The Shift: The True Story Of How One Businesswoman Left Everything Behind And Changed The Lives Of Thousands

| September 22, 2016

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A memoir of overcoming pain, fear and doubt, and allowing faith to lead the way to a miraculous life.

You can only resist God’s call for so long. Ask Moses, ask Paul… ask MaryAnne Connor.

As the owner of a successful real estate marketing firm, MaryAnne Connor, appeared to have it all. A happy marriage, the respect of her peers and a thriving career. But denial was her stronghold, and her enemy. She suffered from chronic pain, a dependency on pain medication and her marriage was failing.

And then there were God’s whispers. They were getting louder. He wanted her to shift to a life of helping others. But how could He use her when she was so broken?

After years of resistance, she surrendered to His call, left everything behind and stepped onto the darkest streets of her city.  There she found a kinship with other broken-hearted souls and the burning desire to help the poor and hungry. And so the genesis of NightShift Street Ministries began, along with an incredible series of miracles to conquer every obstacle put in her path.

Purchase The Shift today, walk in MaryAnne’s footsteps and take a remarkable journey to a place of love, hope & purpose.

Excerpt from Chapter 1 – Snowstorm

I didn’t want the pastor to drop the church key into my hand. I didn’t want to be in charge of the prostitutes and pimps, drug dealers and addicts who’d come into church to stay overnight to get out of the storm. Homeless people frightened me. I didn’t know what to say to them. I certainly didn’t want to touch them.

Please, I am just a tiny, blonde lady in nail polish and lip-gloss. I like going to spas and nice lunches. I was getting over a failed marriage; I was trying to reboot my real estate marketing company. I was to address the National Association of Home Builders (NAHB) Builders’ Show in Las Vegas about how to increase profits. I was trying to become America’s leading real estate marketing consultant and get my own cable show. And now I was in a decaying street mission that smelled of wet clothes and unwashed derelicts, with the filthiest washroom in Whalley that reeked of urine and feces (I could barely step in there), with more and more scary people—many of them armed with knives—coming in the church doors. I didn’t want this. I wanted my broken life back. I wanted to be in my little rented cottage in upscale White Rock. Safe. And warm.

Well, not so warm.

That’s how it started.

It was January 2004 and a sudden onset of winter had hit the normally balmy British Columbia coast. Vancouver dipped to minus 12.2°C with a wind that made it feel like minus 20°C, the coldest day in seven years. It was one super-sized, super-charged arctic air mass that punished the coast with every conceivable type of severe winter condition: raging blizzards, freezing rain, piles of snow, numbing wind chill, black ice, flash freezes, and sustained bouts of severe cold.

One night during the storm, I tiptoed across the icy floor of my bedroom in my bare feet to the bathroom. Angry gusts of wind, blowing snow and arctic air blasted the sides of my much-loved but ancient cottage. The thin walls trembled. Windows shook. I dove back under the covers, pulled my soft feather duvet over my head, and settled back into the warmth of my comfy bed. I rolled over sleepily and settled back into my dream.

Seconds later, eyes wide open, my thoughts returned to the street. This was going to be one of those nights. Sleepless.

Where are they sleeping tonight?

The homeless people, just thirty minutes away on the streets of Whalley, the City of Surrey’s inner city.

I flipped to the other side. Dug down deeper.

There are people out there without a roof over their heads. In this atrocious weather! That’s just wrong.

Yes, I know, I answered my thoughts, but I was cozy.

“Somebody should do something.”

My heart skipped a beat. Awkward silence. Weakly, I whispered, “Was that someone me, God?

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