And then Yolanda Adams, the gospel singer, hit the scene with her song that challenged "everything that has breath [to] praise God" by saying "Hallelujah" because "Hallelujah is the highest praise. " Her song made me think about my personal relationship with God. I consider myself a faith-filled believer, read Scripture and devotionals daily, and attend worship and Bible study. So why did I struggle so much in giving God His highest praise? After all, it is just one word, right?

Wrong. God's wordsevery one of themare significant. If you research you will find out how important God's words are. Consider the word "Amen": We say it to end our prayers or to show support for something someone has said (as in, "Amen, Preacher!"). The word "Amen" has three meanings: 1) it is used to sanction prayer (I Kings 1:36); 2) it is used to enforce a statement (Nehemiah 5:13); and 3) it is used as a title of Jesus Christ (Revelation 3: 14). In the book of Psalms, we find the word Selah 71 times; this word is used as both a musical term and a meditative term and in both cases it directs us to pause and reflect for a moment.

In my personal search for meaning, I prayed. I asked my pastor and my church family for prayer; I asked outwardly for direction and inwardly for guidance and wisdom. In response, God showed me His glory by providing for my needs in all my circumstances; I found myself giving testimony to His goodness and mercy and before I knew it, there it was: Hallelujah, the highest praise.

The word Hallelujah has been dissected and defined in various ways, but it means "Praise ye the Lord"; it is first seen in the Psalms (104:35) in reference to judgment of the wicked. I realized at the moment I read this that I was not a part of the group mentioned here because Jesus paid the price for my sin, making me a clean slate before the Lord. And for that I definitely must give the highest praise. For that, wethe body of believerscan all say "Hallelujah"!

Andree' Robinson-Neal lives in Southern New Jersey with her husband Christopher and their children; she is currently working on her doctoral degree in Educational Leadership and Change.

Delivered from Death Row
Pamela Williams-Paige
May 2004

Galatians 3:1-5 To be a receiver of God’s grace, it must be heard by faith.

Jesus, having been placarded on the cross, announced publicly that He was paying my sin debts!  He did for me what I could not do for myself!  The Galatians were doing what should have been both unthinkable and unreasonable.  Their faith in the finished work of Calvary had delivered them from the stronghold of sin and its final consequences.  Why would they entangle themselves in something that had no strength to give them what they really needed?  All they had was the law.  It only unveiled what was once hidden under the cloak of ignorance.  It was the Law that brought death. 

I was guilty and condemned to death.  I was placed in a holding cell waiting the carrying out of a just sentence.  Why do I admit the sentence was just? Because I was a sinner.  I had broken the Law.  I was a transgressor in every sense of the word! 

That place was dark and dingy.  It had never seen the light day.  It stank of the memories of sinners gone before me.  My lungs were filled with the smell of death.  A small cubicle space was all I had to spend my final house in.  Hope?  What was that?  What could I hope for?  It was useless now.  All my so-called friends did not know my name anymore. 

When I was arrested for my sin, it was day.  Down there, time was lost.  The hours went by quickly.  I never realized that day was over and night had fallen.  Why?  Because there was no day there.  Not in my cubicle of condemnation.  Only darkness!  Its nature had consumed me secretly and deceptively!  I thought I had been walking in light.  My cubicle served to remind me that I had been walking in darkness that caused me to be blind and ignorant.  Blind and ignorant where it really mattered--my spirit.  So alone I sat in my little cubicle.  I awaited death.

After all the achievements and successes in my life, I realized that they were nothing more than dung.  Empty black holes of self-deification at the expense of someone’s self-esteem and self-confidence.  They were not my friends.  Rather my enemies haunting my dreams as I lay on my bed in my cubicle awaiting death.  All that I had done to glorify myself came flashing back in those dark hours as I awaited the end of my life.  I sang songs, or I tried singing songs that used to make me feel good.  Now I only felt a deepening despair and the abyss of hopelessness opened her wide hungry mouth to me. 

As I accepted her invitation and began to accept the cool clamminess of the inside of her mouth, something happened!  By now, I had closed my eyes and had become weary of fighting off the tortuous visions of my reckless disobedient ways when it happened. 

Suddenly a light shone in that dark cubicle of mine.  Where the light came from I never knew.  I felt new strength in my legs.  The shackles on my legs were broken.  My anklebones were no longer weak, and my feet felt strong.  All the torturous pain was gone!  The Anointing of God flowed down my head and face unto my new body.  It was a never-ending flow.  I looked down at my feet where a pool of overflow had begun to form.  Yet none was wasted.  The pool was filling up around me.  I soon found myself immersed in the Anointing of the Lord.

When my pool reached its overflow point, it spilled over into the next cubicle where another lost soul was.  They had been on death row like me.  When they felt the overflow, they were delivered too!  Then I realized what had happened.  I had been delivered from death row.  Now I was to become a vessel of Anointing to minister to someone else.  I had no need to be selfish and think that I would run out of this oil.  As long as I told others about Christ, the overflow would continue.  However, when I tried to hold back for myself, it would begin to dry up.  So then, to maintain myself meant that I had to give it away by touching someone else’s life.  So then, I serve a God who is more than enough!

I was going to die.  My doctor told me that I was going to live -- but I was not convinced.  Like falling into an endless, cold, murky well, finding a way out to smell the fresh cut grass and feel the wind on my face seemed hopeless.  I was drowning and no one could save me.

That was 22 years ago.

I often think about those dark days and wonder about how the Lord saved me. Healing from my disease included in-depth conversations and prayer with my minister, journal writing, and reading the Bible.

The year after my mother died from ovarian cancer, I began a new job and busied myself in becoming the perfect employee.  I lost 20 pounds and broke up with my boyfriend.  The work I chose was difficult, exhausting, and emotionally damaging.  Common sense told me to quit, but I didn’t want to be a failure, like I was in school before dyslexia became a diagnosis.

As the gray spider web of depression gradually trapped me, agoraphobia and obsessive compulsive disorders added to my mental breakdown. Since paranoia may be a symptom of agoraphobia, I became a recluse and couldn¹t drive my car or go out alone.  I was the child again, phobic, distrustful, and lonely.

Medication was helpful, although fear that the doctor was trying to poison me crept into my thoughts.

How could God take away my mother, the only person I trusted, and leave me to suffer like this? Some friends told me that she was taken away for a reason that only God knew.  He had a plan for me, they said. At the time, while I was wavering between life and death, this explanation for my loss made me angry.  I believed that God loved me, yet watching my mother die left me confused.

In my journal, I began writing my mother letters.  While creating my prose, I felt like she never left me. Her spirit is right beside me, encouraging me throughout life. Since her death, I think that she’s in a happier place, free from disease and watching over me.  In her angelic form, her gentle hand guided me through my illness until I could see the leaves turn colors and enjoy walking down the street on a cool autumn day.  She smiled at me when I took my marriage vows, approved when I began teaching creative writing, and preened when my first novel was published.

Years later, I know that she is proud of me. She was a talented oil painter and homemaker. I’ve fulfilled dreams that she didn’t have the courage to achieve for herself.

Despite living with depression and obsessive compulsive disorder, I’m able to work, write, travel, watch the sunrise, stargaze at the heavens and enjoy the wonders that God has created for us.

I’ve thought about those well-meaning friends who believed that my mother’s death would be meaningful. They were right. No matter how tired and burned out I feel from every day work and living, each day is a gift from our Lord.  God has a plan for us.  Live each day to your fullest, and be kind to yourself and others.  Find peace with prayer, spiritual guidance, journaling and the Bible.

The verses from Footprints are some of the most beautifully accurate words to describe how God carries us through times we think He isn't there.  I had one of those times, for a brief moment, when I lost total faith in God -- until I realized I was given a gift from Him.

Our son was born with Down syndrome in 1978.  When I found out his special needs, I realized that I was not able to do this alone.  I prayed and asked God why He would allow a child to be born with such limitations.  My prayer was one of questioning why God chose me and why He chose my son to have this happen to.

I realized that I had to get past the doubt and anger.  I wasn't sure how, but I knew I had to or I would lose my faith forever.  Moving forward on what I believe was faith, I did the only thing I could -- assume that our son was a gift from God, and named him after that meaning.  His name is Johnathan.  Every time I waiver in my faith or question God's motives, I look at Johnathan, and whisper his name.  I know then that we are not alone.

There are so many reasons for our faith in God, none better than our children.

Janine Carter-Kleeschulte is the mother of five sons and two daughters. She is a grandmother, a freelance writer and a paralegal.