Prayer

Neil Leatherbarrow

Once again we have a guest writer. Mark and I became friends with Neil and Karen Leatherbarrow when we first arrived in Amsterdam in 1992. This lovely couple took us under their wings and became like family when we were there. They went on to have three beautiful children, two sons – Luke and Jason and a daughter – Charlotte. Tragically Charlotte was killed in an accident a few years back at the young age of 12. Neil has written an amazing book on his life which is just in the process of being professionally publish.

I am thrilled Neil has agreed to share an excerpt from this book that is soon to be released.

We arrived early and were invited to the prayer time before the meeting started. I instantly recognised the man from the tract I’d read. His face just seemed to glow. I felt like I was in the presence of some intense aura. I was really nervous, trying not to shake and a frail old man sitting next to me asked very gently if I was afraid. I couldn’t speak so I just nodded in affirmation. He reassured me there was no need to be. He laid his hand on my forehead and just spoke a simple prayer for peace. That was it, I immediately stopped shaking and felt a deep calm come over me.

I thought there was going to be a loud prayer of hellfire and brimstone or something. But there was no fanfare, no struggle, and in a matter of seconds I realised I was free from whatever was causing my nightmares. During the worship service the music was very joyful and I watched the old man praying for people. Some would shake like me, some made loud noises, and others would just fall over and then wake up a minute later. For a newcomer like me, this was probably the wackiest church service I’d ever attended.

At the end of the service, which must have carried on for at least two hours, I spoke with this delightful old man. I discovered his name was Jim. He was eighty-six years old and had been doing this kind of thing for the last forty years. He had a very kind-looking face with white hair and a gleeful look in his eyes. I asked him if I could follow him on his healing mission whenever he was near my town. He welcomed the idea and then set off in his old Austin Minor.

When I returned home that night, I was a different person, like a dark shadow had been lifted. I laid in my bed in the darkness and for the first time in eight years I felt calm and still. I slept so peacefully, no nightmares, no fear. I slept so well, I over-slept and ended up being late for college the next morning. I could never forget what had happened that night. I remembered watching the movie ‘Poltergeist’ and completely sympathising with the young girl who was haunted by an evil spirit. The demonic images in that movie were not fiction for me they were all too real in my nightmares. The difference I felt that night was radical, would it last was this change permanent? Only time would tell.

Knowing the strength of God is not just knowing the power of His name, and I by no means am taking away the significance of calling on His name, but I believe that is just the beginning. When Jim Rattenbury from the London Healing Mission called on the name of Jesus to take away my fear the result was immediate. The Bible says the “gifts of God are without repentance”(Roms 11:29), meaning no matter what state of mind or attitude of heart, that gift remains the same. When my fear was taken away an inner peace replaced that fear. That peace has always remained with me, whenever the storms in life have attacked me that inner peace has stood strong defying any presence of fear as if to say,

” Be still! You shall not overcome me.”

This peace is not something I had to practice or learn. It’s not something I had to earn as I progressed in my journey of faith. It is a gift given freely and exercised liberally with no cost, no strings attached. My Father in heaven gives good gifts to His children (Matt 7:11). One of the names of Jesus is the Prince of Peace and how do I know Him? I know His peace, a peace that passes all understanding (Philippians 4:7).

When I returned home from the prayer time with Jim, before I even went to bed I could feel the difference. As I stood in my room and closed my eyes I could feel the presence of peace in me, and all around me. It was tangible. No power of suggestive thought, no hypnotic trance, no chanting, not anything could beat the very real presence of God I felt in my room that night. That sense of peace has never left me since. Anybody who knows me can bear witness to this fact. The gift of God given to me so freely is how I know He is real.

The Leatherbarrow Family

I have spent a lot of time around creative people who are chaotic in nature, and the reason why they like having me around them is because I bring peace into their situation. This is not something I have to work at or try to conjure up. I just need to be myself. It is a gift. When I picked up writing my first book, it was not something I had trained for or perfected over many years of writing. After one year of writing and editing my book, and also many rejections later I was signed by my publisher. It is a gift. These gifts from God are not exclusive we all have gifts given to us freely. It is up to us to discover what those gifts are and how we can invest in them for the good of others as well as for ourselves. I believe this is part of what makes our journey with God so unique.

Hey all, I am so excited as we have a guest writer for the blog this week. I’d like to introduce David Holmes. Yes, as you might of guessed by the last name we are related. This is my amazing father in law! David has an amazing testimony and is a gifted writer. I know you will enjoy his insights.

One of my clearest childhood memories concerns an incident in my life that took place just before Christmas 1948. Every Sunday my mother would take my younger sister and I to church. This particular Sunday, on a singularly cold Yorkshire winter’s morning, my mother was striding determinedly on towards the church pushing a pram in which my sister was happily enjoying the view of the crisp snow from her snug and comfortable position. By contrast I was reluctantly being almost dragged along by my mother, clutching my most favourite toy, a shiny bright red toy railway engine, with wheels that actually went round.

Very best toy

Why the reluctance? Our church was collecting toys as gifts for local orphanage children who might otherwise have no joy on Christmas day. A most worthwhile and noble cause.

All well and good I thought, but why me? Or more particularly, why my very best toy, the one toy I couldn’t possibly live without? I had offered up alternatives: my fourth best toy: a stuffed giraffe with one ear missing (victim of a practice surgical operation that had gone wrong) and a wooden racing car that still had three wheels. I had even offered to donate my little sister. But all these eminently sensible alternatives had been peremptorily rejected by my mother who, I’m sure, was determined that I benefit from learning the noble Christian ethic that it is better to give than to receive.

I don’t recall learning that lesson then, instead I formed a (thankfully short-lived) resentment of orphans, and ever since that day the sight of a shiny red railway engine prods a nostalgic nerve in my psyche. Thomas, of course, doesn’t count – he’s blue.

David and Val in the U.S.

Move forward through sixty five years of life; school, university, marriage, children, grandchildren, overseas missions, several diverse working careers living in four different countries. Now my bride of fifty years and I use our retirement to be involved in a mission team that moves around the country building and renovating youth camps and churches that can’t afford the cost of the labour involved in much needed renovation or new facilities.

Its just after Christmas, I’m lying on my back on a hard wooden bottom bunk sanding off the underneath of the top bunk with a heavy, rackety orbital sander. Its very noisy in the confined space, I’m creating dust that would rival a sandstorm in the Sahara desert, its hot and sweaty work and my arms feel as if they are about to fall off. And its no consolation that I have completed eight of these bunks – because there’s another forty to go. To relieve the tedium of the job I start to pray. I don’t do that often on these jobs because, being a man, multitasking doesn’t come naturally, and the intellectual effort required to properly execute my building tasks usually precludes the ability to think of anything else – let alone converse with my saviour God.

But this sanding task, as well as being interminably tiring and dirty, is incredibly mindless. So prayer is a welcome parallel pastime. Most of my prayers start with thanks. I have a great deal to thank God for, this day, my life, my salvation. I start to think about the job I’m doing – can I really thank Him for this tiring discomfort? And then I’m reminded of my reluctant sacrifice of the best red fire engine in the world to some orphan that I would never even know.

And then I got it.

It is better to give than to receive.

David, Bonnie, Mark, Emerald & Val.

I thought about the tumultuous gaggle of ten year olds on a school camp who would use this freshly painted bunk room in the next week. They would have a ball; the camp is a great amenity; swimming pool, gymnasium, playing fields, great food and excellent facilities. And a passionate, dedicated, caring staff who do all they can to improve and enhance the lives of their young charges. And because of what our team was doing in renovating the bunk rooms, the experience those kids were about to have would be even greater. But even better than that the kids would be totally oblivious to the work that was now going on, they wouldn’t give the freshly painted bunks a second thought – but their experience would be so much the better for it. It seemed to exactly define the reason and reward for what we were doing. What a privilege.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Jesus thought along those lines as he suffered, and then died that we might live. Most of us don’t give that a second thought either, but without His sacrifice our lives wouldn’t even be worth living.

It is so very much better to give than to receive.

You should remember the words of the Lord Jesus: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’

Acts 20:35 New Living Translation

Written by David Holmes

Father in law of Suz Holmes

Grandad of the girls

Father to Mark Holmes (now residing in Heaven)