Jean Marie Faircloth had always been accustomed to “creature comforts” beyond most people’s imaginations. She understood from early on that both sides of her family hailed from aristocratic Southern roots, had access to great wealth and all its trappings, and could boast of generations of military service, back to the Confederate Army and before. Jean loved all things military. It seemed that her meeting and falling in love with a man eighteen years her senior, General Douglas MacArthur, was a match made in heaven. She was just the kind of woman MacArthur would have chosen, if such an opportunity had presented itself.

Although she was a petite woman, she was fearless and confident enough in herself to be traveling alone to Shanghai in 1937.  On the ship was another notable passenger, General MacArthur, bound for the Philippines. The General had retired from a distinguished career in the United States Army in 1937, to become a Philippine Army field marshal advising the Philippine government in preparing them for their upcoming 1946 independence from the United States. Making a conscious decision, Jean skipped her trip to Shanghai and got off at Manila, where MacArthur also disembarked. She and the General maintained an exclusive relationship until their marriage two years later in New York, during MacArthur’s trip home to build support for the defense of the Philippines that never came.

Macarthur’s new wife hit the ground running with her vast knowledge of and love for the military. Jean was an asset to her husband’s position in the Philippines. She was a tireless ambassador of goodwill for the Allies in the South Pacific. And she loved every minute of her role. Quiet and composed, serving as a backdrop and constant support for her husband, Jean Evenings were spent at home in the penthouse built for the General at the posh Manila Hotel. Predictable, regimented, the couple lived their days in service to the people of the Philippines and the United States. When their only child was born, Arthur MacArthur IV, named after his paternal grandfather, the parents doted on him and raised him in a loving—and of course—structured environment.

When the Japanese invaded the Philippines, things changed rapidly. Within a matter of weeks, General MacArthur ordered his troops, including all staff from several hospitals, to move to the densely covered jungle where they would be hidden from the Japanese. The plan was to wait for more American troops to arrive to help vanquish the Japanese army and to destroy their aircraft. No one knew the troops would never arrive. Jean set about closing out the penthouse and preparing for the unknown.

How could this be, now, that this family, emergent from money and privilege, found themselves moving to an underground bunker on the Philippine Island of Corregidor, or “The Rock,” as it was called? How could they decide what to reasonably take along—or more importantly, leave behind—of their seemingly limitless possessions? China and silver? What use would they be? Fine glassware and linens? The Japanese bombing broke tougher glass products than theirs, and the Malinta Tunnel’s ceiling shed fine particles of concrete dust each time the enemy fired mortars at the ground above. And what of little four-year-old Arthur’s toys (mostly military trucks and ships and flying machines)? How can he play with them on a cold concrete floor in whichever portion of “the third lateral tunnel from the east entrance” that would be set up for the MacArthur family to live in? But Jean Macarthur squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and resolved not to complain one bit about their new accommodations. Her husband was the high command of this crazy mission. He was determined to keep the American and Filipino hospital staff and patients, as well as the soldiers fighting on the front line, as safe as possible until American troops came. The sooner the better, she thought. But she was determined to do her part, no matter the cost, to support her husband and keep her son occupied.

MacArthur in the Malinta Tunnel


Sometimes she and the other nurses would talk about how they got here, to this unimaginable situation of creating a “hospital”—if one could call it that—in the middle of this senseless war. But all any of them could do was put one foot in front of the other and do the job they were assigned.

The dark black night descended on Hospital #2 in the Bataan jungle. The canopy of foliage had a few open spots—they all knew where those open spaces were and hoped the Japanese knew nothing about them. The stars shone so brightly through those holes some nights that their beauty made Sally want to cry. Her fear had long since been replaced by a profound sadness and a longing for the meager possessions she left behind in Manila. Sally was now a charge nurse, responsible for the day-to-day treatment and care of over a thousand patients at a time. A few months into the outdoor adventure that was Bataan, Sally contracted malaria Refusing to receive any special treatment, she lay on her cot in the middle of the open-air med-surg ward and gave orders.

Meg Blaine Corrigan is the author of four books: Then I Am Strong: Moving From My Mother’s Daughter to God’s Child, a memoir about growing up in an alcoholic home; Saints With Slingshots: Daily Devotions For The Slightly Tarnished But Perpetually Forgiven Christian, Books One and Two; and Perils of a Polynesian Percussionist, a novel depicting Meg’s time playing drums in a Hawaiian Road Show. Her latest project is to tell the story of her Aunt Ethel “Sally” Blaine Millett, who was an American Army nurse in the Philippines when WWII began. “Sally” joined about a hundred other nurses and 50-some doctors in transporting about two thousand patients from Statsenburg Hospital north of Manila (with more arriving every day) to the jungle on the Bataan Peninsula. They hid the patients from the Japanese for about four months until they were all captured and placed in POW camps for over three years before being liberated by American forces. This blog contains excerpts from the book in real time as Meg is writing and posting a blog once weekly. The book’s title is MERCY MORE THAN LIFE: Sally Blaine Millett, WWII Army Nurse. The anticipated date of publication is spring 2023.Meg’s website is . She lives in a tiny apartment in Little Canada, Minnesota with her species-confused tropical plants and her rescue Carousel Horse, Mr. Ed.


It was soon clear that even Manila was too dangerous for the patients and their caregivers. Things were moving so fast. It was hard to know from minute to minute what orders were coming next. Sally thought wistfully about her suggestion to her commanding officer at dinner just a week ago, that perhaps they would be wise to pull together some warm clothes and other provisions in case they needed to flee the Japanese quickly. Sally was rebuffed. She felt hurt and angry now. Had the officer been holding back the truth? Or had she herself not received the intel that was now so clear to them all?

The Bataan Peninsula is largely covered by dense vegetation. There is a steep mountain range cutting through the area, with Mount Natib, about 4200 feet high in the north, and Mount Bataan, 4700 feet high in the south. Seven-inch tall tarsiers are one of the world’s smallest primates, and their adorable huge eyes study their surroundings, looking for danger. They are harmless but annoying when they become curious, especially when nearby humans are, say, performing a delicate operation on a fellow human. Long-glanded coral snakes are plentiful in the Bataan jungles as well. These are venomous snakes, as are cobras, vipers, and sea snakes, all native to the area, each fully capable of completely ruining a single nurse’s day in a heartbeat. Also, about twenty species of bats make their homes in the peninsula. Probably the most memorable is the giant golden-crowned flying fox, also known as the golden-capped fruit bat. It is one of the largest bat species in the world, weighing about three pounds, and having a “forearm length” of over eight inches. Not a welcome visitor during nighttime patient checks.

Why, one might ask, would the United States Army and Navy want to take patients out into this horrid jungle with potentially deadly species of snakes and many other animals all around them? The answer was clear: the Japanese wouldn’t be looking for them there, and hopefully, the Americans could hold off until more troops were sent in to rescue them.

Christmas Day was the first day several nurses were sent out to Bataan to begin setting up a hospital in a tiny town called Limay. At the same time as this new outdoor hospital was being set up, the Army was trying to get beds sent to what would be called simply, “Jungle Hospital.” This facility was soon renamed Hospital Number Two. Hospital Number One had been set up at a place called Little Baguio, which had been a Philippine Army engineers’ headquarters. Hospital Number One had a building and double-decker beds were built inside. The doctors and nurses assigned to Hospital Number One tended to their patients inside this building.

Sally was assigned to Hospital Number Two. They had no buildings. They had no double-decker beds. They had mattresses lying on the ground. There were no bedside tables, no chairs, no furniture at all to speak of. The only protection against the elements was a makeshift covering over the medical records.

“This is the bleakest affair I ever saw in my life,” Sally said the day she arrived.

Water was drawn from a creek, by the nurses, for use for their patients. The only baths given to the patients were with cold water from that creek. Water was heated for cooking, but not for bathing. The nurses and officers bathed in the same creek where they got water for their patients, and the water was just as cold.

Within a short period of time, there were eighteen wards in Hospital Number Two, strung out along a small river called the Reall. Whenever the wards all filled up, a bulldozer would come in and cut a pathway through the jungle. Just the bottom foliage was cut; the canopy was left alone so the Japanese could not see where the Americans were hiding.

“I felt completely protected,” Sally said later. “The canopy completely obliterated our view of the airplanes flying over and their view of us.  I loved it! I guess what you can’t see can’t hurt you!”

Shortly after the American and Filipino forces began to set up these open-air field hospitals, the commanding officer of the Nurse Corps requested permission to requisition smaller sized of khaki pants and shirts. It was not practical, let alone comfortable, to wear starched white nurses’ dresses and caps in an outdoor hospital. Permission was granted, and the women became the first nurses in military history to wear khakis in the line of duty. Angelo performed his “procurement magic” by producing khaki pants and shirts, both short and long sleeved, in abundance so the nurses would have plenty to choose from. No one questioned his need for the clothing; it was clear that it was the only solution for the nurses who were working tirelessly under very difficult conditions.

Another change that may have been more subtle was a shift in attitude for the nurses, from shift-work caregivers to “guerilla nursing care,” beating back jungle vegetation as it grew like magic in and around the area where the patients lay. There seemed to be nothing—absolutely nothing—that kept the nurses from their appointed duty. No matter how hot the jungle got, no matter how few medical supplies they had to work with, the nurses brought professionalism, patience, and most of all, a special kind of healing to their patients lying in front of them on the jungle floor. There was literally no sacrifice these women were not willing to make to foster a restorative atmosphere in their “wards.”


The first time Clark Field was bombed by the Japanese, everyone on duty knew the plan. At the hospital, the patients were to be moved to the basement of the building where they had the best chance of not being injured. Several storage rooms had been cleared of furniture, scrubbed clean, and made ready for the patients. The bombs kept falling, but not one hit the hospital. The Japanese kept up a continuous barrage every day for almost three weeks. And each time, everyone had to take cover. This lasted from December 8th until the 24th, Christmas Eve. The day before, Sally and a new nurse named Ann were off duty. Ann had been moved from Stermmer Hospital to help out. They decided to go swimming, and both being Midwest girls, they thought donning their bathing suits in December was crazy.  They had a grand time. It was good they didn’t get caught because the head nurse would not have thought it was cute at all.

The next day, things began to change rapidly. The bombs were getting closer and closer to the hospital, and the powers that be decided the patients and the medical staff had to be evacuated. The patients were loaded onto trains, and the medical staff came on board to make sure IVs were still inserted and bandages had not slipped. A small number of doctors and nurses stayed on the train and rode with the patients to Manila. The others were getting ready to board a bus when the air raid siren went off. They all had to take cover and there was a great scramble to get someplace safe. Sally saw a culvert and thought that was a terrific place to take cover. She crawled into a drainage pipe so small, she could not use her arms to move forward; she had to shimmy in. She took a deep breath and then realized there was an iguana not much smaller than her staring face to face at her. She tried to shimmy right back out of the culvert, but she was wearing riding boots, and one got stuck. The iguana did not look happy. Sally couldn’t move. It was a wartime standoff between woman and lizard. Sally shimmied harder and finally got her foot unstuck. She nearly bolted out of the culvert and came face to face with the cook from the nurses’ barracks.

“Oh, Missy Blaine, Missy Blaine, Missy Blaine!” he said, wringing his hands. “I want to help you but I could not do so!”

“I’m okay now,” Sally said, “and the bombs seem to have quit for the moment. Let’s make a run for the buses.”

HEY, EVERYONE! I’m pleased to announce that we have a winner of the Name The Book Contest! My friend Michele Hein submitted the winning title: MERCY MORE THAN LIFE: SALLY BLAINE MILLETT, WWII NURSE. For having the winning title, Michele will receive an autographed and personalized copy of the book when it is published, and she will be included in the acknowledgments page as the person who chose the title. CONGRATULATIONS, MICHELE!


Why were the generals so insistent that we engage in this war? I do not believe it is right, but they keep telling me this is a golden opportunity that cannot be allowed to pass by! I try talking to them, but they insult me with their ‘knowledge and experience.’ They treat me like a child, as if I don’t know right from wrong. How dare they say these things behind my back? I hear from others what is being said. But Japanese emperors are divine, and they know that. I do not wish to be forced into signing onto something I do not believe in nor stand for. I know what is right: we should not be persuaded to enter this unholy allegiance with the others who believe they will rule the world. Mussolini and Hitler think they are some sort of gods, but they are not like our Japanese rulers. Japan should have normal relations with other nations, and not bludgeon their societies into oblivion because we think we are stronger! And if we don’t prevail in this horrid war they are proposing, what happens then? Do we lose our way of life and suffer untold death and destruction in our own land? What then have we proven? Nothing! The French philosopher Voltaire said, “To the living we owe respect but to the dead we owe only the truth.” I will meet with these war mongers and tell them I do not approve of this aggression towards other nations, I will make them understand!

Hirohito paced the floor as his thoughts consumed him.

But Prime Minister Hideki Tojo and the stubborn generals bullied the young emperor to the point where he turned a blind eye to their plans to bomb Pearl Harbor, Clark Field, and many other targets. The genie was out of the bottle now, and there was simply no way to put it back inside. This time the abyss did not hiss.

The abyss growled.


I have “gone down a rabbit hole” today. What this means is that I started out sincerely doing research for Aunt Sally’s book, but I got lost reading about things I don’t intend to use, but they are interesting, nonetheless. Today’s “rabbit hole” is about the history of the military nursing staff in the United States. So here goes…

The thirteen original colonies which became the United States of America organized the Continental Army to fight the Revolutionary War of 1776. “Nurses” were needed to care for the sick and wounded soldiers. They were mothers, wives, and sisters of the troops. Their medical training was scant, and some were more acquainted with assisting their neighbors in labor and delivery. They cared for military casualties in tent hospitals and requisitioned private homes. They also cleaned the makeshift dispensaries, did laundry, made the meals, and managed the inventory of needed supplies.

Between the Revolutionary War and the Civil War, military nurses were not needed. But when war broke out between our own citizens, the battles were widespread in the North and the South, and casualties required nurses again. More than 3000 female and about 500 male volunteers worked dressing wounds, feeding, and bathing patients, and attending the dying. Many nurses fell ill themselves since they seldom got enough rest and were exposed to contagious diseases. In 1898, when the Spanish American War commenced, fifteen hundred contract nurses were mobilized, working to quell yellow fever, malaria, and other tropical diseases. These professional nurses’ efforts ushered in a permanent female nurse corps in the Army.

After the Spanish American War, the number of Army nurse corps members shrank to 220. The number rose to 450 during the Mexican border uprising in 1916. World War I saw nursing numbers swelling to 21,460 officers with 10,000 serving oversees in 1918. African American nurses were also admitted to the Nursing Corps for the first time. But segregation policies prevented them from rising in the military ranks until the War was over. By that time, it was estimated that one-third of all American nurses had served in the Army.

US military nurses continued working in hospitals and mobile units, displaying flexibility and focus on a variety of assignments from hospital trains in France to transport ships carrying wounded soldiers across the Atlantic. They were stationed at permanent facilities in the continental US, France, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines. In 1920, Army nurses were allowed to progress from second Lieutenant to Major, although their pay remained half that of men of the same rank. From patients to active generals, the nurses’ outstanding performance was celebrated. This support, along with organized nurses lobbying for better treatment and higher pay, led to improving opportunities for these women. Their diligence began to pay off, but still lagged behind the men in service.

Onto this scene emerged our heroine, Ethel “Sally” Blaine Millett.


Source: American Nurse Corps Association


JacobJacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak….Then he said, “Let me go….” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” Genesis 32:24, 26-28


Jacob wrestled with “a man” on the banks of a river on his way back to Canaan. Various interpretations of this story portray the “man” as an angel, a prophetic vision, the Christ, or even God the Father. Jacob prevailed in this wrestling match, which seems unlikely to happen if the “man” were God. But prevail he does, and then this “man” asks Jacob his name. When Jacob tells him, the “man” tells Jacob his name is now to be “Israel” (which literally means “contends with God). Jacob then believes that he has “seen God face to face, and yet (his) life is preserved.”


This story reminds me about all the times, mostly in the middle of the night, when I have “contended with God.” When sleep evades me, my thoughts often turn to the things in my life that do not seem fair or right. I discuss these things with God, often with tears and silent rage. “Why did a twelve-year old girl at our church have to die?” “What can I do to help my four-year old great-granddaughter with her delayed speech when I live so far away?” “How can I stop using swear words when I get angry?” “How can I stop getting angry?” “When will I be able to balance my checkbook and clean out my closets?” Usually, I end up making peace with God for the moment, and then I sing myself to sleep. I almost never feel that I have “prevailed” in my struggles with God, not because He is stronger than I am, but because He is more patient and forgiving than I am. His grace has always allowed me to commune with Him through prayer. I eventually come to a place where I accept that seeking His will is a better choice than my continuing to complain.


Lord, You showed us through Jacob that it’s okay to “wrestle” with You. Thank You for loving us even then. Amen


Both candid and humorous, insightful and ponderous, Meg Blaine Corrigan’s memoir, Then I Am Strong: Moving From My Mother’s Daughter to God’s Child, takes the reader through her chaotic childhood with an alcoholic mother and enabling father to a violent assault that nearly ended her life. She populates her tale with vivid descriptions of her parents, other influential adults, the attacker, and her disastrous first marriage. But this story has a happy ending, when Meg finds solace in a God she didn’t think she’d ever believe in, when He gently helps her heal from her past lives and move into the best times of her life. Meg has also written a novel, Perils of a Polynesian Percussionist, about said first marriage, as well as a Christian devotional, Saints With Slingshots: Daily Devotions for the Slightly Tarnished But Perpetually Forgiven Christian, comprised of blogs from this site. Stay tuned for sequels to her last two books! All of her works may be purchased through her website, or from .


WorryDo not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Look at the birds of the air….your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? Matthew 6:25-34


I have always said my spiritual gift is worrying. Being raised by an alcoholic mother and co-dependent father, I grew up assuming the worst would always happen in my life because that’s all I ever knew. I’m working to grow and change, and I want to share some things I’ve learned.


Matthew 6:25-34 was one of the verses my husband and I used in our marriage ceremony. The passage reminds me that it is human nature to worry some of the time, so I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. But Jesus is saying that God cares even for the little birds in the sky, so why would we doubt that He cares for each of us? Yes, bad things happen in life, but our faith will and does sustain us, even in the worst of times. A friend said recently that, when a bird lands on the highest branch of a tree, the bird doesn’t trust the branch; he trusts his wings. And another friend, who happens to be a retired biology teacher, added that a bird’s wings are porous so they can be both light and strong. A third friend added that our attitudes and perceptions are “an inside job.” In other words, it’s not the branches in life that we trust; it’s our own wings—the strength we possess inside—that keeps us afloat.


Mark Twain once said, “I’ve been through some terrible things in my life, and some of them actually happened.” Worry must be viewed as a tremendous waste of time. If we worry in advance, we tell ourselves, we will somehow be more prepared if something bad does happen. But our best hope is just as likely to occur as our worst fear. We would do well to think, “What is the most productive thing I can do at this moment?” In the words of A.J. Cronin, “Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow; it only saps today of its strength.”


Lord, when I start to worry, remind me of those birds You care so much for and strengthen my wings of faith. Amen


Both candid and humorous, insightful and ponderous, Meg Blaine Corrigan’s memoir, Then I Am Strong: Moving From My Mother’s Daughter to God’s Child, takes the reader through her chaotic childhood with an alcoholic mother and enabling father to a violent assault that nearly ended her life. She populates her tale with vivid descriptions of her parents, other influential adults, the attacker, and her disastrous first marriage. But this story has a happy ending, when Meg finds solace in a God she didn’t think she’d ever believe in, when He gently helps her heal from her past lives and move into the best times of her life. Meg has also written a novel, Perils of a Polynesian Percussionist, about said first marriage, as well as a Christian devotional, Saints With Slingshots: Daily Devotions for the Slightly Tarnished But Perpetually Forgiven Christian, comprised of blogs from this site. Stay tuned for sequels to her last two books! All of her works may be purchased through her website, or from .


Tara_WestoverThe righteous hate what is false, but the wicked make themselves a stench and bring shame on themselves. Proverbs 13:5


Of all the lies in the world—individual, corporate, political and all the rest—some of the most disturbing lies I’ve ever heard were told by Tara Westover’s father, recounted in her gripping memoir, Educated. Westover was raised in a family of fundamentalist Mormon survivalists on a remote mountain farm in Idaho. Tara describes her father as one of the most dysfunctional individuals ever to walk the face of the earth. He believed the US government could not be trusted and often told of other Mormon families who had been murdered at the hands of law enforcement agents. No one could be trusted outside the family, but the father himself could be trusted least of all. He regarded his numerous children as free labor, engaging them in work that put their lives at risk daily. Numerous injuries occurred under his watch, but he did not believe in taking his family members to a hospital. All injuries and illnesses were treated at home by Tara’s mother, who studied folk medicine. An older brother who had suffered several closed head injuries preyed on Tara and filled her life with terror. Because the family did not believe in public education, Tara was seventeen the first time she set foot in a traditional classroom. But a spark in her spirit and the example of another brother seeking schooling set Tara on a journey to obtain a formal education. She completed advanced degrees at both Harvard and Cambridge, finding that education was her way out of her former way of life.


Tara’s father believed himself to be more righteous than anyone else alive. He perpetrated horrendous lies and egregious treatment on his children, creating a profoundly dysfunctional family. Tara and one brother were the only ones who were able to escape and make lives for themselves. But their freedom was hard won, and their healing will need to be ongoing.


Proverbs 13:5 provides a picture into what God thinks about wicked people, especially those who mislead children and the downtrodden. Matthew 12:37 says, “On the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified…(or)…condemned.”


Gentle Healer, make a way where there is no way for abused children to find peace. Amen


Meg Blaine Corrigan tells stories of wisdom, strength, fear, joy and risk-taking. Daughter of a raging alcoholic mother, and survivor of sexual assault at gunpoint, Corrigan has shaken a dismal past and flung herself into the arms of Christ, Who sustains her in her daily walk of grace. She shares with her listeners her incredible story of surviving and thriving through many trials during her seven decades walking this fragile earth. She has been described as a Renaissance Woman, integrating her formal training in psychology and counseling, an enlightening experience as a percussionist for a Polynesian show troupe, and most recently as an inspirational author and blogger, to the delight of all who read her work and hear her speak. Her exposure to many life experiences has enriched her passion for spreading Christ’s word and helping other trauma survivors. She has a master’s degree in Guidance and Counseling and thirty-plus years of experience in the field of counseling and social work.  She lives in Lake Elmo, Minnesota, with the love of her life, Patrick, and their formerly disenfranchised rescue dog Ginger.



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Make me to know Your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in Your truth, and teach me, for You are the God of my salvation; for You I wait all day long. Psalm 25:4-5


When I was young, I had a “bomb proof” horse named Lito. Nothing bothered that little horse; she never fussed or bucked or reared up or even tried to nip me. She was as trustworthy as the day is long, but I didn’t really appreciate her until one day my friend and I were riding on a trail in the Colorado mountains near where we lived. I was enjoying the smooth gate Lito always delivered, until suddenly, she did a “Boot Skootin’ Boogie” sideways for about ten yards, into the grass and brush off the trail. I started to scold her when my friend said, “Look! There is a rattler crossing the path where she was!” Sure enough, Lito had dodged a true disaster without dumping me off her back in the process. A Western Diamondback Rattlesnake was slithering across the gravel into the grass. Since rattlers always travel in pairs, my friend and I reigned our horses in a different direction to avoid both the snakes. And I gave Lito an extra measure of grain that evening in appreciation for her quick and safe reaction.


How many times in my life has God intervened when I didn’t even realize I was in danger, or that I was about to make a foolish choice with dire consequences? I can think of dozens, beginning with God’s mighty rescue when I narrowly escaped with my life from the hands of a gun-wielding rapist. Throughout my days, God has steered me away from opportunities that might have looked good from the outside but would likely have been disastrous if I had chosen the wrong path. Potential job opportunities that fell apart, boyfriends that were obviously not a good fit for me, purchases that I didn’t make, and on and on. Time after time, God has been there to divert me from metaphorical rattlesnakes in my path (often traveling in pairs!).


Psalm 25 is a testimony to the wisdom of following God’s path. The psalmist asks God to make known the truest ways to follow, and the wisdom that only God can impart.


Sweet Lord, save us from rattlesnakes and wayward ways. Amen


Both candid and humorous, insightful and ponderous, Meg Blaine Corrigan’s memoir, Then I Am Strong: Moving From My Mother’s Daughter to God’s Child, takes the reader through her chaotic childhood with an alcoholic mother and enabling father to a violent assault that nearly ended her life. She populates her tale with vivid descriptions of her parents, other influential adults, the attacker, and her disastrous first marriage. But this story has a happy ending, when Meg finds solace in a God she didn’t think she’d ever believe in, when He gently helps her heal from her past lives and move into the best times of her life. Meg has also written a novel, Perils of a Polynesian Percussionist, about said first marriage, as well as a Christian devotional, Saints With Slingshots: Daily Devotions for the Slightly Tarnished But Perpetually Forgiven Christian, comprised of blogs from this site. Stay tuned for sequels to her last two books! All of her works may be purchased through her website, or from .


Tolerance for AmbiguityWho is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge? Gird up your loins like a man, I will question you, and you shall declare to Me. Job 38:2-3


In my master’s program for counseling, we studied “tolerance for ambiguity,” or the ability to manage uncertainty in which an outcome is unknown. Life is full of situations when we are not certain what will happen. A 2018 study at Brown University found that people who can handle uncertainty are more likely to trust others and cooperate in seeking solutions to problems. This makes sense because trusting others means we have to take a risk that what they say to us is true and what they say they will do, they will do. This trust allows us to work with others to solve problems, within our families or work or church. Embarking on group projects automatically means we don’t know the exact outcome, But sometimes the outcome can be much more than we expected or hoped for.


A case study in tolerance for ambiguity is the Bible story of Job. Psychology Today Magazine columnist Dr. Mark Banschick has an interesting commentary on how Job, a man with faith, health, wealth, wisdom, and a large and close family experiences numerous undeserved traumas. The book opens with God telling Satan what a good man Job is. Satan challenges God that surely Job will not maintain his faith if he loses everything. God says, “You’re on,” and the tragedy begins. Job loses livestock, possessions, family, his own health and much more…but he never once denounces God. Then Job’s “friends” arrive. They argue, “You must have sinned (really bad),” “There’s a grand plan (and you don’t know it),” “You’re really mad at God (so admit it).” But still Job persists in his faith. He asks God what’s going on, and God answers him loud and clear. In fact, in Chapter 38, God wallops Job: “Who do you think you are? YOU didn’t create the universe and set the world in motion!” Job might have been terrified of God’s judgment, but what this faithful, good man saw was that God cared enough to come down and be with Job in his sorrow and pain. And that’s what He does for all of us when we experience trauma.


Almighty God, we thank You that you comfort us when we are afflicted and traumatized. Amen


Meg Blaine Corrigan is the author of three books: Then I Am Strong: Moving From My Mother’s Daughter to God’s Child; Perils of a Polynesian Percussionist; and Saints With Slingshots: Daily Devotions for the Slightly Tarnished But Perpetually Forgiven Christian. She holds a Master’s Degree in Counseling from the University of New Mexico and has over thirty years’ experience working with survivors of domestic violence, sexual assault, war veterans, and other trauma survivors.  Her books may be purchased through her website, or from .