Dealing with Generational Curses

The most difficult part of my journey has not been the fragments and alters. Jesus and Abba soverignly walked me through those dark places. My part was simply to hunger with a strong commitment and obedience. I have found the most difficult part of my journey to be generational curses. The reason I didn’t want to go to earth to be conceived and born was curses on my life even before conception. I remember how reluctant I was to go, at Jesus’ bidding, to my parents.

When I took the time to go through the renunciations provided by Restoration in Christ Ministries ( I was surprised at the massive exit of dark entities, like a dust cloud. There was a definite sense of greater freedom.

What caught my attention as I thought about my first year of life and the two bouts of double pneumonia before I was a year old – it seemed that my mother and her father, my maternal grandfather, prayed much for me, but their prayers were like curses! How was that possible, I wondered. As far as I knew, Mom’s ancestry was Quaker and they were good people. I did have a question about Grandpa’s father, though, so I obtained that man’s obituary. Sure enough. My maternal great grandfather was a Freemason, belonging to two different lodges.

I followed up with a closer look at the manifestation of curses and found that it was generally the first-born who was targeted with certain curses. Because Mom and Grandpa had no understanding of Masonry curses, their prayers were perverted by the enemy who saw me as his property. Three areas of physical health effected by Freemasonry are respiratory; blood conditions and circulatory problems; and lack of  emotional balance. ( All of these can be observed in my family line back to the great grandfather.

A complete surprise was discovering that I have druidic roots, too. I am our family genealogist and knew that was possible, but had only been successful in tracing maternal ancestry back to early America. I knew Mom’s family was English, however.  Druidic roots are quite different from Freemasonry but definitely noticeable. Because Druids were the intelligencia of their day, and because they dealt with knowledge that God had forbidden (Post: Basis of My Calling), their power was/is strong witchcraft.

For example, one of the disheartening druidic curses that has followed me has been the suspicion by those in leadership that I am a danger to them – guilty of high treason (Arthur Burk at My calling in the Lord is intercession, so this attitude of leaders toward me has been heartbreaking. Druidic traits include ability to discern and wisdom, which has been a blessing to my siblings and me, but the perversion of knowledge of the future (prophesy) has brought heartache and distrust.

Falling out of agreement with those curses while facilitating the blessings has caused me some confusion and hesitation as to how to proceed. I believe I’ve heard the Holy Spirit saying to rest in Him and trust Him to guide me and teach me. He will show me the way.

There are occultic practices on both sides of my family, as is probably true of all families if they are searched far enough back. Those practices are usually not as severe as the “organized” witchcraft of Freemasonry and Druidism. But bloodshed, Satanism, and deliberate abuse for programming of victims is on the rise and must be dealt with by Jesus. Both victims and perpetrators need to repent and accept the precious Blood of Jesus for sins of rage and bitterness, of violence and bloodshed.

After repentance comes a process of healing and recovery with the triune God reaching down in pity and compassion to lift up His beloved, broken humanity. Inner healing, emotional healing are simply words describing the process of holiness our Lord is calling us to. I wonder if those who say they are too busy or that their history is too intricate have really considered what the walk with Jesus is about. The love and intimacy of walking with my Beloved has been worth every step on the path with Him.

French-Canadian Teacher

During the spring of 1989 the marches crescendoed before the June 4th Tiananmen Massacre.  The university where I taught hosted two Rhoades Scholars and their families as well as another man who brought his wife and two little children to teach in China and do research for his PhD.  School authorities insisted that we faithfully show up for classes even though students were marching every day and classrooms were empty.  The three families fled from the anticipated tragic end of the marches and returned home.  One of the remaining foreign teachers, besides me, was a French Canadian woman in her 40s.

C. had traveled extensively but this was her first year in China. She knew to be cautious about eating raw fruits and vegetables but picked up a microorganism her very first week in the country. The resulting bloody diarrhea made her faint and weak.

After class one morning C. called the university Foreign Affairs liaison to meet her at the university hospital.  The system of getting a doctor in hospitals in China requires the sick person to stand at a window to tell what the problem is.  Then they must go to another window to stand in a long line with people pushing and shoving to pay for the hospital charge.  The receipt must be returned to the first window where a doctor is assigned.  There are no waiting rooms and no seats for the ill.  Since C. was too ill to stand in line, Mrs. Z. stood in line for her.  C. passed out and fell to the filthy floor so someone ran to find a doctor.  Meantime, C. awoke.  The university liaison was gone so she got up and walked back to our compound, a considerable distance.  You can imagine the hubbub when Mrs. Z. and the doctor came rushing back into the reception area only to discover that the foreign teacher was nowhere to be found.

All that school year C. kept her apartment windows heavily curtained, which I thought was rather peculiar, and she wasn’t friendly at all.  But as the student marches increased in May she began to knock on my door and come in to discuss the situation.  She had a wonderful sense of humor in expressing her political fears.  I was the contact person for the American Embassy in that city but there were no calls – ever.  The Canadian Embassy called C. every day, however; so she was a source of comfort to those of us remaining at the school.

One day C. asked me if there were detective agencies in China and I assured her there were not.  She confided that the reason she had plead serious illness and covered her windows so tightly was because she was having an affair with a Chinese  graduate student who also worked in the University Foreign Affairs Office.  In the confusion of the marches this young man had failed to keep a clandestine appointment with her and C.  was worried about his safety.  The Chinese despise immorality among foreigners and their own, and mixed marriages.

“How can I find X.?”

“If you have plenty of money, find someone who is wise in the ways of their own culture and offer them enough money to cover traveling expenses, hotels and food to locate your lover.  Tell them you will give them twice that amount when you recover X.”

C. thought over the people she knew and chose a man who agreed to her proposition. Now the anxiety of waiting hung heavy over her, so we tried to find things to occupy our minds. One afternoon I commented that I needed a hair cut but I hesitated to go to a local barber.

“I’ll cut your hair,” Claudette offered.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cut hair!”

“Oh, I’ve cut other people’s hair at times,” she remarked airily.

So I carried a chair out into the back of my apartment, gathered a small table for comb, a mirror and scissors, and found a towel to cover my shoulders.  First C. cut this side, then a little from the other side to even them up, then a little more on this side again.  At last there was almost nothing more to cut so I begged her to stop.  Some of that greasy kid stuff was necessary to make my spiky hair lay down.

“Miss B, you got your hair cut!”  Pause.  “I don’t like it.”

Neither did I, but what was done was done, and it took a long time to grow out, too.

One morning Voice of America shortwave radio ordered all Americans to leave China and the Foreign Affairs Office called to say they had arranged for C., two other single foreign teachers and me to go to the provincial Foreign Affairs Office to get our documents in order so we could go home.  Buses weren’t running so we were taken by private car through back streets to the provincial offices.  Everything went well although the Russian teacher was noticeably tense.  However, getting back to the university was not as easy.  Many of the streets we had just used were blocked by public buses and crowds of paid thugs – paid by the government to confuse the populace into thinking the students were violent.  C. and I were wide-eyed, but the Russian teacher was terrified.  Possibly she had seen this type of chaos in her own country and anticipated a bloody end.  Eventually we got safely back to our compound, relieved to return to the relative security of our high walls and iron gate.  By this time the government had ordered all public transportation shut down so we depended on our university officials to find us transportation to Beijing or Shanghai with a Chinese chaperone.

X. was found in a prison far from our university. Money will buy anything, so C. bought off the prison officials and quietly X. went home rather than return to university. Realizing that she had put his life in danger, C.  arranged for covert curriers to deliver messages rather than further compromise his safety by telephone.  The city telephone system was manned by our English majors.  The lovers decided to get married but the work unit had to give permission since marriages and births are considered a state issue.

“If the University Foreign Affairs Office refuses to give permission for X. to marry me, what will we do?” C. wondered one afternoon.

“Every document in China can be counterfeited.  Why not buy the necessary documents on the Black Market,” I suggested.

“Great idea!”  So C. found the connections she needed and the two were married.  The next step was for her to safely get X. to Canada, so they planned and schemed to counterfeit his passport.  This took several months but finally they were able to arrive in Canada.  The last I knew, X. was ecstatic and had arranged to have his parents and brother come live with them in Canada.  Then extended family members began emigrating. Exasperated,  C. wrote me to say there was no room in her little two-bedroom house for one more body and she was thinking of moving out. That was the last I heard from her.


The Guardian

I described several weeks ago (July 29) an encounter with the Lord that I didn’t understand very well. Now I’m more able to explain why I felt like I had been converted all over again, although I had given my life to Jesus as a 14 year old.

As has been the case with my emotional healing journey, something happens regarding healing, then later I read about it and the Holy Spirit brings understanding. Perhaps the reason for this healing sequence is that I must trust Him. By this time, I am eager to have Him working deeply in me because He is indeed trustworthy.

By reading the book Broken to Whole, authored by Matt Evans, Diane Moyer, et al, I found several references to the Guardian as one aspect of the tripartite person, the other two being Function (mind) and Emotion. Apparently the Guardian is most difficult to work with, very controlling to keep the original self “safe”. Back in the early part of my journey I met Fear who was terrified that I would be hurt by God the Father and Jesus in my inner meadow. (Tree House, Jan. 28) She was an alter living in the Guardian segment of my soul, and she was trying to keep me safe. Sometimes the Guardian is not a believer and hinders God’s work within. And in my case, the Guardian seemed to be a man – a harsh one (I was extremely strong-willed).

I begged God to go deep into my inner being for healing but I didn’t know what to ask for. I simply trusted Him to know what I needed and to address the issue(s) – which He did. Because the Guardian is a part of me, it felt like I had been converted all over again. Converted or not, he was still harsh, so I asked Abba to fellowship with him while I slept. The next day I noticed that the Guardian was now a woman as she should be, and she was gentler though still on guard.

I explained to the newly converted Guardian that the Holy Spirit was my Standby, so she could relax and trust Him to protect me. I told her about the two demons that came to harm me several months ago and how fierce Holy Spirit was in sending them away. Sometimes evil entities are vaporized before they have time to turn around to flee!

The precious Holy Spirit is truly a gift – a Treasure. Sometimes as I think to myself, He agrees emphatically with what I just thought, and that surprises and delights me. He is listening even when I’m not talking to Him directly. And sometimes when I speak to Abba or my Bridegroom,  the Holy Spirit answers! I laugh and ask if He answers for them, too? His voice is distinct from theirs but always gentle and kind. At times I am not easy to work with and He is so longsuffering and humble in dealing with me. Oh, how I want to be like Him!

Thoughts on Emotional Healing

Someone asked me how I got started with this most recent emotional healing journey so I thought my readers might like some of the back story.

I have always been a cat lover and have always had a cat here in the States. When I returned from China I got a cat. When he died I got another. My last kitty was an animal shelter rescue – it was a kill shelter. The cat had some strange ways and one day I noticed that he had a notched ear – he was a TNR – trap, neuter, return – from some large city. My town is quite rural and far from any city having such a program. The cat had the typical health issues of a feral cat so I cared for him as best I could but after three years of medicating him every four hours, he died of kidney failure. I grieved for him more than I should have because he plugged a huge hole in my loneliness as a single, retired missionary.

When I started looking for another cat more than a year later I heard a tiny voice suggesting that I needed to spend more time with the Lover of my soul. But I didn’t want to be without a cat so I delayed. Finally I gave in and requested my pet deposit. The check came in August of 2016 and I began to have serious longings for love in my loneliness. I laid in bed at night and begged Jesus to come and love me. Then one night He came! I ran to meet Him and He pressed me to His heart. He didn’t let me go after a short polite hug but held me, and I melted into Him.

I gave up something that occupied my time and attention. Then He came with something He knew I hungered for more than a pet could ever give. So, the first requirement for emotional healing is a desperate, sustained hunger. Few people come to the foot of the cross unless they are desperate for an answer to the deep longing within.

The second step is desperate, sustained hunger. No, this isn’t a typo. After a taste of the supernatural, too many people say, “Thank You very much.” and go on their way, no longer desperate. Jesus’ love meant far more to me than the love of a sweet kitty. I couldn’t get enough of Him and pressed Him for every moment of intimacy. In that commitment to Him, my Bridegroom responded gently and with longsuffering, for I was like the feral cat – I didn’t know how to behave – but never did He make me feel inadequate or dirty.

All my life I have yearned for an intimate relationship with the Creator. I have printed on a slip of paper where only I can see it when I sit to have a devotion in the mornings:                     meditation brings revelation;                                                                                                             revelation brings manifestation.

I have memorized several chapters in the Psalms, and possibly Psalm 27 is my favorite. I often pray it to Jesus before going to sleep at night and on waking in the mornings.

Psalm 27:4 One thing have I desired of the Lord,

that will I seek after;

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord

all the days of my life,

to behold the beauty of the Lord,

and to inquire in His temple.

My spirit groans with desire to see Jesus’ face and be able to talk to Him (as opposed to prayer).

Psalm 27:8-9 When You said, “Seek My face,”

My heart said to You, “Your face, Lord, will I seek.”

Do not hide Your face from me;

Do not turn Your servant away in anger;

You have been my help;

Do not leave me nor forsake me,

O God of my salvation.

If Jesus wanted me to seek His face, then He must show me His face! I remind Him of this, and He always comes when I cry. I remind Him that His commands and these promises are for NOW – not sometime in the distant future, in Heaven.

Psalm 27:13-14 I had fainted unless I had believed

to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

Wait on the Lord; be of good courage,

and He will strengthen your heart;

wait, I say, on the Lord.

There is another verse that I remind the King of kings of. In Matthew 11:12 we are told that the violent take the Kingdom by force. That’s me. I am violent in accessing God’s holy Kingdom. And by experience I have found that He likes that kind of violence! He loves it. And rewards me with His beautiful, majestic, humble and gentle presence.

After one exceptionally precious encounter with my pure and holy Bridegroom I asked Him if this was a one-time experience and He replied, “No, Joyce. You can come any time for an encounter with Me.” And He reminded me of Hebrews 4:16 where we are encouraged to come boldly to the Throne of Grace. My need is simply more of Him. To know Him is to hunger for more.

Mom’s Visit to China  

Mom and my sister came to visit me during the Chinese Spring Festival.  I wanted to take them to see the Great Wall, terracotta warriors and other sights of interest while they were in China, so one of my students from Xian, offered to help make arrangements for us to visit his home town.  He wanted us to sleep at his home so I left the responsibility of getting local officials’ permission up to him.  As with most Chinese students, he thought his family could have foreign guests, but I cautioned him to protect himself by getting documents signed by the proper authorities.

When we arrived in Xian he took us to his home to meet his family but we were not permitted to eat with them nor sleep at their home overnight.  Instead we were put in a car and driven more than one hour out into the plains to an isolated factory.  The strange men showed me that the factory furnace had been heated warmer than usual for their workers and lead us to a room in a small isolated guesthouse.  The beds had been made with clean sheets and blankets and there was hot water.  The men showed me where the toilet was and then said they would return the next morning to take us back to town.

My sister was terrified and thought we were being imprisoned.  I didn’t understand what the men had in mind and knew it was strange but I didn’t want to add to her fear, so I made little of our strange accommodations.  The worst of it was the bitter cold and the lack of adequate water to drink.  We slept in all our clothes under the heavy cotton batting quilts and woke up early because we couldn’t sleep for the cold.  Finally we had to get out of bed to be ready for the men’s arrival.  They came as they said they would and I asked them to take us to a Chinese hotel which they did.

Bill offered no explanation about the odd “hospitality” but we hadn’t brought enough money to stay at a decent hotel – “decent” being 5-star in my sister’s mind.  I can remember that it was warmer than the factory on the desolate plain, but still very filthy with spittle on the floors and unwashed tea cups for patrons to drink their hot water from.  The drapes were filmy Dacron, stained from many rains and scanty covering for the windows, the Chinese not wasting unnecessary fabric in window or bed coverings.

This incident solidly confirmed my sister’s fear that she might never get safely back to America. As soon as we returned to Beijing she asked one of my friends with connections in the airline ticket booking office to get her a flight back to the States as soon as possible. So the day after we got to Beijing my sis left Mom behind and fled back to America!

Thankfully, Mom stayed with me for the second week of  ”touristing”.  She said I had been in China almost ten years and if I said it was safe, then it must be safe.  I was so happy she stayed and without my sibling to always be complaining about something, Mom and I had a wonderful time.

It was months later that Bill told me the officials wanted to turn the three of us over to the police as being spies since our passports were counterfeit.  I brought out my passport and we studied it carefully.  The Chinese characters were plain and easily read, so we concluded that the officials must have been semiliterate, not being able to read their own language.  Of course, I never told Mom or my sis  how close we actually came to being turned over to the Xian police for having counterfeit documents.

I had been to Xian twice before and both times had difficulty getting back to my Chinese university because of corrupt officials in transportation and hospitality. A crime syndicate controlled hotels, train and plane tickets in and out of the city.  Pay up or you don’t go.  With tourism being a multimillion Yuan business, local crooks cooperated with each other for their mutual benefit.  The mafia finally got too big for their britches and Beijing took notice of the embarrassment they brought to China through stranded and very angry tourists.

Mom was eager to join me in intercession and deliverance of the foreign students’ building at the university where I was teaching at the time. A German student studying Mandarin told me there were often footsteps heard in their halls and sometimes knocks at their doors. When they went to answer the door no one was there but they could hear someone running away. I did some research and discovered that the foreign students’ building was located over an ancient graveyard.

With such a long history, modern buildings are frequently erected over old cemetery ruins.  Mom and I prepared ourselves by searching our hearts and confessing any sins brought to our minds then each of us took oil to the now empty dormitory to walk through the halls and stairwells, anointing doors, windows, and other openings, commanding entities to leave. When my friend and her fellow-students returned there were no more knocks on their doors or footsteps heard in the hallways.

I took Mom to a qi gong exhibition in a large park so she could see and experience the supernatural strength of practitioners of qi gong. One man held a very tall ladder on his shoulders and another man climbed it. Along with qi gong there is often a foul stench. Both men had trouble with their balance and stability and at last failed. Mom admitted that she was binding the empowering spirits as was I.

Mom’s visit is among my favorite memories in China.


Vows and Lies

Note: This is not a teaching on marriage. It is an incident I experienced with Jesus.

Recently a friend called. The conversation was okay on the surface but something was wrong. There was an edginess to her voice that raised the hair on my arms. I had asked if I might visit her and her husband for an overnight – the drive was too much for going and returning all in one day. She had several reasons why they wouldn’t be able to have a guest until later in the year, and I was even further mystified. Then she commented that I couldn’t possibly understand her because I had never been married. I was puzzled because I had made no reference to their marriage.

When we hung up I went straight to the Holy Spirit for some understanding. Was my friend acting out some lies she believed about her marriage? Then my mind went to vows I had made about marriage as I observed my parents’ relationship. I had vowed to never get married because I was convinced that I could never be an adequate wife and mother. And I was determined I would never submit to the treatment my mother received. I didn’t respect either of my parents – Mom because she was emotionally weak and submissive to abuse, and sometimes even helped her husband  beat us. My dad because he was verbally and physically violent.

I recognized these attitudes as vows I made to try to protect myself, so I quickly broke them and emphatically commanded any demons inhabiting those vows to be gone. Then I asked Jesus to forgive me for judging my parents. Period. I then asked Jesus to restore to me what I had forfeited through those vows.

Over the last nine months during the massive healing of alters and fragments, I have enjoyed the overwhelming love of my heavenly Father and His only Son Jesus, my Bridegroom. I had moved from begging for His love to learning to be quiet and simply receive His tender love. As I thought about what God intended mankind to understand about His love, the impact of human marriage, with all its limitations, began to dawn on me. As I quietly submitted to Jesus, He poured Himself out to me. All I had to do was receive. The human husband’s part was similar to Jesus’ role with me. But the human husband not only was to be a source of intimate love to his wife but he was expected to submit to his heavenly Bridegroom as well.

As I was conversing with the precious Holy Spirit there were many yellow sparkles in the room and I knew the angels were interested in the conversation, too.

My love-relationship with Jesus was one of submission to receive His love and pleasure with me. In marriage He intended for there to be submission to receive love and respect. Seldom did I see a marriage like that because men appeared to believe they owned their wives and children, yet Jesus never treated me like I was chattel. What I observed didn’t change God’s purpose for marriage, so I moved on into my Lord with a greater trust and admiration for His kindness and respect for me even when I was rebellious.

A giant fire-works display interrupted my train of thought and I stopped to watch as angels gathered in troops of blue colors, red, yellow, green, and catapulted into the air to come down in various shapes like waterfalls, star-bursts, hearts. They kept their shape and beautiful colors as they slowly drifted all the way back down in formation. Such stunning beauty and color.

The flash of understanding in my spirit made Jesus so happy that He ordered the fire-works. His joy at my understanding His purpose of revealing Himself in the analogy of human marriage filled me with awe and a deeper respect for His wisdom and grace.

Jesus’ plan for marriage is to reflect His love for His bride. Of course, marriage between a man and woman falls short because humanity is flawed. God intended for husbands to tenderly care for their wives and children as they submitted to and served each other in mutual love and respect.  Yet husbands themselves must submit to their Lord, as well. I understood that concept because my greatest pleasure is making my Bridegroom happy. With this new freedom from the bondage of ungodly vows and a deeper understanding of His heart, I have luxuriated in Jesus these last few days, sometimes intensely. Even days later I am still seeing lots of yellow sparkles.

Healing in China

                                             Home for a two year break

Although I came home summers, I usually stayed in China four years at a time.  When I came home in 1998 I brought with me a tape series by a man who had come to Beijing teaching on the Father’s Love.  I knew there was still much unforgiveness in my heart toward my parents and that root of bitterness bothered me a lot.  All things work together for good to them who love the Lord, right?  Well, I found a lovely apartment I could afford and Mom let me drive her second worn out old car which often didn’t run.  I was effectively isolated from jumping into the car to go to town when I was lonely and it wasn’t safe to go for walks along the highway.  It was a perfect time to listen to those tapes.  But I couldn’t concentrate.  So I began to fast, and sat down to laboriously transcribe the tapes.  For nine months I fasted alternate periods –  a week of Daniel fasting, three days of absolute fasting, a day or two of rest, and back to the Daniel fast.  And the Lord came to help me forgive my parents and brothers and sisters.  Then – THEN – He began to speak to me about how I had hurt others.  That was bitter medicine and I wept in private for weeks.  There was no one to help me work through all that was being stirred up, so I asked the Lord to help me bring myself to accountability.  To do that I wrote possibly two dozen brief letters to various people, especially my family, to apologize for hurting them as specifically as I could remember.  I kept a journal so that I could go back when the enemy might come to discourage me.

At Easter I was invited along with Mom to the home of one of my  sisters . Her daughters were also there and we were planning some fun for the little ones. One by one my nieces came to me to whisper that their mom had told them stories from her memories of when she and her siblings were young. Each niece was impressed by a different memory of something I had said or done that disappointed them. I was  totally shocked at the lies and twisted “memories” and decided to return home for I was crushed. As I drove back home I sobbed heavily, for my family relationships meant much to me. When I drove through my home town I noticed a car in the parking lot and a light on in the church I attended, so I pulled in to see if someone would pray for me. There was a couple praying in the sanctuary, so between broken sobs, I asked if they would pray for me. “No,” they responded. “You need to get saved before we pray for any other needs.” I wondered why they thought I wasn’t saved, and turned wordlessly, even more devastated, to get back in my car and drive home continuing heavy sobs of grief and loss.

I finally wept myself to sleep. In the night I had a dream that I was dead and Father God had come to carry my lifeless body in His arms. My head and feet hung down, my legs and arms bouncing with each step Father took.

The next day was Sunday – Easter Sunday – and I had never felt so lifeless. I knew I needed people, though, so I went to join a small in-home fellowship group. They were horrified when they saw me and prayed a couple of times during the morning for me. The leader was reluctant to allow me to go home alone, but made me promise to call him that evening to let him know how I was doing. That evening there were tiny glimmers of life within and slowly there came a fragile stirring within.

I felt like I returned to China in August a bloody mess, spiritually.  The last two years were the most difficult of all my years in China because I had made myself so vulnerable that every difficulty threatened to take me under.  A year later I felt prompted to pack up and come home at the end of the school year, that I wouldn’t be returning to China again.  Mom needed me.

                                                         Healing in China

A part of the bitterness I grew up with was major fear of men.  When I moved to Beijing my prayer partner was a Black lady whose husband was over six feet tall and well built, with a big ebullient voice.  She asked me several times to stay overnight so we could spend quiet time together, but I always refused.  One afternoon while I was at their apartment her husband came home and wanted to talk to me.  While he was talking (I wasn’t very talkative) he stretched out on the long sofa and lowered his voice.  Soooo…he knew my fear.  I was charmed by his perceptiveness and we became fast friends.

While in Beijing I associated with a group calling themselves prayer warriors.  Three of us were called out as intercessors: an American single man, an African single man, and yours truly.  The close relationship I was privileged to have with these two godly men was deeply healing.

My last two years in China I met the French teacher at the school where we were both teaching.  Americans can be loud and tasteless, but this man was violent in his anger – and he was angry a lot!  One day he was shouting so loud he could be heard from the first floor of the hotel to where we lived on the fourth floor, so I invited him into my apartment to talk it out.  Suddenly it occurred to me that I was far from afraid of him!

When he discovered that he couldn’t intimidate me, he knocked on my door later and asked in a stage whisper, ”Who are you?”  A bit guarded, I told him I was an intercessor and to my amazement, he accepted that explanation.  He brought me prayer requests nearly every day after that for the next two years.  I was thrilled to realize that the rough time of fasting was bearing fruit.  A deep joy sprang up inside me and I marveled at the Lord’s grace and goodness to me.

I believe the Lord’s call on my life was two-pronged.  Yes, I was to take the Gospel to people who had never heard, but in China I experienced a depth  of healing that I would not have received in my own culture.  The Lord softened my stony heart and taught me to love and respect very humble people who knew what pain and betrayal was.  I learned to love my male students as they let me into their lives with a trust that, to me, was awesome to receive. And I was respected by Christian brothers and sisters for who I was in Jesus.