Category:

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.

It's All About Him

2/7/2017

JESU JUVA

When I was seventeen, my pastor at church asked me to be part of the worship team.

'I won't do it,' I said. I crossed my arms and shook my head. 'I can't do it.'

'Yes, you can,' said Peter, my pastor.

'I can't.'

'God's anointed you to do this.'

'But,' I said, taking a breath, 'I'm not good enough.'

'Start with what you have. It's the only way to grow.'

Our local church met in an old, rented building. There was nothing special to say about the building itself, except that it was a place for people to meet and worship Jesus. That is what made it special, very special. I'd discovered God in this room, as had many others. Inside these crumbling paint-peeling walls, I'd experienced the reality of the Holy Spirit's power. He'd given me hope and joy inside my heart.

But fear of standing in front of a crowd, especially in a musical fashion, remained a Goliath in my life.

I stared down at caramel tinted, stain-blotched carpet. 'But I only know a handful of chords,' I replied.

Peter rested his hands on his tummy and started jigging his right leg - a habit I'd observed before. He's becoming impatient, I thought.

'God's called you to do this,' he said. 'When God calls, you need to obey.'

He was right, of course. But I wasn't ready to admit it verbally - yet. Stubbornness dug its heels into my thoughts while I remained mute.

Peter watched me intently through spectacled eyes as the wall of silence between us grew stronger. My willpower fought to make the right decision. A sigh finally erupted past my lips, and I whispered, 'Okay.'

The following Sunday, I stood before a congregation crammed with straggly beards, tattoos and arms lifted in worship to God. Many of the people in the congregation were first-time Christians – straight off the streets and drugs. Gratefulness towards a saviour who radically saves filled their hearts.

I glanced at the keys of white and ebony resting beneath my quivering fingers. The band struck the first chord.

My Jesus, My Saviour,
Lord, there is none like you.

I should have been looking at my Saviour, but instead, I kept an eye on my fingers and an eye on my pride. I lost my way; I even turned my volume down so nobody could hear my pitiful attempts. The guitars were loud, and nobody seemed to notice. I looked across the room and inhaled deeply. Garments of praise – shining and coloured with joy – rested upon every individual present. I realised I needed to get my gaze off myself and learn to worship like them, but my focus stayed fixed. I chewed my lip, cast my sights downward and played a silent keyboard. I didn't know how to be bold.

***

When I was twenty-seven, I worked for a Christian healing ministry on the outskirts of Sydney. The kitchen was my domain, and I prepared food for every meal. On this day, however, I was asked to lead worship the following week.

'I don't want to do it,' I said with a frown. 'I'm not good enough.' While I spoke, I chopped a dozen carrots or more with a gigantic knife.

'Yes, you can,' said Paul, one of the leaders of this ministry.

I shook my head and murmured, 'I can't.' Tears crawled to the surface, and I swallowed in an attempt to push them down.

'There's no one else available. No one. You're the only one who can lead the worship this weekend.'

Paul sipped from a mug and leaned against a metallic kitchen bench.

'No, I can't.' I swallowed again, but it was already too late: the tears made their escape and trickled down my cheeks. I released the knife in my hand and heard it clang against the silver surface of the kitchen bench.

'You won't be alone. Naomi will sing with you; Simon will play the drums.'

'No.' My willpower raged into battle once again.

'We've all heard you worshipping, Sal. You think nobody is listening, but we hear. We know you have the ability.' Pastoral compassion etched Paul's face.

Tears dripped down my chin as I picked up the knife and hacked a carrot.

'Okay,' I finally muttered.

The following Friday evening, I stood before a crowd packed with nervous faces. Some eyes looked sad, and others fearful. These people were present for a healing weekend. They longed for Jesus to meet their needs and heal their souls.

My sweaty palms hovered in readiness; the microphone stood to attention, ready for my command. With a thumping heart, I glanced at my team, bobbed my head and put my foot to the pedal.

Jesus, Jesus,
Holy and Anointed One.

Fractured souls fixed their sights upon Him as the music flowed and ebbed into a gentle stream. But I lost focus and kept my eyes on myself. I'd set perfection – my perfection - as the goal, and my skill lacked polish. Nerves overtook my ability to play and sing well. I left the conference hall and collapsed onto my bed with exhaustion coursing through every vein. I vowed I would never lead worship again.

  ***

When I was twenty-eight, I was a student at a Christian ministry healing course in England.

'Come to the front if you'd like a fresh touch from the Holy Spirit,' said Joe, a Bible teacher from the north of England.

A blood-red banner stretched behind him, declaring in gold letters, 'Jesus is King of Kings and Lord of Lords.'

Joe's wrinkled and goateed face glowed with internal fire as he gazed at twenty-nine students gathered from every corner of the Earth.

Hungry souls surged forward, raised arms and tilted chins towards heaven. Soft melodies of a chorus were sung but faded into the background as hushed stillness poured inside the high-beamed room. I squeezed my eyes shut and held open arms in surrender to Jesus. My body gently swayed to a worship tune still playing inside my head.

My right hand twitched as someone's finger, dipped in oil, drew an invisible cross over my palm. I peeked through half-open eyelids and saw Joe moving his lips in silent prayer. He anointed my left hand and leaned closer to speak soft words. 'God is going to put a ministry into your hands. It's going to be very soon.'

Joe walked away, but I lingered in the room pervaded with a serene atmosphere.

'I surrender to you,' I said to Jesus. 'I accept whatever ministry you call me to.'

A week or so later, I was asked to lead worship once a week. Desire moved my heart, and I said, 'Yes, I would love to!' No reserve, no hesitation, and no terror. It was the first time I noticed a change.

The following Thursday morning, I sat in the corner of the same high-beamed room with poised hands at the keyboard and whispered a prayer under my breath. Grey winter mists hovered outside old-fashioned metal-laced windows while artificial golden light covered the inside of the room.

Astonishment soared inside my heart as I realised that a flicker of nervousness was all I felt. Paralysing timidity was gone, and calm boldness remained in its place.

'I've called you to this.' The words echoed through my spirit as we opened our mouths and started to sing:

It's all about You, Jesus
And all this is for You
For Your glory and your fame
It's not about me
As if You should do things my way
You alone are God
And I surrender to your ways

Mistakes were frequent, but nobody noticed, and I forgot about myself. My amplified voice blended with the voices of everyone present. Warm electricity streamed through my hands and wrists as I played. The music crescendoed, lifted by the presence of one Holy invisible person. Without any effort on my part - except through complete surrender to His ways - the Spirit dispelled fear and baptised me with His courage.

At that moment, I learnt a powerful secret about why I worship: It's all about Jesus. It's never about me.



SOLI DEO GLORIA

© Sally Dixon Creations

Are you thirsty?

10/4/2017

JESU JUVA

On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. Up to that time the Spirit had not been given, since Jesus had not yet been glorified.
John 7:37-39

I remember one occasion when I became desperate for water. I went bushwalking with two friends in the Blue Mountains. I had a map of the route and led the way.

'It's just a short walk,' I said to my friends. 'Only one hour.'
But in the end, I missed a turning, and one solitary hour walk turned into four gruelling hours. Most of it was uphill, and none of us was prepared. None of us had enough water to drink. By the time we reached the top, all three of us were desperately thirsty.

We found a remote café surrounded by gum trees and entered.
Cakes and other sweet treats must've been on display, but we didn't care about food. Our faces must've been red from exertion and covered in a sweaty glaze, but we didn't care how we looked. We just wanted a drink.

None of us even carried extra cash to purchase drinks from the café fridge - we really were ill-prepared for an arduous journey. We hoped someone inside the café would be merciful and allow tap water to freely pour our way.

The waitress who met us in the café doorway hesitated momentarily at our simple request. After all, we weren't paying customers desiring a seat and sustenance. We just wanted water.
In desperation, pride disappeared, and I admitted it was my fault. 'We took a wrong turn on our bushwalk,' I explained to the waitress. 'I didn't read the map correctly. We weren't prepared for a long, uphill hike.' I didn't care what she thought; I just wanted her to give us free tap water.

In the end, the waitress took pity on us because we looked hot and bothered and sounded desperate. She waved her hand towards a glass jug brimming with crystal clear water. I guzzled glass after glass, and so did my friends.

The water tasted beautifully sweet when we were desperately thirsty.

Has life's journey, with its uphill battles, made you thirsty?
Are you thirsty to find satisfaction in this life?
Are you thirsty to be purified from the sinful behaviour which dominates your life?
Are you desperate to satisfy your thirst?
Are you thirsty to know the Lord?

God hears the desperate prayer. The Psalmists called out to God over and over again because they knew our Father hears heartfelt cries.

Cry to Him in your desperation, in whatever situation you face today. Find a quiet place: a cupboard, a bedroom, a garden, the car, anywhere you can and cry out to him. Come in the name of Jesus Christ, the living Son, and tell the Father how thirsty you are.

If you are conscious of a spiritual thirst for God, Jesus invites you to come. The only way for that spiritual thirst to be quenched is to make a conscious choice to come to him. If you do, Jesus promises to pour living water into your life that never runs out: the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit is a person, not an impersonal force, and Jesus sends him as a gift to help us in our weaknesses.
Are you thirsty inside?

Only the power and presence of God will satisfy.

“You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted;
you encourage them, and you listen to their cry…”
Psalm 10:17

SOLI DEO GLORIA

Splashes of joy

1/4/2017

JESU JUVA

Nehemiah said, “Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”
Nehemiah 8:10

I found a ladybird today.

It doesn't sound extraordinary, except I haven't seen one for years. I'm not sure where they've been hiding. For the past few months, while meandering through gardens with camera in hand, my eyes have been searching for pretty herbs, flowers and leaves. I've photographed many other interesting things, but never a ladybird.

This morning as I headed off for a photographic jaunt in the city's botanical gardens, I sent a prayer towards heaven: 'Lord, I'd really like to find a ladybird today.' A simple request from a child to her Father.

I didn't believe I'd truly find one, so I busied myself with shots of exotic flowers and fruit. I also didn't consider my prayer important in the scheme of things. After all, how important is a ladybird?

I found myself in a faraway nook of the extensive gardens and walked straight past a tall tree, one among many. The corner-of-my-eye glimpsed purple bell-shaped flowers. Worth a second look, so I took a few steps backwards.

The tree was enormous. Shade covered its flower-laden branches. My gaze dropped and stopped upon a tiny figure: orange with black polka-dots and six whispery legs. The first ladybird I'd seen since... I'm not sure when.

My newfound friend was easily coaxed to take a ride on my hand. He stayed with me as I searched for a splash of light away from the shade. Sunshine was necessary for a photograph.

It was such a tiny moment with a tiny creature, but my Abba Father demonstrated he hears even the smallest prayers. The ladybird was my splash of joy after a few difficult days.

Those splashes of joy have appeared before along my life's journey. When I was baptised in the Holy Spirit as a seventeen-year-old, the first manifestation I experienced was a deep, supernatural joy. I think God knew I needed that particular emotion from all that had been and for all that lay ahead.

I didn't laugh out loud. I experienced an unmistakable sensation deep inside – it bubbled, burst, pulsated. I couldn't manufacture that feeling. When the Bible speaks of the joy of the Lord being our strength, those words are true. That sensation has arisen now and then, usually in dark times, those moments when joy is least expected.

I remember another time waiting for a bus. The sky was grey. The pavement was grey. The buildings were grey. My circumstances were grey. Unnamed depression lurked in my soul at the time, but suddenly the rivers of living water bubbled up. The burst came. It caused my head to lift up and my heart to sing praise to God, and it gave me the strength to keep going.

Sometimes I am at the beach when the joy hits. It causes me to lift my feet and run. If a dog is with me, he partakes in the spontaneous joy and flies across the sand. That joy needs an outlet, and I think it must be how David felt when he danced before the Lord (2 Samuel 6).

I need to remember those splashes of joy - and look out for them - because it can be easy to forget when life seems like an endless struggle.

Don't pretend and clothe yourself with false joy. People see through the charade. Be real. Life is hard, and sometimes circumstances are dark. But even amid darkness, splashes of light can appear, which don't depend on circumstances. They come from the power of the Holy Spirit. Look out for them - as you seek Jesus - because the joy of the Lord does, indeed, give strength.

Look to the Father in Heaven, through his Son Jesus, in the power of the Holy Spirit. Cry out to him. You might be surprised. You might find joy.

SOLI DEO GLORIA

Shine like Stars

Encouraging children of God to shine like stars in dark times.

Philippians 2:14-16
Do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, “children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.” Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky as you hold firmly to the word of life.

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