A Holy Kaleidoscope: A Novel Based on a True Story

Copyright © 2023 Annie Blest.

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WestBow Press

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ISBN: 979-8-3850-1147-6 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-1148-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023921011

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/28/2023

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Contents

Foreword

Acknowledgments

Prologue

1.     The Getaway

2.     Albuquerque Reality

3.     Seeking

4.     Rescued

5.     Baby Steps

6.     Divorce No-Recovery

7.     The Good Shepherd

8.     More Rope

9.     Jesus, Lord

10.   The Terrorist Within

11.   Holy Healing

12.   Right but Not Righteous

13.   Never Too Late

14.   Serving

15.   The Love Story

16.   The Six-Day Date

17.   God’s Best

Epilogue

Foreword

There are stories, and then there are testimonies. What an incredible testimony this book exhibits of a life learning, growing, and trusting in the faithfulness of God. The Lord is the one who will go before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or abandon you. Do not be afraid or discouraged (Deuteronomy 31:8, CSB). In this book, you will witness a firsthand account of God’s faithfulness amid hardship, difficulty, and unexpected tragedy. Annie Blest knows what it means to walk through heartache and to come out the other side with a heart on fire for God. She is not a superhuman in touch with an unknown deity. Rather, she knows Jesus, and it is Jesus who has developed her through every up and down of life. Jesus makes a promise that if you have the faith of a tiny crumb—the size of a mustard seed—your faith will be grown by Him.

There is not one person who does not need to grow in their faith in Christ. This book is about redemption even through some of the greatest challenges we may face in life. Weakness and hardship are part of everyone’s story. But what is it that makes Blest’s story different? The apostle Paul put it this way: In the same way the Spirit also helps us in our weakness, because we do not know what to pray for as we should, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with inexpressible groanings (Romans 8:26, CSB). In our weakness, Jesus intercedes on our behalf. It is the spirit of God working through our weakness that enables Christ to be made known to us and to others through us. Blest’s journey contains many moments of heartache, but the triumph in her story speaks louder than the hardship.

As you look at your own life, maybe you too have been tormented by alcoholism, encountered workplace harassment, experienced spousal abuse, unable to break through grief, discouraged by low self-esteem, or recognized your need for salvation. This book is especially for you. Even if you have not experienced some of these circumstances mentioned, you know someone who has, and her story provides necessary insight to walk alongside someone who is hurting.

Everyone is seeking, everyone is hurting, and everyone has questions. This is why literature like this is fundamental. With Christ, victory is never distant, nor is it ever impossible, something every person (even much more the follower of Jesus) must be reminded of. As the darkness of the world is ever increasing, those in Christ have a story to share of His marvelous light. Blest’s story of a life well-lived demonstrates just what this looks like. My prayer for you as you read the chapters of this story is that you will be renewed in many areas of your life. First, I pray you will be encouraged if you are walking through darkness in your own life. I pray you will be reminded that God certainly has not left you nor forsaken you. I waited patiently for the Lord, and he turned to me and heard my cry for help. He brought me up from a desolate pit, out of the muddy clay, and set my feet on a rock, making my steps secure (Psalm 40:1–2, CSB).

Let this book serve as your reminder that God will pick you up out of the pit. Blest’s story does not just display the faithfulness of God for her alone, but also the faithfulness of God for all who trust in Him. Secondly, I pray you will be encouraged if you have been through darkness in your past. As Blest so graciously put it, we all have a story to share, so may we all be bold in sharing the Light we have. Your story of God’s steadfastness in your life is meant to be shared so that others may experience the same hope you have known and continue to know today.

Only Jesus can bring you up out of the pit and keep you until the day He returns. Until then, let us live a life worthy of our calling, boldly proclaiming the truth of Jesus Christ. Praise be to Jesus that we have a redeemer who lives and who is on the throne today! May you be blessed, and may you trust the Lord all the more as you grow closer to Him. He is worthy of our worship, He is worthy of our praise, and He is worthy of our life surrendered to Him.

In Christ,

Dr. Michael Gossett

Lead Pastor of Green Acres Baptist Church

Acknowledgments

While a novel contains the creative imagination of the author, this one is also based on a true story. All names have been changed to protect the privacy and confidentiality of the characters.

The Lord supplied the desire for me to write a book and the strength and ability to follow through, so my most profound thanks go first to the Lord, Jesus. Any success the book may enjoy is all glory to Him.

I can thank many important people over the span of my life, which this book pretty much covers. You are giants in my life. Family, friends, brothers and sisters, and mentors. The Lord knows your names. Better yet, the Lord knows a more fitting descriptive word for you than giant. His is an unlimited language I cannot wait to hear and hope to use! On this side of heaven, let me thank you from the bottom of my heart, for loving me, believing in me, and saying yes to the Lord, to be His servant in ways that profoundly affected my life.

I want to thank my longtime pastor, who says yes to the Lord better than anyone I know. This is the person I will most need those new eternal words to express my gratitude. He has taught, discipled, mentored, tolerated, and loved me as only a pastor can do who is sold out to Jesus. I have also been blessed to call him friend. No person has influenced my life more than this precious man.

Thanks to the wisest woman I knew, now with the Lord, who was a saintly mentor and loving friend, following her calling to love and disciple those in her path without judgment. The Lord used her example of living to speak volumes to a sister in need of all she could give. I could never possibly repay her, but I thank her that I learned to pay it forward.

My Bible stories partner, who loves and invests in friendship in extraordinary proportions. As a result, the Lord used her faithfulness and trust in Him to offer counsel at crucial times.

My oldest, most faithful friend today, a true sister in Christ who has held my hand, loaned a loving shoulder to cry on, encouraged for decades, and has been a vital inspiration in writing and painting.

My missionary friend in Uganda, whose work has greatly inspired my priorities. Her influence and friendship are treasures.

Ben’s church family, who will always be mine as well. They breathe unconditional love through a depth of biblical understanding, which is uncharacteristic of many churches today.

My present church family—wonderful brothers and sisters who held my hand through the loss of Ben and completion of the book.

My current pastor, Dr. Michael Gossett, who is one of a kind. Ben told me he was amazing, inspired, and would be used mightily by the Lord in days to come. As usual, Ben was right. I hunger for his messages and will forever be grateful for his part in this book.

My grandma prayed for me throughout my childhood and passed while I was in college. She never got to see her prayers answered, but her hope was in Jesus, not me. I believe she knew she would see me again. I cannot wait to thank her!

Peter and Hanna, for your love, respect, and continuing ability to far surpass any expectations I might ever have had of my children. You are the apple of my eye, not unlike how we are all the apple of our Lord’s eye (Zechariah 2:8). That’s Bible-speak for I could not love you more! No one with skin on is more important to me.

May He bless all of you as only He can. You have blessed me beyond my ability to express adequate gratitude.

Prologue

All of God’s promises are true all the time. Each of us is His

story living out His promises. Totally unique! Life here is

only the beginning—the birth of our eternal life. Birth is

not easy. But it is precious life and is glorious in Him.

I tell a story of redemption.

The Lord is the redeemer, and I’m a storyteller.

A Holy Kaleidoscope is our story.

Let the redeemed of the LORD tell their story—

those He redeemed from the hand of the foe.

—Psalm 107:2

1

The Getaway

H it the deck! I shouted.

Hanna and Peter would dive to the floor of the backseat. Hit the Deck was the name of the game we played while driving, a pitiful substitute safety measure for an old car with no seat belts. The kids had to stay put until Grandma or I called, All clear. We practiced and practiced. Who got to the floor first might have been important, but the laughter that followed was always the best part. They never tired of the drill; we played it endlessly. Practice even included rude awakenings from a nap to scurry like little soldiers into their foxholes. Not so much laughter then, but even at their tender young ages, they understood that the underlying reason for the drill was serious stuff on the lengthiest road trip of their lives.

Icy roads stretched 1,093 miles over the course of our 1,700-mile trip from Erie to Albuquerque in January 1975. Two-thirds of the journey was terrifying. The ice storm just ahead of us was slow-moving, but we were even slower. The we on the journey included Mom, Hanna, Peter, and me. Hanna was six, Peter was four, and Mom was sixty. I did the driving. I would turn thirty later that year if we survived.

We were driving my grandmother’s huge 1960 Oldsmobile 98 with summer slick tires and no seat belts. By the end of the trip, the kids had learned to count to higher numbers than they knew when we started. They made a game of counting the accidents we had passed. The journey took a week; we moved in the same direction as the storm.

Mom and I spoke in hushed tones about the incredible dangers we were experiencing. Fears of continuing such an undertaking bored even deeper into our unspoken emotions with each accident we came upon. The accidents we narrowly missed sent us into our own quiet nightmare of a drastically altered life or one that ended. These fears of disaster were best never voiced in the presence of young children.

My eyes were riveted to the pavement just ahead, frantically searching for a tire track, grain of sand, or snow that had not yet turned to ice. Hands welded to the steering wheel, I strained to sense every subtle movement of the car, especially when the car expressed its own directional preference. My driving effort was so intense, so focused that Mom had to read highway signs for us. Taking my eyes off the road surface for even a few seconds was foolish. But turning back would have been even more foolhardy.

The precipitation continually alternated between snow, freezing rain, and sleet. Short days in early January meant we had to make the most of our limited drive window—dawn to dusk at a maximum speed of thirty miles per hour. We saw very little of sanded or salted roads. Evidently, most counties/cities had pretty much emptied their stores of sand due to abnormally early winter snowfall. Nothing was in our favor! Except the scenery left by all forms of frozen moisture.

As an artist, my eyes naturally frame paintings and photos in the imagery I experience. When we were able to stop driving, the entire world was a magnet of visual hype for me. Nothing escaped the ice. The detail of countless tiny fragile ice crystals coupled with the soft snowy fields holding ice-laden trees painted the message of perfect peace in the midst of chaos. Small towns emerged from sparkling tree-lined avenues, looking like Norman Rockwell had already been there.

Such storybook places to live spoke volumes of hope to a seriously damaged heart. All the clean white snow, the artistry, the newness of the imagery sparked an electric current of awareness deep within—making me profoundly grateful to be alive on a new day. At some level, I grasped that God had put together all the beauty I could see. Intuitively and intrinsically, I understood that something or someone was protecting us. Considerable time would pass before I knew the sovereignty in the hand behind it all.

I didn’t know my mother very well, at least not as an adult. Mom had the unique ability to make everyone feel genuinely welcome. And each person was made to feel like they were very special. Her cooking was her hallmark, no doubt, but she went way beyond food. If cooking was the trademark for Mom’s hospitality, then friendship was her language of love. Mom and Dad had lived in many places, but in every place they’d lived, they’d made friends. The amazing part was they kept the friends in spite of the distances that resulted with each move. Friendship to them was not a casual thing. They invested time and heart, Dad in his way, Mom in hers—they formed an impressive friendship force. I often wished our family worked as well as their friendships.

Seven intense days in the car with her was definitely the longest and most meaningful adult time we had spent together. She didn’t really know me very well either. As adults, we had a long-distance relationship that spanned multiple moves on my parents’ part and ours. I had been just twenty years old—in my junior year of a fine arts degree program in Columbus, Ohio—when Blake and I had married. Three days later, my parents had moved to Paris, France. Over the next nine years, they had moved six times, and Blake and I had moved three times. Boeing was responsible for all of my parents’ moves. The reasons for our moves were more complicated; this would be my fourth move in nine years.

Until a few weeks earlier, my parents didn’t even know their daughter’s marriage was in grave trouble. I was the only one of their three kids who had not divorced. Each time we connected by phone, Mom would iterate how thankful she was that one of their kids remained stable and married. I didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. Disappointing my parents probably contributed to my stalling a decision to leave an especially abusive situation. The phone call they received saying my marriage was in trouble was news that broke their hearts.

Still, they were supportive and compassionate, unprepared as they were to hear such unwelcome news. They offered help.

I plan to move to Albuquerque just after Christmas, which is only a few weeks away. Timing is important to allow the last ‘family Christmas’ the children might have. Mom, could you fly here and make the drive with me and the children? I might have left right now were it not for the intervening help of the senior minister of a large downtown church we have attended a few times. I explained his intervention and the window of preparation time he had opened.

Talking about such a serious thing did not make sense while driving under severe conditions. Evenings provided the much-needed relief and opportunity to catch up on conversations that should have taken place years sooner. We decided our only requirement of a hotel was an indoor pool. We sat poolside while Hanna and Peter discharged all the pent-up energy they’d stored in a nine-hour drive. Water meant instant games, laughter, and unconstrained release of high energy.

I marveled at the incredible gift these two children were; they were so bright, best friends, and both had already learned to swim. Uncharacteristic of many siblings, they rarely fought or argued. My own sibling relationships were a stark contrast. Mom poured us each a drink of scotch and water. We talked. This became the routine for the length of the journey.

While we had shared a number of holidays and vacation times with my folks over the previous nine years, discussion topics had been light compared to the situation that brought us together for this trip. Having my mother present provided unbelievable relief and comfort in the car, on the trip, in this new chapter, whatever this was going to be! She had no idea the impact her presence was having. The seriously needed mother-daughter relationship was taking on much greater dimensions to include comforting knowledge I was no longer alone. Feelings of friendship with her emerged that I had never felt.

Mom’s best friend, Ginny, was always a fun thought. Their friendship brought warm memories in the midst of an ice storm. The friendship with Doris spanned fifty years and was a tribute to both women. Mom might have a particularly stressful day, and I would watch her unwind on the phone with Doris. What I witnessed was laughter, more laughter, and tears from even more laughter. Or I would sit at a kitchen table in our home or Doris’s, party to an old-fashioned coffee klatch, and listen to the two of them share perspectives on politics, prices, shopping, and family history. The topic didn’t matter. They would talk through it and find common logic, solutions to world problems, and of course, something to laugh about. Laugh hard! What they might not have understood was I would rather have sat at their friendship table than play outside with my friends. Yes, the kitchen table was the place to be when the two of them were together. Maybe Mom and I could enjoy some of this as adults.

I did not want to divorce. Really, really, really did not want a divorce. I’d lingered in a marriage longer than I might have if my distaste for breaking our vows had not been so strong. In hindsight, my dilemma was less about a personal vow to God and more about a commitment to my own integrity.

My parents had a longstanding marriage—the kind everyone wants and one Blake and I had promised to have. Marriage had been the most important commitment I had ever made. After nine years, I was so heavily invested with children and steeped in marital codependency that the option of walking away was not a tolerable one. Besides, who can just up and leave an orphan stranded? I couldn’t, even an unfaithful one—a physically and emotionally abusive one.

Blake’s father abandoned the family when Blake was five years old. A year later, he was placed in foster care, then in a private underfunded children’s home that was dreadful on any scale. His devout Christian mother was moved to a tuberculosis sanitarium, where she died four years later. Once married, my life mission was to make up for all the neglect, abuse, and damage that had happened to the child/man through no fault of his own. Understanding and excusing his adult behaviors was all part of my job.

So calling this move a separation may have been word games, but it was more palatable. A minister in Erie, whom I barely knew, turned my lights on. A change was not really an option—it was imperative. A change required logistical distance to feel safe and to regroup emotionally. It had become apparent that unless I got a grip on life and tried to get healthy, functioning as a mother might not continue much longer. The moment being a mother became more important to me than being married—the choice was made, the corner turned.

Blake and I weathered huge obstacles as we began our life together in Columbus. We were pretty much alone, both still students. He was in graduate school, and I was an undergrad. He would be a dentist in two and a half more years, and I would be a starving artist in another year and a half. He was an orphan, raised in an institution with ninety others. My family was very small and mostly dysfunctional, with parents on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

My younger brother was also in France, and my older sister was married, living in Mobile, Alabama. Long-distance phone calls were rare; iPhones didn’t exist, neither did text messaging or picture exchange. The internet was still a dream in the mind of Al Gore. We had no financial support apart from student loans. Relationships were largely limited to