Pictured from right to left, Cathy Barlow Garrison, Nancy Shearer, Jenny Cline, and Bill Hutzel (center) … Photo by Jack Shearer
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In memory of Cathy Barlow Garrison, who passed away on Wednesday, November 23rd, 2016.
Cathy always seemed to celebrate life. So it was fitting that the ceremony in her honor… was called a celebration
And yet— I was deeply saddened to see her go.
Even knowing she had gone to a better place.
It’s a perfect place
where there is no pain…
no suffering…
no disability…
no sickness.
It’s hard for me to fully comprehend such a place. Because I am still of this world, and I cannot yet see God clearly.
But it is described as something picturesque and glorious.
Grander than anything I’ve ever imagined.
Angels on white clouds… playing music… skateboarding down streets of gold—and other depictions from movies I had seen.
Joy was everywhere!
And I imagine Cathy there.
Playing in a glorious flute choir.
No more endless practice. No more striving for perfection.
Now, anything she picks up… she plays beautifully.
Effortlessly.
The church was standing room only.
Tears were everywhere.
But even then… Cathy reminded us to look on the bright side of life.
As we said our goodbyes the ceremony ended with a song:
“Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” from Monty Python’s Life of Brian.
Go on” said the priest
Sing it, Sing it, everybody!
And as we sang along to a recording played through the church’s sound system, I thought that Cathy must have been laughing at our heartfelt attempt to sing the lyrics:
“Always look on the bright side of life, de-dum .. de-diddly-dum-de-dum.”
Cathy would have wanted that.
She would have wanted us to sing and rejoice.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t sing.
I couldn’t even whistle.
My lips were trembling.
I was just trying to hold it together.
That song…that was her choice.
Of course it was.
She had a marvelous and wonderfully zany sense of humor.
Even near the end of her life, she could still laugh.
When a Facebook glitch mistakenly changed people’s Facebook profiles to memorialized, Cathy joked about checking her page to make sure she wasn’t dead yet.
You have to laugh.
Her email handle was: “cheerfulflutist.”
And that’s exactly who she was.
Cheerful.
And, she inspired all of us to be the same.
The song in the background of this audio recording is entitled “Alleluia” by Ralph Manuel and performed by Flutatious! members Cathy Garrison, Jenny Cline, Nancy Shearer, Flora Pollack, Bill Hoff, and Bill Hutzel. This musical offering, offered in love and remembrance, was shared at Cathy’s Celebration of Life, with one cherished member absent.
The photograph was taken by Jack Shearer. Jack, thank you!
Copyright 2016 by Bill Hutzel
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Let me start out by saying that this is a most unusual story.
In 2018, while taking an online course on inner healing as a part of my Global Awakening School class assignments, I was required to write a letter to a friend. However, I did not have anyone in mind to write to, and my assignment was due in four days. On Sunday morning, during my prayer time, I asked the Holy Spirit to guide me, and I felt a strong urge to call Sam. I heard a voice whispering in my spirit that “Sam is dying.” I was skeptical at first, but the voice repeated the message a couple of times. So, I decided to call Sam, but he did not answer, and I left him a message.
Later that day, not Sam, but his daughter returned my call. She informed me that Sam was admitted to the hospital and that they did not know what was wrong with him. He had collapsed five times over the last couple of days. His prognosis looked grim.
Peggy and I decided we would visit him on Tuesday. At that moment, I knew it was Sam I was to write my Letter to a Friend.
On Tuesday, we started our drive to Greenwich Hospital in Connecticut with my letter in hand. During the last 10 minutes of our 2-hour drive, Sam’s wife Mary called and said Sam had just passed away.
What do we do now? I thought. Do we go back home after traveling this far?
Peggy and I decided to keep going as planned. As soon as we arrived, we went to the reception desk and asked for Sam’s room, which was located on the third floor. However, I started feeling uneasy. I looked at Peggy, wondering if she was thinking what I was thinking. This was undoubtedly one of the most unconventional things we had ever done.
The elevator door opened, we exited, and we walked toward Sam’s hospital room.
Then, looking at Peggy, I sought eye contact, desperately wanting confirmation whether I was to read my letter to Sam or hand it to his wife. I felt very uncomfortable, to say the least. Peggy, however, assured me it was okay to ask Mary’s permission to read my letter to him. “I think we are here for a purpose,” she said.
Outside the room, we greeted Mary with a hug and our condolences. I explained my desire to share the letter I had written to Sam. Sensing my compassion and burden for him, she permitted me, recognizing that Sam and I had a special godly relationship.
We entered the room. Mary stood near the foot of Sam’s bed while her brother stood some distance off but within earshot. Sam’s skin was yellow and ashen, his mouth open, eyes nearly shut, all signs of life gone. Sam had not officially been pronounced dead yet, although it was pretty apparent. His body lay lifeless for more than 20 to 30 minutes before our arrival.
With Peggy on one side of the bed and me on the other, I read my “Letter to a Friend.” I was saddened and tearful as I read it. There were times when I hesitated, my voice breaking. I knew Mary was listening, and as I read on, I noticed she, too, was becoming emotional. At that moment, my heart went out to her, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Sam was listening in as well.
After I read my letter to Sam, Mary left Sam’s bedside. Peggy and I then laid hands on Sam and began ministering quietly. We both felt a strong anointing come upon us to speak life back into Sam. I’ve never prayed before for someone who had died. Courage just took on a whole new meaning for me.
Peggy began speaking, over and over, “Your Father loves you; you’re a good son.” She had no idea why she needed to say it continually, but it felt right.
At that moment, we both saw and felt Sam’s body shudder; his arm jerked under the light touch of my hand on his arm. Peggy and I both looked at each other. “Jumpin’ Jiminy! Did you see what I just saw?”
My expectations were now elevated. I truly wanted to see more. I wanted to see Lazarus raised from the dead. But as we continued to listen and pray, I distinctively heard in my spirit “let him go.” After hearing it again several times, I looked up at Peggy in resignation and said, “Let him go.”
We spoke with Sam’a wife afterward in the hallway. She shared that Sam’s parents had divorced, and his mother never allowed him to contact his father. She went on to say that Sam’s father died of a broken heart, having never been allowed to speak with his son Sam again. On Sam’s deathbed, the Holy Spirit led us to pray repeatedly for the Father’s LOVE to be poured into Sam, saying that Sam is a good son. “Your Father loves you.”
It all made sense now! Isn’t it wonderful knowing that God is still in the restoration business? Even on his deathbed, God was still ministering to Sam, to a place that was an unresolved emotional wound in his heart.
The timing was perfect, even when Peggy had to make a rest stop just before we got the call from Mary. Had we arrived any earlier, we would have run into their priest, and I don’t think I would have had the courage to pray as freely as I did. It would have been awkward. Had I arrived after the physician officially pronounced Sam dead, we may not have had the opportunity to pray for Sam.
We said our condolences and moved towards the elevators, the two of us marveling at the FATHER’s LOVE and desire to love us into eternity.
Coincidence or God-incidence?
The story clearly shows that every event was guided by God’s hand. When deciding who to write my letter to, God intervened by subliminally suggesting my friend’s name by distracting me with the message, “Bill, Sam is dying.” I would not have written my letter to Sam if I had not heard God’s voice. The fact that Peggy and I continued to the hospital after hearing about Sam’s passing and arrived there at the perfect time was not a coincidence. The repeated prayers for the Father’s Love for Sam were not mere coincidences either. God wanted to ensure Sam knew he was a good son, even in death and for eternity.
Copyright 2018 Re-published March, 2026 by Bill and Peggy Hutzel
This audio narration was created using an AI-generated voice model trained on my voice. The content and message were written by me and my wife, Peggy.
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My Personal Testimony
College became a new beginning for me.
I found new friendships, and for the first time — unlike in high school — I began to excel in my studies.
Like my father, I chose to pursue a career in music education, with a secondary focus on music therapy. In many ways, I was walking in his footsteps…yet sometimes, the shadow of his absence pressed down on me.
I should have been happier, but I wasn’t.
Instead of feeling connected to the joys of my earliest years before my father’s premature death, I often found myself living under a cloud of negative thoughts. The unresolved trauma and emotional pain from high school still followed me. Shame and fear accompanied me, and anxiety was a constant companion.
So, I kept myself busy. I practiced my music for hours each day on my instruments, hoping the music would drown out the thoughts I didn’t want to face.
Around the same time, I was drawn to the emerging hippie movement, identified by cries of “love, not war,” experimentation, and the search for freedom. Yet in striking contrast was another movement rising: the Jesus Revolution. Some say it was the last Great Revival in America. It was a period in history of soul searching, of looking inward.
Many were trying to figure out who and what they were, and where they were going as a human race. I too was searching—though I didn’t know what for.
Evangelical Christians, also known as ‘Jesus freaks,’ was a term that originated in the late 1960s and early 1970s counterculture, used pejoratively for those who believed in Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord
His Pursuit, God’s Relentless Love
Jesus’ mission on earth was to seek and save the lost… and that was me!
Oftentimes, God allows us to reach a place of brokenness. I guess He thought it was time to rescue me from myself. He didn’t want me to continue dwelling on feelings of abandonment, hopelessness, dejection, lack of self-acceptance, and fear.
He longed to be the Father I had never fully known or appreciated growing up. And even though I did not yet know Him personally, something within me was still crying out, hoping He would hear.
A musician friend — a fellow flutist — began sharing the Gospel of Christ with me. “Are you saved?” she asked. I wasn’t even sure what she meant at first.
“Born again, you know. Don’t you?”
“Uhhhh, what?” I stammered. But truthfully, I didn’t know.
That was the moment when God began relentlessly pursuing me—
His love chasing me down—refusing to let me go.
God had me squarely in his sights, and although I ran from Him; he did not give up on me, and neither did my friend. Because of His very nature, which is love, He sought a relationship with me, and He would not give up until I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior.
“Are you born-again?”
The question gnawed at me.
After a while, it became like a song stuck in my head that goes round and round. One psychologist describes it as an earworm. The most interesting thing about earworms is that they show a part of our brain that is not in our control, and they refuse to leave when we tell them to.
There was nothing I could do to prevent God from pursuing me. No distance could I run that would keep God from loving me. From the moment I was born, God had been pursuing my heart. It was His greatest longing for me to be in a relationship with Him, and because I could not reach him through any effort of mine, He would orchestrate events that would cause me to seek Him.
But questions gnawed at me. Was there really a God and did He have a way for me to let go of all my burdens if I believed and trusted in Him?
Could I have the assurance of going to heaven when I died and not be left behind?
This last question seemed to weigh most heavily on me with a sense of urgency attached to it.
I often visited New York City and waited at the corner of Mrs. McGrath’s house for a bus. It was the last stop before the city, so the buses were usually packed. When one finally arrived, I climbed aboard and spotted a seat toward the middle. Holding onto the overhead metal hand ropes as the bus accelerated, I stepped carefully toward the back.
Suddenly, the bus lurched, and I nearly fell into my seat.
.I settled in, but did not look at the passenger next to me. His head was turned away slightly looking downward, reading something. I glanced momentarily and saw that he was reading a Bible and returned my gaze to my lap. Then he looked up and said my name.
“Oh, hey Mark,” I said, not knowing where the conversation would lead. “You’re not one of those, uh, Jesus Freaks, are you?”
It was rude of me to ask, and I knew it, and I guess didn’t care, else I would not have said it.
But Mark was not offended. Instead, he leaned into the opportunity, and for the rest of the bus ride into the city, he shared the “Good News” of Jesus Christ with me.
It was then that I realized God just wouldn’t quit pursuing me
A few days later, when I sank to a new low, I pulled a favorite Leonard Cohen album from my family’s hundreds of records.
Music had always been my escape.
I slid the LP from its jacket and placed it carefully on our high-end Audio Research turntable, holding it only by the edges to avoid fingerprints. Back then, it felt worlds apart from the old box record players with ceramic cartridges.
I lifted the tonearm and dropped the diamond stylus into a random groove. The speakers burst to life as I turned up the volume.
You’ve got to be kidding, I thought.
No sooner had the needle touched the vinyl than the first words filled the room —
“And Jesus
… was a sailor when He walked upon the water.”
Of all the places for the needle to land, it had to begin with His name. The one name I didn’t want to hear.
. I wasn’t looking for Him. I was looking for escape.
I lifted the needle. The music stopped mid-phrase. The speakers fell silent except for the faint hum of the amplifier — but in my head, His name kept echoing.
This couldn’t be a coincidence.
The words I had been hearing for days — Are you born again? God loves you. Jesus is the way, repeated in my mind like a broken record. I couldn’t shut them off.
Well, that totally blew my mind—a commonplace saying among others like “I really can’t hack it anymore.”
So I hastily lifted the needle from the turntable and ran from the house.
I jumped into my old forest-green ’68 Volkswagen Beetle and backed out of the driveway
Anywhere. Just anywhere. Had to get away.
I was confused and rattled. The music, the questions, the incessant echo in my head—Are you born again?—plagued me. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was supposed to do. I only knew one thing: I had to keep moving.
But God knew. Just like the song “Jesus Take the Wheel” by Carrie Underwood, Jesus took my wheel in that moment, guiding me—unbeknownst to me—to a place I never intended to go.
It was dark and raining when I pulled up in front of Mrs. McGrath’s house, whom I sometimes called Mrs. M, and parked my car across the street at the curb.
Remember the guy on the bus with the Bible?
[long pause] Well, Mrs. M was that guy’s mother, and this was his house too.
Coincidence?
For the next few minutes, I just sat there with the engine idling, the windshield wipers hypnotically swishing back and forth
What happened next, I don’t recall. It was as if that entire stretch of time was completely erased from my memory. And there I was, standing at Mrs. M’s back porch door. I must have knocked… hadn’t I?
“Billy, what are you doing here?” Mrs. M asked, surprised.
“Honestly,” I said, “uh, Mrs. McGrath, I don’t know.”
What’s really twisted is that I had no recollection of getting out of my car and walking up to her house.
One moment I was sitting across the street, and the next I was standing at her door.
Now, some of you are thinking that I went off the deep end…
And perhaps I did too at first. Just for the record, I wasn’t taking any hallucinogens, alcohol, or medications. I was completely sober
I tried to make sense of it.
It may sound far-fetched, but here goes. In the Bible, there are accounts of people being translated from one place to another—which, if you “eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” If this were a Star Trek series re-enactment, the dialogue may have gone like this…
“Transporter room, stand by to energize!”
A brief pause.
Then, in a flash I would have dematerialized. My subatomic molecules would have been sent along to another location, then rematerialized. This is the stuff of science fiction, right? Well… hold on to your seat.
Had I somehow been translated from my car to Mrs. M’s porch without realizing it?
In 2 Samuel 3:10, it carries the sense of transferring something from one place to another
And in Colossians 1:13, it describes being moved, delivered, from one condition into another
I didn’t know what to make of it. All I knew was that time — or at least my memory of it — had vanished.
And if it were not for God’s intervention, I had no plans of visiting Mrs. M that evening. When she invited me in, I hesitated momentarily, but by the grace of God I accepted her invitation.
She asked me into her living room where we talked for a while. Then, she asked me if I would like to pray, and I nodded yes.
I was comforted by her soft-spoken voice, and as I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her coffee table, I was drawn to the gentle flicker of candlelight in the room. The only sound was our quiet breathing. For a long moment, no words were spoken as I remained transfixed on the candle flame moving ever so slightly.
There was a silent presence that I could not name, and with it came a hope.
I contemplated what she had said, realizing her focus was not only on rescuing me from a distant place of punishment, but on saving me from a kind of hell already living inside me — the torment, the emptiness, the uncertainty, the loneliness of not knowing Christ, who had given His life for me.
Then, suddenly, the silence was broken.
“Billy, are you ready to accept Jesus Christ as your Savior?” she asked
Tell Him all your troubles, pour out your heart’s longings to Him, and believe me when I say—He will help you! He loves you. It is written: if we confess with our mouth that Jesus Christ is Lord and believe in our heart that He was raised from the dead, we shall be saved
Then, with my head bowed, I prayed.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room seemed to change.
I envisioned a pure white dove flying in and hovering above me. The vision seemed so real, that I dared to speak, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Mrs. M., do you see it?” I whispered, wondering if she had seen it too.
She nodded.
“Yes, Billy. He’s with you. He’s always been with you.”
At the time, I had no understanding of what the dove meant. Years later, I learned from Matthew 3:16 that when Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist, heaven opened and the Holy Spirit descended upon Him like a dove — a symbol of transformation and empowerment.
That same heaven that declared, “This is my Son…” awakened me to realize that this, too, was my identity in Christ: a child of God, a son forever held in the Father’s embrace.
Then, a peace unlike anything I had ever experienced before fell upon me. It seemed as if I transcended into His presence as I took wings and went to heaven, got saved, and came back to earth.
Although we really don’t take wings and go to heaven, get saved and come back to earth, it’s merely a figure of speech that shows one’s need to transcend our worldly life to a higher spiritual place in which we meet Christ as our savior. From that day forward I came to know God intimately as my Abba Father.
And so, “In my trouble, I cried to the Lord, and HE ANSWERED ME!” Christ came to rescue me—and mend my heart.
That night I exchanged my life for Jesus Christ’s life and was forgiven for all my sins. Jesus was now my Lord and savior, and I was a new creation.
So, on that dark and rainy night, feeling lost and depressed, I felt quite the opposite now. [clears throat] I left Mrs. M knowing that I had the assurance of eternal salvation.
Instead of feeling downhearted, I felt joy.
Instead of feeling dejected I felt accepted.
Instead of feeling fearful and anxious, I felt peace.
Instead of feeling hopeless, I felt hopeful.
Jesus Christ came to earth, died on a cross for my sins so that I might not only have eternal life after death but also to make a way for me to have an abundant life on earth with Jesus Christ, Here and Now. I couldn’t wait to tell everybody about my experience!
Let everyone give all their praise and thanks to the Lord!
Here’s why—He’s better than anyone could ever imagine
He’s always loving and kind, and his faithful love never ends.
So, go ahead—
let everyone know it.
Tell the world how he broke through and delivered you from the power of darkness.
He has set us free to be his very own.
Life changed almost 50 years ago for me, and I am FOREVER grateful
Copyright 2026 by Bill Hutzel
This audio narration was created using an AI-generated voice model trained on the author’s voice. The content and message were written by the author.
The introductory song passage at the beginning of this story was written by me in collaboration with John D’Elia, who beautifully arranged and produced the piece. His artistry brought the heart of the song to life, transforming what began as a quiet prayer into a musical offering of hope and endurance.
You can listen to We Cry Of … In Quiet Faithfulness in its entirety on Youtube. Click the link at the bottom of the page.
Every now and then, life hands us an opportunity that feels bigger than we are—an open door we didn’t expect, a moment that stirs both excitement and a touch of nervousness. Those are the places where God often draws near.
The story you’re about to read is one of those moments.
In 2017, I was asked to perform with Robin Mark, an Irish Christian singer, songwriter, worship leader, and recording artist from Belfast, Northern Ireland. His music had been sung around the world. With thirteen albums and more than two million sold, he was well known—just not one I recognized at first.
Still, without hesitation I replied, “Sure, I’d be glad to accompany him,” even though I would have only two and a half weeks’ notice to prepare. Even though I wasn’t familiar with who he was, I rarely turned down a playing opportunity. I was looking forward to it and was confident in my ability to perform.
Who’s Robin Mark?
That’s the question I asked myself after I agreed. I was told the music would be provided, but what landed in my hands were simple song sheets with guitar chords—nothing close to what I needed. I needed to hear the songs and let them take root. But with only two and a half weeks to prepare, I began to get a touch of nervousness.
So, I contacted the radio station affiliated with our church and managed to obtain three of Robin Mark’s recordings. That’s when I realized I had my work cut out for me. Irish Celtic music wasn’t a genre I was used to playing, but I knew I could learn the flute parts straight from the recordings, but I’d really have to dig in.
And honestly, the challenge didn’t dampen my enthusiasm. If anything, it made the invitation even more meaningful. It was an honor to have been asked—especially knowing I was stepping in for Robin’s regular Irish flutist who couldn’t make the trip to the United States. This wasn’t just another gig. It was an opportunity, and I wanted to rise to it.
For the next two and a half weeks, I immersed myself in the playlist. Morning, noon, and night, I listened to nothing but Robin Mark’s music, letting every phrase settle into me until it felt natural.
Just before the concert, a prophetic word of encouragement came—one that reached straight to my heart, as if God Himself were cheering me on:
“Bill, you have an audience of one—it’s Me! Keep your eyes fixed on Me. You don’t have to impress anyone. I gave you the flute and the ability to play. My angels are surrounding you. Keep your eyes on Me, not Robin Mark or the band. Your future is in My hands. Your melody flows on earth and in the heavens. You are My instrument. I am pleased with you. My peace replaces fear. Enjoy the concert. Enjoy My presence! Have fun as if you and I are the only ones.”
Those words steadied me, filling me with a sense of peace and confidence that I carried onto the stage.
When Robin Mark arrived one hour before the concert, we managed a quick warm-up —barely enough time to get acquainted and just skim through a handful of pieces. It wasn’t nearly enough time to digest the two full hours of music ahead of us, but it was all we had.
It’s Showtime
As the concert kicked off, I could feel that familiar mix of excitement and nerves—the quiet signal that you’re stepping into something bigger than you imagined. But as the music unfolded, I felt myself settle. Hours of practice at home had given me confidence, and listening to his recordings beforehand allowed me to flow naturally alongside him.
Midway through the concert, Robin Mark—clearly picking up on my growing confidence—decided to have a little fun with me. The song Days of Elijah featured a lively Celtic jig, the kind usually played on an Irish flute. Wanting to stay true to the original sound, I had originally borrowed one from a friend. But with so little time to get comfortable with its wider tone-hole spacing, my fingers wouldn’t quite cooperate. So, I used my wooden flute instead—different instrument, yes, but still carrying that warm, wood-toned character that fit the moment perfectly.
After I played it through once, Robin looked over and motioned, “Do it again.”
And then again.
Each time faster than the last.
By the final go-around, he had left center stage, moving toward me, leaning in, pointing the neck of his guitar as if daring me to keep up. By that point, I was just holding on. Any faster, and… well, let’s just say the wheels might’ve come off.
Phew.
After the concert, I asked him, “What was that all about, Robin?”
He grinned and said with a laugh, “I was just having some fun with you, Bill.”
Closing Reflection
I’ll never forget trying to keep pace with that jig while Robin marched toward me, pointing his guitar like a Celtic ringmaster daring me to go faster and faster. And somehow, in the middle of that whirlwind, I held on as if for dear life life—and strangely enough, it felt as though heaven leaned in for the fun.
Because the truth is, we’re never playing solo. Maybe there really were angels close by, just as was spoken over me—cheering me on, laughing and joining me in the joy (and sweat) of that unexpected moment.
Either way, the lesson is the same: we are never alone. We are instruments in His hands, and the music we make—whether it comes out smooth or wildly offbeat—is always part of His plan.
Copyright 2025 by Bill Hutzel
Live mobile phone recording made at Zarephath Christian Church, New Jersey
Bring your voice. Bring your song. And yes—bring your flute, Peggy said to me over the phone. Of course I wanted to play. And I especially wanted to see Peggy again.
It was 2017, and she was inviting me to Awaken the Dawn, a gathering on the National Mall where tens of thousands of worshippers and 1,700 worship teams converged for a weekend of 24/7 praise, worship, and intercessory prayer. Some were already calling it a Jesus Woodstock for a New Generation, America’s Tent of Meeting. Whispers spread even before the crowds arrived: could this be the next great Jesus Movement? I didn’t know yet. But I was about to find out.
When the Door Closed, Love Opened Another
Although it was uncertain whether I would be able to participate, Peggy encouraged me to apply to perform with one of the worship teams. I submitted my application—hopeful, but unsure.
A few days later, the reply came: Application denied.
Then came another obstacle: there were no accommodations available anywhere near the event.
Peggy had already booked her flight. She was scheduled to land at Ronald Reagan Airport at 1:30 p.m. on Friday, October 6.
“Would you consider meeting me there?” she asked. As a single woman attending such a large event on her own, she was hoping for spiritual support. Even if you can only stay for a few hours,” she continued, “your being there and lifting me up in prayer would mean the world to me.”
How could I say no? My heart longed to see her again, even if I could not stay. I was resolved to go.
“I’d love to,” I said. “I look forward to it!” And I truly did. I was genuinely excited to see her again, even if only briefly.
The drive from New Jersey passed quickly, carried along by one thought: Peggy.
When she arrived, I spotted her and waved. She smiled.
“So good to see you,” I said, then took her bags and gave her a warm hug.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Anywhere,” she said with a smile.
We found a park nearby on the Potomac River with picnic tables. It was a beautiful fall day, warm temperatures in the 80s, with a few clouds floating lazily overhead. We ate lunch and prayed together before her event.
Time slipped away from us, and before I realized it, it was too late for me to make the drive back to New Jersey. Without a hotel reservation, I was unsure what to do—until Peggy suggested that I ask at the Airbnb where she was staying.
Thankfully, they could accommodate me.
And yes—I had packed clothes… and my flute.
Flute in Hand, Faith in Motion
The next morning, we stumbled upon a COSI restaurant for breakfast before heading to the Georgia tent, where Peggy was scheduled to speak.
I hung around for a little while, but eventually set off on my own to explore with my flute in hand, hoping for an opportunity to play.
I wandered from one state tent to another, listening to singers, musicians, and worship leaders perform. At the Eastern Regional tent, I poked my head inside and asked the sound guy, “Hey, do you mind if I join you guys?” feeling confident that I could lend my flute to familiar worship songs I had played before.
I held up my flute, but he shook his head. “Sorry, fella. You have to get permission from the main registration tent.”
Disappointed, but not discouraged, I moved on. Eventually, I wandered to the New Jersey tent, where a small, casual group of musicians had gathered to perform.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked, hopefully again.
They welcomed me warmly, and I joined in. But as time passed, my enthusiasm slowly began to wane.
I felt disconnected from the group, hoping for a deeper, more inclusive, and rewarding experience.
The session felt too casual, almost like a way to pass the time. I guess I had been longing for something more challenging and inspiring. But this wasn’t it.
That’s when my phone buzzed. It was Peggy: “Where are you?” She asked. I have an assignment for you. And hurry!”
I packed up my flute and quickened my pace, sometimes walking briskly, sometimes breaking into a light jog, as I made my way back toward the Georgia tent, wondering what this urgent “assignment” might be.
The question kept pressing with every step, making me all the more eager to find out.
The First Time God Used Me
When I arrived, Peggy introduced me to a woman who was cradling a broken wrist in a cast. “Would you pray for her?” she asked.
I blinked, “Seriously?” I was completely caught off guard. I had never done anything like this before, and did not feel qualified. But then Peggy reminded me, “She has the same injury you had. And God told me you’re the one to pray for her.”
And just like that, it hit me: my own fractured wrist, Hurricane Sandy, and how God had miraculously healed me when I cried out in desperation. (See chapter titled “Into the Storm”)
Peggy looked at me, then said, “That same anointing is now on you.”
I looked at the woman’s right wrist. It was the same one as mine had been. I hesitated. Doubt crept in. What if nothing happens?
Somehow, Peggy must have sensed my unease. Without my saying a word, she reassured me, “The healing is never up to you. You’re just the conduit; God does the healing.”
I took a deep breath, gently placed my hand on the woman’s wrist, and, together with Peggy, we prayed in the Name of Jesus for her complete healing and full restoration.
Already sensing in her spirit, Peggy asked the woman, perhaps for my benefit more than hers, “Did you feel anything? Any tingling sensation, any warmth … anything at all?
The woman nodded. “Yes,” she said. I felt warmth right where you laid your hand.”
Her words immediately brought me back to my own healing during Hurricane Sandy. I had been in desperate need of healing when I, too, had broken my wrist. I still remember the moment hands were laid on me and the fire I felt coursing up and down my arm. It wasn’t my imagination; it was real.
Now, here I was, years later. I felt the Lord had drawn me full circle, connecting my healing to hers, as if He had woven both moments together for His purpose.
.Then, Peggy asked her, “Can you do something now you couldn’t do before?”
The woman carefully raised her arm and began to turn her wrist, testing it. I held my breath, just hoping, hoping against hope, as if there was the possibility of a miracle happening right before my eyes.
Then, a look of wonder and a smile came over her face. “No pain!” she exclaimed, “It doesn’t hurt anymore!”
I stood there stunned. I had just witnessed a miracle.
And as it turned out, this was just the start of what would become an incredible weekend, full of moments just like this.
If God Wants You to Play
That afternoon, still riding the high of seeing the woman’s healing, Peggy and I made our way to the main registration tent, hoping that I might finally get permission to play. But, once again, the answer was still “No.”
I was disappointed, but Peggy, undeterred, said, “Listen, if God wants you to play, which I believe He does, then no man can keep you from playing.
Back at the Georgia tent, a Cherokee Christian band was warming up. A crowd was gathering. Peggy nudged me.
“Hey, why don’t you ask if you can join them?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, initially feeling anxious about possibly being rejected again. “What if they say no? Besides, these guys were really, really good.”
“And you aren’t?” she said, eyebrow raised. “Oh well, your loss. Do what you feel is right,” Peggy said.
She was right. What did I have to lose? If I didn’t take this chance, I’d miss the very reason I brought my flute to the event. So, summoning my courage, I took my flute out of its case and raised it as a silent question to the lead singer.
He looked over, smiled, then waved me over. “Sure, join us!”
Surprisingly, as soon as I stepped in, I found myself lost in one of the most spontaneous and Spirit-led sets I had ever played. My flute exchanged improvised passages back and forth with the saxophone player, creating a musical conversation I’ll never forget.
Afterward, the lead singer came over to me.
“Hey man, you killed it!” “How would you like to join us tomorrow morning on the Eastern Regional Stage? “
My heart leapt, and without hesitation, I enthusiastically replied with a big “Yes.”
I turned my head to look at Peggy, and she had the biggest smile on her face and said, “See what God did right there?”
Stage Fright and Surrender
The next morning, there I was standing on the Eastern Regional Stage, amazed at how God had turned everything around. Isn’t that just like Him? Taking me from feeling downcast and out, to opening doors that were once closed.
How cool is that?
But as more band members took their places, musicians I hadn’t played with the day before, a nervousness gripped my stomach. There would be no warm-up, no rehearsal before the concert. Jumping in with an established group that already has chemistry felt… well, uncomfortable. I couldn’t help but wonder how I would fit into their flow.
And to add to my nervousness, unlike yesterday’s relaxed, informal jam, I was now on a large stage set inside a massive tent, in front of hundreds of worshipers gathered for the concert. It wasn’t the casual setting as it had been the day before.
This was real, public, live before a large audience.
The weight of it all began to settle on me: No script, No second chances. Just faith, trust, and the music we’d create in the moment.
And I hate to admit it, stage fright? Yep, it crept in.
As a performer, it wasn’t unusual to experience a touch of anxiety before facing an audience. But usually, I’d rehearsed my parts, enough to build some confidence.
This time, though? There was no sheet music. No rehearsal. No safety net.
Just a flute in my hands… and faith in my heart.
But, instead of turning my focus to God, my old self got in the way. I found myself slipping into old habits, worrying about what the audience might think. Their approval had become my measure of success, my reassurance; and, ironically, my limitation.
So here I was again, looking outward for validation, when I knew deep down, I should have been looking up, seeing myself through the eyes of the One who called me here in the first place.
When God Orders Our Steps—and the Sandwiches
The Monday after the event, it rained. “Let’s go back to that restaurant we ate breakfast at yesterday,” I suggested to Peggy. We circled the block endlessly in search of parking but came up empty. So, we decided to try a different location for the same restaurant instead.
Eventually, we finally found a spot, three blocks away.
By now it was just drizzling. “Should we go for it or find a closer place for breakfast?” I asked. We paused for a moment, then agreed to walk the distance. Little did we know, it was destined to be a God-ordained moment, perfectly timed with our arrival.
When we got inside, two women were standing in line ahead of us. They invited us to go ahead of them since they were still undecided about what to order. We moved in front of them and placed our orders. Always eager to help, Peggy turned back to suggest a couple of menu items before we left the line.
The two women soon followed and took their seats at the table just behind ours. When their food arrived, they offered a blessing and concluded with a heartfelt, “Amen.”
Then, one of them turned to us and asked, “Would you like to join us?”
It was the perfect segue. With a perfect sense of knowing, Peggy asked, “Were you both at Awaken the Dawn this weekend?”
They nodded in acknowledgement, and one said they’d visited the Georgia tent.
Peggy lit up. “Did you hear the Cherokee band?”
“Yes!” they said.
Then one of them recognized me. “ “Wait—you were the flutist, weren’t you?”
We all laughed, and introductions followed. Their names were Linda and Kathy.
Interestingly, Linda shared that she had been scheduled for surgery that weekend but felt a powerful tug from God to attend the event instead.
What happened next was nothing short of miraculous.
Peggy, having no prior knowledge of Linda’s condition, suddenly sensed something deep in her spirit, specifically Linda’s hip. This prompting is referred to as a word of knowledge, an insight from the Holy Spirit to reveal something that would otherwise not be known. Trusting this inner whisper, Peggy spoke up and mentioned it to Linda, then kindly offered to pray for her healing.
Linda, who was herself a pastor, recognizing Peggy’s ability to hear in the spirit, accepted her invitation to pray. As part of their conversation about Linda’s injury, Peggy felt led to go deeper, gently asking Linda if there was anyone she needed to forgive, a step that, in many cases, unlocks the door to healing.
With tears in her eyes, Linda shared something deeply personal and offered forgiveness to someonme who mattered deeply. Then, we prayed.
Afterward, Peggy encouraged Linda to test it out. Linda stood up from the table, took a few steps, and then began walking. Her stride grew steady, confident, her gait completely normal. Overwhelmed with emotion, she laughed as the reality of what had just happened sank in. The pain and limitations she had been living with were gone. She had been healed, all in the powerful Name of Jesus!
As she moved freely around the restaurant, Linda received a prophetic word for me. When she got back to our table, she shared what would lay the foundation for what was to come for me
She described a vision, an image of me playing the flute.
But it wasn’t just skill she saw. It was the anointing of Almighty God through me as I played.
This is what she shared:
“Jesus has delivered me from the fear of man today and forever, I play with the anointing of Almighty God in the office of a psalmist. There is a fiery wall of protection around me, a shield of Goodwill, Pleasure, and Favor. When I play, the heavens open, and I see the smile of Jesus and tears of joy in the corner of His eyes. Demons flee at the sound of my playing, and people are delivered, healed, and slain in the Spirit. Doors open for me that I must walk through. If I don’t, Jesus will not be allowed there, and those people will suffer. Red Rock, The Philharmonic, and Carnegie Hall are only a few. To God be glory forever.”
A Sidewalk Wedding
When it was time for us to leave, we stepped outside the restaurant. As we stood on the sidewalk, Linda suddenly turned to us and asked, “Are you two planning on getting married?”
Peggy and I exchanged surprised glances and nodded. We hadn’t expected the question, but yes, we were.
But still, it wasn’t something I was planning on rushing into. I figured we’d wait a couple of months, at least long enough for me to give my family a heads-up.
Besides, they hadn’t met Peggy yet, and I wanted their blessing and support.
And I could already hear the questions in their minds: “Bill, do you even know this person? What’s the rush? Why don’t you give it a year; get to know her better?”
All reasonable questions. But deep down, I knew. She was the one.
“Well, then … why not now?” Linda asked, as if it were the most natural, obvious thing in the world.
I thought: Married? Just like that?
It completely caught me by surprise, and I didn’t know what to say.
Peggy, ever the steady one, squeezed my hand. Maybe she sensed my unease. Maybe she felt my hesitancy. But, just maybe, she believed deep down that it was the unfolding of God’s promise, even if it meant starting the journey a little early.
Before we could even respond, Linda said, “Bow your heads. I now pronounce you married.”
Then, perfectly serious, she added, “You may go now and consummate your marriage.”
Wait …what just happened?!
I was stunned. It had all happened so fast; I could hardly wrap my mind around what had just unfolded. Honestly, I didn’t know whether to laugh or pretend it never happened. I felt strangely uncomfortable, and truthfully, nothing felt different.
I caught Peggy’s eye. She seemed just as surprised as I was. Though she didn’t say it, I think deep down she was happy, like this was a pre-ordained moment, even if it wasn’t at all traditional.
I smiled and squeezed Peggy’s hand. We said our goodbyes to Linda and Kathy, then parted our separate ways, or so it seemed, for the time being.
And just to be clear, no, we didn’t consummate a marriage. Let’s get that straight!
Peggy and I would officially tie the knot on December 3rd in Georgia. Reverend Linda Kelley Smith, the very same woman we met at the COSI restaurant who performed our sidewalk wedding, officiated the ceremony in front of witnesses, making it all official at last.
But our weekend didn’t end there. It would not be complete without another series of powerful healings, one of which occurred shortly after our informal sidewalk wedding.
Peggy and I were both casually strolling towards the White House when Peggy got a word of knowledge for a pastor standing nearby. With boldness and compassion, she approached him, shared what God had revealed, and offered to pray for him. He was so deeply touched by the encounter that he fell out in the spirit, right there on the street with people milling all around.
That’s my Peggy’s heart of compassion, boldly speaking life into anyone, anywhere.
Oh, and remember how I mentioned that we were fortunate to find a parking spot? Well, turns out, we had unknowingly parked in a towaway zone. Hours later, when we returned to our car, it was still there, miraculously, as we arrived just in the nick of time. As we approached, we noticed valets busily parking cars next to our spot by the curb.
With our hearts pounding, Peggy and I dashed to the car and took off, just ahead of a tow truck arriving on the scene.
We both let out a deep sigh of relief, laughing at the absurdity of it all, and marveled at how God had brought us closer together that weekend.
What a weekend. A sidewalk wedding. A prophetic word. Healing in the streets. And a nearly towed car.
As we drove away, our hearts were too full of wonder at the unexpected twists of the day, healings, a prophecy, and perhaps, the first steps into a lifetime together.
Once again, His protection was evident in the smallest moments. We couldn’t help but marvel at His faithfulness, even in the most unexpected circumstances. It was yet another reminder that God’s timing is perfect, and He is always looking out for us, guiding us, and delivering us in ways we can’t always foresee.
That weekend, I thought I was just showing up to support Peggy. But God had other plans.
He healed. He opened doors. And He spoke through strangers
What a mighty God we serve, one who sees the whole picture, moves in the unseen, and meets us right where we are.
