Monday, June 3, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
The Way Of A Pilgrim: Attacked By A Wolf
One early evening in winter I was walking alone through the woods toward a town which I could already see and where I wanted to find lodging. Suddenly a big wolf came upon me and jumped at me. I had the woolen rosary which had belonged to my late elder in my hands, and in my attempt to defend myself with it the rosary slipped out of my hands and lodged around the neck of the wolf. The wolf jumped away from me and got caught in a thorny bush with his hind legs and with the rosary on a branch of a dry tree. He tried desperately to free himself but was unable because the rosary was choking him. With faith I blessed myself and went to free the wolf and especially to get my precious rosary, for I feared that the wolf would run away without leaving a trace. And, sure enough, the moment I approached the wolf and touched the rosary, he broke it and ran away without leaving a trace. I thanked God for His help in retrieving my rosary and I remembered my late elder. Then I happily reached the town and stopped at an inn to ask for lodging.- The Way Of A Pilgrim. True story.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
God's Smuggler: Damaged Back & An Airplane Crash
Andrew smiled at us and we knew he, too, was remembering "an accident" that had God's handprint on it. His back problems began during Andy's first days in the WEC Bible College in Glasgow. The pain from multiple disks was so severe that the director's wife would find him unconscious on the floor. Andrew tried medication, exercise, no exercise; nothing helped. When he graduated, the president of the college told him he need not bother to apply for missionary work; it was clear he was too weak to travel.
Andrew became a missionary anyhow, of course, without official sponsorship. He traveled all the time, in a cramped Volkswagen, in such pain that someone usually had to help him put on the jacket he liked to wear when speaking in a church. He would have to cling to the chair back or pulpit rail just to remain upright as he spoke. In time, supporters raised enough to by Andrew a Citroen, with a suspension system that allowed him to drive with minimal discomfort. Andrew lent us the car once when we were researching the book in Hungary and Czechoslovakia; sure enough, we were hardly aware of long days behind the wheel. But Andrew's pain, though lessened, was never entirely absent, and at times it became nearly unbearable. A few years after the book was published, he planned to stop in New York on his way back to Holland from a trip to the Western United States. We were to spend several days together while we did an update for a Guideposts article on his work.
We went to La Guardia Airport to meet his flight. The last passenger got off. No Andrew. We phoned home and learned that just moments after we had left for the airport, our son Scott had taken a phone call from someone in Colorado: Andrew had been in an airplane accident. A tiny Beechcraft that was to take him to a regional airport for the flight to New York had lost power on take-off. The plane nosed into the ground. "Jump! Run!" the pilot shouted, fearing fire. Andrew managed to jump, but he could not run. He had broken his back. He was hospitalized in Salida and put into a body cast. And when the cast finally came off... marvel of marvels, his decades-old back problems had simply disappeared! At first he could scarcely believe it. Gingerly, tentatively, he resumed his activities. The pain did not recur. The violent wrenching of the plane crash had righted some ancient misalignment. Andrew's disk problems have never returned.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
Andrew became a missionary anyhow, of course, without official sponsorship. He traveled all the time, in a cramped Volkswagen, in such pain that someone usually had to help him put on the jacket he liked to wear when speaking in a church. He would have to cling to the chair back or pulpit rail just to remain upright as he spoke. In time, supporters raised enough to by Andrew a Citroen, with a suspension system that allowed him to drive with minimal discomfort. Andrew lent us the car once when we were researching the book in Hungary and Czechoslovakia; sure enough, we were hardly aware of long days behind the wheel. But Andrew's pain, though lessened, was never entirely absent, and at times it became nearly unbearable. A few years after the book was published, he planned to stop in New York on his way back to Holland from a trip to the Western United States. We were to spend several days together while we did an update for a Guideposts article on his work.We went to La Guardia Airport to meet his flight. The last passenger got off. No Andrew. We phoned home and learned that just moments after we had left for the airport, our son Scott had taken a phone call from someone in Colorado: Andrew had been in an airplane accident. A tiny Beechcraft that was to take him to a regional airport for the flight to New York had lost power on take-off. The plane nosed into the ground. "Jump! Run!" the pilot shouted, fearing fire. Andrew managed to jump, but he could not run. He had broken his back. He was hospitalized in Salida and put into a body cast. And when the cast finally came off... marvel of marvels, his decades-old back problems had simply disappeared! At first he could scarcely believe it. Gingerly, tentatively, he resumed his activities. The pain did not recur. The violent wrenching of the plane crash had righted some ancient misalignment. Andrew's disk problems have never returned.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
Monday, May 27, 2013
God's Smuggler: Rescued From Torture
God is never defeated. Though He may be opposed, attacked, resisted, still the ultimate outcome can never be in doubt. Every day we see fresh proof that indeed all things- even evil ones- work together for those who are called by His name. There is a Roman Catholic priest in Rumania whom we have been helping to buy Bibles and other supplies for years. On his last trip home from Vienna, his car loaded with Bibles, he was stopped at his own border and his cargo discovered. The priest was in anguish. He had already been in jail once on a trumped-up charge of hoarding, but here was a truly serious economic crime, and he was really guilty. A Bible costs a month's wages in Rumania, and he was carrying nearly two hundred.
Just at this moment another car pulled up to the border. Out stepped a businessman who was well-known at the station; he walked breezily into the inspection shed greeting each of the guards by name. At the sight of the counter ten-deep in Bibles he stopped short. "Bibles?" he said. I don't suppose you would be willing to sell them to me? They are confiscated, right?" "Yes, they are confiscated, but we could not possibly sell them to you." The businessman winked. "Not even," he said, "for..." and he leaned over and whispered a figure into the ear of the customs man. The official's eyes grew large. "Are they really worth that much?" "More. I shall make a profit."
The official thought for a moment. "Let me talk with my comrades." The three guards huddled together, and when they emerged from their little ring, they had apparently decided that the price was high enough to be worth the sacrifice of principle. So the businessman paid them in cash, got the priest's help in loading his car with his own Bibles, and drove on to Rumania. In the shed there was an awkward silence. "Am I still charged with smuggling Bibles?" the priest asked at last. "Bibles?" said the customs official. "What Bibles? There are no Bibles here. You'd better move along while the gate's open." And as for the Bibles, although they went on the black market, at least they too reached Rumania safely, where somehow believers will find enough money to buy them for their own.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
The official thought for a moment. "Let me talk with my comrades." The three guards huddled together, and when they emerged from their little ring, they had apparently decided that the price was high enough to be worth the sacrifice of principle. So the businessman paid them in cash, got the priest's help in loading his car with his own Bibles, and drove on to Rumania. In the shed there was an awkward silence. "Am I still charged with smuggling Bibles?" the priest asked at last. "Bibles?" said the customs official. "What Bibles? There are no Bibles here. You'd better move along while the gate's open." And as for the Bibles, although they went on the black market, at least they too reached Rumania safely, where somehow believers will find enough money to buy them for their own.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Women Held At Gunpoint And Rescued: The Power Of Prayer
From the New Tribes Mission website:
Twelve Wusuraambyan believers—nine women and three men—tramped joyfully over the mountains on their way home from the city. Encouraged by the women’s conference they had just attended, the women chatted joyfully to each other about what they had learned. “God is a provider,” they murmured to each other, admiring the colorful meri blouses which the city believers had given each of the girls. Entering their second day of walking, the group realized that they still had two more days of travel before arriving home. As the believers steadily climbed one of the steep mountain ridges separating them and home, they allowed another couple who had been walking with them to go ahead of them. Weary from their shopping endeavour in the city, the couple carried a bilum full of possessions they had purchased in town.
"We suddenly heard screaming!" shares Daaslin, one of the believers. “We thought the couple had hurt themselves, so we ran to catch up with them.“ But the the group could not expect what they encountered next. A group of bandits who had captured the couple and taken many of their possessions now turned on the believers. "The masked men threatened us with guns and bush knives," says Kena, the wife of one of the Wusuraambyan Bible teachers. "I was so scared that I held my baby close and began shaking from head to foot; I couldn't even run."
The terrified believers began calling out to God; two of the girls bolted ahead, while the rest stood frozen in fear. One of the girls fell and got scraped up trying to escape. "We started praying silently that God would save us," admits Kena. "Something caused us to all look at each other at the same time; suddenly, we all knew that God would save us." Forced to surrender both their money and their cell phones, the believers were robbed one by one of their possessions. As they were praying for a miracle, they saw a man from a neighboring dialect approach. Seeing their peril, the man sharply rebuked the bandits. Recognizing the man from previous encounters, the bandits fled in alarm, saving the rest of the group from being robbed. Thanks to God's intervention, the believers had escaped without any physical harm. They gathered farther down the road to praise Him for sending an "angel" to save them.
"Thank you God," for saving us, they echoed each other with heart felt thanks. It had truly been Him who had kept them safe; even the other couple had been allowed to go, although they had lost most of what they had bought. Two weeks later, Jesi, the male escort, went back to report the missing possessions and was able to recover many of them, to the thankfulness of the believers. Meanwhile, the women gathered together weekly to pray together and remind each other of what God had taught them. "God could have just saved us!" relate the believers with joy. "But he did more. He gave us back our money too. He knows our every need!"
"We suddenly heard screaming!" shares Daaslin, one of the believers. “We thought the couple had hurt themselves, so we ran to catch up with them.“ But the the group could not expect what they encountered next. A group of bandits who had captured the couple and taken many of their possessions now turned on the believers. "The masked men threatened us with guns and bush knives," says Kena, the wife of one of the Wusuraambyan Bible teachers. "I was so scared that I held my baby close and began shaking from head to foot; I couldn't even run."
The terrified believers began calling out to God; two of the girls bolted ahead, while the rest stood frozen in fear. One of the girls fell and got scraped up trying to escape. "We started praying silently that God would save us," admits Kena. "Something caused us to all look at each other at the same time; suddenly, we all knew that God would save us." Forced to surrender both their money and their cell phones, the believers were robbed one by one of their possessions. As they were praying for a miracle, they saw a man from a neighboring dialect approach. Seeing their peril, the man sharply rebuked the bandits. Recognizing the man from previous encounters, the bandits fled in alarm, saving the rest of the group from being robbed. Thanks to God's intervention, the believers had escaped without any physical harm. They gathered farther down the road to praise Him for sending an "angel" to save them.
"Thank you God," for saving us, they echoed each other with heart felt thanks. It had truly been Him who had kept them safe; even the other couple had been allowed to go, although they had lost most of what they had bought. Two weeks later, Jesi, the male escort, went back to report the missing possessions and was able to recover many of them, to the thankfulness of the believers. Meanwhile, the women gathered together weekly to pray together and remind each other of what God had taught them. "God could have just saved us!" relate the believers with joy. "But he did more. He gave us back our money too. He knows our every need!"
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Operation Auca: The Miracle of Five Martyred Missionaries
On January 8, 1956, four missionaries and one missionary pilot administering to the Waodani Indians of the Ecuadorian rain forest were speared by a group of these Indians (Hunters equipped with guns had previously occupied the area and unfurled the bond between these Indians and the rest of the world). The story, dubbed Operation Auca, quickly reached media and several people tried to influence the widows of these missionaries to take action against the Waodani Indians. Instead, the widows forgave the Waodani, told them about God's love for them regardless of their actions, and even came to live with the Indians. This was only one portion of Operation Auca. In the following paragraphs, Steve Saint (son of martyred missionary Nate Saint) talks about a miracle that occurred immediately after the Indians had speared the five missionaries.
Discovering The Miracle
A number of years ago Olive Fleming Liefeld and her second husband Walt visited the site in the Ecuadorian jungle where Olive’s first husband Pete had been speared to death, along with Ed McCully, Roger Youderian, Jim Elliot and my father Nate Saint. Flying into a remote jungle airstrip they were met by my father’s sister Rachel. Aunt Rachel and several members of Waodani tribe led Olive and her husband down to the sand bar my Dad named Palm Beach. Seeing the place where her husband had been killed for the first time brought questions back to Olive’s mind. Questions that had gone unanswered for over thirty years. Answering her questions with Aunt Rachel translating was Dawa, wife of one of the attackers who was present during the attack. Dawa, still a teenager at the time, hid in the dense cane bordering the far side of the river, opposite Palm Beach, afraid to actually watch or take a more aggressive role. As Dawa recognized Olive’s interest in what had happened that memorable day, a day that shocked and transfixed much of the world, both Christian and non, she began to volunteer information that she thought might be of interest.
In the middle of her commentary she pointed to a place above the jungle canopy bordering the ridge just south of Palm Beach. “That is where we heard the cowadi (foreigners) singing”, she stated matter- of- factly. As Aunt Rachel translated Olive stopped her; “What does she mean she heard foreigners singing above the trees?”
Researching The Miracle
Olive, Walt and Aunt Rachel wondered if it could possibly have been a choir of angels. What a wonderful and humbling tribute that would have been from a gracious God who had just had five sons killed, their spear-riddled bodies dumped unceremoniously in the river by the beach where they had just two days before had an exciting and completely friendly first contact with two women and one man from the same village where their killers lived. Olive wanted to include this account of angel visitation in her book “Unfolding Destinies”, so she asked me to ask the three surviving Waodani warriors who had been part of that fateful killing party for verification. The opportunity came when I flew to Ecuador to help members of the tribe bury Aunt Rachel after she died of cancer.
One by one, each of the three men told me that they saw what appeared to be lights in the same place where Dawa had said she saw the heavenly choir. They were further away, but which might explain that what they saw was different. But all of them said that they heard singing. Nevertheless, they were somewhat tentative in their description. When a project was initiated to make a feature film and a docu-drama about the “Auca Story” very recently, the script writers wanted to include the “angels singing over the ‘Palm Beach’ martyrs.” As I reviewed the script I felt uncomfortable including any detailed re-enactment of something that I was sure had taken place but which had only been vaguely described.
In January 2002 I was asked to take the documentary film team to Ecuador to interview the Waodani who are the other half of this story. In the interviews with four of the 5 reaming Waodani survivors who took part in the Palm Beach attack in which my Dad and his four friends were killed, I tried to elicit more definition to what I had been told previously; but without success. The day after wrapping up the filmed interviews with the Waodani the film group and I were joined by tow friends of ours, Kevin McAfee and Steven Chapman. They had flown out to join us to do filming for Steve’s upcoming tour which will feature the “Auca Story”, as well as to film some footage for the documentary. Steven and I were sitting in the cooking house talking while Kimo, one of the warriors I had just interviewed, was trying to communicate with a member of the film team.
I was startled to hear music coming from the thatched long-house immediately behind us. Then I realized that Kevin was just checking out the sound equipment he had brought. Suddenly Kimo turned toward the music and listened intently . After a minute he commented, “manami ihindabopa” (just like I heard it.) I didn’t understand what he was referring to until I put together the obvious fact he was referring to the music and remembered that I had recently asked him about what he had heard at Palm Beach. Kimo resumed his sign language conversation. Suddenly he turned toward the music once again and very specifically affirmed “I have heard that before, long ago. That is what I heard, just like that, when your father died.” I explained to Steven Curtis what Kimo was saying, then called to Kevin to hold the music at that spot. It was clear that Kimo was referring especially to one motif in the music as being what he remembered.
I invited Kimo to enter the long house with us. Unfortunately Kevin could not tell us specifically where on the CD the music Kimo was referring to was located. Kevin started playing various pieces on the soundtrack. I couldn’t remember enough of what it sounded like to identify it. As the fifth or sixth piece started to play, Steven Curtis said, “I think this might be it.” Almost simultaneously Kimo said, “I saw lights like stars and that is what I heard.” Then he added, “When I heard that long ago, I didn’t know what it was. I was afraid. Hearing it I knew we had done a bad thing there. Now, no longer living angry and hating, I see it well that you have returning brought this (they don’t have a word for instrumental music that I know of) back to us.” Then he got up and left the long house. Kevin pulled out the CD to find the title of the piece Kimo had identified. “You won’t believe this “ Kevin exclaimed. “Look,” and he pointed at the CD, it is cut #8.
God's Carvings
Jesus told us “Go into all the world and make Disciples of all the Nations.” My father and his four friends joined the ranks of thousands of “God followers” who have given their lives to fulfill that commission. The title of the sound track Kimo recognized as being what he heard after killing my Dad and Jim and Pete and Roger and Ed; a piece written specially for the Documentary film (being made to tell the story of God’s plan to reach a tribe of people off in the Amazon jungle who were insignificant in almost every way except that God loved them and wanted them to know they could become His children throughout the sacrifice of Itota “God’s only child, a son.”) is “Every Tribe, Every Nation.”
God has entrusted “His very good carvings” to us! But only the uninitiated or extremely unobservant don't want to believe that He still has His hand in seeing that His message reaches every tribe, every nation, every tongue and every people. I have never questioned God’ right to use my father’s life. Dad turned his life over to God as a young boy. I have never asked for an apology from the men who killed him, and I have never received one. I have never forgiven them either. It never occurred to me that I should forgive them for something which, though they meant for evil, God very clearly intended for good. As I listened to music, just written, which Kimo clearly asserted he had heard at Palm Beach, my heart swelled with a sense of well-being. God took what five men could not keep and exchanged it for something they can not lose. It’s our turn now, to make the same deal and give our lives away!
- Angels, Yes, I Think It Was Angels
More On Operation Auca:
- The Book That Got Me Inspired
- Nate Saint's Story As Told By Steve Saint
Discovering The Miracle
A number of years ago Olive Fleming Liefeld and her second husband Walt visited the site in the Ecuadorian jungle where Olive’s first husband Pete had been speared to death, along with Ed McCully, Roger Youderian, Jim Elliot and my father Nate Saint. Flying into a remote jungle airstrip they were met by my father’s sister Rachel. Aunt Rachel and several members of Waodani tribe led Olive and her husband down to the sand bar my Dad named Palm Beach. Seeing the place where her husband had been killed for the first time brought questions back to Olive’s mind. Questions that had gone unanswered for over thirty years. Answering her questions with Aunt Rachel translating was Dawa, wife of one of the attackers who was present during the attack. Dawa, still a teenager at the time, hid in the dense cane bordering the far side of the river, opposite Palm Beach, afraid to actually watch or take a more aggressive role. As Dawa recognized Olive’s interest in what had happened that memorable day, a day that shocked and transfixed much of the world, both Christian and non, she began to volunteer information that she thought might be of interest.
In the middle of her commentary she pointed to a place above the jungle canopy bordering the ridge just south of Palm Beach. “That is where we heard the cowadi (foreigners) singing”, she stated matter- of- factly. As Aunt Rachel translated Olive stopped her; “What does she mean she heard foreigners singing above the trees?”
Researching The Miracle
Olive, Walt and Aunt Rachel wondered if it could possibly have been a choir of angels. What a wonderful and humbling tribute that would have been from a gracious God who had just had five sons killed, their spear-riddled bodies dumped unceremoniously in the river by the beach where they had just two days before had an exciting and completely friendly first contact with two women and one man from the same village where their killers lived. Olive wanted to include this account of angel visitation in her book “Unfolding Destinies”, so she asked me to ask the three surviving Waodani warriors who had been part of that fateful killing party for verification. The opportunity came when I flew to Ecuador to help members of the tribe bury Aunt Rachel after she died of cancer.
One by one, each of the three men told me that they saw what appeared to be lights in the same place where Dawa had said she saw the heavenly choir. They were further away, but which might explain that what they saw was different. But all of them said that they heard singing. Nevertheless, they were somewhat tentative in their description. When a project was initiated to make a feature film and a docu-drama about the “Auca Story” very recently, the script writers wanted to include the “angels singing over the ‘Palm Beach’ martyrs.” As I reviewed the script I felt uncomfortable including any detailed re-enactment of something that I was sure had taken place but which had only been vaguely described.In January 2002 I was asked to take the documentary film team to Ecuador to interview the Waodani who are the other half of this story. In the interviews with four of the 5 reaming Waodani survivors who took part in the Palm Beach attack in which my Dad and his four friends were killed, I tried to elicit more definition to what I had been told previously; but without success. The day after wrapping up the filmed interviews with the Waodani the film group and I were joined by tow friends of ours, Kevin McAfee and Steven Chapman. They had flown out to join us to do filming for Steve’s upcoming tour which will feature the “Auca Story”, as well as to film some footage for the documentary. Steven and I were sitting in the cooking house talking while Kimo, one of the warriors I had just interviewed, was trying to communicate with a member of the film team.
I was startled to hear music coming from the thatched long-house immediately behind us. Then I realized that Kevin was just checking out the sound equipment he had brought. Suddenly Kimo turned toward the music and listened intently . After a minute he commented, “manami ihindabopa” (just like I heard it.) I didn’t understand what he was referring to until I put together the obvious fact he was referring to the music and remembered that I had recently asked him about what he had heard at Palm Beach. Kimo resumed his sign language conversation. Suddenly he turned toward the music once again and very specifically affirmed “I have heard that before, long ago. That is what I heard, just like that, when your father died.” I explained to Steven Curtis what Kimo was saying, then called to Kevin to hold the music at that spot. It was clear that Kimo was referring especially to one motif in the music as being what he remembered.
I invited Kimo to enter the long house with us. Unfortunately Kevin could not tell us specifically where on the CD the music Kimo was referring to was located. Kevin started playing various pieces on the soundtrack. I couldn’t remember enough of what it sounded like to identify it. As the fifth or sixth piece started to play, Steven Curtis said, “I think this might be it.” Almost simultaneously Kimo said, “I saw lights like stars and that is what I heard.” Then he added, “When I heard that long ago, I didn’t know what it was. I was afraid. Hearing it I knew we had done a bad thing there. Now, no longer living angry and hating, I see it well that you have returning brought this (they don’t have a word for instrumental music that I know of) back to us.” Then he got up and left the long house. Kevin pulled out the CD to find the title of the piece Kimo had identified. “You won’t believe this “ Kevin exclaimed. “Look,” and he pointed at the CD, it is cut #8.
God's Carvings
Jesus told us “Go into all the world and make Disciples of all the Nations.” My father and his four friends joined the ranks of thousands of “God followers” who have given their lives to fulfill that commission. The title of the sound track Kimo recognized as being what he heard after killing my Dad and Jim and Pete and Roger and Ed; a piece written specially for the Documentary film (being made to tell the story of God’s plan to reach a tribe of people off in the Amazon jungle who were insignificant in almost every way except that God loved them and wanted them to know they could become His children throughout the sacrifice of Itota “God’s only child, a son.”) is “Every Tribe, Every Nation.”
God has entrusted “His very good carvings” to us! But only the uninitiated or extremely unobservant don't want to believe that He still has His hand in seeing that His message reaches every tribe, every nation, every tongue and every people. I have never questioned God’ right to use my father’s life. Dad turned his life over to God as a young boy. I have never asked for an apology from the men who killed him, and I have never received one. I have never forgiven them either. It never occurred to me that I should forgive them for something which, though they meant for evil, God very clearly intended for good. As I listened to music, just written, which Kimo clearly asserted he had heard at Palm Beach, my heart swelled with a sense of well-being. God took what five men could not keep and exchanged it for something they can not lose. It’s our turn now, to make the same deal and give our lives away!
More On Operation Auca:
- The Book That Got Me Inspired
- Nate Saint's Story As Told By Steve Saint
Saturday, May 18, 2013
George Muller: Food For Orphans Sent From God
'Mr. Muller, I couldn't sleep last night. Somehow I felt you didn't have bread for breakfast and the Lord wanted me to send you some. So I got up at 2 a.m. and baked some fresh bread, and have brought it.'
Muller thanked the man. No sooner had this transpired when there was a second knock at the door. It was the milkman. He announced that his milk cart had broken down right in front of the orphanage, and he wanted to give the children his cans of fresh milk so he could empty his wagon and repair it.
- Christian Hall of Fame Series (No.23) by Ed Reese
A Broken Arm, A Camera, & An Apparition
Beginning in April of 1968, Saint Mary appeared over a church in Egypt. This true story touches me deeply since my grandfather actually saw Saint Mary during this apparition period. In the following true story, a famous photographer, Wagih Rizk, gets into a car accident around the time that Saint Mary's apparitions at the church begin. His left arm and hand are damaged and paralyzed, forcing him to adapt to a new way of taking pictures. He eventually sets a goal to take a picture of Saint Mary during one of her apparitions, and after conquering his wild excitement of just seeing the Virgin Mary, finally takes a picture of her. What he doesn't immediately realize, though, is that he takes that picture with his left hand- the one that had just been paralyzed.
The Car Accident
I was riding my car from downtown on my way back to Zeitoun where I live, when beside Saray El-Koba Station, a child playing football and another one running after him suddenly appeared in front of me. The distance between my car and the second child was not more than one meter. There was no way; I was definitely going to strike him, even if I had braked forcibly. The only thing I could do was to steer the car away from the child trying to avoid him. So with all my force, I turned to the left; the car rolled on its side and I passed out. After about a minute, I was awake to find myself on the ground with all of my left upper limb under the car. I didn't feel pain at first, but when I tried to pull out my hand from under the car, I felt severe pain in my elbow.
I looked at my painful elbow and saw what caused me to pass out again. Nothing was tying my forearm to my arm except for a torn flap of skin through which only two vessels were appearing intact... The rest of the vessels were cut and bleeding on the ground. I don't know how I thought quickly that if people come and try to pull me from under the car, my forearm will be definitely cut. I still don't know how I managed to support myself on my right arm and put my feet under the car, pulling it up with all my force until I felt the pressure over my left arm decrease and was able to withdraw my arm slowly, then I let the car come back to its place away from me and for the third time, I passed out.
No Cure From The Doctors
This time I was awake to find myself at Mansheyat El-Bakry hospital with doctors, nurses and many faces in front of me. I could only see their eyes under the light of the spotlights directed over my head. It was midnight and I was in the operating theatre and only opened my eyes once to find something heavy, the anaesthesia mask, put rapidly over my mouth and nose and again I was unconscious.
I recovered from anaesthesia to find my left upper limb wrapped in gauze and a nurse beside me. When I asked her what happened, she told me how people gathered around my car and a lady wrapped my arm with her blouse to stop the severe bleeding until the ambulance came to transport me to the hospital where I was operated upon by Dr. Zarif Beshara. The next day (Wednesday, June 28, 1967), an X-ray was done and it revealed that the operation failed and the arm was not in its proper position. Dr. Samir Farag decided to do a second operation immediately. I was operated upon on the next day and for the second time the operation failed. Dr. Ali Rady put my arm in a plaster cast.
Confirming A Broken Left Arm
Months elapsed and the plaster cast was removed and replaced one time after the other for nine times over a period of three months. Finally, doctors decided that they have done all what they could and that my left limb was destined to remain motionless beside me, and suffices that it is in its place and was not amputated. I left the hospital surrendering to my fate.
On February 1968, I went to Dr. Hassan Sennarah. After examining me he said: "All tissues, nerves and tendons that join your arm were cut and the bones have compound fractures and consequently you will never be able to move your left forearm and hand again... Your condition was severe and you have to thank God for being in such state now." I then went to seek the advise of another famous orthopaedic surgeon, Dr. Abdel Hay El-Sharkawy. After doing an X-ray and in spite of the fact that he didn't ever meet the previous doctor, he repeated the same words that the previous doctor had said and he added: "I am sorry. I have no treatment for you now. There may be a new treatment in the future for your condition, so come again after two or three years!" I left him and surrendered to my fate, working with only one hand and loosing the other completely. I trained myself on this, and as a photographer, I adapted myself to do my work with only one hand.
Seeing Saint Mary
On April 9, 1968, I was shaken by the news of the apparitions of the Blessed Virgin Mary at Zeitoun and so I went to see Her. That night at 2:45 am, I saw Her in the form of radiating light like clouds. The light was very strong, so strong that the eye couldn't bear it, and was seen near the cross over the small eastern dome. The apparition was awesome... Reverence and fear filled me like an electric shock. I returned home. I couldn't control my thoughts or sleep in spite of the fact that I didn't sleep all that night to witness the apparition. I had a bizarre thought: I wanted to take photos of the Blessed Virgin and Her miraculous apparitions. Why not?
I didn't hesitate. The next day I went to Virgin Mary's Church at Zeitoun and took my camera with me. I fixed the camera on the roof of the garage in front of the church's domes, but I couldn't take any photo; She didn't appear that night.
On the following day, I tried again. This time the Virgin appeared. Although the camera was ready, I stood in astonishment and couldn't move like all people around me. Everyone in the crowd assumed a certain pose: you could see one covering his eyes with his hand, another falling on the ground, a third hiding his face behind the one standing in front of him, and so on... However, I couldn't remember my own pose.
Finally Taking The Picture- With The Left Hand
On April 13, I was determined not to let the opportunity escape anymore. At 3:40 am, the Blessed Virgin appeared. And very quickly, I captured the photo... Our Lady was still appearing in front of me... So I took a second photo... And you know, from what you have read in newspapers, the technical aspects and the way these two photos were captured... But what you don't know is the spiritual aspect.
I returned home thinking of what happened and waiting impatiently until the morning to know the results of processing the photos. I recalled in my mind every moment that passed while the Virgin was appearing in front of me. Suddenly, I stood out of my bed. Yes I did it! I forgot while I was looking at the apparition of the Blessed Virgin the fact that when I captured the first photo quickly, I used my left hand! Yes, my left hand... the five doctors, some of them among the most famous surgeons in Egypt, said it was hopeless and would never move again... The Blessed Virgin had miraculously healed this hand! I started to move my left hand, up, down, to my side and to rotate and wave it in the air while extended... I was cured... completely cured once the Virgin appeared. And from this day the camera never leaves me, and the camera and I never leave Zeitoun.
- Mr. Wagih Rizk's Website And Photo Gallery
The Car Accident
I looked at my painful elbow and saw what caused me to pass out again. Nothing was tying my forearm to my arm except for a torn flap of skin through which only two vessels were appearing intact... The rest of the vessels were cut and bleeding on the ground. I don't know how I thought quickly that if people come and try to pull me from under the car, my forearm will be definitely cut. I still don't know how I managed to support myself on my right arm and put my feet under the car, pulling it up with all my force until I felt the pressure over my left arm decrease and was able to withdraw my arm slowly, then I let the car come back to its place away from me and for the third time, I passed out.
No Cure From The Doctors
This time I was awake to find myself at Mansheyat El-Bakry hospital with doctors, nurses and many faces in front of me. I could only see their eyes under the light of the spotlights directed over my head. It was midnight and I was in the operating theatre and only opened my eyes once to find something heavy, the anaesthesia mask, put rapidly over my mouth and nose and again I was unconscious.
I recovered from anaesthesia to find my left upper limb wrapped in gauze and a nurse beside me. When I asked her what happened, she told me how people gathered around my car and a lady wrapped my arm with her blouse to stop the severe bleeding until the ambulance came to transport me to the hospital where I was operated upon by Dr. Zarif Beshara. The next day (Wednesday, June 28, 1967), an X-ray was done and it revealed that the operation failed and the arm was not in its proper position. Dr. Samir Farag decided to do a second operation immediately. I was operated upon on the next day and for the second time the operation failed. Dr. Ali Rady put my arm in a plaster cast.
Confirming A Broken Left Arm
Months elapsed and the plaster cast was removed and replaced one time after the other for nine times over a period of three months. Finally, doctors decided that they have done all what they could and that my left limb was destined to remain motionless beside me, and suffices that it is in its place and was not amputated. I left the hospital surrendering to my fate.
On February 1968, I went to Dr. Hassan Sennarah. After examining me he said: "All tissues, nerves and tendons that join your arm were cut and the bones have compound fractures and consequently you will never be able to move your left forearm and hand again... Your condition was severe and you have to thank God for being in such state now." I then went to seek the advise of another famous orthopaedic surgeon, Dr. Abdel Hay El-Sharkawy. After doing an X-ray and in spite of the fact that he didn't ever meet the previous doctor, he repeated the same words that the previous doctor had said and he added: "I am sorry. I have no treatment for you now. There may be a new treatment in the future for your condition, so come again after two or three years!" I left him and surrendered to my fate, working with only one hand and loosing the other completely. I trained myself on this, and as a photographer, I adapted myself to do my work with only one hand.
Seeing Saint Mary
On April 9, 1968, I was shaken by the news of the apparitions of the Blessed Virgin Mary at Zeitoun and so I went to see Her. That night at 2:45 am, I saw Her in the form of radiating light like clouds. The light was very strong, so strong that the eye couldn't bear it, and was seen near the cross over the small eastern dome. The apparition was awesome... Reverence and fear filled me like an electric shock. I returned home. I couldn't control my thoughts or sleep in spite of the fact that I didn't sleep all that night to witness the apparition. I had a bizarre thought: I wanted to take photos of the Blessed Virgin and Her miraculous apparitions. Why not?
I didn't hesitate. The next day I went to Virgin Mary's Church at Zeitoun and took my camera with me. I fixed the camera on the roof of the garage in front of the church's domes, but I couldn't take any photo; She didn't appear that night.
Finally Taking The Picture- With The Left Hand
On April 13, I was determined not to let the opportunity escape anymore. At 3:40 am, the Blessed Virgin appeared. And very quickly, I captured the photo... Our Lady was still appearing in front of me... So I took a second photo... And you know, from what you have read in newspapers, the technical aspects and the way these two photos were captured... But what you don't know is the spiritual aspect.
I returned home thinking of what happened and waiting impatiently until the morning to know the results of processing the photos. I recalled in my mind every moment that passed while the Virgin was appearing in front of me. Suddenly, I stood out of my bed. Yes I did it! I forgot while I was looking at the apparition of the Blessed Virgin the fact that when I captured the first photo quickly, I used my left hand! Yes, my left hand... the five doctors, some of them among the most famous surgeons in Egypt, said it was hopeless and would never move again... The Blessed Virgin had miraculously healed this hand! I started to move my left hand, up, down, to my side and to rotate and wave it in the air while extended... I was cured... completely cured once the Virgin appeared. And from this day the camera never leaves me, and the camera and I never leave Zeitoun.
- Mr. Wagih Rizk's Website And Photo Gallery
Thursday, May 16, 2013
God's Smuggler: God Provides At The Right Time
I was on my way home from a trip to East Germany and Poland. At 5:00 one afternoon we were spinning along, when suddenly there was a crackling sound in the rear of the car and the engine died. Then I straightened up and saw that beside the road, at the spot where the car's own momentum had deposited us, was an emergency telephone box. I picked up the receiver and asked for a tow truck. The tow truck driver inspected the various parts of the engine in silence for some minutes. "My crew leaves in ten minutes. They could have a new engine in for you in an hour, but you'd have to pay them a good tip for staying overtime."
"How much would the whole thing cost, including the tip?" "500 marks."
When I changed every last guilder, it came- with the German money in my pocket- to 470 marks. 50 shy of the amount I need to pay the bill and buy gasoline on the way home. At that instant, two young Dutchmen raced through the door, one of them waving something in his hand. "Andy!" he shouted. "Craziest thing ever happened to me! We were just walking along the street when this lady came up to us and asked if we were Dutchmen. When I said yes, she gave me this bill! She said God wanted us to have it!"
The bill was for 50 marks.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
Bruce Olson: Life-Saving Miracle
One day he heard excited shouts of the Indians outside of the hut where he lay. From what he could determine, the Indians were describing a vulture-like creature which was swooping over them. Moments later Olson heard the drone of an airplane.
The plane proved to be a helicopter. After circling the clearing and spotting the plastic tent, the pilot lowered the plane to the ground. Out jumped a physician. The two men had decided to see what the famous Motilone territory looked like. Of all the immense territory over which they could have flown, God sent them to the exact spot where Bruce lay sick. Placing the young missionary into the helicopter, they headed toward a hospital. Again Bruce's recovery proved astonishing. Within a few weeks he was on the trail again headed for Motilone territory.
- Colombia's Motilone Bari Indian Community
Brother Yun: Miracles During Persecution
Brother Yun was arrested by security police numerous times and was thrown into prison three times for sharing the gospel in communist China. When Brother Yun was arrested the first time, he was only 17 years old. At that time, he was ministering at a meeting far away from home. After he was caught, he was thrown into a freezing cold prison cell. There was no heat in the cell and his winter coat had been thrown into the snow by the security police who had caught him. He began to sing Psalm 150 aloud. The more he sang, the more he was filled with joy. Gradually, his frozen hands and feet regained feeling and he no longer felt cold.During his first imprisonment in Nanyang, Brother Yun felt that God wanted him to fast without food and water until he could see his family again. This fast lasted 74 days, which was humanly impossible but yet was made possible because he chose to obey God.
Once, Brother Yun was paraded through the streets with a red cross tied behind him for half a day. When night fell, he was locked and left alone inside a large interrogation room. The wooden cross was taken off his back but his hands were still tied up. All of a sudden, the rope that was used to tie his hands snapped by itself. He immediately walked out of the interrogation room and walked through the courtyard in the midst of onlookers. Nobody stopped him or said anything to him. It was as if God had blinded their eyes and they did not even recognize who he was.
- Inspirational Christians
God's Smuggler: Smuggling Bibles For A Persecuted Church
“Dear Lord,” I said, as at last there was just one car ahead of me, “what am I going to do? Any serious inspection will show up those Rumanian Bibles right away. Dare I ask for a miracle? Let me take some of the Bibles out and leave them in the open where they will be seen. Then, Lord, I cannot possibly be depending on my own stratagems, can I? I will be depending utterly upon You.”
It was my turn. I put the little VW in low gear, inched up to the officer standing at the left side of the road, handed him my papers, and started to get out. But his knee was against the door, holding it closed. He looked at my photograph in the passport and abruptly waved me on. Surely 30 seconds had not passed!
After driving away, the guard had the driver behind me open the hood of his car. My heart was racing with the excitement of having caught such a spectacular glimpse of God at work.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
God's Smuggler: Running On Christ
The
roads in Yugoslavia were extraordinarily hard on cars. When we weren’t
climbing fierce mountain trails, we were fording streams at the bottom of steep
valleys. Every morning in our quiet time, Nikola and I would include a prayer
for the car. “Lord, we don’t have either time or the money for repairs on the
car, so will You please keep it running?”One day we were dusting along a mountain when up ahead we spotted a small truck coming toward us. As it pulled alongside, we stopped. “Hello,” said the driver. “I believe I know who you are. You’re the Dutch missionary who is going to preach in Terna tonight. And this is the miracle car? Mind if I take a look at her? I’m a mechanic.”
“I’d appreciate it.” I had put gasoline in that engine, and that was literally all since I had crossed the border. The mechanic went around to the rear and lifted the hood over the motor. For a long time he stood there, just staring.
“Brother Andrew,” he said at last, “I have just become a believer. It is mechanically impossible for this engine to run. Look. The air filter. The carburetor. The sparks. No, I’m sorry. This car cannot run.”
“And yet it’s taken us thousands of miles.” God had answered our prayer.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
God's Smuggler: God's Sense Of Humor
God’s faithfulness I was experiencing continually, and I was always finding out something about His sense of humor.
I had made a covenant with God never to run out of money or school fees. My covenant said nothing about running out of soap. Or toothpaste. Or razor blades.
One morning I discovered I was out of laundry soap. But when I reached into the drawer where I kept my money, all I could find was sixpence. Laundry soap cost eightpence.
“You know that I have to keep clean, God, so will You work it out about the two pennies?” I took my sixpence and made my way to the street where the shops were, and sure enough, right away I saw a sign. “Twopence off! Buy your SURF now.” I walked in, made my savings, and strolled back up the hill whistling. There was plenty of soap in that box to last, with care, until the end of school.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
God's Smuggler: Tea Time And Missionaries
Penniless missionaries “obligated” to host a tea party for guests:“All of us knew we had no tea, no cake, no bread and butter, and exactly five cups. Nor did we have money to buy these things: our last penny had gone to rent the hall. Several came forward and pitched in to help, but there was still something missing- the cake. This was going to be a real test of God’s care.
So that night in our evening prayer time, we put the matter before God. “Lord, we’ve got ourselves into a spot. From somewhere we’ve got to get a cake. Will You help us?”
The tea time had been announced for four o’clock in the afternoon. At three the tables were set, but still we had no cake. Three-thirty came. We put on water to boil. Three-forty-five.
And then the doorbell rang.
All of us together ran to the big front entrance, and there was the postman. In his hands was a large box. I took the package and carefully unwrapped it. Off came the twine. Off came the brown outside paper. Inside, there was no note- only a large white box.
There, in perfect condition, was an enormous, glistening, moist chocolate cake.”
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
God's Smuggler: Healing Of Knee
Still I had not reached a point
where I knew I had found God’s plan for my life. “What is it, Lord?” And then,
there by the canal, I finally had my answer. My “yes” to God had always been a
“yes, but.” Yes, but I’m not educated. Yes, but
I’m lame. With the next breath, I did say “Yes.” “I’ll go Lord,” I
said.Lord, as I stand up from this place, and as I take my first step forward, will You consider that this is a step toward complete obedience to You? I stood up. I took a stride forward. And in that moment there was a sharp wrench in the lame leg.
I thought with horror that I had turned my crippled ankle. Gingerly I put the foot on the ground. I could stand on it all right! What on Earth had happened? Slowly and very cautiously I began walking home, and as I walked, one verse of Scripture kept popping into my mind: “Going, they were healed.” I couldn't remember at first where it came from. Then I recalled the story of the ten lepers, and how on their way to see the priest as Christ had commanded, the miracle happened. “Going, they were healed.”
I was due at a Sunday evening service in a village six kilometers away. Normally, I would have ridden my bicycle, but tonight was different.
Tonight I was going to walk all the way to the meeting.
- Brother Andrew Bijl, from God’s Smuggler. True story.
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