Plagued by a "thorn in the flesh," a woman looks for a church teaching the pure law and gospel.

"Mommy, what does 'thorn in the flesh' mean?" I can distinctly remember asking my mother that question when I was a little girl. I was probably in elementary school at the time. I had heard about St. Paul and his thorn in the flesh either in Sunday school or Bible school.

My mother explained to me that a thorn in the flesh was a sickness or condition for which there was no cure. Because there was no cure, if you had it, you just had to live with it. The pictures from my Sunday school leaflets and Bible school books of blind and lame men and women in biblical garb flooded my mind. I wondered if St. Paul was lame and walked with one of those canes in the pictures.

I was blessed to be raised in a devoutly Christian home and grew up as a strict Missouri Synod Lutheran in Maryland. Our family went to church whenever there was a service. We went to every other function as well. Our family life revolved around the church. All of our aunts, uncles, and cousins attended the same church. In fact, the sign in front of the church was donated by our family.

Our family was musically inclined, so I took piano lessons as a child. When I became a teenager I played the piano for the Sunday school opening services. Then my parents wisely decided that I should take organ lessons. Amazingly, I was called to play when I was about 16 when our organist's wife went into labor. I was dreadful, but I got through it.

In my senior year of college, I met Alan, the man I was to marry. He was raised in a Russian Orthodox church and had a very strong Christian foundation. When we got engaged, I asked him to become a Lutheran. Actually my father insisted. My dad was what you might call a "bullheaded German"—a name that has been applied to me over 44 years of marriage on several occasions. Dad thought that anyone worth their salt was German and certainly should be Lutheran. Alan became a Lutheran.

A month after we were married, we moved to Clarksburg, W.Va., where Alan was transferred. We quickly discovered that Lutherans are in the minority in West Virginia, but we found a small Missouri Lutheran mission about 30 miles away. We attended the mission, where I became the organist. Our first two sons were baptized in that church. When the mission closed, we had to find another Lutheran church. Our only option was an Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) church in Clarksburg, so we joined. At the time the ELCA was still focusing on the law and gospel, so we still felt that our souls were being nourished. Our third son and our daughter were baptized there. I was an organist and a choir director in that church.