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(Acts 1:8) Jesus speaking: “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”
This series is about how GOD is believed to communicate with us all. This next part is through (16) TESTIMONY (witness)—Honest (vulnerable) testimonies always invite — not coerce! GOD uses these Spirit-empowered testimonies to encourage believers and multiply faith as people encounter both the story AND the living GOD behind it.
TESTIMONY - continued "... The third part of my testimony has already been covered here, under (13) ACTION (obedience): https://www.muchgracepublications.com/day-54-4/
So, here's Part 4 - "...My mother was locking up the newsagent’s by the time I came back from my visit to the hospital clinician. I went into the kitchen as she wrapped up all the unsold papers, made two coffees, and carried them into the little kitchen at the back. I remember her moving with the same practised economy she had used for decades—one hand already wiping the counter, the other reaching for a chair—so when I said, “Mamma, please sit down. I have something important to tell you,” she paused, the cloth halfway across the surface.
She sat opposite me and tilted her face, waiting. Expectation tightened her jaw; caution sat in the small, quick blink before she spoke. “What have you done this time, my son...? Don’t tell me that nice Tracey [my wife now of 40 years] has finished with you?”
A laugh came out of me, thin and a little breathless. “No...” I let the word hang there, then added, steadier: “...Mamma, I’m a Christian.”
For the longest time, she simply stared at me, as if measuring the weight of the label with her eyes. Then she dropped her face into her hands and began to cry, the sound small and sharp. “No, Gesù. Non di nuovo.” [No, Jesus—not again].
It took a long while to calm her. I poured more coffee and sat close enough to feel the heat of her arm when she let me put mine around her shoulders. She then began telling me about her time as a young girl in Bari, Italy...
“The war was brutal,” she said, her voice rough with memory. “Food was desperately scarce. If it hadn’t been for some men—men from the Mafia—stealing supplies from the Allies, we would have all starved.” Her hands traced an invisible map on the table as she spoke. “My favourite uncle worked for them. One night, he got into big trouble with them. We never knew exactly what he had done. He ran away and hid in a convent for many weeks, and when he came back, all he could say was that he’d met ‘Jesus’ and that He’d saved him.”
She swallowed. The old hurt settled into the room like a winter cold. "Men from the Mafia were searching everywhere for him, but some of his good friends took him that very night and hid him on a ship at the harbour, sailing directly to America. He left with just the shirt on his back, and we never saw him again. I loved him! Will GOD take you from me, too?"
She searched my face. Her question was small and fierce.
I slid my hand over hers and squeezed. “No, Mamma.” I kept my voice steady because my heart felt like it might break. “Why would He do that?” I asked, and let the warmth of my arm be the answer.
NB - Years later, I learned the rest: my mother’s uncle arrived in America and, according to the letters I found from his son, soon had a church and became 'Pastor del Zotti'. The fact settled into the story like the last piece of a puzzle, softening nothing, explaining almost everything... (Warren)
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Let’s pray, “Heavenly Father, fill me with your Holy Spirit and grant me boldness. Empower me to be your witness in my place and to the ends of the earth. Give me courage to speak your truth clearly, compassion to love those I meet, and wisdom to follow your leading without doubting your guiding hand. When fear, doubt, or hesitation rise, remind me of your presence and strengthen my trust in your direction. Let your power, not my strength, move through me so lives are touched and your name is honoured.” Amen!
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