoughts raced. Oh, God. Where are they taking me? What's going to happen to me? Please don't let them hurt me. Pain, fear, and engine fumes lulled her into a fitful sleep.

Meg woke to the squealing of brakes as they rolled to a stop. She had no idea where they were. The smell of pine needles mixed with exhaust fumes filled the air. She heard them plot while they built a campfire. Cackling over their plans, they both agreed that she would die after supper. 

Meg's mind was reeling. Thoughts flashed like frames on a strip of broken film. Let's see, if I can kick a panel out maybe I can reach around with my, "No, I cant move my legs. My arms are so numb. What can I do? There's no way out. Am I actually going to die? Oh, God! Let's see, I remember they taught us a prayer in Sunday school. Now what was it that stupid teacher said?

The smell of fried bacon and biscuits invaded her senses, hunger pangs screamed for relief. She heard forks scraping against dishes, pans tossed on the ground, and footsteps. The footsteps were getting louder. Let's see, what was it? Now I lay me down to sleep... No, that's not it! What was it? I bet Beth Alexander would know what to do.

The key turned in the lock, as the sun-baked hand stabbed a gun in her face. "Come on, Missy, it's time for a walk."

Meg staggered forward like a drunkard, every limb screamed in agony. "We'll take the tape off your mouth if you promise not to scream."

Her temples pulsed, eyes darting between her captors pleaded for mercy. She nodded in agreement. "Please, don't do this," desperation engulfed her.

Callous hands pushed her toward the woods, "Enough with the tears already."

Meg's mind was spinning desperately. I guess Beth was right; my money can't help me now.

2006 by Dr. Sharon Schuetz

All I've been able to think about for months is how much I want that promotion and the raise that goes with it. I've worked for this company for three years and it's about time. I've done everything that has been asked of me, and more. I brought in more money and clients in the last year than anyone else. I'm at work nearly an hour early and I stay late just to make sure everything is ready for the morning rush. I put my job before my family, my friends, and my church. Nothing is more important to me than my career.

I can just taste success. It's right at my fingertips. Nothing can stop me now. Sure, my daughter stayed home from school sick this morning. My husband thought I should stay home with her, but she has a phone by her bed and my number is on speed dial. If she really needs me, she knows how to reach me. Besides, he could have stayed home with her himself if it was that important.

If I miss even one day from work, especially for personal reasons, I won't get the promotion. I don't think I could stand that. I'll have lots of time to take care of my family and fulfill the commitments I've made at church after they announce my promotion this afternoon.

I've always worked hard at everything I've ever done. All my life I've wanted to grow up and have the perfect family. I do. I have a great husband and three wonderful children. I know I don't always put their needs first, but they just have to understand how important this is to me. I've also wanted to have a great job. That"s almost here. Not that I don't enjoy what I do now, I just know that there is more out there for me.

My husband says that I am never satisfied with what I have. He calls fulfillment on my terms elusive. That's not true. I am satisfied, at least for a while. I know Paul said that godliness with contentment is great gain (1 Timothy 6:6 KJV), but he didn't work at my job. I know that eventually I will feel the contentment he is talking about in this Scripture. I just have to focus on my priorities right now.

Oh, they just put up the announcement about the promotion. I can't wait to see my name beside the title Sr. Vice-President. Yes! I got it. I knew I would. Just wait until I get home and tell Steve and the kids. They'll be so proud of me.

Now why did those kids leave their toys in the yard again? I'm going to have to talk to them about that, but first I want to tell them the good news. Where are they? I've looked everywhere, but no one is home. Where could they have gone? Wait there is a note on the refrigerator from Steve.

Marsha,

The children and I have gone to stay in a hotel for a few days. I will be by at the end of the week to get our things. We can talk then. We just need some space. We still love you. Oh, congratulations on your promotion, I hope you find in it everything you need.

                                                                                                           Steve

"It's nice to meet you, Sarah," Steve Archer smiled as he squeezed her hand.

"I've looked forward to meeting you, too. Mark has told me so much about you." Mark has worked for Archer Investments for over a year and this is the first time she met his boss.

"What do you do, dear?" Always by her husband's side, Beverly Archer, smiled sweetly. Amy knew that Beverly managed the office at Archer Investments. Always immaculate, she wore a blue chiffon dress with pearl earrings and a matching string of pearls. Long auburn hair hung loosely around slim shoulders. This woman knew her place and took full advantage of it.

"I'm a homemaker," Sarah smiled.

"Oh, that's nice, dear," Beverly Archer gave Sarah an uncomfortable smile and quickly turned to her husband, dismissing herself to mingle.

Sarah touched Mark's arm. Mark responded by putting his arm around her. "Mr. Archer, not only is Sarah a great homemaker, she homeschools our daughters, teaches Sunday school, and reads to the elderly at the Sunshine Nursing Home, and she drives them to their doctor's appointments. She's terrific."

Sarah's cheeks were crimson. She whispered into Mark's ear and excused herself to find the ladies room.

Sarah stood in front of the long bathroom mirror. She was lovely. Blonde hair framed her tiny face. The black silk dress accented her slim figure. Black star Safire earrings, encased in gold, and a matching necklace completed her elegant, yet simple wardrobe.

I wonder if I look as stupid as I feel right now. Her mind was playing the same reel it does every time someone scoffs at her choice to quit her job at Nicholas Engineering to stay at home.

Why do I do this? I always know someone's going to ask me what I do for a living. It�¢ï¿½ï¿½s as if I told them I have AIDS or something every time anyone asks. Why do people act as if I'm an idiot when they hear that I don't have a 'real' job? They never stay around long enough to get to know me. I like being a homemaker. I thank God that Mark is such a good provider and I can stay home with my family. I love working with my 'grannies' at the home. Why do I feel this way?

Mark and Sarah left early because she had to be at the hospital at seven the next morning. Mrs. Peterson, from the nursing home, is going to have surgery. On the drive home, Mark softly laid his hand on her lap. "Honey, I'm sorry Beverly treated you that way. She's normally very nice and talkative. I don't know what happened."

"I do. I told her I was a homemaker. That happens every time someone asks me what I do." A single tear escaped, dropping onto her dress.

The next day, after leaving the hospital, Sarah stopped by the nursing home to visit a few of her regulars. She loves her grannies, as she calls them. Many go for months without a single visitor. She and her daughters always try to see them on special occasion, like birthdays. Coming here is the highlight of her week.

Sarah loves the nursing Home. She loves the sound of soft voices, muffled by partially closed doors, the funny squeak of nurses' shoes in the hallway, and the click, click, click as the medicine cart rolls from room to room. The smell of alcohol mingled with pine cleaner fills the air. It really isn't a great smell, but it brings back wonderful memories.

Her grandmother lived in a nursing home most of Sarah's life. Although she was lucid, she was bedridden, needing constant care. Sarah and her mother visited her twice a week, more when they could. She loved it there. She made so many friends; people who had no family, but loved children. She had dozens of grandparents.

As Sarah drove home, her mind wandered back to Beverly Archer. The hair rose up on the back of her neck for a moment. She felt the same defensiveness she experienced at the party. Then she thought about Mrs. Peter's surgery. She remembered the silly card Mrs. West received from her grandson today, and she laughed again at the joke Mr. Crain told the 'pretty ladies' as they all stood in the hall talking.

Sarah clutched the steering wheel with both hands and shouted aloud, "Eat your heart out Beverly Archer. You may have a job, but I have a life."

2006 by Dr. Sharon Schuetz

"The Art Center is having a contest," Sue Rhine bit her lip and offered Larry the crumpled flyer. "They're looking for a painting of the 'Essence of Peace'. First prize is 10,000 dollars.

Tightening his jaw, Larry Rhine hissed through clenched teeth, "That's stupid; how can you paint peace?" Larry had been in a funk since his parent's fatal car crash three months before. Consumed by anger and doubt, he blamed God.

           "You're a good painter, Larry. You have to get out of this mood. We can't live this way. I just thought maybe this would help,"Larry ignored Sue's monotone whisper. 

"How can I paint peace when I don't even know what it is?" He slammed the door so hard a cup fell off the counter.

With sagging shoulders, Sue rested her chin on her fist using the sofa as her altar. "Father, Larry is in such pain. I know he still loves you. Help him. This darkness is killing us. Please give him peace. Thank You.:

            In the garage, Larry paced, clenching his fists. I don't care what anyone says. They didn't deserve it. They were faithful to God and he didn't protect them. How can I have peace if I can't trust God with my own parents? He stopped pacing and spoke to God for the first time in months. "God, I dont want to go to hell so I'll serve you, even if I can't trust you."

            He went into the bedroom where Sue was reading her Bible. "I'll do it." Raising one eyebrow, he almost smiled. "Who knows, with luck I might win." Shrugging, he turned to leave, "Besides, we can use the money."

Larry painted for six days. Sue was delighted. She noticed a gradual change in him since he started working. The depression cloud was dissipating; he was softening, and even smiled occasionally. He was more preoccupied than normal, but at least he wasn't brooding. Always private, he was being almost tight-lipped, even hiding the canvas from Sue's curious eyes. When he finished he drove to the Art Center and entered it into the contest.

            The following Friday night they were to announce the winners at an open house. He was handsome in his tuxedo. Larry looked young for forty. Sue wore an exquisite blue floor length gown with a low cut back, the pearls Larry gave her for their tenth anniversary, and matching heels. She pinned her long, blond hair in a tight bun at the nap of her neck with a pearl studded clip.

On the way to the Art Center Larry squeezed her hand. "God and I've been talking for the past few days. He used this painting to show me how to find peace. Were ok now." That is all he said, but for Sue it was enough.

The gallery was full of mingling art patrons. Muffled conversation filled the large room. A large woman in her seventies stepped to the microphone clearing her throat. Greeting the assembly, she droned on about the Arts. Finally, she was ready to make the anticipated announcement.

"Third place, for 2,500 dollars, goes to Geoffrey Lindale for his, Morning Meadow." Trees, flowers, and butterflies covered the canvas, tranquil in understated beauty. The peace nearly drew you into the painting. You could almost smell the flowers and feel the soft breeze coming from Morning Meadow.

"Second place, for 5,000, goes to Mitzy Douglas for her, Lion and the Lamb. The king of the jungle laid quietly, his large head resting beside a soft, white lamb. They were nestled together in peaceful slumber, without a care in the world. Peace radiated from the near embrace of these natural enemies.

"And our 10,000 dollar, first place winner is Larry Rhine for his, In the Midst of the Storm." The eagles nest was perched on the edge of a ten-thousand foot cliff. A storm raged, threatening to destroy everything in its path, with lightening, thunder, and treacherous winds. Two tiny eaglets slept soundly, snuggled in the soft down taken from their mothers breast. Their parents sat close by watching over them. Oblivious to the danger around them, these eagle fledglings knew only contentment and trust.

Larry took the microphone. "God promised us that he'll never give us more than we can bear. As long as were in this body well have storms, even then our spirit can still find peace. I forgot that for a while. But God reminded me hes always there, even In the Midst of the Storm."

Rachel stood frozen, facing the door. Her delicate features hardened with the strain of the past two years. Tiny, soft hands were now calloused from harsh living conditions and her struggle to survive."They just arrested the Weinsteins." Fear had contorted her face almost beyond recognition. "Oh God, why? Why are they doing this to us? This is senseless."

Phillip pulled her against his strong chest. Rachel felt like a small child in his familiar embrace. His huge frame overshadowed her. "Shh, my Beloved. I cannot tell you why. Who can understand the rantings of a mad man?" Philip was always calm. Rachel depended on his strength.

Philip and Rachel warmed themselves by the fire barrel on the street of the interment camp. Rachel heard the truck tires crunch the ice and slide to a stop at the end of the street. The boots were even louder. Gunfire. Screaming. Cursing. Rough hands pulled at her, shoving her toward the trucks. She could see Philip's face in the dim firelight. Their eyes locked just for a moment before the butt of a rifle slammed into the back of his skull.

The long ride in the crowded truck was only the beginning of Rachel's journey. Men in uniform with guns and dogs surrounded the train station. Her determination crumbled as she realized that Philip was on a different train. The endless ride was worse than the rumors had described. No bathrooms, no room to sit, the stench of feces, urine, and vomit permeated the air. The dead body of an old woman, pressed against her, held up by the crowd. For four days, they stood in cattle cars; bodies pressed together, people dying from starvation and lack of oxygen.

            The train screeched as it pulled to a stop. Finally, the doors opened and the passengers could move again. The bright sun reflected off the snow. Once her eyes stopped burning she saw that the train had taken them to Ravensbruck, in Northern Germany. Rachel's empty stomach wrenched with terror as she realized that she was in a women's concentration camp and that she may never see her beloved Philip again.

The overcrowded barracks housed three to a bunk. The acrid smells of urine and rotting flesh assaulted her senses. The women worked sixteen hours a day. At night, they sat on the beds scratching fleabites and listened to the Scriptures read by two old Dutch sisters from Holland. They were daughters of a watchmaker who were here because they hid Jews from the Nazis in their home.

            Rachel couldn't understand the demeanor of these two women. Betsy was sick all the time, and her sister, Corrie, smiled incessantly. They even thanked God for the fleas that caused the German guard's refusal to enter the barracks and discover their disobedience. These two 'crazy ladies' confused Rachel. They had nothing to live for; nobody waited for them at home, yet they insisted that God's love would sustain them.

The days passed slowly. All she could think about was finding Philip. Day after day, she worked hard and at night, she listened to the Scriptures and occasionally asked questions.

Rachel had been at Ravensbruck for three weeks when she pensively made her way across the room and sat on the edge of Corrie's bunk. "Corrie, I don't understand how you can keep such an attitude with all you've been through. If I don't get some help I'll go mad."

"My dear, Jesus went through much more than I have suffered. Only through his strength can any of us survive." The kind old woman's raspy whisper cut deep into Rachel's anger. "The Bible says, "The joy of the Lord is our strength (Neh. 8:10). This encourages us to continue as we pour ourselves out for the needs of others."

"Help me, please; I need this God you speak of." A tear escaped as Rachel took Corrie's withered hand.

            Betsy died a few days later. Shortly after, an accidental clerical error caused the release of Rachel's friend Corrie Ten Boom, just one week before they exterminated all the women her age.

Death, starvation, hard work, excessive punishment, and harsh weather surrounded Rachel. Despair, her constant enemy sought to destroy her. Rachel, however, would not let go of Corrie's Savior. On occasion, she could be heard humming and if you asked her why she would simple smile and say, "The joy of the Lord is my strength."

"Welcome to Life Quest? We have an exciting show planned for today. Both contestants committed treason and our studio audience will determine who will live and who will die. And now, the host of our show, Steeeeve Becker." Steve Becker sprinted in from the left side of the studio.

"Hello everyone, are you ready to play, Life Quest?" The audience erupted into wild applause. "As you know, we will ask each contestant one question and you, the audience, will decide their fate based on their answers. The loser gets life in prison and the grand prize winner will get to go to heaven tomorrow night on CBS's new reality show, Send Off." Steve Becker smiled into the camera, "Today we have a great program, so let's meet our contestants." Applause filled the studio as the camera moved in for a close-up of the candidates, chained to a console.

"Contestant number one is Elizabeth Winters, a housewife from Lexington, Kentucky. She was caught teaching Bible stories to innocent children and says she must obey God and not man." Elizabeth Winters donned a black eye and split lip from her jailer's beatings. Tear-filled eyes looked down at her restraints as she contemplated her children's fate without her.

"Our second contestant is David Albright from Houston, Texas. His family, loyal to our Messiah, reported his treason. David is guilty of hiding traitors and having Bible studies in his home. He says he would rather die than take our Messiah's mark." David's jaw tightened as he closed his eyes, seeking mercy for his tormentors.

Are you ready? Let's begin. Elizabeth Winters," Steve directed the camera to Elizabeth's bruised face, "what is life?" The audience waited breathlessly for her condemning answer.

Her beauty was marred by her wounds. Tangled dark hair hung loosely around swollen cheeks. Longing for the release of death, Elizabeth smiled through cracked lips, "Life is a personal relationship with Jesus Christ." Frenzied, the audience shouted for blood.

"David Albright, same question. What is life?"

Balding and rotund, David Albright smiled in spite of the pain inflicted by his tormentors. "Knowing Jesus Christ as my Savior." Though he could barely stand, David spoke with power; his deep voice resonated throughout the studio.

His bold declaration nearly sent the audience over the edge. More guards ran from the rear, erecting a barrier around the platform. A few audience members leaped from their seats, rushing the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, I must ask you to keep your seats. You'll have a chance to be heard." Steve Becker consoled. The audience murmured and reluctantly returned to their chairs.

"I think we've heard enough, don't you?" Elated, Steve Becker turned to the agitated audience. He loved their reaction to such headstrong contestants. "Audience, it's time to choose who lives and who dies, Elizabeth Winters or David Albright? You're the judge and the jury. Cast your votes on the console on your right."

This was Steve's favorite part of the show. He thought it strange that Christians wanted the grand prize, death. It did bother him to see contestant like Elizabeth Winters beaten so badly. However, she did break the laws of the New World Federation. Steve Becker smiles directly into the camera. "It's time now to find out who will live and who will die."

Lively music played as he raised a hand toward the contestants. What's your verdict for Elizabeth?" Every eye turned to center stage as the word DEATH lit up the console.

"Okay, how about David?" The console flashed, DEATH.

"Okay folks, it looks like we have a tie. Before the show our producers drew a name and sealed it in this envelope in the unlikely event this would happen. "He held a white envelope up to the camera.

Elizabeth and David held their breath, waiting. Steve slowly opened the envelope and pulled out its contents. "Ladies and gentlemen, be sure to watch right here on Channel 11 tomorrow night as the new reality show, Send Off, gives a World Federation send off to, Elizabeth Winters, our grand prize winner." The audience went wild.

Elizabeth turned her face toward heaven and wept openly, giving thanks to God. David Albrights held his head down, a single tear escaped. He knew what prison meant.

Steve Becker smiled into the camera. "Coming up next, stay tuned to CBS, for the 2012 Oscars, hosted by Hollywood's newly reunited Brad Spit and Jennifer Annister. Good night everyone. We'll see you next week on, Life Quest."

"Good Morning U.S.A., we're the place for news, weather, and traffic updates, and here's your host, Diane Mason. Good morning, Diane."

"Good morning, Dave. Let me introduce our audience to this lovely lady beside me. Mattie Olsen is a member of an exclusive organization called Supercentenarians. At age 119, she is one of only seventy-seven people documented to be 110 years or older. Mattie was born on a wagon train when her parents traveled from Missouri to California. She has seen our nation go from the Old West to our modern age of cell phones, computers, and ipods.

"Good morning, Mattie, and welcome to Good Morning U.S.A."

"Mornin, dear."

"Mattie, you must have seen just about everything in your lifetime." Diane softly laid her slim hand on Mattie's gnarled ones. She was stunning in her blue suit and white silk blouse. Her long blonde hair added to her smart appearance. In her thirteen-years as CBS's senior anchor, she has interviewed Presidents, world-leaders, and a Pope. Never, however, had she anticipated an interview more than this one. To Diane, Mattie represented volumes of unwritten living history.

"Mattie, you're amazing. May I call you, Mattie?" Diane respected this woman and wanted to show it.

"Sure, that's my name, ain't it?" Mattie cackled at her own wit. Although she was bound to a wheelchair, her mind was as sharp as it was at forty.

Diane smiled at the joy radiating from this charming woman. "Mattie, tell me a little bit about yourself, your family, who you are."

The camera moved in closer, catching the twinkle in her eyes. "There's really not too much to tell anymore. I've outlived my husband, my children, my grandchildren, and everyone I ever knew. I grew up on a ranch in California with my parents, three brothers, and four sisters. "Course they've all been gone for years. My husband, George, and I were married fifty-five-years when he died." Mattie's lips turned up into a mischievous smile. "Those were fifty-five-years of adventure, for sure."

"Why is that?" Diane was curious.

"Well, we spent the first fifty-years or so figuring each other out. Then he had to up and die on me just when things was gettin' good." Mattie laughed.

Diane admired Mattie's sense of humor. Maybe this is why she had lived so long. "Tell me Mattie, to what would you attribute your long life?"

"To lots of things, I reckon." Mattie slowly leaned forward as if to share a secret. "I guess if I had to say it was one thing it would be I walked the walk, not just talked the talk."

"Really?" Diane furrowed her eyebrows.

"Yep. I got sick and tired of people who'd tell you how to live and what to do, but didn't do it themselves. 'Specially deacons."

"Deacons?"

"Yep, deacons. The itinerate preacher used to come to our neck o' the woods 'bout every three months and preach 'bout how we was supposed to live. Then he'd traipse off preachin' somewhere else, leavin' a deacon to take care o' the flock. That was like leaving a fox to guard the hen house. Why, our head deacon, Brother Tripe, would do all manner o' stuff. Acted like God's gift to the church, then went and had himself an affair with the school marm."

"What a shame." Diane wanted to laugh.

"He sure was ashamed when he got caught." Mattie doubled over in laughter. "I was just a kid but I decided I wadn't gonna live like that. I learned a long time ago that even a crib baby is walkin'."

"What do you mean?" Diane was intrigued.

"From our first breath to our last, we're walking through this world, leavin' footprints all over the place. Anybody can tell ya what ta do, but only God can help you do it. I met God when I was just a wisp of a girl. I asked Him a long time ago to let me see myself from where He sits, you know, lookin' down from heaven above. Deacon Tripe talked the talk, but didn't walk the walk. I've spent the last 105 years watchin' where I put my feet, and I think that's why I''m still around."

"Mattie, we're out of time. Thank you for being with us and for your wonderful insights. I've so enjoyed meeting you." Diane smiled into the camera with her usual outward composure. Inside she wondered how God saw her walk. She mused, Yes, Mattie Olsen is still leaving footprints.

2006 by Dr. Sharon Schuetz