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Martyred

18 Jul

 Martyred Hand

Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.  For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it.  What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?  Mark 8:34-36 (NIV)

Recently I’ve had a bout with sciatica.  I’d heard of it before, but never realized the pain that accompanied it.  It isn’t one of those “if I turn just right the pain will go away” kinds of pains, it’s one of those “no matter what I do I can barely breathe” kind of pains.

Day three was the most intense and I was collecting exercise and stretching advice from as many folks as I could.  All of the exercises helped the pain subside, some, but first thing each morning, crawling out of bed, the pain was always the worse.

Standing was the least painful, sitting was the worse, lying down took strategy . . . still haven’t quite mastered it.  I was trying to do my morning reading and devotionals and found myself walking in circles in the living room, trying to read my Bible as pain free as possible.  At one point I started yelling at Satan to let go of my body and take his pain away from me.  After a while I was praying for healing to my God.  I reminded Him of His scriptures and His stripes.  Then I heard His still small voice, “this pain is nothing compared to what many saints endure for My sake.”

Oh, my, the tortured and martyred Missionaries for Christ.  In a foreign land, tortured and kept in prisons with little food and water; often killed.  I have a home, a soft bed, a comfortable chair to sit in, food in the cupboard and clean water in the tap.  I have so much and I complain about pain.

It’s 1 am of day 5 and it’s hard to sleep.  Yes, the pain is uncomfortable, but with every pinch I think about one of those Saints.  Outside the wind is blowing, I’m safe inside, but I’m thinking about the conditions surrounding those Saints.  How could I have missed thinking about those Saints?

I don’t know, as in Job, whether God is using this affliction to test me.  I do know that it has made me aware of something that I had unintentionally closed my eyes to – the Missionaries that are tortured and martyred for Christ.  How did they endure the pain?  Was it like Stephen who felt nothing as he looked upward into the face of God as he was being stoned to death?  Or was it like Jesus who was beaten, tortured, and hung on the cross in excruciating pain, crying out to the Father, asking why He had been forsaken?

I do know this, with my awareness comes my prayers.  I may not know their individual names or locations, but my Father does.  God, I pray for your children, beaten and tortured for proclaiming You and teaching Your word.  I also pray for the souls of those that bring them harm for they know not what they do.

Jesus, let me NEVER forget.

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HOPE

18 Jul

Hopeless child

“Now hope is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

I knew what I wanted to be from the age of 3.  Every year it changed, sometimes every month.  I had big elaborate dreams and overwhelming visions.  Some came to pass, some I let go with maturity – but I would never have been able to accomplish anything in life if I hadn’t had those dreams built on hope.

I worked in an inner-city school and had gathered a small group of children together for a state standards test.  These were the students that had been absent on the regular testing day and had to make-up the test.  One little boy, 3rd grade, 8-year-old, captured my heart.  This boy whizzed through the math, flew through the language, but when the time came for writing he sat, not moving, eyes firmly fixed on his paper.

The test allowed 45 minutes for this section.  After 30 minutes all of the other students were gone and he sat alone, staring.  When I reminded him of the time, tears began to well up in his eyes.  I asked if he had ideas of what he could write.  He shook his head “no.”  I suggested his favorite person, a hero – he didn’t have one.  What about what he wanted to be when he grew up – he didn’t know.

President?  “No.”

Astronaut?  “No.”

Movie Star?  “No.”

Sports Star?  “No.”

I suggested he write about fun times with his Mom – he did not have a memory of a fun time with his Mom. Special times spent with his Dad – he never had a special time with his Dad.  Fun or silly things he did with his pets – didn’t have a pet, never did.  A sports game he’d gone to – never been to one.  A vacation – never been on one.

With each suggestion his shoulders stooped a little farther until he almost lay on his paper.  A moment later he began to sob.  I tried to comfort him, letting him know that it was only a test and that there were no right or wrong essays, it was just his thoughts he needed to write down – it didn’t help.  I finally told him to just write who he was and that he couldn’t think of anything to write – and I silently prayed that his sentence would be long enough for them to grade.

He handed me his paper and pencil and slowly left to go back to his regular classroom, wiping his eyes and composing himself as he went.  I felt as broken as he.  I was angry with the culture.  I was angry with the school.  I was angry with the parents.  I was angry with the whole system, a system that allows 8-year-old boys to “survive” day to day in a difficult inner-city world with no hope for tomorrow.  With a culture where two parents with a limited education struggle to make a home and feed a family, but have no time to nurture the hopes and dreams inside the children.

What has happened to our culture when our children have no hope for tomorrow?  Where, Jesus, do we start?  How, Lord do we begin to show the children the very love of God that builds the hope and dreams they deserve – when God isn’t allowed in the schools?  How, Jesus, do we place into an 8-year-old child a dream to be the President, an astronaut, to be a parent and raise a family – a desire to LIVE for tomorrow?

Lord Jesus, forgive us our sins of not seeing those, most precious in your sight, laying waste in a life of “getting by.”

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Faces of Hopelessness

11 Jul

Inmates Praying

For we through the Spirit wait for the hope of righteousness by faith.  Galatians 5:5 (KJV)

At Christmas our ministry sends Christmas cards to the 100+ active inmates and the many released inmates and families.  Arizona Department of Corrections moves inmates frequently between yards and has recently made the decision not to forward mail to inmates that have been moved to different yards.  Thankfully, ADOC provides an inmate database for friends and families to monitor their loved ones.

When I receive the cards back I pull out my spreadsheet and mark moves and releases.  Making these changes started out to be fairly mechanical, but it didn’t finish that way.  Not at all.

Each time I pulled up an inmate’s page a photo displayed haunting photos.  Picture after picture displayed; angry and aggressive pictures, pictures of men with eyes swollen shut, stitches, lips split; and pictures of men who eyes said:

“How did I get here?”

“What do I do?”

“I’m scared.”

“Help me!”

They were the faces of hopelessness.  Faces wondering if anyone cared, if anyone saw, if anyone heard.

I have always prayed over every card and letter sent to these inmates, praying that Jesus would hold them, draw them close, give them peace.  Jesus, the only answer in a place of fear and hopelessness, the only peace when there is confusion and insanity all around.

Every inmate was sent a Bible, and if they wanted, several study books to learn more about Jesus.  Several of the inmates started “God Squads” in their pods to encourage, learn and find hope.  A little light in the darkness.  A little hope to displace the hopelessness.

Lord, let me always speak Your words when writing to your children, that they will always see and hear You in the worse of circumstances.  Amen.

By Linda J. Humes
Written 12/29/2009
**The Road To Emmaus”

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The Music of Life

7 Feb

 

music of nature

“For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”      Isaiah 55:12 (KJV)

I recently watched a movie called August Rush.  It was a delightful story about a young boy, given up to an orphanage as a newborn, who grew up in the orphanage hoping and believing that one day he would find his parents.

The unique thing about this young boy was that he could hear the music of life.  Everywhere he was he heard music; the music of the tree leaves moving in the wind, the music of the grass in a breeze, the music of the water in a brook, the music of a fan turning, the sound of a bus starting and braking in traffic, the cars moving in rhythm to the traffic lights; music – everywhere.  I thought I was the only one!!

I have a difficult time keeping track of the time of day.  I surround myself with clocks to help me stay on task.  Each clock has its own unique tick and movement.  As I sit here writing, there is a beautiful clock above my monitor, pink roses surrounding the numbers, making a loud rhythmic sound.  I can hear music in my head that encompasses that beat and enhances that tick.  Not a song that I’ve heard before, or one that can be sung, but a tune to be hummed and explored.

Outside there is an explosion of music.  I live far out of town and the birds, each species, has their own distinct sound, pitch and rhythm when they call, fly or perch.  The insects have their own sound (especially the mosquitos).  Walking on the ground has its own sound.  The beat and tone of a gentle rain, and the loud and specific crash of heavy rain.  The sound and beat of the waves hitting the shore, some peaceful and gentle, while others loud and angry.  The crisp and shocking sound of thunder.  The light tapping of the hens pecking at their food and the smooth hum of a generator running in the distance.  It all has its own sound.  The wind, gentle or at gale force, has a specific and unique sound, rising and falling, rising and falling.  All of these sounds blend together into a wonderful symphony of musicians calling to God with their joy, exclaiming His glory!

God made everything to sing its own story to everyone and everything around.

Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; and thy paths drop fatness.  They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness: and the little hills rejoice on every side.  The pastures are clothed with flocks; the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.   Psalm 65:11-13

God used some of those songs to bring joy to us, His children.

The words of a man’s mouth are deep waters; the fountain of wisdom is a bubbling brook.   Proverbs 18:4

God also uses these sounds and songs to warn His people of danger or when to wait for His signal before going forward.

And let it be, when thou hearest the sound of a going in the tops of the mulberry trees, that then thou shalt bestir thyself: for then shall the LORD go out before thee, to smite the host of the Philistines.   2 Samuel 5:24

He made a complex and intricate rhythm to every aspect of earth and man, creating a beautiful and perfect harmon, if we would only spend time listening.  Listening, something we take so little time to do, especially if it doesn’t advance forward our day.  Listening, not just hearing, not just being present – Listening.

God gave us this amazing and miraculous life filled with music and beauty and wonderful other people.  He could force us to slow down and listen, but it would not hold the incredible enjoyment of experiencing it out of true worship.

Let the floods clap their hands: let the hills be joyful together.   Psalm 98:8

I challenge you to turn off the noise and listen for the music.  Walk outside in the early morning or late night and listen to the birds and insects singing.  The trees will rustle in the cool breeze.  There will be a rhythm of the vehicles traveling nearby.  Footsteps on a walk will have a beat all of their own; unique.  Your own heartbeat and breathing pattern sings in unison with each other.  Can you hear it?  Even when we don’t listen, they sing.  They offer up their worship to God when they are being completely ignored by everyone on earth.  They sing, in their own special sound, their own special beat, their own special pitch; they sing.  It is time to join them.  Sing!

Thank you God for allowing us to hear the perfect music created by and dedicated to You.  Help us to hear this, Your wonderful and excellent gift.

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The Evil In Man

12 Nov

Ram's Head

“The stranger that is within thee shall get up above thee very high; and thou shalt come down very low.”     Deuteronomy 28:43 (KJV)

There is a common saying, “The eyes are the window to the soul,” and it is absolutely true.  A lot can be seen spiritually and emotionally when looking intently into the eyes of another. God gives us glimpses of the depth of a person’s weakness, pain and spirit. Every once in a while God takes us a step past the eyes and He shows us the demons that torment.

I remember, so vividly, the first time I saw the demon that controlled my father.  My grandparents had come to visit and as we children went off toward bed the adults left the house.  Not long after a storm kicked up, a strong desert wind storm.

I was 9 years old; my brother would have been 7, my sister 3, and the baby just a few months old.  When the storm kicked up the electricity went off and all of us kids drew together in the bedroom that I shared with the baby.  My brother and sister huddled against the wall as I rocked the baby in the rocking chair.  Within the howling wind we heard a loud “crack” and a main branch broke off of the tree at the back of the house.  My brother and sister were crying and holding each other as I did my best to quiet the baby.

Just a short time after I heard a tapping on my bedroom window and my name being called, “Linda, Linda, open the door.”  The voice was that of my father, but when I pulled the curtain back what I saw terrified me.  Instead of my father’s face I saw the head of a Ram with glowing red eyes on a very large body of a man.  Its lips were moving as I heard my father’s voice again, angry.  “Linda, open the door.”

I screamed and ran across the room, all 4 of us huddled against the wall crying.  This repeated with my father’s voice becoming more and more agitated.  Then I heard the voice of my grandfather, “Linda, it’s grandpa, we forgot the key, open the front door and let us in.”

I ran to the window and opened the curtain.  There was the face of my grandfather, always kind and gentle.  I laid the baby in his crib and ran to the front door, unlocking it.  In came my family, drenched from the rain.  My father was still very angry that I had delayed, but the creature I had seen in the window was gone.

I don’t know why God shows us the evil inside of others.  I don’t know why we see it at some times and not others.  I don’t know why some people can see the evil and others cannot.  I don’t understand how some people can stand up to evil and quench it with a few spoken words and the voice of authority.  I don’t understand why people are drawn toward evil and wicked ways more than they are drawn to the church and the laws of God, when the true power lies in the authority of scripture and death is in the path of evil.

I really don’t understand it all, but I know it is real; I have seen it myself.  I do understand that we are called to do greater things than Jesus did in His time on earth.  I do understand the authority we are given if we will draw close to God through the power of the Holy Spirit.  I do know that we were given the ability to stand up to the sort of evil that torments a young man to the extent that he would walk into a school and kill 26 people, mostly young children.

Spiritual warfare can turn the evil before the demonic becomes so strong in a person’s life that they no longer hold life precious – their own life or the life of another.  We must fight the Spiritual battle for the souls of the hurting before the soul is eternally lost.

This generation is the generation of Spiritual Warriors.  A Warrior can only fight if they have the tools and they know how to use them.  Jesus commanded us to teach – help me to teach these Warriors who they are and what authority they can possess.  Help me to teach them to fight for the lost soul, the innocent children, and the evil that desires to destroy everything in its path.  Please, help me.

“Blessed be the LORD my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight:”   – Psalms 144:1 (KJV)

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Written 1-1-2013

Published 11/12/2015 – Republished 7-18-2021

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War Room – The Posture of Prayer

6 Oct

Linda's Bible 9-10-15

“Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.”   Philippians 4:6 (KJV)

After the release of the Affirm Film, War Room, many people showed where they had created War Rooms in their closets or offices.  That’s wonderful, but many of us don’t have a house big enough for those sorts of areas.  My “War Room” or what I call “War Area” is actually at the kitchen table.  I also have a chalkboard in my bedroom where I have the names of people listed who have requested prayer.  Your War Room could be in your bathroom, bedroom, garage, a park bench, a back yard, in your car, on the bus, on a train, in a plane, it is anyplace that you can get a moment alone with God.  The important thing is that you are taking the names of others to God for their needs.

It doesn’t matter if you are on your knees, on your face, on your feet or sitting in a chair – it isn’t about the position of the body that makes the prayers powerful, it is the humble and contrite heart that makes the difference.

It doesn’t matter if you have an hour to pray, 30 minutes to pray, or 5 minutes to pray.  It doesn’t matter if your language is elegant, simple or completely silent for lack of knowing what to say.  Some folks just cry before God and He knows what is in the heart and what the prayer is all about.

Prayer isn’t saying things in a special or specific way.  Prayer is just talking to God, just having a conversation and listening for Him to answer back.  People talk about praying at all times.  I am one of those people.  Prayer doesn’t need a special place or posture, it is being thankful at all times, talking to God at all times, and being aware of your surroundings and the needs that are there.  It’s praying for a car broken down on the side of the road, an ambulance going in the opposite direction, a sad person walking along the road, a happy child dancing in a yard.  Prayer is just speaking a word of help, or healing, or peace, or thankfulness.

And the most important point to this is – Prayer Works.  The only prayers that are not answered are the prayers that are never spoken. Take a moment, look around, say a prayer.  It feels amazing!

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Do you need prayer?  Send an email to shiloh.spiritual@aol.com and I will add you to my prayer board.  Have a Blessed Day!  Mama Linda

 

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RUMINATE

10 Aug

the-thinker - Ruminate

 “I will sing unto the LORD as long as I live: I will sing praise to my God while I have my being.  34  My meditation of him shall be sweet: I will be glad in the LORD.”  Psalm 104:33

Living in a small town gives a person a whole different perspective on elections.  Not the big national, or even the state elections, but the down and dirty run for school board or city counsel elections.

My, my, my!  At election time people seem to find liberty in negative speech.  It’s almost like the Christian values of a person has a “stand-by” clause, allowing them to bring up memories of poor choices made by another and share them with the community.  Something we would normally bring to the prayer closet now makes front page news, and it doesn’t stop on Election Day, but continues for weeks after.

We ruminate on the final choice, questioning how someone made office when they . . .  We ruminate on the general population making decisions that could have life-long consequences without understanding the whole platform.

After the 2004 National Elections they did an exit pole and the biggest concern of the general public was the deterioration of moral values.  So they ruminate on it and ruminate on it and ruminate on it, feeling helpless to make a change.

I wonder how many turned to God’s Word, looking for comfort and answers.  I wonder how many ruminate on the Words of truth, living in the fruits of the spirit.  I wonder how many took the angry hurting words they heard about candidates to their prayer closet and prayed a foundation of wisdom and strength and peace for those chosen as our leaders.

Jesus, please hold my tongue if I’m tempted to speak ill of another.  Let me be an encourager and prayer warrior for those who have erred.  Let me never forget that you ordain people to their positions in life, and it is not my place to question Your Will.  Remind me always to ruminate on Your Word, day and night, leaving no place for negative thoughts.  And Jesus, please forgive me when I fail.

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CARPE DEIM

9 Aug

“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:  Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.  Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?  When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?  Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?  And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”   Matthew 25:35

Inmates shackled

Over the last “many” years I have spent more time in criminal justice courtrooms than I care to remember.  I’ve watched the guards bring in a line of shaking, red-eyed prisoners, shackled at the hands and feet and chained to each other.  I’ve watched the families, broken and confused, sitting on the benches, completely helpless.

My Mother’s heart wants to comfort them, assure them that it’s all going to be okay, but talking is forbidden, movement discouraged – and it just might NOT be okay.

I see families trying to catch the eye of their imprisoned loved one, to give them a sign of hope.  But signs are posted all over the room that “no interfacing with the prisoner is allowed.”  Not verbal communication, not hand signs, nothing – under penalty of arrest.  It doesn’t take long to recognize how serious things are.

All the quotes and thoughts I’ve had as a counselor remained in my mind.

“Be instant in season and out of season.”

“A word fitly spoken . . .”

“Go into all the world . . .”

“Carpe Diem.”

In a place where people most needed a word of hope, it was forbidden.  Where did it all go wrong?

I’ve been given the honor of ministering to many inmates’ families.  Families referred to me by churches, prison chaplains and inmates, wanting to be sure their families are doing okay.  I’ve been able to bring words of truth and hope to inmates whose lives changed at a moment of indiscretion.  I’ve seen God bloom in situations that seemed completely hopeless.

God, help me always remember that every inmate shackled to a guard is Your child, born for Your kingdom.  Help me to remember that even though I may not be able to change a situation, I can always bring a word of encouragement and hope.  Help me to remember that the gift of “free will” may forever change the direction of a person’s life, but it does not close the door to Your Kingdom, if a changed life will stand at your door and knock.  And always help me to remember that I may be the only “Jesus’ others will ever see – and if I don’t tell them the words of truth, how will they ever know?  Carpe Diem.

Written by Linda J. Humes

8/21/2005

**Road to Emmaus**

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The Blessing of Being A Mom

11 May

Christmas 2013

First Delivered Mother’s Day 5-13-07

I was born to a 16 year old girl. I was raised by 2 alcoholics – my father died at age 29 from cirrhosis of the liver. I was 9.

I don’t remember every being hugged, kissed or told that I was loved. I promised myself that when I had kids – they would never doubt – at any time in their lives – that they were loved.

This is my story in a nutshell.

I never expected to adopt 2 little boys, crack babies, fetal alcohol syndrome, ADHD, 2 and 3 years developmentally delayed. One that spoke his own developed language that only his brother could understand

I never thought I would have to fight to have their medications removed and treat their physical and behavioral problems with diet.

I DID expect my boys to attain developmental advancement within 2 years – and they did – because they were put into an environment of love in their Christian child care, their Christian school, their church family, and in our home – and they were constantly lifted up by dozens of prayer warriors. God is so Faithful.

I never expected to be told on 3 separate occasions that my 7 year old had a terminal disease. That they wouldn’t allow the adoption to continue because they weren’t exactly sure what the medical problem was – even though we told them that we didn’t care what he had, we loved him and wanted the adoption to be finalized.

I DID expect a miracle. After the warriors of prayer went to battle – the doctors came back with “Well, we don’t know what happened, but his blood levels are now in the normal range.” We adopted both boys 4/28/1998.

I never thought I would have to stand before my boy’s principal and fight for them to be able to bring their Bible to school.

I never thought I would have to fight with that principal over a suspension because my boys removed themselves from their classrooms and refused to watch a movie filled with magic and witchcraft.

I never thought I’d walk into a bedroom calf-high with toys and clothes.

I never thought I’d say to my boys – after looking into their closet and seeing the clean clothes I had given them, on hangers, laying on the floor – recently baptized by the cat – “well, I retire – they’re your problem from now on!”

I never thought we’d have times where we had to pray over an empty refrigerator and pantry – standing in faith that God answers prayer – and within an hour, each time, He did.

I never thought I’d have to create chore boards and get kids up an hour early each morning to be sure they were done.

I never thought we’d be able to afford to buy the boys laptops – and never thought we’d be taking them back away now and again as behavioral leverage.

I never thought all of my boys would receive the Presidential Award for Physical Fitness – see guys, size isn’t everything.

I never thought I’d be sitting up until 10pm every night doing homework – helping my son work through his learning disability – teaching from short term memory into long term memory.

I never thought one of my sons would receive the Presidential Award for Academic Excellence. Isn’t that awesome!

I never thought my home would be filled with smelly escaping rabbits, gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, and a 6’ iguana named Iggy – and “NO” Jon, you may not have an ostrich, I don’t care how tame they say it is.

I never thought my son would tell his High School class that I was his “super-hero” through an essay that he read to the other students.

I never thought my son would write a book of poems, just for me; a precious gift given on Mother’s Day.

I never thought my son would join the ARMY and get sent to Korea – but I couldn’t be more proud.

I never expected my 16 year old to run away to live with a drug dealer so he could feed his drug addiction. To stay away without any direct communication for over 4 months.

I never expected to have to battle with the “enemy of our souls” for that son. Walking and praying in our home and yard for hours upon hours every night – standing on the promises of God. Quoting back the scripture to God –

“God you told me that if I raise him up in the way he should go – he will not depart from it.

“God, you said when we ask anything believing, it will come to pass.

“God you said if I have the faith of a Mustard Seed I can move a mountain – and all I want is to move a boy from an evil place back to his home. God you said   !

I never expected to have to play Christian radio 24/7 to bring peace and an anointing, so we could all sleep.

I never expected that our family would need to go into his room regularly and do spiritual warfare in a prayer circle while he was away.

I never expected that I would have to leave letters, clothes and food on my son’s bed – because we knew he would come home and go into his room several times a week. We always told him how much we loved him – even at his most unlovable times. – When my son finally came home, he had every one of those letters with him. It was a testimony to the love he felt, even in his most rebellious time, even though he still spewed words of anger and hate.

I never expected to call the police many times to help me search the streets of Phoenix for my son and bring him home. I refused to lose him into the streets again.

I never expected to have to sit with my son in the emergency room for 15 hours as he was coming out of an alcohol/Methamphetamine overdose.

I never expected to have to visit (2) my sons in Jail – sit in courtroom after courtroom with all (3) – and then visit one of my sons in prison every other week. He was only 18 years old. Those visits became treasured jewels to our family – if you could only see what God did through them. They brought us closer than you can imagine.

My oldest son found Jesus again in a cell in Camp Verde Detention Center. Before long he was moved to Florence and I started getting letters from people in the cells near him – they all started the same – “Hi my name is _____ and I’m in a cell next to your son. I hear him talking about Jesus all the time, and I was wondering if you would teach me about this Jesus.”

Sometimes I’d get a letter from my son saying “Mom, there’s a man here that’s really hurting, and I tried to get him to write to you – but he’s shy. Could you please write to him and encourage him. You know what to do.”

That list of men and women had grown to 70 in 2007, and over 300 as of now. Many have been released and still stayed in touch. Some have become adopted-in children; treasured family members. We have brought over 12 of these hurting people into our home and helped them prepare to for a life in the community. Some came from prison, some came from the streets.

The thing I’ve recognized in writing to these inmates is that most of them have no relationship with their family, especially their mom. The mom’s are dead, drug addicts, in prison, or have abandoned them because of their behaviors. Year after year I received Mother’s Day cards and letters from people I’ve never met – because I took the time to tell them how precious they are to Jesus, and how much I care about how them.

All of my children have made poor decisions and each one has grown tremendously from those poor decisions and the consequences they had to face because of them. Everyone makes poor decisions. That doesn’t make them bad kids; that makes them human.

Don’t tell me a child is not reachable. Don’t tell me a child is hopelessly lost. Inside every angry, tattooed, pierced, cut, cigarette burned young adult is a hurting child that wants to know someone loves them.

They want to know about Jesus, even if they don’t show it. They want to know about unconditional love, even if they don’t say it. They see Jesus through you – and learn about Him through your walk, your fruit – and the words you speak into their lives.

Don’t tell me that it’s impossible to raise respectful, compassionate, God fearing boys. I have 3. My oldest son is in Welding School in College. My middle son is in Fire Science in College. My youngest son is a Pastor, following in my footsteps, preparing to go to Seminary. I couldn’t be more proud of my children – they bless me daily. My boys are not afraid to publicly show affection toward me and tell me that they love me, several times a day. They tell each other the same and are there for each other when difficulties arise.

MY GOD was there with me every step of the last 28 years of being a Mom, giving me grace to see through the hard and difficult steps – making every step of this challenge a gift of LOVE. God used the difficult times to bring healing and peace to the family.

Being a Mom isn’t easy – but it’s the greatest gift God has ever given a woman. It’s the greatest gift God has given me. I am SO PROUD to be a MOM.

2014 Update:

This last year I was blessed with a wonderful and beautiful daughter-in-law and a 4 year old grandson.  They are true treasures.  My oldest son has graduated from Welding School, just a few days ago.  My middle son is back in the military, keeping our country safe.  My youngest son is not where he should be – but I hold him constantly in prayer.  Thank you God for blessing me with this incredible family.

2022 Update:

Life continues to evolve and each of my children – birth child, adopted children, adopted in children, those who call me mama – have taken paths that I don’t understand, but God does. Some have done amazingly well. Some have made terribly poor choices. Some go through the trials and the successes and back and forth, just like every other person on this earth – and I know that, without a shadow of a doubt – God is holding them in the palm of His hand. This praying mama will never give up, either will my Jesus. No matter what came and what battles we have faced, or will yet to face – I would never regret being a mom.

By Mama Linda J. Humes

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WHERE DID GOD COME FROM?

30 Mar

 Bible with Light Shaft

So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God. Romans 10:17 (KJV)

The most common question I receive is “where did God come from?” I guess I really hadn’t thought much about it before, it was a mystery of faith I took as a truth. My answer of this left doubt on the face of the person asking and I decided that I needed to delve further and determine a good solid answer for my confused new believers. I asked many pastors and many more saints; they all gave the same answer as I. I began to feel like we were brushing the question aside instead of giving comfort and reassurance to those wanting something firm to hang onto.

How did I really feel about it? Had I ever really thought about it? How could I bring peace to the many questioning the very base of my faith? After many hours of prayer I felt that I knew how to answer.

Where did God come from? I don’t know, and at this point in my walk with Christ, I don’t need know. I don’t need to know because I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that He (God) is real.

I talk to him constantly, and I hear his voice speak back to me, deep inside my soul. When I pray, worship or praise Him, I feel His presence all over me. I feel a soft warm blanket fold over and around me. I feel the “Goose bumps” when He’s near and the fire of the anointing in my hands when there’s a need He wants me to tend to.

When I’m devastated by events in my life and I cry out to Him in pain, I feel His peace permeate through me and my tears cease. When I’m in an area of danger, I cry out to Jesus and my fear ceases as He guides me to safety. I’ve seen Him open doors I could never have opened myself, and He has guided me from danger that looked so attractive.

I experience Supernatural Wisdom and Knowledge for specific situations, on subjects that I’ve never studied before. I’ve seen people healed when God told me to put my hands on them and pray. I’ve told people about themselves and what God is guiding them toward, simply by listening to the voice inside me – and I’ve seen the shocked reactions of these people I had never met before when I knew things about them I could not have known. He shows me the light and darkness inside of a person, the pain that torments them – and how to pray to release the pain.

I have seen miracles and mountains moved that were “impossible” situations, by the gathering together of praying saints. I held a dying animal in my arms and watched the animal’s broken neck reset itself, on its own, and the animal go from gasping for air to purring as I prayed in tongues over it – with 4 teens watching in disbelief.

In times of great financial struggle I’ve seen food brought to my family within 10 minutes of a prayer, when no one knew of the circumstance but God.

I saw Him faithfully fulfill His promises of returning my runaway son. I watched Him keep a hedge of protection over that son as he experimented with drugs and alcohol; even overdosing. God spared his life miraculously time after time after time. And God waited patiently until that son returned his Spirit to Him (God) and began walking in the truth again.

I’ve called out demons in the Name of Jesus and brought evil spirits controlling people into subjection of time and space through the power of the Holy Spirit.

I am only a simple person, the child of 2 alcoholic parents. I was raised in poverty – in homes with no running water, moving constantly because of evictions. We had little food – jackrabbits and beans. I grew up a “nothing” by American standards. But God saw a treasure in me and raised me up above my circumstances by His love and grace.

Although I prayed all my life, I was 38 before I found out about having a personal relationship with Christ. After that precious “magical” day, I have never left the presence of God, and I know that He has never left me, not for a second.

I don’t know where God came from. It’s okay for it to remain a mystery of faith for me – because I know God! I know that I know that I know He is real and that he works mightily through His children. That’s good enough for me.

Test Him. Prove Him. He will show Himself real to you too. I promise it!

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