“The Remnant: A Call to Those Who Still Believe”

I was born in January 1955, the third of four daughters, raised by a father who believed there was nothing we couldn’t do—as long as we gave it our best. Excuses weren’t tolerated, but effort was always expected. I learned to drive on a motorcycle, spent summers on my grandparents’ farm, and was shaped by a family rooted in resilience.

My mother, a British WWII war bride, left everything behind to build a life in Oklahoma in 1945. She only returned home once, in 1956, and her mother visited us in the early ‘70s—but by then, our roots were firmly planted here.

Like many teens, I made my share of reckless choices. I was promiscuous. I got pregnant in high school and had an abortion during spring break, just after Roe v. Wade passed. Even then, deep down, I knew there was something more—something greater than myself. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was searching for God. In 1980, that search led me to truth I could no longer ignore.

I began attending church before marrying in 1981. By 1986, I had two daughters, and fifteen years later, I divorced. It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. I raised my girls with all I had—faith, grit, and love. They’re strong, responsible women now, completely different from one another, and I embrace those differences. They may think I’m always trying to tell them what to do, but to me, I’m just offering suggestions. They’re free to take them or leave them. Either way, I love them deeply.

My youngest daughter now has a daughter of her own, born in February of 2019—my sweet, precious granddaughter. She’s divorced too and is preparing to marry her best friend, a woman. That decision doesn’t align with my beliefs, but she’s happier than I’ve seen her in years. She’s an adult, and I respect her right to make her own choices, even when I don’t agree.

In 2008, my oldest daughter and I attended Bible school together. Not long after, I spent two weeks in Colombia, where I witnessed the raw, real power of Jesus among people who had no Plan B. That trip changed me. It solidified my faith in a God who still heals, still moves, and still speaks today. I believe every word of the Bible. I take Jesus’ teachings literally because I believe they were never meant to expire.

But that kind of faith can be lonely.

I believe in the power of our words—that life and death truly are in the tongue. I believe people curse themselves with casual negativity and speak sickness and defeat into their own lives without even realizing it. My daughter is beginning to understand this, but very few people I know—of any age—fully believe the way I do.

Many people my age speak death over themselves daily. They put their trust in doctors, insurance, and prescriptions rather than in God’s promises. They accept aging as a slow decline and live by lab results and diagnoses instead of faith. They believe replacement surgeries and chronic conditions are just part of getting older.

But I reject that narrative completely!

Just the other day, I had a thought—what if 70 is just middle age? I wouldn’t be surprised if I lived to 140 or beyond. I believe we can choose how long we live. And unless Jesus returns before then, I’ll be here until He calls me home. People in the Old Testament lived hundreds of years, and I don’t buy into the idea that it was only because of the pre-flood atmosphere. Something deeper shifted, and I want to know what—and why.

In the last 18 months, I’ve connected with a pastor in Uganda who truly gets me. His country’s struggles have forced him to rely completely on God, and because of that, his faith is pure and real. I can share what God is revealing to me, and he receives it without hesitation. I’ve learned so much from him, and in this season, I’ve grown more than ever before.

I’ll admit—I haven’t always treated my body like a temple. Our culture has turned food into garbage, and I fell into those habits. But I’m making changes. I believe insurance and wellness programs are designed to keep people stuck in a system that depends on Plan B. I’m trusting God’s Plan A—His promises.

I know how all of this sounds. I know some will roll their eyes and think I believe I’m better than others. But that’s not it. I’m simply unwilling to compromise what I know to be true for the sake of blending in.

God’s name—I AM—is not just a name. It’s a declaration. So when I say “I am sick” or “I am depressed,” I’m attaching His name to something He could never be. Why would I align myself with a lie when Jesus died to set me free?

I know this is controversial. I know many won’t agree.

But I also know—I’m not the only one out here.

So I’m putting this out as a call.

If anything I’ve said resonates with you…

If you believe God’s promises are real and active today…

If you take Him at His Word and refuse to accept the watered-down faith that passes for truth in so many circles…

Then maybe you're like me. Maybe you're one of the like-minded.

And if so, I want to connect. I want to build community with people who still believe that God heals, speaks, moves, and reigns.

If the Holy Spirit has led you this far, I believe you’re meant to be here.
You’re not alone. And neither am I.

If the Spirit stirred something in you as you read this, I’d love to connect. Please feel free to reach out through email or text.

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