Tag Archives: Prophecy

September 19, 2012 · 7:05 am

My Greatest Fear (Part 2)

The vision I mentioned in Part 1  about the long line of children greeting me in heaven happened seventeen years ago. Let’s look at the circumstances and pressures I faced at that particular time.

As I stated in the first section of Part 1, the Holy Spirit directed me to start a paint contracting company, but I was missing a few things, like paint brushes, ladders, truck, truck rack, scrappers, putty knives, management skills, prospective clients, and oh yes – money. In other words, I had nothing.

But I had faith in  God and felt He was able to make it all happen.

In the Spring of 1994, I miraculously received a truck, equipment, and two house painting jobs. I sincerely thought I was on my way to feeding starving children in Africa.

Now, the story becomes a little blurry.

After completing a few painting jobs, I received some prophetic words about working and mentoring young people. And somehow, I believed these words meant I should hire young people to work for my painting company.

So, I took on more painting jobs and hired more people. The painting company prospered and everything seemed to be working out for the glory of God. Then, the painting business slowed down and I had fourteen employees who needed pay checks.

I fasted. I prayed. I cried. I reminded the Lord of the starving children in Africa. I threw everything I could think of toward heaven, hoping something would stick to the throne of God.

At the end of my fast, I had a vision which showed an angel standing in the middle of the bank where my business checking account was located.  I watched the angel hold back checks with his hands until sufficient funds arrived in my account to cover them. This seemed liked my answer from the Lord.

Just so you know: I had three large checks owed me. Plus, I had a backlog of scheduled painting jobs. I just needed to skate on thin financial ice for four or five days at the most.

That night I wrote out 42 checks to suppliers and employees, and mailed them.

The three large checks arrived late and every painting job logged on my books canceled. I had no cash flow and bounced 42 checks. The insufficient funds fees alone ate up whatever cash was in my account. It was a mess!

Parents threatened me. Kids were upset. Police investigated me. Suppliers called at all hours of the day. The man who had heard the cries of starving children in Africa had the reputation and popularity of a snake.

What did I do?

I faced the mess and walked through it one horrendous day at a time. A few painting jobs came my way and I tried to pay back people as much and as fast as I could. I lived with a friend and ate Ramen Noodles often.

Thus, when the vision about the line of children greeting me in heaven occurred in the early months of 1995, I was a shell of my former self. Almost all of my friends were gone. I owed thousands of dollars. My truck payments were three months behind and the light at the end of the tunnel could not be seen by me.

Yet , the pressures and circumstances I faced seemed small compared to not fulfilling my calling and facing that unending line of children.

How did I keep my calling alive in this valley of the shadow of death?

(Continued in Part 3)

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September 17, 2012 · 1:29 pm

A New Novel? Why Not? (Part 1)

 

Chapter 1

A Warm September Night in Nashville 

Mothers ruin young quarterbacks. I know this because my mother demolished my football career when I was ten years old.

That particular evening began with mama telling me I had to attend the final night of a tent crusade at Renaissance Pentecostal Church. She refused to even listen to my reasoning for not going with her. If she would have heard me out, I would have told her about the University of Tennessee Volunteers playing the Trojans of USC on television that night with Curt Gowdy doing the announcing. Every U of T football fan would be glued to the game.

“Listen up Luke Stoner,” she said, bringing out the heavy artillery, “you’re going along with me. No more discussion on this subject, you hear? Now, go upstairs and get ready.”

I bit my tongue, knowing I lost that battle, but my eyes were wide open for the next skirmish. You see, the game was not over until I sat on a metal chair next to her, listening to the fat lady singing. I trudged upstairs, removing my white t-shirt and tossing it toward the laundry hamper.

As I sat on my bed, pulling on my black slacks, I looked at a poster of Kenny Stabler hanging on the wall, next to my desk. He wore his black Oakland Raiders’ uniform with a silver number 12 on the front. My youth football jersey had the same number.

“Mama, you can make me miss the game tonight,” I proclaimed over my shoulder loud enough for her to hear in the bathroom across the hallway, “but you can’t make me walk down to the altar. It’s not my thing.”

Mama stood in the doorway to the bathroom, rolling her eyes toward heaven and brushing her long dark hair with sweeping strokes. She walked over to the vanity, laying the brush down on the walnut stained countertop. With both hands, she wound her hair into a tight bun and then clasped a hair clip to hold it in place. She accomplished all this while praying quietly.

“Mama, I ain’t wearing a tie with my white shirt. It’s too hot,” I shouted.

“Luke, you know it’s wrong to use the word ain’t, but no matter, you’re wearing a tie. Do you want me to tie it for you?”

“No! I’ll tie it myself.”

“Make sure it’s snug at the top. I want you looking sharp tonight.”

I finished dressing and trotted downstairs with a football in my left hand. My hero, Kenny Stabler, said that a young quarterback should always carry a football in his throwing hand, his fingers gripping the leather laces. He believed it produced confidence and he should know because he was the greatest left handed quarterback in the history of the NFL.

At the bottom of the stairs, I made a quick turn into the small kitchen. My right hand lifted the top of the old cookie jar and I grabbed a couple of cookies, without letting go of the football.

“Luke, stay out of the cookies.”

“Okay, mama,” I said, stuffing both chocolate chip cookies into my mouth with one motion. I figured she was too late on that call to penalize me for the theft. The soothing taste eased some of the pain of not seeing the football game.

Seconds later, she arrived downstairs, patting her dark blue dress down over her wide hips.

“How do I look?” she asked, giving me a wink.

“Mama, you’re beautiful.”

And to be honest, my mama, Melanie Stoner, was an attractive gal. The extra thickness she carried around her midsection did not subtract one smidge from her looks. Men asked her out often, but she seldom said yes because she felt her first priority was being my mom.

As for my dad, mama said I reminded her of him with my dishwater blond hair, blue eyes, and wiry build. He was a 101st Airborne paratrooper stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. They dated for four months, but then he died in a helicopter crash. Sadly, he never even knew mama was pregnant.

“Let’s go, Luke. I don’t want to be late.”

(The above is the opening to a new novel I’m writing, The Day LA Died, © Larry Nevenhoven, 2012.

(Continued in Part 2)

 

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September 10, 2012 · 12:14 pm

My Greatest Fear (Part 1)

On December 24, 1993, I was a divorcee living with a friend in a small Iowa town. Like most mornings, I arose early to spend time with the Lord before enjoying Christmas with my family. My spiritual attitude was, “Okay, let’s get this over so we can eat turkey.”

Yet, even with my low level spirituality, heaven brought me a life-changing vision.

In it, I saw thousands and thousands of starving children in Africa. They were screaming at the top of their lungs from painful hunger. Their mothers held the children and the fathers stood next to them. All of the parents stared at me with pleading eyes…would I help them? Please!

The screams echoed in my ears and pierced my heart. I fell to the carpet and wept so much I thought the anguish would swallow me up right there on the spot.

Then, the screams stopped, and the vision disappeared into a deep blackness. As I caught my breath, the Holy Spirit said, “They don’t cry much after three days.”

After that, I wept even more.

I later learned that when starving children quit crying, the process is almost irreversible. They just slowly die.

When the vision ended, the Holy Spirit directed me to start a paint contracting company so I could help the poor and hungry children. I agreed to do it.

Now, let’s fast forward to today. How well have I succeeded to date?

The paint contracting company ended up totally destroying my finances, all of my friendships, my goals, and every particle of my reputation. There were times when I begged the Lord to throw me under a Greyhound Bus and put me out of my misery.

Paint contracting: Failure.

As far as helping the poor and needy children, I have sent a few dribbles of dollars here and there, but not enough to stop the echoes of the crying babies in my ears.  Yes, I’ve fasted and prayed, but even that has been sporadic over the last  nineteen years.

Helping Poor and Needy Children: Failure.

So, if I’m a total failure in all what the Holy Spirit directed me to do, why do I even keep trying, right?

During the horrendous years with my paint contracting company, I spent most of my mornings in earnest prayer. I had no other options because it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other, just to survive. I needed God’s grace each day.

Then, one morning I had another vision.

In the vision, I saw myself in heaven. It was a glorious place, filled with peace and love. As I stood there, enjoying myself, a long line of young black children assembled themselves to greet me. The line looked like it wound itself through heaven for miles and miles.

Not knowing what else to do, I walked over to the first child. His face radiated love, joy, and peace.  There was something about his manner that let me understand he wanted to tell me something. I stood there, awaiting his words.

“I died and didn’t make it into my divine destiny because you failed to fully accomplish your calling,” he said without bitterness. Every word was backed with love.

I stood there, crushed by his words as he left and disappeared.

The next young black child spoke the same words to me. And so did the next. And the next. And the next. On and on. It seemed to be a never ending line of black children who died because I failed to make it into my calling.

There will be those who will scoff at this vision and declare, “God’s grace will cover all of our mistakes on earth.”

My answer to scoffers: “Yes, His grace will eventually cover us, but what about 2 Corinthians 5:10?”

For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may be recompensed for his deeds in the body, according to what he has done, whether good or bad

My greatest fear is at the Judgment Seat of Christ I might be faced with a line of children like I saw in that vision. Each child telling me how I failed them.

So, what am I doing to keep my calling alive?

(Continued in Part 2)

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September 6, 2012 · 1:10 pm

Quitting is Not an Option!

Twenty years ago, I lived in a Midwestern town with a population of 3,000 people. It was a close-knit community with great schools and people who greeted you on the street. I worked in a small Christian bookstore and was also a member of a home group who prayed for numerous people.

One of the people we prayed for was a Lutheran pastor. He was around forty years old, full head of hair, and wore a clerical collar. All of us gathered around him, laid hands on him, and then I prophesied to him about his calling and some plans I felt the Lord had for him.

When I finished, the Holy Spirit came upon him and he fell to the floor. Something, he did not believe in nor had ever experienced before in his life. As he laid on the floor the Holy Spirit spoke to his heart and gave him even more revelations.

Now, let’s fast forward to eight months later.

The same Lutheran pastor had fifteen year old son who committed suicide. It was such a shocking devastation that the whole community shut down for the funeral. Long lines of people waited to offer sympathetic words to the pastor and his wife.

Somehow, I ended up being at the end of the line. When I approached the couple, I felt the Holy Spirit wanted to speak some words of encouragement to the pastor.

“You can’t quit,” I said.

“What?” he replied through tear-filled eyes.

“You can’t quit on your calling,” I said. “Because if you quit, that means the devil has won. And the Lord and your son do not want you to quit just because the battle has been tough. Keep on walking.”

Every part of the mask he was hiding behind fell off his face. He stood there as a destroyed man,  tears streaming down his face. His wife gripped his arm.

“I can’t go on,” he whispered.

“Yes, you can.”

We held each other and wept. Then, the two walked into the sanctuary for the funeral services.

Sometimes, it feels like we can not make it into our callings or fulfill our divine destinies because the price is too costly. That is a lie because the Lord is able to turn our mourning into dancing and clothe us with joy.

Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and grace to help in time of need. (Hebrews 4:16)

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July 25, 2012 · 9:50 am

I’m A Radical! What About You? (Part 4)


If I were planning to build a bridge from Key West, Florida, to Havana, Cuba, and discovered that no matter what anyone did, the bridge would end up five hundred feet short of the shoreline, I would quit and burn up my plans.

Who cares if I would have succeeded in achieving 99.999% of my goal? It would still be a bridge which would not reach and help the people in Cuba.

For me, this is the same problem I now have with being a part of the home church movement.

In Part 3, I listed seven reasons why I like small groups, especially small home groups which meet in local neighborhoods. The reasons are still valid, and therefore, wouldn’t you think I should be beating a drum for planting home churches?

To be honest, this was my thinking until just recently.

What changed my mind? I realized time was running out.

Let me back up a little, okay?

In a January of this year, I took part in a twenty-one day fast as a member of an online community. The purpose of the fast was to discover the Lord’s plans for each of us in 2012.

Half way through the fast, the Lord showed me I had lost focus on what my divine purpose was for living in California at this particular time in history. Somehow, in the busyness of trying to be a husband, father, son, employee, neighbor, friend, and countless other important things, I lost focus.

Oh! I showed up for duty every morning, spent time in prayer, meditated, and studied the Bible, but I was just going through the motions. Like many, I physically punched into a supposed spiritual time clock, but my heart never did.

You see, I came to the West Coast to warn people of soon arriving terrorists’ attacks and calamities.

…”Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night?” (Isaiah 21:11)

And if ever I felt an urgency to warn the West Coast, it is right now!

Does this mean the catastrophes will happen tomorrow, next month, this year, next year, or five years from now? It doesn’t matter when it happens because we need to prepare now… before it happens.

Okay, here was my dilemma until recently?

If I continued with the home church movement, I would at best warn 5% of the West Coast Christians. That seemed to be a lousy return on my efforts because the two groups do not intermingle well… as yet.

So, I’m still a radical, but now I’m transferring all of my efforts toward the 95% or traditional church system. I don’t care if the churches are Presbyterian, Methodist, Lutheran, Catholic, Quaker, Pentecostal, Charismatic, non-denominational, liberal, progressive, conservative, snake-handling, or whatever, I’m going to find a way to warn and prepare them.

…I have become all things to all people, so that I may by all means save some. (1 Corinthians 9:22)

(More on this in the future)

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July 23, 2012 · 7:44 am

I’m a Radical! What About You? (Part 3)

If you dig into past articles, you’ll discover that I prefer small churches – 10 to 20 members – without a designated leader, such as a pastor. This does not mean I’m against leaders, pastors, or other callings because I’m 100% for them.

My reasoning for small groups are:

1) Go therefore and make disciples… (Matthew 28:19)

The Great Commission says,”Go.” But the traditional church says, “Come. Sit down. Keep quiet. Listen up. Give money. Come back next week for more of the same-o,same-o.”

Yawn!

Jesus discipled twelve men by allowing them to be involved in His ministry and life. Although He preached to thousands, He only assembled with twelve. The twelve men were even sent out on their own and also ministered along side of Jesus.

Paul followed the same example, especially during his stay in Ephesus.

And how did this discipling model work? It turned the world upside down in just a few years.

2) …When you come together, each of you has a psalm, has a teaching, has a tongue, has a revelation, has an interpretation. Let all things be done for edification. (1 Corinthians 14:26)

If the average American church size has 71 members and the median church is 184 members, there is no way all the people can be involved during a normal service. Thus, only a few chosen people can speak what God has placed on their hearts.

In a small group, each member can speak what is on his heart if he chooses to do so. By doing this, Christians will grow faster because they are involved. They will learn more from sharing, than by just sitting and listening to one person speak each Sunday.

And few things are more exciting than watching believers minister to others, especially new converts.

3) For you can all prophesy one by one, that all may learn and all may be encouraged. (1 Corinthians 14:31)

The Lord wants Christians to hear His voice and to speak words of edification, encouragement, and comfort to other believers or to prophesy.

But obviously, 71 or 184 believers can not prophesy in traditional services. It would be too time consuming, and to be honest, the average believer would probably feel too intimidated to prophesy in a large group setting.

Yet, in a small group, everyone can prophesy and the others can judge the prophetic words.

4) And He Himself gave some to be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, and some pastors and teachers for the equipping of the saints for the work of ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ (Ephesians 4:11-12)

New callings can be raised up and allowed to grow in small groups because they can minister there.

5) …And breaking bread from house to house, they were taking their meals together with gladness and sincerity of heart (Acts 2:46)

Fellowshipping in homes allows Christians to lay down their religious attitudes and build deeper relationships with other believers.

6) The unchurched – believers or unbelievers alike – will more likely attend a small group than walk into religious buildings.

7) All of the above will help prepare believers to be leaders and the helping hands of Christ during calamities.

I am a radical, but admittedly, I’m also a realist.

Although the Barna Group estimates that in twenty years traditional churches will lose half of their market shares to alternatives, such as home churches and workplace ministries, I disagree and think their enthusiasm has clouded their predictions.

So, what does a radical believer, like myself, propose?

(Continued in Part 4)

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July 19, 2012 · 7:56 am

I’m A Radical! What About You? (Part 2)

(The following is an excerpt from my ebook, Jonah. Think of the scene happening on a day after terrorist attacks, much like September 11, 2001)

On the following morning, West Coast Christians flooded into churches. Evangelical churches, Pentecostal churches, Charismatic churches, Roman Catholic churches, liturgical churches and others held services. The people sought hope. They sought understanding. They sought prayer. They sought others of faith. They sought answers. What better place to be in a time of tragedy than a church, right?

At the Frisco Bay Community Church on Fourteenth Avenue, across from Grand View Park, members and visitors sat in the floor and balcony pews, stood in the aisles and at the back of the sanctuary and in the lobby. Normally, the 1,500 seat sanctuary was two thirds full for the Sunday morning service and a quarter full for the Sunday evening one. But the church attracted people like a magnet when tragedies hit. It was jam packed.

The silver haired pastor checked his watch. 11:05 AM. He stood up from the green wingback chair at the side of the platform and walked over to the clear acrylic podium, a microphone stood next to it. He adjusted the mike.

“Because of yesterday’s fifteen horrible tragedies, we’re going to move the worship music to the end of the service and skip the sermon. We need to pray for our city and the other four cities, for the many suffering families, for our enemies and for forgiveness from our many rebellious sins.”

He raised his arms, indicating the congregation should rise.

In the momentary upheaval caused by hundreds of moving bodies, a dark skinned man walked to the middle of the sanctuary.

“Allah Akbar!” he screamed.

BOOM!

The blast from the C-4 plastic explosives thundered through the building. Windows imploded outward. Pews broke into pieces like match sticks. Bodies tossed about. Arms, legs, torsos and heads blended together with debris into a bloody, dusty concoction of death and agony.

Fire spread through the building, trapping injured people inside the sanctuary. The more fortunate ones crawled outside and used their cell phones, dialing 911.

Sirens could be heard within minutes. For many, it was too late.

Once again, news flashes interrupted regular TV and radio programming.

“Ten West Coast churches, packed with people, were hit this morning at 11:15 AM by suicide bombers. Many injured, many dead. We will have more news on these tragedies when it’s available.”

People reacted by leaving work early and heading home. The expressways moved bumper to bumper as they edged forward on the pavements. Those retreating autos reflected the initial rolling pebbles in the panic avalanche waiting to happen.

At 1 PM, Al Jazeera showed a video from an al-Qaeda leader on its television network. The dark bearded man wore a Ghutura on his head and a dark robe.

“Allah Akbar, yesterday and today mark the beginning salvos on our second phase of attacks on America. Our jihad shall not end until the Great Satan has been defeated and serves the one true god, Allah. Right now, the decadent cities of San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland and Seattle are under siege by an army of martyrs. 10,000 strong. Each is willing to be used for the glory of Allah. Each is set in place to attack the cities.”

He pointed into the camera.

“For the people of these five cities, I give you this warning: leave while you can. You are not safe. Each week we shall send fifty or sixty martyrs against you. Your police department and your government can not protect you. Allah be praised.”

If you believe the above scene could never happen in your church, then you live in a daydream world. This type of violence happens often in the Middle East and parts of Africa, especially Nigeria right now.

Do you think the believers who are killed, while attending churches in Nigeria, love the Lord any less than we do? Probably not, right?

It has been reported that there are 40,000 Jihaddist agents hidden in Latin America and parts of South America. These agents are specifically trained to be suicide bombers and mass killers.

And who do you think these Jihaddists want to kill? Some poor farmer in Guatemala? Of course not! They want to kill you and me because we are Christian Americans.

Admittedly, I’m a radical!

You must determine how big a radical you are willing to be now because the above scene from Jonah will soon happen in America. If you haven’t changed before then, what do you think the consequences will be for you and your family?

 If you have raced with men on foot, and they have wearied you, how will you compete with horses? And if in a safe land you are so trusting, what will you do in the thicket of the Jordan?  (Jeremiah 12:5  ESV)

(Continued in Part 3)

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July 16, 2012 · 2:11 pm

I’m a Radical! What About You? (Part 1)

Pastor Rick’s words hit me like a Yosemite lightning bolt, bursting out of a cloudless sky. Though he had one meaning in mind when he uttered the words, the exact opposite could not have been truer. As his words thundered through the corridors of my brain, I realized our whole church system was an absolute failure.

Let me stop here for a moment. This is not a statement I reveled in: I realized our whole church system was an absolute failure. It makes me sound like a desperate pilgrim searching for hidden truths on that Easter morning, but that was not the case. I was just an average, forty-three year old business man sitting next to his wife on a padded pew, listening to Pastor Rick.

At the time, everything about my life seemed picture-postcard perfect, or so I thought.  Most people would have described me as a rock-solid, Bible-believing, tithe-giving, non-alcohol drinking, conservative-voting, evangelical-Christian. Yet in the days which followed, gossipers whispered new words about me, such as rebel, heretic, and back-slider.

(Excerpt from Deceived Dead And Delivered by Larry Nevenhoven, soon to be released e-book)

What is the #1 concern for American churches?

Abortions? Gay marriages? Helping the poor? Elections? Euthanasia? Divorces? Sex trafficking? Racism? Missionary work? No, none of these.

The #1 concern for American churches is getting new members who have money in their billfolds so the churches’ bills can be paid each month. This is a never-ending concern for almost all of the 350,000 churches in our nation.

Can I back up my statement?

A few years ago, the Barna Group estimated that almost 70% of all church offerings went towards mortgages, rents, maintenance, and salaries of staff. In today’s economy, the  percentage is probably much higher.

Do I have a radical answer for this concern?

Four or five years ago, I was involved in an online discussion with a progressive church pastor. He had definite ideas on various issues and so did I. He backed his ideas up with Thoreau, Gandhi, Immanuel Kant, Dalai Lama, and a smattering of quotes by Jesus. I used only scriptures to back up my views.

Finally, he wrote: “You fundamentalists may know your scriptures, but you never care about the poor.”

“I do care about the poor,” I replied. “In fact, I’m much more radical about this issue than you are.”

He listed all the efforts done by his church to help the poor in his area. To which I replied: “That’s not radical. It’s what every Christian organization should do.”

“Okay, what would you do?” he wrote.

“If I were you, I’d sell your church and its property, and give the money to the poor and needy. Then, I’d get a job so the church members would not have to pay me a pastor’s salary. In this way, 95% of your church’s offerings could go to help the poor and needy,” I wrote back.

He, of course, replied: “We could never do that. It’s too radical!”

So, how radical of a Christian are you?

(Continued in Part 2)

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July 9, 2012 · 8:12 am

San Francisco: God Loves You, But… (Conclusion)

 

If callings were chosen by popular elections, Saul of Tarsus would have garnered the same number of votes as King Herod or Caiaphas for the calling of apostle: zero.

After all, Saul hunted believers down, murdered them, tossed them into prisons, and tried to force them to blaspheme. He was the main reason Jerusalem Christians opted to go on permanent missionary trips to other cities.

Historians described Saul as a skinny, 4’6″ lightweight who was not much of a speaker. These physical  attributes were not exactly a winning formula for the Gentiles, who admired polished orators with a strong physical presence.

Yet Jesus said, “Saul is a chosen instrument of Mine, to bear My name before the Gentiles and kings and the sons of Israel…”

The Lord’s reasoning behind His choice: “…for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

So what did God see in Saul’s heart?

He saw Paul the apostle to whom God could reveal His mystery of Christ, that the Gentiles and the Jews would be joined together in the Bride of Christ, His church. He also saw a man who would willingly suffer afflictions for Christ and His body.

Today, there are some who want to downgrade Paul and his teachings and just go with the red letter words of Jesus in the four Gospels. They don’t like Paul’s teachings on sexual immorality and other subjects. But if this were actually followed, where would the guidelines and revelations about the Church come from?

Furthermore, if Paul had not appeared on the scene, Peter and James would have most likely caved into the Jewish influence on the early church. And today our churches would be little more than a revamped Temple 2.0 System, complete with circumcision, priesthood, and sacrifices.

Thank God for the Apostle Paul, right?

Then He said to His disciples, “The harvest is indeed plentiful, but the laborers are few. So pray to the Lord of the harvest to force out and thrust laborers into His harvest.” (Matthew 9: 37-38 Amplified Translation)

Likewise, the Lord has looked down on San Francisco, especially the Castro District, and has seen men and women who have hearts much like Saul of Tarsus. He is not concerned that these people are now actively engaged in lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender life styles because He remembers Saul the murderer. He knows how the life changing power of His heavenly light and just one divine  experience from Him will cause each to ask, “Who are You, Lord?”

Then, He will answer each one, “…I am Jesus …”

The Lord doesn’t want to lose any of these precious callings as each has been specifically chosen to be a leader in His Church for the dark days lying ahead in America. So important are these callings that the Lord has assigned teams of fully prepared  fishermen and hunters who will search through the alleys, streets, and haunts of San Francisco for these prized callings.

The teams of fishermen and hunters will suffer bloodshed, pain, and jail cells. Who will persecute these teams? The chosen Sauls. Yet, the chosen Sauls will have the gospel preached to them by how the fishermen and hunters handle the persecutions: with humility and love.

In the end, the chosen Sauls will come out of San Francisco as Pauls who will help lead the Church into victory after victory. What Jesus said about the woman who wiped His feet with her tears and hair will be true of these chosen Pauls:

For this reason I say to you, her sins, which are many, have been forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven little, loves little. (Luke 7:47)

CONCLUSION

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July 6, 2012 · 9:50 am

San Francisco: God Loves You, But…

In early 1994, one of my closest high school friends died after a long battle with cancer. His death really bugged me because I had prayed and fasted over a long period of time for him.

Was I mad at the Lord about my friend’s death? Yes.

Doesn’t scripture state that “all things for which you pray and ask, believe that you have received them, and they will be granted to you?” I prayed for my friend to live, but he died. How could I ever really trust that particular verse again?

On the three hour trip back to the small Illinois town of my youth, I poured my heart out to the Lord. Although I felt comforted, I had no answers. As I walked up to the church, some high school friends delayed me. We chatted about old times for a few minutes.

This delay caused my parents to walk on without me. When I finally stepped into the sanctuary, there was quite a line ahead of me. Standing there, I asked, “Lord, did my friend make it into heaven?”

Now, this is not a question I recommend believers should ever ask the Lord because what if you don’t like His answer, then what? Yet, I was so upset about my friend’s death, I asked anyway. You see, not only was I asking for his healing, but I was also asking the Lord to save him.

The procession slowly crept toward the closed casket sitting at the front of the church. Just as I arrived at the casket, the Lord spoke to my heart, “He’s not in this casket. He’s in heaven with Me.”

I could have danced and shouted for joy. It was one of my happiest moments ever.

Then, I turned the corner and faced my friend’s wife and family. They were standing on the left side of the altar, receiving funeral attendees. As I inched toward them I began crying, not a few tears but buckets of them. I wailed and was almost out of control. People turned to look, but I could not stop.

My friend’s wife, his two children and his parents comforted me, instead of the other way around. I was such a mess. Finally, I sat down next to my parents in the middle of the church. Somehow, my crying ceased.

What was that all about? I thought.

Piano music announced the beginning of the service. As the pianist played, the Lord spoke to my heart. “Your friend was called to be a prophet and he didn’t make it into his calling. The misery you felt was just a fraction of what I feel when a person doesn’t make it into his calling.”

The Lord’s words caused me to break down and weep. My parents, on the left side of me, and my sister, on the other side, tried to comfort me, but what could they do? My heart was shattered by the grief of the Lord.

Eventually, the misery passed.

After some songs and family testimonies, the pastor began the eulogy. I listened to her, but once again, the Lord spoke to me.

“My church is mostly a bunch of losers. They pray for the sick, but when the person dies anyway, they aren’t upset or mad. They just think they did their duty and at least made an effort, and that’s good enough for them,” said the Lord to my heart.

My jaw dropped, wondering what was coming next.

“Major League players all want to win, but after a while, players on losing teams don’t mind losing. After all, they still receive their large paychecks. So, it’s no big deal to them. But players on winning teams hate to lose, absolutely hate it. They will do anything to win and whatever sacrifice is needed, they willingly do it for victories.

“I want My church to hate losing,” He said.

His words, “I want My church to hate losing,” exploded within me. Its echoes bounced off every corridor and passageway of my mind. Once again, I wept.

This happened seventeen years ago and it still resonates within me.

What does this experience have to do with San Francisco?

**This series is a rerun from July-August, 20111.**

(Continued in Part 6)

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