God's Word to the Rescue!

This is one of the few pictures I have of my dad's mom, nee Lisetta Monroe, called Zetta for short.

I know virtually nothing of her youth other than that she was a grade school teacher for some years. I could kick myself for not asking Aunt Edna, her sister, more about her when I had the chance. Too late now! What I DO know is that she married my grandfather, William Schoellig, and had two boys, my father, Carl Lloyd Schoellig, and his younger brother, Paul Schoellig. During the little bit of fellowship I had with Aunt Edna and some of the Schoellig clan, I did learn a sad bit of history--my grandfather was physically abusive to her. Then, when he died unexpectedly from a brain aneurism, she was left a widow with two children to support and a farm to run. Although my grandfather left her a tidy sum in life insurance, her mind broke under the load. She disappeared and was later found in a hotel with the boys. But her mind was gone. That is how it came about that Aunt Edna and Uncle Fred took over raising my dad and his brother. Grandma Zetta spent the rest of her natural life in a mental institution in a catatonic state. The horror of it was enough to keep me from asking more questions.

They say a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. In this instance, this little bit of knowledge did a number on me. Many times as I grew up, the question would rear up in my heart, "Will you end up like your Grandma Zetta? Is her condition hereditary?" I would bat the question away and try to forget it. Then one day …

Someone hurt me, accusing me of an attitude that brought all my Christian life to task as a lie. The weight of the accusation was so great that I stumbled to my room, overwhelmed with a great heaviness, and fell on my bed. At that point I was unable to move. I tried moving my fingers, my feet … nothing. And it came to me … Grandma Zetta's affliction must have been hereditary. And now I had fallen into that dreaded catatonic state. I. Could. Not. Move.

I can't tell you how long I lay there … time seemed to be in animated suspension. Then … a miracle! From the innermost parts of my being, it felt like the Word of God welled up, up, up through my chest to my mouth. Scripture after scripture that I had learned and committed to memory rolled through my being. And as it did, with every verse my extremities began to "melt"--the rigidity softened, little by little, until I was able to sit up, swing my legs to the floor, and get out of bed. My heart was still grieved, but the Word of God had delivered me from catastrophe. In His gracious mercy, God did speak to me about the words that had precipitated this episode and, undeserving as I am, taught me through them. What God allowed to touch my life, painful as it was, in the end bore fruit for His glory.

But I will never forget how God rescued me from a fate worse than death--through His Word. It really IS important to learn it by heart, for we never know what will befall us. When faced with an attack from the enemy, God's Spirit will use His Sword, the Word of God, and protect us.

Thank you, God, for the power of Your Word.

"Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God," Matthew 4:4

"But the Lord is faithful, who will stablish you and keep you from evil," 2 Thessalonians 3:3.