Acts of the Green Apples

Second Postponement

2005-05-20T13:26:00.000+01:00

I've misplaced the CD of the scans. The update is postponed yet again!

Postponement

2005-04-29T13:37:00.000+01:00

The additional materials to be posted up here will be up mid-May.

Apologies for the delay!

Updates to Come

2005-04-12T10:59:00.000+01:00

I have loads of material still to post here, including scans of two complete Trinity magazines, but all the images get uploaded from our home computer which is down for now, and may not be back up for another week or so.

So, if you've finished reading the book (below) and want to read more, please check back at the end of this month.

There's also one short article available on my blog, posted earlier this month.

the Acts of the Little Green Apples - index

2005-04-05T15:44:00.000+01:00

by Jean Stone Willans
printed in the USA by Whitaker House, 1973, reprinted 1995
(aka "The Acts of the Green Apples")

Once upon a time, the Willanses were quiet, respectable suburbanites. But it just wasn't meant to be -- not after Mrs. Willans got acquainted with God and He catapulted them out of their quiet, suburban existence to send them around the world into some heart-warming, miracle-studded, and frankly hilarious adventures. There's one other thing we ought to mention: this story really happened. And if miracles can happen to the Willanses, they can even happen to you ...

Table of Contents

Act 1
Act 1 Cont'd
Act 1 Cont'd (last bit)
Act 2
Act 2 Cont'd
Act 3
Act 4
Act 4 Cont'd
Act 5
Act 5 Cont'd
Act 6
Act 6 Cont'd
Act 7
Act 8
Act 8 Cont'd
Act 9
Act 10
Act 10 Cont'd
Act 11
Act 12
Act 13
Act 14
Act 15
Act 16
Act 17
Act 18
Act 19
Act 20
Epilogue 1995
A Husband's Afterword

Dedication by author:

For Madeleine and Bill Duncan, who encouraged me and loved me when I needed it ...

and for Richard and Suzanne

the Acts of the Green Apples - Jean Stone Willans - Act 1

2005-04-05T14:37:00.000+01:00

I cannot say the actual date that I was born but I remember the day distinctly. My Father had seen that I was nourished and cared for prior to the day that I was exploded from the womb of my churchmanship into an experience so real that everything in my life lost color by comparison.

The event of my conversion (the terminology is accurate, though I would not have approved of it at the time) was a curious blend of Catholicism and Protestantism. I had been nurtured for a short time in an Anglo-Catholicism (High Church Episcopalianism) which made me more catholic than the Catholics, and yet my personal experience of the living God has delighted almost all Protestants who have heard it, with the exception of one Plymouth Brethren elder who claimed my conversion couldn't be genuine unless it was based on some particular Scripture verse!

For approximately two years I had been religious. It is strange to make such a statement when I was christened as an infant in the Episcopal Church, raised in that doctrine, and had a brother who was a priest. And as a child I prayed. I think everyone has prayed to a God he knows the name of or to a God he does not know the name of, but I think this has very little to do with what I am talking about -- that vital personal encounter with the Creator through the Redeemer by the operation of the Holy Spirit.

Immediately prior to my birth I was kneeling before a crucifix saying my regular morning prayers when I suddenly knew I was a sinner. How ridiculous. What had I ever done that everyone else hadn't done at one time or another? As a matter of fact, I was a very respectable member of the community. But I knew. I can't say how I knew. And at the same instant I knew Jesus Christ had died for me. Of course my doctrine included the fact that Christ had died for the sins of the world -- but really now! No one had ever told me that if there hadn't been anyone in the world but Jean, He would have died for me. But I suddenly knew that it was true and that He had. It was as though the Universe had split and revealed to me a truth unknown by anyone else -- a truth of such magnitude as to transform my entire life. Somehow I understood within my innermost self everything: why He died, why it was necessary that He die, why I needed Him. The enormity of God Himself bothering with me was too much for my finite being and I prostrated myself upon the floor and burst into tears.

I looked up at the crucifix in thanksgiving and was surprised to see light streaming from it. Foolishness. Emotion. I looked again. It was there. My mind inquired what it could mean, and I finally came to the conclusion that God was trying to tell me that this experience was important. But I couldn't name what had happened to me or explain why it should be important, except that any experience with God would be important.

So that was my birthday. Afterward things became more complicated.

Outwardly I remained the same: dedicated to the church, narrow concerning other denominations, deeply devotional and steeped with an avid curiosity to discover more concerning what I would have called "the Faith."

But inwardly there was a difference. First, I possessed a peculiar feeling of assurance that I was eventually going to make it to heaven. Concerned that this was bordering on the sin of presumption, I discussed it with the rector (the priest in charge) of my parish. He was not at all enthused. I couldn't reason it out very well because I didn't understand it myself, and yet it appeared so terribly real that I couldn't let go of the thought easily. I remember arguing, "But Father, if God is love, then He must be more concerned about our getting to Heaven than we are. I know we aren't very good, but if we are really trying, doing everything and believing everything we know how, do we have to be so nervous about it? Couldn't we relax in the knowledge that if we do our bit He is certainly going to do His and see that we get there?"

Father shook his head and said doubtfully, "Well, I suppose you can believe that if you want to." And I did believe it. Oh, how I believed it! I knew in Whom I believed and I knew where I was going, but as for the doctrine of my belief -- I couldn't have explained it at all. And as for a scripture verse to base it on -- well, at that time I thought the Old Testament was the history of the Jewish people and that my church had written the New Testament.

There was another difference. Before this peculiar experience I was satisfied. I had a strict Rule of Life which gave me a certain amount of gratification in the doing. I worked in the parish in a number of unrelated capacities which fulfilled both my pragmatic and my creative needs. I was active and busy as well as prayerful and devoted to God and to the church.

Suddenly it all changed. I was happier but no longer satisfied. It seemed to me there was something wrong with my life. Had God made a mistake somewhere and made me a woman when I should have been a man? Because of that I could not enter the priesthood. Why had he allowed me to marry? Now I could never be a nun. A growing sense of frustration developed. Surely there was more to service for God than fundraising fashion shows, pancake suppers, and Altar Guild duty. Why did I have to be a woman?

I took my problem to the rector. I told him I followed my Rule of Life faithfully by reading Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer with the accompanying scriptures, saying prayers at noon, attending Mass almost every morning, as well as all extra services and a regular teaching class. I gave service to the church in many ways, even instigating and organizing an infant nursery so people with small children could attend worship services in comfort. I felt I really had a private relationship with God as well, and yet there was something missing. He looked sorrowful and said he understood exactly what I meant -- that he felt the same way.

My frustration grew. And then I went on retreat and an Anglo-Catholic monk said some things that changed the parish, changed me, and made news in both the secular and religious press throughout most of the world.

Click here for the Table of Contents

AOTGA - Act 1 Cont'd

2005-04-05T14:36:00.000+01:00

It wasn't the way he said it. It was what he said. That was the element that made this retreat so unusual. I later learned that he had studied the doctrine of the Holy Spirit for twenty years. This was his "thing," and yet he really didn't know anything compared to what we discovered later. But that's where it started. An Anglo-Catholic monk spoke at a retreat for lay women at the House of Sisters of the Holy Nativity in Santa Barbara and I, for one, have never been the same since.

He shocked us. He stunned us. He wasn't a Malcolm Boyd or a Daniel Berrigan. He was a conservative Episcopal priest, and he said what to us was shattering. He said, "Christians should be down on their knees praying for forgiveness for their neglect of the Holy Spirit. They don't have any idea what He is supposed to be doing."

Usually one goes home from retreat with various pleasant feelings: relaxation, increased sense of commitment, and perhaps a measure of self-righteousness thrown in. This retreat was different. Some people went back with a feeling of frustration -- a feeling of not knowing all the answers. Everything in our lives had been so pat up until then. The Holy Spirit is the Third Person of the Trinity, the Purifier, the Santifier, the One Who makes us holy. But who felt holy? And where was the punch the early Church had? And who among us could honestly say, as the apostles could, "It seemed good to the Holy Ghost and us"?

So secretly some of the women began to pray. No, they didn't pray for anything dramatic. How could they? They didn't know about anything dramatic. They prayed that the Holy Spirit would come to St Mark's Episcopal Church in Van Nuys, California, USA, with power. They didn't know exactly what they meant, and they certainly didn't intend it to be spectacular; but He did come and spectacular it was, for He came with power. But when He came we didn't recognize Him. You understand. We hadn't expected Him to come like that.

I first heard about it at a dinner party. A member of the vestry casually remarked that a priest from Monterey Park had confided at the weekly men's group that a couple in his church claimed they spoke in the unknown tongues that are mentioned in the Bible. No one said anything. What was there to say? No one who was there had ever heard of such a thing, so how could they comment? How could it have anything to do with normal twentieth-century suburbanites? But it did.

The next time the subject was broached in my hearing was when, as president of St Mary's Guild, I had an appointment with the rector to discuss a guild matter. He didn't seem interested in what I was saying and finally said, "Jean, I have something to share with you that I think you will be interested in." I said, "Yes, Father?" He continued, "The other day I drove to Monterey Park --" I interrupted him. After all, no one just goes to Monterey Park -- it's about forty miles away. I said, "You mean those people who claim to speak in the unknown tongue that St Paul wrote about--"

"Yes."

I didn't know anything about it and can't imagine what made me say anything since I normally keep quiet if I don't know about a subject. But I found myself saying, "Well, Father, it's completely scriptural. I don't know if it's valid or not." He said, "Jean, I speak in tongues," and I was absolutely horrified. All I could think was, "I never did really trust him; he used to be a Congregationalist."

And that was my introduction to an experience, to a movement, that many religious leaders claim outranks the Reformation in its impact.

Click here for the Table of Contents

AOTGA - Act 1 Cont'd (last bit)

2005-04-05T14:35:00.000+01:00

I couldn't wait to get out of there. I thought the rector had gone mad. But after I got outside all I could think was that I had been a bad sport. I didn't have to believe it. I didn't have to be interested. But he was obviously sincere, and if I had been kind I would have humored him in this strange little idiosyncrasy.

I knew what he wanted. He had made it clear, and I had been coldly uncooperative. He wanted me to ask him to speak in this new "language" he had somehow acquired. He wanted to show me that it wasn't wild, peculiar, or emotional. And that's exactly what I thought it was. When I look back upon it I don't know why I had that impression of the experience, because prior to hearing about the Bakers in Monterey Park I did not have the vaguest idea that anyone in the world claimed to speak in other languages given by the Holy Spirit. I knew there was a religious group with the name Pentecostal, but they were called "Holy Rollers" and I thought they rolled. No one had ever told me they speak in tongues.

So I was going to be a good sport. I telephoned the rector and told him I would like to hear him speak in the "language." He cleared his throat and I hastily said, "Not over the telephone -- I'll come to the office." So I made an appointment to hear the rector of a staid, respectable Episcopal Church speak in tongues. How far out could it get? Farther.

When I arrived at the church I discovered the rector was involved with an emergency and I would have to wait. So I chatted with the church administrator about this unusual happening. She said that since Father had built St. Mark's from a congregation of 200 to a congregation of 2600, this proved that speaking in tongues was of the devil. I didn't quite follow her reasoning and the devil hadn't been included in my curriculum, but I decided that just in case she was right I had better go into church and pray for protection before I saw the minister. An acquaintance of mine was in the chapel, and he asked me why I was there at that time of day. I told him I had come to hear the rector speak in tongues. He said, "You shouldn't just hear it; you should receive it."

This was a new thought altogether. What had all of this to do with me? What had it to do with this man? I asked him what he knew about the whole thing and he confided that he spoke in tongues. I was shaken. This was a serious Anglo-Catholic layman speaking. It was getting too close for comfort. From somewhere he produced the autobiography of St Theresa of Avila and showed me what obviously referred to St Theresa, herself, speaking in a language unknown to her and yet known to God. I considered St Theresa to have been everything I would like to be -- wonderfully spiritual and at the same time amazingly practical. I had once read a biography of her and upon reaching the final sentence of the work, had been delighted to discover that my birthday fell upon "her" day. I secretly considered her as "belonging" to me. And now this man had just told me that my heroine had spoken in tongues! While I recovered from the shock, the layman marked a church Bible with the passages pertaining to glossolalia (speaking in languages unknown to the speaker), handed it to me, and departed, leaving me to my confused thoughts.

I prayed. I read the passages. I prayed. I arrived at so many different ideas regarding the experience that I couldn't catalog them. There appeared to be a link between receiving the Holy Spirit in some special way and speaking in tongues. I was sure I had received the Holy Spirit in a special way at the imposition of the hands of the bishop, in confirmation. They said that I had. And don't ask about that experience because it hadn't lived up to its advance billing and when recalling it I had always felt uncomfortable.

From reading the places in the Bible that the layman had marked, I decided that in the early years of the Church people received the gift of the Holy Spirit and then spoke in tongues. I amended this to myself: "That was then. This is now. It doesn't happen that way anymore." But as I continued to read, I failed to find any time limits attached to any of the manifestations of the Holy Spirit. Rather, there were positive statements such as, "These signs shall follow them that believe," and speaking in tongues was one of the signs mentioned. Most confusing.

I finally shelved it all with the conclusion that I didn't really care what the Bible said on the subject. If my Church believed that speaking in other tongues by the Holy Spirit was for now, I would have heard about it. Since I had not, this proved the Church did not, and I wasn't having any, thank you. The administrator appeared and beckoned to me. I went in to see Father Bennett.

The Reverend Dennis J. Bennett was a quiet, mild-looking clergyman who had been born in London. About the last thing anyone would have accused him of was emotionalism. He didn't appear to have changed.

He began to tell me of the difference in himself since he had received the gift of the Holy Spirit. He said that he had a new peace in the middle of trying situations; that he had a deeper concern for the people of the parish; that Holy Communion was more meaningful for him. I thought to myself, "You surely needed all that, but I already have everything." I ostentatiously looked at my watch and said, "I have to go now: would you please speak in that language?"

He said, "If you like," and quietly and calmly spoke several sentences in tongues. While he spoke he looked quite normal and his eyes were wide open. It certainly didn't appear to be an emotional type of thing. But something happened to me while he was speaking. It was very strange and I didn't tell him about it -- I felt pretty silly. When he spoke it was as though electricity surged through me -- from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet. I tried to puzzle it out, outwardly looking as stiff and Anglican as possible. I couldn't figure it; it couldn't have anything to do with that language.

"Say something else," I requested. He knew what I meant and again said several sentences in the language which had been given by God. The same thing occurred. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. I knew God was in that room and I had come face to face with His power. I wasn't frightened, but I felt awed and rather excited and I knew I had to attend one of the meetings of the people who had received this strange gift. Dennis said I couldn't go because I hadn't "received." That was odd. I didn't know how, I didn't know I could, and I didn't know if I wanted to "receive." But I knew I was going to that prayer meeting. I did, and what a peculiar experience that was --

Click here for the Table of Contents

AOTGA - Act 2

2005-04-05T14:34:00.000+01:00

Father had confided in me that one of my best friends had received the gift of the Spirit. At the time I had been furious -- how could she have done anything that important without telling me? I was still angry with her, but at the same time I wanted to know more. So I went to her house and asked questions. She didn't have much in the way of answers but did offer to take me to a prayer group if I would promise not to ask to leave until she was ready to go home. That seemed simple enough, so I promised.

Everything that happened at the prayer meeting (as they called it) upset me. They began by reading Evening Prayer sitting down. I was disturbed. I thought they should have knelt at the places where we kneel in church. I didn't think they were being properly reverent. One man quietly said, "Praise God," and it really frightened me. I didn't know it was possible to praise God without a prayer book. But what bothered me the most was that everyone seemed so happy. Whoever heard of being happy at a prayer meeting?

I had expected them to say Evening Prayer (kneeling reverently), have coffee, gossip a bit, and go home. Those peculiar Episcopalians prayed and talked until nearly 2:30 in the morning: I discovered later that I had been such a damper on everything that they had gone home early.

The evening produced some odd events. One woman, while breathing rather heavily, spoke in a strange Oriental-sounding language. It was weird to witness. It made such an impression on me (primarily unfavorable) that it was months before I discovered that if God wants someone to speak in tongues in public, it is possible for them to do so without panting.

The strangest feature of the evening, to my mind, was the behavior of my friends. I later discovered the reason. John Baker, one half of the couple from Monterey Park who had started it all, was there. There were perhaps a dozen people in the room -- all Episcopalians -- and they had all received this gift when John Baker had laid hands on their heads and prayed to God to send the Holy Spirit upon them.

Now my friends thought I had come to receive the gift. I hadn't. I didn't know what I was doing there. They thought that I was probably shy, would like to receive with no one else around, and that John Baker could pray for me alone. However, they didn't bother to tell me their reasoning. But a number of times during the evening one of them would lean forward and whisper to me, "Jean, don't you want to go into the kitchen with John?" I had never seen John before in my entire life and the last thing I wanted to do was go into the kitchen with him. I privately decided this speaking in tongues had unhinged their minds. I didn't want to go into the kitchen with John and I didn't know why anyone would want me to. I thought they were all irreverent and strange and I couldn't get away because I had promised my friend that I wouldn't leave until she did.

It got worse. They wanted to pray for me to receive this gift. They actually wanted to put their hands on my head. I wouldn't have allowed anyone but a priest to put his hands upon my head for any reason whatsoever, and I certainly didn't want anything these odd people had. I refused. They silently prayed. I knew what they were praying. They were praying for me to receive the Holy Spirit. I was also praying. I was praying, "Lord Jesus, get me out of here. These people are crazy."

The more they urged me to receive the gift the more annoyed I became. I was sure I had everything. After all, I had been in the church all of my life and some of these people were just new converts. I was sure that I worked harder for and prayed more to God than any of them. Eventually they disbanded, and I took my pride and self-righteousness and left.

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AOTGA - Act 2 Cont'd

2005-04-05T14:33:00.000+01:00

I returned with my friend to her house and we talked about the subject but didn't get very far. I finally got into my car and started home. As I drove I thought about a lot of things. One was that I had been puzzled ever since I had heard of the early Christian martyrs. In all my life I had never known anyone that I felt would have died for their belief in Christ. I could imagine most of them saying to themselves, if put to the test, "If I deny Him now I'll do more good alive than dead and I can change my stand later." But I had known most of the people at the meeting for a number of years, and within one short week they were different. How? I couldn't explain it. And I wondered if they just might be willing to walk into a lion's den for Christ. It was a challenging thought.

A sermon I had recently heard came back to me. The priest had said, "If there's anything wrong with your life -- any jealousy, bitterness, resentment, lack of love for other people -- it's because you don't love Jesus enough." That was probably the most frustrating sermon I had ever heard because I knew there were many things wrong in my life and I didn't want them there. I knew I didn't love Jesus enough, but the heartbreaking part was that I desperately wanted to love Him more. How do you make yourself love someone?

And then it occurred to me. That was what those people had found. That was why they were different. They had found how to love Jesus more. I realize now that this is sound theology since any experience with the Holy Spirit would reveal Jesus Christ more clearly, and the more clearly we see Him the more we love Him. But I didn't know that then. I only knew that they had something I didn't have. I prayed aloud while driving down Sepulveda Boulevard, "Lord, if this is of You, I want it." And right there God baptized me with the Holy Spirit, and I spoke in a language I had never learned. And that was the beginning.

The next morning I didn't believe a word of it. In the clear light of day how could I possibly believe that God, Himself, would give me a new language? Me, an ordinary person -- and to make it more unbelievable, a woman?

And yet, somehow, I couldn't abandon the idea. To prove to myself how ridiculous it was, I decided to make up a language. After all, any intelligent person should be able to put together something reasonable sounding. But when I tried my mind blanked out and all I could think of was the world "gobbledygook," which is hardly original.

My friend came to my house and talked some more. I listened but didn't respond. How could I believe God had given me that language when lightning hadn't flashed or thunder rolled -- in fact when nothing whatsoever appeared to have transpired?

Alone I prayed. And again I prayed softly in some words I didn't know -- and believe me when I say that I have never felt more foolish in my life. That just couldn't be "it"!

People from the parish asked, "Do you have what the rest of them have?" I told them I did not. I certainly did not have the peace or joy they all claimed to have. I felt miserable.

Many people attempted to set my thinking straight -- or to get my thinking the way they felt it should be -- depending upon which side they were on. I was as anxious as any of them to have my thinking clear, but didn't know what to do about it.

One day after talking to God in those little baby words I tracked down Joan Baker's telephone number. I had never met Joan but I figured her for the expert. I related what had happened and asked her if that could be "it." She said she couldn't tell unless I would speak in the language. Speak aloud for her to listen? I would sooner have passed out religious tracts in Times Square. So I wrote the words phonetically and read them to her over the telephone! She still laughs at that. Naturally she couldn't get much of an idea from my reading off a piece of paper over the telephone. However, she assumed it was probably from the Holy Spirit and explained that God was trying to teach me a language and that I should pray in it regularly to "practice" it. Practice what? I only had about four words -- and I didn't believe those.

One night after a prayer gathering I went home with a future seminarian and his wife. The wife had received the baptism of the Spirit in the bedroom while the seminarian had been in the living room telling Father Maguire why they were not interested in the phenomenon. Soon after the seminarian received.

That night we discussed the gift of the Spirit and Peggy suggested that I talk to Father Maguire. They arranged to have him present the next time I visited.

Father Maguire was the vicar of the Church of the Holy Spirit, the Episcopal Church in Monterey Park where the Bakers had been members when the Spirit visited them. Since that time he had been baptized with the Spirit.

During the discussion held at my second visit, I requested the three of them to speak in tongues. I wanted to see if it would be as striking to me as it was the first time I had heard it. It was not. It was simply three people all speaking in different languages.

Peggy said if I spoke in tongues Father Maguire might be able to understand it and might have the interpretation of the language. Father Maguire explained that would not be possible as interpretation is not something one turns on and off; rather, when God desires to say something through these media, He impresses someone to speak in a given language, and then He gives to that person, or to another, the explanation of what was said.

Peggy continued to push me to speak. At last I did and immediately Father Maguire interpreted. It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was for me, and I still remember it. At last I began to believe I had really received the gift of the Holy Spirit. But if so, how badly I had behaved. I had denied it and refused to accept the speech as having originated with God. How I must have grieved the Holy Spirit. Small wonder I was feeling miserable.

I made an appointment with my confessor and went to confession. There I poured out the story of how I had grieved the Holy Spirit and prayed for forgiveness. Such joy came upon me that both my confessor and myself ended up speaking in tongues. As I rose from my knees I understood three things that had baffled me for my entire Christian life, and I really understood them. No amount of explanation had ever clarified these doctrinal points for me, but now the Holy Spirit had done so ina few minutes. I suddenly knew the meaning of loving people in Christ; I saw how God uses the ordinary and makes it holy; and I understood what praise is and why it is important. And then the rain fell -- but it turned into a flood --

Click here for the Table of Contents

AOTGA - Act 3

2005-04-05T14:32:00.000+01:00

The news was out. We aren't yet sure how it happened. We were told to keep it quiet about the unique events, but somehow while we were keeping quiet seventy people received the Holy Spirit.

The curate was in charge of the youth group. He was driving two members home and they stopped in Denny's Coffee Shop for a coke. The kids said something was happening in the parish, and they wanted to know what it was. The curate said he wasn't allowed to tell. They kept at him, so he told them a bit. And right there in Denny's Coffee Shop, the Holy Spirit came upon those two teen-agers and tears came into their eyes as they asked to received. The curate called the rector. The rector said no.

The curate escorted them to the car, where they sat and shook and cried until he prayed for them and they began to speak in new languages.

A crippled woman was healed and drove her car home from church. A woman was instantaneously healed of shingles. Atheists and agnostics became Christians. Lackadaisical believers became keen Christians who gave ten percent of their income to God and shared Jesus Christ with anyone who would listen. Sad people turned happy. Overly introspective people grew interested in others. It was an exciting time.

One day I was driving and singing in the Spirit. Suddenly I knew what I was singing in the language God had given me. I was singing part of the words of an old song, but to a different tune, and it had something else tacked on:

"Go out through the streets and the byways,
Preach the word to the many or few;
For I'm calling them into the Kingdom,
And I'm calling them in through you."

It was interesting but it couldn't really be the interpretation, I thought; God only used men in our church. The Spirit was beginning to teach us, but at that time we still did not have ears to hear.

One day my friend Thelma and I were having breakfast at the International House of Pancakes. Over the pancakes and boysenberry syrup, I told her about my experience with the Holy Spirit. Her answer was, "I'm very happy for you, Jean, but you've always been more religious than I am."

Not long after, I was in her apartment in Van Nuys and her daughter, Nancy, was there as well. Of course we were talking about the Holy Spirit and the incredible happenings. What could be half so fascinating? In the middle of it I said, "Nancy, I understand why you don't want to receive the gift until your husband does, but Thelma, I can't understand why you don't want to."

In a small voice Nancy said, "I want to."

Thelma spoke out with, "Who said I didn't want to?"

I felt like the punch line in the joke: "Oh, my God, what do I do now?" Only I was serious.

I telephoned the rector to ask him to pray for Thelma and Nancy. He was out of town. In desperation I resorted to trying to reach some layman. No one was available. Thelma said, "Can't you pray for us?"

"Well," I thought, "There's no harm in trying." We all three prayed and asked God to pour out His Holy Spirit and He did and they both had new languages. I had learned a curious truth: God even uses women.

One night after guild meeting, while driving a young housewife to her home, I found myself saying, "Have you heard about the Holy Spirit?"

She looked at me as though I had lost my mind and answered, "Of course I've heard about the Holy Spirit."

"No, I mean what He is doing in the parish."

"I don't think so. Tell me." And it all tumbled out. She went home and awakened her husband at 1:00 AM to tell him what was going on. A day or so later she invited me to visit her. She made it clear that she wasn't interested in participating -- just curious. As I was relating some of teh extraordinary happenings and reading passages from one of Agnes Sanford's books, she interrupted.

"I want it."

"What?"

"I want to receive right now." And she did -- a rich and beautiful language of praise and worship to which I received the interpretation. We were both happy enough to burst. God was in His Heaven and all was right with the world!

I don't mean to give the impression that everything was perfect all the time -- far from it. Some people were jealous and remained so. Others became disloyal to their friends, and pressure intensified this character trait rather than improving it. And there was pressure. Two of the priests of the parish had received the gift, and two were violently opposed. This naturally caused tension. For myself, I think I did everything wrong it is possible to do. We were very new and confused and like apple trees in the spring -- our fruit was small and green. But God was good and sent us a bit of help.

A number of us had remained very naive about the Christian community. We still thought God revolved around our particular segment of the Church. Surprisingly enough, we thought we were the Church.

For me the change began when Father whispered to me one day, "I'll tell you something if you won't tell anyone."

"Yes?"

"The other day I went to a place that was very strange. There were a lot of people there and some of them were rather odd looking. There were young people, old people, poor people and rich people. But they all had one thing in common: they loved Jesus."

I asked if I could take a friend and go. He agreed and told me how to get there. He had made it sound so mysterious that I was apprehensive. I almost expected to have to knowck on a door and say, "Joe sent me" to an eye peering through a peephole.

It wasn't like that at all. Everyone bought his own breakfast in a cafeteria and went upstairs to eat it. Afterward they sang and people told of good things that God had accomplished in their lives. In the middle of the service, the telephone rang. The leader was called to the telephone and came back visibly shaken. He said his four-day-old granddaughter was dying of jaundice. He asked a young man to pray for the granddaughter. The young man prayed into the microphone and asked God to heal the baby. Then he quietly began to speak in tongues. I didn't know the language he was speaking, but from God I received the sense of what was said. I turned to my friend and whispered, "He said, 'I am the Lord thy God. I have healed before and I will heal this baby.'"

A young man stood up and said, "Danny spoke French. I don't speak French very well, but I could understand some of it. God said the baby would be healed." He sat down.

A man close to us stood up and said, "I majored in French and speak it well. I have written down what was said in French and have translated it for you." He held up the paper. Above the French words was written, more or less, this translation: "I am the Lord thy God. I have healed before and I will heal this baby."

I don't need to tell you that the baby was healed. Of course she was, but we didn't find that out until later. However, we felt we had seen a miracle. It was the first time we had ever known someone under the influence of the Holy Spirit to speak a known language, someone else to receive the interpretation from God, and a third party to be able to translate the language. To us it seemed an extraordinary experience. Now it no longer seems so, since I have seen it happen many times. Always wonderful, but not extraordinary.

We dashed back to Van Nuys and the rector's house to share what had happened. Paul Castle was there, questioning the rector about the unorthodox occurrences at St. Mark's. I knew Paul well. He was an usher in the church and used to take photographs free of charge to advertise our fashion shows. What I didn't know was that he was an atheist.

We poured out our story. Can you imagine the effect of this on an atheist? Paul knew us; he knew we weren't crazy and we weren't liars. If this had really happaned, and it obviously had, then there must be a God. If there is a God, He might very well have a Son Jesus Christ --

Paul isn't an atheist anymore. He is one of the most active Christian layman I knew -- and now, thirteen years later, he is entering seminary.

So that's how we came into contact with the Pentecostals. Previous to this I thought we were the only people in the world who spoke in tongues -- the only apples in a whole basket of oranges. What a relief to find other apples in the basket!

We had a prayer meeting on Wednesday mornings at Thelma's house at which the rector was in charge. We loved the meeting, but we didn't have any idea what we were doing. This will shatter you, but we used to take turns praying in tongues. You see, we didn't know the rules -- and we didn't know the Bible either! Finally I decided I wasn't going to take my turn anymore unless I felt an actual desire to speak in tongues. Father agreed that was a good idea. When people stopped praying in the Spirit in the group, and only spoke in tongues when they felt a "push" from the Spirit to do so, something interesting began to happen. After someone had spoken in tongues someone else would say in amazement, "I know what he said," and would proceed to interpret. Others could confirm the interpretation because they had received the same one. To us it was remarkable.

But every now and then something would come up that we didn't understand at all. It appeared to me that if the Pentecostals had known of this dimension all along, they might be able to supply some of the answers. So I would check the telephone book and telephone three Pentecostal ministers and (without giving my name) describe to them what had happened, asking for the explanation. If they all concurred, I decided that must be the answer and told Father what they said. Father then explained it to the group, and few of them ever knew where it had actually originated. I frequently tell the Pentecostals that if we don't have the same doctrine it's because no three of them could agree!

At that time one of the chief sources of information was the Rev. Leslie Hodges. Since then he told a minister friend that during that year he had a full-time pastoral ministry by telephone!

Many people have told me of the difficulty they have had with Pentecostals. The ministers we had contact with had been prepared by God to help us, and they used great wisdom and remarkable restraint. I remember one minister particularly -- we'll call him Mr. Smith, primarily because that is his name. Mr. Smith had what is known as a "holiness" background and was violently opposed to smoking, among other things. At that time I smoked about three packages daily. I buttonholed him one time (looking for an argument) and said I couldn't see anything wrong with smoking. He quietly said that he thought I was quite right -- that in the past they had put too much emphasis on outward things. It took the wind right out of my saids. If he had argued with me, I might still be smoking. As it was, within a month I had stopped cold and I have never smoked since. Mr. Hodges once told me that as I was such a serious Christian and it had taken me that long to stop smoking, I should be sure I never attempted to badger anyone. Instead, I should allow God to handle it His way.

There were things that we didn't agree with (and still don't) in Pentecostal doctrine and Pentecostal church services. But we found that the ministers didn't even agree with those things themselves. They were not born of conviction but of tradition. We have tried to do away with this tradition and the legalism of past generations in the prayer groups we have begun, but without the Pentecostals we wouldn't have known what to avoid or what to stress. The telephone ministry was a great help to us. And for me, personally, it was a real source of comfort to have someone spiritual I could really talk to, because about this time things exploded at St. Mark's. When I think back upon my weekly hour-long telephone calls to Mr. Smith and Mr. Hodges during that period, I realize that the recital of my adventures must have sounded to them like "The Perils of Pauline."

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AOTGA - Act 4

2005-04-05T14:31:00.000+01:00

Life was growing difficult at St. Mark's. The two priests who were against the new developments began to tell parishioners to beware. This did not make for peaceful co-existence. We discovered if we kept silent about the Holy Spirit, people said we were cliquish and had a "secret group." If we shared the news, people said we were trying to "infect" them. It didn't matter what we did because it was always wrong.

One woman was very joyous over what, to her, was a wonderful new relationship with God. She was so happy that as she went about her church duties (she was the librarian) she sometimes gave a little skip. They said she was crazy. Seeing that she was displeasing some members, she went back to her customary solemn exterior. They commented, "Well, it didn't do her any good." Amazing stories were told. One elderly lady who had never attended a prayer meeting (and I doubt ever has since) told people she had been to one of those meetings and they all "rubbed elbows." A priest spread the rumor that we all sat in a circle and worshipped the rector. A teen-ager claimed the men held the women's ankles. Someone asserted that one of the men who had received the gift said he had a flower growing out of his tongue. The rumors circulated wildly and grew more and more illogical. Something had to happen. Something did when the rector preached at all three services on Passion Sunday, 1960, telling of his experience with the Holy Spirit and of how meaningful it was to him.

Nothing visible occurred at the 7:30 AM service; but at the 9:00 AM service one priest tore off his vestments, threw them on the altar, publicly resigned, and stormed out of the church. Confusion reigned. A man followed the priest out, ran up to him and said, "I'm right behind you, Father. Anything you and Father Bennett do is fine with me!" One man followed the rector when he left the church to commiserate with him because he thought he was having trouble with his wife. Few seemed to grasp what was happening.

I had Altar Guild duty after the 9:00 AM service and Father Bennett told me he was going to resign at the 11:00 AM service. I was against it, but he informed me it was merely a strategic move. The older priest came in then and cleverly "elbowed" me out as I tried to argue Dennis out of resigning. He obviously did not want Dennis to change his mind. This was later made clear in a letter from him received by a doctor, saying in part, "We had someone here who spoke in tongues. We got rid of him and don't want any more of it."

Father Bennett thought that since he had built the church from 200 to 2,600 people, the vestry would not let him resign. However, they would and they did.

At the eleven o'clock service, the rector repeated the story of his experience to the congregation. He also told them of the associate priest's resignation at the earlier service, and tendered his own resignation. The other associate, with the rector's permission, then arose and gave a short address to the effect that this sort of thing could not be tolerated in reputable churches. Rectors would come and go, he said, but he would remain. Things would proceed as usual at St. Mark's.

Father Bennett retired to his home after the service, but the two opposing associate priests spoke to groups of people on the patio asserting that the experience the rector and the leaders of the church had received was heretical and not to be condoned. The curate, who had received the baptism, was new to the church. Since he had only recently been ordained to the priesthood, he was not in a position to do much of anything.

Since the rector employs the assistants, by his resignation the church automatically became devoid of any clergy whatsoever. In the space of a few hours, a four-clergy parish had dwindled to a no-clergy parish.

There was much emotion among the involved parties, but the majority of the people did not comprehend what had taken place. My telephone rang for weeks with people inquiring what it was all about. I remember saying to one housewife, "But weren't you there Sunday? Didn't you hear his sermon?" She said, "Yes, but all I understood was that he's had a religious experience. What's wrong with that? I thought priests were supposed to have religious experiences." Not at St. Mark's.

There was some humor in the Passion Sunday events. I had been trying to persuade a sophisticated and attractive couple to attend St. Mark's. Of all Sundays, Passion Sunday was the time they chose for their maiden visit. When the service was over, we all left the church. My head was down and I was blushing with embarrassment over the controversy, when their daughter spoke up with, "I don't see what everyone is so excited about. My grandmother speaks in tongues all the time."

After every Sunday service, one sweet, little elderly lady would invariably approach the curate and say, "It was a lovely service, Father." On this particular Sunday the rector reported that he had been filled with the Holy Ghost and had spoken with other tongues; one associate resigned; one associate proclaimed that such things could not be tolerated; the rector resigned; the curate was automatically unemployed; women wept and strong men left the church with drawn brow. And that same sweet, little elderly lady took the curate's hand and said, "It was a lovely service, Father."

The rector was given three months to find another position. The three months were full of prayer meetings, information gatherings, plans and confusion. People felt threatened and insecure. No one knew what to do about anything. Sometimes it seemed as though the rector had a different plan every week. Satan began to take advantage of the situation with gossip, confusion and fear. "together we stand; divided we fall" isn't a bad maxim. We fell.

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AOTGA - Act 4 Cont'd

2005-04-05T14:30:00.000+01:00

Some people left St. Mark's and went to other Episcopal churches. Some people stayed at St. Mark's. People began to disagree on nearly everything, but almost everyone agreed on one thing: it wasn't smart to talk about what had happened. It brought persecution. I was told by the church administrator that we would be acceptable at St. Mark's on condition that we never speak publicly in tongues or tell anyone of the phenomenon. But even so, I was told we could never again hold office in church.

One night I was in bed reading a book. I was alone in the house except for my dog, which I had owned for many years. She was lying beside my bed. I was aware of a presence in the room. I didn't say anything or move but the dog knew also -- she began to whimper. She had never done anything like that before or since. The sense of someone's being there was so intense that I got out of bed and knelt beside it and began to pray. I was facing the crucifix on the wall, and a light shone from it just as it had on the morning of my conversion. I asked Christ what He wanted from me. I knew He was there. I told Him I would give up everything and I would do anything He asked. I meant it.

Suddenly I knew what He wanted me to relinquish, but I didn't know why. I also knew what He wanted me to do, and I didn't like it. He wanted me to stop attending the Episcopal Church and to join a Pentecostal church. Such a thing had never occurred to me. I hated the idea. The Episcopal Church meant a great deal to me. Security, the sense of belonging to an elite group -- I love it for all the wrong reasons. There on my knees I told God I would join a Pentecostal church. I was so confused that to me it was as though I had stepped from Park Avenue into the gutter. It was wrong but that's how I felt.

As I promised Him I would make this sacrifice, the room filled with an odor of perfume. My hands became damp. I thought they were perspiring and I rubbed them together, but it was not perspiration: they were oily. I rubbed the oil off on teh blanket and it returned to my hands. I smelled them and they were fragrant. Three times I removed the oil and three times it returned. I had never heard of such a thing, and I didn't understand it, but I assumed it was a sign of the presence of Christ. I later discovered that I couldn't talk about this experience to Pentecostals. It upset them terribly. It seems that at the beginning of the outpouring of the Spirit in their circles such things had occurred and unscrupulous men had tried to capitalize on these manifestations; thus in their groups speaking about "oil" is verboten. But you see, we didn't know the rules.

So I joined a Pentecostal church. And because of that I missed a lot of the infighting and I really found out firsthand what Pentecos was all about -- both the good things and the things to avoid. It was quite an education.

Of course, I was banned by my friends; but then I had been rapidly becoming unpopular anyway. I wouldn't conform. I truly wanted to, but somehow it never seemed to work out that way. The peculiar part of it is that before I was baptized in the Spirit I had conformed much more successfully. Perhaps that was the reason they couldn't accept me the new way. But how could I soft-pedal something that had transformed my life so fatastically. This was what I had been looking for all those years without knowing it. This was the power that activated the early Christian Church.

Father Bennett had gotten a small church in Seattle and was packing to leave. He said he would never tell anyone about the Holy Spirit as long as he lived. He had had it. I was shattered -- completely shattered. God-wise, my security had been in the church and my parish priest. I felt as if I were falling apart. I grieved over the fact that the Episcopal Church would not accept this remarkable gift. But the day arrived when I was over the hump; I knew I was going to follow God no matter what everyone else did. I felt very much alone.

People frequently confide to me that they are afraid to do a particular thing that they know is right because their motives may be wrong. I have come to the conclusion that if one waited until one's motives were perfect, one would never do anything. I thought, "Father thinks this has to be a part of the Episcopal Church -- I'll get it into the Episcopal Church for him." How wrong can one's motives be?

I telephoned Time magazine and told them the story. "We wouldn't be interested in that sort of thing," they haughtily informed me. I telephoned Newsweek and they sent one of their best men out for an interview. I met him at 9:00 AM at Coffee Dan's in Van Huys and gave him the whole story. He wanted to know where he could reach Father Bennett. I knew Dennis had an appointment at 10:00 AM so he would be at the house at 10:30 AM. I suggested the reporter be there then and not mention who sent him. I was rapidly acquiring a reputation of being "too Pentecostal" because I felt strongly about the importance of the baptism of the Holy Spirit and the use of the gifts of the Spirit, and in my zeal I made a lot of stupid mistakes. However, this didn't turn out to be one of them.

Newsweek wrote up the story of the furor at St. Mark's, and the story went all over the world. But I didn't think they had delved deeply enough; I felt that every Christian was entitled to hear that there was something more for believers -- something so exciting and effectual that nearly two thousand years previously the people who possessed this gift were known as "the men who turned the world upside down."

I wrote a letter to Time magazine in New York. I told them I had called Time in Los Angeles and had been told they were not interested, while Newsweek had been interested enough to do a one-page story on teh singular events, and I didn't think they had scratched the surface. Shortly after a reporter came from New York. We told her everything and took her to a prayer meeting. She was an atheist. At the end of the prayer meeting she said, "At least the split in your church was over something valid." And that from an acknowledged atheist.

Things happened thick and fast. In Seattle, Father Bennett's vestry read the articles in Newsweek and Time and eneded up baptized with the Holy Spirit. I had been ostracized by my friends, and now suddenly they wanted me to be head of a new prayer group. And I had learned a great deal at the Pentecostal church I attended. The people were kind and good, and they were wonderful to me. But one thing bothered me. They were only interested in their chruch, their families and their missionaries. When I told them what was happening in the world outside, they humored me; but they appeared to have no vital concern for anythign apart from their private bailiwick. I did. I was fired with it. I couldn't bear people's not knowing about Jesus Christ and Him crucified and the power of the resurrection. I didn't know how to go about communicating Him but I burned with the desire to do so.

By this time The Living Church, the Episcopal publication, had picked up the news. There was a letter in the magazine from a priest who said he used to be a Pentecostal. He had received the gift many years before and found it exciting but said that it wore off. I knew he was wrong. I knew he hadn't really discovered what it was all about. I knew it wouldn't wear off. I'm writing this thirteen years later and I am more sure now than I was then that this is the secret of the New Testament Church.

I answered the letter.

Later, as I was praying, a curious thought crept into mind that I should talk to a priest whom I had not previously met. I had only heard his name. I felt foolish, but the desire persisted. I telephoned his church and made an appointment to see him. I deliberately made the appointment for the following week, so that when the desire to talk to him left me (and I fervently hoped it would) I could cancel.

The day arrived and the feeling was stronger than ever. What would I say? I didn't have the vaguest idea. I went. When I walked in Father G. asked, "What parish are you from?" The question took me by surprise, and before I realized what I was saying I replied, "St. Mark's." An expression of interest crossed his face. "Do you know anything about speaking in tongues?"

"Quite a lot."

"Father Williams wrote in The Living Church --" and he proceeded to read Father William' letter.

I fished in my purse. "I just happened to have a letter I was sending to The Living Church to answer Father William."

He read the letter and suddenly jumped from his chair, kicking it over in the process, and said enthusiastically, "But this is the answer. This is what the church is missing, isn't it?"

I modestly stated, "I think so."

And we talked. And talked. And talked.

Two days later Paul Castle and I went to the church to pray with him and he was baptized in the Holy Spirit.

And then it really broke loose. It seemed the committee appointed by Father Bennett before he left us had decreed that women were not allowed to pray for priests!

Paul Castle, a member of that committee, was called on the carpet and I was in the soup again.

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AOTGA - Act 5 Cont'd

2005-04-05T14:28:00.001+01:00

I met the woman in 1967 after I had spoken to the single young adult group at Bel Air Presbyterian Church. She shook hands with me and said, "When I heard you were speaking here I wouldn't have missed it. You see, you saved my life." She went on to explain her striking statement. It seems that she had decided to commit suicide, had locked the doors and stuffed paper in all of the cracks, preparatory to turning on the gas. At the conclusion of these preparations, her eye fell upon a Trinity Magazine someone had asked her to read. She picked it up and began to read and as she did something happened -- she believed. She turned her life over to Christ, pulled the paper out of the cracks, and shortly thereafter received the Holy Spirit. She had a quiet glow about her that made it difficult to imagine she had ever planned to kill herself.

And then there was the architect in England. Someone lent him a Trinity and he read it all of the way through. That night as he was taking a bath he said to God, "I wish I could have that gift." Immediately he began to speak to God in a language he didn't know. He wrote that the language gushed out and he was afraid to leave the tub for fear it would cease. However, the water was getting cold. At last he cautiously eased himself out of the tub. The language continued, but he decided he had better not brush his teeth that night!

One unusual story came from a layman who has since become a minister. He was enthusiastic in his experience, and one night at Trinity Chapel I requested him to tell the people how and where he had received the baptism in the Spirit. He seemed reluctant but really had no choice as I had asked him publicly. He spoke briefly, without much punch, and didn't give a single detail of how he had received the Spirit. Later I asked why. He blushed and said his story was a little different to communicate to others as he had been sitting on the loo praying when God visited him! When one of our group spoke in a Pentecostal church, it used to be routine for the minister to inform the congregation that "God is no respecter of persons" (i.e., God is even interested in Episcopalians). Now we know that He is no respecter of places either.

Trinity went to Yale, Wheaton, Princeton, Dartmouth, and many other colleges, and was quoted extensively. It cause quite a stir in some circles. When the men at Yale were filled with the Holy Spirit, Time Magazine titled the story, "Blue Tongues." An Episcopal priest wrote an amusing bit of doggerel and read it at a Trinity luncheon:

The great historic churches seem dignified, we know,
And that is how the leaders would have the picture show.
But rumors have been flying of strangest goings on,
Just talked about in whispers, from secret sources drawn.
The fears are strong and many lest this be noised about,
The cupboard door be opened, the skeleton get out.
The fact is -- glossolalia, which holy rollers boost,
Within historic churches has lately come to roost.
And if God's frozen people begin this thawing out,
The world may stop and listen what the Christian faith's about.
The world can still ignore it when preachers burst their lungs,
But never when God's frozen begin to speak in tongues.
Come now, read all about it, and here behind the screen
We'll sell you hottest copies of Trinity Magazine

Trinity was part of the scene.

In fact, Trinity was so much a part of the scene (even though members of the church hierarchy were pretending it did not exist) that at an Episcopal Diocesan Convention, when the microphone was sending forth words unintelligible to the ear, someone said, "It sounds like Trinity," and brought down the house.

However, it was difficult to ignore something that was getting as much publicity as the baptism in the Holy Spirit. It was being written about more and more frequently in both religious and secular publications. I had written some articles for magazines and been interviewed for others. Both ministers and laity of all denominations were receiving the gift of the Spirit in increasing numbers. We had begun Christian Advance, which was a series of meetings to acquaint interested people with the work of God in His Church in the twentieth century. They were very effective.

Trinity had been born in the fall of 1961. It made a strong enough impression that a committee of seven bishops headed by the Rt Rev Chandler W Sterling, was appointed to investigate glossolalia. The result was a cautious but favorable statement issued by the committee accepting glossolalia as a "Gift of God." My plan to have the Episcopal Church recognize speaking in tongues as a genuine religious experience had already borne fruit. But God had more in mind.

Eight of us went to an Anglo-Catholic church one Sunday morning. Father Bob, the rector, was interested to see such a large group attending and wanted to talk to us. In those days we only had one subject of conversation. The next week he came to a prayer meeting, was prayed for, and spoke in tongues. He was blissful about his experience but told us later that he had been singing in that language ever since he was confirmed! He had had no idea it possessed significance.

Shortly afterward Father Bob was approached by the rector of the other Episcopal church in his city. "Bob," he said, "I want to warn you that there are Episcopalians who speak in tongues. You might even have some in your church. The funny thing about it is they look like anyone else." Little did he know he was talking to one of those "tongue-speakers."

When Father Bob took his vacation, his substitute was the Rev Cameron Harriot, a priest who had just come from Alaska. While I was out of town, my friends told Father Harriot about the Spirit and brought him to my house to pray for him. I began to think they didn't have houses of their own. Or perhaps they were like the young man who talked to the famous Smith Wigglesworth. Smith Wigglesworth was a plumber baptized in the Spirit in England around 1907 when an Anglican canon's wife prayed with him. He became a Pentecostal minister of great renown. One day Smith came out of a church where he had been preaching and found a young man sobbing in the doorway. He inquired what was wrong and the young man confided he had been seeking the baptism in the Spirit and God had not given it to him. Smith exclaimed, "Oh, is that all you want. God, fill him with the Holy Spirit," and he struck him on the head. The boy burst out speaking in tongues. Later the fellow rounded up all of his friends who had been desiring the Spirit, lined them up in the doorway and said, "This is where you get it." Perhaps my friends thought my house was where you got "it."

I was on a plane for San Francisco when an Episcopal priest and his wife sat in the seats in front of me. On my lap was a copy of Trinity and on top of it a copy of The Living Church. As the priest was putting their coats in the luggage rack, he saw The Living Church and commented, "I see you're one of ours." Later when he turned around I was reading The Living Church, exposing Trinity to view. "Trinity!" he exclaimed, "Do you know anything about that?" I confessed I did and spent the hour to San Francisco answering his questions. That night he and his wife and young daughter came to the Episcopal church to hear me speak. His daughter committed herself to Jesus Christ. His wife was baptized with the Spirit and he would have been too, but every time we tried to pray someone interrupted us. Imagine my feelings to discover he was the canon at "Pike's Peak" (Grace Cathedral) and his older daughter was the psychiatrist on Bishop Pike's committee to investigate speaking in tongues.

The sequel came when the canon's wife had lunch with the Rev Massey Shepherd, Esther Pike, and other friends. They were joking about speaking in tongues and labeling it mass hynosis. The canon's wife interjected something like, "If my daughter discovers that mass hynosis is how God does it I won't mind. I just want to say that it has been wonderful." You can imagine the jaw-dropping that little bomb brought. I could almost hear God laughing.

And then the Bishop Pike - tongues controversy made headlines and somehow or other I was involved. If I had known then that I would one day appear on the front page of the San Francisco newspapers in a theological battle with the Rt Rev James Pike, I wonder if I would have gone to that first prayer meeting.

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AOTGA - Act 5

2005-04-05T14:28:00.000+01:00

After Father G was baptized with the Holy Spirit, I knew his church was the one God wanted me to attend. The pastors of the Pentecostal church I had joined were distressed. My impression was that they thought anyone who would go from a Pentecostal church to an Episcopal church would ultimately end in hell. Although they were very kind, nothing I said convinced them. I was concerned because I liked them, and I asked God to justify my decision to them. He did, but He took His time about it. Two years later the pastor telephoned at the request of the head of his worldwide denomination, who had discovered that the pastor knew me. They wanted me to be a speaker at their triennial international convention.

Meanwhile, the situation in Los Angeles was difficult. But despite the difficulties God didn't give up. Paul Castle heard that the Rev. Gordon S, an Episcopal priest in central Californial, had publicly stated he had been baptized in the Spirit. We invited him to a meeting. He came early but before the group gathered we talked. It became clear to me that he really had not had the experience we were discussing. It is hard to imagine myself saying what I did. I said, "Father, you have received so much that I'm sure God wants to give you this gift as well. If you will kneel down, Father Sherwood and I will lay hands on you and pray." Father Sherwood was astonished -- as was I -- to hear myself making such a statement. Later the priest told me he was furious and decided that whatever happened, nothing was going to make him open his mouth and speak. Father Sherwood and I prayed with him and he began to speak in tongues so loudly that we had to close the windows!

Gordon was originally from Canada. He wrote to a friend about his experience. The result was that several people came from Canada for the sole purpose of receiving the gift of the Spirit. And did. However, his brother, an Anglican monk, came for another purpose. He came to expose us. God filled hthe monk with the Holy Spirit, and renewal began in a cathedral in Canada.

More priests became empowered by the Holy Spirit in Gordon's diocese. At a Diocesan Convention the Rev. Robert Harvey couldn't stand hearing them talk about it any longer without getting into the action, and asked Gordon to take him to a prayer meeting. Another older priest came with them. We had our regular Wednesday morning prayer meeting, during which one priest celebrated the Eurcharist. I looked at Father Harvey and he had that look on his face. In the middle of the Communion service, I asked him if he would like to receive the Holy Spirit. He said he would. Paul Castle and several priests prayed for him, and immediately he received the most fabulous language of worship and praise.

The older priest who had come with them hadn't really been interested, but when he saw this wonderful thing happen to Bob Harvey, whom he considered a first-rate Christian, he also wanted the gift. When Paul explained it to him, however, he changed his mind. Finally he decided that he would speak Greek (the other priests were in another room praying by this time) and we would think he was speaking in tongues and let him alone and he wouldn't hurt our feelings. He began to speak in Greek. I don't know Greek, but God showed me it wasn't from Him. I said, "You know that language, don't you?" He gave me a funny look and left. Later we heard that he was afraid that he had offended God, since it was obvious God hadn't allowed us to be fooled. He realized then that it wasn't fun and games but very real. He begged God's forgiveness, and on the way home God filled him with the Holy Spirit.

A Lutheran pastor telephoned me; he wished to discuss the outpouring of the Spirit. He was happy about what had happened to us. But for himself, he didn't choose to speak in tongues. He was sure that he had the gift of the Spirit without that. We couldn't settle the thing between us and our discussions were becoming tense. Finally I told God that I couldn't get anywhere with him and that if the pastor telephoned again God was going to have to tell me what to say. He did. The next time the pastor invited me over to talk I was ready. When we got onto the sticky subject, "Do you have to speak in tongues to be filled with the Holy Spirit?" I said, "You look like a man filled with the Spirit. Let's make a test. You receive a spiritual language today and use it with an open mind in your private prayers for six months. At the end of that time if you tell me you were baptized with the Spirit before you spoke in tongues, I promise you I will never again tell anyone speaking in tongues is a necessary accompaniment." He replied, "That's fair enough." We prayed. He spoke in tongues and said, "Is that what it is? I've been doing that ever since I was in college."

It appeared to me that one woman spent most of her time causing me trouble. It was she who had begun the controversy when Father G received the Spirit and now she discovered the Lutheran pastor had a prayer language and problems were beginning again. I told God I had had enough -- that since I had received the Holy Spirit most of my days were spent in the wilderness and even Christ Himself had only forty days there. I told Him I would go to church and pray but I was through telling anyone about the Holy Spirit.

The telephone rang. It was the Lutheran pastor. He said, "Jean, the first person in my church is ready to receive the gift of the Spirit if you will come and pray with her." It was as though God were saying, "Well, Jean, what are you going to do now?" I stubbornly said, "I won't be able to. I'm too busy." The pastor ignored me and continued speaking as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Her name is Mrs. Pentecost--" It was just as though God were laughing at me. What a delightful sense of humor He must have. There was nothing for me to do but chuckle and make an appointment to go and pray with Mrs. Pentecost.

Our Wednesday mornign prayer group was small, we were close, and it was wonderful. We prayed, read the Bible, talked and had lunch together. The prayer was effective -- almost shockingly so. Sometimes our intercessions would be granted instantly. It was very exciting and the companionship was comforting and stimulating. Many people were both physically and mentally healed due to the prayer from that small group. Years later I found the same kind of warmth and love in a meeting we began in Hong Kong. The group in Hong Kong is now about fifteen groups and many people have seen their lives rejuvenated because of the prayers of the participants.

But back to 1961. One day I was washing the dishes and the thought came to me, "We need a tract telling about the power of the Holy Spirit." It was almost as though a little voice inside me said, "Write it."

"Yes," I thought, "That's a good idea. On Wednesday I'll ask everyone what they think about it. If they like the idea we can choose a subject, find a writer for the tract, and raise some money to print it." The small soundless voice said, "You write it." I was aware of the fact that I wasn't capable of writing anything, but I sat down to the typewriter and wrote a tract entitled, "Have Ye Received the Holy Ghost Since Ye Believed?" which, incidentally, sold hundreds of thousands of copies. When it was written, the same feeling came that I should take it to a printer. It didn't make any sense to me, since I didn't have any money, but when it was time to pick up the tracts from the printer I had the $45 needed.

The two thousand copies vanished like ice cream in the sunshine. Everyone wanted one. When they were all gone, the nudge came that I should write another. When this one was written, I thought five thousand of each should be printed. The bill would be $145. It seemed like a fortune. When it came time for delivery, I was still short $55. I prayed about it and it was as though God said, "Call Joan Baker." I told God I wasn't going to do that -- that Joan didn't have any money, either. And besides that it was a toll call. Something happened to me then that has never happened before or since. It was as though the presence of God was withdrawn for that brief moment, and it frightened me. I said, "I'll call her." But I added, "However, I'm not going to mention the money." I telephoned Joan and we chatted while the message units ticked up. Finally Joan said, "By the way, my sister, Libby, says she has $40 tithe money for your tract if you want it --"

I reminded the Lord I was still short $15. "Call Paul Castle." No argument this time. We talked. He asked how the tracts were coming along. I told him they were finished, but we didn't have enough money. He told me to wait a minute while he looked in the tithe envelope. He came back to the telephone and said there was $10 in it to use for the tracts. I said, "Wonderful, now we only need $5." Dead silence. Then he spoke in a disgusted tone, "I had $5 I knew I was supposed to give you last Wednesday for the printing, but I wanted to keep it. It's in my billfold."

Our next mad venture was a booklet. This one cost $450 to print -- and our resources were as thin as they had been in the beginning. I was in Montana holding two preaching missions in Episcopal churches to tell them about the Holy Spirit, when a letter came from the treasurer of our new society. She wrote that the bill had come for the printing and there were only $50 in the treasury. I got down on my knees and said, "Lord, it's Your business. I know You'll take care of it." I went down to breakfast, and the priest in whose house I was staying looked up with a puzzled expression and said, "Jean, the Lord said to give you $400. I don't know what for." I knew what for!

And then the day came when I knew we were to publish a magazine. Three of us knew what it looked like and that the name was to be Trinity, but one woman said that when she prayed she "saw" funny little "chicken tracks" that were at the top of the cover and that she had drawn them to show us. Paul took one look at them and shouted, "But that's Greek! 'Logos'. It means Word." And so was conceived a magazine that cost five thousand dollars an issue, caused me much grief, circled the globe, brough so many people to Christ we could never count them, and literally saved at least one woman's life.

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AOTGA - Act 6

2005-04-05T14:27:00.001+01:00

"Speaking in tongues is no longer a phenomenon of some odd sect across the street. It is in our midst and it is being practiced by clergy and laity who have stature and good reputation in the church" (The Living Church)

In January, 1963, I spoke in one of the largest Episcopal churches in Texas and the next day attended a luncheon in my honor with the clergy of the diocese. At the conclusion of my first talk there was a reception, and a number of people filed by and shook my hand. Some of them made such queries as, "But how does one receive the gift?" To these I whispered, "I'll meet you in the chapel later and we'll talk about it." The word must have spread, because by the time I was free to go to the chapel it was crowded with people. Before the evening was over a number of them had committed themselves to Christ and many had been filled with the Holy Spirit.

However, the rector's wife did not comprehend the significance or the importance of the gift. When I returned to the rectory that evening, she was waiting to ask questions. I tried to explain carefully the difference between praying in tongues as a spiritual dimension open to all Christians, and the public manifestation of tongues, commonly called the gift of tongues, which is accompanies by the gift of interpretation. She was polite and was making an obvious effort to remain so, but she appeared baffled and passively belligerent.

The next morning when I arrived in the dining room for breakfast, she drew me aside and asked, "Is this speaking in tongues?" and proceeded to speak in a language from the Holy Spirit. I assured her it was and inquired how it had come about. She said she dreamed she told God, "I'll stop fighting and do it Your way," and woke up speaking in tongues.

The Rev William Sherwood, a retired Episcopal priest from Florida, decided that I should attend a Christian conference that was being held, talked me into it, and paid my expenses there. The leaders were against any public display of speaking in tongues and were very nervous about me. I found this difficult to understand, as I had never publicly spoken in tongues at any group where gifts of the Spirit were not welcome. I considered myself very quiet and conservative. (I still do, but a lot of other people don't!)

So I couldn't understand the trepidation of the leaders at my being at the conference. I still think I wasn't the one they should have worried about. Sure enough, at the very first morning meeting someone brought a message in tongues, and Joan Baker interpreted. One of the organizers furiously kicked over his chair, shouted something to the effect that he didn't believe it, and left the hall in a huff. People began inquiring what it was and what it meant. On about th esecond or third day, I became brave enough to put on my name tag. From then on I was mobbed. The Rev Tod Ewald, a charmingly enthusiastic extrovert, led me into the garden and said, "If I receive this gift I want to know what to expect. Tell me everything that can go wrong." For an hour I proceeded to tell him of the mistakes peculiar to Episcopalians. Later, when I returned to my room for a rest, I found it so full of people that they were even sitting on the floor. Father Ewald was one of those on the floor. One of my friends said, "They wanted to hear about the baptism in the Spirit, so we brought them to your room and they've been waiting for you."

I told them the story of how the Spirit had come to us at St Mark's, the purpose of His coming, and the wonderful life His coming opens up for the individual. When I asked in anyone wished to receive, Father Ewald put up his hand and was the first one prayed for. I placed my hands lightly upon his head and asked God to fill him with the Holy Spirit. He began to speak in tongues and to laugh. It was the most infectious and the most joyous laughter I had ever heard. I have since discovered that the Pentecostals refer to it as "holy laughter." Whatever it is called, it filled the room with joy, and I think everyone there wanted the gift of the Spirit for himself. It seems to me that they all received. Then one of my friends tapped me on the arm and said, "There's another roomful next door waiting for you." And so the conference continued. However, I still say that I am the conservative one. It's those other people who stir things up.

Tod became a bomb. He had been baptized in the Spirit in October or November. He usually threw a Christmas party for the parish that cost him $500 in booze and was the talk of the town. As the time drew near someone asked him, "What about our party this year?" He said, "We're different now. We don't do things like that anymore." He was so different that the entire diocese was amazed. Where he had previously been a very spiky Anglo-Catholic, suddenly Baptists, Presbyterians and others were attending his church and he even had altar calls. Don't get the idea his churchmanship changed. This was one of the extraordinary things about him. After I had attended church there one time with all of the attendant "bells and smells," Tod asked me how I liked the service. I hedged, "Could you get any more high church?" He quickly retorted, "You tell me how and I'll do it!"

About this time Bishop Pike was becoming nervouse about speaking in tongues. He was quoted as saying that he didn't mind the speaking in tongues so much, but the people who spoke in tongues were always talking about Jesus, and he was sick and tired of it. Tod decided he had to do something about this; so he made an appointment for another minister, Tod, and myself to see the bishop for fifteen minutes.

The fifteen minute appointment was a fantastic experience that I shall never forget. The three of us arrived and were cordially greeted by the bishop, who was his usual charming self. Immediately the minister of the other denomination began telling the bishop how, when he was baptized with the Spirit, a light had followed him around the garden. Actually, this was probably a true story and most fascinating. He was in his church garden praying and a man looking down from a window saw the light going behind him, went down to find out what it was all about, and became a Christian. However, all that was coming through in the telling was that if you were baptized in the Holy Spirit, a light followed you around the garden. At that time, about the last thing the bishop wanted was a light following him around the garden. Later events indicate he may have changed his mind.

Father Ewald could see that this wasn't the right tack to take with the bishop, and he sort of rocked back and forth praying, "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." Bishop Pike appeared to be viewing him with a rather jaundiced eye. Tod didn't like the way things were going, so he finally broke in on the other minister's discourse with, "What it's all about is that it makes Jesus more real." At that stage in his life, Bishop Pike didn't appear to desire Jesus to be more real either. I could see that things weren't going too well and the time was nearly up, so I interjected my penny's worth. I pointed out that the bishop was interested in ecumenicity, and that this experience brought just that. He brightened up and admitted that he had been amazed and pleased at the many denominations represented regularly at Tod's church. My second point was that he was concerned with social reform and that after people were baptized in the Spirit they had a much more sensitive conscience and were more interested in helping others. Our fifteen minutes were up.

During our talk the bishop had two cigarettes going at the same time and had set the rug on fire. While he was stamping out the fire, he set his pants afire and began beating on them. When we left he prayed that many would be filled with the Spirit through our ministry and gave us each an autographed copy of his new book, Beyond Anxiety. It seems ironic.

Tod had a habit of speaking softly in tongues while he puttered around the altar during a church service. One day Bishop Pike was at his church for a confirmation service and became very angry at Tod for doing this. At the time the bishop had such a bad cold that he described it to a friend as "walking pneumonia." Tod instigated public prayer for him at church. After the confirmation service, Tod, knowing that many of the people in the church were not genuinely committed to Christ, suggested that those who would like to "renew" their vows to follow Christ made at their confirmation come to the altar for a rededication. The bishop obligingly laid hands on the many who flocked forward. But when some of them quietly spoke in tongues, the bishop was infuriated. However, a friend of his told me later that he had confided in her, "But they really do have something. They prayed for my cold and I was healed."

I am told the active opposition from Bishop Pike began when a priest from another diocese spoke at Stanford University (with the bishop's permission) anda number of Stanford students entered into this dimension of the Spirit. An assistant bishop to Bishop Pike is purported to have been very angry, complained bitterly and requested the bishop to put an immediate halt to glossolalia in the diocese of northern California. (This was not our diocese but we were already having troubles of our own.) So Bishop Pike had a letter from himself read in all parishes in his diocese, slowing speaking in tongues down to a walk -- and a private walk at that.

However, in some instances the injunction backfired. After hearing the bishop's letter read in church, the wife of one glossolaling priest, who had been violently opposed to her husband's experience, said to him, "You win. I believe now that it's God. How do I get it?" Her reaction was not uncommon. A group of Disciples of Christ telephoned me long distance. Their spokesman told me that for years they had been interested in the baptism in the Spirit but could not determine if it was genuinely of God. However, since Bishop Pike was against it, they had decided it was from God and wanted to know when I would next be speaking in their area. Shortly thereafter I was lecturing in the Episcopal church at Ridgecrest, and they came and received the gift.

About the time of Bishop Pike's pronouncement, I was scheduled to speak in a large Assemblies of God (the largest denomination of the Pentecostal churches) Church in San Francisco. Either the reporters saw the advertising and telephoned the church, or the pastor called the newspapers; I am not sure which. However, the reporters of both papers had a field day. For well over a week the San Francisco Chronicle carried banner headlines, such as: "UPROAR OVER TONGUES -- THE CHURCH QUARREL." The San Francisco Examiner was not far behind. One paper had dug up a picture of the bishop frowning and ran a picture of me smiling beside it. "Fighting the trend" was the caption under the picture of the bishop, and under mine it read, "Spreading the word."

My engagement at the church ended with a dinner. A fundamentalist who ran a Christian radio station in the area introduced me. He had previously been against speaking in tongues, so it was quite a coup for the church to have him there at all, let alone to have him introduce their speaker. His introduction was to the effect that over the years he had seen Bishop Pike categorically deny the basic elements of the Christian faith, and now that the bishop was stating he was stamping out glossolalia because it was "heresy in embryo," he could not accept either the bishop's evaluation or his sincerity.

A Pentecostal minister told me that about that time he was visiting a parishioner in the hospital in the hospital. After praying with the parishioner, he talked with her roommate. In the course of their talk the elderly lady came to an awareness of Jesus Christ, and then and there she prayed a prayer of commitment to Him. Afterward she said longingly, "I wish someone would tell my son about Jesus; I don't think he knows Him either." Her son was Bishop Pike.

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AOTGA - Act 6 Cont'd

2005-04-05T14:27:00.000+01:00

The action in San Francisco continued. The bishop's chancellor was supposedly sent to Tod Ewald's church to ascertain if they were really following the bishop's instructions that no one was to speak in tongues. The reporters descended upon the church for news. The reporters claimed the chancellor attempted to hide behind a pillar, and when that didn't conceal him, he held up a hymnal in front of his face. It was a bit startling to find the chancellor's picture in the paper holding a hymnal before his face and Tod's being quoted as saying, "Glossolalia is too real for some people."

Les Crne wanted me to be on the "Hungry i" talk show and debate with Bishop Pike on television. I refused. It does not seem to me that the Good News is something to argue about. However, Les persuaded me to be on the show one day and the bishop to be on another day. I chose the second day. The bishop was out of town and sent a substitute who was also a bishop. I didn't see the show, but it was probably the assistant who had been so much opposed. The day I was on the show, some very peculiar people telephoned in. I remember one was what is called "Jesus Only" Pentecostal. She tried to get me to say no one was going to Heaven unless he spoke in tongues. I consider this a grave heresy. The entire show was a frustrating experience because so many people talked so much about silly things that there was little opportunity for sound discussion. Of course Les was smooth and would cut them off eventually. Years later, after Les had gone to a bigger show in New York, someone mentioned glossolalia to him. His reply was, "That Jean Stone has something real." This made me feel better about the whole thing.

Paul Coates did an interview show, filmed in Los Angeles that was also shown in the Bay Area. While I was speaking in San Francisco, someone from his staff telephoned me long distance to ask me to allow Paul Coates to interview me. I didn't like the publicity and any sane person would have been afraid of Paul, who can be quite ruthless; but I had always told God that I would go wherever anyone wanted me to talk about Him if it were feasible. I agreed to go, but when I was asked if I would speak in tongues on the show I said, "Certainly not," and hung up. After I hung up it was as though that small silent voice said, "Would you pray in English?" I mentally agreed that I would, and it was as though the voice said, "Are you ashamed of the language I've given you?" I was cut to the heart and decided that if they asked me again I would pray in tongues on the show -- but I was scared.

Back in Los Angeles, as the time approached to appear on the Coates show, a minister from out of town was visiting the area. I asked him if he would like to be on the Paul Coates show with me. He had no aversion to publicity and was delighted. When I suggested he might do the praying in tongues he was pleased as punch. The show went over very well, so well that the religion editor of the Redwood City Tribune received the baptism in the Spirit watching the show. The next day she went to the editor of the newspaper and said, "Perhaps you want to fire me: I speak in tongues."

"Fire you! That's news! Write it up."

Her tale of being baptized with the Spirit while watching the Paul Coates Show was put on the front page of the Redwood City Tribune. The Palo Alto Standard was so taken with it that the article was reprinted in it the next Sunday. The minister could not get over my unselfishness in allowing him to share the spotlight. Little did he know how relieved I was to be able to share it.

The next time I was invited to guest on the Paul Coates Show, they wanted me alone. I was terrified but I went. I explained what glossolalia was, how it had come to us at Van Nuys, and prayed briefly in tongues. A number of years later, after a service at Trinity Chapel, a man came up to me, shook my hand and said, "I'm happy to meet an Episcopalian. It was an Episcopalian woman who kept my wife from going to hell." He went on to say that he had been a Pentecostal for twenty years, but that his wife had been violently opposed to Christianity and had been militant about it. She contracted cancer and was in the latter stages, but her attitude toward God was more violent than ever. One night he came home from a church service, and his wife told him she felt different about everything. She said she had watched the Paul Coates Show, and Paul had interviewed an Episcopalian woman who had explained Christianity and speaking in tongues so she could understand it. In fact, the woman had even spoken in tongues on television. The wife said when the program ended she prayed and asked Christ to take over her life, and now she loved Him and always would. The husband brought his pastor to see her and she received the baptism in the Spirit. When she went to be with God, it was in peace and joy.

During that period we were on the television news two or three times. One evening one of the major news broadcasters came to the house to film our Monday night prayer meeting. It was to appear on the eleven o'clock news that evening. There were approximately seventy-five people present. After the photographer was finished he said he was sorry that no one had spoken in tongues as they had wanted to film it. I told him that if someone merely prayed in tongues they would be speaking to God and there would probably be no interpretation. But if the Spirit prompted someone to speak, then it would be God speaking to the group and interpretation would follow. He was very disappointed. I went back, sat down on the sofa and told the group what he had said. I suggested we wait a little while to ascertain if the Holy Spirit wished to manifest any of the gifts. A well-dressed young man sitting on the hearth (the chairs were filled) said, "Me," and pointed to himself. I asked, "What?" He said, "Ever since I came in the door I knew I should speak in tongues, but I thought perhaps you didn't want anyone to do so until they were through filming." They trained the cameras on him, he spoke in tongues, Father Harvey interpreted, and the newsmen went home. I offered the young man (whom I had not previously met) a cup of coffee. He mused, "I wonder what the inmates at the State Hospital will say when they watch the news tonight."

I steadied my hand. I thought, "Bishop Pike has said speaking in tongues is schizophrenic and I have put an out-patient from the mental hospital on television."

As the young man took the coffee from me I casually inquired, "Are you employed at the State Hospital?" He replied, "I'm the psychologist there."

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AOTGA - Act 7

2005-04-05T14:26:00.000+01:00

"The 'Gift of Tongues,' a somewhat mysterious new phenomenon in recognized denominations, is quietly spreading through the churches of the nation"

(Dan Thrapp, Religion Editor, Los Angeles Times).
One morning I opened the door to an irate Baptist minister who had descended upon me like an avenging angel to "straighten me out." When he departed an hour later, he was speaking in tongues. My last news of his church was that practically the entire congregation had been baptized with the Holy Spirit.

About this time we discovered the Presbyterians. They had been there all along but were so quiet we hadn't noticed them. Hundreds of them from Hollywood Presbyterian Church had received the gift years before, but had not shared it much with outsiders. One Presbyterian told of attending a prayer meeting led by Anne White (Agnes Sanford's sister-in-law). He had not been filled with the Spirit and didn't think he was interested. Anne and some others were praying for someone and Anne beckoned to the man, who was leaning in the doorway, to come and help them pray. Since he didn't have the gift himself, he didn't move but he continued to stand in the doorway and watch. A parakeet in a cage beside him had been trained to say, "Praise the Lord!" and chose that moment to do so. It shocked the man. He thought, "Everyone is praising God but me -- even the parakeet." He began to praise God and very shortly was speaking in a heavenly language.

A Presbyterian woman, Miriam Williamson, was baptized in the Spirit when I spoke at a Congregational church. Later she told me that her husband said she looked different and asked what had happened. She replied that she had had a spiritual experience and became very busy so he wouldn't ask anything else. But he did. He said, "There's something more," and kept pressing until she finally said, "Go ahead and laugh: I speak in tongues."

"Laugh? That's wonderful. Won't you pray for me so I can have the gift?"

She was certain she didn't have the ministry of laying on of hands, but how can one refuse to pray when requested? She placed her hands on his head and prayed for the heavenly Father to give Bill the Holy Spirit for Jesus' sake. He did and Bill worshipped God in a language unknown to himself.

This began a lot of activity. Bill wasn't the man to keep quiet if God was doing something good. He began to share his blessing until some Presbyterian ministers were not considering it much of a blessing. One of them approached Leslie Miller, an Evangelical Free Church minister, and said, "Les, Bill Williamson's gone off the deep end over tongues. You'll have to do something about it." Mr Miller didn't know what he could do. It was suggested that it be arranged for him to share a room with Bill at an upcoming conference. If he couldn't get him out of this during the conference, he was to ask for an invitation to that "crazy Episcopalian prayer group" and show Bill how unscriptural it was.

So it was that the Millers came to our Monday night group. We didn't know it, but they stopped down the street and prayed for protection before they arrived. They had heard we hypnotized people.

Nothing very dramatic came to pass, and finally Mr Miller requested that I "give my testimony." Peculiarly enough, I replied that my testimony wouldn't mean anything to him because we were from different backgrounds and needed different things. But I added, "When you enter into this dimension, God will give you what you need. Whatever you have, when you have spoken in tongues you'll have more."

The next morning Mrs Miller waited until her husband left for the office and then knelt and prayed, "God, I don't want what you have for anyone else, but I want everything you have for me." God healed her completely: mentally, physically, and spiritually, and she received another language in which to love Him.

She telephoned her husband and told him that she was healed and had spoken in tongues. "I'll be home right away!" he shot back. He decided that the best way to convince her that she wasn't really healed was to take her for a drive, since speed upset her badly. He had a new Chrysler "300," so after picking up his wife he got on the freeway and opened it up. She was relaxed as a baby, and he knew then that it was God.

So the Rev Leslie Miller telephoned and requested an appointment. My schedule was full, but he insisted that he had to see me before he went to a conference he was addressing. We managed to make an appointment for early the following morning, since, as I recall, he was leaving that same day for the conference. So it was that the Trinity staff started a new day as usual -- with something unusual.

His first words that I can remember were, "I've never asked anyone in my life to pray for me and if I was going to, it wouldn't be a woman. But will you please pray that I get what she got?" Paul Castle and I prayed and he got what she got. Two weeks later he came back and said he must not have received what everyone else had -- that he didn't feel anything. I asked him if he prayed in the language regularly and he replied that he did because I had told him to do so, but he felt nothing. I inquired if he felt closer to Jesus when he prayed. He stated that he did not -- that he had no emotion whatsoever. It wasn't surprising that he didn't have any physical feelings, but it did seem strange that he didn't feel closer to Christ when he prayed in the God-given language. Yet I knew he had received the Spirit; he was a Christian and I had heard him speak in tongues. I interrogated him further, "Have you noticed any change in your ministry since you spoke in tongues?"

"Oh, yes. In the last two weeks I've brought more people to Christ than in the previous ten years."

"Go on home," I told him, "that's what the gift is for; you can feel something in Heaven."

Les brought people form his church to receive the baptism, and he and his wife came on Monday nights to the prayer group. One night their son accompanied them. He was a pleasant young man with an attractive sincerity about him. At the coffee break he commented that he had never lived as victorious a Christian life as he desired, had noticed the changes and the glow in the lives of his parents, and coveted the Spirit in His fullness. We went into another room with some other people who wanted to be prayed for, and God poured Himself out. I left them praying in new languages.

Later when he came out of the room, he pulled a chair in front of me, sat down and declared, "I injured my knee playing football. Friday I go into the hospital for a major operation. If you'll pray for me now I will be healed and won't have to have the operation." That was a shocker. I had seen a lot of healings but had never understood healing and my faith certainly was not that strong. I muttered something inane such as, "Remember, God also works through doctors." He was calmly insistent. What could I do? I figured I needed all the help I could get so I asked some others to come and pray with us. The next Monday he returned to inform us that he had been completely healed, did not need the operation, and his knee was just as sound as the one that had not been injured.

A Baptist minister in Visalia, California, had an interesting story. He telephoned long distance to ask for an appointment. At the American Baptist Convention several ministers claimed they had received a new impetus in their ministry when they had spoken in tongues. They were even passing around Trinity magazines. When the minister returned home and read the magazine he was convinced that he needed this gift. He telephoned a Pentecostal church and told them he wished to receive. They said they had meetings on Wednesdays and Sundays. He pointed out that he also had meetings on Wednesdays and Sundays. They oblingingly offered to have some people come to the church on Tuesday to pray with him for the baptism in the Spirit. He stated that this meeting was one of the most traumatic experiences he ever suffered. More or less, it went like this:

They assembled around the altar with him in their midst and began to call loudly upon God. They told the minister he had to put his hands straight up in the air or he never would receive. He was rather embarrassed to do this, as it was foreign to his way of praying, but he obeyed. Next they informed him that he couldn't receive unless he praised God loudly. Being a reticent man, this was even more difficult; but he wanted the Holy Spirit badly so he began to pray, "Praise God, Glory to God," and other phrases they suggested. Whenever he thought about it afterward, the entire scene caused him to blush with embarrassment. I questioned, "Did you speak in tongues?" He said, "No. They never said to do that!"

He received the Spirit easily and his wife followed suit some weeks later. Some time after, she told me how much it meant to her, but said she was baptized in the Spirit as a young woman when she wsa converted. I pointed out that she received the Spirit at conversion, but that this was a subsequent experience with the same Spirit which comes with speaking in tongues. She was adamant that she had gotten the whole ball of wax at conversion. I suggested she ask God about it. Later she wrote stating that she had prayed about it and was reminded that when she was converted, her love for God was so intense that she would pray some nights until dawn. She remembered that nearly every time she had been praying at such great length, she would begin to make sounds that were not intelligible to her, and owuld decide she was overtired and go to bed! She was right -- she had obviously received the gift of the Spirit at conversion but hadn't known what it was or what to do with it.

Frequently we come across such cases, people who love God and at some time in their lives have spoken in tongues, either deliberately or unconsciously. But unless they continued praying regularly in the language in their private devotions, they missed the full impact that prayer in the Spirit could carry into their lives and ministries. So the key to the power of the early Church appears to be not so much in having an experience but in what one does with that experience after once receiving it.

A case in point is that of Rev Anthony de Mello, Rector of the Jesuit seminary in Bombay, India. Father de Mello was holding a series of retreats in Hong Kong when two nuns (each from a different order) shared with him their meaningful encounter with the Holy Spirit. He questioned them at some length, and they left him a Trinity magazine. He read an article, found it sound, and did some checking on the sisters. He discovered they were both highly regarded in their respective communities and that one of them, since her experience with the Holy Spirit, had become an outstanding unifying force in the community. He was impressed enough to accompany them to a prayer meeting which was held in our apartment. He and my husband Richard discussed the matter, and Father de Mello wished to have the experience immediately.

After he spoke in tongues he realized that he had done so years before, but having an analytical mind he had decided that what had occurred had not been rational and was of no import, and it did not happen again. Now that he recognized the phenomenon for what it was and understood the implications, he began praying in the Spirit regularly and is enthusiastic about the results.

Even more frequently it happens in reverse. Someone is certain he has received the baptism in the Spirit (if that is the terminology one wishes to use). Then he speaks in tongues and realizes he hadn't had it before. On example of this was the Rev Romule Buchanan in Indiana.

One evening I was praying for some people after I had spoken to a large congregation about the ministry of the Spirit. Mr Buchanan came to me and apologized. He said he had come to the service to see that awful woman who had ruined so many good Baptist pastors by persuading them to speak in tongues. As I spoke to people, he was amazed to recognize the presence of God. How could God be interested in speaking in tongues, a doctrine Mr Buchanan had preached against for twenty years? He asked me to accept his apologies for his previous attitude. He now realized that the experience comes from God. He hastily added that he had received the baptism in the Spirit but did not speak in tongues. I smiled, murmured, "Praise God," and went back to praying with people.

The next day Mr Buchanan telephoned me at my hotel for an appointment. His purpose appeared to be to convince me that he was baptized in the Spirit and had never spoken in tongues. One of his statements to prove he was "Spirit-filled" was that he had actually prayed and seen people delivered from evil spirits in Haiti and had also prayed for sick people and they were healed.

I wasn't trying to prove any doctrine. I agreed that he appeared to be a man filled with the Spirit. However, I pointed out that his arguments were not conclusive, as the disciples had cast out devils and healed the sick before Pentecost. He agreed that was true. I asked him if he would like to have a language from the Holy Spirit in which to worship God. He affirmed that he would. Here is his description of what happened.

We quietly sat in our chairs and prayed. The Holy Spirit began to move deeply within me, and I gave expression to His moving by speaking forth words I had not learned, for my own language was inadequate to express what I was experiencing. I did not understand the expressions of worship and praise which came from my lips but I knew I was truly adoring God with full release.

Afterward he said, "That was the Holy Spirit."

"Yes."

"But I had the baptism in the Spirit before I ever spoke in tongues."

"Will you pray in the language daily?"

"Yes, I will. But this is just more of the same. I was filled with the Spirit many years ago."

"Fine."

Some months later he wrote, "Thank God you came to Indiana and I was baptized with the Holy Spirit. My whole ministry has been transformed."

About this time I was contacted by a psychologist from UCLA, Dr Stanley Plog, who wished to do a study on glossolalia. This new wave of the Spirit that was rapidly spreading across the globe seemed to contradict everything that had previously been concluded by psychiatrists and psychologists on speaking in tongues. The people were not a small group of persecuted, illiterate, underprivileged people, as previous studies had appeared to show. Rather the movement sppealed to large numbers of people from every Christian denomination; from every economic level (their chart didn't extend high enough to include the annual incomes of some of the participants); from every occupational group -- a true cross section of society. Many of them had problems; who doesn't? However, the studies seemed to show that the people involved were better able to cope with their problems than a normal cross section of society.

Probably in gratitude for our willingness to cooperate with the studies, Dr Plog invited me to luncheon at the UCLA faculty dining room. The food was good and the atmosphere charming. We took our food to the terrace. I had brought a minister along whom I thought Dr Plog might be interested in talking with, and he and Stand returned to the dining room for our coffee. Just then a blue jay flew down, snatched the butter off Dr Plog's plate and flew away. The men returned. Stan looked perplexedly at his plate and murmured, "I though I had taken butter."

"You did," I said brightly, "a blue jay took it."

He just looked at me. Have you ever experienced a psychologist just looking at you -- impassive, unemotional -- just looking?

"Honestly," I protested, "a blue jay really did come down and take your butter."

Dr Plog just looked. I fancied he was thinking, "Hmmm -- speaking in tongues -- blue jays stealing butter -- hmmmmm --"

The minister and Dr Plog returned to the dining room for more butter and sugar for the coffee. "Lord," I prayed in frustration, "do something. I'm blowing the whole thing."

From out of nowhere, it seemed, the blue jay swooped down, stole the professor's cheese and flew away. I looked up into the astonished face of Dr Plog. "Thank God," I thought. Dr Plog said, "Amazing. I've been eating here for years, and nothing like that has ever happened before."

Several years later Dr Plog visited me to see if I still felt the same way about glossolalia. While he was there, I told him a dream I had had that my husband, daughter, and I were going to the Orient as missionaries. I asked him if he could explain the dream; after all, he was the expert. He said he didn't know, since it was obviously not a wish fulfillment dream, and that he would be very interested in the outcome. I said flippantly, "If I get to the Orient I'll send you a postcard." And I did. More on that later.

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AOTGA - Act 8

2005-04-05T14:25:00.001+01:00

"Glossolalia, or speaking in tongues, is stressed in Pentecostalism, a revivalist movement that began most prominently in a church in Los Angeles in April, 1906 ... the movement has curiously made its most rapid progress among Episcopalians in the last three years" (McCandlish Phillips, The New York Times).

It became fashionable for Pentecostals to have me speak in their churches. Most of them were delighted we had received the gift of the Spirit and were anxious to accept us and to overlook our idiosyncracies. Thye couldn't understand us, but they were, in the main, terribly kind about it. All of our adventures delighted them, because they were the same kind of things that had happened when there had been an outpouring of the Holy Spirit at the beginning of the twentieth century. Now Pentecostal churches, following the way of the other churches, had become organizations rather than organisms, and those wonderful events were not occurring as frequently as they had in the beginning. Because of that I used to tell Pentecostals that it was safer going places with them than with Episcopalians. They knew how to behave, but the Episcopalians didn't know the rules.

One night after a service, half a dozen Episcopalians went to a restaurant for a light supper. After we ordered, one woman began to speak in tongues. I wanted to disappear. I thought, "I'll pretend I'm not with her." Immediately another Episcopalian interpreted the message from God. The waitress, who turned out to be a Baptist, had been standing beside the table with a tray of coffee. As the interpretation came, the tray began to shake wildly and the cups clattered dangerously against one another as the waitress burst out crying and wept aloud, "I'm not where I should be with God!" The last I heard, she is now. No those Episcopalians definitely didn't follow the rules.

Once when I was speaking in a Pentecostal church a friend of mine was seated in the back row. The friend noticed that a Pentecostal teen-ager had brought three Baptist schoolmates with her to church. At the conclusion of the service, the minister invited anyone who desired to come to the altar and pray. The Pentecostal teen-ager ran down to the altar, wept copiously, prayed loudly, got up, dried her eyes, came back and sat down. One of her friends inquired, "Why did you cry?" The teen-ager retorted, "That's what you're supposed to do -- everyone does."

In the Episcopal Church, the procedure is for one to kneel before being seated and pray. Father Ewald related questioning one teen-ager, "Carol, you look so radiant when you make your private devotion to God before the service. What do you say to God?" Carol replied, "Oh, Father, I never know what to say, so I just count to ten and sit down."

Each tribe has its own peculiar customs.

Years ago Joan Baker and I spoke in a Pentecostal church in the Northwest. The people in the church who had "tarried"** for years to received the baptism in the Spirit came to the altar. (**The term "tarrying" is taken from Luke 24:49, when the disciples were instructed to "tarry ... until ye be endued with power from on high." This led to the teaching among Pentecostals that every Christian must wait, perhaps for years, for the unknown time at which God sees fit to grant him the gift.) Joan and I prayed for them. Some of them had waited for as long as twenty years to received and were extremely exuberant over finally having the gift. They were so exuberant that one could have heard them several blocks away. About fifty of them spoke in tongues for the first time, and we couldn't keep them quiet. It was absolute bedlam. Some friends of ours were in the rear of the church and heard two Pentecostal ministers discussing us while the some fifty or so people were whooping it up at the altar. One of them shook his head and said, "Well, I don't say they don't have something, but they'll never have all they're supposed to have until they join the Assemblies of God."

A delightful incident transpired when an Episcopal priest who is filled with the Spirit was speaking in a Pentecostal church. He related how at the close of the meeting they asked him and a number of Pentecostal ministers present to lay hands on a woman who was ill and pray for God to heal her. The priest said they all began shouting so loudly he couldn't even think, let alone pray. As they left the church he said to the pastor, "You know, God isn't deaf." The pastor answered, "No, and he's not nervous either!"

One day I spoke in a Pentecostal church in Grapes of Wrath country. Afterward I prayed with a number of people in the "prayer room" who wanted the baptism in the Spirit. As I left the prayer room, a woman pointed to me and screamed, "That's the devil -- wearing lipstick. We had the devil in the pulpit today." I was too surprised to speak; and the pastor, who was also the supervisor for the entire district, looked as though he might faint. Before anyone could move, a young man dashed out of the prayer room, ran up to the woman, hugged her soundly, and blurted out, "I got it! I got it! She prayed for me and I spoke in eight languages!" That was the end of the devil and the lipstick.

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AOTGA - Act 8 Cont'd

2005-04-05T14:25:00.000+01:00

The first time I spoke at Angelus Temeple (built by Aimee Semple MacPherson) was at an international convention and the church was crammed with people. Jean Darnell (their Associate Pastor, who has since become famous speaking to Anglicans -- isn't that a twist?) was on the platform with other ministers. When they stood to sing, she and I were sharing a songbook. Suddenly what must have been several thousand people all began to clap their hands while they sang. I was completely shattered. Jean said, "Would you like me to hold the songbook so you can clap?" I quavered, "I don't think I've come that far yet." She came back with, "Well, I have. You hold the songbook."

When Christian Advance came into being it gave opportunity for more amusing episodes. It was a series of meetings designed to acquaint people in the established churches with the baptism in the Holy Spirit. Ministers from several denominations would speak briefly, the congregation would sing a few songs, and gifts of the Holy Spirit were welcome -- provided they were brought in moderate tones of voice. Afterward, responsible leaders were put in charge of various rooms where interested people could come to have their questions answerred, receive prayer for healing, become Christians, or receive the fulness of the Holy Spirit. I was strong on everything's being proper and orderly but I couldn't be in more than one place at a time. One evening when Father Harvey was in charge of prayer for healing, I asked how it had gone: if it was quiet, orderly, etc. Father Harvey said they had some difficulty. It appears that when he prayed for a woman who had been crippled for many years, she was completely and instantaneously healed. She was so delighted that she began running around the building shouting, "Hallelujah." We couldn't help laughing, thinking of her joy and wondering how it would be possible to ask anyone to contain hmiself when God had come down and accomplished something so wonderful for him. As a joke we said that from then on we would allow anyone who was healed to run around the church three times and shout, "Hallelujah." (Referring to St Paul's allowing three messages in tongues in the church.)

My husband has since told me of something that happened at a Christian Advance that would have sent me into orbit if I had known at the time. Fortunately I did not. Rita Reed was praying for a minister for the baptism in the Spirit. He was a rather emotional fellow and was oriented toward an emotional sort of worship. While he prayed he rocked back and forth rubbing his hands on his knees and moaning. This frightened Rita, and she said to Father Harvey, "He has a demon." This was all new to Father Harvey (Rita's family are Pentecostal) and he said, "What do we do?" Rita said, "You have to cast it out."

"How does one do that?"

"In the Bible they asked the demon's name and then commanded it to leave."

Reluctantly Father Harvey prayed over the poor fellow and sternly demanded, "Demon, what is your name?"

"Jones. Jones," came out between heavy breaths, and the man continued rocking, praying and moaning.

Father Harvey, determined to see it through if this was the proper procedure, commanded, "Jones, come out of this man in the name of Jesus!"

When the evening ended I rode down in the elevator with the personable young pastor and the others. We talked and I inquired his name. "Jones," he happily replied. "Reverend Jones."

As you can see, we had our little problems.

At another Christian Advance we had invited an Episcopal doctor to speak. At the end of a meeting he was praying with a woman to receive the gift and he was strangely demonstrative about it. He had his hands around the woman's neck and appeared to be shaking her. A woman watching said in a frightened voice to a Reformed Church minister, "What is he doing to her?" The minister calmly replied, "Why, can't you see? He's wringing her neck."

Yes, indeed, we did have our problems.

But on the other hand marvelous things happened. People were healed of almost every affliction and disease one could name. Individuals loved their families and other members of the Body of Christ in a way they never had before. Many became more sensitive about such things as honesty, purity and duty. One man told me that Christians frequently talked about giving up possessions and losing friends for Christ's sake, but to the contrary he had discovered a new and wonderful life with more friends than he ever had before. Further, he revealed that since he began setting aside ten percent of his income for the church, charities and individual ministries and missionaries, he was better off financially than ever before.

We learned a lot as well. Morton Kelsey (the author of Tongue Speaking: An Experiment in Spiritual Experience) recorded the following in one of his books but it might be worth repeating. I was speaking in an Episcopal church many miles from home. At the conclusion of my talk, the bishop's wife approached me and expressed a desire to have the gift of the Spirit. Because I knew she was reserved I wished to pray for her alone and was told I could use the house adjacent to the church. A young man followed and asked to be included. The three of us went next door. I knew the bishop's wife was a serious Christian as we had talked over dinner the night before and there was no doubt of her dedication. However, I didn't know anything about the handsome, debonair young man. I questioned him to ascertain if he had ever consciously committed his life to Christ. Although he had been a member of the church since infancy and an acolyte (one who assists a priest at Holy Communion) for many years, he stated he had not done that. He then did so in his own words, beautifully and clearly. Then they both received the Holy Spirit.

The following morning the young man sought me to confess he had been a practicing homosexual and had stolen $2,000 from the Air Force. I was new and green and stunned. All I could think was, "And I prayed for him at the same time as the bishop' wife." Then the words of Jesus came to mind, "I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance."

The airman served six months at hard labor, during which time the prison chaplain reprimanded him for being happy. The chaplain felt it was a serious offence and if he were properly penitent a somber attitude would be more in keeping. The airman wrote that he couldn't be sad -- that he had passed from death to life and his only sorrow was the way he had grieved our Lord before he knew Him. Through the years I have heard from him several times; he is completely rehabilitated. He lives in another section of the country, has a responsible job, is married and happy, and knows what God has done for him. What I learned is "What God has cleansed, no longer consider unholy" (NASB version).

But with the coming of the Spirit to the Church came the unexpected -- although we were really too naive to really expect it -- the charlatans, the crooks, the opportunists. Sometimes they were obvious, but usually they were coated with a veneer of super-piety that frequently expressed itself in long and passionate appeals to God. After I came to know of some of them, I wondered what God felt about it, and if they really believed He was there, and if so how they dared to do some of the things they did.

One of the smaller operators came to the office once and told of just returning from a trip to the eastern part of the United States. Without mentioning himself in a forward way, he spoke of visiting an Episcopal church on a weekday basis and discovering the minister reading charismatic literature. Supposedly he answered the minister's questions and the minister was then baptized in the Spirit. He then met the leading lawyer of the town, a Mr Stone, and the lawyer's wife began a prayer group in their home. He enumerated numerous healings that occurred. At no time did he claim he had done the healing -- God was always given the credit. It sounded good. I couldn't understand why I wasn't more enthusiastic. I silently berated myself, "Why aren't you pleased with what God did? Is it sour grapes? Can't you stand for anyone to do anything but you?" I looked at the associate editor who was listening and thought, "He's going to go for this and want me to have the fellow speak in the chapel and I don't want to. What's wrong with me?" Sure enough, the man specifically requested permission to address the people at the chapel. I put him off by telling him I would discuss it with him before the meeting. He left and I waited for the associate editor's burst of enthusiasm. He said, "I hope you're not going to have him speak."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

I telephoned the minister in the town in the East. He had never heard of the man, none of the incidents mentioned had occurred, and no lawyer named Stone resided in the town. Monday when the taleteller appeared I asked him about it. He said it was all a dreadful mistake and he would get it straightened out to my satisfaction. I never saw him again. I wish all charlatans were so easily exposed. Certainly the fellow's story had been told well. It must have been the Spirit warning us through a gift of discernment. Many times since, I have known the Holy Spirit to work in this way, but I regret to admit that I have not always had ears to hear.

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AOTGA - Act 9

2005-04-05T14:24:00.001+01:00

"One of the most interesting movements in Christianity today is the so-called 'charismatic renewal' in the historic churches -- the manifestations of the gifts of the Spirit" (Church Times, London, England).

London welcomed me with wet streets but a cessation of rain, thereby destroying my illusion forever. Michael and Jeanne Harper failed to recognize me at the airport because I had gaily worn my blonde wig on the plane. They finally identified me by a process of deduction and with typical British tact welcomed me as though they had not been in doubt for a moment.

The Savoy was one of the few places that lived up to its advance billing. The sheets were linen, the china was Wedgewood and there were hot and cold running maids. The first evening provided supper in the dining room, where I peered through the gloom at the menu. The waiter smoothly suggested that because of the vision problem we merely request what we wished. I didn't tell him the real problem. The menu was in French and the Lord didn't furnish interpretation.

I wasn't really able to see London because I was always going somewhere or coming from somewhere -- sometimes with a plump little grey-haired missionary running interference. I traveled by train, taxi, and Volkswagen -- and even by air to Scotland. My speaking engagements were with Anglicans in either vicarages or churches, with the exception of two meetings at Caxton Hall, a press conference at the Savoy, and a ministerial meeting in Scotland. My memory of it all is hazy, as it seemed one long succession of hurrying somewhere in order to get back early to go somewhere else. The people were friendly, the vicarages chilly, and the response excellent. One of the high points was arriving in one town and being met by the vicar in a black limousine. I tactlessly commented that the automobile resembed a hearse. He happily replied, "Oh, it is. I was the best car in town, so we borrowed it to meet you!"

The press conference was interesting as two of the reporters stayed after to ask more questions. One wished to receive the baptism in the Spirit and asked how. I told him, and he left hastily to "go home and pray." The other received the gift right there. It was a nice ending for a press conference.

Through all this mad activity a Pentecostal student telephoned and requested an appointment. I don't remember, but I think I talked to him over tea. In fact, I don't even remember exactly what he wanted -- perhaps just to talk to someone. However, the grapevine carried the news of the meeting to the other major Pentecostal denomination in England, and an Anglican minister relayed the fact that the other denomination was "put out" and felt they had been neglected. I asked how this could be rectified, and it was decided that we would invite a representative of the other denomination to tea. This was vetoed as the first denomination then felt they had not been officially represented by the student. So both denominations were invited to send a representative. This caused more of a problem as the denominations could not decide just what level of representation they should send! Eventually it was squared away and the Assemblies of God sent Donald Gee and Elim Church sent their leader. We had a pleasant tea, but the gentleman from Elim was troubled. He telephoned me later to explain how upset he was. He said he had been to one of the Caxton Hall meetings and had seen me pray for a number of people for the gift of the Spirit and had heard practically all of them speak in tongues. His problem was that he had been raised to consider the gift of the Spirit difficult to acquire, and was having trouble accepting the fact that the people had received so easily.

At the Caxton Hall meeting I had talked on the movement of the Spirit in the Church and my personal experience with Him. Around fifty people stayed to receive the gift. I explained the Scriptures and that the experience came through faith in Christ. I then laid my hands upon their heads and asked God to fill them with the Holy Spirit. I bent my head to listen and be certain that the person was praying in tongues and then passed on to the next. When I came to one woman whom I had never seen before, I found myself saying, "It's easier to say, 'God, I'll give you my life, go to Africa and be a missionary,' than it is to turn over your tongue to the Holy Spirit and allow Him to put His words on it. Do you think you can do it?" She said, "I'll try." We prayed and she spoke in tongues. Later she came to me and said, "You know, I am a missionary to Africa!" But, of course, I hadn't known --

Another event that occurred at the first Caxton Hall meeting has remained in my mind. I was the primary speaker, but before I was introduced a number of ministers spoke at some length. As I sat waiting I knew God wanted me to speak in tongues, and I didn't like the idea at all. Mentally I pointed out to Him that I was a woman, which made things difficult enough, an American to further complicate everything, and the living end would be for me to get up and speak in tongues. It was almost as though God said, "You're going to." I further explained that if I did they wouldn't understand what it was all about. The answer appeared to be that I would explain it for them. I didn't like the way this whole internal conversation was going. I told Him I couldn't possibly interrupt the speaker, and just then the speaker said, "I present to you -- Jean Stone." And there I was.

By this time I was warm all over and sort of shaky and not at all pleased about what was before me. After a few introductory remarks (while the language from God was almost bubbling inside me) I explained the difference between praying in tongues and speaking in tongues publicly. THen, feeling like a complete idiot, I said something to the effect that I was experiencing an "urging" from the Holy Spirit to speak publicly and we would wait for the interpretation. No sooner were the words in tongues out of mouth than God sent the interpretation: clear, concise, marvelous and right to the point. It was one of the most lucid and wonderful interpretations I had ever heard. Imagine my feelings, on being introduced to the "interpreter," to discover he stuttered so badly he had difficulty saying hello. I frequently find God astonishing.

An afterlight on this talk was that it was taped and later played at All Souls' Church in London. I was told that a married couple received the Holy Spirit while listening to it, and that the husband later became an Anglican minister -- due, he claims, to receiving the Spirit.

Around two hundred people received the power of God while I was in England and Scotland, and I remember the high church and the low church Anglicans' claiming the Holy Spirit even made them love each other! I recall the fantastic high teas in Scotland and the Scots' telling me that this was wonderful for me but that they were too reserved -- they could understand their English cousins' receiving such an experience and were happy for them, but they said they were just too Scottish. That night in a Church of Scotland close to fifty "reserved" Scots received the gift of the Spirit, and they were much more demonstrative about it than the English had been.

From there I went to France, where a customs official screamed at me vociferously in French and made me cry. From then on I was wary of all Frenchman until Hong Kong, where I met a group of French nuns and a French priest who found a place in my heart forever. But that comes later.

I did find one poster in France worth the trip. In the American drugstore in Paris is a large sign reading, We Have Genuine Imported California Champagne. Try and top that one.

Previous to all this had been the trip to Alaska to speak in the Episcopal Church in Fairbanks. The Alaskans were as friendly as the Scots and it was fun. Moose meat was not only worth tasting -- I was so taken with it that they sent some home with me, along with many other gifts. Alaskans must be the most generous people anywhere. I loved them all. We didn't understand each other too well, as I was bundled in fur to accommodate the ten-degree-below-zero weather, and they were all in sweaters. I inquired why they didn't wear furs, and they replied that they didn't get them out until the cold weather set in!

I have always loved Mexico, but my Mexican lecture tour was disappointing -- perhaps I traveled in the wrong circles. Primarily we were speaking to missionaries, and I found them more interested in "potty training" the natives than harboring a passion to talk about the Lord Jesus. Many of the "sent ones" appeared to be there because they had no better place to go, and they confided that their mission was to fit into the community -- a process expected to take many years. It was not the Pauline approach to evangelism. And rather than being thrown down the steps of the local religious establishments or tossed into jail, like St Paul, some of them were busy figuring out how to buy property. Of course there were the exceptions. A notable one was Dorothy Long, a pretty little blonde who heard me speak, stayed to argue doctrine, became convinced, and received the gift of the Spirit. For her dedication she was asked to leave the missionary organization of which she was a part. It worked out well as she married a widowed Mexican minister with seven children. She is now happily engaged in being a pastor's wife in an indigenous church.

Before that trip I had found myself becoming weary of organization and materialism and had confided to a few close friends that I would like to chuck it all and be a missionary. This struck them as intensely amusing. They couldn't imagine me without a maid and a swimming pool, or traveling without a mountain of luggage. But after Mexico I decided that nothing could ever induce me to be a missionary. God had other plans. On April 17, 1967, my husband and I awakened to the ringing of the alarm clock. As he sleepily groped to shut it off, I said brightly, "I just dreamed that I spoke in tongues and interpreted. Would you like to hear the interpretation?" What can a man say when at 7:30 AM his wife inquires if he wants to hear from God?

I explained that I had dreamed we were going to China as missionaries. In the dream I saw a map and the section to which we appeared to be going was in the area of Yunan, Szechwan and Tibet. We were getting ready to leave but had some problems: we didn't have enough money and all of our friends and relatives were against our going. One of my aunts said to me, "Don't you have some words to say, so you won't have so much trouble?" I thought, "I can pray." I stood up and said, "Father in Heaven, obviously this is not Your will for us to have so much difficulty, so it must be Satan trying to keep us from fulfilling Your plan. We come against him in the name of Lord Jesus and ask that You stop his activities." Still in the dream, I began speaking in tongues. I remember thinking, "This is not my normal prayer language. I wonder if it is the language of the people where we are going?" Suddenly I knew what the interpretation was and spoke it:

Is My arm short that I cannot raise up a standard against the enemy who would short-circuit your work? I shall surround you with armies of angels to protect you and shall send you forth where the light of the Gospel has never fallen, and you shall be effective in that strange land and shall bring many into a knowledge of Jesus Christ, and the people there shall call you Fire and Wind because of your ministry.

And that was when the alarm went off.

Richard stared at me, "Don't you know American can't go there? That's Red China."

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AOTGA - Act 10

2005-04-05T14:24:00.000+01:00

Richard repeated, "Don't you know where that is? American just don't go there."

"How could I know?" I answered, "I was asleep."

We lay quietly thinking. The dream had seemed amazingly real. We both remembered that three times I had dreamed rather astonishing things that had come to pass. "Do you think it's just a dream," I inquired tentatively, "or do you think it's from God?"

"I don't know. Let's pray about it."

And we did. No booming voice came from the heavens affirming or denying. But the more we prayed, the less comfortable we became. A sense of excitement arose in us. I couldn't stand it any longer. Feeling silly but figuring no one else would ever learn how silly I was, I said, "Let's ask God if the dream came from Him and then open the Bible at random and expect Him to give us the answer that way." (I have since discovered that other silly people, such as John Wesley, have done the same.) Instead of using the Bible I normally read, for some obscure reason I picked up a modern translation (it doesn't read the same as the King James), shut my eyes and flipped it open. It opened at Isaiah 35, which could be called a missionary chapter. My eyes fell upon verse 8, "and a highway shall be there, and it shall be called The Holy Way --"

"Where is Indonesia in relation to China?"

"Not too far," Rick answered, revealing his ignorance of Asian geography, "It's in the same part of the world."

"We know a missionary to Indonesia and you write to him through some sort of organization called The Holy Way."

Richard said, "I don't know why, but I'm getting chills."

Without taking time for breakfast, I wrote a letter to the missionary in Indonesia telling him about the strange dream. I was sure he would think we were quite mad, but I reasoned that we would probably never see him again anyway. But when I wanted to address the envelope, we discovered that we did not have the missionary's address. It was peculiar as he had been on the Trinity mailing list and we should have had both his Indonesian address and the address of The Holy Way, which was an organization somewhere in the United States. It looked hopeless. Frustrated, I tossed the letter on the desk.

"If God wanted us to write, we would have the address."

The telephone rang. It was Loraine Ewart. "Would you like me to bring your mail from the post office?" she inquired. Surprised, I answered, "Fine. I'll make some coffee." I hung up without mentioning the morning's events.

The doorbell rang and Loraine stood on the doorstep and handed the mail to me. The top letter was a personal one to me from the secretary of The Holy Way! Later, when I arrived at this point in relating the events to Dr Maurice Nelles (see Who's Who) he said, "Now you have gone beyond the realm of probability."

We traveled further beyond because the letter was surprisingly vague. It read something like, "Dear Jean, I don't know why I'm writing this, but I feel so close to you in the Lord. Is there anything you would like us to pray about? I don't know why I asked that: it's presumptuous of me. Just know that we love you in Christ."

But on the envelope was the address and it was the address used by the priest in Indonesia.

So I sent the letter in care of The Holy Way. And feeling daring I added a cover letter to the secretary telling her what had happened. Rick took the letter and left for work sans breakfast.

We had recently moved, and Loraine had been helping me decorate. That morning as we discussed Suzy's room and were going to go upstairs to look it over, Loraine said, "Could we pray?" I suddenly knew that God wanted to say something to me. I also knew that Loraine had never been used in the gift of interpretation, and that if I had to interpret a message for me I would doubt and think my own thoughts might have become involved. I said, "If you think God wants to speak through you, be sure you don't bring a message in tongues if you really have a prophecy which should come in English."

It was strange for me to speak in such a fashion. Loraine had never come up with a message in tongues or anything else when we were together. In fact we had never prayed when the two of us were alone.

She began to speak in tongues. I have since heard Mandarin Chinese and it sounded like that or some dialect of Chinese. She immediately interpreted, and the message was that I had been called by God and would be traveling to the Orient to tell people about Christ.

The day was Monday. Good things happen to me on Monday. My daughter, Suzanne, was born on Monday; Richard and I were married on Monday; the prayer meeting I began has met on Monday for twelve years. It met that night in our living room, and we told the participants the happenings of the day. Not much enthusiasm. It began to seem like the dream. I couldn't blame them; it did sound far out. Bill Duncan, one of our closest friends, said, "Maybe the Lord just wants you to pray for the Chinese, Jean." But Dick Aschenberg, who was never used by the Spirit, suddenly spoke in prophecy, and it was to the effect that we were going to China.

The days went by. Richard and I became more and more excited. Our friends humored us but nothing changed. We didn't have ticket money to China or anywhere else. A letter came from the secretary of The Holy Way. She wrote that when she received my letter the Spirit "fell" upon her, and when she prayed God "told" her (she didn't say how) that we were going to China. The letter stated that as she was praying the director of their society telephoned her and she shared my letter with him. The board decided that we should go to the Orient through their organization which turned out to be a missionary society. But then came the crunch -- the organization didn't furnish financial support -- only prayer. We irreverently laughed. We didn't need prayer, we told ourselves, we needed nearly $3,000.

Easter arrived and we purchased half a dozen fluffy yellow chicks for Suzanne. Two of them didn't make it, but the other four grew into aggressive roosters. One particularly, named Daniel Boone because of his exploratory tendencies, became a great pet. Daniel began to pine away and refused to eat; he was limping. We took him to a veterinarian who sent us to a bird specialist. The specialist diagnosed the ailment as infectious arthritis in the leg joints and gave Danny a shot of cortisone and a prescription. Danny ate a bit better, but he couldn't roost i his homemade chicken coop because of the crippling effect of the arthritis, so he slept in the kitchen at night. When dusk came he would chase the other roosters into the coop and then peck on the door for us to let him in and put him to bed. In the morning he would crow and Richard would arise and deposit him outside where he would like in front of the chicken coop awaiting the awakening of his minions.

About this time I received a letter from a woman with troubles. I suggested she come to our Monday night gathering. She did and was filled with the Holy Spirit and some of her troubles disappeared. But her biggest problem was the man she was dating, because he was not a Christian. She asked if she could bring him to see us, cherishing some vague hope that something wonderful would occur to change him. They came for dinner and a swim but somehow we never had the swim. We talked about God for hours and at 6:30 in the early evening Conrad capitulated and became a Christian. As he prayed to God for forgiveness and acceptance, out in the yard Daniel began to crow. One of the other roosters answered him, and they kept going. The din was terrific and we were furious. Why would roosters crow at 6:30 at night? Conrad stared at us with a stunned expression. Years previously, he said, he had done something very wrong and a rooster had crowed; at the time, he had thought of the cock's crowing when Peter had denied Christ. He confided that ever since that time he had felt separated inside and that as he had committed his life to Christ, for the first time he felt whole. And just then the roosters began to crow. His heart had begun to beat faster and he couldn't move his arms and he knew God was proving Himself. "How amazing," he commented, "that when I asked Christ to take over, I should be in a place where there was a rooster. I'll never forget this afternoon."

Monday night Conrad attended the prayer meeting. We told him about the Holy Spirit but that was too much for him -- he simply couldn't accept it. At 10:30 at night, during silent prayer, someone quietly spoke in tongues. Conrad later told us he had peeped out of one eye to look and that some unseen force closed the eye for him. He sat there and spoke in his mind, "Now Lord, I believe these people are real, but this speaking in tongues is just too much. If this is really You, give me a sign like You did with the rooster." Someone began to interpret, and just then the night seemed to split in two with a wild "Cock-a-doodle-doo" from the kitchen. Three times it rang out, and I silently thought, "Fried chicken tomorrow." Conrad's face blanched; his heart pounded furiously and his arms seemed paralyzed as they lay on the chair arms. Then he told us how he had prayed. Within a few days he was baptized with the Holy Spirit. Daniel the rooster had become Daniel the prophet.

The dream was beginning to come to pass: very few people were enthused about our projected trip to China, and the ones who were had no means to help us get there. Now that Conrad had become a Christian he was enthused about us but when we told him the story of the dreams, he said, "You can't go there. Those people are flaky. They'll kill you!" There were exceptions. When we shared the dream with Morton Kelsey, our rector and a psychologist who has studied dreams for twenty years, he commented, "There is no question but that you'll go. The interpretation in the dream sounds like something out of the ancient Chinese writings which even predate Buddhism."

My friend, Joan Baker, was not so encouraging. She and John came to dinner one evening and they were among the few people we told. Joan said, "I know it's God. I get goose bumps just hearing about it, but I'm not going to pray for you to go. You might get killed there."

Loraine and Jean Waltz suggested that we should exercise faith and have our passports put in order, etc. Previous to this, when thinking about the $3,000 needed, I was inclined to doubt the whole operation. It seemed just what it had been -- a dream. But when we turned our passports in, with the new information and the fee, the passport officer pushed the money back and said, "No charge." It must have been a new ruling, but it was enough to cause me to wonder if God was trying to tell me something. If He could provide passports without charge, perhaps He could also provide tickets to the Orient. It was worth thinking about.

Meanwhile, the missionary in Indonesia had written that he felt the dream was from God and that we should come to Indonesia, where we were much needed, until the doors to China swung open. This clicked with us, and we knew if it all came to pass, Indonesia would be the place we would begin. I telephoned the travel agency. They said, "Forget it. No one goes to Indonesia now. Take your vacation somewhere else." I stared helplessly at Rick. He said, "If it's God we'll get visas. And if it's not God, we don't want to go there anyway." We wrote to the Indonesian Consulate in San Francisco.

We procured yellow fever injections, which are free. I then telephoned Dr Richard Casdorph and told him we were going to the Orient as missionaries. Could he give us the necessary injections? To myself I thought, "If we don't go, I'll have to leave town after that statement." Dr Casdorph didn't normally give injections as he was a specialist in internal medicine, but he said he would see what he could do. When we arrived for the inoculations he insisted upon complete (and I mean complete) physical examinations. Mine took three hours. We told him we only wanted injections, but our protests were fruitless. We wondered how we would ever pay for all of this tender attention.

Knowing that even though God places the idea in a person's mind, He still wants him to pray to bring it to fruition, I fasted and prayed for three days about the trip. On the third day, Paul Castle stopped by to tell us God wanted him to send fifty dollars monthly toward our support as long as we were in the mission field.

The Indonesian Consulate mailed us forms to fill out to request visas. We were in the process of being injected with everything Dr Casdorph could find that the US Army gave the troops traveling to Southeast Asia. We were disposing of our possessions in all directions. People began to believe -- but not necessarily to approve. One friend argued that we could not take Suzanne somewhere so dangerous and that we should leave her with them. She pointed out to Suzanne the advantages of staying with them. I was distressed as I couldn't imagine going anywhere without Suzanne. She had been one of the biggest things in my life ever since I had discovered I was pregnant. Leave her while I traveled halfway across the world? What did God want? I knew what I wanted: did I dare be disobedient? I didn't say anything to anyone else, but I secretly prayed that I would know God's will in the matter.

We still did not have one cent toward the tickets. Frustrated, Richard and I prayed, "Lord, we know You're always last minute, but if this operation is of You, send us $500 within three days, so we will know we are going. We don't want a legacy: we want the money to actually come earmarked for the trip, so we will be in no doubt whatsoever.

We told no one about this prayer and three days later we had almost forgotten about it. We stopped at Loraine's house to leave some magazine she was to mail, and just then she drove up with a friend of hers named Rita Gould. Rita was a Baptist who had lived by trusting God for forty-three years. She sang in churches and taught in youth camps. I had met her once, several months before, when I had prayed with her to receive the gift of the Spirit. Loraine said, "I just told Rita about your dream. Come in and have some tea." We went inside and Rita said, "I think God wants me to help you with your trip. I don't have much, but I'll do what I can." She wrote a check and handed it to us. It was for $500! She later told us she hadn't meant to do anything like that -- that it had been the most involuntary act she had ever participated in. Neither she nor anyone else knew we had prayed. China was drawing closer all the time.

Richard quit his job. He thought we should learn to depend upon God. Certainly we had enough to do disposing of many years' accumulation of belongings, but I still thought he was mad. But how can one tell someone he isn't really hearing from God? It developed into one of the most instructive periods of our life, and we learned many principles that we were later to put into use with good effect.

But one night we needed $200 immediately. We were quite desperate about it then -- now I can't even remember what it was needed for. It was Monday afternoon, and Rick said all we could do was tell God and expect Him to answer. If He wasn't going to take care of us now, how could we believe He would later? That night our prayer group met, and during the evening Madeleine Duncan requested prayer. Her dentist had advised that she must have extensive work done on one tooth, and she wanted us to pray that it would not be painful. I put my hand upon her shoulder and asked God to heal the tooth. She said she thought she would trust God, and that she felt God wanted her to give the $200 the dental work would have cost to us -- and she wrote out a check for that amount. No one knew we had prayed earlier for $200. Incidentally, she still has the tooth, and it has never cause her one moment's difficulty.

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AOTGA - Act 10 Cont'd

2005-04-05T14:23:00.000+01:00

Suzanne was now ten years of age. Seven years before, when she had been two and a half, we had moved to another neighbourhood. The first day there I looked out the window and saw her talking to the little boy from across the street. "What's your name?" he inquired. "Do you know da Creed?" was Suzanne's pertinent reply. (Referring to the Apostle's Creed, an affirmation of faith used in the Episcopal and some other communions.) Again the aggressive young male demanded, "What's your name?" "When you learn da Creed I'll tell you," churchy little Suzanne lisped as she flounced off.

One weekday morning nearly a year later we were driving to early morning Holy Communion and singing swinging Christian songs. I wondered if underneath her churchiness and set prayers there was anything more. I thought I would test her with language she would never have heard at St Mark's nursery or in her own home. "Suzanne, are you saved?"

"Certainly, I am."

"Nonsense," I thought, "she has no idea what she's saying."

"How do you know?" I questioned.

"Because I have Jesus in my heart." I suspected flesh and blood had not revealed that terminology to my precocious three year old.

The Easter when she was five she asked to receive Holy Communion at Father Harvey's church. It was a strange request for her to make, as she had been in the Episcopal Church all of her life and she knew children did not receive Communion until they were confirmed, at approximately twelve years of age. I wondered if the Holy Spirit was speaking to her. Several years previously she had notified us that she did not wish to speak in tongues. She explained she had Jesus in her heart and that was sufficient. But God had gotten through to her in some sovereign fashion of His own on this Easter Sunday. At her request, on Easter Monday, Joan Baker and I prayed with her and she received the gift of the Spirit.

Now it was five years later, and suddenly my prayer was answered. One night I had another dream, and in this one we were to leave by airplane (we had wanted to go by ship) on October 2, and Suzanne was going also. The dream showed that Suzanne was not going along as an appendage to Mom and Dad but that she was to be a missionary in her own right. It seemed foolish at the time, but in Indonesia she was asked to speak in three churches and always some people became Christians and some were filled with the Spirit when she spoke. In fact, listening to her, we were surprised to discover that she had better theology than some of our friends!

So we made reservations for October 2 with the travel agency. We continued to be shot full of preventive injections at Dr Casdorph's office in Long Beach. And we wondered how we would ever obtain the remainder of the ticket money.

It had been exciting for God to provide the initial $500 through a near stranger. It proved clearly that it had come from Him. But it seemed sad that so many of our friends did not appear to share the vision. It was particularly so since six months before, when we were celebrating Christmas, a prophecy had come that we had been called together by God for a particular purpose. Perhaps this was the purpose? I asked God to have someone in the group be enthused enough to actually donate toward it. I had learned long ago that "where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."

The telephone rang. It was Ray Smokel. Some years previously I had called him and asked him to do the layout for Trinity. Upon learning that we spoke in tongues, he politely informed me he was not interested. I sent him the magazine. A few days later he called to tell me he had read it all the way through, and he was impressed enough that he very much wanted to do the layout. Later he was baptized with the Spirit and some time afterward his wife Dorothy followed suit. Ray was telephoning this time to tell us he had received a small legacy and wanted to donate $100 toward our venture. It was immensely encouraging.

We shared the dream with Ruth and Cameron Harriot. They were so sure it was from God that they wrote out a check for us to put toward the fare. It was heartening because we were feeling pretty foolish about the whole thing. We had never considered ourselves the type to run our lives by dreams. Perhaps the check from the Harriots was particularly inspiring, as Cam had become a "worker priest" and was serving at St Luke's Episcopal Church without salary. From the day we left for the mission field, the Harriots, who have no visible means of support, have sent us five dollars each week. With backing from people like that, it is small wonder we had such results.

A priest from Mexico, the Rev William Sherwood, was in St Louis on a preaching mission. One night he felt he should telephone home to Mexico. His daughter, Margie, answered and said, "We received the most exciting letter from Rick and Jean," and she proceeded to read to him what I had written of the happenings to date. Father Sherry stopped her. "This is getting too expensive. It will be cheaper for me to go and see them." So we had a telephone call that Father Sherwood was in Oxnard, California, where he had arrived by bus. We went to get him and he told us God had impressed him to give us $777 toward our trip, that it was the perfect number. He wrote us a check and departed. We looked at the amount and wondered if he was becoming senile, but a year and some months later we had cause to remember that figure.

Gail Castle, Paul's daughter, who had worked for me for several years and was like a sister to Suzanne, insisted upon donating her savings (around $300) to the travel fund. One night Kay and Ken Cook wrote out a check and Beverley Gage handed me $50 in cash. People were beginning to believe. I banked the money and carefully added their names and the amounts to the list I was keeping, so if we didn't go we could return the money. Such faith won't do much in the way of removing mountains.

The Indonesian Consulate sent our visas by return mail -- no problem. The travel agent and the people he had contacted for information had all been wrong.

By this time we had received so many inoculations (around fifteen injections apiece) that we decided never to try acupuncture. When we tried to pay Dr Casdorph he quietly said, "I don't think there will be any charge." We knew that by current rates we owed him around $700. "Are you sure?" I asked. "You've spent a lot of time with us." The Presbyterian doctor replied, "That's my guidance." Richard tried to thank him, but he brushed it aside with, "Don't thank me. This is the Lord." We knew he was right.

We were still in the process of giving away our possessions. Daniel was sitting in his favorite green chair one afternoon when Loraine came to help. She had brough her camera and wanted to take Danny's picture. I reminded her that we were not leaving until October and we had more important things to do than photograph a rooster. She was adamant and insisted on taking the picture. The next morning Rick and I went to the grocery store. When we returned at noon, Danny was gone. The other roosters were there, but Danny had vanished. He could not have flown over the fense; it was more than five feet high. And even if he could have, he would not have done so. None of the roosters even like the gate left open; they were definite homebodies. There were no feathers -- no signs of struggle -- nothing. We searched everywhere, including the neighbor's yards. We even advertised his disappearance in the newspaper and offered a reward, but Danny was never heard from again. It would have been traumatic to have left him behind to the mercy of someone's knife and fork, as we had to do with the other roosters. Some have advanced the theory that God took him. Perhaps he should be given another name -- Elijah.

We were ready to depart but still had no tickets. The travel agent telephoned regularly and pleaded with us to come and get the tickets. She didn't know it, but we still didn't have enough money. By this time our friends were sure we were going. They had thrown a magnificent farewell for us at the Tail O' the Cock, complete with pepper steaks and presents. We were still short $100. I telephoned Jean Clemeshaw one day to ask if she would like to have my gold leaf cabinets as a gift. She had been a good friend to Trinity and I was appreciative. She wanted them but didn't have space in her new apartment. However, she wanted to know why we were giving things away and where we were going. I told her the story (by long distance) and she insisted that she be included in such an inspiring enterprise. She mailed $100, which was exactly the amount needed.

We arrived at the travel agency to collect the tickets just before closing time Friday afternoon. Monday morning we were to leave at 7:00 AM for the airport. We had our tickets and our luggage packed, but we had no money at all. But for the first time we were completely convinced that God had managed the campaign. So we had no fear of the future; in fact we were absolutely buoyant. What a strange way to behave -- to travel half-way around the world with no money.

Sunday, at midnight, the telephone rang. It was Western Union. Someone had wired us some money. Richard was too sleepy to ask how much or who from. The next morning on the way to airport we stopped for it. It was $90 from two people we had never heard of! And that's how we went to the Orient.

At 10:00 AM on October 2, the Japan Air Lines DC-8 soared into the air carrying three green apples to strange orchards. We would witness many bizarre happenings and have some peculiar experiences before we again set foot in America.

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AOTGA - Act 11

2005-04-05T14:22:00.000+01:00

My sacrifice to the project was my birthday. I lost it crossing the international date line. It felt strange not to have a birthday that year.

We were all sick on the plane due to the anti-malaria tablets we had taken. Oddly enough, we were sick every Monday for over a month before we grasped the reason. From then on, we took our chances with the dreaded anopheles mosquitos. But on the plane we hadn't received that revelation as yet, and the sicker I got, the more Dramamine the stewardess obligingly procured for me.

When we checked in at the hotel in Tokyo the otherwise courteous desk clerk appeared to be staring at me. It wasn't difficult to guess why when I peered into the mirror in our room: the face looking back was waxy yellow and the eyes were glassy with pinpoint pupils. I also walked with a piratical lurch. The clerk probably thought I was having a bad trip -- and in a sense I was.

In happy anticipation we had spent some time before we left the States discussing which exotic Tokyo restaurant we would favor with our presence. The airline gave us tickets for free dinners, but we tumbled into bed in the early afternoon and slept through until 1:00 AM when I sleepily muttered, "Does anyone want to eat dinner?" They both agreed that they did and we all promptly went back to sleep. The next morning we had a delightful breakfast of fried fish and Japanese melon before we departed to putter around the airport before our departure for Hong Kong. It was there we had raw fish and other interesting delicacies. Believe it or not, we heartily put our stamp of approval on raw fish.

Elmer Darnell met us at Hong Kong International Airport and we really needed him. We obviously were not seasoned enough to be trusted alone. Richard kept trying to force two American quarters on the Chinese redcap who wheeled our luggage to the taxi stand. The fellow vociferously refused to accept them and complained bitterly in both Cantonese and pidgin English to all passers-by that we were defrauding him of one dollar Hong Kong, which was approximately sixteen US cents. Fortunately Elmer arrived with a Hong Kong dollar and rescued us from what appeared to be imminent incarceration.

Elmer was a whiz. Somehow or other he stuffed the four of us and the mountain of luggage into two taxis and we were off to Waterloo Road in Kowloon, to the apartment of a Chinese minister named Edwin Lee, who had volunteered to accommodate us for five days. The apartment was comfortable by Asian standards and it was there I saw my first Oriental cockroach which impressed me deeply as it was red and sported what looked like fancy carvings on its back. Leave it to the Chinese to have everything elegant. But during the next four years, all of the other cockroaches I saw appeared to be the plain Occidental variety except that they were much more robust.

It was October, which is the season with the friendliest weather. We found everything interesting, but Elmer had some sort of compulsion to exhibit all of Hong Kong to old friends personally. After several days of it, my feet could not stand any more; so Suzy and I stayed home and loafed and sent the men to journey back and forth on the Star Ferry and see the rest of the sights without us.

Elmer had arranged a speaking engagement for me in a Chinese Pentecostal church, despite the fact that people were saying it was not very safe for Americans and Europeans to be out and about, as the Communists were exploding bombs in protest of something or other.

The church had a Chinese pastor, but the real power behind the pulpit was an elderly American missionary. After I spoke she asked me to pray with people to receive the Holy Spirit. Since she was translating for me I had to depend upon her to transmit my instructions. As no one was receiving the Holy Spirit, I realized she was not doing so. Finally I found eight Chinese who could speak a little English and who desired the Spirit. Richard and I talked to them privately and they received. Later, in her car, the missionary informed me that I didn't understand the Chinese people. She said they could not receive the Holy Spirit easily as "we do" because they have a lot of cleaning up to do -- "they lie a lot."

I pointed out that if God had forgiven these people and accepted them into His Kingdom they could receive the Holy Spirit at once as it was a gift, free and unmerited, and was not a reward for good behavior. Her nineteenth century mind could not accept this and we parted mutually unsatisfied.

The night before we left for Indonesia, we all three dreamed about chickens -- golden chickens newly hatched. We wondered if it was significant.

The trip to Jakarta was lengthy and wearisome as we had to change planes at both Singapore and Bangkok. We finally arrived in the evening and were met by a Chinese gentleman named Tan Ik Sing. He had been requested to take care of us by the missionary, who was off in the bush. He took us to spend the night as guests of the local Episcopal priest, but it developed that the priest wasn't there and had left no instructions with the servants, so our first night was spent at the Council of Churches' guest house, which was expensive. The three of us were given a long room in which were three hard beds. The accommodations seemed somewhat primitive, the heat was terrific, the mosquitos were ravenous, and we found the bathroom facilities confusing.

We strongly felt we should go to East Java as soon as possible, so we took the first train out. This was the Bima. The air-conditioned train was a delightful contrast to the oppressive heat of Jakarta. The food was difficult to eat, there was only one sheet on each bed, and the sanitary facilities lacked something; but Suzy loved the three berths in our compartment and when they welcomed us by name (somewhat garbled) over the loudspeaker, her cup was running over. We watched the scenery from the window until it was too dark to see. It was green and lush and fabulous -- the most beautiful landscape I had ever seen.

I don't want to go to hell if it's anything like Surabaya. As we alighted from the train early the next morning, the meltingly hot, humid air engulfed us. The city was dirty and noisy, and the bugs bit viciously. The few other non-Javanese had disembarked long before we arrived in Surabaya, and we were the only white faces in a mass of screaming Javanese -- all attempting to wrest our luggage from us. No one spoke English, not even the men in charge at the station. The amount of money they intimated they wanted for taking us to Malang was unbelievable. By snatching our luggage away from them and attempting to appear as though we were not dependent upon their mercies (which we really were) Richard bartered until the sum was only twice as much as it should have been. During the tedious transaction he found it necessary to draft the services of two Javanese girls who spoke a few words of English -- badly. For this boon we promised them a ride to Malang. This meant that the three of us, the two Javanese girls, the driver and one of his friends (we had adamantly resisted more friends) and the luggage were all welded into what had once been an automobile of remarkably ancient vintage, now serving as a taxicab. The windows wouldn't budge, so the heat of our bodies was added to the sticky heaviness. I really didn't think I would last the sixty some miles to Malang.

About forty-five minutes out of Malang, our vehicle came up with a flat tire. Actually it was rather remarkable that it didn't have four flat tires. The sun beat mercilessly upon us and various brands of insects gobbled at our pale flesh while the tire was painfully being repaired.

We had been told that upon arrival in Malang we should go to the house of Tan Ik Wan, who was the brother of Tan Ik Sing. Tak Ik Wan was a handsome Chinese Indonesian who looked around thirty-five and was nearly twenty years older than that. He greeted us with pleasure and brought us some Indonesin Creme Soda with ice. The soda was a wild drink which exploded from the bottle with vigor when the cap was lifted. The ice was so welcome that we consumed bottles of the peculiar tasting soda while he watched in astonishment. I was dirty and hot and miserable. Seeing my plight, Tan Ik Wan inquired if I would like a bath. Never has anything sounded more wonderful. I fervently and gratefully accepted and was directed toward the bathroom. The thought was almost too much for me -- the bliss of soaking in warm water with sweet-smelling soap and soft towels -- There was no bathtub. There was no shower. There was no warm water. There was no soap. And there were no towels. There was the same strange contrivance that had been in the guest house in Jakarta -- a high, square, tiled container full of cold and not very clean water. Beside it was a pan with a handle. I took off my clothes, gritted my teeth, poured a dipper of cold water over myself and suppressed a scream as it hit. I dried myself on my slip, put the slip back on and got dressed. It was not quite what I had had in mind.

We had lunch at Tan Ik Wan's house. All any of us can remember is the nangka, which is an enormous fruit, green on the outside and full of orange fingerlike projections inside. Suzanne had been warned not to refuse anything, and she ate a good bit of nangka. We later discovered she thought she had to eat as much as they pressed on her. I didn't eat much as I hadn't been very hungry, but Richard liked it and ate a lot. All I have to say is that later events caused us to remember this fruit forever. Just the smell of it can make Richard's stomach heave.

After lunch Tan Ik Wan drove us in a jeep over thirty miles of what had once been a road to our destination. It was quite a trip. When we arrived one of the missionary's children greeted us with, "Praise the Lord!" It should have sounded great, but it had the uncomfortable sound of a programmed response. It struck me as strange. A lot of things seemed strange before it was over.

That night we went to bed in borrowed sleeping bags, without sheets, in an unfamiliar house with almost no furniture, where no one lived but us. It had no electricity, no gas, no running water, no heating or cooling facilities, no candles, and a lantern we were unable to operate. We closed the windows in protest against the mosquitos and went to bed with the chickens. By the welts the next morning we could see the mosquitos had feasted, but neither mosquitos nor wind nor rain nor dark of night had been able to keep us awake.

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AOTGA - Act 12

2005-04-05T14:21:00.001+01:00

The next morning emerged fresh, cool, and beautiful. Away from the hot, coastal Surabaya, we were in the mountains and the scenery was almost unbelievable in its beauty. To us it seemed as though we might be gazing upon the first morning, untouched by any hand but that of God. In our innocence we took the children and went for a swim beneath a waterfall that looked like falling crystal. But when I lay beneath the waterfall in the pool I found the bottom was slimy, and when I gazed at the vacant hills I found them far from vacant. They were dotted with Indonesians staring at the strange beings from over the sea. I discovered there was no place on Java one could go to be alone -- people were everywhere. Another shock was that we acquired impetigo from the pool. It seems that the Indonesians do everything in that water: drink it, wash clothes in it, bathe in it, and defecate in it.

Everyone met for breakfast at the "big" house where the family of missionaries, a school teacher, and the servants lived. Breakfast was boiled rice and one small hard-boiled egg. The eggs were bantam-size and we used to call them "robin's eggs" We later learned that the egg was a luxury item which only manifested itself on certain days. It looked like a long, hard winter.

The missionary's wife was bedfast with an incurable disease. She had, of course, been prayed for by experts. We later learned that Oral Robers had been in Jakarta and she had been brought to the meeting. Oral had told a man there who later passed it on to us that he felt great compassion but just "couldn't" pray for her. It was all very mysterious. The children were extremely thin. One had contracted malaria but appeared to have recovered, and one coughed all night so that he couldn't get any sleep. It was a pathetic situation.

The first day we inquired for the toilet paper and were informed that it had been the first thing to go and we must realize that we were missionaries now. In private we used the last of our Kleenex and began to shred up our underwear. We weren't going down without a fight. Publicly I told the wife I didn't see it that way -- that I realized I was a novice and perhaps after more experience I would come around to her way of thinking, but my present thinking was that God wished to supply His children with basic equipment, such as toilet paper. I told her we must pray for these things. I had been giving her massages but had nothing with which to treat the bedsores. I looked around the dreary room where she spent her days and said, "This place is enough to keep you depressed. We'll paint it."

She replied, "Indonesian paint won't stay on the walls and you can't buy American paint here."

"That's all right," I rashly promised, "God can provide it. What color would you like?"

"Turquoise."

Insanely, to my way of thinking now, I wrote on a piece of paper: toilet paper, turquoise paint, vitamins.

"We'll pray for these things. Now we'll also need bandages for your sores and adhesive tape."

"The adhesive tape won't stick by the time it travels from the States."

"God can make it stick." And I added gauze and adhesive tape to the list.

The schoolteacher came out of her room with blood streaming down her chin. She had brushed her teeth. I added Vitamin C to the list. Lunch was boiled rice with thin vegetable soup (no meat) ladled over the top. We bought some meat and some bananas and mangos, but money was getting low. I added food to the prayer list. I suggested that bulgar wheat would be much healthier for the children than white rice. We were told it wasn't grown there, and could not be bought in the stores.

We did a lot of praying.

We were all sick most of the time. We had what Rick unoriginally labelled "Sukarno's Revenge." It was little wonder we were sick. Because of the fuel shortage, the drinking water would only be heated to a boil. Later a physician friend told us that was like doing nothing at all. Actually what it did was spoil the taste by making it slightly warm.

At the time we left for Indonesia we had a small regular income that we naively expected to have sent on to us. Not only was the small income abruptly terminated, but we discovered there ws no way for us to have money sent into the country. Some of our friends had decided they wished to send something every month toward our venture but we couldn't get at it, which became very frustrating since there were many people we wanted to help. We asked Loraine to buy some of the things needed with the money and send them to us air mail (sea mail simply didn't arrive).

So daily we walked to the village in anticipation of mail. It was over a mile and walking over what had once been a road was more difficult than it would have been walking through the fields. The postman would "sell" our packages to us for whatever he thought the traffic would bear. No money: no package. All letters were opened and perused -- even aerograms -- and anything inside was confiscated. It was illegal to receive money, checks, money orders, etc. It was all rather amusing in a perverted sort of way. The postman could not read English; he only pretended to. Whenever he saw figures in a letter he wanted to know if they indicated money, and made us read whatever it said. We had written Loraine to send us things we felt we couldn't do without: screening to keep the flies and mosquitos out, Tampax, and some things for the children. But the most amusing thing was the Tampax. It confused the postmaster so thoroughly that he took it apart -- I supose to see if it was filled with heroin or gunpowder.

Suzy stopped eating. She didn't like the food, so she simply didn't eat it. She was sick and there were no doctors, so all we could do was pray. One day when we were alone she moaned that all she wanted to eat was bread and cheese. It was like ordering caviar and oysters. As I prayed that day I said, "Lord, I know it's impossible but all things are possible with You. Please send her some bread and cheese." Within an hour the eleven-year-old boy from the missionary family came to the door and said, "I baked Suzy a loaf of bread. Do you think she could eat it?" He handed me a hot, crusty loaf of beautiful white bread, fresh from the oven. I stared dumbfounded as from his pocket he pulled a rusty can of Kraft cheese. It must have been years old. "Mom found this and thought Suzy might like it." The bread was delicious. I said, "David, did you ever bake bread before?"

"No."

"What made you do it?"

"I thought Suzy might like it."

"How did you know how?"

"I dunno."

No one can tel our family Someone isn't there Who hears and cares -- and answers prayer. Later David tried to bake bread again, but it came out the half-raw doughy mess that one would expect from an eleven-year-old boy who wasn't a baker.

A day of rejoicing came. Tan Ik Wan arrived bringing some supplies we had asked him to buy for us; toilet paper, bread, tinned cheese and soap. Best of all, he wouldn't accept our money. I guess he knew we were about out of it.

While he was there a woman came to visit. Ik Wan, as he asked us to call him, introduced us. She was a serious Christian who had been a witch doctor. I asked her if she had received the gift of the Spirit. Ik Wan said he hadn't gotten around to telling her about that yet. We all prayed for her and the ex-witch doctor began to speak in a heavenly language. She left rejoicing.

Several miles away lived a man who was dying of tuberculosis. He had a wife and a baby, and they were all starving. Rick and the children went to see them, prayed with them, and took what food we had. But we all knew they needed milk and eggs. The other Christians did what they could, which wasn't very much as they were very poor also. If they were fortunate enough to have a scrawny hen or cow who produced, the product had to be sold to buy rice for the family. No one could afford the luxury of eating eggs or milk, or giving them away. On my prayer list went milk and eggs.

One day as Rick and I trudged back from the post office, I mentioned I would like some khaki drill cloth, such as the US Army uses for summer uniforms, to make a pair of long shorts and a shirt for for this kind of tropical hiking. Rick said I wouldn't find it in Indonesia and I agreed. Just then we saw someone with a piece of ice. Ice! Real ice! My mouth watered. The perspiration was rolling down our faces and the rest of us as well. Since no one spoke English it was quite an undertaking, but we eventually tracked down the source. It had come from the milk company. One of the children interpreted that we wanted to buy some. This made no sense to anyone as they knew we didn't have an ice box, but we persevered. Under questioning they assured us it was sterile ice made from boiled water. This was ridiculous and we knew better, but we took it anyway. When one is that hot and miserable and longing for a cold drink, a little thing like germs doesn't seem to matter. It seemed inconceivable that we could be sicker than we were most of the time anyway. So we lugged the rapidly-melting ice back up the hill and for the first time had cold water. It was a red-letter day.

We talked with the kids and their mother about God. They were very "religious" and had all of the right answers, but there was something rather sad about it. Sometimes the children seemed more like little old men and women than children, and they had been without everything for so long that I don't think they really thought God cared anymore -- or perhaps He never had. I wonder if inside they really believed He was there.

One noon after the bowl of boiled rice with two tablespoons of meatless soup poured over it, the thought came to me that since God had sent us there we had a right to expect more than this. I told the people at the table that I didn't think this was a satisfactory diet. Rick agreed and we said we were going to go to our house and pray for money. We went into the chairless bedroom, lay down on the bed, and told God the food was not adequate, that we knew He wanted to provide better, and asked that He send us some money. We got up and carefully looked through our billfolds. Nothing. We searched the pockets of our clothing. Empty. We went through everything we owned, praying all of the time. We even searched the linings of our suitcases. We had no money at all. We lay back down on our bed and prayed importunately for about a half an hour. I got up and picked up Rick's wallet and looked inside. We had already searched it thoroughly several times. Immediately inside, not hidden at all, was a fifty rupiah note!

We joyously ran to tell everyone and the kids went with us to the nearest "store," a shack with a dirt floor, where there were a few odd things for sale. We bought peanuts and bananas. They don't use coins in Indonesia, only paper money; the few rupiahs in change were counted carefully into Becky's palm. She counted it into mine. I counted it again and put it in my pocket. It wasn't very much. We happily trooped back to the house and shared the bananas and peanuts with everyone. There was plenty and everyone was full, and full of praise to God.

That night rice and soup again, and again we were hungry. I suggested we go to the store and see what we could buy with the leftover money. Perhaps it would purchase a few peanuts. When we arrived at the store I pulled the change from my pocket and with it was another fifty rupiahs -- only this time it was two twenty-five rupiah notes, whereas before it had been one fifty. Again we feasted, this time on peanuts and pomelo (something like grapefruit) and blessed God.

The next day Tan Ik Wan arrived unexpectedly with meat, flour, sugar, bread, and fruit. He had come to persuade us to speak to a group from his church (sort of a cross between Presbyterian and Dutch Reformed). On the way to Malang, he advised that the Director of World Vision had heard we were there, had always wanted to meet us, and had made Ik Wan promise to bring us to see them. I was not enthused. I was concerned about a lot of things and didn't want to spend time socializing. It has never been my line; I have no small talk. However, what could we say to this fine Christian if he wanted us to do something to please him? We knew him well enough by this time that we were impressed. He wasn't one of the money guys, or the power guys, or the troublemakers, or the get-my-picture-in-the-paper guys. He struck us as sincerely being in love with Christ and wanting everyone to know how great He was. He was our kind of people. We agreed to suffer this handshaking bit at World Vision.

Just before we left the United States, Rick had been rubbing my back one night while he read. I was in that in-between state, not certain of being awake or asleep, when I saw in front of me an interesting-looking house. I appeared to be watching and at the same time participating. I opened the gate and went inside. There was a formal rose garden on the right and I began to walk toward the rear of the house. Keeping my eyes closed so the picture wouldn't disappear I said to Rick, "It can't be Indonesia we are going to: this is no little grass shack but a magnificent edifice." He asked what it was like, and I told him I didn't know how to describe the house as it was modern architecture in a style I was unfamiliar with, had formal gardens and a large patio. As I walked toward the patio I could see another building behind the first one. The patio was roofed and was separated from the gardens by another gate. I raised the latch on the second gate, and as I did the "picture" vanished. It was one more of those incredible experiences that seem to happen to people who have received the Spirit -- but so far I didn't know what it meant.

Feeling like a passenger in "Mr Toad's Wild Ride," I breathed a sigh of relief as after thirty miles of rocky Indonesian "road" we pulled into the driveway of a spectacular house with formal rose gardens, a large patio, and another building behind the house. It was the house I had seen when I was half asleep before I left California! The architecture was Dutch. It was the largest house in Malang, located at 2 Bromo Street, and now the headquarters of World Vision.

Spencer DeJong was the acting Director of World Vision for one year. He was big, of Dutch descent, and looked like a man who enjoyed his food. His wife, AAmy, was also of Dutch descent. Spense was a minister of the Reformed church, and both he and Amy had received the Holy Spirit. We were kindred spirits immediately. They wanted a sympathetic ear and poured out their problems -- and they had a lot of them. The mess he had been left to clean up was shocking. For three days they had found it necessary to burn vitamins which had spoiled. They asked us to come and look at the problems they had in the warehouse. Obediently we trooped along. Inside Spence pointed to a pyramid of cans of paint. "There is American paint drying up. You couldn't use some paint, could you?"

Hesitatingly, I answered with a question, "You wouldn't have any turquoise, would you?"

"I don't think so. They just send us colors that no one wants. We have a lot of gray."

He looked through the labels. "Here's a box of turquoise!"

It was six cans -- more than enough to paint the sick missionary's bedroom.

Spence continued to tell us his troubles as we wandered through the warehouse. "Look at that -- cases of Gerber's egg yolks. What can I do with that? The Indonesians won't eat anything but rice. Here, take some." He handed me a case of Gerber's egg yolks. We had prayed for eggs.

"Here. You'll need powdered milk if you're going to live here. It's almost impossible to get fresh milk." The tubercular family now had eggs and milk.

"You had better take some vitamins." He loaded us down with bottles of vitamins. "Any special kind you want?"

"Do you have any Vitamin C?"

"No. They didn't send that."

We wandered on. They gave us several cases of soup. Amy saw some large rolls of gauze and cut some off for us. "You can use this for all sorts of things," she told us. "We knew what we were going to use it for.

As we left the warehouse one of them said, "That box belonged to the previous director. We're going to throw it out. Why don't you see if there is anything in it you can use?" It contained half of a large bottle of Vitamin C and most of a box of surgical tape -- the kind that never loses its sticking power.

We now had everything we had prayed for, and we had not asked anyone for anything!

We left for Tan Ik Wan's house. Spence was coming to our meeting that afternoon, and we were returning home with him for supper. I spoke, and Spence counted around forty who were baptized with the Holy Spirit afterward. He was very happy about it, and he and Ik Wan said one woman who didn't know English began speaking English when she received the Spirit.

Dinner was roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes and fried eggplant. We hadn't had that kind of food in a long time. The three of us ate until we could hardly move. The next morning at breakfast Amy said, "This is the only kind of cloth we have, but we have bolts and bolts of it. I'm going to cut some off for you and you can have some shirts made for Rick." She unrolled a huge bolt of khaki drill cloth and snipped off enough for two outfits apiece for Rick and me. Now that was something we hadn't even prayed for!

Amy and Spence insisted we stay a few days, before we returned. When they heard we had no washcloths, towels, or sheets, they fished around in a missionary barrel and found several old wash cloths and three or four towels. They insisted upon buying material for us (which we later were able to pay for) and I made sheets on Amy's old treadle sewing meachine. She asked if there was anything else we needed. I told her the only thing was bulgar wheat -- that we needed some sort of staple diet for everyone that would be healthier than refined rice. She didn't know anything about that. Later I saw the cook ladling cracked bulgar wheat from a burlap bag. "That's it," I cried to Amy. "That," Amy said, "is what they feed the watchdog." On the bag was stenciled, A Gift From America to the People of Indonesia. We had our bulgar wheat.

We had left for Malang with no money and no resources. When we arrived back at the "ranch" it was with food, soap, vitamins, surgical supplies, material and turquoise paint. While we had been absent, the screening had arrived from the group at home. Rick screened the missionaries' bedroom and painted it turquoise. I made new curtains. There were canned goods to supplement the rice meals and wheat cereal for breakfast. A different atmosphere began to permeate the old homestead. It looked as though Someone cared after all.

The missionary returned from the bush. His wife had been waiting several months in anxious anticipation. He hugged Rick and shook hands with his wife.

Everyone gathered together nightly for prayer and Holy Communion. One night I had the feeling that we were going to leave. Since we had no money and no way to get to Jakarta to use our tickets home, it was very odd. I whispered to Rick, "I think we're going to heave here soon and come back only for our clothes." Rick whispered back, "I'm with you."

When we went to our house that night, for the very first time Suzanne began to cry and said, "I don't like it here. I want to leave." I said, "It's OK. Don't cry. We are leaving in the morning and we are not coming back." How could I make such a statement????

We had made arrangements to go to Surabaya with the DeJongs the next morning. I don't know why, as we had no money with which to shop and Surabaya is not noted for its beauty. Bright and early we hiked to the village and hitched a ride on the milk truck. This is an experience that no one should do without. It was a stake struck full of milk cans. The circumference of a milk can lid is very small and does not fit American bottoms. Nevertheless we picked our cans and perched on them while the Indonesians did the same. Then the milk truck tore off. It was like riding a bucking bronco for thirty miles with assorted chickens, produce, and arms or legs being thrust into one's face or other parts of the anatomy. I was sore for days afterward.

In Malang we stopped at Ik Wan's house, which was nearer to the milk run stop than World Vision, but Ik Wan was at his tanning factory. We only had the equivalent of ten cents US, which is exactly what was needed for a betja to World Vision. A betja is a rickshaw pushed by a man on a tricycle. From World Vision, Spence took us to Batu, where they lived, and from there we journeyed to Surabaya for a day of seeing the sights. They actually have a department store in Surabaya!

That evening the telephone at Batu rang. Yes, they even had a telephone -- such luxury. Ik Wan was on the other end. "The servants told me you would be in Batu. Last week God woke me in the night and told me to go to Jakarta, Bandung, and Semarang (about 500 miles away) and set up speaking engagements for you. I couldn't tell you because you were in the mountains with no telephone so I flew to those cities and booked you to speak, and you must leave at once."

"But we have no clothes with us."

"You can return to get your clothes, but then you will have to go. They are expecting you in Jakarta to preach."

I had been right: we really were leaving. And it is true that we never went back again except to get our clothes. In the village, rocks had been thrown at Suzy because she had blonde hair and blue eyes and the Indonesians thought she was Dutch. The umbilical cord had been cut. We were on our own in a country where no one liked foreigners, with no money, and no moxie. I felt like Pearl White again, hanging on a cliff clutching a boulder that was breaking loose --

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AOTGA - Act 13

2005-04-05T14:21:00.000+01:00

The three of us packed to go to Jakarta -- with no money. How were we to get there? Maurice Nelles had mailed Loraine $200 for our use, but it didn't help much in a bank in California. Spence thought he could have it sent into the country through a missionary organization, but that brought no relief for the present. Ik Wan treated us to a Chinese dinner and his chauffeur drove us to Surabaya to board the train. Just before we departed he pressed a handful of rupiahs into Rick's hand to pay for the tickets. It was enough to purchase three tickets to Jakarta and back on the Lemax, a rather undependable train on which one had to sit up all night. This is the train Ik Wan expected us to take, but we wanted to take the Bima so we could sleep. There was enough money to take the Bima one way if we wanted to trust God to get us back. We weighed the possibilities. Finally we decided that it might not be quite honest to take the better train if Ik Wan meant for us to take the Lemax.

The train ride will always be remembered as one of our most traumatic events. There were bugs in the seats, and they bit us so violently that we were a mass of welts. The air conditioning went out (as it usually does, I understand) and because the train is supposed to be air-conditioned, the windows do not open. The train broke down and remained in one place six hours. They ran out of food and water, and there was no place to take care of the urgencies of nature. The heat was unbearable. Suzy lay on the seat with perspiration rolling off her in great drops. We were all so unhappy and miserable that we wanted to cry. I had the symptoms of heat prostration. How could this be happening to us? There was nothing to do but pray and we did -- steadily. While Suzy was asleep, Rick and I went out and sat between the cars for a breath of air. We prayed and prayed and prayed. It came to me suddenly that we didn't have to live like this -- we were children of the King! I felt it was a revelation.

We knew what was in store fo rus in Jakarta: heat and bugs and water and food that would make us sick. We knew we were to stay with Indonesian Christians, and Indonesians don't have screens on their windows or worry much about sanitation, as we know it. So far we were just not tough enough for that kind of life. The thought came to me that we should go to the Hotel Indonesia. We didn't have enough money to live that way, and we knew the Indonesian Christians wouldn't like it because they thought the hotel a wicked place. However, I strongly felt it was right for us to go. A lot of people with the same feelings would say God told them to do it. I never say that, but inside I thought it was from God.

After eighteen hours the train dragged into Jakarta. Tan Ik Sing met us and we broke the news that we wanted to be left at the Hotel Indonesia. He informed us he had made arrangements for us to stay with a Christian family. Feeling like ungrateful imperialists we declined. The whole thing was a fiasco -- we didn't have any money to speak of, so why were we going to an expensive hotel? But we were adamant, and on the way to the hotel Tan Ik Sing casually asked if we knew the Rev Spencer DeJong and mentioned that he was in the city. How could Spence be here, 550 miles away from Batu where we had just left him? Ik Sing must be mistaken. Ik Sing resignedly let us out at the hotel and drove away leaving us feeling pretty foolish. We went inside. There were no vacancies, and if there had been any they only accepted American money, of which we were long out. We asked if Spencer DeJong had checked in. The desk clerk said he was in his room. We went up to see him, and during the conversation Spence nonchalantly remarked that he had $250 that had come from America for us. When he discovered we were there for a week to speak in churches, he telephoned a friend and obtained a room for us in a guest house for visiting ministers. The minister in charge told me it was designed to protect visitors from culture shock. It was air-conditioned, screened, and possessed three beds with sheets and pillows. Breakfast was included, and it was ours for a week free of charge. Our Boss had come through again!

Many adjectives could be employed to describe Jakarta, and even so it would be impossible to do it justice. Through the middle of the city runs a canal which has been called "the longest latrine in the world." One of the news magazine wrote that the canal had been tested for typhoid bacilli, but it was discovered that the water is so foul typhoid germs cannot live in it. As we rode through the city streets, we could see across the canal to the other side and along it a row of bare bottoms extended over the water. For poor people this serves the purpose of public rest rooms. Nearby is the modern Hotel Indonesia with all the conveniences, but in the elegant fountain in front of the hotel it is not unusual to see children urinating.

The pasar (open market) is fantastic. To a foreigner the odor is almost unbearable. It is a combination of dried fish, tobacco, grain, fruit, and vegetables, mingled with the ever-present smell of excreta. At the same time the place is fascinating. Nowhere in the world have I seen such fruit: ripe tangerines the color of jade; purple mangsteen with yummy white centers; infinite varieties of bananas; rambutan looking for all the world like huge hairy strawberries; salak covered with "snakeskin" and ivory-hued inside with an unforgettable flavor; durien with spikes like a land mine and an odor so foul that most people cannot get it past the nose to eat the creamy fruit; blimbing, crisp and green and slightly sour; djambu, green or red and tasting like an apple; yellow-green pomelos; mangoes of varied types and sizes; and sawoh, a brownish fruit the size and shape of an egg that tastes like brown sugar. When we had money we tried them all.

The Bible states that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, but when I rose to speak in Tak Ik Sing's Presbyterian church it was not witnesses but great clouds of mosquitos which surrounded me. It took enormous self-control not to scratch and dig at the bites as I spoke. At the end of the talk an attorney general in the Army was the first of a number of people to be baptized with the Holy Spirit.

The next night Rick was to speak in a branch of the same church but I was ill, probably from the mosquito bites, which covered me from stem to stern. Of course the people inquired where I was. Rick tried out his Indonesian and attempted to tell them that I had stomach sickness. Amazemnet and consternation appeared upon their faces. It seems that instead of saying, "Sakit berut," he had said, "Sakit baru," which means a "new" sickness!

But that error didn't have nearly as much potential as the one made by a missionary who gave his Chinese servant some money and sent him out for a chicken. The servant was gone for several hours and came back in discouragement to inform his master he would have to have more money as no wife would come for that amount!

Before leaving East Java I had experienced a nightmare in which I had a confrontation with a witch doctor. I awakened to Richard shaking me and I was still saying, "In the name of Jesus -- in the name of Jesus." I had occasion to remember that dream the third night in Jakarta. It was in another church, and I was telling of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at St Mark's and was being interpreted by a college student. As I arrived at the crucial part, the interpreter suddenly became ill and sat down. Tan Ik Sing rose to interpret, but as I again reached the central part of the story, the boy who had been interpreting went out cold with a crash. Several people immediately prayed over him. Another brought water. Other people did other things. Peculiarly, nothing worked and he stayed unconscious. I leaned over him and said quietly but firmly, "Release him in the name of Jesus -- in the name of Jesus!" Instantly he snapped to. At the same time, an odd-looking elderly woman slipped away into the crowd and disappeared. Richard said she had been staring malevolently at the interpreter for some time before he became ill and he wondered if she were putting a "spell" on him. We never knew, but we did see things much stranger than this before we left the Orient -- and we learned a lot of what went on behind the scenes.

On the train I had persuaded Rick to buy a small green parrot a boy was selling through the train window. It cost the equivalent of twelve cents US and was very friendly. However, the parrot kept picking the chain off its leg, and one night Rick reached for his slippers and a horrible squawking came forth from beneath the bed. It was the parrot, who was angry because he thought Rick was going to put the chain back on his foot. The next day the people where we were staying borrowed a birdcage for the parrot. We went to church that night, and when we returned the parrot was on top of the cage instead of inside. He had chewed a hole in the cage. He didn't want to go anywhere: he simply wanted to make his own decisions.

After a week of speaking engagements, we left by train for Bandung. We purchased a tightly-woven rattan basket to carry Sydney in. We had named him Sydney after the parrot in "Fearless Fosdick" who was the head of a gang of criminals. Anyone who could saw out of a cage like Sydney must have had a criminal background.

It was late when we arrived in Bandung and we went to the Savoy-Homann Hotel. The hotel must originally have been modeled on the order of the Savoy in London, but as of now there were a number of differences. It boasted Oriental rugs, but they were worn to threads and so filthy that a cloud of dust arose each time a foot touched them. There were a number of buzzers, each with three buttons -- just like the Savoy in London. The difference was that when one pushed these buttons no one came -- they were not connected. The bathroom was incredible -- it looked as though a bomb had just struck it. Perhaps a bomb had struck it. The sheets were pure linen -- just like London -- but they were gray with age and patched on top of the patches. Nothing in the hotel appeared to operate, but when we studied the menu in the dining room we were amazed and delighted to discover there were a number of choices and the fresh cream of mushroom soup was a gourmet treat.

But at 4:00 AM we were awakened by the most terrifying wailing one can possibly imagine. I thought all of the air raid sirens in town had exploded into sound. But who was attacking? We ran to the window, but there was nothing to see. We telephoned the desk and no one answered. Since we could do nothing at all we went back to sleep, although I half expected soldiers to break down the door and enter. The next day we discovered the hotel was next to a large mosque and we had heard the dawn call to prayer.

We located the minister we had been advised to contact and, although we were expected, no one had decided where to put us. We journeyed from house to house while the involved people conducted discussions about what to do with us. Sydney became restless in his rattan basket. At last in desperation the pastor took us home -- he lived with his son -- and put us in the guest house. As we went up to the guest house, blood dripped from Sydney's basket. It seems he was so impatient to exit he had chewed a hole in the basket and the sharp rattan had cut his foot. It was bleeding badly. We knew that birds frequently bleed to death when they suffer a cut on a toe. We couldn't staunch the blood and, of course, there are no veterinarians in Indonesia -- there are practically no doctors. In desperation we prayed that the blood would stop at once. It did. But Sydney would not allow us to bandage the wound, and we knew that when a scab formed he would peck it off. We prayed that the cut would disappear and no scab would need to form. It did -- immediately. We couldn't believe our eyes. As I mopped up the blood, I decided the poor parrot would die anyway from loss of blood and that we should pray specifically for him to be as frisky as ever. He must have felt pretty good because the next morning before we awakened he had taken the screen off the ventilation hole and had flown out the window. Perhaps we overdid the prayer for that bird.

The pastor had an interesting history. He had been a wealthy businessman with sharp practices. Having been caught and jailed, he knew he was in there for years. A minister told him about Christ. He thought it over and told Christ that if He got him out of jail he would serve Him forever. Amazingly, he was released. He divided everything he owned among his children and has served God ever since. But his wife was not a Christian -- somehow he had never been able to reach her. Whle we were there we spent some time with her, and one day she was convinced, accepted a new Master, and was filled with the Holy Spirit. While she was praying, the pastor left the room. When he returned his eyes were damp. It was one of the nicest things that happened to us, to have had a part in providing the new relationship with one another they appeared to acquired.

Suzy spoke in his church, by invitation, one Sunday morning. It was a lovely little church, and eleven-year-old Suzy looked like the picture book version of an angel with her blonde hair and blue eyes. She was surrounded by the pastor, the interpreter, and the deacons -- all dark-complexioned Indonesians. After listening to her, a number of people became Christians and had an Ephesus experience. Later she spoke in a large church in the same city with similar results.

We really liked the people we met in Bandung. As always, we had difficult time with the mosquitos, but the pastor, in particular, was so charming that he made up for a lot of things. He took us to the markets, and he kept buying little delicacies he thought we might like. We had cheese in Bandung -- real cheese. In most of Indonesia fresh cheese is unobtainable, because the Indonesians have totally rejected everything Dutch. But an old Dutch priest living there made delicious cheese -- it was somewhat like that wonderful Vermont cheese which is too delicate to ship. There was also something interpreted as pigs' feet. I think it must have been meat from the feet ground with something or other, cooked, made into a sausage and sliced. It was served with cucumbers and was worth the trip. It seemed that every church we spoke in had a dinner for us before we left -- usually Chinese food -- and it was always very special. Many Christians were baptized in the Holy Spirit while we were there. Later we were told by the missionary in East Java that the people in Bandung were cold and unresponsive toward the work of the Spirit, and had fought him bitterly when he preached there. It was difficult to believe and made us wonder how they had been approached. We had found them warm, responsive, and hospitable.

The day Sydney flew out the window, Suzy had gone out into the garden, prayed, and picked him off a bush. To contain him somewhat, we purchased a wire cage. He simply bent the wires apart and left. Richard kept twisting coathangers through the wires and fastening them, but invincible Sydney was jailproof and eventually he left for good.

Suzy was heartbroken, so we bought her a dove in the marketplace. A Chinese Indonesian from one of the churches purchased and made her a gift of a mate for the dove and a cage. It was an enormous bamboo monstrosity. At a dinner party the gentleman spent a lot of time conversing with Suzy and obtained her address in the US. The thought gnawed at me that the gift might be an Indonesian betrothal ritual and years later in Van Nuys, I might open the door to the Indonesian gentleman come to claim his bride! So far this hasn't happened, but so far we haven't spent much time in Van Nuys.

The pastor's son was quite well off, and we were informed we could have a bath whenever we desired -- with hot water! This was an innovation indeed, and I could hardly wait. The bathroom sported a real bathtub, but it was full of water and obviously had not been used for some time, so this could not be the accepted procedure. There was also a peculiar contraption called a geyzer (geezer) on the wall. The man of the house lit it for me, told me to watch out because it was dangerous, and departed. It was somewhat intimidating. However, I was determined. By this time the geyser was leaking scalding water. This was a bit confusing, as I was not used to bathing in dripping boiling water. After stripping, I considered standing under the drip, but this was not feasible unless I wanted to exit skinless. It appeared the only thing to do was catch the water in the dippper, mix it with cold water, and pour that over me. It was a lengthy process. As I soaped myself, I turned off the water so it wouldn't be wasted, and the infernal machine began to huff and puff steam. I was frightened but certain there was really nothing to be afraid of. I tried to turn off the flame, but the more knobs I twisted the wilder it became. Suddenly the flame burst into a blazing fire and black smoke billowed forth. What should I do? I could hardly run for help as I was stark naked. I snatched a towel and just then the machine hissed loudly as though it would explode any second. I was terried but thought, "I simply can't go out there naked. If I die I die." As it hissed and screeched and the room filled with steam and smoke I hurriedly dressed, sure that every second was my last, unlocked the door and tore off for the maid. She came, took one look, screamed, and ran for the master. He turned it off. It seems you must not turn the water off while the creature is lighted. That was my first and last hot bath in Bandung. Who knows -- I might have a bad heart -- why take chances?

One night when Rick spoke in a large church a man told him that as Richard talked he distincly "saw" a jeweled kris. The kris is a sword with a wavy blade and is one of the most cherished gifts, carrying deep symbolism. As he watched, the kris changed into a cross, and he told Richard it was God's way of revealing to him what the best gift is and so he accepted Christ as Lord. We had no method of estimating how many hundreds of people discovered the "best gift," but three hundred had gone on to receive the Spirit. It had been a full trip.

When it was time to return to Batu (where we were to spend Christmas with the DeJongs) we discovered we had to go first to Jakarta in order to get to East Java. The old joke was pertinent: "You can't get there from here." So we took the train to Jakarta where we discovered we could not get a train to East Java until the next day. We had enough rupiahs to take the Bima to Surabaya and twenty-five US dollars, with which we decided to buy ourselves a night at the Hotel Indonesia for a Christmas present. Since we had to stay overnight we might as well make a holiday of it (the guest house was not available this time). It was very exciting to be able to spend a night in a hotel with a bathtub -- we could hardly wait. However, we only had enough left to have a hamburger apiece in the coffee shop -- we couldn't buy a real dinner.

The Hotel Indonesia is an elegant establishment and naturally they don't allow pets. Imagine their consternation when we checked in dirty and disheveled with an enormous bamboo birdcage complete with two doves! They couldn't believe it, and of course it was against the rules. The clerk conferred with someone else at length and said to me, pointing to the birds, "Those aren't yours?" I was fearful they were not going to allow us a room -- we wanted to stay so badly. I replied regally, just as though every American naturally carries around a pair of doves complete with bamboo cage, "Certainly." The clerks had another whispered conference and finally sent us upstairs with the roomboy who tactfully placed the doves on the terrace.

In the middle of all of this confusion, Rick said facetiously, "We're about out of money. I wonder if Spence is here."

"Don't be ridiculous," I retorted, "God never does things the same way twice."

"I'm going to ask the clerk anyway."

"That's silly."

Rick said, "Is Spencer DeJong here?"

The clerk said, "Yes." Asians always answer in the affirmative if they don't understand. Richard spoke very slowly, "The Rev Spencer DeJong."

"He's behind you," the clerk said.

Bearing down on us, beaming from ear to ear, were Spence and Amy! We hugged warmly and Spence said, "For a Christmas present, I'm going to buy you the best dinner in Jakarta." And he did.

Spence and Amy said they had flown to Singapore to see their son depart but they had arrived too late. When they returned to Jakarta they couldn't get a plane to East Java. They had waited for five days, and now in desperation they were ready to go by train but they couldn't even get a train reservation. And there they sat in the hotel -- and here we were. I said, "You didn't receive any more money for us, did you?"

"No. None came in. I could call our office here but if it had come they would have notified me."

"Would you call?"

"Sure, but I know there's no use."

We went to our separate rooms and soon after Spence and Amy came tearing down the hall and requested we come to their room, where they stated that $550 had been received in our names. As we cheered the telephone rang. It was Garuda Airlines, calling to inform them they had the long awaited reservations. Spence hung up the telephone, looked at us thoughtfully, and said, "I think we were kep here just for you." We thought so too!

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AOTGA - Act 14

2005-04-05T14:20:00.000+01:00

Christmas shopping in Jakarta --

Well, we called it Christmas shopping. We bought a ball for Suzy, a Chinese-style bathrobe for Rick which soon fell apart because the material was ancient, and a red bath towel for me -- which still fades when it is used. But it was better than what we had been planning to have -- which was nothing. We traveled luxuriously (as opposed to the style to which we were becoming accustomed) by economy class on the Bima to Surabaya. When we arrived (by various means) in Malang, Ik Wan informed us Spence and Amy had left the city and would be back for Christmas, and that we were to stay with him.

Ik Wan and his family lived in the house where he had lived as a child. It was large, with a court in the rear. Rooms were built off the court. His daughter, son-in-law, and baby lived in an apartment which had been appended. There were numerous servants, and life had a certain carelessness which one seldom finds in America. Lunch was cooked by a number of servants during the morning and was put on the table when ready, although it might not be eaten until three o'clock in the afternoon. Whether it was hot or cold was of no concern. Dinner was the remains of lunch, although a dish or two might be added. Breakfast was what remained and was not heated. The first day we were there, something special was served for lunch: octopus cooked in its own black ink and served with rice. It didn't turn me on, as it was rubbery and tasteless and the idea was not too appetizing. But the next morning at breakfast, cold, it was even harder to face. We just couldn't quite make it, so we pleaded to omit breakfast as we were too fat anyway. We lost ten pounds that week.

However, the Tans are very intelligent, and I think they caught on that breakfast wasn't appealing to us, so they had bread and Kraft cheese a few days later, which was kind of them. Breakfast isn't much fun in Indonesia anyway because Javanese coffee isn't what one has been led to believe. It is really foul. The only excuse I can find is that they ship all of the good coffee somewhere else, but in those days they were not exporting so it is difficult to explain.

Christmas came and seemed very strange. There were no carols or decorations in the shops and houses, and no one mentioned Christmas. We celebrated with the DeJongs and an awful imitation tree someone had unearthed and some worse looking artificial flowers for trimming. Our gifts were pretty bad: stale and slightly wormy Hershey bars, colored pencils in a box, and ten-cent sharpener. To demonstrate the lack of goods to buy, we discovered Christmas morning that Suzy and I had each bought the other one a handkerchief -- and they were exactly alike! Surprisingly enough, Suzy was a good sport about our unusual Christmas -- outstanding, in fact. It was difficult to recognize the spoiled little daughter who used to turn up her nose at her clothing unless it was purchased at I Magnin's. December 28 was our Christmas -- twenty-four boxes came from home. Many of them were things we had ordered for friends, so we had a ball giving and receiving.

We continued to speak in churches and to other groups. We met the Indonesian who had been Corrie ten Boom's interpreter and she received the Spirit. Our next trip was by train to Semarang to fulfill the speaking engagements Ik Wan had arranged. The first stop was Surabaya, where we were to speak in a church. There we stayed with a family who owned a restaurant. The living quarters were behind the restaurant. The heat in Surabaya is impossible, day or night, the mosquitos bit incessantly, and the cockroaches were astonishing -- they seemed to me to be as large as golf balls, and they were everywhere.

We were tired and hot and dirty when we arrived. Our bites itched and hurt, and when we poured cold water over ourselves we immediately began to perspire again until we were once more soaked. It was a bad night all round. A seamstress in Malang had made me a new cotton dress from some material Amy had given me, and I was wearing it for the first time. As we waited outside, our host backed up so we could enter his automobile. Grease from the rear shot out in a stream as though it were an oil slick from a James Bond car, and I emerged sprayed with black oil from head to foot. Even my face was black. I went back to the room and cried! It was all too much: the heat, the dirt, the bugs, the exhaustion, the lack of normal facilities. I sobbed vehemently, "I've had enough. I'm not going to Semarang. I'm going to take my ticket and go home tomorrow." I expected Rick to say something pious, but he said, "Not without me, you're not!" It struck me so funny that I burst out laughing and everything was all right again. However, I didn't have time to dress again and arrive at church on time, so Rick went without me. After I had cleaned up, I wandered out to the restaurant. Our host offered me something cold to drink and we talked. He hadn't gone to church because he didn't want the baptism in the Spirit. By the time Rick arrived home with our hostess, who had received the gift of the Spirit at church, our host was speaking in tongues. It makes me wonder about that grease --

In Semarang we stayed in the home of a dentist. I was melting from the heat, and as I lay on the bed and prayed to be cool again, my eyes fell from the ceiling to an enormous wardrobe. There, obviously unused, was a large electric fan -- and this house had electricity! Things were looking up.

Our hosts were charming and we enjoyed them. I was to speak Sunday morning in their church -- a very large one by Indonesian standards. When we arrived, we were led to the platform in front of the congregation. As I sat quietly listening to the preliminaries, which were held in Indonesian, I suddenly realized that I was about to rise and address hundreds of people in a white nylon jersey dress and in my hurry I had forgotten to put on a petticoat! I must have looked like an Egyptian dancer. I sat and thought about making Rick speak -- but how would I explain it? I toyed with exiting, fainting, refusing to move -- nothing seemed practical. Eventually after a whispered conference with Rick, my hostess drove me home for my petticoat. Despite the inauspicious beginning, a hundred people were baptized with the Holy Spirit in the three days we were guests of the church, and it was there we had our first real confrontation with white magic and black magic.

Among the many who stayed after church to be prayed with were two men who distressed us. There was something very wrong. When we talked to them about Christ they appeared to become very nervous. However, either of them could look us in the eye and say he was a Christian. But after a lengthy session with one I finally said, "Does the blood of Jesus cover you?" This doesn't sound very sophisticated for the twentieth century, but it worked. He cringed and wouldn't look at me and began to shake and finally muttered, "Not yet." The same thing occurred with the other man when Richard talked to him. The story was that one man was in black magic: he had worshipped Satan and knew it. The other man was in white magic: he carried "charms" and made "spells" and did not live a moral life. The results were the same: they were wretched specimens of humanity: nervous, frightened, sick and heard voices. After three sessions Richard commanded the man in black magic to look him in the eye, and for less than a second he did. But then his lids fell over his eyes, and he couldn't seem to raise them. Richard said, "Release him in the name of Jesus!" The man repeated, "Dalan nama Jesus," and his face relaxed and he smiled. When Richard left him, he seemed to be another man. But the man in white magic had refused to part with his charms and his sin, and he stayed in the misery he had made for himself. One had escaped by grace.

Exhausted after a week of engagements in the intense heat, we went on a five-day vacation to Jogjakarta. This was the home of the former sultan and center of Indonesian culture. One of the three luxury hotels in Indonesia is in Jogja, as it is familiarly called. Fortunately for us, this one was not doing too well and so they accepted Indonesian money -- which is the only kind we had. The hotel was marvelous: clean and elegant. Sunday we attended a Baptist church. The minister and his wife offered to show us the sights of Jogja: temple rubbings, silver factory, sultan's palace, etc. But somehow or other we began talking before we got started and we spent the entire day telling them about the baptism in the Spirit and our trip to Asia. At the end of the day they told us it had been the most exciting day of their lives. Several years later a Baptist minister in Hong Kong told me that after we left there had been an outpouring of the Holy Spirit among Baptists in that area, and we were delighted to learn it had begun with that family.

Back to Semarang where we spoke to the faculty of a college. The president of the college had an unusual sense of humor for an Indonesian. Most Indonesians find life a grim, serious business -- with reason. I mentioned that our first indtroduction to anything Indonesian had been in the airport in Bandung where we had met one of his faculty who had been very friendly. Now Indonesians, at that time, were noted for being cold and suspicious toward foreigners. The president with a twinkle in his eye said, "But now you have discovered that all Indonesians are friendly." Deadpan, I replied, "Oh yes, and particularly to foreigners," and he roared with laughter.

A small dinner party for us was served at the president's house. The backyard was alive with frogs of all sizes and descriptions. Frog in Indonesian is kodok. As Richard listened to them he said, "It sounds as though they are saying, 'kodok -- kodokkodok.'" The president commented, "Yes, and in America they say, 'Frog -- frog -- frog'"

Indonesians eat a lot of food called tempe. It is made by fermenting soy beans, making them into a cake, then slicing and frying. At a dinner at the dentist's house I mentioned how much I enjoyed tempe. The dentist said, "When you return to the United States you must start a tempe factory and make a lot of money." A guest replied, quite seriously, "You could not make tempe i America -- it is too sanitary there."

By the time our latest trek was completed we were nearly out of money again. Thinking of the bugs in the woven seats on the train we very much wanted to fly back, but since we were hundreds of miles away we realized we couldn't afford it. Nevertheless, we went to the airport to check. Our tickets cost us two US dollars apiece. We haven't figured that out yet. Of course we had prayed first!

The plane was fascinating. I've never been on anything even faintly resembling it. It even had canvas bucket seats. We were served some peculiar food which we didn't eat, but otherwise the trip was uneventful. Years before I remembered flying on an airline in Montana. It was so wild I thought we had lost an engine and were about to crash. Determined to be calm and brave I mentally asked forgiveness for all the sins and shortcomings I could think of and prepared to die like a lady. Imagine the state of my mind when from behind me came a voice, "Well, if it doesn't get any rougher than this we've had a pretty good trip." After that anything an Indonesian airplane did would necessarily be anticlimactic.

We were asked to teach in a seminary in East Java. We prayed a lot about it because we didn't know whether to stay there and teach or not. In a way we wanted to, because of the security of having a regular job, a place to live, etc. In a way we didn't want to, because we saw so many missionaries that were just living -- as comfortably as they could -- but they taught school or worked in a hospital and made a home for themselves. There was very little really effective preaching of the Good News -- that God became man to redeem mankind, and that He, ina very real way, is the answer to sin, sickness and death which is what war and drug addiction and sexual aberrations and all of the other problems of our society stem from. We simply could not make up our minds what was right for us to do. ANd then one day the dean of the seminary came to persuade us to accept his offer. We talked at length and he came to an understanding of what his relationship with God meant and how to teach redemption in the seminary. At last we knew what we were to do; so that night we made plans and two weeks later departed Jakarta via airplane.

According to an Indonesian legend, after God made people he put them all into a great oven. The first batch was not left to bake for a sufficient period, and they are the Caucasians. The second batch had been forgotten and emerged burnt and are now known as Negroes. But supposedly the third lot was baked to a golden brown perfection, and they are the Indonesians.

During our stay many Indonesians had become followers of Christ. Perhaps the dreams the three of us had the night before leaving Hong Kong had been symbolic. The three dreams had all pictured newly hatched golden chickens. Now, four months later, many golden Indonesians had been born into the Kingdom, and four hundred more had been baptized with the Holy Spirit. But we felt the primary purpose of our sojourn in Indonesia had been a little job for God that we can't even write about.

As our plane ascended over Jakarta I had a sensation of release and joy. It was almost as though I were coming out of a dark cloud into the sunlight.

Then Singapore, which was like a little bit of home. The people spoke English and there were regular bathrooms and air conditioning and taxis with meters -- all sorts of exciting things. One time in Malang we had gone to a restaurant where we were presented with a menu with a long list of elegant dishes and delicious-sounding sandwiches -- only to find there was nothing available but rice with several peculiar local specialities. But Singapore -- ah, that was another cup of tea. We even splurged and had dinner at the Raffles Hotel. We simply had to -- just once. Everything Somerset Maugham had written about Singapore appeared to be true -- and more. And the shops were full of goods for sale, and the restaurants were full of food, and nobody acted as though they hated us because we were foreign. After two days we reluctantly departed for Hong Kong. While we were still in the air we sudddenly knew we had to continue on to Taiwan -- but we didn't know why --

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AOTGA - Act 15

2005-04-05T14:19:00.000+01:00

We had to stop in Hong Kong in order to obtain visas for Taiwan. There we had lunch in a hotel coffee shop. I couldn't seem to commuicate with the waitress that I wanted a drink of water so at last I took a glass over to the counter and signaled that I wanted water from the tap. The Hong Kong Government assures all and sundry it is safe to drink the water without further sterilization, but after spending five days in bed I haven't been brave enough to try it since.

We procured the visas for Taiwan with little difficulty, but what we didn't realize (because we don't read Chinese) was that in some mysterious fashion Richard had ended with a tourist visa and Suzanne and I with transit visas. This was to cause much turmoil later.

The flight to Taipei was short, and (after Indonesia) we enjoyed seeing the people because they smiled and looked normal. Some surprise was expressed at the immigration desk over our visas; but since the clerk didn't speak English sufficiently to communicate the problem, we merrily went our way. The day came when we wished we had known.

As we had no idea what we were doing in Nationalist China -- and the vague idea we did have was wrong -- we settled into an economy-priced hotel and prayed a lot. Eventually we traded it for a small Japanese-style apartment which we rented from a Chinese prostitute. We took her to church and later told her about Christ in detail. She decided to make Him her Lord. This gave us some difficulty, as her son attended a Roman Catholic school. It developed that the hierarchy would rather she were a prostitute than a Protestant!

The apartment was very different. The partitions did not go all of the way to the ceiling, so anything said in one room could easily be heard over the entire apartment. One night after everyone was in bed Rick and I were whispering in our room when Suzy said from her room, "Speak a bit louder -- I missed part of that!"

One day at lunch in a restaurant we noticed some people at the next table saying grace. By the way they prayed, we were certain they were Pentecostal. We introduced ourselves and discovered mutual friends. That was how we met Palma Ramsborg and Alice Stewart, who were really great missionaries. They were what you might call "tuned in" people. One day they brought us a pile of sheets, towels and pillow cases, which we really needed -- but how did they know we needed them? Their brand of Christianity reminded us of the New Testament variety. Palma and Alice even took us on a picnic and insisted on leaving the leftover sandwiches for us. We had no refrigerator, so we left them on the table wrapped tightly in a brown paper bag. During the night I awakened Rick because I heard a peculiar grinding sound. He listened but neither of us could imagine what it might be. Rick quietly got out of bed and tentatively approached the source of the noise. There on the table, sticking out of a hole in the bag, was the rear end of a large cockroach. The enterprising creature had gnawed through the bag and several layers of waxed paper to reach his objective. Unfortunately for him, he wa a noisy chewer.

Suzanne had been out of school for almost seven months of the year (in the part of Indonesia where we had been, there was no school in which English was spoken) and we had accepted the fact that she would be a year behind her class. However, she was getting bored, so even though it was expensive we put her in an American school so she would have something to do. One day when Richard and I were praying it came to us simultaneously why we were there, but it was completely illogical. We were there so Suzy could graduate from the sixth grade. But how could she do that, since she had missed most of the school year? We talked to the principal. He said she was doing beautifully in school, that he would give her the standard tests, and that if she passed them there was no reason she could not go on to the seventh grade. Richard tutored her nightly for two months, and she passed with the best grades she had ever made. I really don't know another place in the Orient where that could have happened. Now we knew why we were in Taiwan.

One Sunday after we had been to the Episcopal Church where an offical dignitary read, in the manner of a school-child, a sermon someone else had written, we went to a service at the Baptist Church. It didn't particularly inspire us either, so we returned to our apartment and read the Bible and prayed. Afterward I was lying on the bed praying, and I had a peculiar feeling we should go to the evening service at a chapel we had a real desire not to attned. I also had the embarrassing thought that I was going to say something there. Fortunately for me, it was an informal type of meeting where anyone who wished to do so could talk. A man spoke on healing, and in his speech he implied that in Jesus' time Christ healed the lepers but now we were to embrace them and love them instead. Then he told about his work at the leper colony. It struck me forcefully that it wasn't quite the same thing. In fact, I knew of a man who had walked up to a leper, put his arms around him, and said, "Jesus loves you," and the leper was instantly cured. Obviously God still behaved today just as He had nearly two thousand years previously. I stood up and spoke for several minutes, with the pastor's permission, on the supernatural way God had moved in our church in California. When church was over a woman introduced herself and said, "You must know Jean Stone. You must have been sent here by Trinity. I imagine you know all of the Trinity staff."

When I could get a word in, I said, "I am Jean Stone." Apparently I hadn't spoken clearly for she enthusiastically bubbled on, "You know Jean Stone and those people? How wonderful!"

Her husband shook hands and said, "I rather thought you were. You look familiar."

So that was how we met Dr and Mrs Donald Dale. Penny and Donald drove us home that night, and the red-haired Scottish doctor invited us to dinner the following week.

Meanwhile, we had applied for the renewal of our tourist visas only to discover that Suzy and I were already delinquent. Since we only had transit visas, we were told we must leave at once although Richard could stay! We hounded all of the authorities with no result. They said someone had made an error on our visas, but nothing could be done about it.

So there we were in Taiwan with expired visas and no money to go anywhere and Suzy had not yet finished school. We were due at the Dales' for dinner that night, but we had a notice from the communications system that someone in the United States had placed a telephone call to us. We asked if we could contact the operator and place the call from the Dales telephone. Our party was reached as we were at dinner and the telephone was brought to me at the table, so the Dales heard the entire conversation, including our visa vicissitudes. When dinner was over, Donald informed Richard that he knew someone rather high in the immigration department if Rick wanted a letter to him. It didn't solve all of our difficulties, but it kept us from being deported! It seemed a peculiar coincidence that we had gone to that little church that night.

I don't want you to think the problem became simple. Nothing is ever simple in Taiwan. There were numerous appointments with numerous dignitaries and many hours of waiting, but in the end we were finally extended three months. We thought everything had been solved. We were later to discover this was merely an illusion on our part.

Taiwan was fascinating. We liked the little shops set up in the living quarters of the families where fruit or soft drinks or meat or vegetables might be sold. The shopkeepers were friendly and honest -- if they found they had overcharged you, the next time you appeared they would return the money. I have yet to have that happen to me in any other part of Asia. Book prices are ridiculously low. This is because the books are photographically reproduced from existing copies and no royalties are paid. We bought a World Book Encyclopedia for Suzy but we experienced a shock when we looked up "China"! It told the history of China up until 1945 and from then on blank pages stared at us until the next subject. Also before Maori tribesmen there was a large blank space. China wasn't divided, there was no one named Mao, and we were residing in Ostrichland.

Because there was no refrigeration, no storage space, and nothing but a funny little gas ring to cook on in our apartment, we took most of our meals out from necessity. This kept us on a rather strict budget. In the restaurants we frequented, no one spoke English -- and the menus were only in Chinese. We would watch what other people were being served, and if it looked good we would ill-manneredly point to it. This worked well most of the time. Our system brok down one day when we pointed to some delicious-looking fresh green beans on a young man's plate. No beans were forthcoming. We couldn't understand, and with much sign language we thought we made it clear we wanted green beans. Floods of Chinese were the only reply. Everyone was terribly frustrated. At last the people sent an errand boy to bring someone to interpret. It seems the young man was a waiter in the restaurant. He had brough his lunch from home and we were trying to take it away from him! When it was all made clear and everyone had had a good laugh, the waiter generously insisted upon sharing his beans with us.

We were hungry for Italian spaghetti, which was not to be found in Taiwan -- not really -- we had tried it and it was sweet! So I painfully cooked spaghetti and meatballs on the little gas ring. It came out sweet! It seems the Chinese put sugar in canned tomatoes. I couldn't waste all of that spaghetti sauce, so I added vinegar to it. This may have been the first sweet and sour spaghetti in history.

Prices were low in Taiwan, but actually we were only eating by the grace of God and Harry Raley, the latter being a terrific Southern Baptist minister who cashed our checks for us. By knowing where to go and what to order, we managed dinner for about two dollars for the three of us. Sometimes for lunch we splurged and went to the Grand Hotel and had fresh salad from the salad bar with bread and butter for twenty-five cents apiece. If we were flush that week, we had the cheese souffle as well -- which ran the bill up to seventy-five cents. We gave up on coffee after it came several times tasting like "Navy coffee." We asked if it had been made fresh. They were shocked and said, "Fresh. Yes, fresh! Make fresh every day."

One day we had a caller -- a young Naval commander from the States, who was the son of some friends of ours. He had promised his parents to look us up when in Taiwan. He informed us he only had an hour free, and we could tell that about the last thing in the world he wanted to do was waste time with two dreary missionaries.

As we chatted I remembered how good his parents had been to us. I wanted to do something for them so I asked the commander if he was a Christian. He looked surprised and said he had never thought about it. We then told him the story of how we had come to the Orient. The end result was he took us to dinner that night along with a friend of his sister's, because he wanted her to hear what he considered a fascinating story. He wrote home afterward that the encounter had been wonderful for him as he had found it necessary to evaluate where he stood on God. Unnecessary to say that he opted for Him.

But he didn't think he needed the gift of the Holy Spirit. His sister's friend came to see us later, and she not only opted for Christianity (which she previously had not gone along with) but also received the baptism in the Spirit and wrote him how much more wonderful life was with than without.

But many things were disappointing, including areas of the missionary scene: scandals, lack of commitment, and sheer lethargy. Of course, in the final analysis everyone is responsible for his own behavior. But, since we are our brother's keepers, perhaps many of the problems were traceable to a lack of prayer and personal involvement from the supporters in the homeland. There is also a need for compassion combined with strict moral standards on the part of fellow workers. This combination was one of the characteristics which made Jesus so unique.

There were notable exceptions, one being Dr Dale who appeared to be well integrated. In his clinic many people were treated free of charge and with personal regard, but the work was never separated from his faith. Gospel tracts were everywhere, and he was much involved in religious activities in the community. I'm sure he wasn't perfect, but he seemed to live what he preached.

Contrast him with a missionary in another part of Asia who was making a tape for his church telling what his clinic was accomplishing. He invited the head nurse to say a few words on the work. When he pushed the "play" button to find the correct place, the air turned blue with recorded cursing and obscenities. Then, with hardly a pause, the introduction flowed forth in the melodious inspirational voice to which American Christians are conditioned: "Hellow, Friends, this is your missionary in --- speaking." At the nurse's amazed stare he matter-of-factly explained he had experienced difficulty operating the tape recorder. And then there was the missionary who threw a Bible and hit a teen-aged girl who was talking during his sermon --

Sometimes, what we call "Christian schizophrenia" carries more serious consequences. We were told that many of the Chinese Christians had come from the mainland twenty years previously. Their spouses had remained in China, embraced Communism, divorced them, and remarried. Meanwhile, the lonesome mates in Taiwan had become Christians and wanted families. A general meeting of the missionaries was held. Unanimously it was agreed that by the Scripture they were free to marry and have children. BUT the missionaries were unanimous in saying that even though they considered the people free by God's standards, they could not allow them to remarry because financial support would be cut off when word traveled back to the mission boards. Something was wrong somewhere.

Many missionaries were genuine and full of love, but frequently they lacked power and they knew it. As everywhere, the kind of action portrayed in the New Testament simply wasn't occurring frequently enough. The New Testament answer was welcomed by some, but others did not have ears to hear.

We were doing a routine errand involving a house call for a "missionary" group that was taught English. (We had also made a radio program for them.) To our astonishment, the woman we called on was Watchman Nee's sister-in-law, and an active Christian. We were entertained with slices of yellow watermelon and varieties of cookies and watermelon seeds, and we were shown the family photograph album. She roared with laughter when she persuaded us to admit that before coming, we had privately entertained the idea of "giving her the Gospel."

Another time we were invited to the Officer's Club for lunch with Bob Hammond, from the Voice of China and Asia in Pasadena. We had met Bob only twice in California, but we were so far from home that we all behaved like long-lost buddies.

At the Episcopal Church a vivacious redhead and her Air Force officer husband introduced themselves and then took us under their wings. Eventually they affirmed their faith and were baptized in the Holy Spirit. While advising us where to purchase necessities, Fritzi had shown me the shop where the American wives had clothes made. It was all a bit rich for my blood, but once we were invited to a small dinner party and I bought something off the rack to wear. It mattered not that the heat was incredible; the only thing that fit me was a lamé with long sleeves, so that was it.

When evening came it was even hotter than it had been in the daytime. The officer at whose house we were being entertained was on the Generalissimo's staff, and the talk was heavy going as we had no Chinese and their English was not of the best. Hot tea was served in the sitting room, and then we went in to dinner, which consisted of numerous courses. The food was hospitably piled into our bowls whether we wished it or not. As the meal progressed, the heat became more oppressive. One platter held an enormous fish and as the lamé clung to me damply and the heavy food piled up in front of me, I almost thought that huge glassy eye winked. Another dish was pure ham fat swimming in fermented, salty bean sauce. The sauce was good; but after rice, noodles, steamed bread, chicken, fish, beef, pork and a few more items, those gob of fat were about the last straw. Through it all I desperately craved a glass of cold water.

The procession of food continued until at last great mounds of a gelatinous dessert (which turned out to be mashed red bean sweetened and covered with pastry) were pressed on us. I was sure we had come to the end, but the fruit course was yet to come. I was persuaded to try a crisp, juicy fruit which tasted like a cross between an apple and a pear, and then we were taken to another sitting room for more conversation. The heat grew more intense and I was perspiring freely, the food lay like a rock in my stomach, and the salty bean sauce had made me violently thirsty. Hot tea was served in glasses. By this time I was expecting to be actively sick. Being sick might have been an affront to my hostess, but I think asking for a glass of ice water horrified her more. By the look on her face and her protestations, I fear I committed mortal sin just asking; but when I drank glasses and glasses of it I put myself beyond the pale forever. By the time we reached home, death seemed a welcome way out. An Assemblies of God missionary sympathetically pressed three Alka-Seltzers into my palm and told me he never attended a Chinese dinner without them.

Our neighbors convinced us we needed a maid to do our laundry. Since it was only ten dollars monthly, we acquiesced. Imagine my surprise to enter the bathroom and find her washing the clothes by soaping them and then rubbing them briskly on the bathroom floor! It didn't do much for the clothes, but that was the cleanest bathroom floor we have ever possessed.

Suzy graduated from the sixth grade and was so excited she snatched her diploma from the teacher before it could be passed to the principal for presentation. Now we were ready to leave. We had found much difficulty staying, and now we found we could not leave without permission. That was withheld because the authorities said we were not legally there since Suzy and I had not had proper visas -- even though they had since extended them. Richard logically pointed out that if our visas were not in order the best thing for us to do was leave since they didn't want us to stay -- and what could they do but allow us to leave? They calmly informed him they were considering putting us in jail!

During those days Rick spent more time with the immigration authorities than he did with us. At last they said we could leave if we would write a letter of apology and say how well they had treated us and how badly we had behaved. We didn't see what we had to apologize for and felt they had treated us rather shabbily, but there was no way out; so we wickedly wrote a letter that was so grossly servile and ridiculous that we were nervous they would be angry all over again. Instead they were delighted, and after paying a fine we left by ship for Hong Kong. Fortunately for us, $500 had arrived from the States just in time to bail us out.

We arrived in Hong Kong without reservations. We had lost the ones made at the YMCA because we had cancelled them twice due to our immigration difficulties, and they didn't trust us anymore. We had piles of luggage, and it began to rain, and we didn't know where to go. The YMCA was next to the Peninsula Hotel; so Rick checked there. For the price of a room in the hotel they gave us an entire air conditioned suite in the court, and it was wonderful. There were no bugs; it was clean, lovely, and cool, cool, cool.

The telephone rang, and it was the Naval commander who had visited us in Taiwan. When he had returned to his base, some trouble had occurred which might have ruined his career. He was so disturbed about it that he wrote his wife that he had heard we were going to Hong Kong and that he was going there to find us and receive the baptism in the Holy Spirit -- he needed everything he could get! So in the Peninsula Hotel he received his Pentecost. He had brought a friend with him who was converted then and there and received the gift also.

And that was our welcome to Hong Kong. Perhaps it was a portent of things to come during the next three years.

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AOTGA - Act 16

2005-04-05T14:17:00.000+01:00

Hong Kong means "fragrant harbor," and certainly Hong Kong presents one of the most varied ranges of odors of any place in the world. It has a varied range of sights as well. A fantastic skyline made up of hotels and highrise apartment houses towers above the city; but through it all waves "the great flag of China," which is the daily laundry hung out the windows on bamboo poles. The longer we lived in Hong Kong, the more fascinated we were by the curious blend of East and West.

Obviously our spree at the Peninsula Hotel could not go on for long, so we bought newspapers to search for an apartment. Meanwhile, Rick copied information concerning a flat for rent from the YMCA bulletin board. The papers confused us utterly -- we didn't know whether we should live in Kowloon or Hong Kong, and we didn't know how much an apartment should cost. We prayed and told God we were too dumb to figure it out, and if He would just let the first apartment we looked at be the right one, we would be grateful.

So we went to see one on MacDonnell Road advertised at the YMCA. One look at it and we said, "No, God, you couldn't mean this!" Roaches ran everywhere, and even after Indonesia and Taiwan, I simply had not adjusted to roaches. It was old and dirty and sparsely furnished with odds and ends of which no two matched; and the building was old and badly kept. Worst of all was the kitchen: small, dark, the work table at least a foot too low for me; small refrigerator and stove of ancient vintage; a single sink about the size of a scrub bucket. We didn't commit ourselves and left. We telephoned the numbers listed in the paper only to discover the apartments were wildly expensive and sometimes an entire year's rent was demanded in advance. It was very discouraging.

The Dales had extracted a promise that we would telephone their relatives, the Hardings, so we did. The Hardings had been trying to reach us to ask us to dinner, but we had not been at the YMCA and their radar system wasn't as good as that of the Naval commander. Perhaps Someone had given him a hand.

We dined that evening with Neil and Clare Harding. They are Anglicans and were baptized with the Holy Spirit before leaving England for Hong Kong, where Neil is the assistant headmaster of a school. They asked where we planned to live. We said we hadn't decided but had looked at a flat on MacDonnell Road. Neil asked what number on MacDonnell Road, and when we told him he took us outside to look out over the city, and pointed at the building. It was less than a fifteen-minute walk away! He told us Suzanne could walk to Island School, where he taught, and that this way we would have people we knew close by. He named other advantages, and when we heard the rent being asked, which we found high, he said it was a remarkable price and that we should take it. Our housing problem was solved, and we lived there all of the time we were in the British Crown Colongy of Hong Kong. Things appeared to be working out neatly.

Paul Castle's attractive, effervescent daughter Gail, who had been close to us for many years, and was like one of the family, arrived July first to assist us in our efforts. We weren't sure what our efforts were, but we knew Gail was supposed to be there. About that time a green parrot and I fell in love, and another member was added to the family. Fortunately the flat had three bedrooms: one for Rick and me, one for Gail and Sydney II, and a small one with a view of Island School for Suzanne. Sydney had been sold to us as a member of a non-talking species, but on a diet of chocolate ice cream, honey and fruit, he found his tongue and would screech "Syd-neeey!" all over the flat. Then he began saying, "C'mere!" and whenever we were not visible he called us. Later he added "Suzy" and "Gail" to his repertoire, but somehow they always sounded a bit like "Sydney." One had to be a connoisseur to tell them apart.

The beds in the apartment had come from a children's school. They were short, narrow, without mattresses, and about as soft as a gym mat. Richard's feet hung out a foot over the bottom. We bought a double bed, but his feet even hung over the end of that. Richard simply wasn't made for the Orient. His feet were so large they didn't make a last big enough to make him a pair of shoes. He was down to one tired and beat-up brown pair that had slogged through the dust and dirt of Indonesia.

So here we were. School had not begun, we were very short of money, and we really did not know why we were in Hong Kong or what we were to do there. We prayed. Money became shorter than ever. It almost seemed as though no one heard our prayers. Things were so bad that one night we prayed all night long, but again there was no answer. Finally we were down to birdseed. We had bought it for the parrot, but he wasn't a seed-eater -- neither are we. In spite of boiling the stuff like a sort of hot cereal, the chaff presented a problem. The longer we chewed, the bigger it seemed to grow. If we swallowed it quickly, it scratched going down. It wasn't exactly a gourmet diet.

We needed $600 immediately -- we simply had to have it. But we had only $70 left in the bank. While puttering around the apartment, I noticed a book by Catherine Marshall lying open on Gail's bed. I know Catherine and her husband Len LeSourd, and respect them both -- in fact I had prayed with them when they received the gift of the Spirit. But somehow I'm not a great one for reading religious books. I always seem to be too involved to have the time. The book was open at a chapter entitled, "The Prayer of Relinquishment." I read the chapter, and that night I gave Rick a synopsis and asked what he thought about trying that -- we had tried everything else. He thought it might be good, so we seriously prayed that we would accept whatever God wanted for our lives -- if He wanted us to be poor and in debt -- even if He wanted us in jail -- we would abide by it, and willingly. About 1:00 AM we went to sleep. At 2:00 AM the telephone rang. It was Loraine calling from the United States to tell us she knew it wasn't sufficient, but she had just deposited in our account $530 that some friends had sent. But it was enough, for with the $70 we had left in the account, that made the $600 we had prayed for!

Clare Harding said she wished there were others in Hong Kong who had received the power of the Holy Spirit because then we could have a charismatic prayer meeting. We assured her that it didn't matter how small a group was -- it could grow. So on Thursdays we met together and prayed for the Church -- and the Lord began to add to the group, if not daily, at least weekly.

One Saturday night I thought about church at the Anglican Cathedral and, remembering the sermon of the week before, I wasn't sure I could take it. I suggested to the family that we not go to church but have our own service at home. They agreed. An hour or so later, I was lying on the bed praying when the words came into my head, "I have set you in the establishment to separate the wheat from the tares." I told the rest of them what had happened and said, "I don't understand it or know if the theology is sound. I don't even know if it came from God, but I'm afraid not to go to church tomorrow."

The next morning the preacher was a guest speaker. It was clear that he knew Christ as Lord, but he seemed confused about the doctrine of the Holy Spirit. We shook his hand afterward and said we had appreciated his sermon. The next Sunday at the coffee hour I saw him standing with his back toward us on the other side of the room and said, "Let's ask him to lunch." Rick said, "What for?" I confessed I didn't know. "Just tell him we are writing a book and would like to ask him some questions." Naturally Rick was not too enthused, but he humors me in my little idiosyncracies because sometimes they turn out to be from God.

At lunch we chatted a bit and Richard asked the Anglican minister how he felt the church was progressing in Hong Kong. The minister thought it was not doing as well as it might. Rick inquired what the answer might be.

"An outpouring of the Holy Spirit."

We looked at each other. He continued, "Some people think that means speaking in tongues. I don't mean that." And he went on with the standard evangelical line.

Later he inquired what we were doing in Hong Kong. We told our story but did not mention the baptism in the Spirit. He made no comment, so we didn't know how he had taken it.

A few days later he telephoned Rick and asked him to tell the same story at the Anglican college where he was the chaplain. He wanted the boys to know that God still operates.

The following week we hosted a small dinner party and the Hardings and the minister were among the guests. Someone mentioned John Stott and I spoke highly of him. Clare Harding said, "But surely you don't agree with his theology on speaking in tongues, do you?" I replied that I felt his doctrine was such because he had not received the experience, and that if he did his doctrine would change.

A day or so later the minister asked Rick if he had ever spoken in tongues. Something I had said caused him to think we might have. Rick admitted we had. The minister asked us to tea and said he wanted to ask questions concerning the phenomenon.

At tea he interrogated us for three hours. At the end of that time he said wistfully, "In the book They Speak With Other Tongues, John Sherrill mentioned a woman named Jean Stone who has the gift of laying on of hands for receiving the Spirit." Richard said, "You're looking at her." (My married name is not Stone.) The minister asked fervently (for an Englishman), "Do you think I might have the gift?" From this small beginning came a real move of the Spirit in teh Colony.

One Sunday after church Clare whispered, "See that couple? They're Americans. They live close to you, and they need something. If you ever see them you should talk to them."

I said, "Really Clare, you surely don't expect me to walk up to them on the street and talk to them about God. The least you could do is introduce us."

"I could do that," she admitted.

She quickly performed the introductions and left! Jim Foerster said, "Why don't you come up for coffee?" What was surprising was that it was in the middle of a typhoon. Looking back on the incident, he can't imagine why he did such a peculiar thing as to invite two complete strangers to coffee during a typhoon.

By the time we arrived at the Foerster's apartment we were completely drenched. It was peculiar to sit soaking wet and make polite conversation with three strangers. Conversation lagged somewhat, but when their other guest mentioned that she got more from her guru than she did from the Anglican church, I thought, "What do I have to lose?" and proceededd to tell them about the baptism in the Spirit. I'm sure they thought we were quite mad, but strangely enough they couldn't seem to let us alone. We had dinner with them several times and were invited to a couple of parties. Somehow or other we invariably ended up discussing God. One night Elaine and I were talking, and Elaine had just vocalized her belief that the Higher Being has a son, Jesus Christ. When I asked about her belief in the resurrection, Jim (who was beginning to believe I was a pretty good joe) said in an incredulous tone, "Surely, Jean, you don't believe that?" I was tempted to behave like Peter and squeeze out of the whole thing, but I forced myself to say, "I'm afraid I do." He registered disappointment but despite that we received an invitation to their next party. They asked ahead of time that we stay after everyone else left, so all was not lost.

At the party I sat beside an Anglican minister. I wickedly led him on to tell me just how much of the faith he didn't believe. Richard was listening and expressed anger with my behavior but I kept on. After we had settled that he didn't believe much of anything he asked me what I believed. I said, "We should mix a bit. Come to lunch with us tomorrow and I'll tell you."

At lunch we told him everything: how the Spirit had fallen at St Mark's, the dream, the trip to Asia -- the works. The proper young Englishman said nothing at all and we thought, "We've blown it with the Anglican church here."

The next week the priest's wife telephoned and asked both of us to teach Sunday School. We looked at each other in silence. The following Sunday the priest came to me at the coffee hour and whispered in my ear, "Keep praying for my conversion; it's working." Never had we intimated he was not converted -- or that we were praying for him. In fact we had never mentioned the word "conversion" or anything faintly resembling it. The following Wednesday he telephoned and said, "Through knowing you I have come into a personal relationship with Jesus Christ." And a month later he called again and said, "Are you and Richard free tonight? I think I'm ready now for the gift of the Spirit." Things were picking up in Hong Kong.

We were out of money and had a hundred dollars' worth of obligations to pay. We prayed. It seemed to us that we should go to a rather odd church we didn't normally attend. We went. Just before the service a woman came to Rick and handed him an envelope with Scripture verses written all over it. "The Lord said to give you this, that you would be here this morning," she whispered. He opened the envelope. In it was an American hundred dollar bill.

We went home joyous. That afternoon we attended a Bible study and tea held at the Hardings'. A woman began to tell me her problems. She lived in an elegant flat and maintained a cook, maid, and chauffeur. Through some peculiar circumstances she had no money at all and wanted me to pray for her. She felt safe in telling me; since I was a missionary and no better off than she was, I wouldn't think she was asking for money. I said, "Someone just gave us a hundred dollars. I'll split it with you."

"But you can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"You'd better pray about it."

"I don't have to pray about something this simple; I know what Christian behavior is."

So we went to the moneychanger and had the money changed into Hong Kong currency in order to divide it.

But the next day I realized that we still had $100 worth of bills and now only $50 to pay them with. I lay down on the bed and prayed. I told God that I knew He was going to take care of the problem and He might as well do it properly -- that rather than $50 we needed $500 as Suzy must have school uniforms, Rick needed suits, and groceries were non-existent. I told Him I was sure He would provide $500. After praying for half an hour, I went downstairs to get the mail. In the box was an aerogram from Loraine to tell us that Conrad (the rooster man) who had never before sent us anything, had deposited $500 to our account. "Before they call I shall answer."

Richard had two new suits tailored and Suzy now had uniforms. All was well except that Rick's new suits called for black shoes, and all he had were those decrepit old brown ones. We went to a number of shops, but his feet were just too large. We had always laughed and said that someday his shoes would wear out in China and some little old man would come to him holding a new pair and say, "Yankee shoes too big." So far nothing like that had occurrred.

We went out to dinner with the Foersters. During the evening it occurred to me that Jim's feet were not exactly Chinese in size, so I asked him where he got his shoes. He said he had them shipped from the States but it took about three months.

Elaine said, "That won't do. You can't wait three months."

Jim said, "It isn't satisfactory, anyway. A change in styles sometimes brings a change in fit. I have two new pairs in my closet that I can't wear."

"Jim! You're the little old man!" (Jim is in his thirties; he's over six feet tall with curly hair and blue eyes.)

"What?"

We told them our private joke. Jim said they couldn't possibly fit. Rick said they obviously would. Of course they did -- beautifully! Naturally we wanted to buy them. Jim was stunned, but said he would look it up on the books and find out the exact price. When he did, it developed that he had only been charged for one pair because they hadn't fit, and since Florsheim was one of their customers, he was only charged the wholesale price. Rick had two new pairs of handsome black shoes for one-fourth their price. But after Jim thought it over, he decided the shoes were from God; and he refused to cash the check Rick had given him. But what was this? Up until this time Jim had had a little trouble with God --

Jim was now a study in contradictions. He didn't believe; yet he was pleased when his children wanted to say grace at meals. After another late-night talk, we suggested he pray daily, "God, if there is a God, and if You have a Son, Jesus Christ, reveal Him to me."

One afternoon Jim telephoned to say he was coming over to leave some pictures with us for a month. What kind of sense did that make? I said nothing about the peculiarity of it, but suggested he stay for tea. He hung the paintings on our wall; I poured the tea. The three of us talked about various things, including pornography. He stated that during the past week he had stopped advertising in a pornographic magazine and that he had not lost his temper at the office. He had told Elaine, "I think they've been praying for me."

Many people, seeing the change in his attitudes and behavior, would say that he had received the Holy Spirit. But far from that, Jim did not yet accept Christ as Lord. We talked about this -- for hours. At last we suggested he relinquish his life to Christ. He still wasn't sure Christ was the Son of God. It was not hot in the room, but the perspiration stood on his forehead. We suggested he pray. He buried his head in his hands and said he didn't know how. Silently he prayed -- and sweated -- and suffered. At last he said aloud, "I feel like there are two people warring within me."

"What does the real you say?"

"The real me says, 'Help!'"

"Why don't you tell God that?"

He began to pour out his faults, shortcomings, and failures to God. Rick said, "Tell Jesus -- He's the only way to God."

He did.

Jim had always said he would not even consider becoming a Christian without the power of the Spirit -- that he had seen enough of the emasculated Church.

"Do you want the baptism in the Spirit?"

"Yes," he whispered, and within two minutes he was audibly worshipping Christ in a new language given by the Spirit.

He arrived late for a sit-down dinner party at the United States Consul's residence. Elaine had telephoned twice and had finally gone on to the dinner and told the hosts Jim was at a meeting (which was true!). She later reported that instead of arriving with the harried look of a pressured businessman, he simply glowed; she said he looked "glorious." He was wearing a white Nehru shirt with a black suit. "Going into the priesthood, Jim?" someone asked facetiously. Jim meaningfully looked at Elaine and his eyes twinkled as he replied, "We-ell, not exactly!"

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AOTGA - Act 17

2005-04-05T14:16:00.000+01:00

Again we were out of money, and Richard wasn't allowed to look for a job because he was officially still a tourist. The rent was overdue; the utility bills were due; our grocery bill was waiting. We couldn't do anything else; so we prayed. In the meantime we noticed we had been gone nearly a year, and our airline tickets needed renewing. But when we went to the airline for that purpose, they informed us that the tickets were not renewable: we must either return to the United States, cash in the tickets, or lose the money. This was a blow, as we did not think God wanted us to leave; and at the same time the return tickets were our security. We knew that if we cashed them, the money received would not be nearly enough to buy three more tickets. Perhaps our security wasn't supposed to be bound up in tickets. We said we would cash them. By this time we had three tickets from Taiwan to Los Angeles and three tickets from Hong Kong to Taiwan. The airline wired Los Angeles and Taipei concerning the amounts. The total was paid in US money and the amount we received waws $777.

We remembered how we had laughed at Father Sherwood for saying 777 was the perfect number. It seemed an unbelievable coincidence. The more we discussed it, the more sure we were that the day would arrive when we would be sorry we had cashed in the tickets and that this was God's way of telling us it would be all right. We paid the rent, utilities, bought groceries, and waited for the boom to fall.

And fall it did. The immigration authorities refused to renew our visas. They gave us no reason and would not allow us to discuss it: they simply turned us down. We had numerous local sponsors and through a bizarre set of circumstances Richard had even been offered a position teaching English and Bible. But despite this we were refused for a third time, and it was not permissible to apply again. Our friends did not want us to leave; they were agitated about the possibility and prayed for us. If it had not been for the surprising coincidence of the $777, we would have been even more agitated than they were.

Our departure day arrived, but we had not even packed our belongings. What was the point, since we had no tickets? Obviously God must move on our behalf. The telephone rang. It was a Chinese friend, a Pentecostal businessman. He said God had awakened him in the night and told him to pray for us. When he did, he said God told him what to tell us. I hung up and the telephone rang again. This time it was Mary Holland, an Anglican schoolteacher. Having no idea I had heard this story before, she confided that God had awakened her in the night and impress her to pray for us. When she did she was reminded of a friend who could help and we were to call him. She stated God had also told her that she thought she had the baptism in the Holy Spirit without speaking in tongues but that He wanted her to speak in tongues -- that she should come to our flat and receive the gift that morning. So I prayed with Mary and she was filled with the Spirit. Meanwhile Richard was actively carrying out both sets of instructions given to us by these widely divergent people who had never heard of each other. When the actions were accomplished, we had our visa extensions, and for the years we resided in Hong Kong, there were no more visa difficulties.

Clare Harding wanted all of her friends to know about the charismata. She frequently planned dinner parties so we could tell them! The first time she did this it was a complete fiasco. The couple were fundamentalists who followed the old party line, and everything we said was taken as implying that we were better than they were and had something they had not. It was a bad evening all round. I invited them to dinner once, hoping to make peace, but was rudely refused.

The next time Clare worked this little plan was with an English couple named Derek and Ruth Wood. They had brought along a house guest they were entertaining and did not indicate how they felt about the story we told. However, a young man in his final year of high school, named Hugh Jagger, attended the Hardings' Sunday Bible study. Several times we had mentioned to each other that we would like to tell him about the gift of the Spirit because he was so serious about the things of God. The Woods beat us to it. They suggested that Hugh invite us to speak to the Christian group at his school, and that we speak on the gifts of the Holy Spirit. Richard spoke; the group was interested; and two weeks later Hugh asked me to speak on the gifts. I inquired if there was anything he wished me to soft pedal and he said there was not -- to say what I wished. So I spoke on the baptism in the Spirit.

When the time was up the students gathered around asking questions. We were afraid they would be late to their next classes; so we tried to break it up. As soon stop an avalanche. One girl asked me if one went into a trance when one spoke in tongues. I assured her one did not, and she asked me if I could speak at any time. I explained that any who once received the gift could pray in the language at will, but unless God so desired it would not be interpretable. I prayed in tongues so she could understand it was not a frenetic undisciplined experience. Richard, standing nearby talking to some students, received the interpretation and brought it. They were shaken and wanted to know more. To get them to go to their classes I said they could come to dinner the following Tuesday and ask questions.

Tuesday, eight of them came for spaghetti: a mixture of Chinese, Eurasian, English and American (the kids, not the spaghetti). Before the evening was ended all eight were immersed in the Spirit, praising God in new languages. He had begun to move among the youth in Hong Kong.

One of the boys was Robert Wood, the son of Derek and Ruth. What the rest of us did not know was that Derek and Ruth were not yet converted. We were invited to the Woods' for New Year's Eve dinner (complete with crackers and hats) and Carole Wood, home from university, was baptized with the Holy Spirit along with Derek and Ruth, who received much like Cornelius and his wife. This got us in more trouble than ever with the two fundamentalists, because they had told us we would never bring anyone to Christ in Hong Kong -- it was too difficult a field. Derek and Ruth were their next-door neighbors and attended the same Bible study. I often wonder how Rick and I always managed to get into so much trouble when we think we are minding our own business.

The students couldn't come on Thursday evenings because of school the next day, so they requested a Saturday meeting. Like Topsy it grew. Carole Wood was dating Stuart Gill and she told him what was happening. Stu came and received. Stu told Martha Baker, the Anglican bishop's daughter. Marther brought a friend and they both were given new languages by God. Hugh Jagger was head boy (equivalent of student body president) that year; Martha Baker was head girl; and now the bishop was involved. Rick and I looked at each other helplessly and called Mrs Baker and invited them to lunch so we could explain what was going on. But it seems Martha had already told them and Martha was the apple of their eye, so things were not too complicated. Yet.

A Baptist missionary's daughter had been one of the original eight. Her father was much distressed. He was sure it was of God, but he was against it because it wasn't strictly Baptist. By this time, the group Gail and I were cooking dinner for on Saturday night was up to around twenty-five, and nearly every denomination was represented. It had gone beyond party lines.

The adults liked to come on Saturdays more than Thursdays because the kids were happy and eager and would yield to the gifts of the Spirit. One night there were about thirty-five, and a woman from the Cathedra was present. She was strongly opposed to the old-fashioned Gospel songs we had been singing and was looking pretty grim. After everyone went home I said to Rick, "She's angry and she could cause us a lot of trouble -- she's been around a long time at the Cathedra." Rick said, "The bishop was sitting across from her happily singing his heart out. Who's she gonna tell?" And that seemed to be the way it was. God appeared to have everything well in hand. Incidentally, the woman ended up baptized with the Spirit, but she wasn't sure it was real. God awakened her one night and she saw a vision. After that she didn't doubt the reality. She became so much more outgoing and happy that the kids at school (she was a teacher) decided she had fallen in love -- and isn't that what it's all about?

A young girl confided to another in a whisper, "Hugh Jagger thinks he has direct communication with God." The other girl, a Lutheran minister's daughter said, "Like what?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

The Lutheran minister's daughter, Melissa Singer, attended the Saturday night meeting. We sang a bit and there were several prayers and suddenly Melissa spoke out in a rather belligerent tone, "My father is a pastor and he doesn't speak in tongues, and he says he doesn't need to. What do you say to that?" I said, "I say that's his business." In a quavering voice Melissa said, "Then why is my heart pounding and why am I starting to cry?" Melissa went into the bedroom and came out a Christian -- filled with the Spirit.

But pixie-like Melissa had a problem. She suffered a pronounced twitch that she had had from the time she was four years old. Neither doctors nor psychiatrists had been able to help. A daughter of another Lutheran missionary said nastily to Melissa, "If this gift is from God why do you still twitch?" Melissa asked why. We suggested she fast all day Saturday and come early for prayer. We fasted with her, and when we prayed she was instantly healed -- to the amazement of the family missionary doctor!

Another student who was affected by the move of the Spirit was Sarah Searcy, a friend of Martha Baker. Sarah had gone to a convent school but had emerged an agnostic. By the time she accompanied Martha to SNAG (Saturday Night Agape Group) she had already become a secret believer simply through hearing of God's actions. On the night Martha asked me to pray with Sarah for the Holy Spirit I told the girls to go and pray themselves. They came out of the other room bursting with delight and with cheeks like pink peonies.

One by one, the Harding children were baptized in the Holy Spirit and they requested a children's group. It closely resembled the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. The children ranged in ages from six through thirteen, and they came directly from school for tea. It was not unusual to glimpse a cup of tea, saucer and all, flying through the air. The kids spent about as much time mopping up the spills as they did drinking their tea, and cakes and buns were everywhere. But they loved the gatherings, and their contributions evidenced remarkable originality and perception. One day one of them inquired, "Can you be a Christian and a Catholic?"

"How about Sophie?" Sophie was the daughter of a French merchant and a committed member.

"Oh."

"But can you be a Christian if you don't go to church at all?"

"What about Margaret?" Margaret was a government official's daughter, and was not allowed to attend church although she believed and was filled with the Spirit.

"Oh."

I took the opportunity to give a dissertation on the merits of attending church regularly if possible.

"But church is so boring!"

"Do you find your meeting boring?"

"Oh, no!"

"But in a sense it is a church since the Church is the people of God."

"It's different."

"In what way?"

"They always do the same things. They sing the same songs and the priest says prayers and preaches. In our meetings the Holy Spirit does things."

"Then what's the answer?"

"Ooooooooooh. If the priest had the Holy Spirit he would let the Spirit run the meeting!"

From out of the mouths of babes --

By this time the older students were being regenerated and empowered on street corners while talking with their friends.

Once at a dinner party a music teacher said to me, "What do you think about religion? I used to be an atheist but now I think all religions are good. It doesn't really matter what it is as long as you believe in it. What do you think?"

And I told her. A government official's wife listening to us began to weep and said, "I wish I had met you twenty years ago."

Within the year the teacher had established a relationship with Jesus Christ and had a new language. Then she set down the music for the songbook we printed of the songs which had been given to the group by the Spirit. How practical of God to involve a musician!

The second day of school Suzy had come home singing, confided her Indian girl friend now knew Christ, and burst into tears of relief. But the pressure is tough for an Indian because of group opposition. The girl decided not to believe because it would cause her trouble. (How do you make yourself not believe?) When so many of her friends began receiving the Spirit, she came along and one afternoon broke down and cried and asked Jesus to heal her little brother. She was then baptized with the Spirit but was afraid to tell anyone, because her older brother had been threatened with expulsion from the family when he became a Christian. Some months later a friend of her mother asked if she spoke in tongues and she quickly said, "Oh, you have to be a Christian to do that," hoping the friend would believe she did not and would not tell her mother. What she didn't know, I later discovered, was that some of the Indian community had seen the improvement in the little brother since she began going to meetings and if speaking in tongues was that much of a cure-all, they wanted to know more about it!

Gwen Schmidt, the woman who had given Richard the hundred dollar bill in the church, telephoned. She had met a Swedish Pentecostal missionary who was violently anti-tongues. This struck us as funny. How could a Pentecostal be against tongues, when that is the only excuse for the Pentecostal denomination? Gwen said the missionary refused to attend our prayer meeting, and could she bring her to see us? I suggested they come to tea.

When Gwen and Margaretha Ribberfors, the good-looking Swedish missionary, arrived, we had another guest. Jackie Pullinger, an Anglican and a missionary, had dropped in unexpectedly. We later discovered Jackie had been one of the first people Margaretha had met in Hong Kong. Gail and Rick were present, and the six of us had tea and sandwiches. Some of us talked about God and one of us was not very pleased. Tall, blonde, icy Miss Ribberfors broke in with, "I think you people are fanatics to talk about God over the tea cups." We said we felt if you were in love you liked to talk about the object of your affection, and we found it normal to discuss God. She was unconvinced. When we came to the subject of the Holy Spirit and she discovered friendly, normal, young Jackie also spoke in tongues, she became very agitated. It was obvious she considered speaking in tongues a frenzied emotional experience for unstable people. I later discovered this was due to some things she had witnessed in the past. We tried to explain that it wasn't that way and when I pointed out one could speak in tongues at any time, without an emotional build up, she burst out, "Please, don't!" and looked quite frightened.

I could hardly believe her attitude -- this from a Pentecostal missionary. I told her God must deplore her behavior and feelings concerning His gifts. She and Gwen left and had a talk on the way to Kowloon.

We were all grieved and prayed for the girl for about half an hour. I prayed, "Lord, You can do anything. Fill her with the Spirit on the way home." The next morning Gwen telephoned and said Margaretha had called to say she had begun speaking in tongues driving home to Rennie's Mill!

The change in Margaretha was phenomenal. Before, although she was a missionary-nurse, she did nothing spiritual for her patients. Suddenly people began coming to her inquiring how to become Christians. From a bored missionary with no witness, she became an effectual Christian loved by everyone. She was the only Protestant I knew who was invited by the nuns to their private retreats -- and she a Pentecostal. Jean Darnall used to say if the Pentecostals became and colder and the Catholics kept growing warmer, everyone would wind up in the Episcopal Church. Looking around the room at our integrated, charismatic, ecumenical prayer group, I wondered what the future did hold.

The people attending the meetings were a conglomeration of Protestants, Catholics and previously unchurched. When she went to confession one of the Catholic girls shared her experience and was forbidden to attend meetings again. We seriously began to pray for God to send a Roman Catholic priest who had entered the Pentecostal dimension. A few weeks after we had begun praying in this fashion we were invited to a musical recital at a friend's house. The people in attendance were primarily American missionaries and Chinese Pentecostals, and they looked religious. The Chief of Police of Singapore was present. He was not religious and didn't want to be. I think he picked me out to talk to because I didn't look like a missionary. The poor dear was in for a shock -- I told him everything, and in spite of himself he was completely fascinated. On the other side of me was a Chinese lady who seemed disturbed by our discussing anything so unorthodox as speaking in tongues. She turned to talk to the nice "safe" Roman Catholic priest beside her. I drew him into the conversation, and when it developed that he knew exactly what I was talking about and spoke in tongues himself, it was almost too much for her. God had answered our prayers -- He had sent a charismatic Catholic priest.

The next week the priest asked Rick and me to speak at a retreat in a convent on the subjects of justification by faith and the baptism of the Holy Spirit. When the retreat ended he and the nun in charge of religious instruction for the order joined us for dinner. In the restaurant country-western music was playing and it was there the nun decided she desired the gift. There was no convenient place to go. She said God was everywhere and there was no reason she should not receive in the restaurant -- and she did! Since both the priest and the nun were in mufti and we were all four quietly speaking in tongues before the interested waiters and customers, I think we may have brought reproach on the Pentecostal denominations that night! Those Catholics don't know the rules any better than the Episcopalians do.

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AOTGA - Act 18

2005-04-05T14:15:00.000+01:00

The following Thursday the nun who became chasmatic in the Bonanza Steak House to the tune of "Nobody's Darling But Mine," attended the prayer group. She shared a great revelation with us. It seems that from the time she had spoken in tongues she had been unable to teach religion as she did previously. She confided, "Now I have to be certain they meet Christ in a personal way; everything else must come second."

Naturally the nun shared her Pentecost with some other sisters and the priest answered questions. More of them came to the meeting. We talked and talked and talked. One pretty Irish sister with black curly hair looked up at the ceiling, clenched her fist and burst out, "God, I've got to have it!" But the two of the them had to leave to catch the bus. We invited them out to dinner Tuesday and promised God would give them the gift.

They arrived at the Chinese-Italian restaurant before we did. The Catholic proprietor looked abashed at the two nuns. They told him they were waiting for two other people. "Gentlemen?" he demanded savagely. They said no, a couple. He visibly relaxed, sat them at a table and asked, "Something soft to drink?" When we arrived, "Dominique," by the Singing Nun was playing and the sisters looked relieved to see us. While we had dinner, "Onward Christian Soldiers" and "Dominique" were alternated several times!

After dinner we returned to the apartment and both sisters asked more questions. We were carefully explaining, when suddenly it all clicked with Sister Jane, a tiny American nun with a French Canadian order, who exclaimed, "I understand. I've got it now!" We prayed, and they bothe received easily and beautifully. Jane said she couldn't understand God, as she had told Him two months ago her spiritual life wasn't what it should be and she wanted Him to do something definite for her. "Why didn't He?" she plaintively inquired. "He just did," Richard replied.

"I didn't think of that."

Jane was wonderful. From the moment it had all fallen together in her mind, she was gung ho, full speed ahead. What was particularly pleasing about her was that despite a deep sensitivity to God and an enthusiasm about His supernatural answers to prayer, she never lost the strong practicality and logical approach to problems which characterized her. This is what impressed me about Theresa of Avila, and I believe it is exactly what Christ is trying to teach us. When the disciples came in from a cold night of fishing, Jesus didn't preach a sermon but took care of their human needs: a warm fire with frying fish was awaiting them. And yet on cannot imagine Jesus feeding the hungry without telling them of things eternal.

Another practical Christian was our amah. By the time the Catholics had begun to swell the Saturday night dinner group to fifty and above, we were glad to have someone to wash the dishes. We had prayed for an amah who was a Christian or who would become one; however, when Mui Nun applied we took her without any questioning of her beliefs. Her English was fractured, but we normally communicated to some degree. An exception was the day I asked her to tell Richard, when he arrived home, to meet me in Jimmy's Kitchen, which is a restaurant in the Central District. Mui Nun told him, "Missy say go Chickie Liver."

"Missy want me to buy chicken liver?"

"Yeh, go Chickie Liver." But it wasn't always that bad.

One day I said, "Do you go to church?"

"Yeh, go churchie every Christmas."

That didn't sound too promising. But then she added, "And go every Sunday."

By much prying we eventually discovered she was a Baptist but she confided, "Husband not saved yet."

She was great and we loved her -- always smiling except when tragedy came, when she would weep copiously and was not satisfied until every one in the house was weeping with her. Forget that myth about the inscrutability of the Chinese.

One time I decided Mui Nun should have an opportunity to receive what the prophet Joel promised. I asked Rick to talk to her in another room and tell her about Pentecost and sent two Chinese students in to interpret. Richard had planned to be a minister from the time he was seventeen years old, and I suspect he must have begun talking like one then. I wonder how they took it at Dartmouth. So to plump little curly-haired (compliments of the beauty shop) smiling, almond-eyed Mui Nun, who can barely read or write, he carefully, systematically, and at some length, explained the doctrine of the Holy Spirit. After I don't know how long Mui Nun stopped him in mid-sentence. They thought it had all been to no avail. She said, "I pray now," and started speaking in tongues while the "explainers" stared in amazement! I suspect Mui Nun's way is more biblical than ours.

Mui Nun's number one son had always been sickly, with rheumatic fever and a bad heart. He was an intelligent young man and did well in the Catholic school he attended but had missed a lot of time because of illness. Tragedy fell when it developed Peter had tuberculosis. But it seemed to be more serious than that. Two nurses who were members of the group strongly suspected Hodgkin's Disease. With much effort we managed to get him to the hospital and check the records. It was Hodgkin's Disease. The prognosis was an early death.

Mui Nun quit. She said that she was going to stay with Peter. She had obviously decided to be with him until he died. We visited Peter and found him terribly depressed. People were coming to the house and talking about his funeral arrangements in front of him. Rick and I talked to him; Margaretha talked to him; Dora Lee, a Chinese Anglican who was head girl at St Stephen's Girls' College, talked to him. All of us endeavored to show Peter what his attitudes must be: complete commitment to God, expectancy that God was going to heal him, and trust that whatever He did would be perfect. His fear of death must be relinquished, because to a Christian death is a conquered foe.

The prayer group prayed unceasingly for Peter and with true Christian charity took up a collection and paid Mui Nun full wages all of the time she was without work.

We had found it necessary to hire another amah because we couldn't handle the crowds of people that passed through our portals without some sort of assistance in cleaning and dishwashing. The agency sent -- believe it or not -- Ah So! About three weeks after Ah So had come to work for us she said, "Missy, one day I very sick. No get out of bed long time. I in bed crying, and man in white dress with light all over come in window. He put hand on me and I no sick. Later I see man in store and buy. You likee?" And she showed me a small statue of Christ. I said excitedly, "You saw Jesus!" She said sadly, "I no know. I want to know more but I no know where to go." I thought to myself, "You've come to the right place, Baby!"

Naturally Ah So joined the family of God, and one of our friends acquired a Chinese Bible for her. One day while Margaretha and I were talking on the telephone, Ah So came in crying and, holding her open Bible, knelt beside me on the floor. I felt awfully silly and asked what was going on. It seems Ah So had a terrible headache. I placed my hand on her head and prayed for her and the pain left. While she was kneeling there I thought, "There is no time like the present." I was still holding the telephone with Margaretha on the other end so I asked Margaretha to tell her in Chinese how to receive the Holy Spirit. Margaretha exclaimed, "Over the telephone?"

"Why not?"

So kneeling on the floor, talking on the telephone, Ah So entered into a new dimension. When she finally left us she bought me a present and said it was for me because, "You pray on my head and I get better."

Mui Nun telephoned and discreetly brough the conversation around to when she could come back to work. I had told her if I found an amah I could not let her go but that I would Mui Nun a place with one of my friends. She didn't want a place with one of my friends. She began to contact the neighbors' amahs and talk to them. They told Ah So I was going to fire her and take Mui Nun back. Ah So was beside herself. I reassured her to no avail. Clare Harding telephoned and said Mui Nun had telephoned her amah and asked her to tell her missy to tell Mui Nun's missy she was ready to return. I began to be reminded of the importunate woman and the judge in the Bible!

Ah So was now a Christian but she was not really capable of handling fifty people for dinner. She fell apart when anything unusual occurred, while Mui Nun thrived on unpredictability. We all secretly missed Mui Nun but were determined to stick it out. Things grew rapidly more disorganized.

People were still visiting, taking gifts and praying for Peter Lee. Margaretha told me he had gotten out of bed and had brought a friend all of the way to Rennie's Mill to have her tell the friend about the Lord Jesus. I commented, "If his commitment is getting that strong, he's just liable to be healed!"

A few days later the doorbell rang. It was Peter Lee and he looked fine. He had come to inquire when his mother could return to work. I couldn't fight city hall any longer. I told him to tell her to come back Monday. I found Ah So a job with a more predictable family and paid her an extra two weeks' salary. Mui Nun was again in command.

Peter had gained ten pounds. We took him to the hospital for a checkup. The Hodgkin's Disease had completely disappeared, and his heart was fine. He had been in the final stages of the disease. It had been expected that he would be dead within a few months, and now he was cured. I am writing this two years later. Peter is in perfect health, and he is planning to go into the ministry when his education is completed.

Mui Nun's husband began to come to the house in his spare hours and help Mui Nun cook dinner. There appeared to be a new and rather charming relationship between them. Sometimes I could hear them in her room giggling -- that had never happened before. Mui Nun had been amazed, amused and delighted by my relationship with Richard. During the day he would call me at least once. At first she found this incomprehensible. When he persuaded me to join him on the other side of the harbor for lunch she thought it incredible. By the time she had been with us a year she would listen to our telephone calls and then imitate me by kissing the air and saying in falsetto, "By, by, Dolling!" But now something appeared to be happening in her own marriage. She used to wish her husband, who bad been a cook on a ship, would stay at sea. What was this new attitude?

I asked Margaretha to speak to Mr Lee, who spoke no English, about Jesus Christ. He had been much impressed by Peter's recovery. Mr Lee listened through several sessions and then said, "My wife has worked for many people but none of them were like these people. What makes them different from other people?" Margaretha said, "I think you know."

"I think so." Mr Lee became a Christian.

Some weeks later we asked Margaretha to tell Mr Lee about the baptism in the Spirit. Mr Lee said he wanted to be very sure that when he died he went where "these people" and his family were going, and he would like everything that was available. Mr Lee now possessed a new language, and even though Mui Nun and he had two different languages their communication grew increasingly better!

The more that was happening, the happier Mui Nun was. These days she was really in her heyday. She adored everyone and was particularly fond of the Catholic priests and nuns who came and went. She also liked the Jaggers, but years later, instead of calling them Mr and Mrs Jagger, she was still calling them "Hugh's mommie" and "Hugh's daddy." She had met Hugh first, so in her mind, I suppose, it will remain that way forever. One day when they came to dinner and she was waiting on table, Mr Jagger complimented her on the Chinese green beans. She informed him in rapid pidgin English, that they were "too dear" and told him exactly what they had cost. Doug expressed such interest that she proceeded to inform him of the price of everything on the dinner table, while we held our sides in helpless laughter. Formal entertaining was out with Mui Nun in attendance.

When we first met the Jaggers they had not been very pleased about Hugh's religious activities. However, they couldn't be too difficult, as Hugh was such an outstanding fellow. He was not only head boy at his school, but he won an award for being the person in Hong Kong who had made the most outstanding contribution to the school that same year. He was tops in athletics and in his classes; and when he took his "A" levels, which correspond to college entrance examinations, he took three subjects and received three "distinctions." As far as the Jaggers were concerned, thin, blonde, shaggy-headed Hugh's only problem was this religious kick. Hugh had become a Christian through Keith Philcox and Crusaders. After two years of Hugh's "preaching" and Bible quoting, the crowning blow was when Verna Jagger discovered Hugh had spoken in tongues. She exclaimed that she had known a religious fanatic and even he had not gone that far. Doug Jagger was less vocal, but his feelings corresponded to his wife's.

Just before Hugh left for university in England his parents humored him by inviting Rick and me to lunch. We were on our good behavior and didn't mention religion. We didn't seem too formidable so they came to a meeting. Meanwhile, pretty, teenaged Claire Jagger, Hugh's sister, had become a Christian and a charismatic one. The three Jaggers continued to attend meetings even though Hugh had left for England. They stated that Hugh had become softer and less dogmatic since he had spoken in tongues. In fact, he had even been bringing them morning tea before he left for school.

One Thursday Verna Jagger telephoned to say she was coming early and without Doug to the meeting. I guessed what was coming. She had made her peace with Christ and was ready for the Spirit. She said that some weeks before a prophecy had come in the meeting in which she knew God was speaking to her, and she was converted through hearing it.

Some time after, on a Saturday night, most of the people had left and the rest were drinking coffee and squash (British bottled lemonade) when Claire Jagger said, "I have a prophecy." Everyone sat down and she spoke to the effect that God was calling someone who wasn't listening and wanted to give him the gift of the Spirit. It was a frightfully embarrassing moment, because there was no one in the room that the prophecy fit except Doug. He had vocalized his belief in Christ shortly before, after having asked questions for weeks, but he had not yet been empowered by the Spirit.

I quickly herded the younger members into another room and suggested they play their guitars and sing, which they did at the slightest provocation. I poured Doug a cold drink and felt miserable. I was afraid he would think what Claire had said had come from Claire, rather than from God, out of her desire to see him have an upper room experience. I carefully broached the subject of Claire's prophecy. "That was meant for me," Doug stated.

"How do you feel about it? Would you like to receive the gift now?" (Everyone had proded him for weeks). "I think I would." So the Jaggers with the fanatical son and far-out daughter had themselves climbed to the other side of the fence.

The Naval commander's wife and daughter had come from the States and spent six weeks with us. I was surprised at the wife's story. After the birth of their daughter she had been in post-childbirth depression and had gone to an Oral Roberts meeting and become a Christian. I know Oral personally, like him, have been to his house for dinner and have had him to mine, but somehow I couldn't understand this Ivy League type meeting Christ at an Oral Roberts meeting. But she had. Some days later she found herself praying quietly in another language, but she didn't understand the ramifications of it. After six weeks in Hong Kong she understood everything.

Their six-year-old daughter was really an intelligent child. Gail talked to her about Jesus and she understood regeneration better than most Christians. Her grandparents had explained it all clearly, and she grasped it very well. However, she informed Gail, she was not a Christian and did not, at that time, wish to become one! I admired her honesty.

One day the little girl had been unusually contentious. That night when she said prayers with her mother, she began to cry and said, "I don't want to be the way I am. I don't like me." It was the beginning of a new life. On Saturday night Suzanne prayed with her at the group affair and she was baptized with the Spirit. This was such a shock to a Plymouth Brethren medical doctor, who was certain he knew everything there was to know about God, that he telephoned us the next day, came to dinner, and was given a new language of love and praise. Then the Naval commander's ship came to Hong Kong and the chaplain received the gift of the Spirit. There appeared to be no end to our involvement with that commander.

A letter came from the commander's sister. She and her husband (we'll call him Bill) were traveling around the world. They arrived in Hong Kong and we invited them to dinner. Bill, who was half Jewish and an atheist, laughed when we talked about God. But there was something in his wife's eyes. I suggested we go in the bedroom and talk. She made a commitment of faith and was baptized in the Spirit.

They took us to dinner. The conversation gravitated to religion. We discussed at length. We took them to dinner. Back to religion. We suggested Bill investigate to discover if there is a Jesus Christ who is the son of God and alive -- that he pray twice a day for one week to that effect. Thursday night they came to the prayer meeting. Pouring a cup of coffee, swinging, personable Bill said to Rick, "I'm saying this prayer, but I don't know what to expect. What am I supposed to be looking for?" Just then Jim Davidson, a Salvation Army captain, exuberantly charged in the door exclaiming, "The gatekeeper's wife we prayed for, who was dying of cancer, went to the hospital and the cancer is completely gone! The nurses wept and the Catholic doctor had tears in his eyes. He said he had seen a miracle. The woman and her husband have both become Christians" Bill turned to Rick, "This thing is bigger than I thought. We'll have to talk some more."

Sunday we took them to the club to swim. Richard was called away to make peace between a Chinese girl and a Dutch journalist who were having marital problems. As we lounged by the pool Bill queried, "Why are you against pre-marital sex?" When I am endeavoring to bring someone to the place where he can see Jesus Christ I dislike being side-tracked. My thinking is that when people become Christians, if they continue in the faith, their doctrine and morals will eventually assume the scriptural pattern. I know this is true because I have met people all over the world whose ethics, morals and doctrine do conform to this pattern. In most cases this was the result of radical change after becoming Christian, and this in spite of the lack of exposure to any teaching whatsoever in many instances. So I sidestepped the question and said something like, "I've never said anything like that."

"But I know you are. Why?"

"I'm a Christian. If I am going to be a Christian I must take it seriously. Therefore, my guide has to be the Bible, since that is what is given for me to go by."

"Jean, that's ridiculous. It was written for people hundreds of years ago and doesn't fit today. There is nothing whatsoever wrong with pre-marital sex."

A loud crash. Bill lay on the concrete. Without so much as a warning tear, the canvas on his deck chair had suddenly been "rent asunder" and small-framed Bill, who had not even moved in the chair, was dumped on his derriere. "How could that happen?" he said incredulously, as he rubbed the sore place.

"Maybe Someone is trying to tell you something."

His eyes looked up to the heavens as he soberly mused, "Maybe so."

That night Bill expressed belief in Jesus Christ and spoke in tongues. We were still being entangled with that Naval commander, his family, and friends.

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AOTGA - Act 19

2005-04-05T14:14:00.000+01:00

Sailors, soldiers, priests, nuns, and students of all sizes, colors and shapes were calling for appointments. They were either searching for a deepening of their relationship with God, needed aid in some area of their lives, or some friend or relative had sent them. As if this wasn't enough, we frequently manufactured our own chaos. As we were walking through the Prince's Building one day, I noticed the back of a sailor's head as he was eating lunch. I remarked, "I'd like to ask him to dinner." Why this one? Hong Kong was full of American sailors and this one was already eating!

"Are you serious?"

"If he'll come."

"Is this from God?"

"I don't know."

Afraid of missing out in case it was, but also afraid the fellow might misinterpret the invitation, Rick went over, introduced himself, and said, "My wife and I would like you to join us for a home-cooked meal tonight, if you're free."

At dinner we exhausted most of the subjects of conversation. Afterward, the sailor asked, "What are you doing in Hong Kong?" Rick told him it was a long story. The young man checked his watch and said, "I have until 7:00 AM tomorrow morning. Let's hear it."

Richard related the dream and subsequent happenings. At the end the boy confessed faith in Jesus Christ and said, "God sent you to me."

They walked down the hill to find a taxi and the fellow confided he had been in the Prince's Building to call his fiancee. She was wearing his engagement ring, and they were to be married next month. He hadn't heard from her for several months, and this was the first opportunity there had been for him to leave ship. He placed the trans-Pacific call only to discover it was all over between them and she had left leaving no forwarding address. He was desolate. We don't know what would have happened if he had not met God that night. As he fervently wrung Rick's hand he vowed, "I'll never forget you. Meeting you has changed my life."

Another time I had an urge to call Mr Sung and invite him to luncheon. He said he was meeting a US Naval lieutenant for lunch and invited us to join them. I suggested they both come.

After lunch we talked all afternoon. The lieutenant invited us to dinner on the ship. The evening culminated with two more Naval officers receiving the baptism in the Spirit -- one a Baptist and one an Episcopalian.

Jim Sutherland, the Episcopalian, sent his cousin from Viet Nam to see us. The telephone rang and a youthful American voice stated she was with the USO and was Jim's cousin. One of our prayer groups met that night but I didn't know if Jim had told her anything or if this was simply a social call. "We'd like you to come for dinner but I don't know what evening is convenient for you. Tonight a prayer group meets here. Has Jim told you anything about it?"

"No."

"Would you like to come?"

"That might be nice."

"We'll have an early dinner. Come at six o'clock."

Promptly at six o'clock the doorbell rang. The table was set and dinner was ready, as the meeting started at eight o'clock.

I opened the door and standing on the threshold was a very large, dark complexioned woman with bright orange hair. I had been expecting a sweet young thing looking like "the girl next door." I gaped like a moron. The woman said, "Jean?"

"Yes."

"I'm O. May I come in?"

That didn't make sense to me but I stood aside. She swept in regally with packages and boxes trailing in her wake.

She looked disappointedly around the room. "I thought you had a meeting tonight."

"We do, but it isn't until eight o'clock."

"I came early so I wouldn't be late. Is it all right if I wait?"

And she ensconced herself on the sofa after pressing the boxes and packages upon me; they turned out to be presents.

The doorbell rang. It was the cute USO type. We had pork chops for dinner. Have you ever tried to stretch a chop?

The upshop of the evening was that I found something in a can, surrounded the platter with sliced tomatoes, and the family avoided the pork as though they had suddenly become Orthodox Jews. Both women were Catholic, but O (yes, that was her name) practiced a serious and personal Christianity while Barbara didn't believe anything at all. O was a nervous wreck all through dinner. She had asked the LaSalle Brothers where to receive the gift of the Spirit and they had given her our address. She had come hundreds of miles, and she was uptight, fearing she would not receive. Barbara didn't have a clue what was going on. I told O she didn't have to wait until the meeting because Rick could pray with her now. That left me to talk to Barbara. After Barbara heard about Jim and the works God was performing, she believed and was baptized with the Spirit.

Things hadn't gone so well with Richard. O wouldn't speak out and so did not receive anything. I went in Suzy's room to talk with her, and Rick came out and to talk to Barbara. Nothing I said was any use whatsoever. What we didn't know was that O was frightened. There was a print on the wall in Suzy's room of a slant-eyed cat with flowers. O comes from a country where superstition runs high, and the cat's eyes upset her. She became afraid that the whole thing might not be from God and might even be evil. Of course she was too polite to mention her thoughts. The door bell rang to announce Sister Jane's arrival. I ushered her in to pray with O. Since they were both Catholic I thought this would help. Nothing. Finally I said, "Just begin to worship Christ in the language He wants to give you. I'll pray in my language also so you won't feel shy." I began to pray in tongues and O screamed, "You're speaking my language! It's God talking to me!" and she began to speak to God in a heavenly language. I later discovered I had been adoring God in perfect Spanish -- and I can't even say "Adios" with a proper accent.

We met a lot of different types of people. There was the pious-looking missionary's daughter who burst into tears after hearing a message in tongues with interpretation, and confessed she had been committing adultery with someone else's husband for over a year.

There was the Catholic sailor who quietly, and with deep emotion, spoke in tongues for the first time and two nuns from a French order who understood it. They knew he didn't know a word of French, and they could hardly wait to be prayed for to receive the gift.

There was the surprising incident when the group all began to softly sing in their prayer languages, and when it ended a little Chinese nun, who had never spoken in tongues, was still singing -- high and clear and glorious -- while tears rolled down her cheeks. And the interpretation came forth: "Weep no more My daughter. Weep no more My bride. But feed My sheep. Feed on My Word for My Word is true, and feed My sheep as I have fed you. Weep no more My daughter; weep no more My bride."

And then the evangelical missionary who came -- and we knew something was wrong. When we prayed God said through a word of knowledge she had a demon of lust. We blushed with embarrassment and didn't believe it but prayed for her freedom. And she was baptized with the Spirit and a year later told us she had been committing adultery with a married missionary for a long time, but the day she met us she was instantly delivered.

Yes, we had met a lot of different kinds of people and our days were very full and we were very, very tired. We desperately wanted to go somewhere, but Hong Kong is not very large. One day I telephoned a travel agency -- I just knew we were going on a trip. As the telephone rang, I realized I didn't know where we were going and hung up. The mail arrived, and in it was a letter from Jim and Elaine Foerster, who had been transferred to another country. They wanted to send us round-trip tickets to go and visit them. Even though we suspected the bait had a hook in it, we heartily acquiesced, and it wasn't long before we were flying to spend a week relaxing with the Foersters. It didn't work out quite that way.

The Foersters had us booked for dinner parties, luncheons, and morning coffees. We were expected to tell all of their friends about the Holy Spirit and what He could do for them. It was a big order and developed into an exhausting one.

The first Saturday night produced a dinner party with their friends, who all attended the same church. Rick and I were at different tables, but both of us were telling the things God had done in our lives. The next morning at church I could see in the eyes of the priest's wife that she yearned for the Spirit. I told Elaine she should invite her over so she would not have to wait any longer. Thyrza eagerly accepted. But when we began to talk, Thyrza realized she was not ready for the Spirit because she had to meet Jesus first. The Holy Spirit had been drawing her so strongly that this was not difficult. When God filled her, there was something so deep and intense in her prayer in the Spirit that, even though she spoke quietly, the dogs began to bark wildly and had to be taken away. From the moment chic, popular Thyrza became a disciple of Jesus she talked about Him to everyone who would listen -- and listen they did.

Tuesday night was the pancake supper. In the past Shrove Tuesday was the time each person confessed his sins, was shriven and ate up all the goodies in teh larder to prepare for an abstemious Lent. This lucrative-looking little Episcopal Church did not operate in that fashion. There was no service, no confession, not even a blessing before or after the food.

Elaine had asked me to see if I could "do something" for a young girl she knew. The teenager was in rebellion against her parents and had twice run away from school with men: once with the janitor and once with another man. The police had been several weeks finding her. The proper people of the church did not want their children around her and everyone was uptight over it. The girl was taken regularly to church by her parents, but she refused to sing, stand or kneel when required. I was also told she was very rude if anyone mentioned religion.

At dinner someone introduced me and I said, "Sit by me, Cassie" -- not her real name -- "we need some young blood at this table." After a few introductory remarks, I suggested that if she ever came to Hong Kong she should come and see us -- that we had about fifty kids meeting at our house every Saturday night. She showed a spark of interest: "What for? What is it?"

"I suppose you might call it a 'Love-In'"

Cassie was definitely interested and wanted to know more. I proposed we cross the driveway and sit under a tree where we could talk more freely. I told her about SNAG and my experience with the baptism in the Spirit. I didn't know it, but she didn't believe me. "Can you talk in that language at any time?"

"Yes."

"Will you?" To herself, she thought that anyone could make up nonsense syllables. I quietly spoke several sentences in tongues, whereupon Cassie let out an earsplitting shriek. I looked across the driveway in horror, expecting people to rush over demanding, "What have you done to this child?" Strangely, no one moved or even turned around. They were quietly eating as though nothing had transpired. Those I asked later said they had heard nothing.

"Do it again."

"Not if you're going to scream. What's wrong with you?"

"I promise I won't."

I spoke again in tongues. Cassie moaned, "Wow! Wowww!"

"What is the matter with you?"

"Listen: I've been everywhere and done everything. I've been to seances; I've been where they worship Satan; and I've never felt anything before. Are you a witch?"

"Certainly not!"

"Can't you be a witch for God?"

"Would you believe a prophetess?" I laughed.

"Can I have that, too?"

"There's a catch in it -- you have to have Jesus first."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know anything about Jesus?"

"No. Only what I heard in Sunday School and I didn't believe any of that."

I told her in some detail why Jesus died and that her only part of it was acceptance -- that He had loved Cassie so much He had given His life in order that she might be reconciled to God.

Cassie had begun to cry. "What do I have to do?"

"Pray and ask Him to forgive all the nasty things you've ever done and to make you His child."

"I don't know how to pray."

"You can say something like, 'Dear Lord, I'm sorry for --'"

"Can I do it my way?"

"Certainly. Go ahead."

"Uhh, hi there -- if You're there -- I'm really sorry about the mess I've made of my life and, uh, I'd really like You to straighten it out -- and take over -- if You wouldn't mind --"

I prayed, thanking Jesus Christ for making her a new person in Him. She warned me it might not last with her, and we both went home.

At 11:00 PM the maid said Cassie's mother was on the telephone and wanted to speak to me. I thought, "Uh-oh."

The mother wanted to tell me that Cassie had recounted talking to a woman at church, and afterward feeling as though she had been washed inside. She quoted Cassie as having said, "Mother, I feel as though I have lived in a dark cellar all my life and have finally come out into the sunlight. I don't ever want to go back, or do those bad things again." Cassie went to bed and somewhat later came into her mother's room saying, "I was praying to Jesus and He gave me a new language. Listen." And she spoke in tongues. Her mother said it was really beautiful. The last I heard from the family, it has lasted, with Cassie teaching Sunday School in the Episcopal Church. At least one person was shriven on Shrove Tuesday.

We attended the Lenten Bible Study at the Episcopal Church. They were studying chapter 2 of the Book of Acts. Richard and I were determined to keep silent. We managed that for all of fifteen minutes when someone asked, "Did they speak in known languages on the day of Pentecost?" The priest answered, "The commentary I have here states that they probably did not." I mentioned casually that I knew a minister who had spoken in tongues to an Egyptian woman. The language was Arabic, which he did not know, and she was converted to Christianity because of it. I explained how the story was documented. Someone said, "I remember reading about this happening in an Episcopal Church in California some years ago." The priest said, "Jean is from that church and she and Rick can tell us all about it, so let's don't be in too big a hurry to go on."

Eight people had been filled with the Spirit by the time we left the Foersters, but the finale came when we returned to Hong Kong. The priest and his wife were traveling through, and we took them out several times and introduced them to our friends. His father had been a strong influence on Bishop Pike's theology, and although the priest was liberal in being willing for everyone to do his own thing, he was not personally interested in the charismata, to his wife's complete frustration.

They attended SNAG on Saturday night, and the minister seemed turned to stone. But upon returning to their apartment he told his wife that during the meeting he had "seen" a long black tunnel with light at the other end. A voice said, "It's only your pride that's keeping you in darkness." He prayed with his wife, affirmed faith in the resurrected Christ, and the Spirit gave him one word of a new language.

Knowing nothing of this, I said to the family, "I'm not going to church tomorrow." They asked why and I didn't really know. The next morning, at the time we would normally have been in church, the telephone rang. The priest wanted to talk to Rick before they caught their plane. And an hour before the plane left for the United States, the minister was fluently magnifying God in his new language.

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AOTGA - Act 20

2005-04-05T14:08:00.000+01:00

The blonde teenager sat back against the wall, her eyes closed and her big yellow guitar leaning against her legs. Words same from her mouth as smoothly, as freely and as quickly as water runs over a pebble" (Bob Bennett, Hong Kong Standard).

Our living quarters had become slightly more respectable. We had persuaded the landlady to have the flat painted white (which horrified her -- I think she envisioned a hospital). We had a man come and stain all of the mismatched furniture a uniform shade, and build shelves for the walls. Gail industriously made white draperies for the windows and a second little man re-covered the upholstered furniture with blue and green print material we had purchased in the "stalls" where yardage is sold cheaply. Mary Nelles visited and contributed six kelly green rattan chairs; Hugh Jagger made us a coffee table from an old door, and the Foersters donated the pictures they didn't want to transport. We had no carpeting, but on Saturday nights we didn't need it as we sported wall-to-wall people.

Perhaps the living quarters were more respectable, but we were not. A number of parents were disturbed because their children were contracting religion (they appeared to regard it as a disease). Some of them told their offspring that they didn't mind if they were confirmed, or even attended the established church if they felt strongly about it, but this stress on religion simply "isn't done." One priest agreed. He told us when we first met him that he thought the church must change or die, but his idea of change was not ours. He saw it as forgetting the religious emphasis and becoming realistic by providing food and clothing and teaching the Chinese skills such as painting. This last bit really cracked us up because the Chinese had been painting when the priest's ancestors were residing in caves. One of the Sunday School teachers told him that there must be something wrong if they couldn't get the kids to turn out to be entertained and fed at the church youth group -- the "the Willanses don't have any trouble getting fifty to turn out to a prayer meeting."

The minister wasn't pleased. His retaliation was to have a friend, who did radio talk interviews, investigate glossolalia by interviewing people and asking their opinions. It didn't seem to matter much that many of the people interviewed had never heard of the subject. The interviewer admitted this. He said, "I'm not in favor, but the program is coming out pro because anyone who knows anything about it is for it and the people who are against it really don't know a damned thing about it."

For a number of years people all over the world had been speaking in languages given by the Holy Spirit, so it was no longer front page news as it had once been. But Hong Kong was considerably behind on such things. Thus glossolalia was a new thing there, and for that reason controversial. After the prerecorded program was aired, a very lively panel discussion followed. It was ludicrous, as one of the primary people speaking was an agnostic who referred to himself as Christian. To cloud the issues further, the moderator (an atheist) would periodically pipe up with something like, "As a Jew I object!" However, it seemed reasonable to the radio station. Rick was supposed to answer questions, but was usually cut off if he started to say anything pertinent. Before the program he discovered the mother of an involved student was on the panel. We knew the daughter had not previously been confirmed nor attended church. The mother said (off the air) she herself hadn't been to church in years -- it bored her too much to even think about it. But on the radio she went into a dissertation that speaking in tongues was not to be tolerated because it caused in youngsters a "condescending attitude" toward the established church!

Early the next morning, after the radio program that had been organized to stamp out glossalia, there was a knock at the door. An English schoolteacher, of Roman Catholic persuasion, was standing there.

"Is this where the prayer meetings are held?"

He wanted to map out the territory to be sure he could find it the following evening to attend the meeting. And so it went --

A reporter from one of the newspapaers telephoned and inquired, "Is this the place where you hear voices?"

When he arrived at the prayer group, complete with photographer, still asking about "voices," a Supreme Court Justice, who was a regular attender, firmly admonished him to call it "speaking in tongues." The next morning one of the American nuns discovered, pinned to the school bulletin board, a picture of herself which had appeared in a half-page article in the morning newspaper entitled, "HOLY SPIRIT MAKES THEM SPEAK IN UNKNOWN TONGUES." But that wasn't as bad as the next headline.

Meanwhile, we decided to print a booklet called Charisma in Hong Kong, containing the personal stories of a number of people in the group. We visited the printer for an estimate, and he roughly mentioned HK $1,000. We accepted, went home and told God we needed $1,000 and please send it right away. Keith Philcox telephoned and wanted to look in on us. I made tea and we talked but didn't mention the booklet. Before he departed he handed Rick a check for $1,000 and said God had told him to give it to us three days before. The following day the formal estimate arrived from the printer, and it was closer to $2,000. We apprised God of this development.

The next day, while lunching with Jackie Pullinger and an elderly missionary, a man stopped to greet the missionary. With him was a visiting American named Ernie Lambert, a Baptist whose business is mutual funds. Rick and Ernie talked and Saturday night Ernie came to SNAG. During the evening he suggested, "I had dinner with you tonight; how about having lunch with me tomorrow at the Peninsula Hotel?" Naturally I agreed to such a rare treat; so the next day he took everyone but the parrot to lunch. Gail and Suzy left, but the three of us talked for hours. At the end of that time Ernie looked at me and said, "Do you need any money for anything?" I said, "No. All of our bills are paid; we have food in the house and God takes care of us." He said, "I want to do this anyway," and he signed several traveler's checks and gave them to us. They almost exactly totaled the amount needed for the publishing venture -- but we had not mentioned it to him at all!

Like the prayer group, the booklet grew. Everyone we asked to write an article did, and we had twice the material for which we had received an estimate. When it was time to pay the printer, a businessman and member of the Cathedral Council inquired, "How much are you short?" and wrote a check for the amount needed. Charisma in Hong Kong vanished so rapidly we were almost out of them before we had begun and yet we still receive letters from many parts of the world with requests for more.

Melissa Singer decided the reporter who had written the newspaper article needed something, so she sent him a copy of Charisma. The reporter reprinted part of Martha Baker's story with pictures and ran it in the newspaper the following day, captioned, "BISHOP'S DAUGHTER IN TONGUES CULT." Poor Melissa hadn't meant to do that. And what the reporter didn't know was that the bishop's wife also spoke in tongues and some people suspected the bishop!

A countess saw the headlines and decided she needed to investigate. She became such a keen member of the group that she had me speak twice at Toastmistress (she was President) to tell them of the acts of God in the Twentieth Century.

A singer from America was interview in Hong Kong by a reporter from one of the two major newspapers. The reporter commented, "I hear you are religious. I'm disenchanted with the organized church."

The singer replied, "So am I."

"But I thought you were religious."

The singer then told the reporter of the charismatic life. The reporter observed, "There's a group here who speak in tongues. Our paper had a big write-up on them."

"You should go there."

So the reporter brought his wife to the gathering. Over a period of several weeks he returned to God and his Chinese wife became a Christian. They were both baptized with the Holy Spirit. The wife taught in a Catholic school, and one day she visited all of the classes and told the students about Jesus Christ and the need for a personal belief. That day one hundred and forty took that step and were filled with the Spirit. The radio program had backfired!

The mother general of a Franciscan order made her periodic visit to Hong Kong. During her routine call on the Catholic bishop he asked, "Do you know one of your nuns speaks in tongues and that she even attends a meeting where this sort of thing occurs?" Mother affirmed she was aware of it. The frail little French sister superior accompanying Mother spoke up bravely, "But I also speak in tongues and I also attend that meeting." The bishop gasped, "How many more of you are there?" He continued, "One of your sisters telephoned me from Macao this morning and asked permission to begin such a meeting there for the students. She should not have telephoned me; she should have spoken to her superior." The tiny sister remonstrated, "But Bishop, she is the superior!" When the two nuns departed, the mother general admonished the sister superior, "If the bishop is so interested in this speaking in tongues, why have you not invited him to a meeting?"

Mother attended a meeting. Being deeply committed to our Lord, it took her no great amount of time to become convinced that the gift of the Spirit was from God and enhanced one's devotional life. She asked for and received the gift for herself, and her parting question to me was, "My nuns all over the world must have this gift, but how can this be without you and your husband to accompany me for the imposition of hands?" When we returned to the United States on leave, I received a letter from a sister in Tahiti who had received the gift of the Spirit through Mother by the imposition of hands. Obviously she had discovered there was no problem -- God was in Tahiti also and He is the one who bestows the Spirit. The Tahitian sister was busy translating charismatic literature into French for the edification of the other nuns who had been similarly empowered.

Mother was somewhat concerned how those at the Mother House would view what God was doing. She feared they might not understand. But soon thereafter the newspaper from the Mother House arrived and it told of a "new" thing in our day. It seems that two charismatic priests had spoken there and three sisters had already received the "new" blessing.

About this time, in a confirmation service, the Catholic bishop laid hands on a nine-year-old child who immediately began to speak in tongues. Of course she had never heard of such a thing. A nun assisting the bishop pointed out, "She's speaking in tongues, Bishop." He replied, "Yes, yes, yes," and seemed terribly nervous about the whole proceeding.

Jill Haylock, a lovely young Plymouth Brethren girl, was baptized with the Spirit while in Hong Kong on holiday from an English boarding school. The next week her sister came with her, was converted, and received the Spirit. The girls returned to school. Their father, Ted, who sang in the cathedral choir, had come to a meeting like a proper parent to investigate what the girls were involved in. We invited him to dinner one evening so we could tell him a bit more of the girls' attitudes. I wore a brown brocade hostess gown. Gail had changed the buttons on it for me, as several of the original ones were lost. What I didn't know was that Gail had decided to save money by using smaller buttons because they were cheaper. After dinner I arose to pour the coffee and as I gracefully swung around and handed Mr Haylock his coffee, the buttons gave way and the gown opened all of the way down the front and there I stood in my pants and brassiere. Speak of life's most embarrassing moments. I quickly clutched the pieces about me but Mr Haylock, being a proper Englishman, turned not a hair and showed neither by look nor deed that anything untoward had occurred!

The following Sunday Ted Haylock took us to dinner at the officer's club and then we returned to our flat to talk. I asked if he would like a heavenly language, and he said he would; he immediately acquired one. The next day we discovered the girls had gotten into trouble at boarding school by playing a tape of their friends' experiences with God. A letter arrived from the Headmistress, but somehow it didn't seem as serious to Ted as it might have the previous week.

We had been away from home nearly four years. It had been rewarding in that many hundreds had come to an awareness of Jesus Christ as the Redeemer and had gone on to appropriate the promise of the Spirit. A number had been healed and many more had actually changed in their personalities. But we were homesick and in need of a rest. We determined we should go home on leave. We had no money to do so, but we had not had any money to come, either. We wrote that we would be home in July, and a few days later a letter arrived from Herbert and Mary Charlotte Mitchell notifying us that they were sending their income tax refund to us. It was enough for three tickets to the United States.

When we left the United States many people had stated we could never go to China because politically it would never be possible. But when we arrived in Taiwan, where friends still told us, "This is China and where you are to be," a notice in the newspaper stated that no longer would one's passport be confiscated if one traveled to mainland China -- that the Supreme Court had declared this would be unconstitutional. In Hong Kong people were sure we could not enter China; to top it all, they thought we were CIA because we had such strange answers to their questions. But nothing deterred us -- everything else in the dream had come to pass, and we knew China was also in God's plan for us. In the dream it had specifically been shown that the ultimate target of our mission is in China, and a voice had said, "Not Hong Kong." We understood what that meant. Despite the work that had been accomplished, we were not to consider ourselves finished -- we still must go to China. We packed our clothes, bought our tickets home and went on leave, knowing God would work out the next lap of our journey even though everyone was still saying it couldn't be done. Our plane landed in San Francisco on July 15th, 1971, and the headlines on the San Francisco newspapers blazoned, "NIXON GOING TO CHINA." The Great Wall had cracked. The future was before us and the Spirit would lead --

The blonde teenager sat back against the wall, her eyes closed and her big yellow guitar leaning against her legs. Words same from her mouth as smoothly, as freely and as quickly as water runs over a pebble" (Bob Bennett, Hong Kong Standard).

Epilogue 1995

2005-04-05T13:50:00.000+01:00

"... These are the ones on whom seed was sown on the rocky places, who, when they hear the word, immediately receive it with joy; and they have no firm root in themselves, but are only temporary; then, when affliction or persecution arises because of the word, immediately they fall away." -- Mark 4:16-17 (NASB)

We have added this chapter to share with you some things which were deliberately omitted from the original edition of The Acts of the Green Apples, and to provide a brief update on happenings since it was first published. One important early event was not included in the original edition because many people could not handle how deep this baptism in the Spirit takes you -- if you allow it to. St Paul says these things were not done in a corner, and most of the people I knew in the beginning couldn't even handle that. As we continue you will see what I mean.

An early cohort in the Bless Trinity Society accompanied her husband to Hawaii on a business trip and gave copies of our tracts, "Have Ye Receive the Holy Ghost Since Ye Believed?" and "What Has Happened to the Trinity?" to the Episcopal bishop and his wife. Of course I was delighted, but then she told me she had gone over to a local Assemblies of God church and been baptized in water. My pleasure evaporated. Hawaii being so "small," I was sure this would get back to the bishop and ruin our witness, since this would be seen as baptism into another denomination. But I decided to wait until she returned before I told her what I thought of this strange behavior on her part. We got together after her return, and just as I was raising my finger to scold her the Spirit fell upon me, so I kept quiet. As we talked on, I grew angry again and raised my finger to speak, and again the Spirit fell on me. I thought to myself, "If God isn't angry with her, why should I be?" so I kept my mouth shut about it.

One evening I visited a Foursquare church in Chatsworth. I knew the pastor and had a lot of regard for him. What I didn't know was that they were having a baptism that night. There was soft music playing and about a dozen people in long white robes came out and the pastor baptized them in the baptistry. (I had never seen one before; it's a large tub of water behind a screen behind the choir.) He asked them, "Do you believe Jesus Christ is your Saviour and that He died for you? Are you going to follow Him for the rest of your life?" Then he took them in his arms and quickly plunged them under water and raised them up saying something like, "Because you have given your life to Jesus Christ you will be raised at the last resurrection and never die." It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. One of them came up out of the water quietly praying in tongues. The pastor had baptized her in water but the Lord had baptized her in the Holy Spirit. The minister, as though reading my mind, said "If there is anyone here who has never been properly baptized in water since accepting Jesus as Lord, there are robes in the back and I would be happy to baptize anyone who wants to be." He looked directly at me. All I could think was, "I really would like to do this but the Bishop would kill me."

Later someone told me there was an old priest in Florida who had been baptized in the Spirit for years and knew everything. So I wrote to the Rev William Sherwood and asked him how he felt about baptism by immersion. He wrote back and said he would like to do that sometime as he thought it would give him more power. I immediately suggested he come and visit us, and he was on the next plane. After we got acquainted, I asked if he would immerse me (which is the meaning of the Greek word baptizo), as I had not been baptized since accepting Christ as Saviour. He heartily agreed and I arranged a secret little ceremony in the Rev Harold J Smith's church on a Wednesday afternoon. Then I felt guilty and told a few of my close friends, and they immediately decided to be baptized as well. After all, no one can really make that commitment for you.

On the Monday before our planned baptism, in the midst of organizing another meeting for that evening, the telephone rang. It was Mr Smith. He said, "Jean, I don't feel right about your being baptized secretly. This is your public confession of faith and should be done in front of my congregation Wednesday night." I said, "Nonsense, your people know about believer's baptism. It would make more sense to do it before these 100 Episcopalians at tonight's meeting." (A prominent Episcopalian surgeon was to speak on the subject of unity, which turned out to be most ironic.)

Father Sherwood said, "I don't like what you are saying, Jean, but I am getting a real witness from God that this is what we should do." Mr Smith heard him and said, "I agree, Jean. You should do that tonight." God had been nudging me to talk to Him about this secret Wednesday meeting, but I had arranged the Monday meeting with the speaker and I kept telling God, "I know there is something wrong about the Wednesday meeting and I'll talk to you about it later. Right now I have to make arrangements for this Episcopal meeting tonight. I'll talk to you later about the Wednesday meeting."

Again, Father Sherwood said, "I'm afraid, but I think we should do this." I said, "We will ask the Lord. We will pray for half an hour and then ask the Lord and open the Bible and I'll put my finger on the page and we will expect him to answer our question. No prophecy or tongues and interpretation because we do not want to get our own thinking into this."

We prayed. I shut my eyes and opened the Bible and stuck my finger down on the middle of the page, right on Jesus coming up out of the water after John the Baptist had baptized him. The die was cast.

By this time Father Sherwood had decided to be baptized as well, which prompted my next question: "You're baptizing us, but who is going to baptize you?" Father Sherwood answered, "Brother Smith [a quiet and proper Pentecostal minister we all loved dearly] can baptize me." I said, "Your Bishop would probably have you defrocked. We will have to do better than that." Father Sherwood suggested, "Maybe that Episcopalian priest from up north you invited to the meeting." I replied, "He probably isn't coming as he has a confirmation class tonight."

As we pondered this I called the Assemblies of God church where the Episcopal meeting was to be held and asked them to fill the baptistry. He said they couldn't because it had a hole in it. Not knowing anything about baptistries I reiterated that they had to fill it as we were having a baptism at the meeting. He said it was completely impossible as the hole was so large the water ran right through it. Even I gave up on that -- actually with a good deal of relief. So I said, "You see, Lord, there's nothing I can do."

I got the yellow pages and went over all the Pentecostal churches. I knew that any of them would be delighted to have us use their facilities, but at every one it was as though the Lord said, "No." Finally I said to Father Sherwood, "I know a girl who goes to a non-denominational church. I wonder if it has a baptistry." Just then the telephone rang -- it was the young woman just mentioned. I asked, "Do you have a baptistry in your church?"

"Yes."

"Do you think Mr Stiles would lend it to us?"

"I should think so -- call and ask him."

She gave me the number and I telephoned the church. The man answering said there was no way I could reach the Rev Jack Stiles for three weeks; he and his family were on vacation and absolutely no one knew where. So I had to give up. I said, "If you should hear from him today..." He interrupted, saying he was sure he wouldn't. I continued, "Please ask him to call Jean Stone," and I left my telephone number. He said he would write it down but reiterated that Mr Stiles would not be heard from.

Within ten minutes the telephone rang. It was Mr Stiles. I related our situation and asked if we might rent his church for the evening and use the baptistry. He answered, "No ... but you may use the church free of charge." I insisted on paying. (I found out why later: people have tried to claim we were baptized into another denomination, but this was a non-denominational church which we had rented for the evening.) So Mr Stiles allowed us to pay $15 to cover utilities and we were in business. It was all moving too fast to please either Father Sherwood or me.

The telephone rang. It was the priest from up north. He said, "Here I am in Los Angeles -- where do I go now?" I suggested he come and have tea with us; then, before hanging up, I asked, "Father Gordon, how do you feel about baptism by immersion?" He answered in a formal tone, "I feel very strongly about the sacraments of the Episcopal Church." I looked up toward heaven and inwardly asked, "Lord, why did you send him?" Then, in a more normal voice, he added, "However, I would be happy to baptize anyone by immersion who wishes to be."

So Father Gordon came to tea. He told us about his experiences with the Lord, including seeing a cross in the sky, and that he was baptized in the Spirit. He definitely was converted, but I felt the Lord was saying he was not baptized in the Spirit. I went into the bedroom and prayed, and felt more definitely about it than before. I then asked, "Father Gordon, have you ever spoken in tongues?" He replied that he had not received that particular gift.

Now in those days we laity (at least in my circles) treated priests almost like God Himself. But I found myself saying, "Father Gordon, if you will get down on your knees there by the coffee table, Father Sherwood and I will pray for you, for the Lord wants to give you this gift as well." We gently touched our hands to his head and quietly asked God to baptize him in the Spirit, and to give him a new language for prayer and praise.

Father Gordon told us later that he was absolutely furious with us, and that he clamped his jaws tightly together, determined to say nothing at all. Almost immediately, however, he began to speak loudly in a wonderfully complete and beautiful language. There was no question in anyone's mind that it was from God. In fact, he prayed so loudly that I ran around the house and closed the windows so the neighbors wouldn't hear. As soon as Father Gordon was baptized in the Spirit he wanted believer's baptism by immersion; so he and Father Sherwood agreed to baptize each other.

Meeting time finally arrived. Now neither priest had ever seen a baptismal ceremony anywhere but in the Episcopal Church. In the water, trapped air caused their robes to billow around them, which would have been funny if we had not all been so seriously involved at the time. I tell you frankly, we thought we must do this because it was scriptural. But we were very nervous, and terrified of the heirarchy of the Church; for many of us, God was by far the most important part of our lives and we saw God and our Church as one.

But back to the mad tea party. The priests had never seen anyone baptized other than by filling a small silver shell, pouring it three times over the baby and saying first, "I baptize you in the name of the Father," second, "In the name of the Son," and third, "In the name of the Holy Ghost." We had been tipped off, by someone who knew, to hold our noses, because we would be quickly plunged backward, face up, under the water. Ah, but in our case it was different. First, they immersed us in the name of the Father, then in the name of the Song, and then in the name of the Holy Ghost. And then, when we thought that was it, they immersed us again in the name of Jesus of Nazareth. If they had invoked the Saints I fear we would have been drowned! We must have been the wettest Episcopalians ever. We changed clothes and moved to the congregation and it was a nightmare.

Many people were upset and angered and, ignoring the rest of the service, were making openly critical and disruptive comments, such as, "We don't do this in our church!" and, "This is a slap in the face of the Episcopal Church!" Others, meanwhile, had been touched, and they came forward, put on robes and were baptized as well.

At some point during all this, Dr Robert Frost wandered in. (This was when he was a biology professor at Westmont, before he became a prominent speaker and writer in the charismatic movement.) The baptisms by immersion would seem normal to him as he was a Baptist. I sat in the pew miserably wet and bedraggled, with most of the people there angry at me, and Dr Frost began to prophesy. I don't remember it all -- I only remember, "My Daughter, I have seen your sacrifice and I am well pleased." To this day, just telling it makes me feel like weeping. If I had pleased the Lord it was all worth it.

The clincher to the story is that the Rev Dennis Bennett had left a guidance committee to keep those of us baptized in the Spirit in line. They were all men, of course, but not all actually believed in the risen Lord. The ones available to go made an appointment with the bishop and went to see him the next day. After hearing the story, I am told, he asked only one question: "Was Jean Stone baptized?" I was told the idea was that he would excommunicate me and it would all end. The miracle is that, although I was the second one baptized and was dripping water wherever I went that night, not one of them could remember if I had been baptized!

We turn now to another episode from the early days, one which is less edifying to recount, but which taught me a lesson that has proved most valuable over the years. It also answers the often-asked question: "What happened to Trinity?"

When the magazine was in its heyday, I was warned in a dream regarding an unscrupulous individual who would destroy the work. I was awakened from this dream by the alarm clock on the very morning he was to begin working for the Society. I was very young in the Spirit, naive enough to tell the subject individual about the dream, and stupid enough to be talked out of believing it. I had not done a background check.

This ultimately led to the Society going into bankruptcy and giving everything material it owned to worthy Christian works in need. As the Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements (Burgess and McGee 1988) states: "the cessation of Trinity magazine ... was linked to financial troubles outside of Stone's control ..." The dream had come true: the magazine was destroyed.

In spite of this failure on my part, God was not finished with us, as is clearly illustrated in the rest of this book. There was the inevitable fallour, but we did not have the time to dwell on it. Perhaps David du Plessis summarized the situation most aptly when he and the Bishop of Singapore stayed with us in Hong Kong. After seeing the work there first hand, David observed that the Lord Himself had answered our critics through the fruitful ministry that was manifested there; and that no one could honestly state that God was not with us.

As for myself, I definitely took the lesson to heart, and by listening to such warnings from the Lord we have subsequently avoided a number of potential disasters. For example, a missionary who ran an orphanage visited our meeting; he seemed to be quite committed and gave impressive testimonies of God's guidance and provision. Yet, without any identifiable reason, I began to feel a strong aversion to the man. After much prayer, the feeling only intensified, until we finally requested that he not return. We lost some friends over this, and even some financial support. However, it eventually came to light that the man had been sexually abusing the orphans, had fled to the Phillippines with a fourteen year-old boy, and was permanently banned from returning to Hong Kong.

At times I wonder what would have happened if I had heeded God's warning concerning Trinity in the beginning. Would we still have gone to the Far East for 14 years, brought thousands to Jesus, and thousands more into the baptism in the Spirit there? Would ITV (and the British television network) have made a documentary on our work with Jackie Pullinger, getting addicts off years of heroin with no pain through becoming Christians and praying in the Holy Spirit? Would we have gone to China and brought people to Jesus and the baptism in the Spirit in the very stronghold of anti-Christianity? (One clever Chinese disciple wrote to us -- knowing the letter would be censored -- thanked us for teaching him "the new language," and assured us that he was practicing it diligently. Of course the censors would think he was referring to English!)

Would our work and witness have been featured in People Magazine, Time Magazine and newspapers and books in many parts of the world? Would I still have appeared in Who's Who in the World, Who's Who in the Commonwealth, Who's Who in Religion, Who's Who in American Women, etc?

Of course, we will probably not be given the answers to these questions before we reach the Kingdom. However, in the meantime, we would like to make a small offer of restitution to those of you who had unfulfilled subscriptions to Trinity. If you will send us your name, subscription address and current address, we will send you, without charge, a beautiful new copy of the classic As At the Beginning by Michael Harper. This offer will of course remain open only as long as supplies last.

Some things were left out of the original Green Apples because I felt they were my private business. However, in a personal conversation some years later, Rechard Quebedeaux, author of The New Charismatics, expressed the view that I should have included an account of the dissolution of my marriage to Donald Stone. Over the years, other friends and supporters have similarly urged me to "clear the air" on this. While I still believe the subject did not belong in the original edition, this may well be the time to go on the record concerning it.

So, to please Mr Quebedeaux et al, I will state briefly that Don Stone left home for a life of whiskey and women and all that goes with it. My friends wanted me to go into more detail concerning his behavior prior to leaving. But the only really relevant points, scripturally speaking, are that he had affairs with numerous women, eventually left, and filed for divorce (on grounds of incompatibility). The judge very sympathetically gave me the divorce along with alimony and child support which, but for a few times, was never paid. Mr Stone remarried as soon as the divorce was final.

During the period before he left, two lovely missionary ladies from Tulsa came to a chapel meeting and asked to speak with me privately. They said they had a message from the Lord for me. I doubted it -- I had met too many odd people. I kept them standing inside the door of my office and I coldly stood and listened. They looked embarrassed and finally one said, "Our problem is we don't know if you know what your husband is doing." I said, "I know." I had not even told my best friend, Joan Baker, because if he straightened up I did not want anyone to know the way he had behaved.

They looked relieved and said, "God said to tell you that if he does not repent of his evil ways God will do a quick work and a short work and that you are to pray for him." Without another word they left and I never saaw them again. However, their prophecy came true: in a few years he had a serious heart attack and, a month later, a fatal one. I like to think God gave him a month in which to change.

After the divorce, Gail Castle (Paul's daughter, who was my housekeeper at the time), Joan Baker and my assistant editor did everything they could to dry my tears. Finally, the assistant editor, Richard Willans by name, said, "You're a free woman now. I'll take you to dinner tonight." It was pleasant. We had a nice dinner, went to a family movie and talked a lot. This continued until I told him he was too young to waste his time with me -- he should find some sweet young thing and marry her. I said that certainly I was not going to stay single forever. (My freedom to remarry was scripturally clear: Mr Stone was an unbeliever, an adulterer, had left on his own and initiated the divorce. I later discussed this with Dr Carl Henry, who agreed with this conclusion.)

Rick saw my point about our age difference, but said he had more fun with me. I had fun with him as well. We could take hours just sorting out a Bible passage. As time passed, our close friendship became something much deeper; and when the interlocutory decree was final we surprised ourselves by getting married -- more surprised than we thought, as you will see in Rick's account in the last segment of this book, "A Husband's Afterword."

Just a few weeks after our first anniversary came the dramatic calling to China described at the end of Act IX. The rest, as they say, is history, only some of which is related in the remainder of the Acts and this Epilogue. Much of it, including details of our trips into China so far, will have to await a sequel, and one is in progress -- the working title is Green Apples II. I will only give a few sketches here, along with updates on some of the people you have met in this book.

Out of that first group Hugh Jagger brought to our house to hear about the Holy Spirit, several have become ministers; and other, though not called to "the cloth," are continuing as active witnesses of our Lord.

Hugh went to university in England, and had graduated and begun working when our daughter Suzy was accepted at Occidental College in California. She went early by way of London to see friends, including Hugh -- or rather, especially Hugh. Love had already begun to blossom, beginning the prior Easter. They now each decided that they had found "the one," and that it did not make sense to wait four years. They were married in an Anglican Church in Hong Kong by Stephen Sidebotham. The church was full of flowers, Rick gave the bride away and we sang such glorious songs as "We are family, We are one." There were gifts of the Spirit and it was a beautiful service.

They have lived in London since. Hugh is a partner in an international professional firm; Suzy has ministered and witnessed to many as a singer, song-writer, and playwright; and we have three gorgeous blonde, blue-eyed grandchildren who think Grandma is the greatest cook ever (which goes over big!).

For a number of years Suzy and Hugh were members of a charismatic church near London; they lived in community for a year and Hugh was a co-pastor. We visited several times. Suzy was very subdued in church, but they tell us that every few weeks or so she would quietly bring a bomb of a prophecy that would cause many to repent and change their ways. The church finally split over doctrine, I think; among other things, the pastor decided serious Christians were full of demons -- certainly a dangerous and unscriptural conclusion.

Sarah Searcy, another early member of SNAG in Hong Kong, was in Los Angeles when we returned from our first "tour of duty" -- her father had been transferred there as the Australian Consul General. She accompanied us when we returned to Hong Kong; and when, to our surprise more than anyone's, we were led into working with drug addicts, she played a major part in that ministry. The full story will have to await Green Apples II.

To summarize, in a five-year period we took in over 100 addicts who confessed Christ and received the fullness of the Spirit; and every single one of them came off heroin cold turkey by praying in tongues -- no sickness, no nausea, no pain. This drew both local and international coverage, as mentioned above (Time, People, etc.); and our prayer group even appeared on Hong Kong television -- with clear, specific testimony, prophetic gifts and all -- in a documentary produced by the government. We could not keep count of those who came, saw, received, and took forth the news of what God can do; certainly many thousands more received the good news through all the media coverage.

Geoff Craighead, a former Australian Rules footballer, came to Hong Kong. He was already converted and had felt he should go to Hong Kong although he didn't really know why. He came and received the Holy Spirit, and then stayed to help with the drug addicts. Several years later Sarah Searcy and Geoff were married (surprisingly they had both been born in Melbourne, Australia). Rick performed the ceremony and the Bishop gave the blessing. There were many gifts of the Spirit.

During this time, Rick was also "making tents" at a British firm (the Hong Kong office of Peat, Marwick, Mitchell & Co.) and was eligible for paid six-week home leaves. Following Geoff and Sarah's wedding, we went with them and Suzy and Hugh to the place in Mexico where we had spent our honeymoon. We had a splendid time, even though the curtains had rotted and the spout on the bathtub had corroded away. The grunion were running so that made everything okay. Hugh was the champion grunion catcher. For some reason, however, honeymooners Sarah and Geoff seemed to have no interest in spending their evenings chasing grunion.

In 1981, although the spiritual action continued (and we were prospering materially as well -- Rick had made partner), we both felt strongly that it was time to return to the US. Geoff and Sarah felt called to come with us. We left Toby and Florence Littlewood in charge of the Hong Kong work. They had met as volunteer workers there; were married in a typical Society of Stephen-style charismatic wedding service; and had clearly grown to a pastoral level of wisdom and leadership. They were assisted by other mature, responsible disciples, such as Rachel and Edmund Lau, Alfred and Peggy Mak, and Clara Wong. And since Toby was assigned to China by his employer, these others have carried the leadership and administration of the work in Hong Kong.

Jackie Pullinger continues her ministry in evangelism and travels extensively. She married John Lau, an ex-gang member who is converted and filled with the Spirit, and they run their work with the drug addicts together.

Geoff and Sarah now have two children and live five minutes away from us. Others from the Hong Kong group are also now with us in the church that meets in our home, including Peter Chak, one of the ex-addicts. We fellowship and pray together daily, and have meetings twice a week.

Two other members of our "core group" here are Stephen Lo (Florence Littlewood's brother), who attended university in the US, and by God's grace gained permanent residence; and his college roommate, Allen Greaves, a Southern Baptist minister's son and a gifted musician. After graduating and starting life as wage-earners, they began to think seriously about marriage. Both had met plenty of girls who wanted to get married, but none who seemed to share their priority of living New Testament Christianity. It so happened that two young women in our Hong Kong fellowship -- Mei Chan and Lorraine Yip -- were in similar situations. So began two rounds of trans-Pacific matchmaking and courtship, culminating in two more joyful, Spirit-filled weddings: first Stephen and Mei and then Allen and Lorraine.

A word about our teaching on courtship and marriage, which we try to convey as friends as well as second parents, and not as religious authority figures. Of course the essential foundation is a shared faith in the full gospel of Jesus. The couple are encouraged to really get to know each other and build a close personal friendship; and they are expected to be celibate until marriage. Therefore, they date in groups, but are given "space" to talk intimately, to be alone but not alone. We talk at length about how they must treat one another, from basic courtesy to communication to expressing affection and self-giving -- practical application of Ephesians 5:22-33.

And finally, we talk about sex, in detail -- I, with the bride-to-be, and Rick, with the groom -- emphasizing that both husband and wife are entitled to sexual fulfillment -- again, practical application of I Corinthians 7:3-5. (Before we did such thorough counseling, one couple called us in a panic while on their honeymoon: they knew the basics, but were having a "geographical" problem.) At this writing, we can gratefully report that ll the marriages in our church here are solid, growing, and truly happy.

These couples are of course raising their children in the knowledge of the Lord. In fact, up to now, all the children here have received Christ and the fullness of the Spirit by the age of five, although none are pressured to do so. They are unusually clear on the basics of the faith, considering their tender years, and demonstrate that it's a living faith day to day.

And now some updates on other old friends. Joan and John Baker, the parents of the charismatic movement, have moved to the desert. (Do you suppose people are still encouraging their friends to "go into the kitchen with John"?) It was they who led Dennis Bennett, over a series of visits to their home, to an understanding of baptism in the Spirit. He finally asked to receive, "but without the tongues," which brought their memorable reply: "But you see, Father, that comes with the package." I wonder where we'd all be today if they had backed off and said something like, "Okay, Father, we'll just have a quiet word of prayer and accept by faith that the Spirit has come upon you in power."

Loraine Ewart, who handled the stateside finances while we were in Asia, continues to serve on the Society's board. She still lives in Van Nuys, feeds stray kittens and tells people about Jesus.

Harald Bredesen, one of the original Board of Members of the Blessed Trinity Society (he travelled for us "indefatigably," as Christianity Today put it, carrying the newly discovered power of the Christian message to churches and and campuses) now lives with his wife Gen in Escondido, California, where he heads Charisma Ministries and still travels indefatigably.

Dr Herbert F Mitchell, previously head of the Operational Computing Branch at the Goddard Space Flight Center, and his wife Mary Charlotte, have move to a retirement home in Florida. Dr Mitchell kindly took Trinity Chapel off our hands and earned our grateful thanks. Mary Charlotte was one of our first volunteer workers -- I wish we had her back. I wish we had them both back!

Paul and Wilma Castle, who were in the original outpouring in Van Nuys, now live in Soulsbyville. Paul writes and also publishes books. Their daughter Gail, who was with us in Hong Kong, married Christopher Harrison, a British soldier who was converted in our meeting there. (It was another wedding with signs following, which resulted in the conversion of a waiter at the reception.) They now live in Northern California (not far from Paul and Wilma), where Chris is a Sheriff's Deputy. They have two handsome children.

Our primary reason for reprinting The Acts of the Green Apples is that more people have been converted and/or filled with the Holy Spirit through reading it than anything else we have ever published. This will be its fourth printing and we are still receiving responses like the following from Amanda, the 14 year-old daughter of David Aikman (formerly of Time Magazine), who writes, "PS I want to thank you for writing The Acts of the Green Apples, which has blessed me greatly. It contributed greatly to my desire to be baptized in the Spirit, which was fulfilled last January. Thank you, Lord!" Amanda has gone to Hong Kong for the summer with Teen Mania to participate in an evangelistic drama performed in hospitals, jails and everywhere they are invited.

One day I answered the telephone to a lady asking for Jean Stone Willans. I said, "You have her." She repeated very distinctly that she was trying to find Jean Stone WIllans and she couldn't seem to believe she had actually found her. Someone had given her a copy of Green Apples; she had read it through twice and tried to call everyone mentioned in the book, trying to track me down. She had finally gotten my number from Dr Casdorph in Long Beach. The unusual thing was he had only had it for about a week. He had written to us at the Post Office Box asking for it so he could come to a meeting.

The importunate lady came and received the Holy Spirit. In converstaion she noted my mention of St Theresa of Avila's day being on my birthday, and asked the date. When I answered, "October 3rd," she exclaimed, "Why, that's my birthday, too!" She must have perceived a look of doubt (remember, we've had some strange ones), because she demonstrated the fact by showing me her driver's license.

One odd thing: about a month before, Rick had helped this same lady into her car with her walker. I said, "Give her a Green Apples." Rick did and as we drove away he asked, "Did you put our telephone number inside the cover?" I hadn't. He said, "Suppose she reads the book and decides she wants the baptism in the Holy Spirit, how do you expect her to find you?" I answered, "God will send someone to her." Little did I know it would be me!

Today I received this from a nurse named Debbie:

"Dear Jean: Thank you so much for your obedience to the voice of the SPirit of God when He instructed you to write the book The Acts of the Green Apples. God changed my life beginning with the ministry of this book.

"from 1976 to 1982, I was in tremendous bondage to prescription drugs and alcohol, particularly alcohol. I drank every night until I was drunk. My parents were frantic and finally, when they had come to their wits' end, told me that I needed to find a place of my own. It was there, in the emptiness of my own apartment that I finally hit bottom. I felt completely alone and completely desolate inside. I tried to go back to the church I grew up in to get absolution from the priest. But no amount of absolution could remove this burden from me. I was beaten and lost. So in November of '92, I began to attend AA meetings. At the same time, I was continuing to work as a nurse at a local hospital. And there was one particularly likeable patient that I was working with named Madeleine Duncan. We became friends. And when she was discharged, she gave me a goodbye present, a book entitled The Acts of the Green Apples. She pointed out to me that the book had been dedicated to her and her husband. Well, I thanked her very much, took the book home, and promptly put it in the bottom of a drawer, where it stayed for the next two years.

"During those two years, I continued to attend AA meetings. I became, in a sense, "addicted" to them. I would attend one, sometimes two meetings a day, because this was the only place in which I felt safe. My life revolved around AA and even the man I dated and eventually moved in with was from AA. But after two years I realized that there was still an emptiness deep inside -- I still feared that I would drink again as I continued to have an urge to drink. It was at this time that the relationship with the man I was living with turned sour, and I decided to move back in with my parents. But as I was packing my bags, I again uncovered the book The Acts of the Green Apples. And this time -- in desperation -- I read it. I was so encouraged and excited about the things that I was reading about that I knew I just had to find out more about it. I was hopeful -- yet full of questions -- 'What is this Holy Spirit thing? Could it be for me?' Madeleine Duncan had written her phone number on the inside cover of the book and I began to debate if I should call her. The following morning, as I was working at the hospital, I was asked to assist another nurse with a patient. As I entered the patient's room, she sat up in bed, and a broad smile spread across her face. She reached out her arms toward me and said, "Debbie! I'm so glad to see you. When I fell I told them to bring me here because I had to see you.' I don't think she realized she was speaking from the Lord. I walked over to her and as she reached to embrace me, I was able to see clearly the name on her patient ID bracelet. I blinked twice because I couldn't believe my eyes. It read, 'Madeleine Duncan.'

"During her hospital stay, Madeleine ministered to me in a far greater way than I could ever have ministered to her. It was there beside her hospital bed that I first prayed to receive Jesus into my heart as my Lord and Saviour. It was also there that I first received the baptism in the Spirit. At first it was only one syllable which I repeated over and over and over again. It felt so freeing. Madeleine also introduced me to another nurse named Theresa Engle who helped me become free in the Spirit. During that time, as I prayed in my spiritual language, I could sense that those chains that had bound me for so long were just dropping off. I no longer had the urge to drink. Much of the fear and anxiety I experienced simply fell away. And best of all, that deep dark emptiness in my heart disappeared. I was filled with hope and joy. What release! What freedom!

"About a week later the man that I had lived with called me to tell me that he'd had an incredible experience at a church that he had visited. Not only had he given his life to the Lord, but he had been blessed with a special spiritual language. I invited him to my new church, and after about a year of counseling and taking time to develop our relationship with the Lord, we were married. Now, after nine years, we have three beautiful children, 8, 5, and 3. We have been part of the same church since 1984, and now lead a small prayer group much like the one I visited [ours] when I first received the gift of God's Holy Spirit. I also sing on our worship team because I have so much to worship him for. I can hardly imagine what my life might have been like if I had never been touched by the ministry of a small paperback book called The Acts of the Green Apples.

"So, in conclusion, to the reader I just want to say that I no longer believe in coincidence, but I do believe in the sovereignty of God. You see, God is never surprised -- I don't believe that He stands around up in Heaven scratching his beard, and wondering what will happen next. I believe that God has a plan and a purpose for each and every one of us. I don't believe that His plan for me began when I picked up a little paperback book but I do believe it really began to take shape at that time. God loves us and wants the best for us. If you read this book with an open heart you never know what kind of wonderful surprises He might have in store for you. And I pray that you will see God's plan for your life fulfilled. -- Debbie"

Sarah Searcy Craighead, while volunteering at her children's school, got acquainted with Pat, another parent who was working there, and who also happens to raise chickens. Sarah told her about our silkies and other exotic bantams, and Pat wanted to see them. When she came over, she immediately decided she must have some of these, too; so we ordered a box of 25 to share. God was not mentioned. When the baby chicks arrived I telephoned Pat and she came over; we divided the chicks and chatted about how cute they were. Still no mention of God. But as she went out the door I said, "I wrote a book, sort of a spiritual autobiography -- would you like a copy?" Of course she said she would, and departed with her dozen chicks and a copy of Green Apples.

She must have begun to read the book at once, for soon she said to Sarah, "I'm reading Jean's book. Weren't we always told to stay away from people like that?" and "Weren't you with them in Hong Kong?" Sarah said, "I speak in tongues," to which Pat responded, "Sarah, I never would have guessed that about you," and ended the conversation. Then she called me and in a puzzled tone said, "I can't understand about the language -- I just don't know what you mean." I replied, "Ask Sarah to pray in tongues for you." I'm glad she wasn't holding any rare china, because she practically shrieked, "You mean you can do it at will?" I explained that one can, that this gift enables one to pray perfectly in the Holy Spirit, in the will of God. She said, "Thank you," and hung up.

Shortly after this, she saw Sarah in the school office and asked her to call her at home, saying it was "urgent." When Sarah called, Pat wanted to hear speaking in tongues -- but not over the telephone. So they arranged to have tea a few days later; however, on that day all three of Pat's children were sent home with chicken pox, so that was the end of that.

I thought there is more than one way to skin a cat, so I called Pat and invited her and her husband to dinner at a posh restaurant about two weeks later. Pat was very excited about getting dressed up and going with the Craigheads and us to a nice restaurant. The night of the dinner her husband came home with influenza. The devil was winning.

I called one of the most spiritual ministers I know, Dr William Pickthorn, and told him we had repented, fasted, prayed, asked Jesus to rebuke Satan and protect us, our church the church in Hong Kong, and the Church Universal; and we had taken our stand as being children of the King and under the blood of Jesus. And we were still losing the battle. I asked Dr Pickthorn what to do. He suggested enlisting people to pray around the clock against Satan and for the Church, each one taking a specific 15-minute period daily. He began the "chain" by taking 6:00 to 6:15 am.

We have been adding participants ever since, starting in our church here, and in other parts of the state, the country and the world, from London to Hong Kong to Beijing. Although we still have a long way to go to fill up the 24 hours, we have already seen some wonderful things.

For example, Pat telephoned in desperation and said, "I can't stand it. I must talk to you but it's impossible. I work full time (didn't get home from work until 10:30 last night), I have children, a house, 100 quail and my chickens to take care of. I just don't see what I can do." I said, "Pat, the Lord wants you to have the gift so much you can receive it over the telephone." She replied, "I want it."

"Do you believe Jesus Christ is the Song of God?"

"Yes."

"Are you sorry for your past sins and any way you may have grieved Him?"

"Oh, yes."

"Are you prepared to obey His commandments and follow Him for the rest of your life?"

"I am. I really love Jesus, my Saviour and Lord."

"Then worship Him in sound. No language you know, just speak out sounds and the Holy Spirit will turn them into a language. I will quietly pray in my spiritual language as well, so you won't feel self-conscious." A minute went by. It seem forever. I suggested, "You can sing in it if that would be easier," and then I heard this beautiful song from the Lord. I encouraged her to keep praying and then hung up.

Several weeks later she telephoned and said she was continuing to pray in the Spirit. She said, "Do you know where I go to be alone to pray?" I guessed the bathroom and she replied, "No, the chicken coop!" I observed, "The chickens like it, don't they?" Pat said, "I think they do -- they're laying more eggs! Twice last week I couldn't get there and my husband noticed the drop in egg production those days, and asked me what had happened."

Also, one member of our church has experienced an extraordinary physical recovery of a personal nature, which I can't share in detail. However, one seasoned nurse, who was familiar with the type of condition involved, said that the recover is a miracle, that it is medically impossible. The eminent surgeon treating the case told the patient, "You've made medical history ... this is almost unprecedented."

So the 24-hour circle of prayer really works! Would you like to join us? Just write and tell us what 15-minute period you would like to take each day. Again, this is mutual and joint intercession that the Lord Jesus will rebuke Satan and protect your family, our family, your church, our church and the Church Universal; that He will bind him from interfering in the work of the Lord everywhere. Be sure to state the specific time, am or pm. You can pray in the Spirit or with the understanding, or both. Either way, we will be extremely grateful to you; and I know you will gain a great blessing from the Lord Himself.

God bless you and yours.

Click here for the Table of Contents

A Husband's Afterword

2005-04-05T13:43:00.000+01:00

As we thought and prayed about this reprinting, it seemed right that we should include specific witness to the work of the Spirit of Jesus in our married life, and that I should write it.

However, a problem immediately arises: how, as we approach our thirtieth anniversary, to do to the subject justice without, in effect, adding a book to a book. The solution: "a picture is worth a thousand words," meaning the word-image of poetry. After all, the fullest and deepest expressions of human experience as well as divine truth have always been conveyed poetically, holy scripture being the ultimate example; and one biblical poetic work in particular, the Song of Solomon, is widely acknowledged as the paramount expression of both human love and the relationship of Christ and His Bride, the Church.

For that matter, I could stop right here and simply say to anyone interested in knowing about our married life, "Read the Song." (Not that we have fully attained all that it portrays; but we have tasted the fruit it describes and are pressing on to the heights and depths to which it calls.) Similarly, to all who are seeking the key to marital happiness, I could offer an equally simple instruction: "Live the Song."

However, in turning to poetry as a means of telling about our marriage, there was more in mind than merely pointing to the scriptural model. Over the years I have written songs and poems to Jean which speak of what God has given us and done in us. A selection of these follows, along with enough introduction to provide background and explain references which would otherwise be obscure.

We first met at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire, in October 1963. As a student there, having read and heard about the happenings at Yale, I had contacted the Blessed Trinity Society and requested that speaker come to Dartmouth to present the message of charismatic renewal. The speaker turned out to be Jean. The venue was the quintessential New England town gathering place, the local Congregational Church; in Hanover it was simply called "the White Church."

The only advertising was word of mouth and a few hand-lettered posters I had placed around the campus. However, something (or rather, Someone) was clearly at work in people's hearts, for by the appointed time the meeting room was filled with an admixture of townspeople and students (an unusual event in itself in view of the traditional tensions between "emmets" and "pinheads"). And an even greater sign of spiritual hunger was soon to be seen.

This speaking engagement was combined with a series of others Jean had in the New York area. She came by car, and her travelling party included John McCandlish Phillips, a writer with the New York Times, and the Rev Ed Barham, Harald Bredesen's assistant pastor, who shared the driving between them. Unfortunately, neither was very familiar with the route; and one drove extremely slowly due to the fact, he eventually revealed, that he did not have a driver's license and hadn't driven in years. They finally arrived at the meeting about two hours late, and yet no one there had given up and left.

Jean's presentation was a real revelation to me. I was familiar with Pentecostal preaching, in which "anointing" was practically equated with emotional demonstration, and altar calls which could be downright manipulative. She delivered her message in a matter-of-fact, low key manner, hands generally folded primly but occasionally gesturing naturally to emphasize a point; and yet everyone's attention was firmly fixed upon her, and the presence of the Holy Spirit was palpable.

Her invitation was simply that -- no attempts to induce emotion or response, just an offer to pray with anyone who wanted to receive Jesus and/or the fullness of His Spirit. The Lord confirmed His presence through a tongue and interpretation brought by someone in the audience (whom I didn't know); and a number remained for prayer after the meeting was dismissed. Some entered into a commitment to Jesus as Lord for the first time, and all were baptized in the Holy Spirit. It was not a large number, but this event really was, in the words of the old standard, "the start of something big," in more ways than one.

Long after I left Dartmouth, the message of the full gospel continued -- particularly through the faithful witness of a young Assemblies of God pastor named Larry Woods, who was at the White Church meeting -- eventually producing a vital charismatic fellowship called the Darmouth Christian Community. On a personal level, this meeting was also the beginning of a friendship which would grow, through the trials Jean has described in the Epilogue, into a love which I could not have even imagined on that autumn night in 1963.

The following untitled poem is a reflection, written after a number of years of marriage, on this "progressive revelation" of Jean which I experienced, perceiving her first as a distinctly anointed servant of God, then as a close firend, and finally as my beloved.

The one who softly burst upon my life
Like sunlight veiled behind an autumn cloud
Above a canopy of colored boughs,
Revealed by stages as the cloud passed on,
Its gaps and thinning edge allowing through
A modulating, ever growing flood
Of brightness, which in turn was gently screened
By shimmering lattice-work of redding leaves
Until, emerging to an open field,
I stood in warmth and brightness without shield.
So you began to shine upon my soul
That Hanoverian autumn long ago;
Though clouds and trees then hid you from my gaze,
The warm light of your love now fills my days --
My love
My one love,
My one true love.

Jean has mentioned our "surprise wedding." It's not that the event was unplanned, but the timing and circumstances were not quite what we had mapped out, not even in "plan B." As we were coming to the assurance, through prayer and scripture study, that we were intended by the Lord for each other, we were also planning a speaking mission to Mexico. We confided our intention to Jean Darnell, and she agreed to perform the ceremony in Mexico City. We would then honeymoon in Ensenada.

The licensing requirements in Mexico City were even more rigorous than in California; but we completed them all and obtained the license, only to be informed by cable that Jean Darnell was forced to cancel due to a serious illness in her family. So we decided to proceed to Ensenada after the speaking mission and investigate the possibility of a civil ceremony there.

In Ensenada we located the courthouse and went in to inquire and make an appointment. We would then return with Suzy and Gail (flower girl and maid of honor), all in the wedding outifts we had brought for teh occasion. We didn't speak Spanish and no one there spoke much English, but they seemed impressed with all the documentation we presented. We were directed into an office where a lady was sitting at a desk. She summoned an "interpreter," who appeared to have little more command of English than the others, and there began a rather difficult dialogue. The main point appeared to be that I would "comfort her [Jean] in her troubles," and she would do likewise. It was barely starting to dawn on us where this was going when the lady, who was in fact a judge, pronounced us man and wife, stated that I could kiss the bride, and requested her fee -- my best recollection is that is was 100 pesos.

We paid up and in a daze walked out into the street, our first rational thought being the question: "How are we going to explain this to Suzy and Gail?" Then Jean numbly noted that she was wearing black, and she began to cry -- not out of superstition, but simply overall shock. So did I, inwardly; but I immediately began to fulfill the promises just made by trying to comfort my bride in her distress. Suzy and Gail were almost as stunned as we were, but were very good about the whole thing; we all put on our wedding outifts and went out to dinner. A week later, we had a small, simple church ceremony performed by a Spirit-baptized Presbyterian minister.

I have long since come to delight, even glory, in the simplicity (not to say austerity) and human ineptitude (not to say bungling) of the beginning of our married life. They continue to provide a good laugh as well as perpetual testimony that a lasting, growing marriage in Christ is not determined by the aesthetics, size, elaborateness or cost of the opening ceremony. Rather, it is a work of grace built on a few simple promises made and kept between a man and woman before God, society and the church.

For us, this grace has truly been amazing and, as the song says, has brought us "through many dangers, toils and snares." One of the most dramatic instances involved a life-threatening danger, and occurred in November 1990. Jean had undergone major surgery, and afterward her small intestine simply would not start working again. As days turned into weeks and everything the doctors tried produced no change, Jean began to think that her time was coming up, and that she would die in the hospital.

I did not -- could not -- believe this, and neither could the members of our church. As Thanksgiving approached they decided to add fasting to their prayers; they then would meet Thanksgiving morning for concerted prayer, specifically for a miracle, and break fast together in the evening. The way God answered our prayers that very morning is a story in itself, and the telling of it will have to await Green Apples II; however, Jean was out of the hospital within a couple of days.

The next poem was written to fit the music of a move theme which Jean particularly liked (ironically, she hated the movie). The song recounts the three milestone events described above -- our first meeting, our wedding, and the miraculous recovery -- and I sang it to her as a surprise at our twenty-fifth anniversary party, accompanied by mariachis. After the surprise, Suzy (who with Hugh and kids was here for the occasion) and Allen Greaves (see Epilogue) followed with a much more professional rendition.

Suddenly, Jeanie

A crisp autumn night in Hanover, New Hampshire;
The White Church is packed and the speaker is late.
They've come to hear of the pow'r of the Spirit;
Nobody leaves -- we just sing songs and wait.
Suddenly, Jeanie is telling the story;
She plays no emotions, she does not pretend.
Suddenly Jeanie is showing God's glory,
Making disciples and making a friend.

We stroll to the courthouse in old Ensenada,
Just to check on procedure, so they show us inside.
A lady there questions us through a translator --
"That's 100 pesos -- you may now kiss the bride!"
Suddenly, Jeanie has such a strange feeling;
She didn't plan this day to become my wife!
Suddenly, Jeanie is now Mrs Willans;
My best friend, my soul-mate, the love of my life.

From the south coast of China to the foothills of LA,
Through a century's quarter we've had laughter and tears.
But our twenty-fifth year brings the mother of trials;
At the altar of God I cry out in my fear.
Suddenly, Jeanie's reviving and healing;
She's back in my bosom, delivered from death.
Suddenly, Jeanie, God's mercy revealing,
My sweet little Duckie, my very life's breath!

This last one is Jean's favorite, although it seems to me a somewhat weak attempt to describe the oneness of body, soul and spirit which we feel between us. However, it probably gives you the idea pretty clearly that I rather like being with her.

One Breath
When I'm awake in the morning dimness, and you're still asleep,
The life-sound of your breathing fills my consciousness,
And your deep, even breath becomes my own,
And thus being one with you I come to feel
That if you were to stop so would I.

When I bend down for a needed touch and nuzzle your head,
The joy-wisps on your temple bless my lips and nose,
And your soft, full cheek becomes my own.
Yet, on this ordered time-course for you, I know
That you must for a time leave my sight.

When I'm enmeshed in the city's folly and you're on the hill,
The mind-scene -- you 'midst bird friends -- calms my soul,
And your surprised, delighted smile becomes my own.
Thus, visions of you give me strength enough
That, until you're in reach, I survive.

When I break loose from the ropes and pulleys and escape to you,
The love-press of your hug dispels my weariness,
And your sweet, free laugh becomes my own.
And eventide with you so fills my heart
That with you I can touch agape.

When I lie still in the peaceful darkness and am touching you,
The life-sound of your breathing fills my consciousness,
And your deeps, even breath becomes my own.
And thus being one with you I come to feel
That if you were to stop so would I.

Rick and Jean Willans live in Altadena, California with their exotic bantams which they raise for fun and no profit.

Click here for the Table of Contents

Statement of Purpose

2005-04-04T15:40:00.000+01:00

By the end of this week, this blog will have on it:

1) The Acts of the Green Apples (1995 edition) - re-typed
2) Fire & Wind Volume II - scanned
3) two vintage issues of Trinity magazine

The story follows the journey of Jean & Rick Willans - it is utterly compelling, highly entertaining, extremely informative, completely true, and may possibly change your life!

Certain highlights of the journey are well documented through Jean's writings, Time magazine, Newsweek, The Hong Kong Standard, the BBC, People magazine, and many other reputable media sources.

Various scans of the original articles will be included here.