I love being outdoors. I take great pleasure in watering my plants, digging in the soil and pulling weeds. But I live in an area where rattlesnakes exist, even though in 40 years I have never encountered one.

Apparently, a nest had been stirred up in an empty lot recently, and my neighbors were suddenly finding them in their yards. One even appeared in a neighbor’s garage.

After the snakes moved in, my pleasure was replaced with fear. Now when I ventured outside, I stood anxiously holding the hose as my eyes darted about, alert to any danger. Every time I went into my garage, it was with fear and trepidation, wondering if a snake was lurking in a dark corner.

One day it occurred to me that I was not without defenses. When my husband died, I claimed as my own Isaiah 54:5. I held onto that promise, often calling upon the Lord during the times when I felt alone and defenseless. Over and over again those prayers were answered.

I decided it was time to call upon the Lord once more. I prayed: “God, You know how afraid I am to go outdoors. Please help me.” Then I sat down and pictured my house and my property, as I built an invisible wall all around it.

After that prayer, I relaxed and forgot about the snakes. Many weeks later I was pulling out weeds when a neighbor stopped by to visit. “Aren’t you concerned about the rattlers?” he asked.

I smiled and told him I was sure they were gone. Actually, I might have smirked rather than smiled.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “I haven’t heard about one in quite a while.”

At that moment, I felt very sheepish. Here I had been so concerned about my own fears that I had neglected to ask for protection for the entire neighborhood. Nevertheless, the Lord with His infinite wisdom took care of us all. There has not been a report of a snake sighted in our neighborhood in the year since then.

My desire to have an emerald was birthed when my husband, Bob, and I saw a loose, bright green emerald while browsing the Los Angeles Jewelry Mart. It was an eye-catcher!

To my delight, Bob placed an emerald ring on my finger for our 25th wedding anniversary. Little did I know it would become a token of my faith and a test of what I believed.

My husband and I have a fun tradition we look forward to each year. On the Friday after Thanksgiving, we officially begin the Christmas shopping season at a nearby mall. One particular Friday proved to be momentous.

Bob and I found our way back to the parking lot just as the sun was setting on a fully satisfying and productive day. As I situated myself in the front passenger seat, my hand struck the windshield visor, and I noticed to my horror that the emerald from my ring was missing.

We searched in and around the car but it wasn’t there. I was devastated!

Then Bob said, “We have to go back into the shopping center and find your emerald.”

In total disbelief, I responded, “Is this an insane idea or what?” My husband was disappointed that I didn’t exhibit his same determination or appear willing to give it my best shot.

Nevertheless, Bob was not to be deterred. “We will retrace our steps beginning at the last store and work our way back to the first,” he said.

When we entered the store and I saw the busy carpet, the tears I had struggled to hold back began wetting my cheeks. In my spirit I cried, “Lord, help!”

After completing my unsuccessful rounds, I shifted my focus to locating Bob. When I saw him from a distance, two salesclerks were peering into his outstretched hand.

To our amazement, the Holy Spirit had led Bob to search under a specific rounder of clothing and to look toward the center. And there was the emerald!

Clearly, the Lord answered my prayer and rewarded my husband’s tenacity. God turned “an insane idea” into a miracle because even our smallest concerns are important to Him.

After 11 years of serving and worshiping in a denominational church, I found myself an outcast among the congregation because I received the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Hurt and dejected, I felt as though a spear had been thrust into my heart. My whole world crumbled.

People I loved turned away and told me to go with my “own kind.” The baptism had made me different, and to the church I was unacceptable.

I could have wallowed endlessly in my pain, but the Holy Spirit lifted me and began a work in me that exceeded my understanding. I moved out from beneath the heavy shackles of the bondage I’d been too blind to recognize.

Late one night, the Lord gave me a vision of my body covered with leeches. As I watched, salt was applied and, one by one, the leeches released their hold.

When He revealed the meaning of the vision, I could see that the leeches represented the people who were draining my life’s blood. They were clinging to me, holding me back and keeping me from the promises God had to offer.

But then God opened my eyes for me to see that leeches are drawn to blood–for survival. I had become the hope of survival for these people. The salt stood for His healing and restoration being applied to my wounds.

I’d been in the depths of despair, but God’s love soothed the pain and filled me with new life. It hurt to be shunned by other Christians, but through my experience Christ has changed me.

He’s drawn me onto His potter’s wheel and begun a new work through this. He’s molding and shaping me into His image.

Is it painful? Yes. Do I enjoy it? No, not all the time. Is it worth it? Definitely!

From the time I became a Christian in December 1991, I was involved in various types of ministry–youth work, street evangelism, college ministry and worship. But I knew that it was also part of God’s plan for me to minister overseas, even if only temporarily.

I had a strong desire to minister in India. I knew it would be a faith-building experience for me. And in June 1999, I was preparing to go there on my first short-term missions trip.

For several months, I had been experiencing severe dental pain because of four impacted wisdom teeth. Also, I had cavities, and I needed braces, which I knew would cost an exorbitant amount of money. I didn’t have it, but I knew that my heavenly Father did.

A dentist told me that I would need to have the wisdom teeth removed before going to India. Dental care would be difficult to come by if I needed it there, and it would also interfere with my trip.

I cried out to God to make a way. And I knew He would.

I didn’t want to ask for money or borrow from anyone. I stood on several Scriptures, including Mark 11:24 and Luke 11:5-13. I believed God would provide for me.

One day I was having prayer and talking over breakfast with a good Christian “mom.” I opened up about my teeth dilemma. We agreed that God would provide for me.

Then she pulled a check for $1,000 out of her housecoat pocket to cover the cost of having my wisdom teeth removed. I began crying tears of joy at God’s faithfulness and provision.

This friend also accompanied me to the oral surgeon’s office, where I had the teeth removed. I was able to go on my trip and minister pain-free.

While in India, God used me in ways He never had before. That experience of God’s provision will always stay with me as a reminder of His faithfulness and love for His children.

I was sexually molested by a family member when I was a young girl. At age 18, I was brutally raped and lived in fear of my attacker for years.

Following this last assault, I accepted Christ as my Savior. After having had a career in modeling and acting, I entered Bible college and fell more and more in love with God and ministry.

Today, I am an ordained minister and assistant pastor. Although I went to the family member who had abused me and told him I had forgiven him, bitterness still had a grip on my heart.

One Sunday evening I was preaching on on the subject of forgiveness when clearly, I heard the Lord say, “But have you really forgiven, Kimberlie?”

God’s words echoed in my ear for weeks. Bitterness was tearing me apart emotionally.

Some time later at a retreat, my husband and I were listening to a message about forgiveness. Tears filled my eyes.

I realized that I was living in a prison of unforgiveness. Tears poured like a flood until they lay in puddles on top of my feet.

That evening I was healed of unforgiveness. When I released my bitterness, God delivered me from the enemy’s clutches.

My father loved telling the story about the day I was born, September 7, 1955. He named me Florence Rose, after his mother, who died when he was a boy.

During my childhood my parents did not get along well for a very long time. Years later I asked my dad why he had stayed around, and he said, “Because no one was gonna get my kids.”

Back in the 1960s fathers had few rights, but our dad took care of my siblings and me when our mother moved out. Although she returned after several months, our dad was always there for us.

For a man who never made it past the fifth grade, he was amazingly talented. He was a wonderful gardener, carpenter, painter and mechanic.

I never knew anyone who had as much patience as my father, regardless of the circumstances. He also cooked, cleaned and fixed anything that needed fixing.

One day he called me to the backyard to see the car he’d bought for me–a Ford Falcon. He had paid $10 for it and painted it blue, our favorite color.

The car had a lot of miles on it, but that didn’t matter since my dad was a mechanic. It took me to college every day no matter the weather.

After my brother Chuck and I had graduated from high school, my parents moved from New York to Arizona. The first time I visited them there, we went shopping, and everyone in the stores knew who I was. Dad had told the whole town I was coming for a visit!

I can still recall the day I left for home. Mom and Dad waved goodbye to me from the top of the observation area as my plane taxied away from the terminal. I remember crying all the way home.

In late 1996, my father became extremely ill and was hospitalized. He knew he would soon pass away.

I spent time with him and slept in a recliner next to his bedside until I had to return home. The next day, he passed away.

Although I knew I would miss him, nothing prepared me for the emptiness I felt when he died. It was as though he took a piece of my heart with him.

Thankfully, around the time of my father’s death, God brought a new friend into my life, Wendy. She was a registered nurse and lived in an apartment downstairs from me.

I’d known Wendy for only a short time before my dad died, but she always had the best advice for me. She was instrumental in assisting me to get the help I needed in order to cope with my grief.

Six years have passed, and I still miss my dad. But I will always be thankful to God for him, and I look forward to the day when we will be together again.

Health issues have plagued me all my life. Tests administered years ago showed that I was allergic to almost everything.

I’ve spent many days in and out of hospitals. In 1993, I was hospitalized for more than a month. A portion of that stay was spent in the cardiac care unit (CCU).

I was unable to breathe, so a tube was put in my throat that prevented me from talking. But I asked my husband to bring my Bible and anointing oil to me. When I couldn’t talk, these were witnessing tools for God.

After the breathing tube was removed and I was strong enough to speak, the nurses came from all over the CCU to ask about the oil. I explained my faith to them and told them that I believed in anointing the sick with oil, according to the Scriptures.

While the medical professionals were working to help me recover, I was praying to the Great Physician, anointing myself with oil, reading my Bible and praying for my healing, according to God’s will.

A hole was discovered in my esophagus that would need to be repaired. Because of my allergies, I could not be put to sleep for surgery, so the doctors tried other means of treating me, but these proved to be unsuccessful.

For several days, I was in such pain I turned my face to the wall and waited to die. During that time, God’s Spirit spoke to my spirit. He touched me, and life returned to my body. Slowly, I began to get stronger.

A few days after this incident, a surprised X-ray technician reported that the hole in my esophagus had closed. Soon I was able to get up and walk with assistance.

Different nurses and staff members asked me to pray for them. No one thought I would leave the hospital, including my doctors. But I did.

On the day my doctor came to tell me I would be going home, he walked up and down at the foot of my bed. He began touching my Bible and telling me about his Pentecostal mother.

My doctor admitted that if it had not been for my faith in God and His Word, I wouldn’t have made it. He said I was the closest thing to a miracle he had ever seen!

One evening when I was 17, I was on a double date with three friends. We decided to see a movie and then go for ice cream. But as we headed down the road, a van slammed into our car.

My date, Bob, was able to walk and seemed OK, but the rest of us were unable to get out of the car. Bob looked at me and panicked because he knew I needed help–fast!

I was taken to a hospital, where I spent two weeks in a coma with a multiple skull fracture and a fractured jaw. I spent six weeks in the intensive care unit and another six weeks in rehabilitation, undergoing occupational, physical and speech therapy.

Finally, I was discharged and started putting the past behind me. I know the prayers of my parents, my friends, my teachers and my church helped me to recover.

What a great God we serve! He allowed me to live, to marry my husband, Vance, and to raise our two beautiful sons. We are all on this earth for a very short time, and we need to serve our Father to the best of our ability.

I thank God that I can care for my two boys. I’m thankful, too, that after three surgeries on my eyes to correct a problem with double vision, I can even drive a car! I believe our Lord still heals, in His time, when we pray in His name.

In 1944, I was in my early teens and spending the summer with my sister, Sissy, and her husband, Ted. Sissy, her four children and I were about to leave for a trip in her old station wagon, when Ted surprised her with a brand-new car he’d just bought for her.

This was in the days before seat belts, so I had the privilege of holding the new baby, Linda, on the road. It was Saturday, and there were lots of construction signs but no workers. For miles, the signs warned us of the deep ditch next to the shoulder of the extremely narrow road.

My sister was fumbling with the radio and ran off the highway. She pulled hard on the steering wheel but there was no controlling it. She screamed, “Hold on!”

At that moment, an urgent voice I had never heard before spoke to me, saying, “Take off your glasses, lock your door [and] put your hand on the baby’s head.” Immediately, I followed the directions.

The new car flipped violently and came to a sudden stop just short of a telephone pole. My side of the car sank into the mud, and the other side was elevated above me.

Slowly, I relaxed my hand, which was still gripping the top of Linda’s little head. I was afraid she was dead, but the motionless child in my arms had slept through it all!

The windshield had shattered, and glass lay all over us. My sister was slumped over the wheel, unconscious. The three horrified children in the backseat were crying, but they said they were OK.

Still holding the baby, I tried unsuccessfully to open the door; it wouldn’t budge. We were pinned in the car. Finally, a highway patrolman arrived and pried open the car door with a crowbar after digging away the mud from the outside.

He said: “It is a miracle when this car flipped that everyone in it was not thrown out and under it and crushed. The door was barely hanging by the lock. Young lady, if you had not locked your door, you probably would all have been killed.”

When we were taken to the hospital and examined, the doctor found nothing wrong with any of us. He asked, “Where was the baby when this accident happened?”

Sissy told him that I was holding her. Then he said to me, “You must have covered the baby’s soft spot.”

I told him, “I put my hand on top of her head before we turned over because a voice told me to.” He said, “I believe this baby girl is alive because you obeyed that voice.”

I have never heard God’s voice in that same way again. But I know one thing for sure, I heard it that day, and I’m very thankful I did.

After her divorce, our daughter and her two children moved in with my husband and me. She did not get along with my husband, and there was constant strife in our home. A while later, he told her to leave.

My daughter was angry and left, taking the kids with her. I cried out to God, asking Him to protect my grandchildren and place them where they should be.

Soon the children were back in our home, and my daughter moved in with friends. The children were 6 and 7 years old and very active. At first I was overwhelmed, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to hold down a job, lead a women’s Bible study and take care of them.

But God gave me grace for it all and wisdom about how to raise them. Every morning before they go to school, I read to them from a blessing book I have.

One morning my granddaughter crawled up on my lap, and as I began to pray a blessing over her, she said “No, Grandma, I want to bless you.” She said: “In the name of Jesus Christ I bless you, Grandma, with greater faith; that God would fill you full of His faith.”

How that did bless me! Then another time, my grandson said: “Grandma, I have been thinking. I think every time my heart beats, that Jesus is knocking on the door of my heart!”

Since our grandchildren have been with us, both of them have given their hearts to Jesus and been baptized. Our daughter is changing also, and God has restored her relationship with my husband.

I am standing on the Scripture that says: “All [my] children shall be taught by the Lord and great will be the peace of [my] children (Is. 54:13, NKJV). God is faithful. He will finish the work He began.