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He must become greater

15/10/2019

He must become greater; I must become less. John 3:30

This true story comes from Sam Alasia Adrea from the Solomon Islands and Fiji. He desires to share his story to show that it is the Lord who convicts us of wrongdoing and that He has power to deliver us. For we all have sinned and fallen short of God’s glory, but Jesus is faithful to forgive and set us free.

My story is based on the true miracle power I saw with my naked eyes during Easter night, the third day when Christ resurrected. On that last night of Easter in 2017, I was staying at my big brother’s home in Suva, Fiji. The property consisted of a house with a separate garage beside it and a fence surrounding both.

My brother was going out to visit a friend and, as he left, he told me to lock the fence gate behind him and give the key to my sister-in-law. The fence gate was big and black, about seven metres directly in front of the garage. After my brother had gone, I did exactly as instructed: I locked the padlock on the gate and went into the house.

‘Here’s the key,’ I said to my sister-in-law.

She looked over and responded, ‘Yeah, just put it to where we usually put it.’

The usual spot was an aluminium hook near the T.V. I hung it there and, then, desiring to be alone, I left the house and went back inside the garage. It must have been about 9 or 10 p.m. I sat down in the quietness of the garage and from where I sat, I could still see outdoors. The garage light shone into the night’s darkness, illuminating the gate and the driveway. I would be able to see any person who walked outside the gate, past the driveway and towards the main road.

My mind told me to stay alert and keep watch. Just in case. If anyone did pass by, I could reach for my phone or light a cigarette. These actions would be my bluff. I didn’t want anyone to catch me in the act of what I was about to do. Especially my brother.

I sat there and started to sniff glue. This was my secret pleasure, a habit which had begun several years earlier when I was in high school. Every time I sniffed glue, my body would relax, and I’d feel strong, active and refreshed. My emotions would calm with such a sweet, nice sensation. But afterwards, regret always consumed me. It left me feeling heavy and unclean and constantly searching for more.

In 2017, I was attending the YWAM (Youth with a Mission) school and, although I knew God, sniffing glue remained a weakness of mine. It was a temptation I felt powerless to overcome.

I started to sniff the glue that Easter night and, every time I inhaled, a thought came into my mind: ‘You’re now sniffing glue in the presence of God.’ Conviction burdened my heart but, for about ten or fifteen minutes, I continued to inhale.

The same thought came again. And again. ‘You’re now sniffing glue in the presence of God.’ I tried to ignore the recurring thought, but the conviction pressed hard within. Here I was, the temple of the Holy Spirit, and I was giving into temptation and sniffing glue. I knew it was wrong. But how could I stop?

His conviction stayed heavy inside and I began to feel shy, knowing his presence surrounded me and that he watched everything I did. I prayed and asked God for forgiveness.

Next door, the neighbour’s dog started to bark and bark. I discerned something was going on. Had my brother returned? My heart pounded inside my chest. As I sat inside the garage facing the big black gate, something rushed past my eyes. It certainly wasn’t my brother. It was too fast. In fact, it was too fast to be any human being. As I watched, a dark angry figure raced toward the locked gate. And without any sound, the gate flew open wide! The dark figure vanished. I stared in amazement at the wide-open gate as the padlock swung back and forth.

I raced to find my brother and pastor to tell them what had happened.

Afterwards, I knew something had changed. The resurrected Christ had delivered me. All the desire was gone, and I suddenly stopped sniffing glue.

And I have never sniffed glue ever again. Since that Easter night in 2017, I have never fallen back into that addiction - even when I have been in the company of other youths while they have sniffed glue. The desire is completely gone.

I’m now hungry for purity. And as I seek him, God keeps showing me the scripture, John 3:30 - He must become greater; I must become less. It appears in my dreams at night and in visions as I pray. This has become my prayer.

Sam Alasia Adrea (Fiji)

An exceeding abundance of bananas

11/10/2019

He provides food for those who fear him; he remembers his covenant forever.
Psalm 111:5

Darlene Deibler Rose was an American missionary imprisoned in a Japanese POW camp called Kampili (in Indonesia) throughout World War II. The officer in charge of this camp was a Japanese man named Yamaji. For a time, Darlene was taken away from the Kampili camp and placed in solitary confinement in the nearby Kempeitai Prison where she was cruelly interrogated. Her husband, Russell Deibler, died in another POW camp. The following account begins as she looks into a prison courtyard through the bars of her cell. This extract is from her biography, 'Evidence Not Seen'.

The actions of one woman in particular fascinated me. Every time the sentry on duty turned his back to her and marched to the other end of the courtyard, she inched towards a fence covered with Honolulu Creeper. When the guard clicked his heels, turned about, and began to stroll in her direction, she stopped. There he went, and there she went.

"Aha, intrigue. She's going to make contact with someone who's hidden in those vines. Isn't this exciting! Oh, do be careful. With no books to read, I'll watch the drama taking place here before my eyes!" I empathised with her. I wanted her to succeed, and not be caught. Finally, reaching the vine-covered fence, the woman stood very still. The guard clicked his heels and went off again. At that moment, I saw a hand shoot through the tangle of vine. It held a big bunch of bananas. Quickly, she grabbed the bananas, slipped them into the folds of her sarong, and strolled nonchalantly back to join the other women. Nobody knew she had those bananas. But I did - bananas!

I dropped to the floor of my cell. Exhausted from my efforts, I shook all over. Worse still, I began to crave bananas. Everything in me wanted one. I could see them; I could smell them; I could taste them. I got down on my knees and said, "Lord, I'm not asking you for a whole bunch like that woman has. I just want one banana." I looked up and pleaded, "Lord, just one banana."

Then I began to rationalise - how could God possibly get a banana to me through these prison walls? I would never ask the guard. If he helped me and was discovered, it would mean reprisals. I would certainly never ask a favour of the Interrogator or the Brain. There was more chance of the moon falling out of the sky than of one of them bringing me a banana. Then I ran out of people. These three were the only ones. Of course, there was the old Indonesian night watchman. "Don't let it even enter his thinking to bring me a banana. He'd be shot if caught."

I bowed my head again and prayed, "Lord, there's no one here who could get a banana to me. There's no way for you to do it. Please don't think I'm not thankful for the rice porridge. It's just that - well, those bananas look so delicious!"

What I needed to do was link my impotence to God's omnipotence, but I couldn't see how God could get a banana to me through those prison walls.

When the Japanese officers from the ships docked in Macassar Harbour visited the prison, great hardships were inflicted upon the prisoners. We were laughed at, scorned, and insulted. When our cells were opened, we were expected to bow low at a perfect ninety-degree angle. If we didn't perform to their satisfaction, we were struck across with the back of a cane. These were humiliating and desperate experiences.

The morning after the banana drama, I heard the click of officers' leather heels on the concrete walkway. The thought of getting to my feet and having to execute a bow was onerous, to say the least. My weight had dropped during those months in the converted insane asylum, until now I was skin stretched over bones. One nice thing about my streamlined proportions was that the thinner I got, the longer my dress became, so I had more covering at night. I stretched out my hands often and laughed at my bird's claws. The meagre daily rations were not designed for putting on weight. I needed food for strength. I wondered if I could manage to get to my feet and remain upright, but I was determined that when that door opened, they would find me on my feet.

The officers were almost at the door. I reached up, grabbed the window ledge, and pulled myself upright. "Now, Lord," I prayed, "officers are coming. Give me strength to make a proper bow." I heard the guard slip a key into the door; but he had the wrong one and ran back to the office to get the right key. I dropped to the floor to rest, then came to my feet again when I heard his tennis shoe-shod feet moving quickly down the walkway. My legs were trembling, and I clutched the bars of the window to steady myself. "Lord, please help me to bow correctly."

Finally the door opened, and I looked into the smiling face of Mr Yamaji, the Kampili camp commander. This was early July, and it had been so long since I had seen a smiling or a familiar face. I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "Mr Yamaji, it's just like seeing an old friend!"

Tears filled his eyes. He didn't say a word but turned and walked out into the courtyard and began to talk with the two officers who had conducted my interrogations. At roll call in Kampili, I had had to give certain commands in Japanese, but I had made a deliberate effort to learn as little of the Japanese language as possible. It was better not to know it. I couldn't understand what Yamaji was saying but he spoke with them a long time. What had happened to the hauteur and belligerence with which those two always conducted themselves towards me? I could see their heads hanging lower and lower. Perhaps Yamaji spoke to them of my work as a missionary or maybe he shared with them concerning that afternoon in his office after I had learned of Russell's death, when I spoke of Christ, my Saviour, Who gives us love for others - even for our enemies, those who use us badly.

Finally, Mr Yamaji came back to my cell. "You're very ill, aren't you?" he asked sympathetically.

"Yes, sir, Mr Yamaji, I am."

"I'm going back to the camp now. Have you any word for the women?"

The Lord gave me confidence to answer, "Yes, sir, when you go back, please tell them for me that I'm all right. I'm still trusting the Lord. They'll understand what I mean, and I believe you do."

"All right," he replied; then, turning on his heels, he left.

When Mr Yamaji and the Kempeitai officers had gone and the guard had closed the door; it hit me - I didn't bow to those men! "Oh, Lord," I cried, "why didn't you help me remember? They'll come back and beat me. Lord, please, not back to the hearing room again. Not now, Lord. I can't; I just can't."

I heard the guard coming back and knew he was coming for me. Struggling to my feet, I stood ready to go. He opened the door, walked in, and with a sweeping gesture laid at my feet - bananas!

"They're yours," he said, "and they're all from Mr Yamaji."

I sat down in stunned silence and counted them. There were ninety-two bananas!

In all my spiritual experience, I've never known such shame before my Lord. I pushed the bananas into a corner and wept before Him. "Lord, forgive me; I'm so ashamed. I couldn't trust you enough to get even one banana for me. Just look at them - there are almost a hundred."

In the quiet of the shadowed cell, He answered back within my heart: "That's what I delight to do, the exceeding abundant above anything you ask or think." I knew in those moments that nothing is impossible to my God.

This too is in His hands

10/10/2019

But there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries.
He has shown...what will happen in days to come. Daniel 2:28

Sometimes God pre-warns to prepare us for difficult times. Corrie ten Boom, her sister Betsie, and other members of her family, hid Jewish people in their house in the Netherlands throughout World War II. God gave Corrie the same vision twice about what was to happen in the near future. It gave Corrie and Betsie courage to know that all their circumstances were in God's hands - no matter how difficult they might be. And circumstances were incredibly difficult for a while. Corrie and Betsie ended up in a German concentration camp. But throughout that time they experienced the faithfulness of God. The following extracts are from 'The Hiding Place' by Corrie ten Boom.

The First Vision

Betsie and I knelt down by the piano bench. For what seemed hours we prayed for our country, for the dead and injured tonight, for the Queen. And then, incredibly, Betsie began to pray for the Germans, up there in the planes, caught in the fist of the giant evil loose in Germany. I looked at my sister kneeling beside me in the light of burning Holland. "Oh Lord," I whispered, "listen to Betsie, not me, because I cannot pray for those men at all."

And it was then that I had the dream. It couldn't have been a real dream because I was not asleep. But a scene was suddenly and unreasonably in my mind. I saw the Grote Markt, half a block away, as clearly as though I were standing there, saw the town hall and St. Bavo's and the fish mart with its stair-stepped façade.

Then as I watched, a kind of odd, old farm wagon - old fashioned and out of place in the middle of a city - came lumbering across the square pulled by four enormous black horses. To my surprise I saw that I myself was sitting in the wagon. And Father too! And Betsie! There were many others, some strangers, some friends. I recognized Pickwick and Toos, Willem and young Peter. All together we were slowly being drawn across the square behind those horses. We couldn't get off the wagon, that was the terrible thing. It was taking us away - far away, I felt - but we didn't want to go...

"Betsie!" I cried, jumping up, pressing my hands to my eyes. "Betsie, I've had such an awful dream!"

I felt her arm around my shoulder. "We'll go down to the kitchen where the light won't show, and we'll make a pot of coffee."

The booming of bombs was less frequent and farther away as Betsie put on the water. Closer by was the wail of fire alarms and the beep of the hose trucks. Over coffee, standing at the stove, I told Betsie what I had seen.

"Am I imagining things because I'm frightened? But it wasn't like that! It was real. Oh Betsie, was it a kind of vision?"

Betsie's finger traced a pattern on the wooden sink worn smooth by generations of ten Booms. "I don't know," she said softly. "But if God has shown us bad times ahead, it's enough for me that He knows about them. That's why He sometimes shows us things, you know - to tell us that this too is in His hands."

The Second Vision

A prayer was forming in my heart.

"Lord Jesus, I offer myself for Your people. In any way. Any place. Any time."

And then an extraordinary thing happened.

Even as I prayed, that waking dream passed again before my eyes. I saw again those four black horses and the Grote Markt. As I had on the night of the invasion I scanned the passengers drawn so unwillingly behind them. Father, Betsie, Willem, myself - leaving Haarlem, leaving all that was sure and safe - going where?

Taken Away

In the Smedestraat a wall of people pressed against police barricades set across the street. As Betsie and I stepped out with Father between us, a murmur of horror greeted the sight of "Haarlem's Grand Old Man" being led to prison. In front of the door stood a green city bus with soldiers occupying the rear seats. People were climbing aboard while friends and relatives in the crowd wept or simply stared. Betsie and I gripped Father's arms to start down the steps. Then we froze. Stumbling past us between two soldiers, hatless and coatless, came Pickwick. The top of his bald head was a welter of bruises, dried blood clung to the stubble on his chin. He did not look up as he was hauled onto the bus.

Father, Betsie, and I squeezed into a double seat near the front. Through the window I caught a glimpse of Tine standing in the crowd. It was one of those radiant winter days when the air seemed to shimmer with light. The bus shuddered and started up. Police cleared a path and we inched forward. I gazed hungrily out the window, holding onto Haarlem with my eyes. Now we were crossing the Grote Markt, the walls of the great cathedral glowing a thousand shades of grey in the crystal light. In a strange way it seemed to me that I had lived through this moment before.

Then I recalled.

The vision. The night of the invasion. I had seen it all. Willem, Nollie, Pickwick, Peter - all of us here - drawn against our wills across this square. It had been in the dream - all of us leaving Haarlem, unable to turn back. Going where?

The Spirit makes intercession

8/10/2019

The Spirit makes intercession according to the will of God.
Romans 8:27

In the late 1960s, on Pentecost Sunday, about fifty people gathered together for an informal Bible study in East Bluff, California. The meeting was led by Pastor Chuck Smith. After the study, he said to the people, ‘You know this is Pentecost Sunday, the Sunday that we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit and the birth of the church.’

Because it was Pentecost Sunday, the congregation decided to spend time worshipping God.

A lady called Lynn was present that day who had been given a remarkable gift of tongues from God. Whenever she spoke in tongues, she spoke in French, although she had no knowledge of this language in her natural mind. It was the Holy Spirit who gave her this ability.

As the people worshipped God, Lynn began to speak in the French tongue, which remained an unknown language to her. Chuck understood enough French to realise Lynn was giving thanks to God for a beautiful song. But because he could intellectually understand some of the words, he did not endeavour to interpret what was being spoken. He thought he might mess it up and did not want to presume that his own interpretation would be correct.

However, his wife Kay, who did not understand any French at all, began to interpret. She thanked God aloud for the beautiful new song he had put in her heart which was her love song to Him. She spoke of the joy and the blessing of singing about her love for Him. Before Kay became a Christian, she had been a nightclub singer. She possessed a beautiful voice. It was significant that she was rejoicing in a new song that God had given to her — a song of praise and love unto him.

After the meeting, a man from Palm Springs introduced his girlfriend to Chuck Smith. She was having some problems and needed some help.

As they sat down to counsel, the girl said, ‘Before we start talking about the things that I need to talk to you about, I am curious as to what was going on here tonight at the end. Tell me about the woman who spoke to the group in French and the other woman who translated for the group.’

‘Would you believe that neither of those women knows French?’ Chuck said.

The girl answered, ‘No, I would not.’

‘Well, it is true. Neither of them knows French.’ Chuck opened his Bible. ‘What you saw was what Paul talked about in the book of Corinthians, where one speaks in an unknown tongue, and another interprets.’

‘Well, I lived for five years in Paris,’ the girl said. ‘The first lady was speaking the most beautiful French. But it was not just the common French. She was using an aristocratic pronunciation. And the other lady translated it perfectly.’

Chuck responded, ‘Well, I know that the lady who translated does not know French. That lady is my wife!’

The girl was amazed when she heard this. ‘Well, before we go any further, I have to receive the Lord.’

Chuck prayed with the girl and, with great joy, helped lead her to faith in Jesus Christ.

On another occasion, Chuck, Kay and their family were preparing to attend a youth camp in Williams, Arizona. Their daughter Jan was going to be a girls' counsellor at that camp.

One Sunday night at church, the congregation gathered around the Smith family. The people laid hands on them and prayed that God would be with them and use them to minister to the young people in Arizona.

Throughout this time of prayer, the same woman called Lynn placed her hands on Jan and began to pray in tongues. She again spoke in French, and because it was an unknown language to her, Lynn did not understand the meaning of the words she prayed aloud. Jan, on the other hand, could understand every word. She had studied five years of French at college and was quite fluent in the language.

Lynn prayed that God would help Jan to be a very beautiful witness to these young girls. She prayed that God's love would pour forth from Jan and make her a great blessing. And she prayed that the impressions these girls received would be lifelong as a result of Jan's ministry to them.

Afterwards, Jan said, 'I felt sort of trembling all over because I realised that this is what the Holy Spirit was praying for me.' She realised that Lynn did not know what she was praying because she was praying in what was an unknown language to her. 'What a thrill to realise this is what the Holy Spirit is praying for me - interceding for me. It is glorious to know this is the Lord's desire and prayer for me.'

As the apostle Paul said in Romans 8:27, 'The Spirit makes intercession according to the will of God.'

Adapted from a sermon by Chuck Smith.

He must become greater

An exceeding abundance of bananas

This too is in His hands

The Spirit makes intercession

Shine like Stars

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