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Why Can't I Say "NO"!

Everywhere I travel I meet them--little helpers, eager to "Bless the Minister". They mean well, but sometimes what they are offering to do is better left undone.

You ought to let me cut and highlight your hair." I heard the voice over my shoulder. When I turned around, my eyes had to look down about two feet to find the source of the offer, one that came with a long, Southern drawl.

"Hi, my name is Hepsiba. (That's in the Bible.) I do hair. I do pastor's hair, associate minister Calvin's hair and administrator-apostle Johnson's hair. Now he's actually bald, but I put a thick, all-natural beeswax with Retin-A™ on his hair, and then I pull it through a rice paper sorta hat. read more

God's Paratroopers

Like an elite rescue squad, we have the privilege of partnering with God in ushering to safety those who will perish without Him.


I was once told by a paratroop instructor that there are four important commands given to the parachutists before every jump: (1) attention, (2) stand in the door, (3) look up, and (4) follow me!

Thinking of these commands, I am reminded that Jesus is preparing men and women for the new heaven and the new earth, and He has given His co-workers the same orders that the parachutists receive. The apostle Paul wrote: "Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters" (Eph. 6:5, KJV). Our task is not to give God His instructions. Rather, we must report for duty. read more

Zilpha Elaw

Nineteenth Century Revivalist

One day while milking a cow, Zilpha saw Jesus walking toward her. He appeared to say, "Thy prayer is accepted; I own thy name." Zilpha first thought she was seeing things; but when the cow looked in the same direction, bent its front legs and lowered its head to the ground, she knew the Lord had come to answer her prayer.

Zilpha was born free to religious parents in Pennsylvania around 1790. Her mother died when she was 12 years old, and her father sent her to live with a Quaker family. He died a year and a half later. read more

Yoo Hoo, I Have A Question

Years ago, toward the end of the hippie movement, my husband and I used to arrive with our toddler, Gail, at her prekindergarten class about the same time each Sunday morning. Almost simultaneously, a bearded young man with very long, flowing hair would deposit his young daughter, Tammy.

My husband, Tom, and I were taken aback more than once by how much Tammy's dad resembled the artist's rendition of Jesus that hung on the Sunday school wall. We sometimes couldn't help remarking to each other about it.

After our couples' Sunday school class concluded one Sunday, I went to pick up Gail as usual. Hurrying to the door, her teacher apologized, "I'm sorry, but during playtime just now, your little Gail and Tammy got into a scrap." read more

Was That a Compliment.

Just before the holiday season our family traveled out of state to attend an interdenominational charismatic conference. My 3-year-old grandson, Christian, accompanied us, and when he saw me the first morning dressed in a new winter outfit, he was wide-eyed with delight and especially impressed with my red shoes.

Looking down at them and then at me, Christian exclaimed the words that blessed this grandmother's heart, "Oh Grammy, you look soooo pretty! You look just like a clown!"

High praise indeed from a 3-year-old!

--Cynthia Duerfeldt read more

Wheels Around the World

Laurie Malaby had worked with disabled children in the United States for many years. But she never dreamed God would use her to bring new freedom to children overseas.

Laurie Malaby dialed the number on the business card she had been given earlier that week, never dreaming that a single telephone conversation would open the door to a life-changing experience. Trained as a pediatric physical therapist, Laurie had worked with disabled children in the United States for many years.

As part of her job with Wicomico County Public Schools in Salisbury, Maryland, Laurie often places orders for new wheelchairs when her students outgrow them. "In my profession, we can't bear to see perfectly good equipment discarded," Laurie says. "So I began storing these used wheelchairs in the basement of my school, thinking there had to be someone who could recycle them." read more

Walking In The Light

JENNIFER ROTHSCHILD'S LIFE BEARS WITNESS TO GOD'S DESIRE FOR EVERY WOMAN TO BE AN OVERCOMER.


From the outside, the Rothschild residence seems to be the quintessential middle-class home nestled beneath the shade trees of a typical Midwestern suburb. The freshly cut lawn gently slopes down to the curb on which a bicycle casually rests.

Parked in the driveway is the all-American family-sized utility vehicle awaiting the next trek to the nearby high school soccer field or the local farmers market. Little would anyone imagine that within the traditional brick walls of this home (in the basement study, to be exact) lies the control center for the ministries of Christian author, singer, songwriter and inspirational speaker Jennifer Rothschild. read more

Yes, Lord?


While standing at the kitchen sink one day, I suddenly became aware of the Lord's presence. Pausing to acknowledge Him, I whispered, "Yes, Lord?"

He said, "You must go uptown…now."

"But, Lord," I began, then answered, "Yes, Lord." read more

Turning Pain Into Purpose

Paula Yorker's family secret could have been her undoing. Instead, it became the basis for her highly effective brand of compassionate and relevant evangelism.


LIKE MOST MOMS, Paula Yorker spends much of her day handling routine responsibilities: running errands, cleaning house and shuttling her 14-year-old to after-school activities. What's not so typical is how the attractive, soft-spoken 43-year-old spends her free time: witnessing to drug dealers, ministering to prison inmates and heading up outreaches in inner-city neighborhoods.

"I love church," Paula says, "but I'd rather be outside, sharing the gospel and love of Christ, versus sitting in a pew, hearing the Word of God and doing nothing with it!" read more

Captured But Not Crushed

When terrorists took me and my husband hostage—and killed him after 376 days—I learned to love my enemies.


A few short years ago, I was perfectly content to live in a small barrio in the Philippines with my jungle-pilot husband, Martin, and my three children. My daily tasks at that time were simple:

  • Keep Martin going so he could fly for our co-workers who labored in the tribal areas
  • Home school our kids so we wouldn't have to send them to boarding school, which was several days' travel away
  • Provide meals and housing for visitors and colleagues who passed through our area. read more

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