I have met two men who were providentially born again by reading a gospel tract. The first was back in the Jesus Revolution in the early 70's. He was a surfer who traveled the nation following the waves. I have heard him tell his story many times.
He had run from God and was finally at the end of his rope. The first time we met was on the coast of what is now called the Gulf of America. He had traveled from coast to coast, from pot party to pot party, from flop-house to flop-house. His story was like so many, but that one night he ran out of a place to spend the night. The streets had been rolled up and he was left all alone. From where he was, there was no one around, and down a long stretch of beach he saw in the distance one lonely light shining, so he followed the light. The light was in a telephone booth on the beach, but he had no money, not even to make a nickel call on the pay phone. The booth broke the cool nigh wind, so he decide he would do the best he could to take shelter there for the night. The wind was blowing through the vents in the bottom of the booth and he reached down and picked up a colorful gospel tract. The tract was about the loneliness of Jesus. "He came unto His own and they received Him not."
The tract took up the story of betrayal and my friend began to identify with the one the author was writing about. He was so moved, he wept as he read the tract there all alone, with a howling wind biting into his uncovered flesh and doing his best to protect himself from the elements. No preacher, no robed choir, only a gospel tract in his hands and the Holy Spirit doing what only what the Spirit alone can do. He gave breath to the Word of God and a transformation had taken place their on Galveston Island, another weary traveler saw the light. I like to think of it like this:
It was the power of the written Word; it was the story of Jesus in a Gospel tract, waiting providentially for him to read.
For a period of 6 or so months, GayNell and I moved back to the area where I was able to work as an Iron Worker, in Union 263, Fort Worth, Texas. I had good standing there, the pay was good, and jobs were plentiful at that time in that area of the country.
My first job there was for a company that was building a processing facility for the server systems of the fast growing city of Arlington, Texas, where I was raised. GayNell and I rented an apartment, praying about our next ministry move. The superintendent on the job site was a born again Nazarene Lay Minister who was a Godsend. You have often heard me say, "The Power is in the Telling." This is what I mean by that statement. He had a princely anointing on his life. His story was that he was a drunkard, and had come to the end (of what he thought) was the end of his life. It was a cold of winter night when his story unfolded before him. Some of you will know that Chicago sets on the southwest shore of Lake Michigan. He too had ended up distraught and alone; no plan for tomorrow. He set down on one of the river bridges under a lamp, with every intention to jump into the River and end it all.
If you could have heard his story, you would have been convinced that was going to be his last breath. The wind was howling and blew some paper up in a pile at his feet. Once again he opened it up to read what it said. To his amazement, it too was a Gospel tract, describing the loneliness of Jesus. Can you imagine the disappointment of Hell as he read the words about Jesus giving life to those who would believe in their hearts, and confess with their mouths, the Lord Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. He had been a convert for many years, but his testimony was just as fresh as the day he accepted the Lord there on that cold wind swept night contemplating suicide. I believe in Providence and I believe it was the Providence of God that blew that gospel tract up to the feet of both of these men in an hour of desperation. I think we need to sing some of these golden oldies from time to time:
We have heard the Macedonian call today:
You may be the one that helps a person come to the realization that they are the object of Christ's affection and the subject of His love.
You may be the providential connection between someone, and the purpose that God has created them for. Can you say to someone you meet this week, "I don't want to go to heaven without you?"
Providential Salutations,
Pastor Cleddie Keith
He had run from God and was finally at the end of his rope. The first time we met was on the coast of what is now called the Gulf of America. He had traveled from coast to coast, from pot party to pot party, from flop-house to flop-house. His story was like so many, but that one night he ran out of a place to spend the night. The streets had been rolled up and he was left all alone. From where he was, there was no one around, and down a long stretch of beach he saw in the distance one lonely light shining, so he followed the light. The light was in a telephone booth on the beach, but he had no money, not even to make a nickel call on the pay phone. The booth broke the cool nigh wind, so he decide he would do the best he could to take shelter there for the night. The wind was blowing through the vents in the bottom of the booth and he reached down and picked up a colorful gospel tract. The tract was about the loneliness of Jesus. "He came unto His own and they received Him not."
The tract took up the story of betrayal and my friend began to identify with the one the author was writing about. He was so moved, he wept as he read the tract there all alone, with a howling wind biting into his uncovered flesh and doing his best to protect himself from the elements. No preacher, no robed choir, only a gospel tract in his hands and the Holy Spirit doing what only what the Spirit alone can do. He gave breath to the Word of God and a transformation had taken place their on Galveston Island, another weary traveler saw the light. I like to think of it like this:
"Freedom Bells started ringing, the angels started singing. Yes, and another weary traveler saw the light."
It was the power of the written Word; it was the story of Jesus in a Gospel tract, waiting providentially for him to read.
For a period of 6 or so months, GayNell and I moved back to the area where I was able to work as an Iron Worker, in Union 263, Fort Worth, Texas. I had good standing there, the pay was good, and jobs were plentiful at that time in that area of the country.
My first job there was for a company that was building a processing facility for the server systems of the fast growing city of Arlington, Texas, where I was raised. GayNell and I rented an apartment, praying about our next ministry move. The superintendent on the job site was a born again Nazarene Lay Minister who was a Godsend. You have often heard me say, "The Power is in the Telling." This is what I mean by that statement. He had a princely anointing on his life. His story was that he was a drunkard, and had come to the end (of what he thought) was the end of his life. It was a cold of winter night when his story unfolded before him. Some of you will know that Chicago sets on the southwest shore of Lake Michigan. He too had ended up distraught and alone; no plan for tomorrow. He set down on one of the river bridges under a lamp, with every intention to jump into the River and end it all.
If you could have heard his story, you would have been convinced that was going to be his last breath. The wind was howling and blew some paper up in a pile at his feet. Once again he opened it up to read what it said. To his amazement, it too was a Gospel tract, describing the loneliness of Jesus. Can you imagine the disappointment of Hell as he read the words about Jesus giving life to those who would believe in their hearts, and confess with their mouths, the Lord Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. He had been a convert for many years, but his testimony was just as fresh as the day he accepted the Lord there on that cold wind swept night contemplating suicide. I believe in Providence and I believe it was the Providence of God that blew that gospel tract up to the feet of both of these men in an hour of desperation. I think we need to sing some of these golden oldies from time to time:
There's a call comes ringing, Ore the restless waves,
Send the Light,
The Precious Gospel light,
Let it shine from shore to shore.
There are souls to rescue,
There are souls to save,
Let it shine for evermore.
We have heard the Macedonian call today:
"And a vision appeared to Paul in the night; There stood a man of Macedonia, and prayed him, saying, Come over into Macedonia, and help us." Acts 16:9;
"Send the light! Send the light!"
And a golden offering at the cross we lay,
Send the light! Send the light!
Let us pray that grace may everywhere abound,
"Send the light! Send the light!"
And a Christ like spirit everywhere be found,
Send the light! Send the light!
Let us not grow weary in the work of love,
"Send the light! Send the light!"
Let us gather jewels for a crown above,
Send the light! Send the light!
You may be the one that helps a person come to the realization that they are the object of Christ's affection and the subject of His love.
You may be the providential connection between someone, and the purpose that God has created them for. Can you say to someone you meet this week, "I don't want to go to heaven without you?"
Providential Salutations,
Pastor Cleddie Keith
Posted in Providence