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[Excerpt from Watchman, What of the Night, volume 6 of Voice in the Wilderness]

Sunshine and dirt … with maybe a little bit of water thrown in.  That’s all!  Everything comes from sunshine and dirt.  And scientists are spending billions on trying to figure out how He did it.

From grass to milk and ice cream; computers and rocket ships to wood and sand and sea; from steel to human flesh – it’s all made from some simple basic things that come out of the ground.  And if you really want to get amazed, those things can be broken down into even simpler elements.

Have you ever wondered what God was thinking when He created the giraffe?  Was He just having fun?  “Let’s see, if I take this nucleotide and switch it with that one over there in the DNA, what will I get?  Oops, a platypus!”  There’s a lot of crazy looking animals out there, especially insects, that are far beyond what any of our feeble imaginations could dream up.  I wonder what He has in store for us in the next world.

I think one of the greatest proofs of Creation is Music.  Now how did God come up with that?  It ranks right up there with Love and Color.  What an imagination!  How did God dream up even the very idea of those concepts? And please don’t brush it away with convoluted referrals to the magic of evolution as if Music just popped out of a Pre-Cambrian cloud.

I’ve read some idiotic scientific dissertations that attempt to explain Love, how color works, and why music affects our souls, but they end up sounding more like desperate attempts to discount the existence of God at all costs.  You see, if they can’t disprove God’s existence, then they must acknowledge sin … and that means there is a Hell, and that means you can’t get away with sin.  Uh-oh.

So, they keep trying in their attempts to exalt Science over Faith.

God made everything so simple that it is astounding, including Life itself, but the Intelligentsia of modern society looks down on the simplicity of Faith as if it were the uneducated realm of the uninitiated and naïve. In their concept of the progress of evolution, Christians are placed somewhere between the ape and the scientist.  They disdain Faith, but it takes a lot more blind faith to accept their theories about the origin of the Universe than it does to recognize the supreme omnipotence of an Almighty God.

Still, they keep trying. In their pomposity, they think can create life in a test tube — just give ‘em enough time, they say.  (While you’re at it, can you manufacture a Universe? Or how about the dirt to make it out of?)

The deeper physicists delve into reality, however, the spookier things become.  The string theory says there are 11 dimensions (that’s down from the 17 they thought there were), but of course that doesn’t sync up with their other conflicting theories.  If you want to watch them get really tongue-tied, try asking them to explain how Entangled Particles work.  The more we discover, it seems, the more it points to God.

Nevertheless, instead of acknowledging the Creator, they want us to trust their superior intellect and believe them instead, and we’ll call it Science.

At least Faith makes sense.

“Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written, He taketh the wise in their own craftiness.
And again, The Lord knoweth the thoughts of the wise, that they are vain.”     1Corinthians 3:18-20

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Quietness

Have you ever been out in the middle of a calm sea with no wind or waves to break the monotony?  The circle of the horizon offers no points of distinction, and the calm, still air smothers any sense of direction.  You sit still in a boat without oars as you feel time dissolve around you.  With no place to go, and no way to get there, you find yourself in a situation where you have to yield to the suppression of your spirit as even the air itself smothers you into silence.

There are times in your Christian walk that God will bring you into such a solitary place.  It is not only a time for reflection, but also for the quieting of your own spirit.  It is one of the toughest experiences that you ever have to go through in God, but when He places you there, you have no choice but to sit still and wait.

All the great personalities in the Word of God went through times like that before they were called into the thick of what would become the real essence of their ministry.  Abraham had his walk through the land of Canaan, never understanding where he was going or why.  Moses had his 40 years on the backside of the desert.  Joseph cooled his heels in prison, forgotten by everyone for years.  Elijah did his time in the desert, as did Paul and Jesus.  Jonah only spent 3 days in the belly of a whale, but I’m sure he would have traded that with Moses’ 40 years in a heartbeat.

When we begin our journey in life to serve the Lord, we often rush headlong in zeal and excitement to accomplish the great things that we feel are set before us.  We charge off on our white stallion to conquer the forces of darkness and set the captives free.  The rush of the wind blowing through our hair as we hold up the Blood-Stained Banner in a galloping charge is exhilarating.  The thrill of victory runs through us as we battle through one enemy after another.

But then the time comes when we find ourselves in that quiet place, and the adrenaline that was pumping through our veins drains out of us, leaving us frantic in the midst of the calm.  While we fret about being abandoned and left out to fallow, we wonder what did we do wrong?  

Has God forsaken us for someone else?  It feels like being left by a faithless lover for someone who is younger and better looking.  Satan is right there at our shoulder to confirm all this.  He whispers to us that we’re finished, washed up, and God is done with us.  It is hard not to despair when all around you, others are charging off into their own victories with that same look of conquest on their faces that you had at one time.

If God would just set us down and explain to us what is going on, this would be easy.  But then, that’s the whole point – it isn’t supposed to be easy.  Battles are easy because at least you know what is going on, but sitting in the midst of this barren desert is killing you.  Common sense and carnal reasoning cries that this is a mistake – God should be using you in some strong way, especially since you have proven yourself so faithful in all that you have fought for.  You have done everything He has asked of you, so why has He dropped you off into a cloud of nothingness?

These are the times that break your spirit and take the “you” out of “you”.  You are left with nothing that remains of the great Christian warrior you saw yourself as.  Your strength is drained, and you are left with only one thing – hope.  Not hope in your victories or your accomplishments, but with a hope in that faint glimmer that leads to the mercy of God.  Nothing else matters.

No matter how many miracles Jesus did, no matter how many dead He raised, no matter how many sermons He delivered, it was not until He was completely broken on that old rugged Cross, and had surrendered His life to death, that the greatest victory of all time was won.

Only when you have reached that same broken, crucified rest on the Cross, will your victory also be complete. 

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[Excerpt from soon to be published A Voice in the Wilderness, Volume 5]

“And Elijah said unto Ahab, Get thee up, eat and drink; for there is a sound of abundance of rain.”  I Kings 18:41

Last night, as we were in a prayer meeting of saints crying out for a fresh new move of God, the Lord opened my ears to hear what Elijah heard.

The events concerning Elijah’s ministry have deep significance for these last days.  From the time when he first presents himself to Ahab and declares a drought unto the time when he is chased into the desert by Jezebel’s persecution, we see a picture of how end-time events will unfold.

In a time of seeming great prosperity for backslidden Israel, Elijah’s prophetic word of a coming drought seemed absurd.  The judgments of God seemed far away from the lush green fields and prosperity that was all around.  Life was good, and no one expected it to change.

And out of nowhere, comes this hairy man that no one has heard of and stands right in the face of the king to declare something that on the surface seems laughable.  Who was this unknown peasant with an outrageous attitude to rebuke the king himself right in the middle of the king’s court?

But three years later, no one was laughing. 

We have gone through several years of spiritual drought.  Prophets of God – real prophets of God – have warned us, but no one was listening.  On the contrary, we have been inundated with hordes of preachers declaring peace, prosperity and blessings upon the people of God.  We have flocked to their seminars, bought their books and videos, and paid them money to hear more.  For a season, it seemed so prophetic — we have found a new path into God’s prosperity that all the old-timers from the brush arbor revival days were never aware of.

They preached the Fear of the Lord and a crucified walk of sacrifice, but we have heaped up to us teachers that have illuminated a new, better way of “love” that is so much more enlightening.

But now, like Gideon, we wonder where are all the miracles that we used to see?  Where are the piles of discarded crutches, the packed altars with broken hearts, the supernatural outpourings on our services and all-night prayer meetings – for that matter, where are our prayer meetings?  We are in the midst of the drought, and we are just now noticing our dry throats and cracked lips that once were anointed with the Spirit of God.

After 3 years of drought when there was no moving of the Spirit of God in Israel, Elijah called forth a final showdown with Baal.  Judgment was set upon a mountaintop where the fire of God fell and devoured the priests and prophets of the established churches of the land.  And still, there was no revival – just a mumbled acknowledgment of what was obvious, but no heartfelt repentance.  After all, not only had the people just witnessed the death of their beloved local pastors and prophets, but with them, the demise of their hopes for prosperity and a life of religious ease.

But then Elijah turns to Ahab and tells him that he hears the sound of an abundance of a rain. 

I heard that sound last night. 

It was the sound of desperate hearts crying out to God to please forgive us for our idolatry, to have mercy on us and send a revival, not just for us, but for all those souls out there who have been lost because of our apostate ways.  I could hear the echoes of Nehemiah and of Daniel when they too had cried out in repentance for God to have mercy on His people and restore us once again.

There was a melding of voices as I could feel them funneling straight up to the Throne of God, driven by the sorrow of tears that flowed from broken hearts.  And then, intermingled with them, was the drip, drip, drip of the tears of God falling to the Earth for His people.

It was the sound of abundance of rain.

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I prayed through my 9-year-old daughter yesterday.

Talk about a thrill!  There is nothing like seeing a little girl’s heart open up wide with tears because she wants to be close to Jesus and walk hand-in-hand with Him. 

I just have to tell you how it happened.  As we always do on Sunday morning, we were reading Bible – this time we were going through Psalm 147 a verse at a time.  As she started asking questions, one right after the other, I could sense the Lord tugging on her little heart in a particular direction, so I just let it flow along, watching to see which direction the questions would take. 

Her heart was emptying out on the table with things that must have been lying in there for a while.  It is always amazing to me how the Lord deals with little children.  You may think that they aren’t aware of a lot of deep spiritual issues, but never underestimate how much God loves these precious little souls.  Some of her questions had me up against the ropes, but I answered them as honestly as I could, just as I would have explained them to an adult.  (I just figured that if the Lord put the question in her heart, then He must have put the ability to understand the answer in there also.)  She understood each one.

Little kids really love Jesus, not like you would love someone on earth, but with something very different and very special.  She not only wanted to go to Heaven, she wanted that special relationship with God that can only be realized through Salvation.

She also understood the concept of Hell.  Don’t let anyone tell you that they are too young to understand the severity of Judgment.  They can understand it as well as anyone, probably better than most because they haven’t complicated it with psycho-theories and the intelligent complacencies we listen to.

What about Grandpa and Nana?  Will they go to Heaven too?  Understanding how the promises of God work was simple once it was explained.  I was amazed at her ability to grasp that, if we gave ourselves to serving the Lord, how He would work for us toward our family.  It was simple stuff to a 9-year-old!

When she was ready, we prayed.  At the end of the prayer, when I was praising and thanking the Lord, she went silent.  Immediately, I started wondering if it had really worked. 

Stupid me.

Her hands went up, almost to touch the sky, and you could feel the Spirit of the Lord floating down like fresh falling snow.  I didn’t dare disturb her, even though I was dying to ask her, “Did you feel it?  Did you feel the Spirit of God wash you clean?  Did you touch the Throne of God?”

I just waited as the tears flowed, her hands went higher, and her little face lit up with the glory of God.

“But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:14)

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It feels like I’ve been in a whirlwind here in Liberia. After a quick introduction on Sunday, I was launched into a fierce set of meetings, morning and night, for three days.

I am not a calm and casual preacher. I pour my heart and soul into the message the entire time I am on my feet. Actually, it is more a matter of allowing the Holy Spirit to pour like a river through me. When I am done an hour later, I am completely drained, soaked in sweat, and barely able to stand. This is how it always is for me.

After the morning service, my driver takes me back to the hotel where I collapse for a couple hours, shower, and head back for the evening session. Then back to the hotel when we are done and repeat. I’m okay, but I’m getting a little fuzzy.

But the response is great! The Spirit of the Lord connects with everyone immediately. It’s as if they are already prepped and ready with open hearts to receive everything God has for them, and He rejoices in giving to them. I rarely know what I am going to say before I get up, but as soon as I do, I can feel the Lord turn me into His message for the service. Then it is a matter of just hanging on and following the flow of the river that He pours out. For the next hour, I am in that flow and am barely aware of anything else. And then when it is done, it is done.

I am told that this is the way preachers in America used to preach back a generation or so ago. It was never a matter of preparing your message, but more a matter of preparing yourself to yield unto the leading of the Holy Ghost. Open your mouth and He will fill it. But now, Bible colleges teach our young all the methods of outline and organization to fully prepare your speech or lecture to the congregation. And if you feel lost, that’s okay because you can simply purchase your message off the internet for a small sum, complete with video, outline and bulleted points. How convenient! Maybe they also have the canned applause.

But stale bread and sour wine will never inspire hungry souls.

There’s no faking it here. The Spirit of God is moving too strongly with these people. I am continually told that they don’t like American preachers because we do not preach the same message we did 50 years ago. I have literally heard that hundreds of times. They like our money and will come to the great mega crusades because we pay their pastors to bring their churches, but the next day after they are gone, everything goes back to the way it was.

Is it a small wonder that we are seeing so many miracles here and so few in America? Yesterday, just to make a point, I had one person who was in pain stand up and another person come over to pray over her. Healed! Then I did it again. And again. Each time the healing was immediate. I can do this all across Africa, from Kenya to Liberia any day of the week.

Why is that? Maybe they just expect a miracle. Maybe they just need God more than we do. Maybe a lot of things. I honestly don’t know. I will leave it to the smart theologians to write a book on how to do healings – they’ve never done it themselves, but I’m sure they can tell us all about how its supposed to be done.

What is my point? Theology and modern religion has lost it’s heart. We’ve become institutional and programmed to the point that we have lost the art of surrender. We know too much. The Bread we bring forth is no longer fresh from the oven of the Altar. It’s stale, hard, dry and tasteless. Our wine has gone sour and is more like vinegar than the wine of the Holy Spirit. We need revival so bad that it hurts.

But we are the last to realize it.

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“Then Jonah prayed unto the Lord his God out of the fish’s belly …” (Jonah 2:1)

I imagine it was a bright sunny day – blue skies, birds singing, gentle breeze blowing in from the sea. It must have been a beautiful day. At least it was for Jonah. After three days of hell, he had finally been delivered out of the belly of that whale.  He might have been slimy and acid-eaten, but he was standing on dry ground … alive!  Yes, it must have been a beautiful day.

But this ordeal wasn’t about Jonah. The survival of 120,000 people was depending on this. I’m not sure if Jonah did not want God to deliver the Assyrians, or if he was just plain scared to walk into the midst of this fierce, merciless people and tell them they were going to hell. The point is, he didn’t want to go.

But God did.

Acts of mercy that we perform are generated, not from our own wells of charity, but from the heart of God. He just allows us to participate. And it is prayer that unlocks the door to that mercy.

It may be hard for us to believe that our little tiny prayers could move continents and drop mountains into the sea, but are we limiting God or ourselves?  James 5:16 says that the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much. Much – as in, a lot, because prayer unties the hands of God so that our works of faith become His works of action. True, there are conditions that God requires for effective prayer, but there are no limitations. If you can imagine it, God can do it.

Prayer is an act of mercy.  Mercy, even unintended, is still mercy. We may be praying for something entirely different – Jonah was certainly not praying for the Ninevites – but the effects of prayer, like the random twists and turns of a stream on its way to the sea, can often take circuitous routes to reach God’s intended purpose. We are just required to pray. And prayer moves God. And it may not be in the way you intended.

The works of faith can move mountains. They may not be the mountains you were concerned about, but sometimes God puts you into a situation where you have to pray your heart out, often for your own deliverance, just so He can work through your prayers to bring about unintended consequences and move in ways that you could not have imagined.

Including saving 120,000 people who you never intended to save.

 

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I am in Ughelli, a small city in Delta State of Nigeria. I’d try to google what the population is but the internet is so slow here, it would take 15 minutes just to get an answer. Probably close to 100,000. There are people crawling all over the place no matter where you look.

Nigeria is very crowded in the south, but the infrastructure is undeveloped. There’s lots of people, but not a well-developed retail environment.  All those billions upon billions pour in from the oil that is being drilled, but they can’t fix the roads, keep the electricity on, or build a modern infrastructure. I am repeatedly told that it is because of the deep level of corruption here. It’s in the air, in the way they think, and the way they act. They could be one of the most developed countries in Africa except for this cancer that has robbed them of their prosperity.

I wonder if there is a correlation with the Church in Nigeria. You see signs and banners everywhere advertising the next great miracle conference, the next Night of Miracles, or the next incredible, spectacular, fantastic, death-defying, miracle-generating, prosperity-showering, supernatural three-ring circus. Step right up folks! Get your once in a lifetime anointing to fix all your problems, solve your money worries, and generally make you feel a lot better.

And yet, sin is endemic and the corruption leaches out of these religious snake oil salesmen like the ooze of a poisonous wound. The people are so starved for the truth that they will grasp for anything, hoping that God will somehow see their plight and bestow upon them their showers of blessings. And so they flock to these false prophets that are everywhere like fleas on a dog, and end up feeding the very corruption that is destroying them.

But there are those who see and understand. They know that the Gospel is not about themselves; it is about others. This is the great challenge for Nigeria, for revival cannot take root in poisoned soil. They recognize the darkness for what it is and are determined to stand for the truth. But you rarely find them in the big churches. It always seems to be the pastors of the small congregations who recognize that this fake prosperity message is nothing more than Satan’s plan to keep the Church away from repentance, from true holiness, and from a willingness to carry the cross in sacrifice so others can escape Hell.

Hasn’t that always been the way? Throughout history, revivals have most often been birthed outside the theological established halls of religion and have been more revolution than revival.

I have visited some these churches this week. I can tell they are ready for a true Holy Ghost revival because of their overwhelming response to the message of repentance, righteousness, and revival. They get it. And they’re excited to hear it. And they want more.  They want revival and they recognize that this old-fashioned message is the way to get it.

I am looking forward to a time when not the fiscal but the spiritual prosperity will bloom and the infrastructure of the gifts and operation of the Holy Spirit rises up out of the rubble of this failed religious chicanery. For that to happen, these men and women will have to challenge this endemic corruption in the Church. It will not be easy or quick, but I believe there are heroes-in-the-making here who will hold up the Blood Stained Banner over this country and declare victory.

Brother Dale — (Join our email list)

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It was snowing as I left Germany, but it was sultry and hot as I arrived in Lagos. Three days of traveling across who knows how many miles have left me ready to get it over with. But it’s not done. Because of flight delays, I have lost my seat on the plane to Warri, Nigeria. Instead I have to wrangle a ticket re-issue at the Lagos airport. Seems simple, right? Oh, but then you haven’t been to Lagos!

At 5:30 in the morning, the domestic terminal is a madhouse. I was hoping that there wouldn’t be many people here and I would be able to get a new ticket easily and simply, but the opposite is the case.  Immediately on getting out of the cab, I am scooped up by a couple of guys that quickly throw my luggage on a cart and start wheeling me into the terminal. This is normal here. They’re just trying to make a few bucks by carrying your bags.

When I try to beg off, I find out that they are some kind of official Porters that are informing me that their job is to do all the paperwork for me. Just sit down and relax. “Doan warry!” (Whenever I hear that, I start worrying.)

At this point, I am so worn out from what I’d been through the last couple days that I don’t care if they are scamming me or not. Take the money; just get me on the plane. Two hundred bucks later, I have a new ticket, my excess baggage is paid and loaded, and I am actually able to get on the plane.

Except that I can’t go to Warri. The flight is full, so I have to go to Benin, which is a couple hours away from where my first conference meeting is about to start.

What a great start to this trip!  Boy, I can’t wait to see what else is in store for me.

Despite everything, however, everyone was waiting for me and I just rolled on up to the pulpit soon after we walked in as if nothing was wrong.

Service was great. At least they said so. I’m not sure what I said. The inertia from travelling was still carrying me along and I was operating on automatic pilot. Pastors were excited and vowed to take this message to the streets, while others were saying that they had never heard these things before. Which is kind of surprising to me because it’s just stuff out of the Bible. Don’t they read?

The evening service was even better. I was still pretty tired, but at least I had caught a nap before getting up behind the pulpit again. We are at a church that I was at five years ago when it was only four months old. They keep calling me Papa because they say that I started the fire back then that launched their church.

That’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that. I believe that most of the places I have been to want revival and are willing to do what the Lord requires — they just don’t know what to do. But when they hear it broken down into a step-by-step manner, the light comes on and the belief is planted in them that they can actually do this. They just have to start.

Over the years, we have heard hundreds of reports of how these little churches will catch the fire and grow. Sometimes it’s just doubling or quadrupling the size of the church; sometimes it’s planting new churches; sometimes it is heading off into the bush to bring this message to other churches just like I am doing. It’s as if they have been waiting for someone to come along and tell them what to do and then get out of the way and watch them go.

There’s a hunger here that must be fed. I see that same hunger in every place throughout history wherever revival has broken out. We have planted the idea in their hearts that, yes, they can do this. And while it may not be easy, it is simple. They just need someone to point out the direction.

I don’t know when or how this last Great African Revival will start, but it will start. I believe that we will hit a flash point and it will all rise up together in a might conflagration. We just have to keep sowing the seed of that idea into them.

 

Brother  Dale

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We’re here in Buchanan City. Buchanan would be a moderate city for Liberia, but it’s really, really run down. We met with the Governor and his chief Religious Officer for the area. They are both strong, excitable Christians. As the Religious Officer shook my hand, he said, “I can tell there’s fire in your eyes.” I thought, wow, this is a good sign.
The services we had were a conference for over 20 churches in the area that wanted to join the Revivalfire Movement of Liberia. This is a new organization that was set up by Pastors Momo and Theo to continue the message of revival that I brought back in 2014 during the Ebola Crisis. About 50 people showed up ready to absorb everything they could. They want revival and are like sponges soaking up everything I tell them.

Services were great. I didn’t need an interpreter, and that always makes it so much easier. The schedule was for two services a day – one in the morning, one in the evening, a women’s conference on the fourth day, and then an ordination service for me to anoint, commission, and ordain pastors and apostles to this organization. I guess that makes me a bishop now.

Right from the start, the momentum started to pick up and the services were on fire. Blazing services! The Spirit of the Lord was moving so strong that they were with me every step of the way. Some of them would even quote verses before I got around to quoting them. No matter how strong or controversial I was, they were right in sync with me. They got it!

I passed out the Four Steps to Revival and our Revivalfire brochures to everyone. They held on to them as if they were life preservers. These people were serious. They were serious not only about revival, but about what it takes to have one. They understand that there is a price to pay for any move of God, and but that the messages that are coming out of America – the bland, Jesus-loves-you messages – are not doing anybody any good. Those kind of homogenized, placid messages will never effect change because they don’t challenge the hypocrisy that inhabits the church.

The questions at the end of each session reflected that same understanding. “What about false prophets that say things that never happen?” “What about ordinations and titles?” These were things that they knew were wrong but had inserted themselves into the church. They exhibited a level of understanding that you don’t see in many other places.

In other places where we do not see that level of understanding and participation, we still see great moves of God because there is always a handful of people that are willing to light the torch and head off into the darkness to plant churches and start revivals. So what can we expect here? If only a handful have done great things in other places as a result of these meetings, what will happen here in Liberia where the response is so much greater?

I am pretty excited, but I am so worn out that it is only the excitement that keeps me up and running. When I get back to the hotel, I collapse. I’m not as young as I used to be. Or is it that the devil is fighting us stronger because he can see what is happening here?

It may not be easy out here, but I am looking forward to some great things to happen.

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The African soul is tied closely to the earth, almost as if was somehow merged with the soil from which we have all come from. It’s not the bare feet or the rural setting that you find here, but more of a huskiness and an earthy feel to everything, from their art and music, to the brightly colored primitive designs of their fabrics that they wrap themselves in that lends color and atmosphere to the air you breath. It’s as if their connection with Mother Earth inhabits their very breath.

Western sophistication seems artificial in contrast. Our high-paced electric intensity, lit in the neon lights of our digital society, may seem brighter at first glance, but somehow loses a depth of color that hints at a depth of soul that is shallow in comparison. It’s something that is hard to put in words but can be felt when you are here, immersed in their midst.

True revival is not based on money or sophistication. Actually, I believe those things actually work against a true revival. When we become set on our own artificial substance and abilities, we lose the essential reliance upon God that is an absolute requirement for God to move among us.

Not” by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, saith the LORD of hosts.” (Zech. 4:6)

Revival will break out in Africa first because they need Him more than we do in the West. Yes, they have a long way to go in other essentials, but their hearts have a childlike reliance on God that we have lost. They can learn to do those other essentials, but it is not so easy for us to change our soul.

I don’t know what to think about all these things. I look out over the patchwork of tiny garden plots amidst the shambles of worn out shacks, poverty, and dirt and I wonder how will God do this? Is this really possible that He will raise these simple, earthy people to a place of revival that the world will envy?

But then, that would be just like Him to do that.

Me? I will just keep on hammering out this message that He has given me. It seems to be working everywhere that I have brought it. Sometimes I wonder how that is possible to go to places no one else will go, to wring out my soul to a small people in small churches in desolate places, and watch them ignite in place after place.

The Lord gave me a vision once where I could see myself taking precious seeds and sticking them deep into foot-high furrows of soft brown earth. The seed will germinate in its time and miraculously reappear as a harvest.

I don’t have to know how; I just have to keep planting that seed into those soft furrows of earth and pray that the rain will soften the hard fallow ground back home.

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