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Repairer of Broken Walls

30/3/2020

 
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Some of you will rebuild the deserted ruins of your cities. Then you will be known as a rebuilder of walls and a restorer of homes. Isaiah 58:12 (NLT)

This true story comes from Heather from the United Kingdom. After suffering severe childhood trauma, Heather shares her story of how God led her to forgive her mother and how their relationship was restored.​

For fifty-five years, I didn’t have any relationship with my Mum. She abused me physically, emotionally and mentally throughout my childhood. But this wasn’t the only source of trauma. My eldest brother sexually abused my sister and me for years. Mum turned a blind eye to what our brother did to us. She must have known the truth deep down, but she refused to believe it and  wouldn’t ever let us talk about it.

I’ve been told by a therapist that I’m a walking miracle. The NHS (National Health Service) have said they don’t meet many people like me. Most are usually in a psychiatric hospital, prison or dead! After working with me to process the traumas from my childhood, the NHS also acknowledged that it was truly God who saved my life!

But the most amazing miracle in my life happened just over a year ago. There have been many miracles along the way, but this  was the most incredible so far.

This miracle began after my 88-year-old Mum broke her arm in two places. At that time, God told me to treat her like Jesus would. So, without giving it a second thought, I decided to bring her home to live with my husband and me. We ended up looking after her for five weeks as she couldn’t cope on her own. Not only did she have bad arthritis in her feet, she now had her arm in plaster.

Despite everything, I didn’t hate my Mum. There just was no bonding at all between us. I said to God, ‘You are going to have to help me love her because I feel nothing for her! I’m totally numb inside. Help me, please!’
​
While Mum was living with us, I discovered while showering her that she obviously wasn’t looking after herself. I took her to a doctor who ordered some tests at the hospital. She was diagnosed with Leukaemia, which came as a shock.

Up until that point, my eldest brother had managed everything to do with Mum’s financial affairs. We discovered that he had been very dishonest with her money. My brother told me not to ask our Mum about it, but I sensed God prompting me that I must. I proceeded to have a difficult conversation with Mum. She was horrified about my brother’s lies! For years, Mum had put him on a pedestal. He had always been her favourite.

Over the next thirteen months, my brother sent numerous poisonous letters to both Mum and me, accusing and blaming me for everything.

After the truth had come out about the money situation, it was time to tell Mum some of the awful truths about what I’d suffered at the hands of my brother. I was so worried that it would finish her off as it’s pretty shocking news to hear when you are 88 years old!

But I knew God was calling me to tell her the truth. So, I did it afraid! Mum sat there and listened to me for the first time in my life. Afterwards, we cried together and hugged each other. From this point onwards, we became honest and upfront with each other like we never had before!

Our conversation broke the massive strongholds of fear, rejection and shame over my life. All at once, like a pack of cards, they came tumbling down!

God did a miracle that day. What I thought would be the most challenging thing to do, turned out to be easy and was actually a pleasure.

God has also been helping me deal with the abuse from my brother, and I have forgiven him too.

Mum still has Leukaemia today, but it is slow growing and she doesn't want any treatment (she says she's got enough other medical problems to cope with!). She is back in her home and living independently now.

I can truly say now that I love my Mum. I have totally forgiven her for what she did to me as a child. All my life I have longed for a real mum. God has given me just that. He has restored our relationship.
​
To God be all glory!
 

Heather (United Kingdom)

It's All About Him

2/7/2017

 
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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
​

    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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