The summer of Zap
Every summer, from my mid-teens through my 21st year, I worked as a camp counselor. The second to last summer I worked at that camp—when I was twenty—I was a brand new Christian. I had gotten saved over Christmas break, and I’d been loading up on the Word and sale cialis 270 pills was freshly baptized in the Holy Spirit.
I entered my beloved camp that summer as a new creature—both spiritually and in the eyes of my peers. Many young believers before me had worked at the camp, sowing seeds of prayer and witness into the fertile ground of the souls of the kids, teens, and twenties they touched. One dear friend, a singer, had used her guitar and her voice to plow deep furrows for imperishable seed into the soil of hearts for several summers before I was saved. The chorus to her signature song was:
And Jesus said Come to the waters, stand by My side;
I know you are thirsty; you won’t be denied.
I felt every teardrop when in darkness you cried,
And I strove to remind you that for those tears I died.
But those more seasoned Christians were gone for the most part; it was now my turn. God sent two others that summer, a young man who led the dorm Bible study I attended at my college, and a young woman who, like me, had just received Jesus within the past year.
A microburst of revival was about to sweep that little camp.
The three of us quickly found one another and the after-hours prayer meetings commenced. At first it was just us, but one by one, over the summer, other counselors joined in, and we became a pile of prayer, heaped up in the middle of the non-trafficked road near the lake, an every-evening occurrence under the Ozark stars accompanied by the music of crickets, bullfrogs, and whippoorwills.
Things started happening. Little miracles were taking place in hearts all over camp as young people began opening up to the reality of Jesus. Things even got a little crazy. Those who viewed our passion with skepticism began calling us “Zaps” due to the lightning-quick manner in which prayers were getting answered and hearts were being changed. They also dubbed themselves “Pazzes”—the polar-opposite of “Zaps”. In fact, before the end of the summer, our prayer piles were encircled by “Pazzes” standing quietly, hands behind their backs, as they observed us fellowship with the Father.
One late July Sunday morning, in a counselor-led chapel service on the hillside by the lake, one counselor, neither a professed Zap nor a Paz, a scientific-type who was a bit older than most of us and greatly respected by everyone, stood up to share his thoughts. “I’ve watched all of you this summer as lines have been drawn. I’ve seen the changed lives and how to buy viagra fd.artistsafety.net the stand that so many of you have taken. And I wanted to take this opportunity to tell every one of you—I, too, believe that Jesus is the Son of God, and He is the Lord of my life.” A stunned silence fell upon that hillside, and with that, no one remained in the faith-closet any longer.
Probably the most remarkable incident of the summer, however, happened far away from the view of the prayer pile.
One morning, early in August, two counselors-in-training, boys I had trained in the leadership program, stood up and took the mike after breakfast to deliver the daily “Thought for the Day”. Instead of reading a saying from Kahlil Gibran or a snippet from a Peter, Paul, and Mary song (as was the habit of many “Thought-for-the-Day-ers”), they re-enacted something they had experienced just the night before, after hours. It played out something like this:
Pee Wee: Jack, man, I’m bummed out!
Jack: Why, man?
Pee Wee: I messed up my back in a wrestling match last spring, and I really hurt! Man, I’m so bummed out! I may never get to wrestle again!
Jack: Oh, man, that’s a bummer! I’ve heard, man, that, like, if you pray and ask God, man, like maybe He might heal you.
Pee Wee: Man, do you think He would?
Jack: Well, man, like let’s just ask. Hey, God, Man, like, I’ve heard that You might heal people. Would You, like, heal Pee Wee right now, Man?
Pee Wee (to the campers and counselors present in the dining hall): And then, man, I’m not kidding—a ball of light of flashed down on us! That ball hit me, my pain left, and it’s still gone, man! I’m going to get to wrestle again next year!
Jack: And, like, I’m going to serve God, man! He’s real!
Pee Wee: Me, too, man; Jesus is so real! God bless you, man! Campers, dismissed!
With eyes full of accusation, the Pazzes flashed looks across the dining hall at the various Zaps. The Zaps shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads no at the Pazzes—we had nothing to do with this! Zaps looked in wonder at other Zaps around the room. All over, everyone shook their heads, nope—we had no involvement in this one!
As the summer drew to a close, everyone—both Zap and Paz—knew that they had been in the middle of something they’d never experienced before—a real move of God. The microburst of revival left an indelible mark on the hearts and thinking of every one of us. And now, sprinkled all over America are men and viagra kalua.com.py women in their 50’s and 60’s who witnessed what God could do through a little band of praying people. And it is my prayer that every one of them gets to witness it again, and that their hearts and lives will be forever changed through a fresh move of God.
May God move again upon this generation—everyone now living—from the youngest to the oldest, from the most tender to the most calloused—and everyone in between, in Jesus’ name!
On your walls, O Jerusalem, I have appointed watchmen; all day and all night they will never keep silent. You who remind the Lord, take no rest for yourselves; and give Him no rest until He establishes and makes Jerusalem a praise in the earth. Isaiah 62:6-7
Jesus, have Your way in this hour!
Dorothy
Read MoreWhen death snatched my friend away
But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. 1 Thessalonians 4:13
Elaine was part of the Tuesday/Thursday Bible study I attended in college. I didn’t know her very well; she only attended the university for a semester, but after she entered the work world, she and another young woman from the group shared a home near their places of work for a short time.
Word started filtering back to me that Elaine and her friend were experiencing a “Euodia and Syntyche” situation. These were the women to whom the apostle Paul referred in his letter to the Philippians: “I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to live in harmony in the Lord” (Philippians 4:2). Evidently, Eu and Syn were not getting along, and it appears that their issues were affecting the church. The same thing was happening with Elaine and the other gal.
Although I didn’t know Elaine very well, and the other lady was like Moses to me (she was the one who shared with me in-depth about water baptism and got the ball rolling for my “dunking”), I felt led to do what Paul admonished the Philippians to do for the sparring women: “Indeed, true companion, I ask you also to help these women who have shared my struggle in the cause of the gospel, together with Clement also and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life” (Philippians 4:3). Elaine and her roommate lived between my parents’ home in St. Louis and the little town in which I taught my first year after college. On the way back to my small town home following a visit with my parents, I decided to “help these women”.
“Euodia” wasn’t home, but “Syntyche” (Elaine) was. We sat and talked together for an hour or so and prayed that God would bring peace and harmony back into the household. And then I hit the road, clueless to the fact that God had just laid the foundation for one of the most solid friendships of my life.
I moved back to St. Louis after my first year of teaching while Elaine taught middle school math in rural Missouri. But the friendship thrived as we visited one another’s homes at least once a year, and as we grew older, we visited three, four, or five times each year. She was one of those rare people who “got” me; my penchant for analyzing and “solving” world problems and issues in Christianity—aligning the two with an eye to what God was saying and where we might be in relation to the end times—tended to wear on others; they wanted to chat about lighter, more relational things—who was getting married, who was doing this or that, who went to what church. Not Elaine; she and I discussed events and issues in light of the Word hour after hour, solving and re-solving—and praying about—everything that came to mind.
After nearly twenty years of friendship, Elaine was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. Again, we prayed together—often—and dug into the Word of God together to retrieve her complete healing from the Author of its pages. Before she went into her first surgery, she wrote the word “Satan” on the soles of her shoes, just to remind him of his position—under her feet.
She battled valiantly for four years—even though initially she was given less than a year to live. Those four years were full for her; she continued teaching for the first three, wore a floppy hat over her bald head wherever she went (wigs were itchy), and lived in joy and expectation of a good outcome.
We discussed her walk of faith and how strong she had grown as a result of her determined stance in the Lord. The thing that amazed me about Elaine was that her faith was not a denial of reality, nor was it a knee-jerk reaction to a fear of dying. She was walking through both the cancer and her faith hand in hand with Jesus, drawing near to Him.
One day she shared this profound perspective with me. Unafraid of death, but desiring to live (she was in her forties), she said, “Dorothy, death is not failure or defeat. I see death as the safety net under this tightrope I am walking by faith. If for some reason I don’t make it to the end, I’ll fall into the loving arms of Jesus.”
She refused to fear, whether cancer, chemo, life, death, or failure. She walked by faith, and in October, 1999, she stepped out of her body into eternity—by faith.
I lost a key person in my life when she went to Heaven—a rare friend who “got” me and loved me even when I was unlovable. And I mourned. I needed to. A place in my heart was instantly vacant; my friend who enjoyed and accepted me was no longer available.
But I knew where she was; I knew that she now lived in the presence of the Lord whom she so intensely loved, respected, and enjoyed.
Paul wrote, “But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Some have interpreted this verse to mean that we should not mourn the passing of our loved ones. I respectfully and vigorously disagree with that teaching. We grieve; but we do not grieve as the rest who have no hope.
When your friend is snatched away from you, it’s agonizing. It’s painful and you need to mourn the one who meant so much to you. Death is a part of life; so is mourning. Ecclesiastes 3:1 and 4 declares, “There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven—a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.” Psalm 116:15 assures us, “Precious in the sight of the LORD Is the death of His godly ones.” God certainly understands our need to grieve; He Himself is touched by the preciousness of the saint who passes from earth to Heaven, and He does not take their death lightly. Neither should we.
We have freedom in Christ to grieve the departure of our loved one from our lives. But our grief is not the grief of those who are without Christ and devoid of hope, for we know that our friend is having the time of her life as she joyfully embraces the King of kings and rejoices in her new, eternal home.
After Elaine passed, I had uneasy questions. This is normal when a faithful believer dies, especially when they are way too young and are standing in faith. In it all, however, God comforted me and gave me peace about all of the whys and what ifs. I would like to share with you how He did it.
He gave me Psalm 131. Its simple message quieted and comforted my mind.
“O LORD, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty;
Nor do I involve myself in great matters,
Or in things too difficult for me.
Surely I have composed and quieted my soul;
Like a weaned child rests against his mother,
My soul is like a weaned child within me.
O Israel, hope in the LORD
From this time forth and forever.”
The death of a loved one is a difficult thing to grasp, even for the most fervent Christian. On the other hand, I am convinced that every one of our believing loved ones now in Heaven are 100% clear as to the “whys and what ifs” of their death, and I firmly believe that each one of them is A-OK with it. They likely don’t give it a second thought as they live out the adventure in that world—an adventure far greater than anything we could ever experience here.
Because of the heavy and ponderous questions and my inability to comprehend what is private between God and someone else, I have learned to be like that weaned child resting against his mother. Some things are just too difficult for me, and I have given myself permission to be OK with that. My friend is in Heaven, embracing the Lord; I am on earth resting against His heart. Anyway you look at it, that’s a good place to be.
May the God of all comfort surround you with His peace at the time of your loss.
Dorothy
Read MoreFear of death conquered
Therefore, since the children share in flesh and blood, He Himself likewise also partook of the same, that through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, the devil, and might free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives. Hebrews 2:14-15
Death. It’s an uncomfortable topic for most of us, and for many, it stirs unspeakable fear. For generations before Christ, death was an unpredictable tyrant lurking menacingly in the background of life, only to pounce, steal, kill, and destroy when least expected.
Folks have spoken of the “great unknown” of death; speculations abound concerning the experience awaiting the soul who enters through its gates. And yet the shadowy, mystical quality of death remains a fearful, morbid mystery to a large portion of mankind.
Many believers in our hour believe that we are in the generation that will be caught up to meet the Lord in the air, thereby allowing a whole host of souls to evade death altogether (see 1 Thessalonians 4:15-17). Nevertheless, you and I have flesh and blood bodies which are naturally fragile and will wear out over time. It is what it is.
For a large portion of history, Satan was captain over death; his fingerprints can still be found on the deaths of many as his stealing, killing, and destroying invades lives and families around the globe. But he didn’t count on one thing: that he would be rendered powerless through the death of the One he despised more than all other men. The devil never imagined that his murderous strategy against the Son of God would in reality strip him of the power to enslave men and women washed in the very blood he had worked so hard to spill. No longer would he be able to control or constrain those whose faith rested firmly in the One he had crucified. For them, the fear of death would cease as they entrusted their souls to the One who died for them.
Because the race of man lived out their lives in fragile flesh and blood, Jesus took on a vulnerable human body as well and entered the world to save men and women from its cruel taskmaster, the devil. While the Lord walked the earth, He faced every temptation and vulnerability that weighs upon the rest of us, yet He never sinned—not even once. And at the right time, He offered Himself as a spotless sacrifice, dying on the cross in our place, bearing our punishment. In this great, horrible, awesome act, Jesus not only opened the way for you and me to receive eternal life through faith in Him, but He also rendered the tyrant of death—the devil—absolutely powerless over all of us who put our trust in Christ.
Yes, believers die; nonetheless, even in death they overwhelmingly triumph. They simply step out of this life into eternal life; their last breath here is quickly followed by their first breath in the presence of God. For the woman or man who has walked with Jesus, death is but a transition; she steps out of her body in the same manner that she stepped out of her bathrobe or PJs every morning to dress for the day; he launches out of his body the same way he kicked off his dirty work clothes after a hard day’s work. He doesn’t mourn his sweaty pile of denim and tees; she doesn’t weep over her abandoned robe hanging in the closet; in the same way, the discarded body left behind is nothing to the child of God but a distant memory when they enter eternal life in the presence of the very One they lived to worship, serve, and adore.
Certainly death has a sting—but that sting is sin. And because of Jesus’ death—the death on the cross—your sins have been washed away. Therefore, you can count on it—for you, death will have no sting; for you, death will be swallowed up in victory. Your God, who has loved you with an everlasting love, will continue to be your God, never failing, never forsaking you, every day of your life. And when you step out of your body on that last day of this life, He will be right there with you, loving and guarding you all the way through.
And then…the real adventure begins!
Dorothy
But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, “Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law; but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 1 Corinthians 15:54-57
Read MoreLike lambs led to slaughter
I returned to Grenada the summer of ’88, thrilled to be back on the exotic Isle of Spice. This time I stayed in the in-town house with several of the young missionaries I had worked with the summer before. The house was on a major thoroughfare, and early every morning when I awoke to roosters crowing, I rolled over in bed and watched out the window as folks walked on the road below me, carrying huge bundles on their heads and leading goats and cows through the town.
The kids were all still there and ready to greet me for another summer of smiles, adventure, and stories about Jesus.
My favorite Rastafarian, Michael, was there, too, with dreadlocks grown one year longer. He spent some of his time in the jungles behind his home, cutting down coconuts, almonds, and other free foodstuffs, but the rest of the time he was eager to discuss anything that crossed his mind. Of course, our conversation always turned to Jesus and Michael’s own spiritual quest. But not too long after I arrived in Grenada, he grew increasingly concerned.
You see, I landed in Grenada during the fever heat of preparation for the biggest event of the year, Carnival. It happens all over Latin America and the Caribbean and is somewhat similar to Mardi gras. In Grenada, it is held in August and when I arrived, the big day was almost here.
Michael told the YWAMers that he’d heard scuttlebutt that some of the men in the village resented the Christians’ involvement in the Carnival parade. They didn’t appreciate the large cross and banners about Jesus that the team would be bearing through the streets of Sauteurs on their special day. And talk of trouble was brewing.
After discussion and prayer back at the house, the team decided to participate nonetheless, but the visitors would remain back at the base. I breathed a sigh of relief, not wanting to deal with potential danger. However, my relief was short-lived; Kim, one of the young leaders there, pulled me aside and told me that she wanted me to join them because I knew how to pray. Here we go, I thought.
Carnival morning arrived; our banners were ready, the cross was waiting, and its bearer was poised for action. We gathered for prayer before we joined the parade.
Filtering up from my spirit were words from Isaiah 53:7. “Like a lamb that is led to slaughter, and like a sheep that is silent before its shearers, so He did not open His mouth.”
I froze. I’m not saying that, I told myself. That can’t be God! I couldn’t shake the words, though, and quietly prayed against them, hoping they weren’t from God. And then one of the YWAMers spoke. He said, “Like a lamb that is led to slaughter, and like a sheep that is silent before its shearers, so He did not open His mouth.”
Great, I thought. Now I’ll be going home to my dad in a casket! I’d better start praying. NOW!
We joined the parade and our banners rippled in the breeze while the cross-bearer took up the rear. We were singing from Psalm 149. The lyrics were:
“With the high praises of God in our mouths and a two-edged sword in our hands,
“We shall launch an assault on the portals of hell and against us they shall not stand.”
To my left in the crowd was a man covered from head to toe in tar and black grease, a jab-jab costume—one of the main get-ups for Grenadian men during Carnival, meant to represent devils from hell. Glaring at the band of believers, he grabbed up a boulder from the ground and with a roar, ran straight for the team with the boulder hoisted high. I started praying fast and furiously in tongues, bypassing the courtesy of asking if such prayer might offend anyone who believed the gift had ceased to exist with the Apostles. (Something about getting attacked by a man in grease and tar makes one forget her manners.)
Next thing I knew, the man threw himself into the banner right in front of me, boulder gone from his hands, as the Grenadian women carrying the sign lowered it and then lifted it back up, greasy but intact. We continued with our song:
“Singing praise, praise, praise to the Lord; praise, praise, praise to the Lord.
“Praise, praise, praise to the Lord, for the battle is in God’s hands.”
The next day, we walked to the spot where the jab-jab went berserk. There was the boulder, smudged with his tar and grease. When I stooped to pick it up, I was amazed at how heavy it was—I couldn’t budge it. I knew that if jab-jab had had his way that stone would have visited a whole heap of hurt on some of us. But it didn’t—that muscular jab-jab dropped it. Why?
We didn’t have to wait long for the answer. Later that afternoon one of the village women stopped by, and in her beautiful Caribbean accent told us quite a tale. She had just returned from the beach where she encountered the jab-jab lying on the shore at the edge of the waves, letting the surf break over his shoulders. She laughed at him, reminding him of his outrage the day before.
He said to her, “Those Christians made me so mad! They were ruining Carnival! So I took a big rock to hit them, but when I picked it up and ran, my shoulders, back, and neck went into cramps. I could not hold the rock! I had to drop it, and here I am, still in pain, hoping the salt water will help me.”
Like lambs we were led to slaughter, but the Lamb of God, that great Shepherd of the sheep, protected us from all harm.
“Now the God of peace, who brought back from the dead that great shepherd of the sheep, our Lord Jesus, by the blood of the everlasting agreement, equip you thoroughly for the doing of his will! May he effect in you everything that pleases him through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever.” (Hebrews 13:20-21, Phillips).
God is good!
Dorothy
Read MoreWhy I pray for America
I have been fortunate in my life to be surrounded by believers who take the call to pray very seriously. When I got saved in college, my first church was a Tuesday/Thursday night dorm Bible study led by young Christians who had a deep relationship with Jesus. These firebrands freely and openly spilled out their hearts in prayer and worship to God every time we gathered together.
The church I attended as a young career woman was birthed in prayer, and they even held regular 10 pm to 3 am prayer meetings on Friday nights for a while. Those meetings added fuel to the fire that burned within me and nothing less than seeking God fully satisfied me.
After I left that church, I attended another church while I sought God for direction. I even traveled to the Soviet Union with 6 other folks from that church to preach and win souls. What a time we had, praying in Red Square by the direction of the Holy Spirit the words of Psalm 2, “Why are the nations in an uproar? Why do the peoples devise a vain thing?” Little did we know when we flew out of Moscow on Saturday to return to the US, that on Monday morning tanks would roll into Red Square and the Soviet Union would quickly become the former Soviet Union, within days. Indeed, the nations were in an uproar, and we were in on the secret before it hit the press.
Then God planted me in my current church, one which was also birthed in prayer. The leadership and people surrounding me in this church value prayer, pray readily and regularly, and have amazing testimonies bearing witness to the fruitfulness of prayer.
Therefore, as I look at my nation, I must pray. It’s in my DNA; it is built into the very fabric of my relationship with God. When I see obstacles in my nation, I am challenged by my rich heritage to stand my ground and trust God. I feel I owe it to the Founders who pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor to guard, nurture, protect, and defend the fledgling nation. I owe it to Charles Finney, D. L. Moody, William J. Seymour, Billy Sunday, Aimee Semple McPherson, and all the rest, both known and unknown, who took advantage of their American liberty to pour out their lives for the cause of Christ. I owe it to my dad, who although he never claimed to know God intimately, was willing as a young man to risk his life in the service of a country which guaranteed that his daughter, yet to be born, would bear the sacred right to lead her own life, speak openly, and worship God freely without fear.
I must pray. I must pray the Word of God over my nation. I must seek her deliverance when evil threatens her. I must stand my ground even if it takes the rest of my life. I can do no less, so help me God.
Dorothy
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