Tag Archives: Gifts of the Spirit

I was now directly in front of the wall, and close enough to touch the packages if I wanted to. I didn’t; I couldn’t.

I was looking at a wall made up of dead babies, beautifully and lovingly wrapped in ceremonial fabrics. Given how many bundles there were, I had to be looking at hundreds and hundreds of bodies. My senses were frozen. Even my sense of smell, morbidly alert for any odor, detected nothing. This entire wall was frozen in time. And the wall was not yet fully formed. There would be more bundles, and new layers of grief. Grief for each new pair of parents who would bring their baby to the monks to be set aside [executed], grief for the priests who would carry out the devastating task, and the grief of the universe for having lost one of its children.

…We did have a brief conversation about Buddhism and reincarnation, but I was too emotionally spent to appreciate the finer points of their discourse. I felt far less respect for Buddhists than I previously had… (The Pink Pagoda: One Man’s Quest to End Gendercide in China by Jim Garrow, WND Books, 2012)

Since 1979, China has mandated a one-child policy for all married couples. Those couples who have more than one child face severe fines based on their incomes. Therefore, it is not economically feasible for couples to have a second child unless  they receive an exception from the government.

Now, this becomes a major problem for Chinese parents as they age. Their retirement depends on their children taking care of them, and sadly males are able to earn much more money than females. As you would expect, males are much more desired than females by almost every couple. Thus, a problem arises:

What does a married couple do when an unwanted female baby is born to them?

Although China has laws against infanticide, they are not enforced. So, many parents of newborn baby girls drown them in rivers, abandon them in forests, take them to Buddhist monks who execute them, or countless other cruel measures.

It is estimated that 32 million newborn babies have been set aside, or executed, just because they are females since 1979.

Jim Garrow, the author of the Pink Pagoda, has saved 40,000 baby girls and has spent over $30 million of his own money to undertake this project. He understands that he can’t save them all, but he believes he must at least do his part.

So, what can we do for these female baby prisoners who are locked in wombs and awaiting their executions? We can fast and pray.

“Daddy, we cry out to You, the Father of all mankind, that You would grant mercy and grace to married couples in China and that their hearts would be opened up to the love of the truth. And that Your truth would set these couples free from worry and fear for their futures. Daddy, we don’t know what else to do but tug on You and not let go until You move on their behalves.”

 If I had not been there, I would not have believed what happened, not in a million years.

That particular Saturday morning was Farmer City’s annual Sidewalk Sales Extravaganza. Crowds of people filled the streets of the downtown business district. All checked out the sales bargains lining the tables in front of retail stores. Brown jersey gloves were three pairs for a dollar at Hesston’s Hardware. Dollar General sold Handi-Wipes for seventy-nine cents a package. Although the city was populated with nineteen hundred tight-fisted Norwegian and German-Americans, these blond-haired, blue-eyed conservatives liked nothing better than saving a buck or two.

My little concession trailer sat on the street in front of the court house. Snow cones, popcorn, and cotton candy were hot items for the first two hours. Then it slacked off around 11:30 AM.

I took a break and stood outside the trailer, smoking a cigarette, when I first saw the stranger heading toward me. And if ever a fish was out of water, it was this man. An African-American in Farmer City!

A four-day stubble covered his pock-marked face. Jagged scars stretched from the base of his neck to his left ear and he wore a black Oakland Raiders’ sweatshirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing gang tattoos on his bulging forearms. His eyes revealed the thousand-yard stare of an ex-con.

As he passed by, he nodded at me.

“Hi, how are you?” he whispered without breaking stride.

Being curious, I turned to watch him.

He walked over to a green bench in the city square and climbed up on it. Then, he cupped his mouth with his massive hands.

“Hey, everyone, listen up. I’m holding a healing crusade in Jesus’ name this morning. So, if you need a miraculous healing, come over here,” he shouted.

People stopped what they were doing and looked at him. They had to be wondering who he thought he was – an Oral Roberts or some other evangelist like that. But believe it or not, the crowd moved toward him as if he were a Pied Piper.

An eighty year old lady, with a heavily powdered face, scooted her wheelchair to the front of the group. She looked up at the stranger.

“Okay, sonny, let’s see you do your stuff,” she said with arched eyebrows.

A slight smile etched his chiseled face. He jumped down, and in one continuous motion, he grabbed her hand and flung her out of the wheelchair, saying, “In Jesus’ name, be healed.”

The crowd gasped as she flew through the air and landed on her feet. A big smile lit up her face. She lifted up her hands and danced on the sidewalk, praising Jesus for the miracle.

People quickly formed a line in the street. Some were young. Some were old. There were cripples, amputees, cancer sufferers, heart victims, mentally ill, and numerous others who were afflicted with some malady or another. They waited patiently for the stranger to pray for them.

As the stranger moved toward the first person in line, an arm reached out and grabbed his shoulder. The stranger stopped and turned around, looking into the face of a middle-aged man wearing a black suit.

“Yes, you wanted something?” he asked in a deep voice.

“I’m Reverend Adam Johnson, head of Farmer City’s ministerial board,” said the man with clear blue eyes. “We don’t believe you should be holding a healing crusade just yet. No one knows who you are accountable to. Allow us to check out your credentials. And if everything turns out okay – you can hold some healing meetings in one of our churches next week.”

The smile on the African-American’s face dipped downward.

“Who were you referring to when you said we?”

Reverend Johnson pointed to six men dressed in dark suits, standing under an oak tree just behind the bench.

“Those are the other pastors on our board. And like most pastors, we just want to protect our flocks from unknown strangers like you.”

The African-American put his hands under the armpits of Reverend Johnson, picking him off the ground. Then, he tossed him as if he were a basketball over the bench at the other six pastors. The clergy reached out their arms and cushioned Johnson’s fall to the ground.

The stranger stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists, as if he were deciding further action against the group. Fear crept into the seven pastor’s eyes. They stepped back away from him.

“Don’t you ever get in my way again! I came here to hold a healing crusade for Jesus this morning and people like you are not going to stop me. Do you hear me?” he proclaimed, pointing a finger at the pastors.

They nodded in agreement at the man’s words and fled the city square.

Then, the stranger turned around and began praying for people.

What happened next was unbelievable. It was as if Jesus Himself was holding a healing meeting in Farmer City. Everyone received his healing, no one was disappointed. When the stranger finished, he walked away. A few tried to stop him, but he shook them off.

“Just thank Jesus and give Him the glory, okay?” he said over his shoulder.

But as he walked toward me, he slowed down and stopped a few feet away from me. He eyed me up and down for a few seconds as I puffed a cigarette. Our eyes locked, but neither of us spoke.

Finally, I looked away.

The burning love and compassion in his eyes made me feel like I was standing naked in front of him. He knew the type of man I was and yet, he still cared about me. Why? I do not know, but I wanted to know.

When I looked again, he was gone.

 (Short story taken from Deceived Dead And Delivered, a soon to be published ebook from me.)

This short story was inspired by a vision which the Lord gave me in 1995. In the vision, the Lord showed me how America needs an army of black deliverers. These delivers will  come out of our nation’s inner cities and will help set us free from religious spirits. 

In 1998, I had a vivid vision of an upcoming race war between African-Americans and white Americans. The war did not take place, at first, in the inner cities, but rather, it occurred in the suburbs, the bedrock of white America.

It began with bands of rage-filled black youths attacking suburban areas with AK-47s, grenades, bazookas, and other weapons, killing white people indiscriminately. I saw bodies of white children, mothers, fathers, and seniors lying on the ground, their blue eyes staring upward and blood oozing from wounds. The young blacks stood over the bodies waving their AK-47s in the air and giving each other “high fives” for their successful outpouring of wrath.

In the next part of the vision, I watched white armies and bounty hunters tracking down and slaughtering black youths. The African-American rage and hatred toward white America was finally appeased when that generation of black youths was buried and gone.

Could this really happen? The stage is now set for just such a war.

If you have any doubts, just check out the recent incident of racial unrest in the Trayvon Martin slaying where civil rights activists have weighed in. The media have done the same. The president and his administration. Senators. Congressional Representatives. Black Panthers. Celebrities. $10,000 bounties. Marketing of hooded sweatshirts and other goods. Florida high school students vandalizing a Walgreen’s store.

All of this has happened without a grand jury being summoned or the facts being known.

From my viewpoint, we are one small spark away from a race war and guess what? The people holding the burning torches, such as politicians, media personnel, celebrities, religious leaders, and so forth, are blind fools with personal agendas.

“Wherever we want to go, we can only get there from where we are. Not where we think we are, or wish we are, or where we want others to think we are, but where we are in fact right now.

But political spin and pious euphemisms don’t tell us where we are. After a while, such rhetorical exercises don’t even fool others.

If we don’t have the truth, we don’t have anything to start with and build on. (Thomas Sowell)

So,what can be done to defuse the upcoming race wars?

Exercise foresight and be on the watch to look [after one another], to see that no one falls back from and fails to secure God’s grace (His unmerited favor and spiritual blessing), in order that no root of resentment (rancor, bitterness, or hatred) shoots forth and causes trouble and bitter torment, and the many become contaminated and defiled by it (Hebrews 12:15)

Bitterness is unfulfilled revenge and the only way to remove bitterness is through forgiveness.

For if you forgive others for their transgressions, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions. (Matthew 6:14-15)

This is what I believe African-Americans must do to defuse upcoming race wars. I believe they must go to white Americans and ask forgiveness for their continued hatred of whites. This may mean whole black churches going across town to white churches and asking forgiveness. Or black leaders bowing their knees in front of TV audiences. Or whatever. But it will have to be a dramatic effort on the part of African-Americans to rid themselves of bitterness.

The alternative to doing nothing and continuing on today’s path of hoping for racial change without a dramatic act of repentance, could well end up with black bodies lying in the streets of America.

What are the reasons Christians are imprisoned in North Korea, China, and other countries?

The logical answers: evil governments.

What’s the answer to setting these Christian prisoners free?

Once again, logic dictates that the evil governments must be toppled, but is it really that simple?

From a military viewpoint, our wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have largely been successes. The Taliban armies and the Iraqi armies have been defeated on the battlefields. Both evil governments were then replaced with democratic ones and the citizens are now allowed to choose their own destinies.

Yet, would you consider the people in these two nations liberated so that they can enjoy their futures in peace? No, absolutely not.

In fact, when America leaves Afghanistan and Iraq, both nations may face civil wars, infighting, and good chances of evil governments being placed back in power again. Both nations could easily end up resembling Vietnam after we pulled out in 1974 – bloody messes, with the people suffering more than ever.

Why?

Those who see you [Lucifer or Satan] will gaze at you, they will ponder over you, saying, “Is this the man who made the earth tremble, who shook kingdoms, who made the world like a wilderness and overthrew its cities, who did not allow his prisoners to go home?” (Isaiah 14:16-17)

For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. (Ephesians 5:12)

All earthly governments and people are influenced by the god of this world – Satan – and his governmental hierarchies. Although earthly governments can be toppled by humans (as in the cases of Afghanistan and Iraq), Satan’s government cannot be removed by human efforts. Only Jesus can remove Satan’s government when He returns to rule His earthly kingdom.

Thus, the governments of Afghanistan and Iraq have been changed here on earth, but Satan and his governing hierarchy are still in power over the two nations and nothing has been done to lessen the powers of Satan. Therefore, little will change for the citizens as they will still live under these cruel demonic masters.

What needs to be done to set Christian prisoners and all of the people free in North Korea, China, Afghanistan, Iraq, and wherever?

Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people. (Proverbs 14:34)

Righteousness must displace evil in order to have an effect on Satan and his government’s ruling power on citizens of a nation. The more righteousness and godliness in a nation, the less influence Satan and his evil have on the nation.

So, I suggest the following prayer for North Korea, China, Afghanistan, Iraq, and all nations where Christianity and freedom are suppressed:

Lord, we ask You to open up the heavens, and pour out Your righteousness on North Korea, China, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Let these nations open wide so salvation and righteousness can sprout up together in these nations. (Taken from Isaiah 45:8)

In the mid-1990’s, I lived within walking distance of a Midwestern university. This proximity allowed me to interact with students in many unique ways.

One such happening occurred after I felt an urge to visit the LGBT campus group. Although I had never visited the group or even knew where it was, I figured it would be an exciting venture. So, to spice things up a notch or two, I wore my JESUS baseball cap.

The group’s office was located at the end of a hallway. The door was open and I walked in.

“Hi everyone, what’s happening,” I said to a group of seven or eight college students who had their backs turned away from the entrance.

They all rotated to look at me. Then, they noticed my cap and the discussions began.

“You’re a Christian, huh? Just what we needed on a Friday afternoon,” said a young woman, rolling her eyes.

“Do you believe homosexuality is a sin?” asked a muscular man who walked up  to me, his face just inches from mine.

“Yes, I do,” I said.

The man then recited a litany of verses which he believed proved that homosexuality was not a sin. I cut him off.

“Whoa! You can turn the Bible upside down, cut out verses, paste new ones in, and do whatever you want to do, but when all is said and done, homosexuality will still be a sin,” I said. “But then again, I have the same problem with my pride. God hates it and I love it. Yet, it’s still a stinking sin in His eyes.”

Then I added, “By the way, did anyone notice my sin of pride when I walked in here?”

“Yeah,” said a young man. “It certainly does stink.”

Everyone laughed and we introduced ourselves. The conversations proceeded here and there without focusing on anything in particular. The students were fun and likable to be around.

After a while, the group broke up, with some heading to classes and two going into another room for a closed-door meeting. Only one young man, named Sal, remained. As I stood there, wondering what would happen next, I had a quick vision of Sal.

“You’re a Christian, huh?” I asked.

“Well, I was,” he whispered. His dark eyes looked down at the floor.

“I just had a vision of you at a church with people laying hands on you and praying for you. One person prophesied that you were called to be a prophet. Is that true?”

“Yes, I attended a church with my mom and a person did prophesy that calling to me.”

“What are you going to do about your calling?” I asked.

Sal looked at me like I was the dumbest person on earth. “Hey man, I’ve committed an unpardonable sin. I’m a homosexual. My mama won’t even talk to me anymore.”

I smiled. “Sal, I have good news for you.”

Then, I proceeded to teach him about grace and how his salvation had nothing to do with his character, but rather on the finished work of the cross. In order for him to ever lose his eternal salvation, all of the works of the cross had to be reversed in Jesus, first of all, and then in him. In other words, it ain’t ever happening.

When I finished, Sal smiled. I shook his hand and left.

Over the years, I’ve wondered about Sal. Is he free of the homosexual lifestyle? Is he serving God? Has his relationship with his mom been restored?

I don’t have answers for these questions. All I have is a hope that the Lord who healed the lepers of His day would do the same today.

To arrive at my present predicament, I ignored and drove through many caution signs without ever paying attention or hitting the brakes.

First, three computer programmers at work resigned the morning after Bob talked with me. Each told pretty much the same story, but the three had different ideas on where to relocate. One chose a small town in Nevada, another chose Wyoming, and the last one opted for Fargo, North Dakota.

Why in the world would anyone ever choose Fargo over San Francisco? Normal people should be warned away from that man, I thought.

Six weeks afterward, a catchy Chronicle headline, “Are Christians Acting Crazy Again,” caught my eye. I thumbed through the newspaper’s pages until I found the full article.

The journalist replayed the words of Bob and the three computer programmers. He also contrasted the actions by what Christians were doing with what Harold Camping and his zealots did a couple of years earlier.

Camping’s followers listened to him and then jumped off the ledge, following his prophecies to the ground. Although these zealots felt the pain of losing everything, their total affect amounted to a drop of water in the economic ocean of America. Too bad for them, but no permanent damage for the rest of us.

This time was different.

The article estimated that 40,000 Christian families had packed up and left San Francisco. A few, like Bob, had been able to sell their homes and their businesses at deep discounts, but most were not that fortunate. The sheer glut of homes dropping onto the real estate and rental markets depressed housing prices in the city almost overnight.

Yet, even more than that, 40,000 Christian families amounted to an estimated total of 150,000 people or 20% of the city’s population. The numbers further broke down into 60,000 job losses, $1.5 billion of gross income losses, and $400 million of tax losses for the city. These losses had already begun to fuel major layoffs at schools and retail stores.

Talk radio, TV, and other media ranted about how selfish the Christians were for jumping ship and thereby destroying San Francisco’s economy. Didn’t these Christians care about or love their neighbors? What kind of examples were they to the rest of the city?

With the wall to wall coverage, everyone in San Francisco knew the reason why the Christians left.

Somehow, this all fell on deaf ears at the time and I thought no more about it until that horrific Saturday morning.

As usual, I began the weekend sitting on the leather sofa in the living room, eating toast and drinking coffee at 6:30 AM. My laptop sat on the coffee table, waiting for me to power it up and log onto some work which needed to be finished before noon. I felt lazy and looked out the window toward the morning lights in Chinatown and the San Francisco Bay.

Then it happened.

A burst of intense light lit up the dreary morning skies. It seemed a thousand times brighter than any flash of lightning I had ever seen. The scorching light temporarily blinded me so I did not witness the mushroom death cloud rising into the air over the city, but I knew it was there. The explosion’s heat caused instant third degree burns on my face and arms.

A nuclear shock wave then spread out from the explosion slamming against our five-story building. The building imploded. Ceilings, I-beams, roof, and debris fell on me. Then, two hundred and thirty mile per hour winds slammed against the building’s carcass and reversed itself. When the winds finally quieted down, little remained of my million dollar condo, plasma TV, and Pottery Barn furniture.

An I-beam and debris covered my hips and legs down to my feet. All feeling was gone below my waist. Although I could move my arms, the weight of the debris was too much to move without leg power. I laid there helpless and scared.

I then drifted in and out of consciousness over the following day or so. During one of my times of lucidity, I discovered the laptop resting next to my head. I powered it up. No internet, but I could at least write my story. Who knows? Maybe somebody will eventually read it and learn how stupid I felt lying here, suffering in pain and waiting to die.

To think that I trusted politicians who cared nothing about me personally and only wanted what I could give them in votes and money was shamefully stupid. My mama taught me better than that. Yet, that’s water over the dam and too late to help me now. Que sera, sera.

If only I had

(Conclusion)