My 2-year-old granddaughter and I were on our way to my home from her house when it began to snow. The roads became extremely slick, and visibility was poor.

When I attempted to make a left turn, I lost control of the car and went into the other lane. I cried out, “Oh please, Lord Jesus, I need You!”

We spun around and hit a sign, breaking it off and coming to rest in an 8-foot ditch. But we didn’t even feel a jolt. God had eased us down into the ditch.

Just at that moment, a huge truck came flying over the hill right in the lane we would have been in. My granddaughter said, “Whee, Grandma!” and “Yeah, Jesus!” when I told her He had protected us.

We sang a song, praising and thanking God, and I could feel His love and peace literally filling our car with His presence.

We got out of the car and walked to a nearby house, where I called my husband to come and pick us up. The next morning, we saw that God had not only protected us, but also preserved our car; when they pulled it out of the ditch, there wasn’t even a scratch on it!

God reminded me of His Word, “The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears, and delivers them out of all their troubles” (Ps. 34:17, NKJV). What an awesome God we serve!

In the past, I had heard teachings on “pleading the blood [of Jesus]” over your loved ones for healing and for God’s protection; I’d done that many times. But until I read The Blood and the Glory by Billye Brim, I’d never heard of pleading a “blood line” around your property and possessions as protection from weather-related calamities.

At supper one night, I looked out through a big bay window in our kitchen and noticed that the sky was very dark to the south. My husband checked the weather report on television, and, sure enough, there was a tornado warning for a county just south of us.

Immediately, my husband went outside and got our sons to put any machinery inside for protection. When I looked out the window again, the sky to the south was pure white. Quickly, I turned up the volume on the television and heard that “baseball-sized hail” was swiftly moving in our direction.

I decided to put God’s Word to the test. I started pleading a blood line around our farm and around my son’s farm across the road, repeating my prayer over and over.

Then I pleaded the blood of Jesus over every building, field of crops, piece of machinery, head of cattle, horse and huge pine tree. I laid my hand on my Bible and repeated the prayer.

The storm hit with hurricane force winds. Rain came down in torrents, making it impossible to see out the window. I began to declare that our window would not break and that hail would not destroy our crops because everything was covered with the blood. Then I started praising God because I knew in my spirit that it was over.

All around us, neighbors suffered damage to their homes, cars and machinery. Many windows were broken, and huge balls of hail stripped siding off houses.

But our property was completely unscathed. Both our home and our sons’ homes were safe.

Some years ago, when I was working as a dancer in a nightclub, two customers summoned me to their table. Two more jerks, I thought, never dreaming that the one drinking a Coke would speak words that would change my life.

One of the gentlemen, Mr. Hobbs, was an architect who designed boats for the Navy. He asked me what abilities I had besides dancing. I told him that I’d been a secretary but could not make enough money to keep my 5-year-old son with me.

Mr. Hobbs told me of some missionaries his family supported in Mexico, and then he said, “They would give anything to have someone like you to help them.”

I had recently remarried and was stunned to find that my husband insisted I continue working at the club. I made three times the money he did, and we fought every time I mentioned quitting my job.

I was disappointed in myself and convinced that I was a total failure. I hated going to the club, but tranquilizers and alcohol helped.

Out of ignorance, I had blamed God when my first baby was stillborn. Before that I had never been in a nightclub and wasn’t even allowed to wear shorts as I grew up.

Mr. Hobbs’ few words to me that night gave me a glimmer of hope and the courage to stop dancing at the club. I began to think that maybe there was a little worth in me, even after all I’d done.

Though I sent my son to church, I didn’t feel I could attend myself because of my past. Then one of my son’s classmates invited me to go with them. That Sunday, the pastor was preaching about the fact that God would forgive you no matter what you’d done.

I began attending church again, returned to God and started growing spiritually. Years later I started Encouragement Ministries for women in despair, reminding them through my speaking, writing and singing that each one of them is precious to the Lord.

My mother was diagnosed with Huntington’s Disease (HD), an incurable, genetic brain disease, in 1995. My siblings and I were told that each of us had a 50 percent chance of also carrying the HD gene and in turn passing it on to our children.

I was terrified. Seeing the changes in my mother was heartbreaking. But I knew God had a plan.

We were told that a test was available that could accurately determine whether we carried this fatal gene. But without a cure, it seemed ludicrous to consider.

I began to cling to the Lord for everything. My faith was strengthened, and my intimacy with Him deepened.

At a women’s retreat I attended, I heard author Neva Coyle challenge us to find the thing that most caused us pain and give it to God. The Lord was preparing me to undergo testing for HD. Though the thought scared me, I knew it was time.

An article by E. Charlotte Baker called “The Eye of the Needle” that appeared in SpiritLed Woman (Oct./Nov. ’98) touched me profoundly. The emphasis of the story was surrendering to God everything we have–even our God-given abilities.

God was asking me to lay all my hopes and dreams at the foot of the cross.

The article, along with the retreat, was the crucial turning point in my journey. I walked through the eye of that needle and pledged my life to the Lord.

I went through a series of grueling mandatory counseling sessions that would lead to my finding out if my DNA carried the gene for HD. Three months later, my husband, Steve, and I, and two of our closest friends were ushered into a small room to get the definitive results of the tests.

I was prepared for whatever the Lord chose, but I was very nervous. Always in the back of my mind was that voice saying, Do you surrender it all? Do you trust Me?

I knew in my heart that I would trust God no matter what. And I was surrendered to the Lord’s will. But it did not mean that my faith was always strong or that tears never came.

The results of the tests were negative. I do not now, nor will I ever, carry the HD gene, and neither will my young boys.

How thankful I am to the Lord for allowing this to pass over me! I walked through the fire, but I found Jesus was there in the very midst of it, holding my hand. Julie Sando

During the late 1970s I was engulfed in a lifestyle of cocaine, marijuana, liquor and every pill imaginable. At the time, I associated with celebrities from the music industry and “high-class” drug dealers, who supplied me with everything I needed.

I’ve likened the years I spent in that state to a ride on a carousel. I was going around and around and getting nowhere.

The drugs were plentiful. They helped me to escape the pain of abuse, rejection, hopelessness and guilt.

Because of these things, I struggled with low self-esteem. Whenever I would want to stop using drugs, the devil would find a way to remind me of them all.

Even then, God’s hand was on me because of my mother’s prayers. Though I experienced several tragedies, the one that really got my attention was my mother’s being diagnosed with cancer.

My mother died in 1995, and shortly thereafter I rededicated my life to Jesus Christ. God delivered me and set me free from the bondages in which I’d been entangled. He’s transforming me into the woman He created me to be.

Now I’m volunteering my time to serve as program director for a ministry that reaches out to hurting women. I want them to know that God is a deliverer. I am a living testimony of that!

For the last 3-1/2 years since her divorce, our daughter, along with her two daughters, has found it necessary to live with my husband and me. We have committed ourselves to helping them and sacrificing the comfort that normally comes with almost reaching retirement and being “just grandparents.”

It has not been easy, but God has confirmed to us that this is what we are supposed to be doing. He often reminds me through my granddaughters what it means to be made more like Jesus.

Recently one of them, who had just turned 5, asked me to get her medicine out of the cabinet for her. Teasingly, I said to her, “Mary Kathryn, what would you do without Grandma to get everything
for you?”

She turned her beautiful, innocent blue eyes toward me and said, “Grandma, you have to get it for me because you are the maid in this house.”

I was shocked by her comment. But I had to agree with her. I thought, I cook most of their meals, keep their school uniforms clean, help pick up their toys and often take them wherever they need to go after school. In the eyes of a child, I’m sure I do look like the maid of the house.

Before I could become totally consumed with self-pity, the Holy Spirit gently reminded me that Jesus came to serve and not to be served.

I went to Webster’s Dictionary and saw that a maid was defined as a “servant.” It reminded me of my desire to be more like Jesus, and I thanked God for allowing me to serve these two little girls at this time in my life.

In 1956, when I was 7 years old, I wanted to become a Brownie (Girl Scout) like my best friend. But money was tight. My dad had to work two jobs, and my mother worked at night.

Having gone without during the Great Depression, my parents didn’t want to deny me anything. But when I asked if I could join the Brownie group, my mother said, “You are in too many activities already. Neither one of us can afford one more involvement.” Undaunted, I begged, “May I join if I come up with the money myself?”

My mom went over the list of supplies and clothing I would need. She added up the cost of uniforms, blouses, socks, a beret, a sweater, shoes, a coat, a handbook, pins, badges, books and a year of dues. She was hoping I’d be discouraged by the grand total of $49, but I wasn’t.

I needed the money within two weeks to meet the deadline. But how could a 7-year-old girl come up with $49 in 1956?

The only way I knew was to ask God for it! As a Roman Catholic, I was taught to pray to Mary, the mother of Jesus, or the saints. “Don’t bother Jesus unless it is absolutely necessary,” my teachers said.

Well, I felt this was absolutely necessary and somehow, I didn’t think it was a bother to God. So with childlike faith, I prayed: “Please God, may I have $49 to join the Brownies? Thank You. Amen.”

The following day when I was playing outside my house, a car suddenly turned into my small street and forced me onto the sidewalk. After the car sped away, I saw money falling from the sky and blowing all over the street. Dollar bills were everywhere!

My two friends and I began grabbing the money out of the air and off the ground. We stuffed every last dollar into our pockets and ran home to our moms.

I shouted and giggled, “God gave me the money to become a Brownie!” Yes, it was exactly $49!

What really happened that day isn’t clear. But today, as an associate pastor of a charismatic church, I must believe God for much more than $49. The supernatural answer I received to my prayer as a child was foundational to the faith I have today.

My husband, Paul, and I went into the portrait studio to pick up pictures of our 12-month-old son, Ezekiel. We waited with excitement until our names were called, and then, as the sales associate placed the pictures in frames for us to look at, we both stood in shocked silence.

This happened every time we went to pick out our son’s most recent pictures. As we looked into those perfectly brushed and lighted photos, we were reminded once again of Ezekiel’s Down’s syndrome. It was like receiving the news of his condition
for the first time.

Finally, we would break the quiet and begin to express our preferences, commenting on how well he smiled in this picture or how blue his little eyes were in that one. Always we would look at each other and smile reassuringly that God had given us this little boy and that in our eyes he was perfect.

It amazes me how God uses our children to reveal to us more of Himself. This recent event with Ezekiel’s pictures showed me how God looks at me.

For most of my life, I struggled with self-image. As a Christian, I’d often felt that I’d fallen short of God’s expectations for me. I thought God, like almost everyone else, was performance-based and obsessed with outward appearances. But unlike the cameras at the portrait studio, He sees deeper than that.

The most high-tech equipment couldn’t filter out the fact of Ezekiel’s Down’s syndrome. Yet it was the filter of our love that caused us to look past the facial features and into the heart of the little boy we cherish.

God reminded me that He has a filter of love for me as well, and that is Jesus Christ. In His eyes I am perfect, despite all my flaws. And just as Paul and I look into the eyes of a young little boy and see the perfection of our love, so God looks into my eyes and sees the perfection of His love for me.

In 1997, I married my high school sweetheart, Wesley. Two years later, we were extremely happy when we found out we were expecting our first child.

On January 13, 2000, our son, Blaise Chandler, was born. But we discovered something was wrong; he was not breathing. Despite the circumstances, God’s peace came over me.

Blaise was moved to a different facility, where he remained for a week. Doctors concluded that he was born without kidneys, and on January 20, 2000, he went home to be with Jesus.

Almost immediately, Wesley and I started trying to become pregnant again. We met with a specialist who diagnosed our problem as Melnick-Fraser Syndrome, of which my husband is a carrier. Every baby we had would have a 50-50 chance of being born with this syndrome.

In December 2000, we were elated to find out we were expecting. We named our baby girl Sadie Jane. An ultrasound confirmed our worst nightmare: She, too, did not have kidneys and would not survive.

Shortly after what would have been Blaise’s second birthday, I was expecting again. This time the ultrasound looked normal.

I contacted several people and asked them to pray each night at 9 p.m. for the health of our baby. God continually gave me encouragement from His Word. On September 5, 2002, a perfectly healthy, strong-willed little girl, Autumn Grace, was born. She is absolutely beautiful.

In my young life, I have gone through many trials, but I need no explanation for them. I know the Lord is in control, and “His way is perfect” (Ps. 18:30, NIV).

March 14, 1986 is a day I’ll always remember. I had been serving in the United States Air Force for more than 12 years and was stationed in South Korea.

That morning I walked into the living room of my small apartment and found the room filled with a cloud. I wasn’t afraid or shocked; rather, I was extremely calm. In the center of the cloud I saw my 11-year-old son’s face, and I heard the Lord say, “Go home.”

Immediately, I rushed to my workplace to tell my supervisor that I needed to return home to Denver. With his permission, I took the first flight headed to the United States.

While I waited for the plane to depart, I stepped into a bookstore and picked up a copy of The Power of Positive Thinking by Norman Vincent Peale. I had settled in for my long flight and started reading when something caught my attention.

Peale stated that if you’re tired of the way you’re living, and you want peace in your life, you should ask Jesus Christ to come into your life and become your Lord and Savior. Without hesitation, I asked Jesus to come into my heart; and He did.

Suddenly, I was crying uncontrollably and repenting for all the bad things I had said and done. I told God how sorry I was and asked Him to forgive me.

I felt completely cleansed, and I knew I was changed. But I did not know I’d been born again until my girlfriend picked me up at the airport, and I shared with her what had happened to me.

Later I understood that it was God who had told me to return home. Soon I discovered that while I was away, my son and daughter had been abused, neglected and placed in the Denver Crisis Center. I spoke with my supervisor in South Korea and was granted a humanitarian assignment in Denver, but I needed to return to Korea for two weeks to finish my work.

Before I could return to Denver, my children were placed in foster care, and I had to hire an attorney to regain custody of them. But God’s presence was always with me.

Our family has gone through many years of healing and forgiving. But since then, both of my children have accepted Jesus Christ. They are married and have given me four grandchildren.

Today my son and his wife run a group home for teenage boys. My daughter and her husband operate a child-placement agency and have three foster children.

I have remarried, and my husband and I are the pastors of Word of Faith and Deliverance. Recently, we opened the Word of Faith Women’s Home. It is the fulfillment of a God-given dream I’ve had to provide a safe haven for women and children facing circumstances similar to those I faced years ago.