Friday, April 25, 2014


NOTE FROM ADA BROWNELL: Today I feature another of my Sunday school students out of my class of teens in Lakewood, Colo. Most of those young people have served the Lord in the decades since then and some have gone into ministry. Today's guest is Ronda Hunter Knuth. Her healing testimony was one of those I featured in my book, Confessions of a Pentecostal. As a child her head was caught in a revolving door. She lost some of her physical abilities and the doctor believed she was slowly dying because of the head injury. But one day Ronda's mother knew God heard her prayers and her daughter would be OK, and in a short time Ronda was completely normal.

Years later, Ronda went through one of the most horrific emotional and spiritual challenges of  her life because of her first husband, but God was there.

Perhaps that's why she's able to reach Alzheimer's patients and others with dementia with her love. Old Age and losing the ability to think are stressful, too.

Ronda is a master storyteller. You'll enjoy the white-haired folks who walk, shuffle and dance on the pages of her book. Each has a history, had a loving family, successes, sorrows and triumphs. They smile, laugh, weep, and no matter what their age, have love left to give.

Summary: When Memory Fades 
Here are funny and moving accounts of the wonderful people whose lives have been affected by age and Alzheimer's disease. Sometimes at the close of day, when the lights have been dimmed, and the “good night, sleep tights” have all been said, I sit in the stillness and remember. I’ve seen a lot of people come and go; many I will never forget. Pinehurst Sunrise Senior Living is where I go to live out my love. This place, these people have changed my life. I have learned lessons by watching and listening. I’m surrounded by the best of the best, and a whole lot of memories are stored in my heart and mind. Oh, the wonderful stories I have to tell!


When Ronda Knuth learned that she was to be the 2014 regional recipient of the "Joy in Service" award for the Assisted Living organization where she is employed she questioned, "How is it that I am being given an award for simply loving?" Ronda is passionate about seniors, and is especially drawn to those who contend daily with Alzheimer's disease and other related dementias.

Ronda is a regular contributor to's Global Christian Center web site and to, a subscription-service daily devotional published in the United Kingdom. Her personal life story has been told in, "The Unmasking: Married to a Rapist" by author Kevin Flynn and in "The Triumph Book: Stories of Tragedy Turned into Triumph" by author Melanie Davis.

Born in the rural community of Ft. Morgan, Colorado, Ronda grew up in a home where she was taught to honor senior citizens. That training has served her well in her profession as a Terrace Club Day Program Life Enrichment Manager at Sunrise Senior Living at Pinehurst in Denver, Colorado. She is married (soon to be 30 years), and is the mother of four, mother-in-love of three, and grandmother of four.

Ronda has spoken at numerous area retreats, luncheons, civic and church groups. She has appeared on numerous radio and television programs, including, "The 700 Club," "Sally Jesse Raphael," "Phil Donahue," and "Inside Edition".

Personal web site:


"When Memory Fades" by Ronda Knuth

Broken Pieces
By Ronda Knuth

Broken Pieces

You must be more careful, I scold myself through the tears, you almost missed that one. Pieces of the whole will never do; if He’s to put it back together again, He will need it all.

Bending low, I wrap trembling fingers around the missing sliver and swath it in an old, worn rag, then I tuck the tattered bundle carefully beneath my robe. This is for His eyes only. No one else must see.

I worry, perhaps He will not see me; will not care. If He does not restore my brokenness, all hope is gone. On bended knee I slip inside, and gingerly ease toward the light. It’s a busy place. There’s perfect order and calm, though couriers hustle and bustle careful to do His bidding.

I know He will be busy; He’s always on call – “Please do this . . . Will You help me here? . . . What should I do now? . . . Do You think that You could . . .?”

What if He doesn’t have time for me? I cautiously peek my head around the corner. Oh, how I love Him. What would my life be without Him? For just a moment I catch a glimpse, then the crowd closes and I lose sight of Him. I sigh and quietly bow my head. He IS too busy; I should have known.

A circle of greats surround him - a beloved president, an esteemed evangelist, a renowned speaker. They are movers and shakers, consulting Him on important business. They touch lives for eternity every day. I am so aware as I stand there that I am not them. I’m just me.

My face burns with shame. I shouldn’t have come. I’ve never saved a life, written a book, buried a martyred husband. Most days I’m just car-pooling to games, vacuuming carpets, doing the laundry.

I reach beneath my garment, and touch the old, worn rag. I have nothing to offer but my broken pieces. Perhaps another day I’ll try. Swiping at the hot tears trickling down my cheeks, I stifle a sob as I turn to leave. That’s when I hear it. His voice caressing my name.

I turn, and He is there. All of Heaven senses the urgency of the moment, and stills. He leans intently forward, and with quiet authority speaks, “Come to me, My child.”

I take first one step and then another. As I near, I feel the weight of His presence. He speaks, “Don’t be afraid,” and I bow in humble submission before Him.

“Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna, my Lord! Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and might be unto You, my God, forever and ever.”

He whispers my name once more, and I lift my eyes to His. I read His love for me, holy and pure. He holds out His arms, and I run into His embrace. He folds me close, so close that I hear the cadence of the beating of His heart. It is beating for me.

“I have called your name,” He whispers, “You are mine.”

He knows me, and He loves me still. I weep deep sobs of sorrow and surrender. He pats my shaking shoulders, and gently rubs my back. Not once does He does scold or hurry me along. He does not blow out my flickering flame. He simply understands.
I could stay there forever safe in His embrace. He is my refuge, and His everlasting arms my support. My weeping spent, He holds my face in His hands and gently wipes my tears with His thumb. “Tell me, daughter, why do you weep?”

He knows, I know He knows, but He bids me tell Him still. I need to speak my pain. Then He inclines His ear toward me. “My heart is broken, Father.” I reach beneath my robe and give to Him the worn-out rag. He takes it from me with great care. "What have we here?"

Slowly He folds back the corners exposing the contents I’ve hidden there. I know that I can trust Him, still I tremble at the thought, What will He do now? Will it hurt for Him to heal? I know that He can do anything, but for just a moment I doubt. Maybe this one He can’t fix.

I feel vulnerable in His presence; unworthy of His care. I stutter an apology, "Perhaps I should not have bothered you with something so small."

"Small? Why if it matters to you, it matters to Me."

I hold my breath, waiting for His words. "You trusted me with your pain. You could have carried this and walked on alone, but you brought it instead to Me. You’ve given Me your heart. Thank you. What is it that you would you have Me do?"

"Lord." I whisper, "I want to be whole."

So, He lovingly wraps His fingers around the broken pieces of my heart, and tenderly fits them together.

"Here," He says, "Good as new. Better actually- for once your heart’s been broken it’s much better than before. Now it beats with compassion for those who hurt. It beats with confidence because it’s known My touch. It beats with courage because it knows it never walks alone. It beats with assurance knowing that even if it shatters, I can fix it again."

Then He puts it back in place. I whisper my thanks, and rise from my knees. I can face my day. He’s quieted me with His love. I am His, and He rejoices over me with singing. I’ve been with the Father and I'll never be the same again.

"When Memory Fades" by Ronda Knuth