Chapter 2 the harvey family
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- WITNESSING
- A NEGLECTED COMMISSION
- GOOD ADVICE
- BETTER ADVICE
- CHOOSING A BIBLE COLLEGE
- UNIVERSITY YEARS
- FINANCING COLLEGE
- ART GALLERY
- OUTREACH MINISTRY
BOY'S WORKThe church had a boy's club called "Christian Service Brigade". I soon became involved in this and thoroughly enjoyed it. One youngster, named Tony, was incorrigible and was always bullying the other boys. In frustration, I grabbed him after one incident and twisted his arm until it nearly broke. While still holding him, I asked if he was ready to cooperate and stop disturbing the others. In order to escape his predicament, Tony of course agreed, but the moment he was released, he ran out the door and headed for home. I soon realized that my method of discipline was not appropriate and resolved to go to Tony's house and apologize. There was no need to do this, however. Before the meeting was over, Tony burst into the room shaking his fist defiantly. Behind him stood has big brother, Rocky. He was known as a town rowdy who didn't hesitate to use his fists when he felt the urge. "Where's the guy who was messin' with my kid brother?" he demanded. I stepped forward, ready to take my medicine. Rocky stared at me and gasped, "Ralph, what are you doing here?" I explained briefly that I was trying to help with the boys club and apologized for the manner in which I had sought his brother's cooperation. Rocky turned to his brother and said, "If you know what's good for you, you had better watch yourself from now on!" After Rocky left, I pulled Tony aside and apologized for the way I had handled him. I then explained that he had so many leadership qualities, I was hoping to gain him as a helper in keeping the other boys under control. Tony's attitude changed remarkably when he realized that his older brother was an acquaintance of mine. From that day on, whenever anyone got out of hand, Tony was the one to restore order - without violence! WITNESSINGAfter God changed my life, I began to pray for my friends and tried to be a witness. I offered to transport kids to Hi-BA (“High School Born Againers”) meetings and began to investigate ways of sharing the gospel effectively. I soon discovered that most of my friends were not interested. One after another, they became cool and distant. When I approached the old gang, they would suddenly change the subject of conversation and become very polite and formal. I had expected ridicule or opposition, but was not prepared for this! I shall never forget the day when I had the privilege of leading the first person to Christ. Harry hardly seemed a likely candidate. He came from a family that had no time for religion. Harry's interests centered around girls and sex. I remember reasoning that if he were interested in cars, I might be able to relate to him more effectively. Even at nineteen, I still felt uncomfortable around girls. I was surprised when Harry showed up in a youth meeting. He continued to attend and on one of our outings, I shared the simple plan of salvation with him. Tears came to his eyes as he prayed, asking Jesus for forgiveness and yielding his life to God. Soon after this, I also experienced the thrill which the Apostle John spoke of in II John 1:4, "I have no greater joy, than to hear that my children walk in truth." Harry worked for a large corporation in Wilmington, Delaware. He began to wear buttons with Christian slogans and tried to share his new-found faith with fellow employees. One day the boss called him into his office. "Harry, I understand that you do a lot of talking about Jesus and your religion," he began. "Some of the employees have been complaining to me. I don't care what you talk about when you are elsewhere, but I must insist that you refrain from such talk around this place. Do you understand?" Harry told me later that he felt ashamed and defeated. He wanted to crawl out the door on his hands and knees. He had been hoping and praying for a response, but not this! Inwardly, he began to wonder why God had not used his testimony. His boss placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "I am happy with your work, Harry. You may leave now. I hope that we won't need to discuss this again." Trying to think of a response, Harry blurted, "I guess this is company policy for all the employees." The moment the words escaped his lips, Harry said that he felt like a fool, thinking, "How could I say such a stupid thing? No other employees talk about Jesus!" Although formulated differently, the boss expressed the same sentiments, but while his boss was speaking, it suddenly occurred to Harry, that the other employees DID talk about God and Jesus! They did so even more frequently than he, but not with the same reverence! When his boss was finished, Harry calmly brought this fact to his attention. His boss looked stunned. He turned and stared at the wall while Harry excused himself to leave. As Harry reached the door, his boss called him back. "Harry," he said, "I'm glad you mentioned this. It is important that we have peaceful relations among the employees, but forget what I told you. If anyone else complains, I'll ask them if they are willing to accept the same conditions." A NEGLECTED COMMISSIONI heard the gospel message probably thousands of times while growing up. I attended church and Sunday School, children's classes and "Daily Vacation Bible School." My parents were faithful in having daily family devotions. Yet, I seldom had the feeling that the gospel was meant for me. Jesus told his disciples, "Ye shall be witnesses" (Acts 1:8). I heard hundreds of sermons, but only two persons ever witnessed to me. One was a motorist, who picked me up when I was hitch-hiking and asked me where I was going. I named my immediate destination but he wanted to know my final one. He explained that although the destination is important, we must also know the "Way" - Jesus Christ. Using my best "Christianese," I convinced him that I was already a believer. That anonymous member of the "Gideons," on his way home from a convention in Atlantic City, and an obnoxious soldier named George were the only ones who ever witnessed to me. Their witness made more of an impression upon me than all the sermons and Sunday School lessons I had ever heard. I never heard of the Gideon again and discovered that George was no longer faithful to God, but I could not forget those witnesses. GOOD ADVICEA wealthy American in Cleveland, Ohio, once called his son, William Brikell, aside to give him some fatherly advice. He said, "Son, if you want to be successful, invest in land! This world will have more and more people, but land doesn't multiply. Get land, my son; get land!" William Brikell took his father's advice seriously and began investing in real estate. He bought up a large tract of swampland on the Atlantic coast in Florida. After draining and developing it, the land was sold for a handsome profit. That land became the city of Miami Beach, and the developer became extremely wealthy. BETTER ADVICEMost of Christ's disciples were fishermen. Being a carpenter, one wouldn't expect Jesus to know much about their trade. He might have advised the disciples something like this: "Boys, I want to give you some good advice. You know of course that there is just so much water on the face of this earth. Fish will multiply, but not water. My advice to you is to invest in water! If you want to be successful, buy water!" Neither water, fish, boats, houses nor land are worth devoting a precious lifetime accumulating. It was not that Jesus had no respect or use whatsoever for such things. Jesus took short walks on the water (Matthew 14:25) and taught experienced fishermen how to catch lots of fish (John 21). When taxes were due, Jesus sent Peter to catch a fish with money in its mouth (Matthew 17:27). Jesus preached from boats (Mark 4:1) and even slept in them (Mark 4:38). Olive groves were nice, cool places for personal prayer (Matthew 14:26). If "the Lord hath need of it," an upper room (Luke 22:10-13), a donkey (Matthew 21:3) or even a tomb (Matthew 27:59) might be temporarily conscripted. But Jesus owned no personal property (Matthew 8:20) and had only a donated cloak when he died. Many of Christ's parables had to do with material possessions, but his disciples left their boats and nets in order to follow him. Jesus called them to become "fishers of men" (Matthew 4:19-20). As a youth, I had so many interests, that I found it difficult to choose an occupation. I loved working with cars and contemplated becoming a mechanic or car dealer. I liked music, art and journalism, but it was clear that I could not possibly follow all of these careers. I enjoyed farming and was successfully learning the building trade. My most serious aspiration was to become an architect and builder. All that changed dramatically after I gave my life to Jesus. CHOOSING A BIBLE COLLEGENow that I had become a Christian, further education seemed not only an option, but a logical next step. Both parents and two sisters had attended Philadelphia Bible Institute (subsequently named Philadelphia College of Bible, Philadelphia Biblical University and presently Cairn University), so I sent in my registration and was promptly accepted. I put my car up for sale in order to pay for the first semester. For some reason the car didn't sell, so I decided to wait another semester. When school officials learned of this, they encouraged me to come anyway, arguing that I had a better chance of selling my car in the city. I packed my suitcases into the car and headed for the Bible Institute, but before I had traveled a mile, the transmission gave out. There was no doubt in my mind, that the Lord had something to do with this breakdown. That car had been driven hard with no problems and now, when I was driving carefully, it broke down! I took this as a leading from God, deciding that I should not go. It occurred to me that I had not really prayed about the choice of a school. I began to write many different colleges and universities, praying that the Lord would lead me to choose the right one. Soon there were a dozen application forms and catalogs on my dresser. I filled out each form, but still had no clarity about which was the right choice. Then one day I received a letter from Bob Jones University. The Registrar wrote that he had received my application and asked for my High School transcripts. He added that the envelope had not been sealed and my check for the application fee was missing. I was requested to invalidate the check and send a new one. I had not sent an application to any school and was puzzled by the letter. In fact, BJU was the only school which my pastor, my parents and other Christian friends had advised me against attending! They felt the school was too strict and narrow. I searched through the pile of forms on my dresser and the BJU form was missing. I mentioned this to my parents and my mother looked thoughtful for a moment. Then she said, "I found a postpaid envelope on the floor when cleaning your room. I figured that you had intended to mail it, so I put it in the mailbox." I decided, that if my High School transcripts were accepted (my grades were not too impressive), I would accept this as the Lord's leading. I headed for Woodstown High and asked for my transcripts. The guidance counselor retrieved my file and studied it a few minutes. Then, with a puzzled look on her face, she said, "Perhaps we should take a closer look at the books we have placed in our high school library." Now it was my turn to look puzzled. She then explained that according to their records, no student in the history of the school had checked out more library books than I. This did not explain her puzzlement however. I was about to inquire when she continued, "Your file also indicates that you filled out the most behavior reports!" Surprisingly, BJU accepted my application -- on probation. UNIVERSITY YEARSIn September, 1958, my parents drove me to South Carolina. I would have driven there myself, but shortly before leaving for the University, the New Jersey Motor Vehicle Commission sent notification that my driver's license had been suspended. God had forgiven my past sins, but not the State! Normally, a driver's license is revoked after accumulating twelve points. When my past finally caught up with me, I had accumulated twenty-two! Apparently, I was not the only student with a dubious past to enroll that year. On the trip to South Carolina, we saw a rather scrubby looking hitch-hiker along the road. He was unshaven, puffing on a cigarette and had large tattoos covering both arms. Mom jokingly asked if we should pick him up; "Perhaps he is heading for Bob Jones!", she jested. We all laughed at the idea, for smoking was strictly forbidden at Bob Jones University. There was no room in the car anyway. When I lined up for registration, I could scarcely believe my eyes when I recognized that hitch hiker in the line ahead of me! To be certain, I asked if he had been hitchhiking and he nodded affirmatively. He had only recently accepted Christ into his life and registered at BJU because "it would be easier to quit smoking there!" His name was Jimmy Carter. He never became President of the United States, but served as Student Body President and Editor of the University Yearbook before graduating. FINANCING COLLEGEI found learning at the University to be more difficult than I had imagined. I should have applied myself more in High School, but now was not the time for remorse but for hard work! Because I received no financial help, I had to work many hours after classes and during vacations. My carpenter experience proved helpful in finding employment in the school repair shop, fixing broken furniture. There was no end of original ways I discovered to save money. I made regular visits to the showers, collecting leftover scraps of soap from the soap dishes. By pressing these together while still soft, they could be formed into multi-colored soap bars. To earn money, I bought and sold articles and ran errands. As already mentioned, I have always delighted in making useful and worthwhile things from other people's rubbish. I did minor appliance repairs and once a month, I purchased broken or damaged items, especially umbrellas, at the "Lost & Found Auction" on campus. After fixing these items, I sold them for a profit. My roommates complained about the room looking like an umbrella factory, but I did provide them with free umbrellas. It wasn't long before our dormitory room became known as "Harvey's Hock Shop." My experience with cars also came in handy (my driver's license was restored after six months). I discovered that old cars were plentiful in South Carolina where no salt is spread on highways. For the same reason, late model cars were cheaper in the North. After summer and during Christmas vacations, I purchased late model cars with the money I earned. After making repairs and sometimes painting them, I drove the cars South to sell for a profit. For the trip north, I bought "oldies" to sell in New Jersey. Filling the car with paying passengers more than compensated the travel expenses. ART GALLERYTowards the beginning of my second semester, the University Art Museum was looking for someone to help with alterations on picture frames. The shop recommended me to the curator of the University Art Gallery. Before long, I was doing hand carvings, gold leaf work and mastering the art of "antiquing." This was exactly the opposite of what I had been accustomed of doing. Instead of making old things look like new, my job was making new frames look old! I found the work challenging and soon became an expert at the process. The museum curator was fascinated with some of the original methods I used to get the desired results. After carving the design, but before applying gold leaf, I drilled different size "worm holes" to make them look authentic. When I finished applying the gold leaf, I beat the frames with chains, rubbed sand or dirt into the low areas and used carbon paper, coffee grounds and shoe polish to get a desired color or effect. A couple of decades earlier, a blight killed many chestnut trees along the eastern seaboard. Because the wood was riddled with worm holes, much of the wood was burned, but some farmers kept lumber to use around the farm. The wood was similar to oak and ideally suited for making hand-carved frames. Best of all, it had natural worm holes! I soon learned to do specialized work, such as cleaning and restoration of valuable paintings and icons. The most challenging and fascinating job was transferring paintings from warped wooden panels to canvas. For this, we had a giant heat table filled with wax. The painted side of the panel was covered with thin cellophane attached with special glue that could not harm the painting. The table was heated until the wax liquefied, after which we sought to eliminate any air pockets. The wax was then allowed to cool. Then began the tedious process of carefully scraping the wood from the back of the painting. The procedure became increasingly difficult as the gesso ground coat became visible. When all traces of the wood were painstakingly removed, the wax was re-heated to allow the painting to flatten and then allowed to harden for the final step: attaching the canvas. Before I graduated, I was restoring and repairing centuries-old paintings of renowned masters - without any formal training whatsoever. Mr. Havens, the Museum Curator, was a very talented and dedicated man. I became quite attached to him and enjoyed learning the various processes of restoration. It was no secret that the art gallery was the personal hobby if not an obsession of the University President and son of the founder, Dr. Bob Jones Jr. Occasionally, he would come over and quietly watch us work. One afternoon, Mr. Haven’s sons came into the workshop while I was applying gold leaf to a frame. For this process, we used what was called “rabbit skin glue.” I used to raise rabbits and dried the skins on stretchers before sending them to the tannery. The glue had a similar smell. One of the boys accidentally knocked over my container of glue and I said, “That is going to cost you two months allowance!” He knew I was joking and replied that a barrel of rabbit skin glue probably cost less than a dollar. I countered, “If it was that cheap, they would be feeding it to us in the dining common.” I suddenly remembered that the President was sitting there and prepared to apologize, but he spoke first, “I’ll have to check that out,” he said. Mr. Havens took his work too seriously, however. He would work late into the night and if he discovered the slightest imperfection in his work, he would start all over again. He had a serious nervous breakdown and had to be released from his job. It was such a disappointment for him that he took his own life. I was very upset over his death. In my Senior year, I twice drove a large truck to New York City to pick up donated paintings and medieval furniture for the Art Gallery. A student accompanied me on the first trip to the city. We left at night and I asked if he wanted to drive first, but he declined. Instead of sleeping, however, he talked incessantly. I finally told him to drive while I slept, but he kept talking so that I couldn't get to sleep. When I finally did drift off, a sudden jolt awakened me. The huge truck had veered onto the shoulder and was precariously close to a ditch. My companion had fallen asleep at the wheel! I reached over and grabbed the wheel, guiding the vehicle safely back onto the roadway. I then insisted on driving the rest of the way. My companion slept like a baby for the rest of the trip! On the second trip, I was accompanied by a member of staff and we had an uneventful trip to the city. But we arrived in New York on garbage collection day! That was an experience that I will never forget! When we finally reached the warehouse, it was closed, so we parked the truck on the street and found a place to spend the night. Parking lights were required on that street and by morning, the truck’s 24-volt battery was stone dead. We took the battery to a garage to get it charged while the truck was being loaded. I got the job of re-installing the battery and actually lost my shirt - and pants - on that job! I dropped a wrench, which landed on the battery, short circuiting the terminals. With a loud bang, the battery literally exploded, spraying me with pieces of battery and acid. Without a moment of hesitation, I stripped down to my undershorts in the middle of that New York City street! The truck cab needed new paint after that and another pot-hole was added to the street. Fortunately for me, only a few drops of acid landed on my skin. My clothes were ruined though. Since my arrival at the university, I had gained several additional career options, but "truck driver" and "auto mechanic" were struck from the list that day! Upon graduation, I was invited to accept a position at the prestigious Philadelphia Museum of Art, but the world's most prominent period frame maker, Henry Heydenryk Jr., made me a more lucrative offer. The gallery had often purchased frames from Heydenryk, but more than a year had passed with no orders, so Mr. Heydenryk stopped by the gallery to discover the reason. When he learned that a student was making frames, he said that it seemed almost disgraceful to display such valuable paintings in inferior and inappropriate frames. The University President showed Mr. Heydenryk through the gallery, asking him to point out the frames which he objected to. He found none, but carefully examined frame after frame that I had made. I was in the workshop doing gold leaf work at the time so Mr. Heydenryk asked to meet me. Gilders generally use a camel hair brush to lay gold leaf, but I was using a single edged razor blade. Heydenryk showed surpise and asked if I had no brush. I explained that since low areas of the frame would be dirtied in the antiquing process, I applied what was called "German Goldleaf" to these areas and used genuine gold only for highlights. With the razorblade, I could pick up small pieces of gold leaf and easily apply them. It saved us a considerable amount of money and no one noticed the difference. When he was finished taking notes on his tablet, he personally sought my employ in his Manhattan place of business. < http://www.heydenryk.com/history.html > By that time, however, God had made it clear to me that I should serve him as a missionary in Europe. OUTREACH MINISTRYDuring my four years at college, I was engaged in various outreach ministries which I consider to be an important part of my education. For ministerial students, such activities were required, but I always looked forward to the weekends and opportunities to put what I was learning into practice. During my first year, I joined with a couple of upper classmen who visited prisons, sharing the gospel with inmates. Perhaps I was less spiritual, or maybe just a coward, but I seldom opened my mouth and let the others do the talking. The prisoners must have taken me for a sucker, for they often wanted to speak with me afterwards. What I learned was very revealing. After many prisoners had unloaded onto my listening ears, I discovered that they were all "innocent victims of justice." The really bad guys were still free! Of course they admitted to making mistakes like everyone else, but they insisted that they were undeserving of imprisonment. That experience has proved invaluable during our four decades of missionary service. I used to have the concept that all non-Christians were wicked, hell-bound sinners. Those prison visits taught me an important lesson. Few people are sinners in their own eyes. Every war has two sides and each side claims to be fighting for what's right. The combatants on both sides are often prepared to die for their convictions. The moment people recognize that they are in the wrong, the fighting spirit is gone. It goes against our human nature to knowingly do what we believe to be wrong. So we build a good case for what we want and deceive ourselves into believing that we are doing right. In order to win people to Christ, we must first of all accept them for who they think they are, not who we think they are. We must plant the seeds of the gospel in their hearts! Is that not where we desire the seed to take root and grow? In order to illustrate this important principle of missions, I will share an experience I had many years later while serving in Linz, Austria. I was walking down the sidewalk, handing out invitations for our youth center. As I walked, I noticed a young man whom I didn't recognize, engaged in a heated debate with someone who obviously wanted nothing to do with what he had to say. I overheard the youth mention "Jesus" and came closer to hear what they were discussing. As I approached, the conversation ended and the youth turned and began speaking to me. Handing me a gospel tract, he began to witness to me. I had never seen him before and tried to explain that I was a Christian. He responded by saying, "Most people believe that they are Christians just because they belong to a church." I attempted to tell him that I had accepted Christ. He said that participation in mass was not the same as accepting Christ. I tried another approach and said that I probably spent more time talking to people about God than he did. This stopped him, but only for a moment. He responded by saying, "You must be a Jehovah's Witness!" This guy was not easy to convince! I asked him if he had ever heard of the "Katakombe" Youth Center and explained that I was the leader. His face turned ashen and he began to apologize over and over again. He was a recent convert and attended another church in the city. Both of us learned much from that experience and we became good friends. If someone claims to be a Christian, we need merely to treat him as such and expect them to exemplify Christian attitudes and actions. If he or she really is a believer, we will never regret taking this position as did the young man mentioned above. If this is not the case, he or she will sooner or later say or do something unchristian. That is our cue to ask questions! Now I need to get back to college! One outreach ministry that was quite popular among ministerial students was conducting street meetings. While one of the guys preached, others mingled with the crowd and tried to make personal contact with those listening. Because we seldom saw the same people twice, this kind of outreach didn't appeal to me, so when a married student named Dick Snavely invited me to help in regular youth meetings and teach a Sunday School class, I jumped at the opportunity. Our destination was a town about thirty miles from the campus. We occasionally took other students along with us but had no rules about who would pay for gas or meals. Often, local Christians invited us for a meal or slipped us a few dollars to cover expenses. One Sunday, we were not invited to eat and none of us had any money. We were prepared to fast, but the married student had brought his wife and two-year-old son along. The kid was not interested in fasting and he let us know in his own way! To make matters worse, the car’s tank was nearly empty and thirty miles is a long way to walk. We drove to the motel where we conducted weekly youth meetings. The motel manager was not a Christian, but because there were few guests during the early afternoons, he allowed us to use the motel lobby for youth meetings. The meetings were at three o'clock and we still had two hours to kill. The baby acted like it was prepared to kill more than time! Frustrated and not knowing what else to do, we decided to take our troubles to the Lord in prayer. Four of us got on our knees in that motel lobby and asked God for help. I'm certain that no one but almighty God could hear our prayers above the screaming of that child, but at least He heard us. While I was praying, my hands clutched the pillow of the sofa where I was kneeling. Suddenly, I felt something round and metallic. I interrupted my prayer and pulled the object out. It was a dime! Holding it high, I said, "Thank you Lord for answering prayer!" All four of us must have had the same idea and even the baby's screaming stopped in evident anticipation of what was about to happen. Without speaking a word, we removed cushions from every sofa and chair in that motel lobby, harvesting several dollars worth of coins. We told the motel owner of our discovery and he responded by saying, "Finders keepers!" There was enough to buy milk and a half tank of gas! We shared this experience with the youth that afternoon as a fresh illustration for our prepared lesson on prayer. For weeks afterward, the first young person to arrive would remove seat cushions and look for money, but they never found a penny! That is only the first chapter of the story. Three decades later, my home church, the First Baptist Church of Elmer, called a young man as Assistant Pastor. His name was Steve Snavely and he had graduated from Bob Jones University, so I asked him if he was by any chance related to a Dick Snavely. He said that Dick, who always went by the name Richard after graduating, was his father! That screaming baby was now a married father with his own baby boy, and he was our Assistant Pastor! He now serves as Senior Pastor of a church in New York State. Once, a member of the church invited us to her house for Sunday dinner. She was a fabulous cook and enjoyed watching hungry young people eat. After dinner, when we were all stuffed to near bursting, she brought in a large, delicious looking cake. Placing it in the center of the table, she handed me a knife with the words, "Cut yourself as big a slice as you want!" I proceeded to cut a normal sized slice, but she interrupted and said, "No, that is much too small; cut it bigger!" Having perceived that the woman possessed a typical southern sense of humor, I decided to have some fun with her and began to slice the wedge even smaller. She promptly protested as I knew she would, "No, no, not smaller; larger!" Trying hard not to smile, I pointed to the small wedge and said, "You didn't think I was going to take that piece, did you?" My favorite outreach ministry was working in an institution for the mentally retarded and handicapped in a place called "Whitten Village." There were perhaps two-hundred persons who were confined in that institution which was divided into three sections. One part was called "The School" where handicapped but teachable persons lived. Then, there was a division for those who were more seriously retarded, mostly with Downs Syndrome. In this section, the staff simply tried to keep the residents occupied and happy. Finally, there was a section where the really difficult cases lived. Most of them were unpredictable, could not feed or care for themselves, and in some cases could be quite violent. We were told by the staff that we could teach Sunday School in the "School" and try to get the residents of the second section to sing a few songs, but advised against attempting to do anything in the third section. We decided to at least try singing a few choruses for the latter group. Some of the kids in the school (we treated them as children regardless of their physical ages) could memorize verses better than any of us. Others were gifted musically and a few at first seemed quite normal. Some of them were very responsive and always looked forward to Sundays when we came. Others refused to attend the Sunday School or came just to disturb. In the second section our arrival would usually be greeted with a tumultuous welcome. Many of them were extremely love-hungry and could never seem to get enough attention. I wish we could have made a sound movie of their singing! In this section, everyone had his own rocking chair with a personalized tin cup and spoon attached to the armrest. When we sang, they would also sing - and rock! As was our experience in the school, there were those who rejoiced to see us and others who merely watched or caused disturbances. Our greatest surprise came in the third group. When we first entered this section, where only the most difficult and hopeless cases resided, several inmates became violent at the very mention of the name of "Jesus" in a song. One man in particular would physically attack and curse us, using the worst conceivable profanity. A staff member told us that this individual could not say anything without using profanity! We dreaded going into the third section and prayed before entering for that individual in particular. One Sunday, the man greeted us at the door as though we were old friends. He didn't utter a word of profanity as we began to sing, but just stood a few feet from us quietly smiling. The real surprise came when we mentioned the name of Jesus in our song. The same man who had cursed and attacked us in the past, suddenly began dancing and repeating the name, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!" We witnessed obvious and definite conversion experiences in all three sections of the home. What impressed me even more, was the fact that these conversions seemed to occur with the same frequency in all three groups! There was no doubt in our minds, that these conversions were genuine even though there was often no possibility of communicating the inner change that had taken place. Directory: documents documents -> Concept stage documents -> Concept stage documents -> The great global switch-off documents -> Nonprofit grant application documents -> The Truth about the Rwandan Genocide documents -> Annual InStructional unit plan documents -> Chaos equipment included Download 2.2 Mb. Share with your friends:
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