Songs of Salvation – Patricia Annalee Kirk

Posted January 13, 2019 by Phyllis Helton in Songs of Salvation /

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Join Christian authors as they share their "Songs of Salvation" to uplift and encourage believers and glorify God. 

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And they have defeated him by the blood of the Lamb and by their testimony. And they did not love their lives so much that they were afraid to die.

Revelation 12:11 NLT

Money has always been my battleground.

My mother converted to Christianity when I was thirteen. My grandparents took me to church sometimes. And a kind teacher in our country school, a pastor, drove back into the country on Sundays to take us to his church. He taught for a year and then the rides to church stopped. The only source I had for Christianity otherwise, was the other grandmother, a legalistic person who, poor soul, turned everyone off on faith in Jesus. We felt we could not please her God.

After a stint in the military and a short marriage, I attended college to get a degree in art using the GI Bill. After I graduated, I started a search for my first position. I didn’t fit the image of an artist: a young man with a beard, not a thirty-year-old woman.

Women didn‘t have careers then, except nursing and typing. Thank the Lord I typed. It took a year and a half to find my first professional job. Meanwhile, I worked temps for minimum wage and huge gaps in work. Thus started the years of poverty.

Finally, I took a job with a house magazine — they sold books on building your home from scratch. One year later, I lost that job. Bad decision number one—taking a position I had no background in.

A month later, I lay in the hospital with an ovarian tumor of the kind that doctors photograph and paste into scrapbooks. The mass equaled the birth weight of my son had he been twins: the biopsy proved this monster benign.

These two events led to a financial crash — medical insurance lapsed with the bygone job. Bad decision number two. Why didn‘t I insist they continue my health insurance? The law required employers to include it in severance, but you had to ask. I didn’t because of embarrassment at my failure.

The mobile home, used when I bought it several years before, crumbled around me. Bad decision number three. Buying a mobile home already damaged. To move this piece of metal meant mobile-home homicide. It must stay parked in its present spot, rejected by future buyers.

Then, my red Dodge disappeared one night. Snarf, my Shepherd mix, gave me a sense of security because of his frightening bark. No thief in his or her right mind—though I dispute the rightness of a thief’s mind—came near us. Snarf spent his days terrorizing meter people.

Snarf did not bark that night.

A ransom note from the auto dealership came in the mail in a few days—only the entire amount still due insured its return. I never saw it again.

A month later — with me at the peak of desperation — the General Staff College in Leavenworth offered me a job in graphics. It was An eighty-five mile drive, round trip.

How could I refuse, but to commute the eighty-five miles a day without a car loomed impossible? Would I make the worst decision of all? It terrified me to make any choice. My mind closed down. I lost the ability to decide

One afternoon I paced between the sofa and the bathroom. I chanted, “Tell me what to do. Tell me what to do. Tell me what to do.”

I didn‘t imagine that I talked to the angry God of my childhood. But the God of Love accepted my cries as prayer. After hours of pacing, I heard an audible whisper. “Catch rides.”

I accepted the voice as spiritual. But How? Only far-fetched logic assumed a person from my hometown drove that far daily. Commuters went to Topeka or Kansas City. Would I go there to realize there was no ride — forced to tell them I couldn’t keep the life-saving job? The only offer I had received? Should I accept? Was I insane?

Jesus in his kindness touched my heart. Joy and warmth filled me. And I KNEW someone waited to drive me to and from Leavenworth.

“Oh. Okay.”

As I drove to work the first day, peace filled me. Someone at the new job waited to share transportation.

The introduction to Carol didn‘t surprise me. It only confirmed God‘s will. We started the same day. The carpool she wanted didn’t materialize. No one from Lawrence responded to her search. She gave me rides while she hunted. Soon she accepted me as a paying passenger. We worked in the same office. I didn’t even go down the hall to meet her. I returned my dad’s car that evening.

Two years later, I bought a Ford. And the Lord provided a car pool for Carol.

After Ten years, President Clinton cut the government to balance the budget. Carol retired, and I took a buy-out, leaving the same day she did, without debt: and the mobile home sold for a few dollars. Praise the Lord for His gracious salvation and His provision.

I call on God in every action though after thirty years I’m still learning how to understand Him. He will always guide me and bring good out of every evil.

About Patricia Annalee Kirk

Patricia Annalee Kirk wrote the Biblical novel Martha’s Sister Beloved Prodigal. She attended the University of Kansas through the GI Bill and graduated with a degree in Advertising and Editorial Art–when they still had an art department. Her records are in the school of Architecture, but you ask her to design a house at your own risk.
She raised her son alone. One snowy day she walked up the KU hill (and I mean “up”) with her seven-year-old boy in tow. He clutched his coloring book. Her mom was a Godsend, but he couldn’t go there in (for him) waist-deep snow.
Her resume includes Editorial Assistant on a military magazine.
Now grandmother to five grandchildren–four well on their ways to building their own dynasties. One subject (Stewart) came into the world 2/27/17–tiny, red, and beautiful.
Her new birth in Christ–March 1985.


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