During my stay in these apartments, God involved me in a couple of His healing miracles. While attending MST I had become acquainted with a brother-in-Christ who was diagnosed as having terminal cancer. One day when I was going to visit him in the hospital I asked the Lord to show me when I arrived there if he desired for me to pray for him for healing. When I arrived, both he and his wife were there. While talking with them, I asked him if he wanted me to pray for him to be healed. He at once sat up on the bed with a big smile and exuberantly said, "YES!" So I prayed for him. When I left the room, his wife followed me out the door. When we were a ways down the hall, she began admonishing me in a very strong voice that I had been wrong to pray for her husband's healing. "It is his time to go be with the Lord," she told me angrily. She added that the pastor of their church had said that her husband's desire to live was as Hezekiah's sin in wanting to live when Isaiah the prophet had informed him that the Lord had said he would die (2 Kings 20 & Isa. 38). She continued to castigate me in this manner for a while, and then turned on her heel and stomped back to her husband's room. I stood there totally shocked in unbelief at what I had heard for a time, then returned to my apartment. While I was there, despondent and dazed from this unprecedented encounter, my next-door neighbor knocked on the door, entered, sat down on a chair and looked pleadingly at me. As I looked back at him, and saw the look of abjection, despair - yet his eyes wanting a solution, I knew from our previous conversations what he was there for without his asking for it. "You want me to pray for healing for you, don't you," I said. "Yes," he answered. I sighed, and walked towards him. If someone had asked me if I had faith the size of a mustard seed in me at that moment, I would not have been able to reply. I was praying for this man only because he wanted me to do that. He had faith rooted in desperation, and believed I was his contact with a God who could heal him. He had told me that his lungs were badly burned from exposure to chemicals at the company he worked for, that his wife had asked him to move out because she was losing her mind she said as a result of his severe asthmatic-like coughing each night when it appeared he was dieing and she just couldn't stand it any more. When walking up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, he had to stop, gasping for air literally at each step. So here he was, sitting before me as I laid my hands on him and softly prayed a simple prayer for his healing. After he left, I promptly went to the phone and called a married couple I knew, Spirit-filled friends who I was certain would join me in prayer for my neighbor. I wanted the reassurance of their agreement with me in prayer. And they did, praying exuberantly for this man's healing - their prayer having a healing effect on my wounded spirit also. I didn't tell them what had happened earlier at the hospital. They were both Bible school graduates, and mature Christians - qualified for pastoral service, well-able to comment knowledgeably on what the woman had said, but I didn't feel capable of discussing it at this point. So I thanked them and hung up the phone. The next day my neighbor came bursting into my apartment. "I ran up the stairs," he cried joyfully. "I'm HEALED!" But he had a question. "When can my relationship with my wife be restored?" he asked. I smiled. "God can heal physical hurts instantly," I replied. "Relationships are more complex and take longer. You and your wife could be back together within a month," I suggested. As it turned out, that was correct. He introduced me to his wife as he packed to leave. But he let me know at that time he believed that the help for his cure came from the doctors' medicine, to impress his wife he was not a religious fanatic, I suppose. I was shocked and sad to hear him say that, because I knew that if he did not give God the glory due Him, he could lose his healing and wind up worse than he began. But I held my peace and continued to pray for him, though I never heard from him again.
Shortly after praying for my neighbor, I was invited to attend a men's breakfast at the church of the man with cancer for whom I had recently prayed. There were quite a few men attending, and at one point the man who invited me arose to make an announcement. He told the group that (at this point he mentioned the name of the man with cancer) had been found to have his cancer in remission and was sent home by the doctors. The men all applauded to hear the good news, but I had to wonder why they were doing that if their pastor had indeed held the opinion that the man with cancer was sinning as he apparently said Hezekiah did in wanting to stay alive when God had told him it was his time to die? But their positive reaction to the news appeared genuine, so I was comforted. However, six months later a sister who also was acquainted with the family of the brother I had prayed for came up to me and laughed in my face as she told me that he had died after all - the cancer had returned and claimed his life. I didn't reply. I supposed the brother's wife was as smugly satisfied with the situation as this sister evidently was. Christians can be very hard to figure out, I thought to myself. I can figure out an unbeliever any day of the week, but Christians can be hard to figure out.
Previously I mentioned the book, "Tortured For His Faith" By Haralon Popov that I had read in the Christian hotel in Chateux D'Oex, Switzerland. In 1978 or 1979, I attended a dinner at which Haralon Popov's son, Paul was present. Popov's mission was called "Evangelism to Communist Lands" (ECL). Now, it is named Door of Hope (DOHI). At the dinner a presentation of the mission's work into the eastern European communist countries was made. I had a chance to talk at length with Paul Popov, and was eventually offered a position with the mission, the offices of which were located in Glendale, CA. Initially, my work involved microfilming a garage full of records for the mission. Then I was sent up to Vancouver, Canada, where I attended Marineview Chapel. One evening one of the elders approached and informed me that Marineview would like to contribute financially to my missionary involvement. Thus began an involvement with that church that lasted for some time and for which I was very grateful. They informed me that it was their policy to spend one dollar on missions for every dollar they spent locally. For that, God blessed them by bringing so many people through their church doors that they had to found daughter churches to accomodate them.
It was during this period of time that I paid a last visit to my dad before he died. I had no idea of course that he would pass away while I was overseas. He had retired to the area of Grant's Pass, Oregon and I made arrangements to take a Greyhound bus to visit him on Easter weekend. Ever since my conversion in '69, we had been in almost constant touch and there were many letters exchanged and many involved conversations that took place. It was very good to have this communication with my father because while I was growing up we had very little of it - and I remember my sister remarking soon after our mother's death that she had even less than I did. But my dad was a very stubborn man, set in his beliefs - and his beliefs concerning the Bible were very weird indeed. He was a self-professed "Sceptic." I once asked him why he wasn't sceptical of his scepticism but he didn't answer that. Once, before I was born, he insisted that mom accompany him while visiting a spiritual medium to get a "reading." I could tell from mom's diary that she didn't like that, but dad was quite impressed with what the medium told him. That was the extent of his dabblings into the occult, though my parents did have an ouija board and that was sometimes brought out. I think my mom saw it mainly as a "social interaction" item, in the same category as "playing cards."
But that Easter weekend I last saw my father alive proved to be something special indeed. Though my many communications with him had seemed to be ultimately not making much progress, he displayed a spirit of gentleness and openess at this time that I found truly touching. Our talks were more communicative, and he shared with me that he had made the rounds of the local pastors and talked with them. I was of course amazed at this and rejoiced. Then he remarked to me that I had never told him the Gospel! I was totally flabbergasted at this as I had tried every which way to communicate it over the years, but he was always so bound up in his weird way of thinking it never got through. However, apparently our prayers had finally worked enough so that he had heard it at last from a local pastor! So I rejoiced instead of arguing with him - because his mind had been closed to the Gospel before as mine had been to the Bible for many years. That weekend he suggested we attend both an "Easter sunrise" service and then afterwards a regular church service. It was the first time I remember attending church with him since I was a boy. It was a very special event. When the time came for my departure and we were waiting for the arrival of the Greyhound bus, dad became quite emotional and said to me, "I don't think I'll ever see you again!" I immediately replied to him, "Believe in Jesus!" And he as immediately said, "Oh I do, I do!!!" The bus then arrived and we said "goodbye." He was right though, for that was the last I saw of him on this earth. My sister believes strongly that he is in heaven, and I hope that she is right.
Upon returning to Glendale I was informed that I would be going overseas to ECL's Austria base to join another American already there - "Jacob." The overseas tour began in 1980 by escorting three students from Christ For The Nations (CFNI) on a trip into the east. One of them stayed on after the trip was ended to become a worker with ECL. I made several trips into the East with Jacob - a young man fervent in his dedication to the Lord and remarkably gifted with the ability to pick up languages quickly. On one trip into Romania I had taken with me a little handbook on Romanian phrases that I had purchased in the US. Jacob asked to borrow it, and studied it as we drove. By the time we had reached our destination in Romania, Jacob surprised us by being able to carry on a simple conversation in Romanian with the pastor we visited there. My, how I envied him! I had to struggle so with foreign languages. But Jacob and I got along well and became good friends. During one trip we had the task of taking in a 16mm motion picture projector and a Moody film into Romania. Our chosen route there took us through Czechoslovakia and Hungary. The projector was too large to hide so we just placed it openly on a seat in the camper by a dining table and prayed over it and the rest of our cargo hidden in the camper's recesses. At the Czech border, the guard climbed into the camper, smiling affably as he looked around, glanced at the projector, and only remarked that we would have some trouble with that at the Hungarian border, then exited the camper and we drove on. Jacob and I thought that remarkable as we knew the Czech border was generally tougher than the Hungarian. At the latter border, we had no trouble with inspection, and passed easily into Hungary, as we did also into Romania. We had some tense moments making the delivery in Romania , but completed our mission successfully and began the return trip with the now empty van. At the last inspection point before entering the "free" West, the inspection officer decided we must be indeed be hiding something in our camper and took much time inspecting it. Jacob and I could not help smiling as God had given us grace while we had the cargo, and now when the van was completely empty and there was nothing to find, an inspecting officer was "suspicious." Well, let him be as suspicious as he wants, we thought, for God has brought us through and even if he were to strip the vehicle apart completely he would find nothing. We laughed as we drove off after the thoroughly frustrated officer finally waved us on.
Jacob's time overseas came to an end when his home church in the US financed the trip of his bride-to-be to come to Austria to make sure he came back. He finally gave in to her pleadings and returned to the US to become a married man. So I was left alone in Austria as ECL's "one-man office" there. In addition to making trips into the east, I had the responsibility to review applications forwarded to me by the Glendale, CA office of those interested in becoming involved in our summer programs. I had living quarters in Spittal an der Drau, a picturesque village in eastern Austria. The church I attended was pastored by a man who, with his wife, had been a Nazi at the time of Hitler. Now both had given their lives to Christ. I was also able to attend local meetings of the Full Gospel Businessmens Fellowship and fellowship with a missionary living a few miles away. Nevertheless I spent long hours crying out to the Lord about an apathetic church back home in So. California (that shall remain unnamed here out of respect for it and its pastor). I had spoken to the home groups within it that were responsible for praying for the countries and Christians here that I was visiting in the east before I had come to Austria. Close to ten home groups were being supplied information by me, and the only responses I ever got in all the time I was in Austria was from the leader of the home group praying for Russia and an associate pastor (son-in-law of the head pastor) who had interviewed me before I left. I exchanged some very long letters discussing the situation in depth with the associate pastor who - along with the home group leader - was aware of the problem. But the long hours spent in agonizing prayer over this unfortunate situation was rewarded when I returned home and saw that this church was beginning to send out missionaries from within its congregation and at the same time committing itself to stay in constant touch with them through prayer and correspondence. So I had cause to rejoice.
Taken from a letter I wrote in 1983: "...the third chapter of Daniel figures heavily in any talk I give to the churches or Christian groups (in the West) about our persecuted brothers and sisters in the communist countries. Especially when I give illustrations about the courage of Christian youngsters. When they (and their elders) refuse to participate in the God-denying practices of the State, they know exactly what they are doing; they are in effect saying exactly what those three in Daniel 3 said so many hundreds of years ago: 'We will not serve any but the One True Living God....' They refuse to bow the knee before the anti-christ spirit displayed in such ways as making Lenin into a god. For example, there are gigantic statues and pictures of Lenin displayed in exactly the same spirit as Nebuchadnezzar displayed his statues. There is a sign in the U.S.S.R. which has a picture (silhouette) of Lenin with the caption: 'He lived, he lives, he will live forever.' There are songs sung of him (played to very beautiful spiritual sounding music), the lyrics of which state: 'Lenin lives in the fields, streams, hills, (etc.) - He lives in my heart.' Sickening - but the Christian children know exactly what they are doing when they refuse to bow to the authorities and sing these songs despite the terrible pressures that are put on them. The West has been slow to learn this, but it nonetheless is happening because of what the Holy Spirit is doing."
One day, walking along a street in Spittal, I found myself spontaneously speaking in tongues. When I asked the Lord about it, He replied there was a condition of spiritual darkness in this place I was not fully aware of. Then He allowed it to manifest and I was thrust into intense spiritual battle and intercession for many days. Every morning when I arose, the enemy would immediately begin attacking me and I would be plunged into spiritual battle for an hour or two before he would retreat till the next morning and I could continue to pursue the day's activities. God used these encounters to teach me about spiritual warfare in a very practical manner. This finally culminated one evening in my tiny attic room when I told the enemy his presence was no longer possible for him there and ordered him to leave for good. At the time I was reading John 15, and the enemy was trying to interfere by placing unclean thoughts in my head so when I came upon verse 7 and read it I became thoroughly fed up with the enemy's machinations and said, "Lord, your Word says that if I abide in You and Your Words abide in me, I can ask whatever I want and it will be done." Then I addressed the demonic power that had been harassing me, "You must leave right now, in Jesus' name," I commanded - and pointed to the one small window in the room. God put in my mind the remembrance of the fact that when Elisha had instructed Joash to strike the ground with the arrows, he had struck only three times and Elisha had angily reprimanded him that he would not now utterly defeat his enemy(2 Kings 13:15-19). So I pumped my left arm seven times toward the window commanding the demonic presence to leave, and I was gratified to sense it doing that, feeling a "whoosh," as it departed for good. I returned to my Bible reading.
The next morning when I awoke I immediately was aware of the divine presence of my heavenly Father in my little room and asked the Holy Spirit what was happening. He brought to my mind John 4:23 - "But the hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for the Father is seeking such to worship Him," and impressed upon me that the Father had come "seeking" me to worship Him. I jumped out of bed and immediately and spontaneously began worshiping God, singing and dancing joyfully around the little attic room. In the days that followed, I discovered that God had juxtaposed my room with His heavenly throne room. I spent glorious hours dancing, singing, worshiping literally around His throne in company with the four living creatures and angels. God welcomed me into His heavenly presence every morning I awoke - seeking me to worship Him. I came to understand that what was happening was because of not only the spiritual struggle that was going on in the eastern European countries in which I was involved - but also right there in Austria, a very beautiful country but one with profound spiritual darkness (it had after all birthed Adolph Hitler). I was told in fact that prisoners of war had been housed in Spittal's vicinity during WW2 and had been deliberately starved to death. I also learned during these days more not only about the very personal aspects of intercession and spiritual warfare, but its application to localities and nations. At one point, I was able to attend a week-long seminar on spiritual warfare in Sweden taught by Derek Prince. They were days of intense, gut-wrenching involvement, not the least of which was the prolonged time I spent in agony interceding regarding the horrible apathy of the church in the west - particularly in the US. Oh, the feelings of loneliness, abandonment and isolation I had! But the intercession and warfare never ends, not until Jesus returns. (1 Thess. 5:17)
As much as I enjoyed traveling into Czechoslovakia (my maternal grandfather's birthplace), Hungary, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, etc to visit the believers there, perhaps the country I most enjoyed was Romania. It is such a beautiful country, the children would come running out smiling as we drove by and often we'd stop and give them gum - something not available in their country - and they would receive it with great smiles of joy. We'd tell them in Romanian, "God loves you," and "Jesus Christ loves you." The Soviets literally raped the country economically, a devastation from which it is now in the process of still recovering. On one trip I was instructed to make contact with a certain believer about whom it was said that he was mishandling money and also perhaps collaborating with the police. I talked with several other believers in the area who were acquainted with him, trying to gather more information. When I finally determined to attempt contacting him, I knew it would be risky as it was known the police were watching him. But I very prayerfully began approaching where I knew he lived. The first attempt was during the day, and I prayed, "Lord, if you don't want me to contact him, then please close the door and make it impossible for me to make contact with him." It was a relatively clear day, as I remember, but as I proceeded along a walkway toward the apartment building where the man and his family lived, it began to snow. It continued to snow harder as I walked on until the snowfall was so thick that I could hardly see my hand in front of my face. At that point I could not see well enough to know if I was going in the right direction nor recognize the apartment building the contact lived in. So I said, "It may be, Lord, You do not want me to make contact with him at this time." And I turned back, walking in the direction I'd come. Immediately the snowfall slowed and eventually ceased and the sun became visible again as I continued back. I decided to go into a nearby hotel to sit and rest and quietly meditate and pray in the lobby. As I was there, praying in the Spirit, I looked around and noticed suddenly that a Christian gospel song was being broadcast in English over the hotel speaker system. At least that was what I was hearing. I knew this was not possible as the music was controlled by the State, and they would do no such thing. I had a wild moment of considering getting up and asking the receptionist at the desk if she heard it, but thought the better of it - noticing that everyone in the room was continuing to go about what they were doing. I realized that only I was hearing that song, and that God meant it for me - to reassure me that He was with me and encourage me that He had sovereign control over the situation. That night I decided to try again to make contact. This time I made it to his apartment door, but as I raised my hand to knock I heard men's voices from inside and the Holy Spirit warned me, saying, "Police!" I didn't knock, but instead immediately departed and decided to try no further to make contact.
Several years later, while living in the Monterey area of California, I was informed that a Romanian family was scheduled to minister in a local church. Upon arrival at the church, I found that this was the family with which I had unsuccessfully tried to make contact that I told of above. I introduced myself to them after the service, and we had a wonderfully joyous time of fellowship. I shared with them about my attempt to make contact with them in Romania and they readily agreed that I had done correctly in my final decision not to do so. I was so touched by the Lord's goodness in this, especially because of the misunderstanding and accusations due to rumors spread by the enemy among Christians. The Lord showed me that all judgment in the matter was to be left to Him - and that His mercy triumphs over judgment (James 2:13).
At the same time as I had tried to make the contact above in Romania, I spoke with a dear brother who described privately to me how he had been led by the Holy Spirit to prayerfully talk to strangers in parks and other public places about their need for salvation - leaving confidently to God whether any of these people were informers or secret police etc. He understood the consequences clearly - that he could at any moment be arrested and taken away, possibly never seeing his family again. But at that time he told me that with God's help he had been successful in leading several individuals to the Lord, and they had joined his church. As I left him I had to wonder at the imaginary "fears" that kept us Christians in the West from sharing the gospel and the very real fears that our brothers and sisters in the east dealt with. I praised God for this brother, and felt honored to be able to help him in whatever way I could.
We were told that circumstances were getting better for Christians in Romania, but I wondered privately about that and was suspicious of the increasing "freedom" granted by the authorities. These suspicions were later confirmed when it was seen that "freedom" was being allowed to increase for the Christians so that some of the "fish' would surface and they could be more easily caught. There were widespread arrests and general harassment. Shortly after the arrests began, I made a long trip into several countries, finding that in Romania the Christians were moving quickly to consolidate their forces in order to repair the damage that was being done by the authorities and continue their underground operations successfully. My heart was very much stirred upon seeing their enthusiasm and commitment remain undampened. But then - what else would we expect from our courageous brothers and sisters?
Another time I needed to arrange the transport of some Christian literature and teaching cassettes into Hungary. I could not find any other mission to help in this, so it became necessary for me to take the supplies in personally. A teaching session was scheduled in Budapest with teachers, former Hungarians - then US Citizens (now with the Lord), coming from the US to participate. It was not a large load, and I felt the only option open to me was to attempt to secret it in the car and take it across the border. My last trip into Hungary had been very easy, with no real searching of the car being done. This time though I was warned that things were tightening at the border and several vehicles had been confiscated. But I knew that in any case the trip had to be made and the teaching material delivered by a set date. So I figured and off I went. Oh how I wished I had someone there in Spittal I could come into a "unity of mind and heart" with concerning these things. But I had searched fruitlessly for prayer-partners to join me concerning work into the East. In any case though, I knew that God was sovereign in each and every situation. At the Hungarian border I could see that each vehicle was being scrupulously checked and that I would surely be caught unless the Lord intervened. I even considered briefly the possibility of turning the car around and driving back, but discarded that almost as soon as I thought of it - I would just draw attention to myself. When my turn came, the literature and cassettes were discovered and confiscated. I was told by the inspecting officer that since they had been hidden they were considered contraband - if they had been openly displayed they would have passed notice. I knew this was a lie (the commanding officer of the post later told me that Bibles were considered to be the same as pornographic literature, and it was illegal to bring them into the country). So I replied to the inspecting officer that I would be glad to display them openly if he would give me official papers verifying that. He just looked at me and said nothing. I was eventually taken inside a building where the confiscated material was being examined closely. The officer I was directed to had me sit down and then put one of the cassettes into a cassette player and turned up the volume for the office to hear. The cassette started with a song, "Just A Closer Walk With Thee," sung beautifully in English by an unidentified woman singer. As I sat and listened (the officer continuing to look through other materials laid on his desk) I could hardly keep the tears of joy from streaming down my face. It was as if the Lord Himself were there reassuring me with the promise inherent in the song. The officer amazingly allowed the song to play almost to its end (he had wanted to see what was on the tape) before turning it off. I was then given a blank sheet of paper and a pencil and told I needed to write down the names and addresses of the people I intended to contact in Hungary. I didn't have to worry about deciding not to do that as the Lord made my mind mercifully blank about that information and ten or fifteen minutes later I was led back for interrogation. The officer who led me there did not look surprised that the paper was blank. But the commanding officer he took me to and told me to be seated before was not at all pleased. Through an interpreter he gruffly told me, "As a Christian you must tell me the truth." I was very well-prepared for that statement as I had spent much personal time in prayerful Bible study concerning the subject of what exactly as Christians we must tell the enemy - especially when we know that they intend to use the information they learn to harm God's people and try to thwart His plans. I replied simply, "As a Christian, the only truth I am required to tell you is the truth of the Gospel. Do you want me to do that?" When this was translated (amazingly, the translator was smiling!) the officer surlily replied, "No!" and did not ask me any more questions. I was allowed to keep the vehicle and even continue on my trip to Budapest. As I drove away I thought how incredible this unfortunate incident had turned out - the vehicle could have easily been confiscated and I could have been refused admittance to Hungary. So I sang praises to God as I drove on, though at the same time keeping a watch out to see if I would be followed. I wasn't.
Of course the people I was scheduled to meet in Budapest were very disappointed that I was unable to deliver the material they needed to do the teaching. As a matter of fact, upon reaching my hotel I found the enemy had dumped a feeling of depression on me "big time." I knew I needed to find a worship service going on in some nearby church to combat this demonic attack of depression, since I could not exactly hold an impromptu worship service in my hotel room - being on a covert mission. So I started walking, asking the Lord to guide my steps as He had during my trip down the mountain in the Sierras back in California. Within half an hour I found myself in a church joining in a Hungarian worship service. I could not of course understand the language they were singing in, but that was not necessary as the attack of depression dissolved and disappeared within minutes.
Later, I was invited to attend a youth service at another church in Budapest. To my great delight, it turned out to be a church I had attended a youth service at several years previously while working with the other mission. As I had driven towards Budapest, the Lord had laid a heavy revelation on me concerning "walking the way of the Cross" and I had wondered if this teaching He was giving me was intended also to share with believers here. I didn't have to wonder very long. I was asked to speak, and there were two other speakers before me. The first speaker, a youth, gave a simple message about the Cross and what it meant to believers. The second speaker, the youth leader (not much more than a youth himself) gave such a profound message based on 1 Peter 4:12-19 that I wondered at it. Very few teachers in the West, I thought to myself, would be capable of teaching such a passage with the insight that this young man displayed (and if they could - would they?) - and this young man's face bore the joy Peter spoke about. Finally, I was invited to speak, and the message the Lord had given to me expanded and deepened what had gone before. But after I had finished the Lord was not done. A fairly young woman who had been sitting in the rear came forward and asked to be allowed to share her testimony. As she stood before me speaking to the congregation, I could see the glory of the Lord resting on her that Peter had spoken of in 1 Peter 4:14. She told us that the man she was married to was an unbeliever and that they had two small boys. She related that her husband would beat her and forbid her to go to church. And he would berate her in front of the boys, telling them that their mother was "no good" and encouraging them to also abuse their mother verbally. The abuse and beatings continued and increased to the point that she thought of running away, but she had no where to go. No one would take her in, being afraid of repercussions against them from the State, which was on the husband's side since he was an unbeliever. In the atheistic state, if you are a Christian you are automatically at fault - if you're beaten up for being a Christian, you are the guilty party, not the one who beat you up. Teachers at school encouraged kids to beat up on kids who were known to be Christian, or have Christian parents. Their parents had no recourse in this - no one in authority to whom they could complain. They had no rights in their society as a "Christian." Neither did this sister who now stood in front of us. She had desperately cried out to the Lord, and He had visibly appeared to her, she said, strengthening her and telling her to continue on in the path of the Cross (Luke 9:23) and that He would use her husband's very abuse of her to turn him and bring him to the Cross. She told us that she already had seen signs of that happening in her husband's behavior to her, but at the same time did not know when she returned home again that evening whether He would beat her again. As she told all of this to us, she spoke completely without bitterness or resentment, in fact peace and joy filled her face because that evening she had received reassurance from the teaching from God's Word. She asked us to pray for her, and we did that as the evening's service came to a close.
When my stay in Hungary came to an end, I returned to the border crossing I had been interrogated at, but crossed without incident. However, just a very short distance down the road in Austria the car I was driving came to an abrupt halt. I had been hearing sounds in it for some time that had me concerned, but when I would ask others riding with me, they would say they could hear nothing. When I had started out initially from Spittal toward Budapest during my current trip I had noticed the sounds and had deliberately stopped the car by the roadside and asked the Lord if I should proceed. He had indicated I should trust Him and throughout my stay in Hungary I had experienced no trouble with the car. Now suddenly when I was back safely in Austria again, the car was suddenly undriveable. When I pressed down the accelerator, the engine roared but the car remained stopped. So I got out of the car and looked under it. Sure enough, the drive shaft was resting on the ground. The problem I had been hearing all this time concerned a faulty u-joint that had to be replaced. My car was stopped right by the entrance to a stately looking small mansion, which was the only abode nearby. While I was wondering what to do about my dilemma, a man walked out from the house I was parked in front of. When I told him what the problem was, he immediately volunteered to give me a tow. When I gratefully assented, he backed out his shiny late model Mercedes, we hooked up my car to his and he towed me about fifteen miles into town to the Mercedes agency where he arranged to have the missions's car I was driving repaired. After I thanked him, he drove away. "Thank you, Lord," I said, "For handling that so well."