My favorite verse in Scripture is Mark 9:24, which ends with the phrase, "Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!" That pretty well sums up my spiritual journey.

One Sunday in July, I read about the "Sharing Our Faith" project planned for the STA bulletin. Right away I had doubts as to having anything to share that others would find interesting. Then the next day, I receive, in the mail, a story that I knew I had to share with others.

As I write this story, Lynnette and I have been married for 6 weeks, 5 days, and 6 hours...give or take a couple of hours. This is, as a coarse approximation, about 0.4% of my life. So, please do consider these thoughts I share as something of a developing photograph: not entirely clear but with coarse "blobs" emerging from darkness.

I am in awe of folks who talk of epiphanies that jump start their spirituality: a stark and lovely moment that reveals God's grace. Then, it seems, they find themselves on the high road, walking with Jesus. My story is one of a long, plodding path; having spent my adult life walking this road. Not that I don't have and haven't had times of insight and clarity. It's just that those moments usually come after deliberate and thoughtful work. So they do not feel like "Eureka!" but, rather, like "Whew!" or "Oh!"

James in Chapter 2:14-17 writes, "What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no needs? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, "Go I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if not accompanied by action is dead."

Our family wanted to share the wonderful experience we had this past spring break. Over the years, we had talked many times about doing some type of mission trip, but never acted. We had many excuses, just too busy, family obligations, kids being too young, etc... In February, seemingly out of the blue, friends asked if we were interested in joining them on a mission trip to Appalachia. We talked, prayed, and debated, but despite our many worries came to know that God was calling us to serve.

A couple of weeks before my mother died, I was visiting her in a nursing home near her hometown of Breckenridge, MN. She was struggling with memory loss and was also limited to a wheelchair. When I was leaving, I hugged and kissed her and started walking down the hall.

As World War II was winding down in Europe, the situation in Slovenia, a republic of Yugoslavia, began to deteriorate. By the agreement at Yalta, the country had been left for the Soviets to occupy. Slava Furlan was a 16-year-old peasant girl boarding at a convent in Ljubljana so that she could attend high school. When her school closed, she was sent back home, but circumstances forced her to join a group of refugees heading north to Austria.

When I came here 25 years ago with my husband, I already had a strong faith. Even so, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. Life was not easy for me. I knew no one and always felt lonely. I was also in a marriage that was difficult.