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.

After I started Junior High School, God began breaking my heart for the poor and put the idea of becoming a missionary in my head. Years later, I attended a small Christian college, and less than a month after I graduated in 2000, I boarded a plane headed for the African nation of Mozambique.

God allowed me to minister to the poor and to teenage prostitutes there for six months. I fell in love with the people and the land, and it was difficult to leave. I seriously considered living there as a full-time missionary–until the Lord redirected my life and gave me a passion to instill a missionary heart in the people of Orange County, California, where I live.

I found a way to incorporate God’s heart for missions with my work at a popular coffee store. Our location became a venue for live music, much of it played by Christian musicians, who have been given the opportunity to minister in a different way to people outside the four walls of the church.

On another occasion, I had an opportunity to collect items for a missions trip to Mexico. Although many of our customers were not Christians, they contributed more supplies toward advancing the kingdom of God than any other group.

I have been blessed with the great privilege of walking in the works the Lord prepared for me right here in Southern California. I’ve learned that whether it’s among the poor in Africa or the wealthy in Orange County, I am called to be a missionary for Jesus wherever I am.

Three years ago, before the summer break, our Bible study leader gave the class a challenge: “Do something weird for Jesus this summer, something you’ve never done before.” As I drove home, I accepted the challenge, but I wondered what “weird” thing I could do.

I recalled a minister I knew once who made a regular practice of standing at our sanctuary door and blessing everyone when he shook their hands. I remembered how this filled me with warm feelings, and I started to wonder if I could make others feel that way. Could I be a witness for God in the marketplace? I thought.

One day, after I finished shopping for groceries, when a young man was putting my bags in the back seat of my car, I said to him, “The Lord bless you.”

He was surprised. Then he flashed a big smile and said, “You too.”

The next time I tried my experiment was at a cosmetics counter. I said, “God bless you” to a young girl as she gave me my purchase. She fell silent, and with a questioning look in her eyes she said, “Why, thank you.”

Later, a person I knew slightly was leaving my home after a short visit. I hugged her and said, “The Lord bless you.” With tears in her eyes, she turned to me and said, “Thank you for saying that to me.”

I’ve noticed that the people I’ve spoken to don’t always respond with a smile; sometimes they just stare. But I believe I always give them something to think about.

Often I play a guessing game with myself before I bless someone; I try to imagine their reaction. I’ve seen sad faces flash big smiles. I’ve also seen people who looked unfriendly change their countenances when I’ve spoken a blessing to them.

When I open my mouth to bless others, I feel God’s love so strongly. I believe they can feel it too.

I was a young college student, studying music and looking to supplement my income, when I was made aware of a job opening at a local church. I gained an interview, and my meeting with the committee went well.

The choir members were excited about the possibility of hiring a college student. But among their questions for me, one was glaringly absent: Are you a Christian?

I wasn’t. To me, this was just a conducting job. I didn’t notice it then, but now I can see the absence of this question as a direct intervention by God.

The committee said that they would telephone me with an answer, and I drove back to my dormitory. That night, I was restless and suddenly aware of a great void inside me–something desperate to be filled. I barely slept.

The next afternoon I was on a lunch date with a friend, when suddenly I burst into tears and demanded, “Don’t you find that there’s nothing anywhere to believe in?”

My friend was calm. He said, “I believe that Jesus Christ died for me and is my Lord and Savior.”

I don’t remember the rest of that date. In my family Christians had been mocked, but here was someone I respected, professing that he needed Christ like he needed oxygen to breathe.

The very next day, the church where I’d interviewed hired me as its choir director. The question regarding my salvation was never asked.

However, by the next Easter, if anyone had asked me, I could have answered that I was a new Christian, led to Christ by a series of intervening graces in my life.

Now I have a deep walk with Christ. I am blessed with a marriage to that wonderful man of faith–and we have three children. Having not known Jesus as a child, I am called to work with children and youth to help them become aware of God’s grace in their lives. Praise God for His intervention and the unexpected turns in our lives!

In 2001, I had a marriage made in heaven, three wonderful little boys, great friends and a house with a white picket fence. I worked as a university instructor and at one of the nation’s top hospitals. All of my hard work had paid off, and I was on my way.

But in a matter of months, my picture-perfect world was shattered. After the birth of my youngest son, I began to experience unusual physical symptoms such as extreme fatigue, numbness and tingling in my limbs, and loss of balance.

After undergoing months of testing and losing my vision in one eye, I heard the dreaded words: “You have multiple sclerosis.” Life as I knew it changed forever.

I would no longer be able to work and was declared legally disabled. My husband began to feel the pressures of being our family’s sole provider. Physically, he stayed for a while, but then, when I needed him most, he left. Our marriage ended in divorce in 2003.

Less than a week after the divorce papers were filed, I was getting out of my SUV around noon one day, in front of my church, when I was robbed at gunpoint. A man walked me to the alley of the church then commanded: “Turn around, run down that alley. Don’t look back. Run for your life.”

With tears rolling down my face and thinking about my three boys, I said, “The blood of Jesus!” And I ran for what seemed like an eternity; then I collapsed.

As I ran down that alley, I realized that God was with me. He spared my life that day. God is so awesome!

If it had not been for my relationship with Him, I would not have survived thus far. But I am a survivor–on many fronts. My prayer has been that my testimony would inspire others to hold on during the darkest hours because God is there.

In 2002, the Lord led me to organize the Walking With Faith team. This is a group of 100 people who participate each year with the National Multiple Sclerosis Society to raise funds to combat multiple sclerosis (MS).

I’ve also started a support group for Christian women with MS, Never Alone Inc. My children, along with other kids and their parents, founded Kids FUN-RAISE for Multiple Sclerosis Inc. Their goal is to raise support for those who have parents and loved ones battling MS. The fundraisers include Kids Roller Skate for MS, Kids Jump Rope for MS and Kids Bowl for MS.

I know the faithfulness of God. He continues to make a way out of no way. He says in His Word, “I will never leave nor forsake you” (Heb. 13:5, NKJV); and He hasn’t.

In my ideal world, God would sit me down with paper and pen and ask me to write out exactly how I would like my life to go. Much to my shock and chagrin, however, that is not the way God handles His business.

It was June 24, 2005 when I first received the news that I had cancer. Being the naïve 23-year-old, 6-month newlywed that I was, I reacted out of anger, fear, shock and disbelief. Finding the beauty and purpose in my situation was the last thing on my mind as my doctor began to tell me that the lump I had found on my leg was actually non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and that I would have to undergo eight rounds of aggressive chemotherapy.

Fingering my long locks of hair, I listened as the doctor said that I would lose all of my glorious mane, which I had just spent $65 to have highlighted!

There was no way that in those first overwhelming moments, I could have known all that was to come in my life through the journey of cancer. Having served God all my life, I figured that eventually, God would bring this all around for His glory, but I was less than thrilled with the platform He had chosen.

I was completely shocked, though, when I began my chemotherapy treatments and started to see God in a whole new light. It was almost as if I had really trusted that He could heal me of cancer, but somehow did not trust that even He could make my daily life beautiful in the midst of such a scary and horrible situation.

I was never so glad to be wrong in all my life! I began to see that if I just turned my situation over to God, He was ready, willing and able to take my burden and to be not only big, awesome healing God, but gentle, loving and compassionate Father as well.

I am a singer and songwriter and had begun working on producing a CD when I got the diagnosis. It would turn out that during my battle with cancer, most of the songs on my album, True Story, would come to me. Today, these songs are providing encouragement for others facing their own storms.

It completely rocked my life to see that happen and to realize that with Him, even the worst days of the storm were not nearly as bad as I thought they would be. He gave me strength, grace, joy and yes, even beauty, to make it through and come out stronger than ever before!

In July 2005 my husband called me at home. Although I had been resting, I was so breathless he assumed I was doing intense housework. Two days later, my hands shook so badly that I could hardly write.

That Sunday I couldn’t sing more than two words without losing my breath. Soon after, short walks left me breathless. My hair began to fall out and my weight decreased.

Immediately I agreed to undergo medical tests. Both my resting heart rate and active heart rate were abnormally high. My thyroid was producing hormones at a toxic level three times above the average.

Convinced I had Graves’ disease, my doctor called in a specialist who put me on eight pills a day. Three days after starting this prescription, I was covered with hives, forcing me to discontinue the medication. My specialist believed this reaction confirmed the diagnosis and that I should begin treatment immediately.

The first treatment option involved one of two prescriptions for hyperthyroidism. Knowing that I was allergic to one of the medicines, my specialist assumed I would also be allergic to the other.

My second option was iodine therapy. Radioactivity would destroy my thyroid, eliminating hormone production. Consequently, I would develop hypothyroidism and require hormone-replacement therapy the rest of my life. A third option—­thyroid removal—was ruled out because of my fast, irregular heart rate. I was given a week to choose which treatment I preferred.

I chose a fourth option: corporate prayer. My church and my family began praying regularly. My pastor placed a cloth that had been anointed with oil on my neck and prayed. I fell asleep praying with the cloth on my neck the night before I revisited my specialist.

During that visit, I felt much better, but my doctor assumed that I was trying to convince myself that I had improved. He was sure I had Graves’ disease and needed treatment. However, my weight gain and improved heart rate led him to test my blood once more.

Two hours after I left the hospital my specialist called and said: “Traci, your levels are so much better. Both your hormone and antibody levels are normal.” He said he had never seen symptoms such as mine just disappear. He rationalized that I must have had a form of hyperthyroidism unfamiliar to him.

During the following months my thyroid function was tested often. Each time, the doctor could not believe the disease was gone. After my final visit with him last spring, he released me from his care and printed on my lab report “PERFECT!”

Life can come at us really fast! I went to bed feeling fine and woke up the next day struggling for breath. However, one thing is certain: When we have done all we know to do, we can grab hold of the Word of God and hang on for dear life, knowing that He is faithful, His Word is true and that He never fails us.

“I didn’t die. I lived! And now I’m telling the world what God did” (Ps. 118:17, The Message).

I started having post-menopausal problems in 2002. An initial biopsy returned negative, and at first the problems were sporadic, but in 2006, they worsened. I prayed and asked the Lord to heal me as He had healed the woman with an issue of blood (see Mark 5:25-34).

Because I work at an OB/GYN practice, I knew I should have additional tests done. This time the results were positive for endometrial cancer. In my state of stunned denial, the Holy Spirit overpowered me with Isaiah 26:3, ” You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you” (NIV).

Although my flesh and mind were screaming “Why,” my spirit humbly surrendered to Jesus and asked “What?” I knew what the doctors and the tests said, but I, a precious child in the sight of my Father the King, needed to know what He had to say about all of this. The spirit of praise enabled me to be still, rest in Jesus and watch Him work.

Jesus surrounded me with a wall of love and support from my family, friends, church and mighty prayer warriors. He provided the best of the best physicians, providers, hospital staff and care. After being released from the hospital following surgery, I was blessed with a painless, speedy recovery.

As only He can do, Jesus tenderly spoke to my heart and said, “Here is the answer to your questions: Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

Through many other life-changing experiences, I have learned to worship God as El Shaddai, “Almighty God”; Jehovah Jireh, “The Lord Provides”; Jehovah Nissi, “The Lord Is My Banner”; and Jehovah Rapha, “The Lord Heals.” All the glory of this victory in my life goes solely to Jesus, my one true knight in shining armor who rescues me.

We should never underestimate the power of the Lord’s timing and the importance of doing His will. In 1980, my unsaved, alcoholic uncle was diagnosed with terminal cancer and given six months to live.

Throughout his life, my grandmother tried unsuccessfully to speak to Uncle Tim about godly matters. Unfortunately, even news of his impending death did not change his ways.

Miraculously, Uncle Tim lived 18 years after his diagnosis, all the while staying away from the Lord. During that time I grew close to him, looking beyond his intoxication to see a man for whom Jesus died.

I was startled one night when I heard the Spirit say, “Call your uncle and share My plan of salvation.”

“No, God,” I replied, “If I talk about You, he’ll bite my head off! Besides, he doesn’t even have a phone.”

“Look up his number in the phone book,” the Spirit pressed. I looked in the phone book, and there it was—my uncle’s number. Needless to say, I gingerly dialed the number. Upon hearing his frail voice, I told him that I loved him, talked about other matters and then asked him if he’d be willing to receive Jesus.

“Don’t tell me you’ve found religion,” he responded.

“No, Tim, I found a relationship with Jesus, and you can, too,” I replied. “You know that you’ve lived on borrowed time for 18 years, and I believe that God has kept you alive for just this moment.”

I asked him to respond in the affirmative to the sinner’s prayer, and he did. Before saying goodbye, I told him that I loved him and would see him in heaven.

The next day, my mother called my cousin to share the story. My cousin replied with startling news: Shortly after Uncle Tim accepted Christ, he fell into a coma and never recovered.

I cried knowing that I had almost refused to listen to the urging of the Lord. If I hadn’t shared the plan of salvation with my uncle, his soul would be on my hands. Since then, whenever I hear the Spirit urging me to do something, I try to respond quickly.

God had orchestrated everything to be just right for the time when my uncle would be ready to receive the gospel. How great is the gracious timing of our Lord!

Arriving home from work one day, I thought I was alone. God knew that I wasn’t. Making my way to the back of the house to take a relaxing shower, I turned on the light in the hallway. I also turned up the volume on the radio to hear it over the running water and the exhaust fan.

As I stepped out of the shower, something in the hall caught my eye. I walked from the bathroom to the bedroom and flipped on the light.

To my utter horror a stranger was standing by my bed, a stocking over his head and a knife in his hand. Terror constricted my throat, but inside I heard, “Call upon Me and I will deliver you.”

“Jesus!” burst from my lips, followed by “I bind you in the name of Jesus!” Immediately I ran down the hall. I knew my screams would not be heard over the radio, and I realized that I must get out of the house.

I reached the front door, but I knew I’d never get the security chain off in time. When I whirled around to face the masked intruder, he was standing two feet away. He raised his knife and bellowed: “I’ll cut you in pieces. Go lie down!”

The calming voice of God told me to obey the authority of that knife for the moment. I whispered, “In Jesus’ name I will lie down” over and over as I headed back toward my bedroom, assuming that the intruder was right behind me.

As I re-entered the hallway, I prayed, “Lord, I know it is not Your will that I die like this, and I don’t know how, but I know You are going to save me.” Entering my bedroom, I noticed the intruder was no longer behind me.

The Spirit of God told me he had left the house. After a few minutes I called 9-1-1. The police found the intruder’s tracks under the window, where he had apparently broken in, and by the back door where he’d probably exited. The deputy was surprised I escaped unharmed.

All I could reply was, “Jesus did it!”

I’ve learned that prayer can carry us through not only daily needs but through deadly crises as well. Even if we find ourselves trapped in a corner, we have a prayer weapon to use in our defense–the name of Jesus.