Let’s break down the process of speaking a prophecy from my experience, okay?
When I prophesy, I first feel a nudge in my inner man from the Holy Spirit to speak something. Along with my nudge or inner witness, I usually have the opening words, which may be something like, “I believe the Lord wants to speak to us…” As I speak the opening words, a few more words are given to me by the Holy Spirit and then more words gush through me as I speak, until I finish.
There are a few inner things happening in me while I prophesy.
On the one hand, I’m trying to listen to the Holy Spirit and speak His words in a similar manner. If He is cheerful, I want to be cheerful. If He is sober, I want to speak in the same way. Etc. Etc.
At the same time, I am trying to check my words against scripture because every prophetic word must line up with the Bible and its intent. If my words do not line up, they should be judged as false.
So, I like to think of myself as a computer with a few tabs open while I am prophesying.
Don’t worry!
It’s not as hard as it sounds because the Holy Spirit is doing the heavy work. I am just a vessel allowing Him to work through me. He fully understands my capabilities, my insecurities, my audience and my faith level. He then gives me more than enough grace to handle all of this.
A friend sent me an email with a YouTube video link by an evangelist who talked about the New World Order, 6000 FEMA camps in America, pastors pledging allegiance to the New World Order, railroad cars moving Christians to camps and countless other statements
I listened to three or four minutes of the video and turned it off.
Then, I gritted my teeth and listened to the full message. Did I feel any better after listening to the twenty-six minute message? No, absolutely not. It still felt like ice water dripping on my inner spirit.
There is no doubt the evangelist has a prophetic gifting, sincerely loves the Lord and has a little bit of truth mixed into her message. But just because a person talks about dreams, visions, prophetic words, has a few revelations and inserts some scriptures along the way, are we supposed to accept her message as an inspired word of the Lord?
So let two or three prophets speak [those inspired to preach or teach], while the rest pay attention and weigh and discern what is said. (1 Corinthians 14:29 AMP)
It is not just the responsibility of leaders to discern whether prophecies are accurate words of the Lord. We all are called to do this. Why? Because the Holy Spirit dwells in each of us and does not just fall upon prophets, kings and priests as in the Old Testament.
Okay, let’s be honest with ourselves.
Most of our spiritual ears have been dulled by the world around us, by our teachings, by our dependence on leaders, by television and movies and by countless other things. Our spiritual discernment is probably at its lowest level right now.
So, what can we do to sharpen our spiritual discernment?
Without the gifts of the Spirit, none of this would have happened. The woman with Tourette Syndrome would not have been healed and her daughter-in-law would not have had a baby girl.
I had another Holy Spirit experience over thirty-five years ago. It happened when I was preaching at a small house group. A woman showed up that night, suffering from muscular dystrophy. She used a cane and hobbled over to a chair and sat down.
When I finished my message, I walked over to her, reached out my hand and said, “Let’s dance.”
She took my hand and danced with me around the family room. After a minute or so, I stopped and looked at her. “What do you think?” I said.
Her eyes opened wide. “Oh Lord, I’m healed!” she proclaimed.
The woman carried her cane home, totally healed. The next day, she enrolled at a gym to get herself back in shape.
None of this was through my efforts. It was the manifestation of the Holy Spirit working in me.
If I could turn the gifts on when I wanted to, I would, but it doesn’t work that way. The Holy Spirit determines when He will manifest Himself in believers, and not us.
Here’s my thinking:
If we want to be used by the Lord to heal dementia sufferers, we need to eagerly pursue the spiritual gifts. All of them. I just don’t believe there is any other option.
Also, it’s my belief that dementia/Alzheimer’s is caused by demons. And I think these demons have built up strongholds in our minds so that very few believers are praying for dementia sufferers to be healed.
Thus, like Jesus said about casting out the demon in the young boy, “But this kind never comes out except by prayer and fasting.” (Matthew 17:21)
It will take the Spiritual gifts, faith, prayer and fasting.
My new podcast is named Flee California Now! Episode #1 is now available on YouTube and is entitled, “Why would anyone name their podcast Flee California Now?
In the midst of the auto sales drought, I felt the Lord wanted me to fast. How long? I had no idea. Why? I did not ask and had no clue. So, I began fasting by drinking only water and morning coffee, but eating no food.
Did things improve for me? Heavens no! My auto sales drought continued.
On the fourteenth evening of the fast, a former client’s wife phoned me. I had mentioned to her husband that the Lord could heal his wife of her long-term ailment.
“Larry, do you really believe the Lord can heal me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“When can you pray for me?”
My pastor, her husband and I showed up at the woman’s house two days later. The sick woman’s daughter-in-law was also there to support the woman. We chatted a bit until I felt the presence of God descending upon us. I walked over and began praying for the woman.
I discerned a demon caused her ailment rather than being a physical issue. As my prayers increased in tempo, I felt an inner urge to command it to leave.
“Go!” I proclaimed.
Then, I spun around and looked at the daughter-in-law.
“You’re going to have a baby. Fix up a room for your new baby,” I prophesied.
The daughter-in-law broke down and cried. She eventually collected herself enough to tell us how she and her husband had just undergone extensive tests at a Sioux City hospital, discovering they could never have children.
That night, on the sixteenth day of the fast, I ate again.
The woman phoned two nights later.
“Larry, do you know what ailment I suffered from?” she asked.
“No.”
“I had Tourette Syndrome,” she said and explained how her tics and rants kept her housebound and away from public gatherings for years. “I’m totally healed. Thanks.”
A year later, I received a card from the daughter-in-law announcing the birth of their baby girl.
So, what is Tourette Syndrome?
Tourette Syndrome is a disorder that involves repetitive movements or unwanted sounds (tics) that can’t be easily controlled. For instance, you might repeatedly blink your eyes, shrug your shoulders or blurt out unusual sounds or offensive words.
Tics typically show up between ages 2 and 15, with the average being around 6 years of age. Males are about three to four times more likely than females to develop Tourette syndrome.
Although there’s no cure for Tourette syndrome, treatments are available. (Mayo Clinic)
So, how can this help with healing dementia sufferers?
Dad parked the car in the parking lot of the First United Methodist Church. I opened Mom’s door and she stepped out. Dad walked around the front of the car and held Mom’s arm as they walked up the steps to the front door. I followed along behind them.
“Larry, is that you?”
I turned to see Gene and Lois Vogt walking toward me. I stopped to talk with them for a few minutes before heading inside. The couple walked ahead of me, up the steps into the church.
There was a long line of people stretching from the entry foyer down the middle aisle to Brad’s casket, sitting at the altar, in front of the pulpit. The line took a sharp left at the casket, heading toward a receiving line with Brad’s wife, Bobbie, and family members. Pictures of Brad sat atop his closed casket.
As I stood there, waiting for the line to move forward, the Lord whispered to my heart: “Brad’s not in the casket. He’s up here in heaven with Me.”
I could have jumped and danced the rest of the way to the casket. This was the answer to the question, which I asked the Lord over and over again on the way home from Iowa: did my friend Brad give his life to Jesus before he died? Now, we will see each other again sometime in the future, I thought. Praise the Lord.
My joy lasted just a few minutes until I reached the casket. I turned left toward the receiving line where I eventually would offer condolences to Bobbi and her family. Standing next to the altar, an agonizing grief swept over me like a tsunami wave. It overwhelmed me. I wept and struggled to hold back howls of mourning within my chest.
I finally arrived to where Brad’s wife, Bobbie, stood, but I could not talk. I wept and babbled. She ended up hugging and consoling me.
“I understand, Larry, I understand,” she said through sobs.
She introduced me to her sons and their families. I moved forward, shaking hands, but still emotionally out of control. I finished and headed toward my parents who sat in a middle pew on the left side of the sanctuary. The grief lifted and I felt better.
“Larry, you need to talk with Brad’s parents,” said Mom, pointing toward Hap and Marie Schoonhoven.
I turned around and the heavy grief fell upon me once again. I moved toward them, barely able to walk because of the agony I felt. They ended up consoling me.
I finally sat down next to my parents. The cloud of grief seemed to have passed. A little later, my sister Linda sat down next to me. The service began.
Sitting there, I asked a question in my mind: “Lord, what was that heavy grief all about?”
The Lord whispered to my heart almost instantly: “I allowed you to feel a fraction of the grief I feel when a person does not make it into his divine calling. Brad should have been a prophet.”
The heavy grief dumped itself on me again, but this time, it was much worse than before. I vomited tears. I held my hands over my mouth to hold back the wails attempting to erupt out of my throat. I leaned forward. I leaned back. I was out of control. My sister and Mom looked at me. People leaned forward in their pews to catch a glimpse of the out-of-control mourner.
After a while, the grief lifted. I held my head in my hands, trying to catch my breath. Sweat rolled down the side of my ribs from the all-out mourning. Peace eventually quieted me. Praise God, I thought, this is finally over.
I felt Him whisper to my heart: “My church is a bunch of nice losers. They lay their hands on the sick and pray for them, but when they die, they aren’t mad at all. They don’t check themselves out to see what happened or what they may have gone wrong with their prayers and actions. They accept defeats and don’t think any more about them.
“Now, Major League baseball teams are all filled with good players. Each player has to be one of the best in the world to make it to the Major Leagues. Losing teams have good players on their rosters, too. But after a while, losing teams’ players don’t mind losing because after all, they still receive their Major League paychecks and bonuses.
“But winning Major League baseball teams are different. They hate losing and will do anything and whatever it takes to win. They hate losing.
“I want My church to hate losing!”
This time the grief, which hit me, measured a ten on the Richter Scale. It was so bad my sister leaned over toward me.
“Don’t you think you should go outside and get a hold of yourself,” she whispered.
If I had attempted to move, I would have fallen on the floor. Everything would have erupted out of me, making a bad situation much worse than it was. The grief lifted after a few minutes, but I sat on pins and needles for the rest of the funeral service.
The Lord is the Master Director who chooses the times when He interacts with us. It has little to do with whether it is convenient and everything to do with His purposes and plans for our lives.
I will never forget the day of my friend’s funeral.
(Taken from my memoir, The Hunt for Larry Who, an Amazon eBook.)
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.
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?
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)
Larry Who 