I resisted — ashamed, fearful and a little bitter. I hadn’t spent time with God for ages, and it felt far easier to blame Him for everything that was falling apart.
Much Grace Publications
Much Grace Publications
I resisted — ashamed, fearful and a little bitter. I hadn’t spent time with God for ages, and it felt far easier to blame Him for everything that was falling apart.
I was invited to a Catholic charismatic service by a wonderful priest friend. The place was packed, and I sat in an aisle seat and watched as a mother came in pushing her teenage daughter in a wheelchair — I later learned the girl was deaf and had recently suffered a stroke, as half her face had fallen. Something rose in me and, throughout the service, I hassled God for a miracle.
My mother owned and ran a newsagent’s. She worked absurdly long hours and began the day when paper deliveries arrived at 4:00 a.m. Everything had to be checked and sorted so the paper boys and girls could be on their rounds by 6:00. Then, one awful day, she had a massive heart attack. There was no one to open the shop at that time, so I had to step in.
I watched a preacher lambast almost every named preacher I used to watch today. The reason? They weren’t preaching the gospel. So what gospel are we supposed to be following…?
I once had the honour of preaching at a service in the south of France where GOD came to Church!
Smith Wigglesworth told a great story, “At one time, I was at a meeting in Ireland. There were many sick people carried to that meeting, and helpless ones were helped there. There were many people in that place who were seeking for the Baptism of the Holy Ghost. Some of them had been seeking for years. There were sinners there who were under mighty conviction.
Sunday came while we were in Modena, ready to drive north, and we all went to a wonderful service led by Pastor Giorgio. We were soaking in the worship, and the band were just finishing when the main door flew open, and a man stumbled in carrying a very young, unconscious, fragile woman in his arms. Right behind him came a pale, sheepish young man who looked terrified and gawped around at us as if we were all from another planet.
Some time ago, friends at the Way of the Spirit invited my wife and me to bring a word at their local church. As soon as we arrived, I noticed a totally worn-out, forlorn-looking man pacing about, doing his best to soothe a very young baby he held in his arms.
As you know, I had another heart attack a few months ago, and it was serious — I was left with only 28% left‑ventricular ejection fraction (LVEF, the percentage of blood the left ventricle pumps out with each beat)…
I’ve never met anyone who started following Jesus and didn’t get upset with him at some point about his choices or direction. We all think we know best, don’t we? Our prayers can sound pious, but God judges the intents of our hearts (1 Sam. 16:7)—he hears the inner childish tantrum: “I want this girl, this job, this car, this house.” Maybe your faith has never cooled completely, but I’ve known many who did and who walked the way of the lost sheep.