Our God Can Do Anything!

The sad eyes of hungry children begging for food, sick babies pitifully crying, the wafting of open sewers, smoke-flavored food cooked over an open fire, sleeping in a hammock, seeing snakes hang from the rafters of thatch-roofed homes contrasting drastically with the mansions of the elite, noisy streets where the lanes are a mere suggestion of where you might want to drive, I had experienced it all as a missionary’s kid. So, what could be all that different with this mission trip to rural India?

To share the gospel in an evangelistic campaign was a dream I had always held close to my heart. The opportunity arose and I was privileged to join Pastor Jon Clayburn. We were able to team preach, taking turns every other night giving the sermon and the children’s program.

The nurse in our team, Evelyn Holdren, taught the people practical ways to treat common illnesses and how to prevent some of the rampant diseases many had come to accept as inevitable.

Each night the crowds swelled till we had between six and seven hundred people attending. Some people came by foot; others rode packed together on flat bed trailers pulled by tractors from four other villages. The Bible workers had worked hard preparing the fields for harvest. These dedicated men and their families have few luxuries such as shoes but their faces glow with the love of Jesus. Daily they work on creating their own Bible studies, memorizing an impressive number of texts. After all, when you don’t have a concordance, knowing your material is essential.

On one of the first nights, I was listening to the special music when someone pulled on the scarf of my Punjab outfit. A woman holding her two-year-old baby girl motioned me to step outside. The baby screamed as she clawed at the air for very breath. I got up, put my hand on the baby, and was horrified to, not only sense a very high fever, but feel her little chest rattle like a bucket of bolts in a paint shaker. The baby girl’s face was turning blue and the mother begged me frantically to “Madam, please, blessings my baby”. I put my hand on her heaving little back and began to pray “Dear Lord, please help this baby girl get better.” She calmed down a little. Then I thought, “You know, this baby has no chance at any kind of medical care. There is none in her village, and even if there were, her mother couldn’t afford it.” “Lord, she is a little Hindu baby. I’ll admit I don’t have the faith I need, but I really want to have the kind of faith that moves mountains. For the sake of this little girl and her family, for the sake of her village, please heal her right now so they might know there is a caring God in heaven that is all powerful.”

Instantly, like a breaker switch had been thrown, the baby quit crying and fell into a peaceful sleep, her little body cooled down, the rattle in her chest stopped and air flowed freely through her lungs. Feeling overwhelmed at what I had just witnessed, I turned around with tears springing up and spilling over.

One of the village elders was known to be a fighter. He was a short man but muscularly built. It was rumored that he could, and had, taken down three men at a time. The deep lines in his face told of a hard life, etched by prejudice to people outside his clan. He believed in the God of heaven, but that knowledge had not yet transformed his life. The Hindu priest did not want us to come, but was finally persuaded to give us two nights, after which he intended to close down our meetings. Two nights went by, three nights, four nights, and each night they both sat a bit closer to the front, drinking in the words of salvation that they were hearing. Their faces softened, and frequent smiles broke out on their normally storm-clouded faces. This village elder was soon parading us around as if we were his long lost friends, taking us to families in his village so we could pray with them.

Towards the end of the meetings, the village elder was baptized and demonstrated that he was a changed man by throwing a meal of rice and dahl for everyone. Spending a small fortune he bought and cooked over 70 kilos of rice, only to discover it wouldn’t stretch far enough to feed everyone. He asked that all the people from the “other villages” be fed first before feeding the people from his own village. The next night he cooked more food so he could feed his villagers. He had discovered that when Jesus comes into a person’s life, there is no room for prejudice. And what happened to the Hindu priest? The local Bible worker told us “give him some time, but I have no doubt he will soon give all of his heart to Jesus, the one God above all gods.”

“Please, Madam, blessings my son," the father pleaded.

"What is the matter with your son?" I asked.

Speaking English better than most villagers, this man said, "His hand and arm not work”, so saying, he showed me the boy's stiff arm with curled up, skinny fingers which refused to move.

"Can you squeeze my hand?" I asked the little boy, using gestures so he would understand. His sad brown eyes looked into mine as I wiggled my fingers into his awkward little fist. Showing he understood my request, he grabbed my hand with his good hand and squeezed hard, but his curled up little fingers wouldn’t budge.

"Oh Lord, I think this boy and his father must only be visiting tonight as I don't remember seeing them before. Lord, I do not know what they know about You, but they have come asking for healing for this poor boy's arm and hand. If it be your will, heal this little boy. Fill him with your love…"

Opening my eyes before I finished, I looked down at the little chap and saw something I will never forget. Holding his hand in front of his face he was slowly wiggling those previously atrophied, stiff fingers. The look of amazement and wonder left no doubt that this was a new experience.

I don't believe I ever finished that prayer, except to squeak out an emotional "Amen". The God of the universe had stepped into that field in the little village of Bapanatapurum and had taken note of a little boy's hand. Friends, God is the same God today as He was walking the dusty roads of ancient Judea! He loves to bring surprises, health, and healing into lives and He especially loves little children.

Each night we asked for decisions for Jesus at our meetings. Joy lit up their faces as they held their hands high in commitment. As they prepared for baptism, there were other decisions to be made. Idols had to be disposed of, shrines in their homes had to be torn down, and rituals to their gods stopped. The fear of retaliation from their gods was very real. Daily their gods had to be appeased, but now they would be very angry since they were trading them all in for the one true God.

As they went into the waters of baptism the struggle was unmistakable. They took off their devil charms and looked at them for a few seconds. Some were tempted to put them in their pockets, just in case they might need them. Then a determined look would cross their faces as they took the charms and hurled them as far as they could into the lake. When they splashed out of the water, no one needed an interpreter to understand the look on their faces. They were free for the first time in their lives. Free from the fears that had ruled their lives for so long. They were now children of the heavenly King. They weren’t just from a particular cast, they were royalty, and they knew it!

My friend, Pastor Tim Bailey, was standing on the bank of the irrigation ditch, praying for each person as they sloshed their way out from the muddy waters of baptism. One little old lady kept pulling on Tim’s arm excitedly chattering away in Telegu while she pointed at her eyes. Calling a translator over, Tim was astonished at what he heard. This lady had been blind for a long time. As a Hindu, she had no hope, but, once she learned about Jesus, she put her hope in Him and when she came out of the waters of baptism she was rewarded with sight. ““Then he touched their eyes saying”, “According to your faith be it unto you, and their eyes were opened.””” Matthew 9:29, 30

Oh, to one day be in heaven and meet these beautiful, dark-skinned brothers and sisters from India. To see them walking on streets of gold, never having to be sick or hungry any more, to see them meet their Jesus face to face!

Finally, the day came to say our last good-byes to the villagers who had become like family. Many tears were shed as we promised to meet them in heaven. As we boarded the bus headed for Hyderabad, joy bubbled up in our hearts as we thought over the events of the last few weeks. A deep sense of purpose had been kindled in our hearts. Regardless of our careers, gender, or age, our mission is to tell the world about the soon coming Savior! Sadness engulfed us knowing there was the possibility of never seeing these beautiful Indian people again on this earth. We would deeply miss our translators, taxi drivers, and the missionaries we had come to love. We had traveled to this far off-land, some as friends, some as strangers, but our hearts were knit together by a common goal and experience of leading souls to Jesus.

But God wasn’t done yet! For my return trip, I felt strongly impressed to wear my best Indian Punjab outfit, in spite of the fact that I was worried that it would get snagged. Arriving in LA, I was standing in line to get a much coveted salad. (Do you have any idea how good even plain lettuce looks after four weeks without it?) A tall, pleasant, 64-year-old man tapped me on my shoulder, curious about the origin of my outfit. He noticed my Bible and said “Hey, that’s a great book...the best!” He then invited me to eat at his table.

“What gives with you?”, the man, whose name was Richard,* asked.

“Excuse me? I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, why are you so happy?”

“Well, I suppose it is because I just got back from a trip to India and had some wonderful experiences there.” I told him about the many miracles I had experienced, of people coming to the knowledge of Jesus, cutting off their devil charms when they were baptized, and seeing people healed. Several times his eyes filled with tears.

“I have a good marriage, am involved in my church. I love God, am an entrepreneur and make a good living. So, why do you seem more satisfied?”

“You will never know what true happiness is till you are doing exactly what God wants you to do. Now, maybe God wants you to continue on with your business, but, just maybe, He knows that you are at the point where you can sell your business, live off the interest, and work in full-time mission work of some type. When you dedicate your life to giving the gospel, you will have a sense of fulfillment that nothing else can replace.”

After the four-hour layover and a flight together, the time came to part. As Richard shook my hand, his eyes were full of tears, “You know, don’t you, that us meeting up was an appointment set by God. I would never have noticed you except that you were wearing that Indian outfit, and God took over from there. Thank you so much for taking the time, not thinking it was strange that I wanted to talk to you. Thank you for sharing your mission experiences with me. I have a lot of things to think over, but I think that I am going to put my business up for sale. It is too late in earth’s history. It is time to go for broke for the sake of the gospel.”

So why should you go on a mission trip? Because, it will change your life forever. You will come back not just knowing in theory that God can do anything, but you will experience it first hand.

Your heart will be wrung as you see the poverty around you and the hopelessness that even wealth brings without the knowledge of a personal God. You will be humbled to know that God is anxious to use anyone who is willing to be to be his hands and feet, to reach a hurting world. Your priorities will be rearranged. Friendships will be sealed which will last for eternity and feel as close as family.

And, one day, when you get to heaven you will have many friends from a far off-land that will say, “Thank you for giving to the Lord! I was a life that was changed….” What does it cost to go on a mission trip? That, my friend, doesn’t matter, because, you see, the rewards are out of this world, and the ticket price will be long forgotten.

To participate in such a mission trip to India contact Share Him, a ministry of the Carolina Conference through their website www.sharehim.org or you can contact Mr. Bob Robinson in India at robertr@sud-adventist.org

Angel in Jeans

Thirty-five of us had just spent nearly a month in rural India conducting evangelistic meetings, praying with the people in the villages, and teaching them how they could live healthier lives. We had experienced miracles of God’s providential leading, delays that worked out for the best, and even some instances of physical healings. Between the seven teams, nearly 5,000 people had given their lives to Jesus. No longer did the fear of their many gods rule their lives. They had a joyful purpose for being on this earth and a heaven to which look forward to. I was grateful because most of us in the group had not even gotten sick with the many ailments which seem to plague delicate American stomachs.

Nearly everyone flew home on a Monday and soon there were only three of us left in Hyderabad till Wednesday evening, George Wheeler, treasurer for the NY conference, his wife Sandy, and myself. As we shopped one evening, I stumbled over a dirty pipe gouging my toe. Despite taking care of it promptly, it developed an exceptionally painful infection overnight.

The local pharmacist suggested I take Cipro, a common antibiotic.

On Wednesday afternoon, I took my antibiotic before we left to do last minute shopping. Suddenly, I went into a sneezing frenzy, my eyes itched, and my upper lip began to swell. Grabbing Sandy’s arm, I said, “Sandy, I have never had a reaction to a medication before in my life, but, apparently, I am very allergic to Cipro which I took before leaving the hotel. I am going into anaphylactic shock. I need you to go with me to a doctor’s office or the hospital.” Sandy looked at me in disbelief. How could I be fine one second and so sick the next?

We asked a friendly policeman for help. He took one look at my rapidly swelling face. Stopping all traffic and got us a motor rickshaw, yelling instructions to the driver. By the time we arrived at the hospital, my face was so swollen that my lips stuck out beyond my nose, and I could sink my finger into ¼ - ½ inch of edema on my forehead.

Though the receptionist was very gracious, she did not grasp the severity of the situation. To her, I was probably just one overly-anxious, puffy-faced American. The doctors in the ER were busy, so, we waited. I felt extremely tired and fought like never before to stay awake. I reached over, grabbed, George’s hand and hung on tightly. He felt sorry for me, figuring that I was really frightened. Of course I was scared, but, I told him, “No, the reason I am hanging on to you is that when I faint, you will be the first to know it because my grip will go limp.” My lungs began to close down, but, miraculously my throat remained open. Suddenly, my field of vision shrunk to about a 4-inch grey hole. In seconds, I was essentially blind. “Sandy, I am going blind. My internal organs are shutting down. I can feel it. I don’t have much more time.….”

Poor Sandy ran to the nearest open door and barged into an office where a neurologist was consulting his patient. “Please, Sir, my friend, she is dying; she cannot breath well, she cannot see, she is in anaphylactic shock, please help.” The doctor leaped from his chair and dashed to another door. Throwing it open, he hauled the startled patient out, and sat me down in front of a physician specialized in emergency medicine. He slapped a blood pressure cuff on my arm and squeezed it for an interminable length of time. “Please, doctor, what is my blood pressure?” I slurred. Ignoring my question, he fired questions at me, “What medication have you had? How long ago did you take it? Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” When I told him I had taken Cipro, now some 25-30 minutes before, I heard him suck in his breath.

Finally, they wheeled me into ICU. By this time, I was so exhausted I couldn’t have walked if forced. They plunged in an IV, gave me five injections, and hooked up a heart monitor. I was horrified to hear what sounded like an erratic flat line of buzzzzzzzzzzz, bleep, bleep, bleep, buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, bleep, bleep, buzzzzzzzzz. “Put her legs up”, commanded the doctor. Instantly, my heart rate went to bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep,…about 140 beats per minute. My tongue was thick, dry, and swollen. Fighting unnatural fatigue, I knew this was it. I was going to die in India. “Oh, God, please take away the fear of dying. I really can’t handle that on top of feeling so sick.” Instantly, a peace washed over me that nearly made me cry, only I was too tired to cry. I thought, “Oh, Lord, please let my family know that I love them, that I wish I could be with them, but that it is o.k. if I die. For what little part I played at our meeting, 525 precious people have given their lives to Jesus and that is worth everything!”
A couple of hours after I was admitted to the hospital, George Wheeler left and alerted the officers at the Union office. They dropped everything and ran to the hospital, panting as they came in, sweat dripping off their foreheads. Those dear men and women surrounded my bed and prayed for me. My translator for the meetings, Pastor Rao, stayed for quite a while praying for me. Pastor Methuselah went with George to cancel our flights. My family was called, and they, along with people all over the USA, including the NY conference officials, dropped to their knees and prayed for my recovery.

The man next to me coughed and hacked so badly that I thought he was going to die. In the middle of one of his coughing fits, he cried out, “Oh, God! Someone help me! I am going to die!” Together, our small group prayed that the Lord would help the patient in the next cubicle. After many prayers and endless hours of waiting, Sandy and George reluctantly left to sleep at the hotel, promising to be back first thing in the morning. They had been with me the entire time, never considering what the last minute change in their international tickets could cost them. Their loving care and prayers were so comforting to me.

Throughout my time in ICU, I understood a lot of what the competent doctors and nurses were saying, since medical terminology was thrown around in English. The cries of people fighting for their lives permeated the ward. About every 15 minutes, they woke me up to check my blood pressure, my IV, or to give me more medication. I took that opportunity to pray for my fellow patients. Around 2 a.m. I woke up to a deathly silent ICU. Had everyone died except me? No, what a relief, I could hear the steady beep, beep, beep, of the heart monitors. They were just peacefully sleeping!

Sitting up in bed leaning on my elbow, I looked towards the nurse’s station which was right outside my cubicle. What I saw surprised me greatly. Sitting in a chair at the desk, was an American-looking man with straight blond hair styled in a retro bowl hair-cut. He had on a t-shirt and jeans and no lab coat. In India, there is a uniform for everything, especially in a hospital setting. This man couldn’t be a doctor or a nurse dressed like that. He was looking through the charts. Then he looked over at me and smiled, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling as he said, “You know, you are going to be all right.”

“That is nice to know! Thank you, but what about all the others here? They are so sick.”

“Yes, but they are doing better now.”

"I was praying for them!"

"I know," he smiled.

"Who are you anyhow," I asked him.

"That's for me to know and for you to figure out," he said throwing his head back and laughing his eyes dancing with happiness.

"I mean are you a doctor, or a nurse or what?" I persisted.

He just shook his head and smiled at me.

I told him, "That is a strange answer! I wish I could talk to you more, but I am so exhausted.”

“That’s o.k"., he smiled, "We'll talk later."

"When?"

"Much later."

I lay back down and was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. A short while later I awakened with an all too familiar sensation. I was starting to itch all over again. Now, I don’t know whether it is possible to have a secondary reaction, but that is what it felt like. My lungs started to tighten up again, inspite of the oxygen I was on. At that precise moment, a short, wiry, male nurse with laughing eyes stepped into my cubicle, syringe in hand.

“Madam, are you feeling OK?” he asked.

“No, I am feeling agitated, itchy, and breathing is difficult.”

“I know, Madam, that is why I am here”

“How could you know? I just woke up.”

His eyes danced, “Oh, Madam, I just knew. Now here is some more hydrocortisone for you. I will put it in your IV.”

"So who are you?", I asked.

He just smiled and chuckled softly to himself as he said "That's for me to to know and for you to figure out."

He stayed for a few minutes monitoring my breathing and blood pressure and I began to feel better. As he turned to leave, I asked him again, “But how did you know?”

Chuckling to himself as if he knew a secret I didn’t, he walked around the corner and I never saw him again, not that day, not the next, not ever on that floor. Who was he? I don’t know, but I am sure my blond-haired, blue-eyed, angel in jeans had told him I needed that injection.

The next morning, the ER doctor stopped by to see me. “Oh, Madam, I would NEVER recognize you today! (However as you can see in this picture I was still very puffy and swollen, but apparently I had looked much worse than this when he first saw me...what a comforting thought!) I thought for sure you were going to die, and, if not, that you would at least go into cardiac arrest. I was so worried about you! I prayed to all my gods last night. I am a Hindu, but I absolutely know that it was your God that saved your life. You see, the reason I wouldn’t answer you there in the ER about your blood pressure is because you had NO blood pressure! Most people with such a severe reaction die within 20 minutes without intervention, but, for you, it had been nearly 35 minutes. I have never seen anything like this! You are a walking miracle!”

A day after leaving the ICU, I returned to thank everyone again, to get their pictures and email addresses. One young doctor asked me, “Why are you here in my country?” Since he was a Hindu, I was careful in my response. “Well, I was here for several reasons, but one of the things we did as a group was to give health lectures in remote villages, teaching them how to avoid common diseases.” The doctor looked down at his spotless lab coat and began to roll and unroll his tie. When he looked up, his eyes were full of unshed tears. “Madam, it is wonderful to see your compassion and to know that you have done this for my fellow countrymen, but, I have another question. Why did you look so worried last night about the man next to you in the ICU?”

“Well, I thought he was dying, and so I prayed for him.

“That is true, Madam. He was critically ill, as were all the patients, but, somehow, they all got better and slept. I think that some will even fully recover. I don’t understand it!”

“Well, God loves everyone!” I smiled.

Now I knew what I had always suspected. It was not an accident that I ended up in that hospital. This was providence, and I felt so honored and humbled to be a part of it.
From our Muslim travel agent, the pharmacist who sold me the Cipro, the guard at the hospital, the janitor who saw me in the ER, to the people at the hotel, they all heard the story of how God worked a miracle. It made a deep impression on them. They were puzzled by the evidence they had seen. The God of heaven IS more powerful than all other gods.

(To participate in such a mission trip to India log on to www.sharehim.org or email Bob Robinson robertr@sud-adventist.org)

A Snapshot of India

India, a land bustling with beautiful people, impressive architecture, strange languages, and a nearly unfathomable lack of Christianity. (This is the Charminar gate.)

The dome inside the Charminar gate is simply beautiful!
The traffic is amazing! If your horn is loud enough and you can weasel your way through you will survive rush hour traffic. The funny thing is that you rarely see an accident. However, I think if you disabled all their horns they would have a nervous breakdown. They don't just blare their horns, they talk with their horns almost in code and everyone seems to understand the difference between "Hey my friend, nice to see you again!" and "Get out of my way I am coming through like it or not!"
The colorful market place is an experience like non other!
You can purchase almost anything in any size or color.
The food is even colorful. (yum!)
You can even get clothes made that are of the Finest Quality!

Golgonda fort where ancient kings and queens lived is impressive in size and architectural design.

From the massive entry the guard shows a hole near the top and explains that when enemies approached the gate they would often pour boiling oil on them through that hole. Inside this first gate was an impressive feature. One could clap in a morris code fashion and the sound could be clearly heard in the King and Queen's chambers nearly 1/4 mile away. That reminded me of some of the feats the Mayans have displayed in the construction of their pyramids.

Walking down the hallway between the servant's quarters.
How much wood can a rickshaw haul if a rickshaw could haul wood?
But I blared my stubby horns at you! You didn't hear me? I just want to cross the road!
Oh yes, nice to meet you too!
Who said I am overloaded?
This works for us just fine! I can't believe in that in America you would use a semi to haul this little bit of stuff!
I wish I had the picture to show you but right after I took this picture, the man on the load whipped out his cell phone to make a call.
There is always room for one more! Hey a top the bus is a great place to ride! You have a fabulous view!True you have to duck branches sometimes but that keeps you awake. Best of all you have natural air-conditioning!
Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me..can I get through?
Life outside the city is definitely a much slower pace.
India exports a lot of sunflower seeds.
That's the way to do it! Put a rock on your fishing pole which is attached to a net and come back in a few hours to find the fine fish for your supper! Now if I could only remember which pole and net are mine!
Plow the field the old fashioned way works as well as it ever has. No need to engine repair, smelly gasoline fumes or noise pollution.
Laundry day.
Coming back from a day of doing laundry.
This is a first time we have visited an Adventist church but we wanted to participate so permission was granted for us to recite a poem.
Mommy, who is that strange white lady taking my picture! I don't think I like this!
Life is good when Grandma is your babysitter!
Yes I know my kitchen isn't modern but I can make delicious rice and dahl even though I am only 9 years old! Can you cook over an open fire?
Monkeys abound. If your hotel room doesn't have a screen on the window you had better keep your window closed or this fellow might stop by to pay you a visit.
The welcome at each village was impressive! They beat drums, danced with joy and gave us beautiful flower leis to put around our necks. No president of any country has been been more warmly welcomed!
I felt like a giant in India. Most of the village people were between 4 foot 8 and 5 foot 2.
Some people live in the fields when they are harvesting rice.
A baby peacefully sleeping.
Who needs Toys R Us when your Daddy can make you a toy?
Fishing nets are made by hand. You should see the prefect squares!
She made beautiful baskets!
I bet she would be willing to teach you basket weaving!
We visited their homes, whether they were wealthy or poor. (Actually, given a choice, I would take a thatch roof house as they are much cooler.)
Another home in the village.
And yet another home, this one of someone slightly more affluent.
A typical village.
Visiting in a village where most of the people were already Christians but who had many questions about what we were teaching. Some 2 hours of discussion and Bible study later, most decided to be baptized into their new faith.
This is just a small portion of the people who were coming to the meetings nightly.
Their beautiful brown faces were filled with eager anticipation every night as they drank in the words of life. Most in attendance were Hindus and other faiths and previous to the work of the Bible workers and our campaign, they had not had much exposure to Christianity.
One felt very inadequate looking out at the sea of people, with crowds of 500 to 800 nightly. It is impossible to do evangelism in any culture without realizing one's profound need of God's help and intervention. He gets all the credit. We are just privileged to be given a small part in the work that he does in the human soul.
Every night an offering was taken. I felt bad about it at first. These people earned only about $30 a month which even in their economy was not good pay. One night we actually forgot to take up the offering, a Hindu woman in the crowd stood up and said "Aren't you going to pick up the offering? We want to give something to our Jesus!"
We gave out prizes to the children who could answer a question correctly regarding the previous night's topic. However, on this night, we gave everyone a new toothbrush. They were thrilled!
Some villages did have SDA churches, this being one of them. The speakers on the roof are so the neighbors can enjoy the church service as well. (This is a common practice with all denominations in India.)
In all the villages where meetings were held, churches were built for the new believers. Some villages were small, like this one, so the church only seats about 200 people but that is adequate for their needs. These churches can be built smaller than they could be in the USA because there is no space "wasted" for pews. The people all sit on the floor.


This old man was seen holding his arm at a strange angle. He told us that his arm had been broken some weeks before when he fell out of a tree trying to pick some fruit. Not having the $20 necessary for x-rays, a doctor's visit and a cast, he had just put up with the pain. Of course we couldn't let him suffer like that. The poor man had to have his arm re-broken in order to have it set properly but he was brave and thrilled that in a few weeks, his arm would be as good as new.
And old grandpa in the village who was legally blind. He was so thrilled we had come to see him and to share Jesus every night. He told us with tears streaming down his face, "One day, when I get to heaven, I am going to be able to see all of you very well! Thank you so much for telling me about Jesus and about heaven! I can't wait for that day! I had felt hopeless before, but now I have so much hope and my heart is full of happiness!"
There is no greater joy than giving one's life to Jesus!
It's never too late to give your life to Jesus...
....regardless of your gender.
And you are never too young to give your life to Jesus!
It doesn't matter where you are baptized. (Here the candidate had better be slender or bringing him out of the water will be a bit difficult. With this method of baptism, the pastor gets to stay dry!)
Sometimes there simply isn't a river or a lake to baptize the people so you make do with what there is available.
Trailer load of newly baptized members.
When you get to heaven, I can't wait to introduce you to your Indian brothers and sisters in Jesus! You are going to love them!
A young teen who was later baptized. She was fascinated by the sermons and took copious notes. The baby in her arms is her cousin.
He is biting off a devil charm. The first one to do this was visibly shaking. He had been taught that if he removed them, he would die instantly. But finally he bit them off, threw them into the river and was baptized.
In quick succession the people realized that indeed God is more powerful than the devil and they too bit off their devil charms and were baptized!
These are already members of the church! If you were greeted at your new church by these smiling people, wouldn't you feel welcomed?
For many, their lives are hard, with lots of physical labor. They have traveled and looked in vain for a better life. Will you go and tell them about your Jesus?
Like the woman at the well, they are just waiting, seeking that water of life from which they will never thirst again!The harvest is ripe.
Don't walk away.
They are waiting for you to tell them about Jesus!