Wednesday, December 17, 2008



Dear Seeker of the King,

As I was sitting and waiting upon the Lord late this evening, my heart was yearning for the further release He has promised my husband Steve and I to be once again, “sent” into all the world.

My heart was aching and longing for Germany, France, and Australia where we have been graced with rich relationships, open doors, and invitations to return and mentor and Father and Mother those who are hungry for a deeper knowledge and walk with the Lord.

With all of the economic nightmares and daily exposures of fraud and greed, I must admit, my prayers and heartfelt pleas were poured out to the Lord.

"Lord? How will we ever “be sent” again? Who would send us in such difficult times? Why has the passion to get there increased so intensely now at this time?"

And then…

… I “coincidentally” came across another true “Miracle Christmas Story” put in my path precisely for me, at Midnight, for such a moment.

I laughed, wept joyful tears, and thanked the Father that HE is truly ever present and He is ever-speaking encouragement, hope, and promise.

Are you in a desperate place right now, or are you longing for a tender touch from the Father’s hand of hope and strength?

Please take just a few minutes to read the very touching and true “Christmas Miracle Story” written from a man who was also in a very difficult and sorrowful place on Christmas, until….

…. God Gloriously intervened.

You just might want to get a handkerchief or Kleenex ready!!

Oh How faithful is our God is to speak, even at the Midnight hour!

In His Shadow,
Mary Lindow

by Peter McFadden

Do you believe in the Christmas miracle? I do.

It was one of the worst times of my life. My non-profit organization, which I had founded three years earlier, was near bankrupt. Soon I would have to fire my employees, many of whom had become my good friends. The little money I had left was barely enough to feed myself. And it was Christmas.

And then something extraordinary happened. I call it “a Christmas story.”

I was going over the edge. To be frank, I was nearly delirious. I could not remember the last time I had slept well. Not only was I facing the dread of having to fire my staff, but there were other problems as well.

Our little non-profit, known as the Central Europe Institute, was no longer so little. We now had offices in Prague in the Czech Republic, in Bratislava in Slovakia, and in Washington, DC. The twelve young, industrious Czechs, Slovaks and Americans who worked for me had become something like a family to me.

We were doing great things together, helping entrepreneurs start small businesses where previously, during decades of communist rule, it had been illegal for them to do so. We were helping these enterprising men and women live in freedom, and we, ourselves, were experiencing the thrill of being free for the first time in our young lives, as we were discovering what we could do on our own.

It was a wonderful time, and we shared a spirit that made us feel proud, happy and close.
But it was all coming to an end.

The good work we were doing, the many successes we had enjoyed, and the fun we shared along the way made our impending downfall all the more painful.

I was facing our financial crisis alone. My staff worked out of Prague and Bratislava. I was back in Washington, trying my best to find the money to continue our activities overseas.
The financial pressure was intense. All our potential sponsors had been approached. None seemed ready to jump to our aid. And, with the Christmas season in high gear, certainly none were thinking of us. It was not a good time to ask for help. And I did not want to trouble anyone with my bad news at a time when all should be happy. I didn’t. I kept my worries to myself.


My problems were numerous. In addition to the lack of money, there were paperwork demands that needed to be satisfied. Our government wanted to know how we had spent the money we had received in previous years.
I was terribly confused, and worried. Accounting is not simple math and our government’s tax rules are often mysterious. What would happen to me if I didn’t do the job correctly? I was young, had little experience working with the IRS, and at those moments of deepest frustration I always seemed to remember the stories of those jailed for failing to comply with the rules.

I found myself staring at hundreds, if not thousands, of pages of tax publications that would have to be read. And everywhere around me, it seemed, were piles of receipts written in a variety of languages that would all have to be made sense of. Wading through this mess of paper was not a happy prospect.

And then there was my office. Because I had little money to live on, it was also my home. I had one large desk, one couch which I could sleep on, some shelves, and a small bathroom with only a toilet and a tiny sink. There was no kitchen or refrigerator.
These cramped quarters did not help. The first thing each morning, as I opened my eyes, I was immediately confronted by my impossible workload. Late at night, it was still there, right in front of me. All day long with no break.

I couldn’t sleep. I felt like a failure. I was about to disappoint all those I involved in my work. I worried about my own future. Could I ever get another job when I so grandly flopped in this one?

And it was Christmas. It made it all worse. If I ventured out onto the street, what did I find? Happy people. Beautiful music escaping out of doors swung open. Festive decorations everywhere. Shoppers scurrying about carrying attractively wrapped presents.
Their joy only reminded me of my pain. And those presents, I had no money to buy them for my loved ones. I was from a large family with a growing number of nephews and nieces. What would I tell them as I came home empty-handed?

Christmas was just three days ahead, and I had no options left. I was miserable. I tried my best to work my way through those mounds of paper, despite being in such a foul mood. The lack of sleep was catching up to me. My brain grew increasingly less able to function, and the fears that were running rampant through my mind wreaked greater and greater havoc.

The hour was getting later and later, and I was going delirious—over the edge.
I was losing touch with the world as we know it, the one in which our body knows which way is up and which way is down. All of a sudden, my chief concern was maintaining a sense of balance, only I could not find a stationary plane to stabilize myself on.
In desperation, I stopped work and just sat there. I had been through hard times before, also at Christmas. How had I survived?


I thought of the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life, and remembered how, in times past, watching it had restored a sense of peace to me.
The movie’s hero, George Bailey, memorably played by Jimmy Stewart, was also facing a crisis. His bank, at Christmas time, was about to fail. He would have to let down all the people who had relied on him: his employees, depositors who had entrusted him with their money, and the families that had built their homes thanks to his loans. He also had his wife and kids to think of. All these people stood to lose if George failed.

George, facing this crisis, and at a loss for what to do, flees. He makes his way to a bridge outside of town where he considers leaping off to his death. Before he acts, though, his plan is foiled by Clarence, a bumbling “angel second class,” an amiable old white-haired man described as having the “IQ of a rabbit” but the “faith of a child.” What does Clarence do? He jumps into the river himself, knowing that George would immediately forget about his own problems and set out to rescue him.

After the two dry off, Clarence takes George on a tour of the town, pointing out along the way how valuable his life has been to the people who lived there. George is able to see what Bedford Falls would have been without him—an unseemly place, with many of his friends down on their luck.

In the meantime, the town’s residents, finally aware of George’s problems, collect money from among themselves to save George’s bank.

George, after Clarence’s intervention, rushes back to his wife and children, and soon finds himself in the midst of the Christmas party of his life. The town’s residents gather with the money they had collected, a brother arrives from far away, his children are happy, and everywhere there is love in the air.
For George, it’s a wonderful life.

He turns to thank Clarence, but Clarence is gone. Having saved George, he’s earned his reward: his angel’s wings. No longer is he an angel second class.
I had always loved this movie, and it never failed to straighten out my perspective on life, so I thought to watch it, but among all the problems I was facing, I faced some others: I didn’t have a television or a VCR. The movie might bring me back to the edge, but how could I watch it? What instead could I do?
Like George, I fled.


The hour was late, it was near midnight, and it was bitter cold out. A fierce wind had swept everyone off the streets of Washington.

I loved this kind of weather, when I had to think. The harsh conditions allowed me no false sense of comfort, and I was glad to have the streets to myself. With so many problems to sort out, I prepared myself for what was sure to be a very long walk.

Unlike George, I was not headed for a bridge, and I had no thoughts of ending my life. To my surprise, though, I did run into a friendly old man. I would find out only later, after having the chance to listen to him talk and upon noticing the gold replica of the monstrance* he wore on his lapel, that he, too, like Clarence, had the IQ of a rabbit but the faith of a child.

At first, though, I walked right by him. I was less than a minute into my walk and was focused on the problems preoccupying my mind. But five steps past him, I stopped. What, I asked myself, is an old man doing huddled on a doorstep at this hour in this weather?
I turned and walked back to him, and as politely as I could, I asked, “Excuse me sir, but do you have a place to stay?” He answered that he did not. “Would you like to stay at my place?” He would.

As we began the short walk back to my office, he told me, “It’s a good thing you came by when you did because I just decided to kill myself.” The cold weather was that bad, he had been suffering through it for many nights, and, he told me, a homeless friend had just ended his life the night before.

I was stunned. All of a sudden, I forgot my own problems. Through one small act of kindness, I had saved someone’s life.

Soon we were back at my office. Robert was exhausted. I gave him my couch to sleep on, my pillow to rest his head on, and my blanket to keep him warm.

Desperately in need of a good night’s sleep myself, I wrapped myself in my winter coat, folded up a towel to use as a pillow, and lay down on my dirty floor to sleep.


I awoke the next morning to an important revelation. I had never slept better. I never felt so satisfied. Robert was still sound asleep on my couch. I told myself, “Peter, you now know how to get a good night’s sleep: give a good night’s sleep to someone else.”
After a short walk down the street for a cup of coffee and some small breakfast, I sat down at my desk to work, Robert still sleeping behind me.

Gone was the panic that had gripped me in the days before. My problems were the same, but now I did not worry about them. I quietly went about my work, and even though there was no end in sight and no solution at hand, I was at peace. I did the only thing I could do: work in the hope that somehow the situation would soon change for the better.
Robert didn’t wake up until six in the evening. He had slept for eighteen hours.
He was hungry, and his body was shaking. He could not control the movement of his hands, and as he walked I feared he might lose his balance and fall over.

I took him out for some dinner at a nearby restaurant. We made our way to a table in the middle of a room filled with stylishly dressed, young people, and we sat down together, myself and this scruffy old man, who hadn’t shaved or bathed in days.
Robert ordered soup, but he couldn’t keep a steady hand on his spoon. So, I helped him eat.

I was vaguely proud of myself, but mostly I was in awe of what was unfolding before me. I did not set out to help this man, I had not given a minute’s thought to what I was doing, I simply had done what seemed right at the moment. And, here was the result: he was having a warm meal and I was at peace. What was so elusive to us just a day before, somehow, was now ours.

When we got back to my office, Robert immediately went back to sleep and I returned to my work. Later, I myself got another good night of sleep, once again on the floor.
The next morning, Robert and I both awoke at a normal hour. He looked terribly unkempt. The white growth on his face was thick and his hair unruly. His hands were still trembling, so I did something it had never occurred to me that I would ever do.

I took a towel from my closet and soaked it in warm water in my sink. I pressed the towel to Robert’s face to soften his beard and then applied shaving cream. With my razor, I carefully shaved his face and then, with the warm towel, I washed it clean. With a few strokes of a comb and the dabbing of a dry towel, Robert was soon just fine. I thought to myself, “What a distinguished looking man,” and I told him, “Robert, you look like a million dollars,” and he almost did.

He gave out a good laugh.

As I had work to do and Robert did not want to sit around all day, I asked him what he normally did for lunch. He said he liked a certain meal at Sbarro, an Italian fast food restaurant, so I gave him the little more than four dollars he needed and we agreed that he would come back to the office in the afternoon. Again, we would have dinner together.


It was now the day before Christmas, and I faced a decision: would I go home to New York to my family for the holiday? What would I do with Robert?

I was embarrassed about having no presents to bring to any family members, and I could hardly pay for the trip to New York. And there was still so much work to be done. So, I was not eager to go home.

But I was more worried about Robert. How could I leave him alone? Even if I gave him the keys to my basement office and let him stay there by himself, he might fall coming down the steps, hit his head on something, and no one would find him for days. I couldn’t let that happen, so my choice was made for me. I would stay. Only one difficulty remained.
How would I tell my family?

Christmas was an important holiday for us. I am the sixth of seven children and my parents, particularly my Mom, liked to have us all at home. I had never missed a Christmas before.

We are a Catholic family, and I hoped my parents would be proud that I was taking care of a man in dire need. But miss Christmas, such an important holiday, and spend it instead with a homeless man I did not know? How could this be explained?

And then I thought, “a homeless man at Christmas.”

If one had to spend Christmas away from one’s family, what more appropriate reason could one have than to care for a man without a home? Jesus Christ, after all, entered this world on the first Christmas as the most famous homeless man in history, there being “no room at the inn” for Mary and Joseph.

Still, it was hard to call my parents.

They were concerned. Homeless people can often be violent. Some are criminals. Was I foolishly putting myself in danger? I explained that Robert was a harmless old man, nearly sixty years of age, born in Ireland, but too simple for this world we live in. Someone had to care for him. And on this Christmas, that someone was me.

Christmas mornings for me had usually been noisy affairs. Our house was always so crowded it was ready to burst at the seams, with many children running happily about. “Merry Christmas,” “Merry Christmas,” “Merry Christmas,” we would all heartily greet each other.

But this Christmas was different. At my office, there was no tree, no presents, no music, no children, just the two of us, Robert and me. All we had that morning was silence. A beautiful silence. My spartan room was filled with the spirit of one man taking care of another man on Christmas day. We were experiencing Christmas at its very essence.
I gave Robert, again, the four dollars and change he would need for lunch and he set out upon his way. I celebrated the day by continuing my work, of which I had so much to do, and I worked contentedly, even happily.


When I awoke on the 26th, time and my money was running out. I had less than ten dollars to my name. And late that night I would have to travel to Prague one last time to fire my employees. I consoled myself with the thought that, with Christmas day past us, at least they had enjoyed the holiday undisturbed by any worries.

As much as I wanted to care for Robert, I could no longer do so. Fortunately, I had found a church in Georgetown with a shelter that would take him in. Later that afternoon, after he returned from Sbarro, I would drop him off.

As I gave Robert that morning the four dollars and change he would need for his lunch, I took comfort in the knowledge that he was going to be taken care of.

But, as for me, looking at the five dollars I had left, I told myself: “Peter McFadden, today you will eat lunch but you will not eat dinner.” I did not panic, though. I was perfectly calm. I simply accepted my humble state. I even remember being a little curious. I had never known hunger before, and that night I was to be introduced to it.

I pondered the fate of our Institute, and even though its end was imminent, I remained at peace. I had done all that I could and the thought that I had saved Robert’s life was the best antidote to any feeling of personal failure I had once felt.

I enjoyed my short walk to the Cafe Blanca for lunch that day. I spent my last dollar on the same chicken sandwich I ate every day, the sandwich made so well by my friend Jason, the cafe’s owner. He and I talked, as we usually did, about football. No one watching us, not even Jason, would have sensed that this might have been my “last lunch.”

As I walked back to my office, with only a few coins left in my pocket, I remained contented. It was not mine to worry about what might happen to me, only to take quiet pride in the fact that I had done the right thing.

I thought back to all the years of Catholic school education I had had, and realized they had not been wasted. I had found myself with very, very little, yet, upon finding someone who had even less, I had readily, even happily, given away what little I had.

As I entered the building that housed our office, I stooped down to pick up the mail that had just arrived. As I leafed through the envelopes, I was surprised to find one from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation in New York. I had submitted a request for funding to this foundation not long before but had not expected to hear from them for another few months, which would have been a few months too late.

I opened the envelope and, inside, found a letter notifying us that we had been awarded a grant of $50,000.

I would not have to fire my employees after all, and our great work would continue. My first experience of hunger would have to wait for another day.

My last dollar, which I had just spent, was not my last dollar after all.
Robert never came home that afternoon. My guess is that he feared life in a homeless shelter, which can be dangerous, and he did not want me to take him to one. I searched for him everywhere I thought I might find him, but he was not to be found.

I hope one day to see Robert again, in heaven, with his wings. Then, I can thank him.
In the meantime, I thank God for my wonderful life.

The events described in this story, which took place at Christmas, 1992, are all true, and have been faithfully recorded by its author. Peter McFadden continued to serve as President of the Central Europe Institute until early 1998. He now resides in Cold Spring, New York.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

"A Real Christmas Miracle Story"

Dear Reader,

I found this beautiful and heart warming story to share with you, your children, grand-children, and friends during this "Season of Miracles." Jesus Christ came to the planet as a child, emptied, impoverished, and fully stripped of all glory in order that we might have peace in times of great distress and difficulty.

He also came to show us of the Love the Heavenly Father has for all of mankind so that they might be saved.

The following story echos all of this, and ever so beautifully expresses how the Lord knows where we all need to be in His plan to lead those around us who do not know Him...



In His Shadow,
Mary Lindow

Jean Gietzen

About a week before Christmas, the family bought a new nativity set. When they unpacked it, they found two figures of the Baby Jesus.

"Someone must have packed this wrong," the mother said, counting out the figures. "We have one Joseph, one Mary, three wise men, three shepherds, two lambs, a donkey, a cow, an angel and two babies. Oh, dear! I suppose some set down at the store is missing a Baby Jesus because we have two."

"You two run back down to the store and tell the manager that we have an extra Jesus. Tell him to put a sign on the remaining boxes, saying that if a set is missing a Baby Jesus, call 7126. Put on your warm coats. It is freezing out there."

The manager of the store copied down mother's message and the next time they were in the store they saw the cardboard sign that read, "If you are missing Baby Jesus, call 7126." All week long they waited for someone to call. Surely, they thought someone was missing that important figurine. Each time the phone rang, mother would say, "I'll bet that's about Jesus.", but it never was.

Father tried to explain there are thousands of these scattered over the country, and the figurine could be missing from a set in Florida or Texas or California. Those packing mistakes happen all the time. He suggested to just put the extra Jesus back in the box and forget about it.

"Put Baby Jesus back in the box! What a terrible thing to do!" said the children. "Surely someone will call," mother said. "We'll just keep the two of them together in the manger until someone calls."

When no call had come by 5:00 PM on Christmas Eve, mother insisted that father just run down to the store to see if there were any sets left. "You can see them right through the window, over on the counter," she said. "If they are all gone, I'll know someone is bound to call tonight."

"Run down to the store?" father thundered. "It's 15 below zero out there!" "Oh, Daddy, we'll go with you," Tommy and Mary began to put on their coats. Father gave a long sigh and headed for the front closet. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered.

Tommy and Mary ran ahead as father reluctantly walked out in the cold. Mary got to the store first and pressed her nose up to the store window. "They're all gone, Daddy," she shouted. "Every set must be sold."

"Hooray" Tommy said. "The mystery will now be solved tonight!"

Father heard the news still a half block away and immediately turned on his heel and headed back home. When they got back into the house, they noticed that mother was gone and so was the extra Baby Jesus figurine. "Someone must have called and she went out to deliver the figurine," my father reasoned, pulling off his boots. "You kids get ready for bed while I wrap mother's present."

Then the phone rang. Father yelled "answer the phone and tell 'em we found a home for Jesus." But it was mother calling with instructions for us to come to 205 Chestnut Street immediately, and bring three blankets, a box of cookies and some milk..

"Now what has she gotten us into?" my father groaned as we bundled up again. "205 Chestnut. Why that's across town. Wrap that milk up good in the blankets or it will turn to ice before we get there. Why can't we all just get on with Christmas? It's probably 20 below out there now. And the wind is picking up. Of all the crazy things to do on a night like this!"

When they got to the house at 205 Chestnut Street, it was the darkest one on the block. Only one tiny light burned in the living room and, the moment we set foot on the porch steps, my mother opened the door and shouted, "They're here, Oh thank God, you got here, Ray! You kids take those blankets into the living room and wrap up the little ones on the couch. I'll take the milk and cookies."

"Would you mind telling me what is going on, Ethel?" my father asked. "We have just walked through below zero weather with the wind in our faces all the way."

"Never mind all that now," my mother interrupted. "There is no heat in this house and this young mother is so upset she doesn't know what to do. Her husband walked out on her and those poor little children will have a very bleak Christmas, so don't you complain. I told her you could fix that oil furnace in a jiffy."

My mother strode off to the kitchen to warm the milk while my brother and I wrapped up the five little children who were huddled together on the couch. The children's mother explained to my father that her husband had run off, taking bedding, clothing, and almost every piece of furniture, but she had been doing all right until the furnace broke down.

"I been din washin' and ironin' for people and cleanin' the five and dime," she said. "I saw your number every day there, on those boxes on the counter. When the furnace went out, that number kept going' through my mind... 7162... 7162."

"Said on the box that if a person was missin' Jesus, they should call you. That's how I knew you were good Christian people, willin' to help folks. I figured that maybe you would help me, too. So I stopped at the grocery store tonight and I called your missus. I'm not missin' Jesus, mister, because I sure love the Lord. But I am missin' heat. I have no money to fix that furnace."

"Okay, Okay" said father. "You've come to the right place. Now lets see. You've got a little oil burner over there in the dining room. Shouldn't be too hard to fix. Probably just a clogged flue. I'll look it over, see what it needs."

Mother came into the living room carrying a plate of cookies and warm milk. As she set the cups down on the coffee table, I noticed the figure of Baby Jesus lying in the center of the table. It was the only sign of Christmas in the house. The children stared with wide eyed with wonder at the plate of cookies my mother sat before them.

Father finally got the oil burner working but said, "you need more oil." "I'll make a few calls tonight and get some oil."

"Yes sir, you came to the right place," said the woman...

On the way home, father did not complain about the cold weather and had barely set foot inside the door when he was on the phone. "Ed, hey, how are ya, Ed? Yes, Merry Christmas to you, too. Say, Ed, we have kind of an unusual situation here. I know you've got that pick-up truck. Do you still have some oil in that barrel on your truck?"

"You do?"

By this time the rest of the family were pulling clothes out of their closets and toys off of their shelves. It was long after their bedtime when they were wrapping gifts. The pickup came. On it were chairs, three lamps, blankets and gifts. Even though it was 30 below, Father let them ride along in the back of the truck.

No one ever did call about the missing figure in the nativity set, but as I grow older I realize that it wasn't a packing mistake at all. Jesus saves, that's what He does.

By Jean Gietzen
Based on her writings on the internet from the book "If You're Missing Baby Jesus". Published by and available at Random House ( and other online booksellers.

Thursday, December 4, 2008


~ By Mary Lindow

“Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold.
I have come into the deep waters; the floods engulf me.
I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched.
My eyes fail, looking for my God.”
Psalm 69:1-3


So many believers have gone through pain and devastation because of betrayal and disappointment in those with whom they have at one time “walked with” in the Lord.

“For it is not an enemy who reproaches me; Then I could bear it.
Nor is it one that hates me who has exalted himself against me;
Then I could hide from him.

But it was you, a man my equal,
My companion and my acquaintance.
We took sweet counsel together,
And walked to the house of God among the people.”
Psalm 55:12-14


Church leaders and members or friends separate. Their unresolved issues and wounds infect others around them. With their tongue and pen, (and emails)!.. their resentment and bitterness spread in uncontrollable proportions.

Christians in other ministries and relationships receive the bad report and often, they don't even know the people involved but - because they have inclined their ears to hear the suggested and well-placed evil reports, the conversation poisons them like toxic waste in their soul. If unchecked, this becomes a hideous, malignant cancer-like cell eventually damaging their mind and above all, their spiritual discernment.

“Who is wise? He will realize these things.
Who is discerning? He will understand them.”

“The ways of the LORD are right;
The righteous walk in them,
But the rebellious stumble in them.”
Hosea 14:9

The age-old serpent, the ultimate enemy of our souls, has not lost the art of deception even after centuries! He, even now, can cause God's people, including the sincere ones, to miss the mark if they are willing to only hear one side of a story!


The frenzied consumer culture we are seeing as a result of selfishness and feeding upon fear has begun to reach a newly fevered pitch.

People getting trampled to death while others are “herding” their way to the discounted Hi-Definition Televisions reflects the hardness of heart and disrespect for the needs and lives of those around us.

This type of behavior is a prime example of even how believers have become “selectively “ hard of hearing when it comes to serving one another, or encouraging one another, or having patience with one another!

One moment we are asking for forgiveness and prayer, and in nearly the next breath, slanderous retorts are spoken out in anger.

Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger,
Fighting and slander, along with every form of nastiness.
Ephesians 4:31

Once bitter words are spoken or written, they cannot be retracted.
Sadly, those who often shout the loudest about being maligned are often the perpetrators of assassinating the characters of those whom have been in disagreement with them or who have possibly warned them about a need for a course correction.

“He who conceals his hatred has lying lips,
And whoever spreads slander is a fool.”
Proverbs 10:18


The beauty of what God's purpose in His people really is meant to passionately reflect is missing. Things that are now being said and done do not mean what they did mean originally in His Word.
Twisting of truth to fits one’s own idea of God’s will has become acceptable and is often left unchallenged.

So many spiritual and scriptural terms are put into motion, but they are not in the same dimension and point of view, which are in the Divine plan!


The Apostle Paul warned us in his letter to Timothy about this….

" This know also that in the last days perilous times shall come…Having the form of godliness (true religion) but denying the power there of. "


So much is falling short of its original design. There is so much labor and "rallying" being pumped out there and it is being poured into the Self Promotion Machine" more than any time in the history of God's people! Yet the toil is ending in heartbreaking disappointment!

can be saved from this deadly poison that lulls those longing to be entertained and pampered into apathy and spiritual paralysis!

God's faithful ones in this hour should seek him and that which is upon his heart. What the Lord is doing in this era is so different …
…and we should be sensitive to Him!

He is looking for His People of the “Secret Place” in which the power of resurrection may freely function.

The Apostle Paul said "according to the power that works in us" (Ephesians 3:20b).

These People will have to be men and women who have “seen”!
They shall be like "a voice in the wilderness".


And the actual “thing” is that He is drawing them to seek the Lord Himself and His recognizable presence! Away from the throng,
nearer to the Word, bowed in repentance and prayer.

The Psalmist said,
"When You said oh Lord, Seek My face;
My heart said unto You, Your face, Lord will I seek."


Oh that God may find His Davids in this crucial hour that will set their faces towards Him at the command of His voice!
Without it, Humankind will continue its fall and decline into further confusion, tragedy, and self-preservation.


Now! While our hearts are freshly tenderized and troubled over the recent events in the earth!

There is the safe voice of the Father calling us. Let us respond with ears to Hear and hearts that obey.

“Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”
Hebrews 4:16

Duplication and sharing of this writing is permitted provided that complete article and website information for Mary Lindow is included. Thank you.