In 1985, my life smashed into a brick wall. I needed thousands of dollars to start a publishing company and bail my family out of debt. My sources were all maxed out and the hope level in my reservoir was hovering at empty. I was finished.
The only untouched asset I had was a $125,000 life insurance policy. So, my solution seemed obvious: suicide.
As for taking my life, I had no problems with it because I was an atheist. No God equals no problems with eternal judgment, right? It wasn’t personal, just a business solution for my family and me.
My plan was uncomplicated. I figured on enjoying one last weekend with my family and then committing suicide on that Monday evening.
Thus, on May 20, 1985, I spent the day finishing up loose ends. Then, for some reason, I stopped at an insurance agent’s office. Although we knew each other, Bill and I were not intimate friends and had never really talked to each other before that day.
Bill invited me into his office. We discussed baseball. Then in the middle of our conversation, he stared at me and said, “You’re thinking about committing suicide, aren’t you?”
His words hit me like a sledgehammer. How did he know? I told no one. It was my secret $125,000 payday. I was speechless. As I sat there, a vision played across my mind about my car ramming into a viaduct and killing me.
I wept and although I tried to regain my composure, I could not. “How did you know?” I asked.
“Oh,” said Bill, “the Lord told me while we were talking to each other.”
His words shattered my unbelief. God was alive and He cared about me. We continued talking and he finally gave me a book to read: Power in Praise by Merlin Carothers.
When I arrived home, I began reading the book. After a few pages, I walked into the bathroom, closed the door and knelt in front of the sink. Looking into the mirror, I prayed, “Jesus, I’ve tried everything else and nothing has worked. I guess I’ll give You a try.”
Instantly, I was changed. Fear and shame were no longer a part of me, but instead, joy and hope filled my heart. Bowing and worshipping my new King, I promised to never let go of His hand.
If my story were a fictional Hollywood movie, perhaps it would resemble It’s A Wonderful Life. Jimmy Stewart would play me and Donna Reed my wife. The angel would get his wings and everyone would live happily ever after. The end.
But sadly, my life has not been a work of fiction. It has been a day to day journey, filled with a few good experiences, but also many mistakes, false starts and failures. Divorce. Loss of friends. Numerous firings from sales positions. Low-paying jobs. Poverty. Rejection. Loneliness. Not exactly, a picture perfect Christian life.
And yet, it has been in the deepest valleys where the Lord has truly revealed Himself to me. It was there He became my loving Father and I learned His grace was sufficient for me.
Smith Wigglesworth (1859-1947) was known for his miraculous healings and for raising at least twelve people from the dead, including his wife Polly. Wigglesworth was once asked, “Smith, how can we have great faith like yours?”
Wigglesworth’s quoting of Mark 4:28 let his listeners know that their faith had to first sprout and then grow. It would take time, effort and learning before mature faith would become evident to them.
Whether we like it or not, we have to start our prayer journey where we are, not where we want others to think we are, not where our teachers and mentors presently are, but where we are. This usually means praying lesser petitions, like asking for parking places on crowded streets or praying for favor in various situations in our lives. Then, as the Lord answers our prayers, our faith and trust in Him are built on a solid foundation so we can continue to pray for bigger and bigger miracles.
The founder of Vineyard Churches, John Wimber (1934 – 1997), had a tremendous healing ministry that spanned the globe. He is a perfect example of a believer who had to work through various prayer levels before he saw success.
The following is a hilarious and entertaining seventeen-minute video on Wimber explaining his journey on healing the sick:
Remember: keep on praying. God is waiting for us to grow up!
The following is an excerpt from an upcoming novel:
The drive to meet Pastor Rick took me past the Temecula Valley High School baseball field where our son, Cole, played shortstop for the Golden Bears during his four years there. Cole was a good player, but that wasn’t the reason I always thanked the Lord for His mercy when I drove by the field. It was because of a special miracle the Lord did twenty-eight years earlier during a state playoff game.
On that particular day, the Golden Bears were playing the Norco High School Cougars. The pitcher for the Cougars was Carson Riley, a left-hander, who threw around ninety-five miles per hour and was a solid major league prospect.
Cole stood in the right side of the batter’s box to lead off the seventh inning. Riley’s first pitch was a fastball, which tailed inside and hit Cole in the middle of his chest, knocking him to the ground. He laid motionless on the ground.
The three coaches for Temecula Valley rushed to him. One of them took out a cell phone and made a call.
Jane and I were sitting in the bleachers above the dugout on the first base side of the field. I grabbed Jane’s hand. “Honey, we need to go out there. Cole’s in danger,” I said.
We stood up and hurried to field.
Jim Dawson, the head coach for the Golden Bears, looked up as we approached home plate. “Dylan, he’s not breathing. I phoned for an ambulance. It should be here in four minutes,” he said.
Jane and I dropped to our knees and began praying. She prayed in tongues while I placed my hand on his chest.
“Father, You gave me a promise when Cole was born that He would preach the gospel and do miracles in Your name. When You made that promise, You looked into the future and saw this day. And yet, You still made that promise to me. I am not leaving until You honor Your promise and Cole stands up, totally healed in Jesus’ name. You did it for Elijah when he prayed for the widow’s son and I’m asking You to do the same thing for Cole, right now,” I prayed.
Coach Dawson grabbed my shoulders. “Dylan, let’s wait for the ambulance,” he whispered.
I shook his hands off me. “Let go of me,” I shouted. “God is doing a miracle here.”
Dawson released his grasp and wandered off. A siren could be heard pulling into the school’s parking lot.
“Father, I didn’t ask You to give me that promise for Cole. You did it on Your own. So, I’m asking You to honor Your promise, in Jesus’ name,” I prayed again and again.
“What’s happening here?” asked a paramedic, rushing toward us with a stretcher.
Cole’s green eyes fluttered and opened. He looked into my eyes. “Dad,” he whispered, “I met Jesus. He said I had to come back to life because of your prayers.”
My son was totally healed and wanted to stay in the ballgame, but of course, the two paramedics insisted on him riding in the ambulance to Temecula Valley Hospital. Jane and I followed them in our SUV.
All of the tests on Cole proved to be negative. The Lord had healed him.
Cole graduated from high school two weeks later and now lives in San Diego with his wife Allyson and their two daughters, Mia and Madison.
If I drove by the baseball field a hundred times in any one day, I always thanked the Lord for His gracious miracle every time. I always wanted Him to know how much I appreciated what He did for our family on that day.
Most Christians want to do the works of Jesus, like healing the sick, casting out demons and raising the dead. I have seen a few miracles over the years, but only once have I been involved in raising the dead. It happened in Louisville when we rented a home with a big backyard.
Carol and I kissed common sense bye-bye when we purchased two dogs. The Golden Labrador was named Casey and the liver and white spotted English Pointer was named Kelly. Both were females and about fifteen months old at the time of this story.
The two dogs loved each other. They dug holes in the yard, chewed on phone cables, barked at squirrels, raced around with tennis balls in their mouths, but they especially loved to puppy fight. Casey weighed seventy-five pounds while Kelly was a forty-pound lightweight, but Kelly was the alpha dog in the twosome. She always won the fights.
Carol and I had a lunchtime appointment on that particular day. I opened the gate to the dog run before we left so the dogs could play in the backyard. They took off running as we drove away.
When we returned and parked in the driveway, a loud wailing could be heard in the backyard. We scrambled out of the truck and raced to see what was the problem. There in the backyard in the dog run, the two dogs were tangled together. Casey’s lower jaw, somehow, caught itself under Kelly’s dog collar, and in the struggle to get free, Kelly had flipped over. This maneuver caused the cloth collar to strangle the smaller Kelly. Her eyes were glazed over and her breathing faint.
I tried to release the collar, but it was too tight. Carol ran to the house for a pair of scissors. She was gone only a few minutes, but by the time she returned and cut the cloth collar, Kelly quit breathing. She died in my arms with her eyes staring off into space.
Carol kneeled down next to me on the ground by Kelly in the backyard. We began praying in tongues with our hands touching the dead dog.
We wept.
“Father, You can’t let our dog die. You gave her to us. You have to raise her up. You can’t let her die. It’s not right. Father, we’re asking You to raise her up from the dead right now,” Carol and I cried.
We prayed over and over in this fashion with tears flowing down our faces for four or five minutes.
Then, Kelly opened her eyes. She wobbled to her feet and walked over to Casey who stood by the house, watching on. They touched noses as if to say, “That was a close one, but everything is okay now.”
Carol and I remained on our knees, praising our Father for His grace and mercy.
Later, Carol asked, “How long would you have continued praying for Kelly?”
“Until Father raised her from the dead,” I said without thinking.
Was it our great faith that brought about this miracle? No, not really. Our words were not filled with mountain-moving faith. We tugged on Abba Father’s heart like a four-year old child, begging a parent for an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. We knew He would eventually give in and do it because He is head over heels in love with us.
Our God is a good Father. (Excerpt from The Hunt for Larry Who)
A little more than thirty-five years ago, I was the treasurer of the St. Edmond’s high school athletic boosters’ club and made an error, causing a financial problem in the boosters’ checking account. I prayed and asked the Lord for His help before calling the bank.
I phoned and explained the problem to a bank officer. She quickly told me the error would be handled and the funds restored into the checking account. I was so excited by how easily it worked out.
“Oh Lord, You care about small things, too,” I said aloud after hanging up.
“I care about all things,” said an audible voice.
I jumped off the stool and bowed down on the kitchen’s tile floor. Tears streamed down my face. I shook, wondering what would happen to me because the voice seemed so loud and so holy. I stayed in that position of reverence for several minutes.
This was the only time I have heard the audible voice of God in my thirty-nine years of walking with Him. Yet, I am still amazed at His response to my simple prayer. Maybe God wants to be invited into every part of our lives, even the mundane and the ordinary parts..
Now, I want to contrast the above situation with a recent problem that I had concerning a bad tire on the car I drove for U*B*E*R share rides. The problem nagged at me in the middle of the night. I eventually went downstairs an hour earlier than my usual waking time to seek the presence of the Lord.
“Lord, You are my refuge and my fortress; in You, I trust. So, help me in this situation,” I cried out to the Lord.
After waiting on the Lord, I felt the Holy Spirit speak Jeremiah 12:5 to my heart: “If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses? If you stumble in safe country, how will you manage in the thickets by the Jordan?”
The Lord rebuked me!
He let me know that if I couldn’t trust Him with my life’s issues in today’s America, how would I be able to trust Him when major calamities hit our nation in the near future. Ouch!
And yet, His rebuke settled my heart. I was freed from my doubts and fears.
“Prayer is not about getting God to agree with our answers for our problems, but it’s about positioning us to stand with God and His answers for our circumstances,” said Tyler Staton, the head of the 24/7 Prayer Movement in America.
How can these two contrasting prayers prepare us for prayers of healing the sick and raising the dead?
Last Friday, one of my first U*B*E*R riders in Fayetteville, Arkansas, was a twenty-two year-old gal from Texas. She mentioned that she was a senior at the University of Arkansas, studying to be an English literature teacher in secondary education.
Our conversation continued until I dropped her off near her place of work in campus town. I headed off to my next pickup who happened to be a journalism major.
Before the young man stepped out of the car at his drop-off site, he said, “One of your riders left a headset here in the backseat.” He handed me the headset.
“That’s great!” I proclaimed, knowing the headset belonged to the young gal because she mentioned how she liked to listen to audio books.
I usually tell riders before they step out of my car to check whether they have their keys, cell phone, wallet or whatever else because if they leave anything behind, my wife will sell it on eBay. They always laugh but they do take the time to check before shutting the door.
Sadly, I had not said anything to the young gal.
That Friday turned out to be busy for me with rides to Northwest Arkansas Airport, Springdale and other surrounding areas. I received no messages from U*B*E*R saying the young gal had contacted the company about her lost headset. But I did take the time to check out the value of the headset which was $159 on Amazon and almost $300 on other sites.
At the end of the day, I felt the Holy Spirit whispering to my heart that I needed to drop off the headset to the gal at her place of work. Yes Lord, I thought. I headed toward her place of work.
Now, to set the scene: it’s Friday afternoon. One day before the big Texas versus Arkansas football rivalry game in Fayetteville. The gal’s place of work is a favorite college bar and grill in the midst of other college watering holes in the middle of campus town. And the University of Arkansas – like most universities – lacks enough parking spots by about 75% on most days.
I drove around the gal’s place of work and, of course, there were no parking spots and traffic everywhere was looking for non-existing parking places. No hope, except for a miracle.
Driving down a one-way street, I prayed: “Lord, You are going to have to open up a parking spot for me or I’m going to have to wait till Monday to return the headset to her.”
Almost instantly, a car up ahead pulled away from the curb. I pulled into the space. Next, I walked three hundred feet to the bar and grill.
The place was packed with people standing in line to be seated. I passed by them and headed toward the bar where an older man was filling a pitcher with draft beer. I explained to him my dilemma of the headset and the waitress whose name I didn’t remember. He looked at me like I was an idiot because of how busy he was and the masses of people standing all around us at the bar.
Then it happened. The young gal walked up to pick up a drink order.
“Here she is now,” I said to the man.
The gal looked at me and saw the headset I held up for her to see.
“You’ve made my day when you showed up with my headset. Thank you. Thank you,” she said and walked off with the headset in one hand and a drinks tray in the other.
I left and walked back to my car.
How could a seemingly insignificant prayer like asking for a parking place prepare us for prayers of healing the sick and raising the dead?
Harvard’s Spangler Auditorium was filled to capacity. A few people stood at the back of the auditorium, but the fire marshals limited the number to a hundred standing-room-only people. Fortunately, the event was also live-streamed to the whole Harvard community.
The Harvard Crimson labeled the debate: “A Black firebrand professor debates a stuffy white Christian dean on white supremacy in the Church.”
The Black firebrand professor was Dr. Isaiah Rashad, head of racial conflict in America and author of four books, dealing with white supremacy. His scheduled opponent was Dean Jonathan D. Edwards from the Dallas Theological Seminary.
The curtain went up, revealing a podium at center stage with three people sitting behind it: one Black man, one Asian woman and one white man. The woman stood up and walked to the podium.
“Good evening,” she said. “My name is Dr. Clara Chung. I will be the moderator for this debate. I first want to announce a change in the debate. Dean Edwards tested positive for COVID this afternoon and offers his regrets for not being able to be here. The East Coast Vice President for Business Men’s Fellowship and owner of eight restaurants – Harvey Whitman – has graciously offered to take Dean Edwards’ place.”
She paused to check her notes.
“The rules for the debate are simple because there really aren’t any, except each must treat his opponent with the highest respect. Thus, they have the freedom to roam wherever they choose in their dialogues. Each may make an opening statement, not to exceed thirty minutes. After that, it will be an open debate format.
“Because of a coin flip, Dr. Rashad will speak first.” She turned around toward the two men behind her. “Dr. Rashad, the podium is yours. “
Dr. Chung sat down while Dr. Rashad walked to the podium. Rashad looked more like an athlete than an academic with broad shoulders and long cornrow braided hair. His muscular arms bulged inside his tailored black sport coat.
“Thank you, Dr. Chung,” said Dr. Rashad. “And a big thank you to Harvard University for putting on this debate during black history month. I am proud to be a part of Harvard’s faculty, knowing our university desires to be at the forefront of racial changes in America.”
He stood at the podium with the microphone in his hand.
“In 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, ‘The most segregated hour in this nation is Sunday at 11:00 am. Interestingly enough, a few months before King’s statement, a Gallup poll showed that one in seven Americans believed there was a biblical basis for the separation of races.
“Does anyone seriously believe anything much has changed over the last sixty years?”
Rashad wove the sad American Church narrative from our nation’s early slavery beginnings to the present time. Over and over again, he pointed out how white supremacist attitudes fueled skepticism and resistance to true peace between the races.
“Today’s white Evangelicals are more concerned with checking all of the right boxes without considering that true repentance means more than just saying, ‘We’re sorry.’ It means being willing to walk through the valley of transformation so that both races arrive at true reconciliation, even if that takes twenty to thirty years or more. It’s only then we will see a lasting peace.”
Dr. Rashad looked at his watch, nodded his head to the audience and walked back to his seat.
Dr. Chung walked to the podium.
“Mr. Whitman,” she said, “it is your turn.”
Whitman stood up and slowly walked to the podium.
If the outcome of the debate depended on looks and charisma, Harvey Whitman was at a decided disadvantage. Short, bald, ten pounds overweight and a meek manner certainly did not play well on most stages, especially following someone like Rashad.
Whitman picked up the handheld wireless microphone and walked back and forth across the front of the stage with his head down and his eyes almost closed. He said nothing for a few minutes. The crowd moved restlessly in their seats.
Then, he stopped and spoke. “Dr. Rashad accurately laid out the problems facing the American Church with its racial issues. I only disagree with him on one point – that it will take twenty to thirty years to work through these problems. And I will prove him wrong in the next twenty minutes.”
He stopped walking and looked toward the crowd to the left of him. He pointed with his left hand.
“Right over there, about twenty rows from the front, is a young woman named Tina Andrews. Tina, would you please stand up? Don’t be shy! The Lord has something for you.”
A young black woman stood up.
The crowd gasped. How could this man know Tina’s name?
Whitman paid no attention to the crowd and said, “I feel that Lord has just shown me that you received some bad news yesterday. Is that correct??
Tears dripped down her face as she nodded her head.
“The Lord is going to heal you of cervical cancer right now in Jesus’ name.”
The woman screamed and fell over backwards into her chair.
Whitman moved to the center of the stage and pointed into the crowd.
“Denzel Martin, stand up.”
No one obeyed his command. The crowd looked around.
“Okay, that would be Denzel Martin at 227 Eighth Avenue, Apartment 2. Do you want me to give out your phone number, too?
A black man stood up, shaking his head.
Once again, the crowd gasped and murmured aloud, wondering how he knew Denzel.
“You just flunked your vision test to be a pilot in the Air Force, right?” Whitman said.
The man nodded his head.
“The Lord is going to heal your eyes right now in Jesus’ name.”
The black man fell over backwards into his chair.
“Denzel, go have your eyes rechecked tomorrow. They will be better than 20/20.”
Whitman called out the names of eight more people over the following fifteen minutes. He accurately told them their problems and then prayed for their healings.
“Has everyone noticed that I have only prayed for black people tonight?” said Whitman. “Okay, have any of these black people cared about my skin color? No! They were just happy that someone was able to walk in the spiritual gifts to help them out of some major problems in their lives.”
Whitman walked to the front of the stage and looked at the crowd with blazing eyes.
“We can debate. We can talk. We can write. We can do all of this and more, but this will take years to unravel all of our racial problems. Or we can learn how to walk in the gifts of the Spirit and do miracles for each other. If we learn how to do this, it will break down whatever barriers are holding us back in a short period of time. Do you realize this is what Jesus did? Shouldn’t we do the same?”
Dr. Rashad walked over and hugged Whitman.
(Just so everyone knows: I modeled Harvey Whitman’s spiritual gifts on the ministries of William Branham. This was first published in November, 2021.)
This is how Jesus the Messiah was born. His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. But before the marriage took place, while she was still a virgin, she became pregnant through the power of the Holy Spirit. Joseph, to whom she was engaged, was a righteous man and did not want to disgrace her publicly, so he decided to break the engagement quietly. (Matthew 1:18-19 NLT)
Even if Mary said the exact words spoken by the angel Gabriel to explain her chosen vessel status to bear the Messiah, it would have been a mind-boggling concept for Joseph to accept. No virgin had ever bore a child in the history of the world. Not once!
We don’t know for sure, but it had to be a tense conversation between the two of them.
As he considered this [the divorce], an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream. “Joseph, son of David,” the angel said, “do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. For the child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit. And she will have a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”(Matthew 1:20-21 NLT)
Joseph’s dream was so powerful and convincing that he did not even go to his local synagogue to search scriptures and talk over his dilemma with any leaders. His dream turned his life into a big “Yes, Lord.”
This revelation came about because of a chance meeting with a young Christian lady. I gave her a personal prophecy about her calling and future destiny. She laughed and replied, “No way! I could never do that.”
Usually, I don’t reply when a person disagrees with a personal prophecy I give them, except to say something like, “If I’m wrong, forgive me.”
Yet this time, I said, “You’re just one vision away from accepting this word for your life.”
“Oh, that’s profound,” she said.
Hmm! I wonder how many believers in America are just one vision away from walking in their callings.
“In the last days,” God says, “I will pour out my Spirit upon all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy. Your young men [and women] will see visions, and your old men will dream dreams. (Acts 2:17 NLT)
Last Tuesday, I was driving from Ft. Smith to Fayetteville, Arkansas, a trip of sixty miles over up-and-down terrain through the Boston Mountains. It was approximately 5:50 a.m. No moon. No stars. Extremely dark conditions with tall trees lining both sides of Interstate 49. My speedometer registered 75 miles per hour, the posted speed limit.
As I drove down a steep incline in the right lane, there were no vehicles in front of me nor any behind me. My only source of light were my car’s dimmed headlights.
All of a sudden, a deer stood directly in front of me. The doe turned her head toward me. Somehow, I noticed a fawn off to the left, stopping to watch the action. If I could have sat on the hood of my car, I could have easily touched the deer.
I didn’t pray or shout or step on my brakes. There was no time, especially traveling 75 miles per hour or 110 feet per second. I resigned myself to hitting the deer.
Then, just like that, the doe appeared on the right side of my car, wagging its white tail and heading toward the tree line.
I continued speeding down the road while I tried to digest what had just happened. I shut off the radio and began praising the Lord at the top of my lungs. Gratitude for the One who promised to “never leave me nor forsake me” consumed me for the next half hour.
Later, I also learned that Carol had been praying in the Spirit for a long time that morning.
So, I figured the Lord wanted to underline the importance of our daily prayers…but something continually nagged me.
Everything seemed so orchestrated. There was no way I could notice all of those details while traveling at 75 miles per hour. What was the Lord really trying to show me?
A couple of days later, two verses were impressed on me:
“Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,” says the Lord of Hosts. “What are you, O great mountain [of obstacles]? Before Zerubbabel, you will become plain [insignificant]…with loud shouts of “Grace, grace to it!” (Zechariah 4:6-7 AMP)
The Lord is the greatest teacher in the history of the world. Who else could choreograph a deer, a young fawn, a speeding car and myself into an unforgettable life lesson for me?
Thus, whatever obstacles may seem to be holding me back – even a deer – are insignificant to the Spirit of the Lord and His grace.
For the Word that God speaks is alive and full of power [making it active, operative, energizing, and effective… (Hebrews 4:12a AMP)
The Bible contains 1,817 predictive prophecies. To date, approximately one half of them have been fulfilled. The remaining ones are expected to be fulfilled during the End-Times. Given God’s omniscience, He will always be 100% accurate.
Now, think about an Isaiah or Daniel or Zechariah or another prophet speaking an End-Times prophecy over 2,000 years ago. The words were spoken and written down for future reference. Yet, these are not just dead words penned on a scroll, but are living, powerful time-bombs awaiting their appointed times to explode forth in fulfilment.
Bless the Lord, you His angels, mighty in strength, who perform His word, obeying the voice of His word. (Psalm 103:20 NASB)
Who makes sure the Bible’s prophecies are fulfilled at the exact time specified by the Lord?
I believe God’s angels are assigned this task. Somehow, these chosen angels can hear the DNA guidelines within the prophetic words and know when the prophecies need to be fulfilled.
In 2 Kings 19:32-34, Isaiah spoke a powerful prophecy to King Hezekiah of Judah that the Assyrians would not come into Jerusalem or even shoot one arrow at the city and that the Assyrian army would retreat back to Assyria.
These are only a few examples of angels carrying out God’s prophetic words.
And you know what restrains him now, so that in his time he will be revealed. For the mystery of lawlessness is already at work; only he who now restrains will do so until he is taken out of the way. (2 Thessalonians 2:6-7 NASB)
Now, don’t go thinking that Michael uses a metal sword or a spear to restrain Satan from pushing his Antichrist agenda ahead of time. No, not at all! Michael uses the prophetic words of the Bible as his sword. And he probably tosses in a few, “The Lord rebuke you!” in Satan’s direction every so often.
Okay, I will hang my hat on Michael as the restrainer.
Larry Who 