Inspiration and Hope -

Camp Happyland

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In 1973, my classmate Stan and I had been appointed to music therapy internships at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Washington DC, a government-run psychiatric hospital for treating a wide range of patients, including those who were mentally deficient, mentally disturbed, deaf and blind, and those struggling with drug and alcohol addiction.

During my time at the hospital, the staff arranged for the patients to spend time at a vacation camp nestled in Prince William Forest, Virginia. It was called Camp Happyland—no joke, that was the real name, and it was run by the Salvation Army. The camp provided the patients with fresh air, a change of scenery, enjoyable activities, and a sense of freedom—a temporary reprieve from the usual institutional setting.

While there, I interacted with many patients, each with their own distinct characteristics. Although none of them played pivotal roles in the larger telling of my story, each had a unique quirk that made them memorable.

Camp Life

Bo, for instance, shuffled his feet wherever he went, his movements slow and aimless, as if he were in a world of his own. His IQ was astoundingly low, and although he couldn’t speak much, he could manage one phrase: “Coca-Cola.” Over and over, like a mantra, he’d utter it, his voice almost rhythmic.

Then there was the man I found relieving himself outside the restroom building. I couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t just go inside to use the toilet, so I felt it my duty to inform him. As he finished, he turned slowly to face me.

“Hey, pull up your zipper, man. You know, the restroom is right there,” I said, pointing towards the door just a few feet away.

He seemed completely unfazed, his expression calm.

What is your name? I asked.

“It’s King.”

I nodded. “Well…nice to meet you King.”

With that, he turned and walked away as if everything was perfectly normal.

One of my daily assignments at Camp Happyland was waterfront duty—a task I mostly enjoyed, though it had its moments of unexpected excitement. On one occasion, I took a few patients out in a rowboat to explore a nearby creek. The afternoon was warm, with the sun’s rays filtering through the canopy of trees above. The atmosphere was peaceful as we gently glided downstream, leaving a trail of ripples. The only sound was the rhythmic stroke of my oars breaking the surface of the water.

Out of nowhere, a pair of beavers appeared, gliding effortlessly alongside our boat. They began slapping their tails on the surface, sending up playful sprays of water that drenched us.

Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, they vanished beneath our boat, only to reemerge moments later, either behind or in front. This playful back-and-forth continued for a while. It seemed obvious they wanted to play.

The patients, who had been quietly enjoying the calm, soon began laughing and pointing at the beavers, their spirits lifted by the unexpected visitors. It was such a memorable time. I couldn’t help but smile as I was caught up in the pure joy of the moment..

But what began as a peaceful boat ride quickly turned tense.

Suddenly, I found myself desperately needing to lean, not on my own strength, but on Him. In that moment of rising panic, I knew only God could steady the situation and bring us back safely.

As we made our way back toward the swimming area, we drifted past a dense bush nestled on the bank. It wasn’t until we were right alongside it that I realized it was home to a colony of water snakes. One of the patients, wide-eyed and panicked, stood up abruptly, causing the boat to rock dangerously.

“Sit down right now!” I shouted, panic rising in my voice. “You’re going to tip us over. Sit back down, or we’ll be in real trouble.”

But then things went from bad to worse. In a panicked attempt to stabilize the boat, I instinctively thrust my paddle outward toward the bank, accidentally striking the very bush where the snakes nested. In an instant, it felt as if a hundred water snakes tumbled into the water, slithering and writhing all around us.

When we finally made it safely back to shore, dripping with more than just creek water and adrenaline, I was sternly reprimanded. ” That was a bit too adventurous for waterfront duty,” they told me. I couldn’t argue and was probably dismissed from my post for the rest of the day. .

Amateur night was another unforgettable experience, as I thought it would be fun to practice communicating with deaf patients using sign language. My skills, admittedly, were less than basic; just a handful of expressions I’d picked up along the way—enough to get me in trouble.

As I fumbled through the hand gestures, I intended to convey something friendly and warm, a spirit of warmth and compassion, to the entire group. But as it turned out, just as we were about to find our seats for the event, one of the girls standing next to me unexpectedly thought the gesture was meant for her. She smiled and, to my surprise, reached out to take my hand as if I were her date for the evening. The look in her eyes sparkled with innocence and desire, filled with the hope of being boyfriend and girlfriend, a connection that deep down I knew couldn’t be possible. I could see that this simple, unintentional moment had stirred something far more profound within her. The whole situation was innocent, yet complicated. Her expression told me that words, spoken or signed, carry far more weight than we sometimes realize.

These moments, though seemingly small, stayed with me. They revealed how much the patients at Camp Happyland needed healing, even if they didn’t know it—and, more importantly, how much they needed God.

Lean on Me: A Church Encounter that Changed Everything

It was at Camp Happyland that I became friends with Chuck, a camp counselor whose faith deeply resonated with mine. One evening, he invited me to his small, spirit-filled Pentecostal church in Fairmont, Maryland. Curious and open to the experience, I agreed to go.

Stepping into that church felt like entering another world. I remember feeling out of place, as if I didn’t belong. I stood out like a splotch of white paint on a canvas of black and brown—the only white person in attendance—and my senses were on high alert.

The worship was unlike anything I’d ever known—wild, passionate, unrestrained. Should I run or stay? Something—curiosity or maybe something deeper—compelled me to remain.

People danced in the aisles, spoke in tongues, and a couple lay on the floor, overcome by the Holy Spirit— an image that brought to mind a term I’d once heard: ‘holy rollers.’

At one point, I watched a man roll uncontrollably as two women in long white dresses stood over him, arms outstretched, casting out something that seemed …hideous. His mouth frothed, the foam spilling down his chin and chest like waves washing up on shore.

The whole thing was deeply unsettling. It didn’t feel fake or like some kind of performance. It felt real—uncomfortably real. I couldn’t help but think of that story in the Bible, where an evil spirit threw a boy into convulsions right in front of Jesus. And now, it felt like I was watching the same thing unfold right before my eyes.

Looking back, it’s funny how certain songs seem to show up at just the right time.

Back then, “Lean On Me” by Bill Withers was the number one song on the pop charts. While not originally written as a Christian song, its message of friendship and support carried spiritual weight, a reminder that there is One we can lean on.

Standing in that small church, overwhelmed and out of place, I had no idea just how much I would need to lean on God.

As the service ramped up, I scanned the walls of the church, half-expecting to see something out of the ordinary. My imagination went wild, wandering to unusual stories of churches handling snakes. Was this one of those churches? How many pictures of unfortunate souls would I find hanging on the back wall of the church, of those who didn’t survive their test of faith? Did they get what they failed to heed?

Jesus said, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test” (Matthew 4:7).

Although the extreme ritual of handling venomous snakes was more commonly practiced in churches across Appalachia, in states like Georgia, Alabama, and North Carolina, my senses were on high alert. What other dangers might I encounter? There appeared to be only one exit at the rear of the church; at least, that was visible from where I sat, some infinite number of rows away, or so it seemed. I would make a quiet mental note of it just in case I needed to make my escape.

But before I let my imagination spiral any further, I soon realized that this wasn’t that kind of church.

Still, the intensity of it all left me feeling a bit on edge, uncertain about what to expect next.

The following week, I returned to the church, this time bringing my buddy Stan along. I invited him partly for his company, and partly hoping the experience would give us something to talk about afterward. Well, it certainly gave us plenty to discuss.

Stan wasn’t much of a churchgoer, and this was way outside his comfort zone. We may have made some deal that if he went, I’d do something in return.

I watched as he stood, eyes wide, trying to process it all—the loud fervent singing, hand clapping, and the deep, soulful prayers rising all around us.

It didn’t take him long to make up his mind. He grabbed my keys, made a beeline for the exit, and headed straight to the car, where he waited out the rest of the service. I knew then—I’d be getting an earful. I could already feel it brewing.

For him, it was simply too much, especially compared to the quiet, more formal services I assumed he associated with church. The holiness of the Pentecostal church stood in stark opposition to his nature, which seemed to frighten him away.

Stan never came to church with me again after that night. The whole ride back to camp, he sat in stunned silence. Then finally, shaking his head and staring straight ahead, he said, “Man… I don’t even know what that was.” Despite the awkwardness, we remained friends, though we never spoke of it again

The week after, I brought someone else—Patty. She was more open-minded, and I made sure to explain ahead of time what she might encounter. No surprises this time.

By then, “Lean on Me” had now slipped to the number two spot on the pop charts, but the song’s message still lingered with me. This time, something shifted in me as I entered the church. I felt more at ease. The presence of God felt real, like He was wrapping His arms around me, someone I could lean on.

Maybe it was the lyrics echoing in my head: “When you’re not strong, I’ll help you carry on…”

Pastor Williams, wearing dark sunglasses and singing his message to a jazz organist, suddenly stopped mid sermon and pointed his finger directly at Patty and me. In his deep and confident voice, he declared, “You are going to have a good sleep tonight; one of the best. “

The words hung in the air like a mystery as Patty and I exchanged confused glances at each other. We had absolutely no idea what he meant, but something in the air felt different, as if there was more to his words than we could comprehend.

At the time, I didn’t know what to make of it. Later, I realized he wasn’t just speaking scripture; he was including us, reminding everyone that God’s house is truly for all people of every race and color.

With that, Pastor Williams picked up right where he had left off, preaching and prophesying to the congregation as if nothing had interrupted his message.

After the service, we said goodbye to Chuck, who had invited us, and said we’d meet him back at Camp Happyland. We travelled in separate cars. With my windows rolled down in my 1968 Volkswagen Beetle, the wind tousled my hair and drummed my ears, offering a small relief from the oppressive heat of the night. The cool breeze felt like a temporary escape, but I still couldn’t shake the question regarding the pastor’s declaration. This couldn’t be what the pastor meant, could it?

The drive back was filled with more questions than answers, and for Patty, the whole evening had been just as unfamiliar as it had been for Stan. But, unlike Stan, she was more open to it,`. While Stan had bolted for the exit, Patty had stayed, absorbing every moment. She may not have fully understood the experience, but she also didn’t recoil from it as Stan had. Yet, the service, the prophecies, the strange happenings—were all too much to fully comprehend in the moment. It was a lot to take in. Could it be that God had used that service and the strange events of the night to reveal something deeper? Something I couldn’t see yet?

Unsolved Mystery or God Wink?

It wasn’t until we were back at Camp Happyland that the realization of what the pastor had prophesied became clear, evidence of the power from above. Every night was sweltering from the heat and humidity, with no air conditioning to offer relief. On this particular day, the heat index reached a staggering 103.4 degrees Fahrenheit.

When I walked Patty to her cabin and she opened the door, a breeze hit our faces. There, in the center of the room, stood a fan—blowing cool air.

“Where did that come from?” she asked, wide-eyed.

We both stood there for a moment, and just stared. No words, just the gentle hum of the fan, whispering something we couldn’t explain.

Yet somehow, it felt like the fan had been placed there just for her. She smiled. We said goodnight, and I returned to my cabin while she went into hers.

The cool breeze from the fan gently stirred Patty’s curtains. Later, Patty told me that as she lay down, the quiet hum and cool air wrapped around her, lulling her into a restful sleep—unlike the usual sweltering heat of the night that left her tossing and turning. She would have the best sleep ever that night.

The next morning, I learned that the fan had gone missing from the dining hall, and no one seemed to know how it ended up in Patty’s room. Word spread quickly, and before long, there was an inquisition. I, for some reason, was their number one suspect in the “Case of the Missing Dining Hall Fan”, despite knowing nothing about it.

The fan was promptly returned to the dining hall where it belonged, and the fuss over it gradually died down; however, there were still unanswered questions. For some, it may remain one of life’s “Unsolved Mysteries.” Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was at work in it all—something that connected the fan’s strange appearance with the pastor’s words and the miraculous night of rest Patty experienced.

Winks from Heaven: A Love That Heals Every Heart

To some, it might be an unsolved mystery. But for Patty and me, it was more than a coincidence. It was a God-wink.

God’s small miracles are often proof, not just that He exists, but that He cares for us and that He is present in our lives.

Patty came to that service as a skeptic. But the prophetic word—and the mysterious appearance of the fan—left a mark. It stirred something deep.

These winks are like a smile from Father God, as if He is saying, “I see you, I know you, and I’m always here.” They come in ways we don’t expect, just like Pastor Williams’s prophetic word to Patty. Yet, they are always meant to cause our hearts to turn towards Him- a wink that stirs something deep within us, calling us to know Him more intimately.

Reflecting on my experiences at both Camp Happyland and the Pentecostal church, I realized that, despite their differences, both groups were ultimately seeking the same thing: healing and deliverance in one form or another. Whether it was the patients at the camp searching for mental and physical relief, or the congregants at the church crying out for spiritual freedom, they all shared a common need for God’s love and compassion.

God revealed that His love was the key to healing—body, mind, and soul. In both places, the need was the same: a longing for wholeness that only His love could provide. And I came to realize that His love is the thread that connects not only their struggles but all of ours, offering hope and transformation, even for Stan, whom Christ would never stop pursuing. It became clear to me that no matter where we are, who we are, or what we’re going through, God’s love is the healing power that can restore us in ways beyond our understanding.

Revised 2025

CREDITS

“Camp Happyland” was written by Bill Hutzel

.Voiceover was by Eleven Labs

“Lean On Me” musical segment was performed by Al Jarreau

Take Me Deeper

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As far back as I can remember, I loved walking on the beach in Bay Head, New Jersey, in the early morning when the sun rises in the east. Listening to the waves roll in and the simple joy of looking for sea glass have always been cherished pastimes of mine since I was a little boy. Even now, in my later years, it remains one of my favorite things to do.

For example, I would fill my pockets with a rainbow of colored sea glass polished by the sea, frosted blues, aquamarines, pinks, and other unexpected treasures. The joy of finding these gems, their edges worn smooth by the surf, never faded, no matter my age.

Then, when I met Peggy, I couldn’t wait to share this special part of my life with her. One afternoon, we drove to Bay Head, eager to experience the peace of the shore together. Upon arrival, we found a quiet, secluded spot on the sand, far enough from the water’s edge to escape the crowd so we wouldn’t be disturbed. It was the perfect place for reminiscing and exchanging stories.

We laid out a couple of towels and settled in. The air and the sand were warm, with not a cloud in the sky. The gentle lull of the waves transported me back to my younger years, flooding my mind with fond memories that I eagerly shared with her.

As we sat there, getting to know each other better, what stood out most to me about Peggy was her profound intimacy with God, a connection far deeper than anything I had ever known. With kindness and a genuine desire for me to experience that same closeness, she gently invited me into that depth, encouraging me to explore the quiet places within where God waits to be found.

In her gentle, caring way, she asked me to close my eyes and envision where I could see Jesus. Where is Jesus right now? she asked softly. Her voice was calm, stirring something deep inside of me. I didn’t resist her invitation, though normally I might have, held back by my vulnerability and doubts that often stifled the freedom to let my imagination wander freely, unrestrained by the walls I’d built around it. But with Peggy, I felt a quiet peace. Instead, I allowed myself to be drawn into the deepest recesses of my mind, where God was calling me to meet Him.

As I listened to the waves, watching them wash up on shore, I became mesmerized by their ebb and flow, imagining them gently lapping at my feet while we sat further back from the water’s edge. The beauty of the waves and the soft sound of their crashing drew me in, allowing me to go deep, blocking the distant hum of passing cars, the cacophony of chatter from beachgoers, and the distractions of this world. Gradually, Peggy’s voice began to fade as I found myself transported, lost entirely somewhere else, in the stillness where God was waiting for me.

In my mind, I saw myself drifting far out in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. It was peaceful, and as I listened, all I could hear was God’s soothing voice. His gentle waves caressed me, tender and caring, like the soft stroke of a woman’s hand upon my arm.

At that moment, I became lost in my thoughts, focused solely on God’s calming presence. He did not seem troubled by things I am frequently troubled by. Instead, He spoke to me with love and compassion. “Go deep,” he whispered. “Go deep, go deep. I love you. I want to reach deep inside you and reveal Myself to you in a more powerful way than has ever been revealed to you before. Go deep, go deep, and meet me where I am. Don’t be afraid. I will swim with you. I will uphold you. You are tethered to me. You cannot be lost or pulled from my arms. You are mine, always. Go deep and meet me where I am. Don’t hold anything back. Swim with me, won’t you? Don’t hold on to your surfboard; dive into my presence. I am your safety now.”

He was calling me to a place deeper than my feet could ever tread, to an intimacy I had never experienced before.

The lyrics from the song Oceans by Hillsong beautifully capture the depth of my feelings in that moment. As I was called to step into the unknown, I found God’s presence waiting for me in the deepest waters.”

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep
My faith will stand.

And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise, my soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine.

Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You’ve never failed and You won’t start now

And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise, my soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine.

God wanted me to be alone with Him, inviting my attention and worship in the quiet of my mind and spirit. As I surrendered, He washed over me as waves of joy, and I was filled with awe at the beauty of His creation, the ocean, the waves, the sky, the sand, and the woman beside me. I couldn’t help but wonder, How could anyone not marvel at the glory of God’s creation?

CREDITS

“Take Me Deeper” was written by Bill Hutzel.

.Voice over by Eleven Labs

Musical segment and lyrics from “Oceans” by Hillsong

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INTO THE STORM

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The day before Storm Sandy, the second most destructive natural disaster in US history after Hurricane Katrina, I was busy securing all outdoor furniture, loose fixtures, and anything else that could potentially fly and cause damage by hurricane force. The storm was not just a meteorological event but a personal crisis, one in which I could have relinquished to despair and blamed God for the misfortune that would visit me. Instead, something miraculous happened that would change my life.

“Lexi! Go fetch, girl!” I yelled to my dog and threw her a ball. Usually, like a good retriever, she’d eagerly chase after the ball and bring it back. But this time, she didn’t.

The driveway was dry, but it was that time of year when it became treacherous. The five white pine trees that lined the driveway had dropped their needles, blanketing the surface and causing it to become as slippery as a wintry snow and ice mix. I had years of experience walking across patches of snow and ice, but apparently, I hadn’t mastered a slippery slope of pine needles. Watching the ball roll down my long, steep driveway, I got this brilliant idea to retrieve it myself. As I did, my feet flew out from under me, sending me into the air. Instinctively, I threw out my right hand to break the fall—then BAM!

As I lay immobilized in excruciating pain with the wind knocked out of me, I made a feeble attempt to cry for help. As I lay there, I saw that my right hand was unnaturally bent to the right and clearly out of alignment with the rest of my arm. It appeared broken, but I desperately hoped it was simply a severe sprain.

My mind was a relentless barrage of negative thoughts: what if my wrist is fractured and doesn’t heal correctly, or there is permanent damage? I was especially anxious because, as a professional flutist, my primary concern was how it might impact my ability to play the flute afterward.

The situation seemed bleak. I couldn’t squeeze or move my hand, and my wrist was visibly swollen. It didn’t look like I would be performing anytime soon…. But I wanted to believe that God would hear my heart’s cry. “Please, God, don’t let it be broken.”

In the midst of the confusion and agony, I had no idea how profoundly my life was about to change. I managed to lift myself from the ground, secured Lexi, my non-retrieving dog, in the house, and drove myself to the hospital using only my left arm, each bump in the road sending fresh waves of pain through my injured wrist.

After arriving at the ER, I was processed at check in, then led to a small, curtained waiting area. The space felt sterile and impersonal, and where time seemed to stretch and blur. I was briefly examined, then X-rays were ordered. But then came the hardest part: waiting.

What followed was an agonizing stretch of time that seemed to crawl with the weight of uncertainty and concern about how I’d be able to afford my hospital visit without medical insurance. The fear of the unknown loomed larger with each passing second. In my pain and depression, I prayed to God for a miracle, but it seemed as if He did not hear me as my mind was a jumble of unrelenting chatter and noise. To use a metaphor, it was like trying to tune in to a radio station, only to hear the maddening buzz of static. That was me. I couldn’t tune into God’s wavelength. His signal, the peace I longed for, was lost in the din of my own anxious thoughts.

The room where I waited was relatively quiet, except for the soft footsteps and murmured exchanges of nurses tending to other emergency patients, their anxious thoughts palpable, each one trapped in their own world of worry and pain. This only added to the strange solitude I felt.

My own thoughts spiraled, dwelling on the pain in my wrist and the questions that hung unanswered. I felt separated from the world outside by a thin white curtain and seemingly an endless wait for results that would eventually reveal the next steps in this unwished-for journey.

When the surgeon finally arrived, he pulled back the curtain and entered, holding his clipboard. He was dressed in a crisp white coat, with a stethoscope draped casually around his neck. As I recall, he was about 5 foot 10 inches tall, with a build that struck me as average, and salt and pepper gray hair that spoke of years of experience. He had a kind yet professional demeanor.

“Mr. Hutzel?” he asked, his voice calm and deliberate as if to confirm that I was he.

I looked up at him, a knot tightening in my stomach. “Yes,” I replied, feeling apprehensive.

There was a slight pause as the doctor glanced over his notes, the silence amplifying the tension I felt. My heart stopped momentarily as I waited with bated breath.

”Based on the results of your x-rays, Mr. Hutzel, I’m sorry, but I have some bad news for you. Your wrist is badly fractured and will require a plate and pins. We will need to operate tonight. I’ll have a nurse come and get you prepped. I’ll see you in the operating room in just a little while.”

My heart sank as my worst fears were realized. Before I could think, the words escaped me: I told him I wanted him to set it the old-fashioned way—meaning the traditional method of placing my wrist in a cast.

The doctor looked at me, clearly taken aback by my response, but his surprise quickly faded, replaced by a calm professionalism. He glanced down at my X-rays once more, then back at me.

“Mr. Hutzel,” he began carefully, “I understand your hesitation. But based on the severity of the fracture, setting it, as you put it, the old-fashioned way, is not recommended. “Your fracture is quite severe, and without surgery, there’s a risk that the bones may not heal correctly, potentially causing lifelong deformities and complications. Treating it using traditional methods just isn’t an option. Please, Mr. Hutzel, allow the nurse to prepare you for surgery tonight.”

The idea of surgery made me anxious. I glanced at the x-ray on the screen, the stark image of my broken wrist, a harsh reality of how severe the injury was. Then, my eyes shifted back to the surgeon. What if I just waited to see how it would heal on its own without invasive surgery? I wasn’t ready to surrender to surgery – not yet. With a deep breath, I held my ground, deciding to have him set it the traditional way.

After a moment of consideration, he finally relented. “All right, Mr. Hutzel, we’ll proceed with your request.” He carefully placed my broken wrist in a splint, supporting it with a sling.

As he turned to leave, he paused, and glancing back at me he said, “Be sure to make an appointment with my office for this coming Monday,” his voice firm but not unkind. Then he left, leaving me alone with the weight of my decision.

After getting discharged, I called my daughter Aleigh, who was participating in an equestrian event at her college. Picking up the distraught tone in my voice, she asked. “Dad, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Her voice was filled with concern. I explained that I was at Hunterdon Medical Center ER and that I’d broken my wrist while prepping for the storm. Her worry deepened, and she responded, “Just wait; I’ll come pick you up and take you home. Love you.” “Love you too, Aleigh,” I replied gratefully.

The next morning, I asked my friend John for a ride to church. Usually, I’d be playing my flute with the worship team on Sunday mornings, but my injury made that impossible. I mean, have you ever seen a one-handed flutist? Well, aside from Jethro Tull, of course.

After the service, I asked John if he could take me to another church service I frequented, though not as a worship team member—just as an attendee. He happily agreed.

We found seats at the front of the large auditorium, in the third row on the right, and stayed seated until we were invited to stand for worship. As the singers, guitars, and drums led us in songs of praise, I felt God’s presence surrounding me. With my one good arm raised in thanksgiving to God, I suddenly heard what I believed to be an audible voice say, “Bill, you are healed!” It was so clear and unmistakable that I spun around to see who had spoken. But no one made eye contact or acknowledged the words, leaving me momentarily puzzled. Wondering if I had imagined it, I resumed singing praises, only to hear those exact words again.

Did I really hear from God, or was I just imagining things–or worse, was I simply losing my mind? While many people who read the Bible understand that these biblical accounts of hearing God’s voice did happen, they often believe such occurrences no longer happen today, especially to ordinary people.

It had always been my nature to be overly analytical and second-guess everything, but this time felt different. I sensed a quiet confirmation deep in my spirit that God had truly spoken. Forgive the cliché, but I held onto that feeling as if it were a promise—so, metaphorically speaking, I took that check to the bank and cashed it.

Afterward, I approached the pastor and asked him to pray for me. He took a bottle of anointing oil from his pocket and anointed me with it, and gently placing his hand on my arm, commanded with authority, “In the name of Jesus, be healed.” As he prayed, I felt a surge of intense heat, like fire, coursing through my arm. I took this sensation as a sign my prayers were being answered.

After the service, John drove me home. There, I settled into my favorite chair, the one where I usually prayed, with a sling around my arm. Lexi, my loyal dog, lay curled up at my feet, her silent presence a comfort, and in her eyes, there was a shared understanding of how tough this moment had been.

As I waited for the storm, I thought about the times in the Bible when Jesus healed the sick and when God spoke directly to individuals like Abraham, Moses, and Job. And, I couldn’t help but wonder: Why, out of 8 billion people in the world today, would God choose to speak to someone like little ol’ me? It seemed to defy all logic. And yet, in my heart, I knew it was true.

Overnight Sunday and through Monday, Storm Sandy unleashed fierce winds and relentless rain. When it finally subsided, I stepped outside the safety of indoors to assess the damage to my property. While other homes had sustained damage, I was relieved to find no structural damage to mine. However, I was disheartened to find five trees uprooted, one of which was my favorite: a weeping willow tree. I wept for it as it lay on its side; its long, slender branches, which once elegantly bent towards the ground, would no longer grace my property, nor would birds perch in it. A profound sadness washed over me, like an unsuspecting ocean riptide pulling me deep into a sea of despair.

AFFIRMATION

Despite the overwhelming sorrow I felt, God brought me comfort throughout the week and lifted my spirits. These moments of encouragement, which I call “God-incidences” or “God-winks,” were clear signs from Him, affirming that the healing I experienced on Sunday was truly His miraculous touch. Whenever doubt crept in, especially after I accidentally rolled onto my wrist in my sleep and endured excruciating pain, God would lead me to specific Bible passages that spoke directly to my heart. These verses were undeniably meant for me, offering guidance and reassurance in moments of uncertainty.

The first affirmation was when I randomly opened my Bible to Job 19. Verse 10 immediately caught my eye as if it leaped off the page and into my heart. It read, “He breaks me down on every side, and I am gone, and He UPROOTED MY HOPE LIKE A TREE.” WOW! The profoundness of this verse struck me deeply. It was a comforting reassurance, not a mere coincidence that I had randomly turned to this specific page and verse, which mirrored the incident of the five uprooted trees on my property. This was the first of several powerful affirmations I would receive before my upcoming visit with the surgeon.

The next day, I randomly opened my Bible to Proverbs 3:5-6, which said, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and DO NOT LEAN ON YOUR OWN UNDERSTANDING.” The word “lean,” resonated deeply with me. It challenged me to let go of my natural tendency to rely on my own understanding and, instead, place my complete trust in God. The reference to “lean,” combined with the imagery of uprooted trees toppled by the storm, further deepened the significance of this verse. It reminded me that trusting in God requires standing on a firm foundation and not leaning on my own understanding, or else I, too, could be shaken.

Later, Proverbs 3:8 and Isaiah 58:11 further strengthened my faith, offering a promise of healing: “Then you will have healing for your body and STRENGTH FOR YOUR BONES.” This clearly got my attention in a profound way, filling me with awe and inspiration. It didn’t feel like a mere coincidence—it felt like a personal message, reinforcing my belief that God had heard the deepest desires of my heart for healing.

Then, a timely post from my brother further addressed my lingering doubts. The email, titled “The Voice in My Head” wasn’t a religious article, yet it struck a chord with me because it addressed the very doubts and questions I’d been grappling with. It began with the words, “I hear a voice in my head. No, I’m not crazy!” In that moment, the message served as a subtle yet profound reminder that God’s guidance comes in the most unexpected ways, just when we need it most.

These moments weren’t just random coincidences but clear signs of God’s presence, reaffirming my faith and strengthening me as I awaited my follow-up with the surgeon.

AGAINST THE ODDS

Bolstered by the bounty of God winks I received throughout the week, I was eager to hear what the doctor would say about my prognosis.

On Monday, over a week after my first consultation with the surgeon, I arrived at an unusually quiet office. The road closures and power outages had impacted his practice, so I felt fortunate that the roads were clear and there was no wait.

“It’s been over a week now. Let’s examine your wrist,” the surgeon said. “Please place it on the X-ray table.”

After taking three X-rays from different angles, the surgeon paused, intently reviewing the images. His expression changed subtly, and I could sense his uncertainty.

So, what’s the prognosis, doctor?” I inquired eagerly, filled with anticipation.

His silence lingered a bit longer than expected. Undoubtedly, he was baffled by what he observed, then replied, “Let’s wait and see. Go ahead and schedule a new appointment for next week. And under no circumstances should you drive.” It was evident that he didn’t have the words to explain what he was seeing.

I protested, explaining that I was supposed to attend a flute convention in Ohio, yet he insisted; under no circumstances should I be behind the wheel. Despite his advice, I was determined to attend, confident that God had healed my wrist. I arranged for another flutist to accompany me, and we shared the 18-hour road trip to Ohio and back.

That’s me at a rest stop phone booth in Ohio

At my next appointment, the surgeon scheduled two additional follow-up visits. Despite the X-rays showing that the fracture had healed, he wasn’t entirely convinced it was fully recovered. He seemed clearly puzzled, as this was an outcome he had never encountered before. I also suspect he was cautious because if he cleared me too early and the fracture reoccurred, he might be held responsible.

During my subsequent visit, to my surprise, the doctor asked, “What color do you want?” His question completely caught me off guard.

Erring on the side of caution, he explained that, despite the X-rays looking good, he was going to put me in a hard cast as this was the standard protocol.

“So, what color do you want?” he asked again.

Disappointed, I answered, “Blue.” He assured me that this was standard procedure.

“You can expect to wear it for about six to eight weeks, with a full recovery taking up to three months for someone your age,” he said.

“Are you kidding? Six weeks? But I was just—” My words were cut short as the surgeon continued to counsel me on what I should expect next.

“Although everything looks good from the X-rays, it still may be fragile. I want to be sure that your wrist is completely healed,” he said. So, I resigned myself to wearing the cast but remained confident in God’s healing.

Two weeks later, at my follow-up appointment, the doctor, noticeably puzzled, stared at the X-rays, then looked at me, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “It’s remarkable” he muttered, as if grappling with the sheer impossibility that my wrist was truly healed.

“How would you like to remove this thing?” he asked with a small smile. I was surprised by his words, especially considering that just two weeks earlier, he had told me I would need to wear it for an extended length of time. This exchange filled the room with a sense of awe and wonder, affirming the miraculous nature of the healing that had occurred.

“Doc, do you believe in miracles?” I asked.” Again, in his characteristic manner, he scratched his head in wonderment and responded with a heartfelt “amen to that.”

Defying the prognosis of a three-month recovery period or the need to wear a cast for six to eight weeks, I performed a concert just one week after the cast was removed. My healing is a clear testament to God’s miraculous intervention.

REFLECTIONS

As I reflect, I realize that life is analogous to the sea and its waves, and I am like a broken piece of sea glass. God has shown me that the sea tumbles and polishes these shards, gradually removing the rough and jagged edges until each piece is refined and smooth. This was the work that God was doing within me, refining and shaping me through every experience.

From breaking my wrist to experiencing God’s supernatural healing, I’ve come to realize that my experience wasn’t just a series of random events but rather acts of divine intervention. The signs and “God winks” were all part of a plan to renew my spirit and strengthen my faith. I’ve been reminded that God is always guiding me, and true faith means trusting Him fully—even when I can’t comprehend His ways.

Looking back, I see that the true healing didn’t just happen in my wrist, it happened in my heart. Through this journey, I learned to trust not only in my limited understanding but in a greater plan that transcends fear and doubt. While my wrist had been miraculously healed, it was the unseen wounds of my spirit that were truly restored.

I pray my story brings hope and inspiration to you as you navigate circumstances in your own life.

CREDITS

Into the Storm was authored by Bill Hutzel
and collaborated with and edited by Peggy Hutzel

Voiceover by elevenlabs io

Musical segment from A Celtic Storm by Emily Blair
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch2lX7tbfX4

Listen to A Celtic Storm by Emily Blair, Movement no. 1
in its entirety below
(Length: 5 minutes, 10 seconds)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch2lX7tbfX4

Someone else’s faith and a mustard seed

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN WITH AUDIO

It was the early 70s. The Beatles, public demonstrations and disorder, gas shortage lines¹, and the Vietnam War were in full swing. It was the “sign of the times.” It was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius and long beautiful hair.

**The Jesus Revolution**

PLAY: Hair by The Cowsills
https://youtu.be/0xaK4nf_Oug?si=sdwVRiN0iJLKvQzD

In 1971, the Jesus Revolution was Time magazine’s featured front cover. It was a period in history of soul searching, of looking inward. We were trying to figure out who and what we were, and where we were going as a human race.

In January of ‘72, I became a believer in Jesus Christ during the Jesus Movement. The ‘turn on, tune in, drop out’ counterculture was discovering a new way to live as many “long beautiful hair … shoulder length or longer” haired hippies began to embrace the gospel. I was now getting high on Jesus, Peace and Love. And hey, what about “God is groovy” and “Smile God loves you”? They were slogans all part of the vibrant scene.

On my college campus, I made friends with a charismatic group of Jesus People who believed in miracles, signs and wonders, faith healing, and powerful works of the Holy Spirit. Many testified to having supernatural experiences similar to those recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. I wanted what they had. And so, I began attending a church that operated in the gifts of the Holy Spirit.

At first, my faith to believe in miracles was … well, let’s just say, challenged because the church I used to attend taught the cessationist belief that miracles, signs, and wonders ceased with the apostles.

MY FAITH IS CHALLENGED

Eddie Smith, an evangelist faith healer from England, was coming to Kearny, New Jersey to lead a weekend healing revival service. While I had heard of faith healers like Smith Wigglesworth, Oral Roberts, and Kathryn Kuhlman, this would be my first opportunity to witness a faith healer in person. I had heard that their ministries were often accompanied by numerous claims of divine healing. Now, I might get to see one.

I wondered: Do miraculous healings still happen today? Is the kingdom of God now in its fullness, meaning that all the gifts of the Holy Spirit are available today and not just when we are resurrected with new bodies? Perhaps these questions would be put to bed after this weekend. No more questioning. proof that miracles, signs, and wonders are indeed for today!

I asked my younger brother, Jamie, if he would like to come along.

“Hey Jamie, how about attending a revival meeting tomorrow evening? It’s supposed to be a healing service.

“Wow. Do you really think someone is going to get healed?” his voice conveyed both wonder and a bit of skepticism, as if unsure whether to be intrigued or doubtful.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. It might be fun to go check it out. What do you think?

Jamie paused for a moment, then said, “Yeah, why not? I’m curious to see what it’s all about. Plus, I’ve never been to one of these before, so it could be fun. Yeah, I’ll I go with you.”

So, the two of us, on a Friday evening, hopped in my Bright Orange 1974 Volkswagen Beetle and drove to the church where the revival was happening. If you weren’t looking for it, it was easy to pass by. The small suburban white clapboard church on Elm Street had no parking and was nestled between houses just 20 to 25 feet apart on a tree-lined street, resulting in it blending in with the other houses. The church was neither attractive nor spacious, although it comfortably accommodated a small congregation of people just under a hundred. There were no ornate stain-glassed windows, church bells, or an inviting entranceway or vestibule as many might be accustomed to. It was plain to look at on the outside, but on the inside, something extraordinary was about to happen.

My brother and I entered under the aluminum awning behind other attendees where a man warmly greeted us. “Welcome. Glad you could come. We have a good crowd tonight, so if you need help getting seated, someone will be glad to help you find seats.” We acknowledged his greeting and then went inside.

From what I observed, the room was nearly packed to overflowing, with mostly college-age attendees. We were fortunate to find a couple of seats on the end of a pew about eight rows back from the front, where I could stretch out my long legs into the aisle.

There was a buzz of excitement in the air with some engaged in lively conversation while others sat in quiet expectation, all eagerly awaiting the start of the service. Shortly, thereafter, the pastor of the small church on Elm Street quieted the room and opened with prayer and singing before introducing Eddie Smith.

Eddie Smith kicked things off by telling a classic British humor joke. “Who here has a crick in their neck?” he quipped. A guy in the audience stood up unabashedly and acknowledged the invitation. “Well,” Eddie Smith replied with a sly smile, “will you please ask your wife to approach the altar?” Sounds like Smith was trying to get to the hidden source of this guy’s “pain in the neck.”

In a shift to a more serious tone, Eddie Smith transitioned by inviting the Holy Spirit’s presence, setting the stage for miracles to unfold. Eddie Smith was a heavyset man with an authoritative presence. As I looked on curiously, he confidently invited members of the audience to come forward for healing and prophesied words of knowledge to those present. A word of knowledge is when someone knows something about another person that God reveals to them, information that the giver of the word wouldn’t have known otherwise.

“Who here is suffering from one leg being shorter than the other?” he inquired. Unequal leg length is a condition where the legs are either different lengths or appear to be different lengths because of misalignment. “Won’t you please come forward? The Lord wants to heal you,” he proclaimed.

As he made his way to the front of the room, the man’s stride was marked by an abnormal gait. “What is your name, son?” Smith asked. “It’s Tom,” he murmured softly. Eddie Smith reassured him, noticing that he was visibly uncomfortable. “So, how long have you had this condition, Tom? “Since birth,” he replied. “Well, good news, Tom, Jesus loves you and wants to heal you tonight.” “Is that okay?” Tom nodded affirmatively, indicating a yes.

Smith invited him to take a seat and stretch out both legs so that he could assess his condition. As he began calling on Jesus to heal him, there was an expectancy in the room that something miraculous was about to happen.

To the amazement of everyone present, the shorter leg began to elongate until it matched the length of the other. The room erupted in loud shouts of praise and raising of hands. Many more healings also occurred throughout the night, leaving me inspired by what I had witnessed. This made me want to come back the next evening. What miracles would God do again on Saturday? I looked forward to coming back.

The second evening of meetings was once again filled to capacity. You could just feel the excitement and anticipation. Much the same as the previous night, Eddie Smith shared words of knowledge for those in attendance who needed healing, and once more, many were miraculously healed.

Amidst the fervor, I heard him ask, “Who here has plantar warts?” I was stunned, shocked in disbelief. How could he possibly know that I suffered from this condition?

Plantar warts are small growths that usually appear on the heels or other weight-bearing areas of your feet that can cause extreme pain. It was true that I suffered from them, but I thought Eddie Smith couldn’t mean me. I reasoned it must be someone else. And so, I did not respond, nor did anyone else answer the invitation to go forward for plantar warts. When no one responded, Eddie Smith continued inviting others to come forward for various healings.

Why didn’t I go forward? I didn’t like being the center of attention, but I believe it was mostly to deflect disappointment if I was not healed.

Later that evening, Eddie Smith again extended the invitation to someone with Plantar warts to come forward. Nothing. Crickets. No one moved. Deep inside I knew the invitation was for me, but I still didn’t respond. “Nope! Can’t do it. No way!”

FINAL INVITATION

As the evening drew to a close, Eddie Smith extended one final call to anyone with plantar warts. “This is the 3rd and last time I will make this invitation to someone here with plantar warts. The Lord wants to heal you. Won’t you please come forward?” Eddie Smith asked, pausing momentarily for someone to respond. “That’s you, bro. You have to go up,” my brother Jamie nudged me, insisting. Stubbornly refusing to move, Jamie then got this brilliant idea to push me out of my pew. Before I knew it, I stood frozen like a deer caught in headlights, attracting everyone’s attention. It was too late for me to retreat, so, I nervously approached Eddie Smith.

Just as he had done with others before, Eddie Smith kindly reassured me of God’s love and His desire to bring healing to me. Standing there, Eddie Smith laid hands on me and called on all of heaven and the Name of Jesus to heal me from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.

While some prayers are eloquently reverent and formal, invoking the vastness of God’s grace and wisdom, like: “O Divine Creator, in the vast expanse of Your boundless grace and infinite wisdom, we humbly gather before Your presence. As we stand in awe of the majesty of Your creation, we bow our heads in reverence and gratitude and beseech Thee, should it be Your will …,” Eddie Smith’s prayer was instead commanding and authoritative: “In Jesus’ Name, plantar warts, leave right now! GO! In the Name of Jesus, be healed!”And that was it—just simple and direct. There was no reservation or doubt in his voice, only complete and unwavering faith that I would be healed.

What was I feeling? To be honest, I felt nothing short of nothing. Crazy, huh? I didn’t fall to the floor and start to shake and roll. I didn’t feel a surge of electricity go through me or tingling in my extremities. My eyes didn’t flutter, nor did I hear God speak audibly or even in a small still voice to my spirit. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. Absolutely, NOTHING! But what I did feel was self-conscious about being the focus of everyone’s attention, so I moved rather quickly back to my seat after Eddie Smith finished praying for me. Phew! That was embarrassing.

When I got home that night, I went straight to my room to get ready for bed. As was my usual routine, I sat on the edge of my bed and began to remove my socks. As my hand brushed against the bottom of my foot, I was stunned. I was completely taken by surprise. Miraculously, the bottom of my foot felt smooth and without blemish. God had completely healed me of plantar warts! Remarkably, to this day, they have never returned!

MULTIPLE FAITHS AT WORK

Matthew 17:20 highlights the enormous power even a tiny amount of faith can have in overcoming obstacles and achieving miraculous outcomes according to God’s will. It states, “if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

God works in miraculous ways despite our inadequacies and little faith. Did I believe in healing for myself? I wasn’t sure. That day, if my brother and I had not exhibited even a tiny amount of faith, we might not have attended. But, we did!

It took my brother’s small mustard seed of faith to push me and encourage me to move from my seat so that I might experience more of God.

It took Eddie Smith’s great faith to command, with the authority he had in Jesus’ Name, “Be healed!”

Sometimes it is also through God’s prophetic word and others’ testimonies of personal healing that move us to greater faith to believe.

Ultimately, however, it was because Eddie Smith heard the Father’s heart for me. It was because of the Father’s tender kindness, His grace, His compassion, and His constant love for me that He wanted to demonstrate.

Has this whet your appetite to hear more? I want to create in you a hunger to desire more Holy Spirit just as it did for me.

Just as the disciples were empowered to do the things that Christ did, so are we empowered. John 14:12-14 is a wonderful verse that we must believe is for TODAY – “I tell you this timeless truth: The person who follows me in faith, believing in me, will do the same mighty miracles that I do—even greater miracles than these because I go to be with my Father! For I will do whatever you ask me to do when you ask me in my name. And that is how the Son will show what the Father is really like and bring glory to him. Ask me anything in my name, and I will do it for you!”

God desires not only to save us but also to empower and commission us to do the things Jesus did. It is God’s will for you to grow in faith. He wants to bring healing to both your body and your soul. Take a moment now, close your eyes, sit quietly, and open your heart to receive the love that the Father and Jesus have for you, beloved.

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FOOTNOTE
1 America Out of Gas – A Lesson in Patience by Bill Hutzel, 2016
2 “Hair” by the Cowsills, 1969

Journeying Through Doubt: Trusting God’s Guidance When the GPS Fails

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Have you ever desired to hear God but found yourself unable to do so? This is not an uncommon problem for the average Christian. Not hearing God’s voice, however, was never intended by God. Learning to discern and hear His voice is invaluable. I came to realize this during a vacation in Arizona in September 2019.

Wavering on where to go or what to do, my wife Peggy got this brilliant notion that it would be fun to tune into spontaneous flow and let God guide our journey. By “flow,” I mean Peggy wanted God to decide and navigate for us, and so she turned off the GPS. Initially skeptical, I reluctantly agreed but struggled with doubt. Peggy persisted, challenging my faith. Then, a seemingly coincidental encounter—a passing car bearing the license plate “SKEPTIC”—forced me to reconsider my disbelief. This encounter prompted reflection on trusting God’s guidance, leading to a shift in my mindset. Yet, despite lingering doubts, I gradually began to embrace Peggy’s desire to allow God to guide us, culminating in a moment where we trusted an exit number received through prayer. This experience led to a newfound appreciation for listening to God and stretching my faith.

Now, several months later, I find myself reflecting on that seemingly coincidental incident once again.

Just like TV and radio transmissions are continuously broadcast 24/7, we can only hear them if we turn on the device. The same applies to hearing God’s voice. We can only hear God’s voice if we intentionally tune into Him. God is always transmitting. How is your reception?

Although traffic was heavy, I left with plenty of time to arrive at International House of Prayer Eastern Gate by 6 o’clock for the Thursday evening service, and so I wasn’t particularly anxious; YET! I was looking forward to playing in worship and was earnestly seeking Him and connecting with Him on my drive there.

UNTIL ….

Traveling a route I had never traveled before, I depended on my GPS device to get me to my destination. Typically, the GPS is very reliable unless it loses its signal or malfunctions, which is very infrequent.

The road was heavily traveled with lots of stops and starts due to lights and a large number of cars and trucks on the road. It was “rush hour. Often, cars would cut in front of me to get into my lane. “Okay, Bill, take a deep breath and count to 3,” I heard. I eased back on the accelerator and put a few car lengths in front of me, although what I really wanted to do was ride this guy’s tail and lay on the horn. I didn’t, however, remembering to BE FILLED with the Holy Spirit (Eph. 5:18) rather than be filled with the flesh.

The female voice on my GPS calmly alerted me to a turn coming up. Unlike my demeanor right now, there was no alarm in her voice as she matter-of-factly said, “Take next right turn in 500 feet.” I’ve gotten used to her British accent, and I must admit I rather enjoy it. She’s become a reliable companion during car rides. Though I haven’t given her a name, I’ll just refer to her as SHE. And so, I obediently listened and followed her instructions.

But SHE’s instruction had to be wrong. It was too late; I had already committed to making the turn. Why did SHE put me on a jug handle to go in the opposite direction from which I was traveling? My frustration showed as I told her so in so many words. Have you ever had your GPS take you in circles as if it were confused? I certainly have, and so I thought this was one of those times. Disregarding her guidance, I instinctively returned to our original route. Surprisingly, SHE did not attempt to correct me and simply allowed me to continue on. I discounted the mistake as a malfunction.

Sometime later, SHE instructed me to get in the leftmost lane. Following her guidance, I found myself in the left two lanes designated for the Holland Tunnel to New York City. “What!? I’m not headed to New York City,” I exclaimed in disbelief. “What’s going on with SHE?” Alarmed, I quickly activated my right blinker and maneuvered my car into the middle lane. Still signaling, I attempted to move over into the rightmost lane to get on to the Pulaski Skyway to New Jersey. As I inched forward with the traffic, I abruptly came to a halt when all vehicles ahead stopped. When we started moving again, a driver beside me refused to allow me to merge, adding to my frustration. “C’mon!,” my frustration showing again. Typical New Jersey driver! Ugh.

“Alright, enough of the horns already!” No one was allowing me to merge into their lane, so I momentarily held up traffic in the middle lane until someone was kind enough to let me get in front of them. Or perhaps it was my own assertiveness that prompted me to cut slightly in front of another car until they had no choice but to yield.

By this point, I no longer sensed God’s presence. Although my initial instinct was to lean on the horn in frustration, I refrained. In New Jersey, if you annoy the driver in front of you, they will personally see to it that it takes you twice as long to get to where you are going. Can any of you New Jerseyans relate?

The Pulaski Skyway is a 4-lane highway that runs for 3 ½ miles over two rivers and the New Jersey Meadowlands where rumor has it, Jimmy Hoffa’s body is buried underneath. It soars 135-feet into the air bypassing railroads, interstates, factories, oil refineries, and canals. Trucks, pedestrians, and bicycles are prohibited on the skyway because the four-lane highway, two in each direction, barely fits onto the structure, leaving no room for a shoulder or sidewalk. At one time, there were over 400 crashes a year on the highway, which is why commercial vehicles and pedestrians are prohibited today..

Tuning into God’s Frequency: Lessons from a GPS Mishap

Talk about not hearing from God. Ever found yourself in that place where you’re not just worried about being late, but you start imagining worst-case scenarios, like not getting there at all? Yep, my frustration had gotten the better of me. We’ve all been there, done that. It’s a reminder to step back, take a breath, and realign ourselves with a more positive mindset, especially when it comes to our spiritual journey.

More than an hour into my journey, SHE suddenly alerted me: “Route Memory Full.” And just like that, my GPS stopped working. The maximum available memory had been exceeded. Why is this happening to me? If SHE were a real person I might have wondered, was SHE angry at me for something? Or was she just having a bad day and malfunctioned? We humans sometimes malfunction too. I was having one of those malfunctions right now and could not hear God as He had designed me to hear Him.

What do I do now?” I thought. I was completely lost without my GPS. But then I was quietly reminded in my spirit of my vacation in Arizona when my wife Peggy and I heard God’s voice for guidance. So, why not now? I thought. I needed to rely NOT on my GPS device but God’s Positioning Satellite instead.

It wasn’t so easy, though, especially under duress and the incessant chatter in my head. Instead of hearing God’s voice, I kept hearing in my head – “You are going to be late; really late!”

“Are you delusional?” I thought. “You can’t hear God for directions.” “How foolish of you to think that God would supernaturally guide your way.” How foolish to think that God would supernaturally guide my way.” Wouldn’t it be best to stop at a gas station and ask for directions.?

Ooops, I just passed one a half mile back.

Then I thought I had heard in my spirit, “Take the next right.” But then again I was too late to respond and kept going.

As I approached the next right-hand turn, I questioned whether it was truly God guiding me or just my imagination. Seeing signs indicating that the upcoming turn was a dead-end only added to my doubt. Despite this, I continued onward until I ultimately decided to commit to the next right-hand turn. It felt like the most logical choice and, I hoped, pointed me in the right direction.

Hearing God was difficult. It felt too much like rowing an 8-man 60-foot long sculling boat against the tide and wind all by myself. Where was my coxswain to encourage and guide me? If you don’t know what a Coxswain is, it is the person in charge of the boat, particularly its navigation and steering. During a race, a coxswain is responsible for steering and calling the moves. “LET IT RUN; LET IT GLIDE.”

My journey felt far from smooth sailing, and the finish line seemed nowhere in sight. Was God even listening to my cry for HELP? Had my coxswain fallen overboard? NO, it was clear that the problem wasn’t with God, but with me.

It would have been so much easier if my scull, metaphorically speaking, was equipped with sails to catch the wind, analogous to catching the Holy Spirit’s wind. Coming into alignment with the Holy Spirit then would be just like sailing, not by my own strength, but effortlessly with His breath. Things could then happen in our life that would otherwise not be possible, such as asking for small, even unorthodox things like this, not just the big oines. “Give ear and come to me” (Isaiah 55:3) – in everything!

The circumstances were indeed different from when Peggy and I were on vacation in Arizona, where there was no urgency to be anywhere. Yet I can’t say that hearing God’s voice was not without some resistance, even then. It was just different. Given our unfinished spiritual condition, we often resist God and withdraw from what He wants to show us. So, this is where I had mentally retreated in my moment of panic.

Listening, like most disciplines is a skill we develop that comes from a deeper relationship with God that is developed by actually engaging with Him, by finding intimacy with Him.

By the way, my GPS device did eventually come back online, although it only worked sporadically. As a result, there were a couple of wrong turns along the way. Yet, despite the challenges, God still managed to gety me to IHOP with seven minutes to spare. I felt a sense of relief knowing that God came through despite my victim mentality to succumb to negativity.

In retrospect, as I look back. I am convinced that God was always in control even though I wasn’t. When it seemed like I was facing obstacles at every turn (forgive the pun), I needed to be reminded of how God saw my situation. I needed a fresh perspective, a different thought process, a language nothing the world had ever heard before. Here’s what Graham Cooke articulated in his video “The Language of Heaven.” “No problem can come to us without a provision and a promise attached to it. A problem is meant to move us into God’s provision. What if a problem is so big? Then the promise is bigger than the problem. Imagine! It’s a new way of thinking. Every problem comes with a promise and a provision. Convert your negatives into something brilliant because Christ doesn’t want us to be victims of negative situations. We need a new mindset. We need a new language that describes who God is for me.”

It’s a powerful journey, learning to step into God’s fullness amidst life’s challenges. With each problem I encounter, big or small, I’m discovering how to embrace my inheritance in Christ. Every situation I face in life, whether small or large, is an opportunity for growth, an invitation to become more like Jesus.

Have you set your sails, or are you still rowing under your own power? Is God your coxswain?

If you haven’t already read: “Adventures Flowing in God,” Parts 1, 2, and 3. Click on links below.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

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