Blog Posts

The Lord will provide

1/6/2020

Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need. Matthew 6:33

This true story comes from Bill & Cathy from Canada. They share their story of how God faithfully provided for their needs.

We were driving along a back street on our way to a prayer meeting at our church on a Sunday afternoon. My wife noticed a car for sale and mentioned she thought it was a really sharp looking vehicle. I decided to pull over as it was quite rare for my wife, Cathy, to notice any vehicle. We pulled over and looked through the window of the car and took down the phone number to call.

The next Monday, we were heading out of town and decided to call to get the details of the car for sale. The owner gave us all the details and said he wanted $15,000. They had bought it brand new, and currently weren't using it. The owner told us it was his wife's car, and that she never drove it in the winter and had decided to sell it as she did not use it much.

As we came home that week, I could not stop thinking about the car for sale even though we did not have $15,000 to purchase a vehicle. I decided to stop in one day and talk to the owner who suggested we take the vehicle for a test drive. Cathy was not with me, so I decided to come back with her at a later time. She was not thrilled to do this and said, "Why would we drive it and fall in love with it and not be able to buy it?"

We had to go into town that evening to get flowers for our daughter's graduation service, so I talked Cathy into just stopping and taking it for a test drive. I drove it first and decided to pull over and let Cathy drive it. She fell in love with it right away and could not believe how smooth it drove. It was a keyless car, and so when we pulled back into the owner's driveway, we were trying to figure out how to turn it off. My cell phone started ringing right at that moment. I answered and recognised the couple on the other end. They said they had been praying about it and believed God wanted them to give us $10,000. We were shocked and told them we were sitting in a car right at that moment.

We turned the car off and went inside to talk to the owner. We told him we were evangelists and that we take the gospel all over the world. The owner and his wife were also Christians. He said, "The very best we can do is sell you the car for $10,000."

We couldn't believe it! He said the exact amount of the donation that had just come in. We knew at that moment that God wanted us to have this car. God is so good.

Repairer of Broken Walls

30/3/2020

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)

Protection in the fiery furnace

5/2/2020

Praise be to the God of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, who has sent his angel and rescued his servants! Daniel 3:28

This true story comes from Elizabeth Manū from New Zealand. On the 25th January 2020, Elizabeth and her brother Sou experienced the miraculous protection of God when involved in a near-fatal car accident.

Elizabeth says, ‘I'm so grateful to God for His faithfulness to us every day.’

She also says, ‘Thank you to the first responders; the police officers, firefighters, and paramedics. Thank you to the amazing everyday humans who stop, get out of their cars and run to help others. Thank you to all who stopped to help us. We are so very grateful.’

One Saturday night, my brother Sou and I were driving on Auckland's north-western motorway. The journey to our friend's house for dinner should only have been a 7-minute drive. But on the way, Sou and I were fishtailed by a driver flying up the motorway doing 150km/h. He hit us and then fled the scene.

Upon impact, Sou and I were immediately propelled into the air. The car landed and rolled, then bounced off the side barrier. This sent our car skidding across the motorway on its roof until we collided again with the median barrier. The car then flipped on its side.

Flying through the air, Sou and I both called out to Jesus. We each felt a protective presence and knew that God was with us whatever the outcome.

Once the car had stopped, I checked for my brother. When I finally figured out where to look for Sou in that scrambled mess, I realised he was staring back at me, grinning. Our seat belts still held us tightly in place. We were alive!

Sou worked quickly to try and extricate me from the vehicle. Some amazing people also stopped to help. With their assistance, I climbed out of my window, which was now where the roof should have been. Sou then did the same.

Although I was bleeding and in shock, I was reminded of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the Bible, who were sentenced to death by fire but walked unscathed out of the fiery furnace. With this story in mind, I stared at the queues of cars that were forced to stop and witness the entire event. I wondered what they must have been thinking to see us climb out of the vehicle alive.

No one expected life. Not the passers-by that ran to help, nor the motorway patrol who could not stop telling us and everyone else how lucky we were. All the first responders were in a jovial mood when they realised they did not have to deal with the fatalities they had expected.

We were both so unscathed that Sou had to almost prove he was actually in the car accident once we received medical attention. I sustained hundreds of cuts and abrasions to my body because my side of the car had taken most of the impact. Still, these injuries were not consistent with the accident and the state of the vehicle.

In the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, the King who sentenced this trio to death looked into the furnace and saw there were actually four men walking in the fire. The Bible tells us that the Son of God was with them and that all of the men walked out of the furnace alive. I had forgotten that part of the story at the time of the accident.

Lying in my hospital bed the following morning, I read a news article about our crash. This is what it said:

"A witness to the crash, who didn't want to be named, said they pulled over from the fast lane when they saw a car speeding up behind them. The vehicle then hit another car which rolled and ended up on its roof. The driver in the other car didn't stop and fled the scene."

The witness said: "I saw three people get out of the car, and one of them, a lady, was bleeding."

Three people!

I was overcome with emotion when I read the eye-witness account. The witness saw a third person climb out of the vehicle! God is so good!

Elizabeth Manū (New Zealand)

The newspaper article can be read here:
'Hit and run accident closes northwestern motorway'

This was the car after the accident:

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.

A Good Father

27/7/2018

“All that my Father gives me will come to me; and the one who comes to me I will most certainly not cast out. I will never, never reject anyone who follows me.” John 6:37 (Amp)

On 2nd August 2017, I became acquainted with grief when death reached out its cruel fingers and snatched my father away. He lost control of his car and clipped two gum trees by the side of the road. His car wavered further along the road until he crashed into a third gum tree, right outside our family home.

I saw my father slumped in his car, our neighbour trying to bring him around, and all I wanted to do was rush over and say, ‘I love you, Dad.’ Except that I couldn’t get to him – a well-meaning stranger kept pulling me away – and he wouldn’t have heard me anyway. Later, I learned that he had already slipped from this world into the next.

What came afterwards was a blur of sirens - so many sirens - and myriads of paramedics and policemen. My mother and I stood together in the midst of that trauma and prayed for Jesus to receive his spirit. We committed him – her husband and my father - into the hands of the Lord.

A few days later, exhausted from grief and shock, I fell asleep in an armchair in the middle of the afternoon and began to dream. I saw Dad brimming with life, his face radiant with joy. He stood and preached with fervour about God. In his younger days, he was a preacher man, but I had never seen him this animated before. In this world, I could no longer speak to him or touch him or spend time with him. But I believed without any doubt he was very much alive in Heaven. More alive than ever before, and one day, I knew I would see him again.

Since that life-changing and difficult day, I’ve had time to reflect on the life of Denis James Dixon, my Dad, and I am thankful that he was my father. His life certainly wasn’t without struggles, but it was a life used by God. Dad’s kindness and wisdom touched the lives of countless people.

What a blessing that he sat down and wrote his memoirs in the last year of his life. I believe the Holy Spirit nudged his heart to put those words to paper. Dad was always a quiet man, and there was so much even I didn’t know about him until I read his memoirs. I’m glad I know now. It helps me to understand so much more about him.

When I was a very little girl, I apparently used to walk up to him and say, ‘I want to kiss and hug you, Daddy.’ I don’t remember because of my young age, but Dad always took delight in retelling that memory. How much I wish I could say those words to him today.

Dad, you were a good father. And I miss you.

Prayer offered in faith will heal the sick

4/7/2017

Are any of you sick? You should call for the elders of the church to come and pray over you, anointing you with oil in the name of the Lord. Such a prayer offered in faith will heal the sick, and the Lord will make you well. And if you have committed any sins, you will be forgiven. (James 5:14-15)

My father told me about a healing miracle that occurred back in the mid-seventies before I was born. Back then, my father was pastor of a Baptist Church in Broken Hill, a remote mining town in New South Wales.

A local church deacon approached him and asked if he could visit relatives who were in need. This man’s cousin Ernest (known as ‘Knocker’) suffered from terminal bowel cancer.

Knocker was skin and bones, a shadow of a man when my father met him for the first time. Shortly after the first visit, Knocker was hospitalised for palliative care. Cancer, in its last stages, riddled this man’s body and four-hourly morphine injections were injected to manage severe pain. He also needed a colonoscopy bag.

My father continued to visit from time to time, and eventually, through these pastoral visits, Knocker and his wife Stella both came to faith in Jesus Christ.

One day, the hospital called and asked my father to come immediately. They believed Knocker would die within the next few hours. My father scurried around, but Knocker didn’t die that day. Somehow, he managed to hold on.

A second call came a few days later. ‘Knocker only has hours to live,’ said the hospital. But, again, Knocker rallied through. Everyone expected his imminent death. Throughout this time, my father sat at home reading his Bible and stumbled upon a verse in the New Testament book of James:

“Are any of you sick? You should call for the elders of the church to come and pray over you, anointing you with oil in the name of the Lord. Such a prayer offered in faith will heal the sick, and the Lord will make you well. And if you have committed any sins, you will be forgiven.” (James 5:14-15).

In four years of attendance at theological college, divine healing had never been discussed, but as my father read the Bible that day, scales fell from his eyes. He shared the scripture from the book of James with Knocker. He told him to read it through and, if he agreed, they would do exactly what the scriptures suggested. Knocker agreed.

The following Sunday morning, before the nine o’clock service, my father and an elder from the church went to the hospital. Knocker’s skeletal body was weak and close to death.

The men gathered together in that hospital room and followed the passage in the book of James to the letter. My father and the church elder anointed Knocker with oil and spoke prayers of faith to God. Knocker confessed all known sin aloud in their presence.

Nothing happened immediately, but having done everything according to the Scripture, my father and the elder left the hospital and went to the nine o’clock church service.

Stella, Knocker’s wife, attended the church that morning. She was baptised in water, not only for herself but also for Knocker. It was a ‘baptism by proxy’. He desired to be baptised but was far too ill to be moved from his hospital bed.

Not long afterwards, a doctor from the hospital (who attended the local church) passed on the news: Knocker was healed! All traces of cancer had vanished from his body. My dad was amazed. The whole church was amazed. Knocker and Stella were both amazed.

The doctor described how all the medical staff in the hospital were amazed too. The talk of 'a miracle' was on everyone’s lips. The sudden healing of a cancer patient on their deathbed was an incredible phenomenon.

My parents moved away from Broken Hill several months after this miracle occurred and lost touch with Knocker and his wife. But seven years later, out-of-the-blue, Stella tracked down my parents and called them on the phone. She said Knocker had recently died, but God had been gracious and had granted him seven extra years of life. For that, she was grateful.

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

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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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