Coincidence or God-Incidence? A Story of Divine Timing and God Winks
God Winks are those perfectly timed, seemingly coincidental moments that are far too meaningful to be random. These beautiful encounters often leave us with a sense of awe — and a quiet assurance that we are seen and loved.
Many of these stories live on my website, Inspiration and Hope. I invite you to explore them, and if one touches your heart, I’d love for you to share your thoughts and Leave a Comment. Your story matters, too.
A Message at the Perfect Moment
Just the other day, I had one of those unmistakable God Wink moments.
I had been wrestling with fear and anxiety — struggling to find peace — when I received a message from a friend. It was short but powerful:
“Fear is not your friend.â€
It arrived at the exact moment I needed it most. That simple message captured what I had been feeling deep inside. And in that moment, I sensed God gently whisper: “Trust Me.â€
It felt like He was inviting me to let go of the fear and worry I had been clutching so tightly.
Confirmed by the Word
Later that day, I opened Joyce Meyer’s devotional for June 28, titled “Let Peace Lead the Way.†It focused on 1 Peter 5:14, which in the Amplified Bible reads:
“To all of you that are in Christ Jesus, may there be peace (every kind of peace and blessing, especially peace with God, and freedom from fears, agitating passions, and moral conflicts).â€
This verse spoke directly to my heart. It reminded me that God uses peace as a guide — a spiritual compass that lets us know when we are walking in His will.
Scripture tells us that peace is the umpire of our hearts. When we’re confused, anxious, or afraid, peace often departs. But when we’re aligned with God, peace abides — and fear leaves.
The timing of the devotional, paired with my friend’s message, felt far too perfect to be a coincidence. But it didn’t end there.
When God Speaks — Twice
I had also been praying and studying about a topic close to my heart: “Hearing from God is Guaranteed.†But honestly, I had been struggling. God felt quiet, and I found myself asking: “Why can’t I hear You, Lord?â€
So I asked God for affirmation — a sign that I really was hearing Him. And oh, how He answered.
Wink #1: A Random Page Turn
I picked up my Bible — no plan, no bookmark — and randomly opened to a page.
Of all places, it landed on 1 Peter 5:14, this time in The Passion Translation. The very same verse Joyce had quoted earlier.
Wink #2: Another Bible, Same Verse
Wanting to compare translations, I grabbed my New American Standard Bible and again, without planning, opened to the exact same spot: 1 Peter 5:14.
Two different Bibles. Same verse. No bookmarks. No plan. Just divine choreography.
What are the chances of that happening? Twice?
His Fingerprints, Not Coincidences
These weren’t coincidences. They were God’s fingerprints — tender reminders that He sees, He hears, and He guides.
Yes, it was an answer to prayer. Yes, it was an affirmation of His promise:
Hearing from God is guaranteed — especially when peace is our guide.
And Then… Another Wink
A few days later, I was reading another Joyce Meyer devotional titled “A Contented Heart Is a Grateful Heart,†based on 1 Timothy 6:6.
You won’t believe this, but again — I randomly opened my Bible to Timothy, Chapter 6. Another divine nudge. Another whisper from heaven.
Coincidence? I don’t believe so.
God Is Closer Than You Think
I pray this story reminds you that God is closer than we realize. Sometimes, He doesn’t shout — He whispers. And sometimes, He doesn’t come with thunder — He comes with a wink.
He speaks in moments. In timing. In peace. And when He does, it’s unmistakable.
Have You Had a God Wink?
Have you experienced a moment like this — where God’s timing was too perfect to be random?
I’d love to hear your story. Please share your God-incidence or God Wink in the comments section. Let’s encourage one another and celebrate the ways God speaks, leads, and loves us — one divine moment at a time.
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.â€
I nodded. “Well…nice to meet you King.â€
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. Â 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?Â
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…â€
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 Fanâ€, 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.â€Â 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.
Copyright 2015 by Bill Hutzel
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
Grace is not just a word; grace is not just a noun; grace is God’s supernatural enabling power and His favor that gives you the strength to be an overcomer of your circumstances. The Lord gives grace to the humble. He will give you more grace. Just ask him (by Yvonne and Sarah Jane Svitlik from Thirty Days with Jesus in the Secret Place ).
Having experienced God’s grace in countless ways, my wife and I attended a Global Awakening conference in 2019, seekiug to deepen our understanding and connection to His power. After the first day’s session, we were encouraged to pray for the person standing next to us. The man beside me, whom I will call John, offered to pray for me first.
When it was my turn, I asked John what he needed prayer for. He shared that his eyesight was severely impaired; leaving him with mostly blurry vision. Although he could still discern shapes and movement, he struggled with everyday tasks and navigating his surroundings. Due to time constraints and the need to vacate the auditorium, I suggested we reconnect the following day, and John agreed.
Overnight, at 4:20 a.m., overcome with emotion for John’s situation, I found myself weeping into my pillow for him. Embarrassed, I turned away from my wife, not wanting her to see or hear me in such a vulnerable moment. In the quiet of my heart, I distinctly heard God’s voice, clear and unmistakable, calling me to play Amazing Grace for John.
It all became clear then as I recalled the line from the song, “I was blind, but now I see.†God was calling me to play my flute to convey the Father’s heart of love and compassion and to bring healing
Music, particularly frequencies like those of the flute, has been shown to affect the body in ways we are only beginning to understand. When I play under the anointing of the Holy Spirit, the pure, heavenly tones invite God’s presence, moving in a powerful way. The flute, with its ability to carry these divine, angelic notes, serves as an instrument of God’s grace—a prayer offering in the form of music, releasing healing frequencies into the atmosphere and inviting restoration.
This calling didn’t come as a surprise; God had already been preparing my heart for it. To provide some context for this divine prompting, let me share a little background.
In October 2017, I attended Awaken the Dawn on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. This was a grassroots movement of 24/7 day and night praise and worship and intercessory prayer to bring a new awakening of the presence of God, America’s Tent of Meeting. The Awaken the Dawn movement was being referred to as a Jesus Woodstock for a New Generation. “Bring your voice.†“Bring your song.†And “bring your flute!†I heard.
God had been preparing me for this moment for years. In 2017, at Awaken the Dawn, I received a prophetic word that laid the foundation for what was to come. A pastor prophesied over me and shared her vision of me playing with the anointing of Almighty God. She described a fiery wall of protection surrounding me, along with a shield of Goodwill, Pleasure, and Favor. She saw that when I played, the heavens would open and saw the smile of Jesus with tears in the corner of His eyes. Demons would flee at the sound of my playing, and people would be delivered, healed, and slain in the Spirit. Doors would open for me that I must walk through, and if I didn’t, those people would suffer.
God was beginning to use me in this powerful way.
One Sunday morning in 2019, my friend Martin approached me after the service with something incredible. He shared a vision he had received. He saw musical notes rising from the top of my head, floating upward toward heaven, before gently descending upon the people gathered in the room. Amazingly, this vision mirrored exactly what I was seeing in my spirit at that very moment.
And as we worshipped, a fiery wall of protection surrounded me and the room. No enemy could penetrate God’s protection. People worshipped with hands raised and shouts of praise, bowing down, some fell prostrate, some danced, and occasionally the sound of someone blowing the shofar summoned all present to greater awakening and awareness of the Holy Spirit’s presence.
Then, to my astonishment, Martin handed me a sketch of the entire scene on a piece of 3-hole punch-lined paper, just after the service.
In bold, large letters, was the word war, an acronym for Worship and Rise. I’ve kept this drawing on my desk under a clear desk blotter as a constant reminder that the act of worshiping and arising releases God’s power to shift and transform our circumstances.
Martin’s vision revealed that my role, my calling, was not only to worship, but to arise with my flute as a weapon of transformative change. It was more than just playing music; it was a sacred act. It was the very act of worshiping and arising, engaging in a spiritual war that releases God’s power to have sway over the circumstances in and around us, bringing healing to both our souls and bodies.
The year 2019 also marked the Jewish year 5779, a time signifying open doors and the fulfillment of prophecy, when God was positioning me to step fully into my calling, a new season in my life, of ministry, where the doors to my destiny were being opened wide. And if I didn’t step through them, people would suffer.
As Martin and I parted ways that day, he said something that has stuck with me ever since: “Take your flute everywhere with you, Bill.†It didn’t feel like a casual remark; it felt prophetic—something God was speaking directly to me.
Fast forward a few years, after a service, a man named Shep approached me. “My name is Shep,†he said, extending his hand. I introduced myself in return.
“Can I share something with you?†he asked.
“Sure,†I replied, intrigued by what he had to say.
He then proceeded to share a vision he had of musical notes rising from my head and floating out into the congregation. It was exactly what I experienced as I played with God’s anointing. I invited the Holy Spirit to come, and as I did, it was His melodies, His expression, and frequency that flowed from my flute.
It didn’t completely surprise me, though. I remembered Martin’s prophetic drawing and the similar words and visions I had received back in 2019. Yet, hearing Shep speak it once more, felt like a powerful confirmation, a reminder that God was moving through the sound of my flute, that His presence was moving powerfully among His people.
A few months later, Shep shared with me that God had a “special musical note” for me. I was intrigued, but confused.
What in the world could he mean?
I sometimes experiment with different fingerings on the flute to create unique effects, but I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. For the next week or two, I kept asking God, “So, what’s this special note you have for me, Lord? “But I heard nothing. Crickets.
Then, one day while standing at the altar, I heard in my spirit, “Holy Spirit wind.†Three times, the words were repeated. Without really thinking, I brought the flute to my lips and blew air across the blow hole into the microphone, creating a soft, breathy sound—a sound more like the wind than music.
After the service, Shep approached me. “The funniest thing happened while I was worshiping,†he said. “I felt a wind pass by me.†He paused, looking around. “I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. There were no doors or windows open.â€
I smiled, realizing that this was the very note Shep had prophesied: “Holy Spirit Wind.â€
I’ve digressed a bit from my original story, but I wanted to share some background on God’s calling in my life. With prophetic words and visions like the one’s I’ve shared , I felt a sense of divine anticipation. The next day, as I entered the convention hall, I focused my attention on one thing: finding John.
The center was alive with activity. The hallways were filled with people sharing their spiritual gifts and praying in the Holy Spirit for one another. Laughter and the sound of prayer filled the air as the Spirit moved through the crowd. There was one group so deeply touched by the Spirit that they would fall to the floor, laughing uncontrollably as the Spirit ministered to each one of them.
In the midst of all of this, my wife had set up a folding step ladder, which served as a podium for making announcements. She encouraged me to climb the ladder and play my flute, but the idea made me feel uneasy. Initially, I did, but feeling uncomfortable, I quickly climbed back down.
So, Peggy, seeing my unease, took matters into her own hands. She climbed the ladder herself and called out John’s name above the noise of the crowd, inviting him to meet us where we were.
When John finally made his way to us, I suggested we head downstairs to find a quieter place. At first, we talked to get to know each other, sang songs, and worshipped together. Eventually, I felt led to ask him about the cause of his blindness. He shared a startling revelation. His blindness wasn’t something he was born with; rather, he believed it was because of a macumba curse, a form of black magic like Voodoo, placed on him several years earlier during a mission trip to Brazil. He explained that Macumba, an Afro-Brazilian religion known for its strong connection to dark spiritual practices, was the source of his affliction.
I felt an overpowering urgency in my spirit to see God’s healing power and the restoration of John’s sight. But first, I needed to get a baseline of what John could or couldn’t see. I held up two fingers with my right hand, then five with my left. In both cases, John couldn’t see how many fingers I was holding. This was new territory for me. I had prayed for small things in the past, but this was huge—I had never prayed for someone who was blind before.
I began by telling John how God had awakened me in the night and instructed me to play “Amazing Grace†for him. He eagerly welcomed the idea. As I yielded to God’s leading and began to play the melody on my flute, I felt the Holy Spirit’s presence sweep over me, empowering me to play with confidence. As I played, John received God’s amazing grace, and in the authority I had been given in Christ, I boldly commanded healing for his eyesight in the Name of Jesus. It was a powerful reminder that when we step out in faith, even in our vulnerability, God’s power moves through us, enabling us to fulfill His purpose and bring restoration where it’s needed.
Afterward, I tested his vision again by holding up the same number of fingers as before. This time, he was able to identify them correctly. He also mentioned that he was able to make out my facial features, which had been blurry before. Although his healing wasn’t fully complete, he believed that God had started the process and was confident that his sight would be fully restored.
John 14:12 says “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.â€
Though John hadn’t experienced complete healing yet, the improvement was a significant beginning. While I had hoped for immediate restoration, both of us knew that we needed to continue trusting in God’s goodness for the full restoration of his sight—even when we don’t have all the answers. When we rely solely on our own strength, often the healing process doesn’t make sense. This is because God’s faith goes beyond our own; His faith operates supernaturally, beyond the limitations of our natural understanding. To have such faith is truly Amazing Grace.
CONCLUSIVE THOUGHTS:
“That’s Amazing Grace†is one of those miracle stories that continues to inspire me, and it’s a testament that God’s healing power is alive and active today. It offers hope to everyone that they, too, can do all things through Christ who strengthens us. So, be encouraged. There’s no reason to doubt your ability to pray for others—you absolutely can. Amazing Grace is God’s supernatural enabling power and favor, providing you with the strength to act. Just ask Him.
CREDITS That’s Amazing Grace — written by Bill Hutzel Voice enabling by Eleven Labs Flute interpretation and solo by Bill Hutzel Produced, arranged, and recorded by John D’Elia, Such Clay Productions
ts 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.
