tag:jimndee.com,2005:/blogs/the-latest-musings-from-jim-and-or-dee?p=2The Latest Musings from Jim and/or Dee2021-07-05T12:00:09-05:00Jim & Dee Pattonfalsetag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/66794462021-07-05T12:00:09-05:002023-05-14T01:07:34-05:00God Has Options<p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/67fd4c7104a4a4ca070aec987da03cd9d2982965/original/img-0166.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p>One day, while alone and running errands, I was praying. I am almost always inclined to pray when behind the wheel and no one else is in the car. I quieted my mind and heart to listen, mulling over what I had just been praying about. I seem to remember I had been calling out for help about a certain thorny thing and was wondering, even brooding in my spirit regarding the prayer I had offered up. </p><p>Suddenly I realized that the Lord WAS providing help where little or no human help seemed forthcoming in that situation. I could leave it with Him. Comforted. He was providing help in the form of His own precious Holy Spirit to listen to my prayer and take it into His loving consideration. He knew already how it should be answered and would lovingly have heavens resources directed by that prayer and to the need. By that I do not mean detailed, specific direction necessarily, although I do know that sometimes as we press in for a certain specific thing it is so. But in that hearing, He is hearing my heart more than my words and follows my heart back to my actual need, the "waters" begin to stir and eventually (Sometimes very soon indeed) the need, the thing at the core, will be addressed - and NOT often in any of the several ways I thought they could or even should be. Here's the thing. </p><p style="text-align:center;">I DO HAVE HELP! HE IS MY HELP! </p><p><br>If it was not so how is it that I am able to so entrust myself into His care! <br>He has proved it so many times; so very many times. <br>He just reserves the right to answer in His wisdom, and knows a lot more than I do about what His options are in answering these ongoing cries of my heart. </p><p>He provides help in both earthly things and heavenly things. Spiritual things and physical things. These things must be accomplished in heavenly realms before there can be breakthroughs in the world we live in and walk through, but that is not all. I believe that He will do this and, in fact does this for all of His people of humility and prayer, who trust in Him. Prayer adds impetus and strength to our fight against sin and plays a huge part in spiritual warfare! It also strengthens those who fight to protect us, enlighten us and encourage us in godly ways. It not only moves the hand of God, and changes things, but it adds power to what God already wants to do so badly when our own mouths speak to things that resonate with His own Great Heart. We are not without help when we pray understanding that the help He sends can be of His choosing and is not limited to the kind of help we, in our limited understanding might, at first, hope or even look for. In fact, if we cannot see Him in an answer that is not exactly as we prayed for then we have to wonder if we are trying to lead Him instead of allowing Him to lead us. </p><p>Since that day I try to dig a little deeper in an effort to speak, in my prayer, to the larger need and not just rattle on about the uncomfortable thing I am walking through. Oh, don't misunderstand. I still pour out my hurting heart to him and the thing I don't know what to do about. Nor do I feel guilty about thinking of ways my need can be met or even reminding Him of them, but most of the time I know that no matter how many ways I think of, He reserves the right to choose among the options He knows He has at his, oh so loving, finger tips and is not constrained to pick something off my personal mental list. </p><p style="text-align:center;">~In the end I must remember that prayer is as important as ever and more than we know~ </p><p style="text-align:center;"><br>But that <br>God ALWAYS has options I don't know anything about.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/66648812021-06-20T08:23:33-05:002021-12-17T12:55:57-06:00Who Gives This Woman?<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_large"><strong>"Who Gives This Woman" <br>The Quintessential Two Daddy Moment </strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I couldn't decide and it wasn't fair! </span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br><span class="font_large">How could I pick between the man who fathered me and loved me from afar, (People called him Bob. My Disneyland and Birthday Dinner Daddy. The rejected one. But not by me.) Or the man who raised me and provided for me while I grew. Not "Daddy", although he was as good as. But then how could we tell them apart when I spoke of one or the other. No, not Daddy, but Dad sometimes. Pops more often, but always "Lukie Bean." I was three when one was forced into the background of my life and the other took his place in the day to day working out of it.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span class="font_large"> <br>Daddy was cerebral, witty, and mildly sarcastic. Quiet. Stoic. Long suffering. A voracious reader and well spoken. Professional photographer, graphic designer and layout artist before the days of computer everything. For most of my growing up he was a corporate desk jockey working in the marketing department. Gentle with a touch of sadness. Former Marine. </span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/3c579387d8942eda087df44cd48ada1cb49a334e/original/22.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_none" alt="" /><br><span class="font_large">But Lukie Bean was funny. He was a fun Papa. Almost like a favorite, mischief making uncle. He worked hard. Outside in the sun. With his hands. Entrepreneur. General Contractor. He loved adventure. A prankster. A laugh-out-loud practical joker who loved to tease and made me learn to take it on the chin. I was allowed to get even, good-naturedly, but not angry. Creative in a whole different way. A poet. Life of the party. Jester. Navy Veteran. </span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/e0d1480495f071c3da0ec0cd4467630f151234cb/original/mom-21-face0.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJjb250ZW50LnNpdGV6b29nbGUuY29tIn0=/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_none" alt="" /><br><span class="font_large">But there was this oddity. One of the very oddest of oddities. To me an impossible strangeness. They both had the same name. Not just first name, but both first and middle names.<em><strong> Robert Eugene.</strong></em> Thankfully, their last names were not similar at all. That would have been just too weird. </span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br><span class="font_large">But anyway, I couldn't decide so I refused to decide. It didn't matter if it made them uncomfortable. It didn't matter if it made mother uncomfortable. It was their past, their choices and getting right with God, getting on with life and making peace with it all didn't change the reality. I never had and I never would choose sides. It was none of my doing. </span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br><span class="font_large">So I walked the isle that night, almost 50 years ago, Daddy on my left and Lukie Bean on my right and when the pastor asked "Who gives this woman....." They did as I asked (maybe for the first an only time) and said in perfect concert, taking it on the chin good-naturedly, "We Do!" </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_xl"><em><strong>Happy Father's Day</strong></em></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><br><span class="font_large"><em><strong>Miss you both</strong></em></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span class="font_large">See you soon</span></strong></p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/65000732020-12-21T18:19:27-06:002021-04-21T12:08:17-05:00A Dream From 1973 ~ The Walled City<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/1f75c69a3896eac1342530dc4cae32a1af4a188d/original/seaofsand.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I have always referred to this dream as: </p>
<p> "The Walled City" </p>
<p>When: Summer 1973 when I was 20-years-old </p>
<p>Where: Northern Minnesota (Gospel Ranch Youth Camp) </p>
<p>With whom: Serving with an evangelistic team as a part of the Agape Force during a week of intense ministry to young people at the camp. </p>
<p>In my dream I became aware that I was standing behind a low wall made of stone. It was something like the walls along the beaches of Southern California that divide the beach from the walkways, shops and housing on the inside of the wall. The wall was somewhere between thigh and hip high and I stood close enough to reach out and put my hand atop it. I was standing as if "at ease" looking out over that low wall. Before me, on the other side of the wall, there was an ocean consisting of sand that stretched out as far as the eye could see. No life of any kind broke the monotony of that sand sea and somehow I knew that this was exactly the right word for it. It was a sea of quicksand. One could not go over the wall and live. </p>
<p>There were no right angles in the wall as I scanned its length to the right and left. It curved slowly away behind me on either side. Directly in back of me and filling the space inside the circle of the wall, there were low buildings and huts made of rammed earth which was mostly sand. The area teemed with life. Things were green and lush everywhere, an oasis in a vast desert wasteland, watered by a single fountain that geysered upward and stood in the very center equidistant from every point on the wall. </p>
<p>Although the place was alive with activity, I was there in what I knew was my usual place alone. I looked about but my eyes returned every few seconds to the horizon. From the wall to that horizon there was still nothing. That felt wonderful to me. Just endless sand. I knew somehow that watching that horizon was the thing I was supposed to do even if I wasn’t sure why. </p>
<p>To both my left and right, just where the wall began to curve away from my sight another person stood. Another like me. Each wore the same kind of clothing as the other. A uniform perhaps? Looking down I saw I was wearing the same kind of garb. Loose fitting and Bedouin like. I began to realize that this was a walled city and that I was a warrior of some kind, but it didn't make a lot of sense. I had no weapon and the wall was very low, unlike a castle wall or any normal kind of fortress. </p>
<p>My job, I realized then, as if remembering something known for many years, was just to be there in my place, close to that wall. To be there standing and watching. </p>
<p>As I looked again toward the horizon over the sea of sand something large and ugly broke the surface and flew, as if to glide over the wall and into the city. My pulse quickened. Adrenaline spiked, but I stood watching. Unmoving. I didn't yell or sound an alarm of any kind. I just fixed my eyes on it and stood there. I knew in that moment that this was my post and my job was to stand unflinching. </p>
<p>As I stood, the monstrous winged thing flew ever closer, but just as it was close enough to see its twisted features and hear the beat of its wings the wall shot up of its own accord. A rushing upward. As it did I saw the creature try to gain height too late and a loud thud sounded with a cry of pain and fury from the beast. Yet the impact did not create even the slightest tremble in the wall; That low wall which by now I could not even see the top of. </p>
<p>As that attack passed into the past and the wall returned to its' normal height I remembered more. These attacks came often. Hardly a day without them. Things both real and unreal. I came, along with others like me, day after day and night after night in shifts to stand close, very close to this wall of living stone. I marveled at it. In the dream several more attacks of various kinds occurred while I stood and watched the wall in action. </p>
<p>Some attackers tried to fly or climb over that wall. Others to dig under it. But whatever came the wall would grow as high or dive as deep as was needed to keep each vile thing out that was trying to get in. I knew it had been this way for generations in this city. Standing close to the wall. Looking outward. Standing firm but at ease. Trusting. Staying close enough to the wall to touch it. Giving my life energy and attention to it and it to me. </p>
<p>But there was one last horrifying scene in my dream. </p>
<p>A dragon like creature, many times larger than any we had ever seen, assailed the wall in what had to be the worst attack in all the years of the wall and our city. </p>
<p>And we failed. Was it me or someone near me on the wall? I couldn't tell. It felt like it was me, but I couldn't remember flinching. Nevertheless it was the most horror I had ever experienced. Someone shrank back. Was it me? Someone turned as if to run. </p>
<p>When that happened connection with the living stone that formed the wall was broken and it exploded in that spot. The dragon flew right into the breach and began a horrible destruction. Then as if they had been waiting, other things began to enter there as well. Alarms sounded and warriors with weapons poured like ants out of the huts and buildings to meet the things coming through, but the devastation was horrific. </p>
<p>I was pushed aside and out of the way still weaponless, and in just that short time everything changed. Now I knew shame and I knew I could no longer stand the wall. </p>
<p>I somehow knew that I had a new job. A new assignment. No memories existed for this new assignment. The thing that must be done now; and this was all I knew, was that I had to seek something that was needed while shunned and shamed and shunted to the side as fires burned and battles raged within the city. </p>
<p>The entire wall had not yet broken so the city fought to protect that spot where the enemy had entered and hunt down the evil that had come in to destroy and infest. I found only one who would help me and that one came alongside. My job, our job was to find out where to look and to learn what must be done to repair the breach and then to do it. At any cost. </p>
<p>Then I woke up.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/63070172020-05-06T16:35:18-05:002023-05-14T01:04:24-05:00Beautiful In Her Robe (with coffee) <p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/440b1f4936ac7b7797df148867d9aee25b73bb82/original/mom-15a.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p><p>I am remembering mother today. I see her, all through the big house she managed, but mostly in the kitchen. She was a busy woman, so it’s funny that I see her now in her robe and realize that this is the way I saw her first and most as I was growing up. In her robe. In the kitchen. Getting us kids out the door to catch the bus. She wasn’t only busy, she was very productive. She did a lot. She accomplished a lot. But there she is, in my memory, in her robe, with coffee and her bible.</p><p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/ac733e1eff4c4d951a390975e036d7ec76df9420/original/dakesannointed.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /> <br>Most days I don’t think she got out of that robe until noon. I see her at her piano in her robe with her coffee sitting above the keys, singing and banging out melodies and chords. She sang really well, but she didn’t write songs. These were choruses and hymns. Mostly choruses. <br>Her robe had big pockets and sometimes she would carry one of her teacup toy poodles in one of those big robe pockets. She kept tissue in the other pocket. She was often crying and praying. Interceding. Especially when she thought she was alone. </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/dc423903ef25a0a325e714c50464de30ea8d84f8/original/mom-14.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p><p><br>My memories remind me that her mornings belonged to God. Oh, she got up pretty early to get , not only us, but Lukie Bean out the door to whatever job site he was working. There was embarrassment a few times when people showed up at the house a little too early in the morning. People like pastor Gregg. I remember one of those times. He was the one turning red and stammering when she answered the door in her big poofy robe without make up, hair not yet done, nor dressed for the day. At least the robe was modest. People outside the family rarely saw her not “put together.” She was very “Southern” like that. <br>But the house belonged to her and the Lord till noon. That’s all there was to it. And, as I think back I realize that this was the secret of her power with God. She did not waste those mornings. She spent them with Him. After Noon the world could intrude. She would sally forth clothed with a faith and fire that came from only one thing. Time with God. </p><p><br>Most of my own experience was different. I was also an early riser, but up early meant to get up, get ready and out the door to where I needed to be. School. Job. College. Whatever. Then, suddenly, I left home for full time missions with Agape Force where mornings were, thankfully, structured for that priority of time with Jesus. But this was far more regimented with reading schedules, chapels, breakfast prep and cleanup. Personal devotions. Corporate prayer. All that discipline was good for me and I’m positive produced good things, good habits in my life. But seeing mom today in my memory; alone with her coffee and her bible, in her robe, sitting at her piano in the living room. Wailing out her prayer from behind her closed bedroom door. Singing. Praying. Reading. I see a difference. <br>She never wrote a song or a book or a consistent journal that I know of. She didn’t preach, except to us kids as we looked hard into the carpet, and to Lukie Bean who would finally stop her and tell her she wasn’t the Holy Spirit. Though sometimes I wonder if it really WAS the Holy Spirit kind of pent up in her with no socially acceptable pressure valve in that Plan B, second chance that she had been given in life. <br>She took people in. Kids and others. Stragglers. She helped them. </p><p><br>She won souls. Neighbors and others.. She was bold as a lioness. But mostly she prayed. Not just in those mornings. But all through her day. Often, people were healed. She wasn’t one to take “no” for an answer ~ even from God. </p><p><br>Mother was far from perfect. Sometimes impatient. Sometimes proud it seemed, but it didn’t take the Lord long to deal with that when it tried to raise its head. She was broken, in some ways, because of abuse early in life, but she was fierce in her love for us and her love for Jesus. Sometimes she seemed cruel, but I’m certain she never meant to be. Those times, I think, were mostly my own childish perceptions stemming from that hunger we all have. You know the one. That hunger which we think is for unconditional love but is actually for unconditional approval. The first I had in spades and hearts. The other I had often enough, but of course, not always.</p><p> <br>But there, in the morning, with her coffee, her bible and her robe she walked the path and spent the time and did battle for souls, for healing, for her children and her grandchildren and so many others I will probably never know about till we get to talk again and she introduces me. Someday soon.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/48787282017-10-05T14:15:17-05:002021-12-29T04:28:18-06:00Mrs McSheep<p>We like stories about sheep. Jesus talked a lot about sheep. He even called us sheep. Baaaa. </p>
<p>Funny. I can’t dredge up any one specific memory about writing “Mrs McSheep.” I know we did write it, but I can’t remember exactly where we were or what specifically inspired us to, except that we were new parents around that time and we were very “into” fairy tales and children’s stories. Of course, we were “into” children’s stuff WAY before we became parents, but I digress. </p>
<p>It (the song) was probably written before our first daughter, Fawn Lorien, was born; during a time when I was threatening to miscarry and bedridden because of it. We wrote a lot of songs during that couple of months. Songs like “The Noah Suite” “Starlight Starbright” “Thanksgiving” and a handful of others that we still sing today. </p>
<p>But “Mrs McSheep” was a little different. It was the re-telling, in song, of a fairly well-known fairy tale. An exercise, if you will, in turning prose to verse, getting more story into less words and hopefully, coming up with something that succeeded in “evoking” something. Like many other standard fairy tales there are several versions of this one. Sometimes it’s goats instead of sheep, the number of sheep might vary and the ending might differ from one version to the next. In essence, however, the story is about a mother sheep that goes to market and has to leave her “lambs” at home. She warns them not to open the door to anyone but her and then sets out on her way, not knowing that a wolf has seen her leave. The wolf comes to the door, pretends to be the Mother Sheep and eventually deceives the lambs (or one of them at least) into opening the door to him. </p>
<p>Like most fairy tales the story works on several levels; as a simple tale for children who rarely see a truth behind the story, or on a deeper plane, addressing real issues about good and evil, deception and the immature or naive being duped and then having to be rescued. </p>
<p>We thought the story worked well as a parable. The devil, played by the wolf, waiting for an opportunity to deceive and destroy. It is a story as old and tragic as the “garden” when you replace the little lambs in this fairy story with our own little lambs in real life. Those of us who remember safer times in our own childhood will have to admit that this kind of evil is as old as the world itself, even if the level of the threat may ebb in a generation, perhaps because of a revival in history or a culture still somehow based on Godly principles. If you do feel the change, the increase in fear from one generation to the next, the sense of increasing danger and threat to our children, you're not alone. I feel it too. Big time. Yet, obviously, this kind of threat and fear has been around a long time if it birthed at least one and maybe more of our more famous fairy tales.</p>
<p>My first memory of performing “Mrs McSheep” in front of an audience is from August of 1976. The outreach was called “Three Weeks In August.” It was sweltering and miserable outside. I remember that much. The city was Houston Texas. A little later we remembered that time by asking “You know where liars go?” and the answer was always “Houston.” </p>
<p>Some time during that three week outreach, much of which has become a sweaty blur in the back of my mind, we performed “Mrs McSheep” to a gathering of some type. Two things about that evening were memorable. ONE, I think I was a little anxious about the kind of reception the song might receive, especially from leadership. It wasn’t very “overt” in its message and I didn’t know if people would “get it.” TWO, our friend and fellow missionary, Georgian Banov, (who had escaped to the US from Communist Bulgaria in the early 70’s and had since become a follower of Jesus) played with us that day. He played his flute and, in my opinion, it added a haunting, old world, quality to the song that will forever linger in my mind. The flute has given way to a harmonica and I like that too - since neither Jim nor I play the flute I guess it will have to do. No. Really. I like it this way. :)</p>
<p>For us, the song is about Spiritual Warfare. It’s about deception and about the possible fatal consequences of being careless with instructions given to us for the safety of our body and soul. If I had written the same song later in life, I might have tried to include the standard fairy tale rescue scene which often includes a woodsman, an ax and a seriously dead wolf, but even as is the song is almost 4 minutes long. That's REALLY long for a Jim & Dee song.</p>
<p>But back then it was more about the warning anyway, about the warfare and about the evil intentions of the enemy of our souls. Sometimes now, when a child hears us play “Mrs McSheep” for the first time and his eyes get as big as saucers or she shrinks into her chair just a bit, we might ask one of the other kids to finish the story. But sadly, the truth is that Mrs McSheep doesn’t always conquer the wolf in time and as the warfare over souls escalates, deception of all kinds is increasing as well. </p>
<p>There is actually a rescuer, who laid a trap for the wolf long ago, but he isn’t a Woodsman and he didn’t just happen to be in the neighborhood. He’s a Shepherd. THE Shepherd. He and the wolf have long history but the Shepherd has a Helper uniquely qualified to assist in the rescue and ongoing education and protection of His sheep.</p>
<p>If you are still alive there in the belly of the wolf, take heart and read this. </p>
<p>But when He, the Spirit of Truth comes, He will guide you into all the Truth; for He will not speak of His own initiative, but whatever He hears He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come. John 16:13 </p>
<p>Now that’s a Shepherd and His “sheepdog” I’m happy to have around. Baaaa.</p>
<p>Check out the song "Mrs McSheep" right here at the end of this blog post OR as parat of the podcast it was part of <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://mohpodcast.podbean.com/">HERE</a> or <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.moh.org/moh-podcast" style="">HERE.</a></p>
<p>Cartoon by <a contents="Chuck Jones" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.chuckjones.com/">Chuck Jones</a> - Famous Artist & Animator</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/3895cf422a02dcd3516396f0ee8bf4142a1d3a22/original/sam-the-sheepdog.jpg?1507230853" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>3:46Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/47625632017-06-30T09:29:20-05:002021-07-19T12:53:22-05:00Jesus' Cousin - John the Baptist (A Musing for This Morning)<p><a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.winkiepratney.net/revival-study-bible-2/" target="_blank"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/b4897514b78adbdcf0a4bf1cb6a06e222c32d666/medium/new-rsb-flyer-2013.png?1498832520" class="size_m justify_left border_" /></a></p>
<p>I love reading and studying from my Revival Study Bible. Most of all I love the accounts of people that God used and the moves of God throughout history, but I also love the chain reference materials and the inspiration for thought and further study that they bring. Here's something that got stirred up in my heart today from reading the reference materials for the book of Matthew as I was posting to the <a contents="Revival Study Bible Facebook Page." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.facebook.com/RevivalStudyBible" target="_blank">Revival Study Bible Facebook Page.</a></p>
<p><strong>It was about the "Advance Team" ministry of John the Baptist.</strong></p>
<p>Why are there differing types of preaching and ministry? Jesus' style differed from John the Baptist's, but both were Holy Spirit driven, powerful and ordained of God - each serving a specific function in what God was doing and setting up for what He was about to do in the move of God that followed. This little study, from the Revival Study Bible below, explains a little bit about what God wanted to accomplish through the fiery and confrontational ministry of John the Baptist. </p>
<p>We (at least I know I do) tend to think that the preaching style we like best, or the one that moves us most (or perhaps offends our sensibilities least) is the one that is of God. Yet, here we see John who did no miracles and did almost nothing but call people to repent from sin being heralded in scripture as a NECESSARY forerunner to prepare the way for Jesus. We don't have a very detailed account of what that looked like, but we know that John preached against the sin of the Pharisees (as did Jesus) who were outwardly squeaky clean as well as the sins that controlled and destroyed the lives of ordinary people. Remember the Pharisees were harsh and judgemental against outward sin, tried to shame and threaten people into conformity and actually had ways to punish them for repeated infractions. They had a completely rigid and legalistic idea of what serving God meant, which had nothing to do with what went on inside... So - we can only assume that this did NOT represent the kind of attitude or message that John the Baptist came with. </p>
<p>Though his message was "stern" it was certainly infused with the power of the Holy Spirit and the things he preached about were necessary in a culture that really only saw the legalism of the Pharisees or the worldly compromise and duplicity of the Sadducees when looking at the people who were their, then, spiritual and national leaders.</p>
<p><em><strong>In those days came John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness of Judea, And saying, Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand! For this is he that was spoken of by the prophet Isaiah saying, "The voice of one crying in the wilderness. Prepare the way of the Lord; Make His paths straight." </strong></em></p>
<p><em><strong>(New King James Version, 1982 Thomas Nelson Inc) </strong></em></p>
<p><strong>Matt 3:3 The Voice of One Crying </strong></p>
<p>A fundamental principle in the management of revival requires the restoration of the paths of the Lord, as well as releasing certain types of revivalists similar to John the Baptist. The cry of this ministry calls people to return to the Lord’s paths and ways. </p>
<p><strong>Matt 3:3 John the Baptist </strong></p>
<p>The type of revivalist mentioned in this passage is John the Baptist, a fiery prophetic preacher, functioning similar to Elijah the prophet. Israel was deeply bound in legalistic, unspiritual, traditional religion. Its leadership was self-righteous and void of spiritual life. Position, power, greed for money, and compromise had replaced the earnest heartfelt seeking of God. The “John the Baptist” type of revivalist prophetically challenged a man-made system and called the people back to seeking God corporately. In seasons where corporate revival is needed, and conditions exist where man has lost the reality of God’s intense existence, only one type of revivalist can usher in the depth of revival needed to confront and change the times. Just as Elijah of old confronted the prophets of Baal and prayed down fire, in a visual demonstration of God’s power to a passive, indifferent people, so the type of revivalist needed to deal with these conditions must minister in a non-traditional, radical, almost nonconformist manner. The Spirit of God functions through this type of revivalist in dynamic, deeply convicting preaching, seasoned with spiritual fire. This type of revivalist does not frequently emerge on the spiritual scene, and only does so when the conditions are such that no other type of ministry can bring the desired results. Revivalists like these are often born out of years of isolation, prayer, and intense personal commitment to see conditions change. They are a rare breed. John the Baptist’s responsibility as a prophet (Matt 21:26; Mark 11:32; Luke 7:28, 20:6) in ministering revival was to confront the religious standards that hindered intimacy with God, and to open up the way for Jesus to come. His prophetic ministry agitated the self-righteous Pharisees and Sadducees by calling them to repentance and fruits characteristic of a changed life. </p>
<p>Pratney, W., Hill, S., & Winslow, T. S. (Eds.). (2010). The Revival Study Bible (p. 1307). Singapore: Genesis Books.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/43485162016-08-30T08:08:12-05:002021-07-19T12:51:07-05:00The Problem of Pain<p><a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://biblegateway.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/product?isbn=9780060652968"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/2a023128d082e36403a063fc7ae0fa784b97d0c2/original/2969x-1-ftc.jpg?1472562437" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></a></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><br>God is committed to our happiness - but not to our shallow, temporary, self focused, happiness. It is a deep, eternal, wholeness that the Godhead envisions for us and is working toward, not one that springs from or orbits our comfort only, but one with depths we have not yet plumbed and one that will make us partners with God in Heaven’s benevolence - willing the good of all creation and redeeming it. He wants to ruin us for the things that used to make us “happy” because they are not the things that will make us whole or of a mind to want (in any real and motivating sense) the true wholeness and happiness of others. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">God wants our health - but not just our individual, physical health. Not just our personal, emotional health; not just our financial ease; not just the peace of our small personal world - that one where we are the center. No. God wants us to know the deep Joy of true connection with each other and the LIFE that comes from embracing and abiding in the LOVE which every other love we have ever known is just an echo of. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">We see God move. We see God heal, We see God rescue. . . and in the sense that those things draw our attention heavenward, they serve that greater purpose. These things shine brightly and stand out in stark contrast to the dull gray, mostly silent desperation all around us. We need more of His visible movements in our lives and in our worlds!<br><br>But what was it that made us hunger for that in the first place? Wasn’t it some need in us? Some inability? Some pain we could not ease in the usual ways? Some desperation that made our heart reach out and cry out? We may have had a taste of heaven’s bounty. We may have even had a gulp. Maybe even a BIG GULP. Yet deep down we wonder why we still struggle, or suffer pain or have to wait a lifetime for some good thing we either need or think we do. More wrenching still, the nagging, deep question. Why is someone I love hurting? Why hasn’t God fixed it yet? </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">This quote from C.S. Lewis' book "The Problem With Pain" (which follows) came to me in an email last night. I read it and read it again. And then yet again. So many people that I love are in need, feel pain, struggle in some way. It want to fix it. I want GOD to fix it. NOW! Sometimes I actually get overwhelmed with the enormity of the need I see and hear about. Sometimes I feel on the verge of shutting down because the need just seems so huge. But by the grace of God I haven’t and with His help I won’t. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I am not now nor will I change my opinion that God wants people healthy and happy and free. I have too much experience with Him to ever think otherwise. I will not stop calling heaven to earth so that His Kingdom will come and His will can be done in any and every person and situation. I will not cop out and start saying that the brokenness and pain and death of this world is His will. Never. It's very simple really. If all the sadness and horrors you see and everything that is happening in the world today was really His will, then why would Jesus himself tell us to pray like this. "THY KINGDOM COME. THY WILL BE DONE IN EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN." If God's will is already being done then a prayer like this is useless and pointless. So don't buy into any system of thought that tells you it is.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But I will say this. I am a finite being who is being prepared for an infinite future and an ongoing, eternal relationship with the One who is Light and Life and Love. In this broken world I am sure that I really don’t know fully what it means to be healthy and happy and free or what the God who loves me so fiercely is willing to let me walk through to help me understand and experience more of that and more of Him. My current healthy, happy & free will be laughable when I look back at it from a few miles down the road in my journey deeper into his Love. I am truly going “Further Up and Further In.” One horizon line will ever give way to another. On and On and On. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">So I do realize that He doesn’t just want to fix my personal present world. His plan is MUCH bigger than that. He wants to change ME - from glory to glory into the image of the Son. We may, indeed, need God to fix our current situation, but perhaps not nearly as much as we need him to fix our perspective of our situation. This (whatever it is) will pass. One way or another. But He will still be there wanting and willing more and better for us than we even know how to ask for. Yet we resist Him in this because getting there puts at risk our current idea of what happy is. </p>
<p>Below is the quote that got me thinking in these directions last night and early (very early) this morning. I hope it touches you as much as it did me. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong><em>"If the first and lowest operation of pain shatters the illusion that all is well, the second shatters the illusion that what we have, whether good or bad in itself, is our own and enough for us. Everyone has noticed how hard it is to turn our thoughts to God when everything is going well with us. We ‘have all we want’ is a terrible saying when ‘all’ does not include God. We find God an interruption. As St Augustine says somewhere, ‘God wants to give us something, but cannot, because our hands are full—there’s nowhere for Him to put it.’ Or as a friend of mine said, ‘We regard God as an airman regards his parachute; it’s there for emergencies but he hopes he’ll never have to use it.’ Now God, who has made us, knows what we are and that our happiness lies in Him. Yet we will not seek it in Him as long as he leaves us any other resort where it can even plausibly be looked for. While what we call ‘our own life’ remains agreeable we will not surrender it to Him. What then can God do in our interests but make ‘our own life’ less agreeable to us, and take away the plausible source of false happiness?" </em></strong></p>
<p>From <a contents="The Problem of Pain" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://biblegateway.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/product?isbn=9780060652968" target="_blank">The Problem of Pain</a> <br>Compiled in <a contents="A Year with C.S. Lewis" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://biblegateway.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/product?isbn=9780060566166" target="_blank">A Year with C.S. Lewis</a></p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/43430662016-08-26T08:16:10-05:002021-07-19T12:55:36-05:00A Holy Anger <p> </p>
<p>“So he answered, ‘Do not fear for those who are with us are more than those who are with them.’ Then Elisha prayed and said ‘O Lord, I pray, open his eyes that he may see.’ And the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he saw; and behold the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.” 2 Kings 6:16-17 (NASB) <br><br>Every Summer, for at least 5 or 6 years, we went on tour up into Minnesota and into Alberta Canada to work for Jesus at a huge exposition called Klondike Days.</p>
<p>For the people of Edmonton Alberta and that whole region, Klondike days was a big deal. Tens of thousands of people poured through the gates each day and they came from all over. Every age, every color, every economic strata pressed together to have fun, get crazy, eat till they turned green and go on rides that made them dizzy and sick. They even minted Klondike Silver Dollars that you could spend all over the city. The whole city seemed to get Klondike fever and there was a party spirit, a little like Mardi Gras, that came over the whole place. <br>Not far from the entrance to the rides, we were able to invade a large section that included, on one side, a Quonset hut, and on the other a large food booth. In the middle was a stage area where folks could come in, sit down and listen to “shows” we did twice an hour. <br>The shows were filled with music. In between songs team members would speak, preach, share...what ever you want to call it - for just a few minutes. <br> Sometimes it was testimonies, sometimes forceful sermonettes, but because of the atmosphere things had to keep moving at a fast pace. No one ever preached for more than 3 to 5 minutes. Those who spoke would often tie things in to what they saw happening around them at the fair. <br>“How many of you have been to the ‘House Of Mirrors’? You know, that’s what my life was like. I couldn’t tell where I was going, or what was real until I met Jesus…” <br>After the speaker, the group would sing another song or two and the show would end. We’d always invite people to stay around and talk. You’d be surprised how many did. That’s where the real ministry was accomplished for the Kingdom of God. One on one. <br>When it rained, we’d move the whole show inside the Quonset. We got really good crowds then. People came in to get out of the rain and we’d have a captive audience. We made a lot of friends and shared the Lord with many, many folks that way. <br>The burger booth was just a big awning, tent sort of thing, with a grill area at the front and picnic tables at the back. It was a wonderful situation. Even the people who came in just to eat were very often exposed to the gospel, not only because of the witnessing the staff did, but because there were the shows going on right next to the food booth all the time. <br>It was one of the biggest Holy Ghost conspiracies we ever had the privilege to be a part of. We just went right into the devil’s turf and started snatching people out from under his nose. Every single day people gave their lives to Jesus. These were mostly un-churched people. <br> There were teams of us that went door to door witnessing in neighborhoods all over the city as well as the work that went on at the fair itself. In the evenings teams witnessed on the streets while the shows went on at the fair until things closed down around midnight.<br>As part of a street team one of our girls got punched in the face so hard that she landed on her back on the sidewalk. During Klondike Days Edmonton was a crazy place.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/b93bc5563fcd0f99f4d9f5e37e75a774758dd4b2/original/015-pattons-mcguire-shubin.jpg?1472217120" class="size_l justify_center border_" />An early photo of us at the Klondike Days in Edmonton<br>This was the first year and the story came from the second year.<br>On stage is Rick Motter (bass), me, Barry McGuire, Jim and Steve Shubin (drums)<br>At our backs is the Quanset Hut from the story, but this photo was from the first year we were there.<br>The next year the stage was covered and oriented facing the midway - to our right in the photo.<br>I couldn't find a photo with the usual team, which contained about twice as many of the team, and a keyboard player. </p>
<p>It seemed like we came against the occult and demonic more when we ministered in Canada than in other places we went. I’m not sure why this was. Perhaps God sent us specifically to minister where there were pockets of things that He wanted to come against. And since Holy Spirit uses people most of the time (even though he can use donkeys too) that's where He sent us.<br>We weren’t a ministry that made a big deal out of dealing with the devil. We didn’t focus on it at all. But it seemed like there were a few times when he focused on us. Each time, God’s power won the day, but not always in the same way.<br>The second year we went to Edmonton we were introduced to a girl who was said to have been the High Priestess of a Coven before she came to know the Lord as her Savior. We did not lead Debra to the Lord. We actually met her about a year after her conversion. By that time five of her friends had been murdered by her old coven in an attempt to force her to return to them. <br>The team at the fair got to know Debra through area Christians and spent a lot of time with her while we were in town. She was in constant fear of being found by her old friends and slept somewhere different every night. She was certain that they could find her through spiritual means. Needless to say we spent a lot of time praying for and with her. <br>As we went about our ministry at the fair someone always kept her close. Debra was there every day and we encouraged her in the simple truths of the scripture and tried to build her faith in the protecting power of the Lord. <br>We had been doing this for about a week. Debra seemed to be calming down and God was really moving in our midst. Christians at the fair loved to visit our area. Non Christians saw all the activity and came in to hear the music. Many were coming to know Jesus. <br><br>We sang and played with what we called the UnChoir. We weren’t very professional sounding, but we were full of the love of God, and the Holy Spirit, and we weren’t afraid to sing out and praise Him in public. We wrote a lot of our own songs and sang the contemporary Christian music of the day. People seemed to like it and we DID work hard to get better. We had guitar, bass, and drums, and Tony’s wife, Kathy, could really play the piano. We had 10 or 12 singers. <br><br>One afternoon I was on stage with the UnChoir for one of the many shows we would be doing that day. Debra was sitting on a hay bale directly in front of the stage and everything seemed to be going fine. Occasionally I would glance down at her to make sure she was okay. People kept coming in to watch the show and it was getting so full that many were standing out in the midway at the back of the crowd. <br><br>Suddenly Debra freaked out. Without even turning around to look she began trembling and rocking. In a few moments she jumped up and ran into the Quonset hut next to the stage. I eased my way off the stage even though the set wasn’t over and went to see about her. I found her in the corner, curled up in a ball, with her head buried in her arms. <br><br>When she heard me come in, her head jerked up - eyes wide with fear. “They’re here!,” she croaked. “They’ve found me.” <br><br>As I stood there listening to her, the Holy Spirit came over me stronger than I can ever remember. But unlike other times this was an intensely angry feeling. In a moment I heard myself telling her, “You stay right here! I’ll show these people that they can’t mess around with God’s kids!” Then I turned, bolted out the back door of the Quonset, swung around a metal electrical pole at the corner of the building and hit the isle between the hay bales at a run. <br><br>The show had just ended, but there were still people everywhere. I looked up and, sure enough, there was a knot of cloaked and hooded figures standing at the back of the crowd. I ran straight for them, never thinking about what I would do when I got there. But I never got the chance to do anything. They saw me. I’ll probably never know what else they saw, but they scattered and ran as fast as they could. Jim had been playing instrumental music with the band for the time between sets and when he saw what was happening he dropped his guitar and ran after me. By the time I got out into the midway, there was not even one left for me to follow. It thought I saw something, but it was quickly gone. Jim arrived seconds later and there was just nothing. It was as if they were running for their very lives. <br><br>When I got back to Debra she was fine and I don’t remember any further incidents of oppression or attack while we were there. When we left, we turned Debra over to some “on fire” Christians and committed her growth and her safety to the Lord.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/41473652016-04-24T23:54:20-05:002021-07-19T12:57:50-05:00The Medium, The Witch & The Modeling School<p>Christmas in 1968 was a huge surprise. I woke up car-less and by breakfast I was the proud owner of a 1959 Mercedes 180D. It was white; kind of a dirty white. It had a sun roof, 8-track player, standard transmission (3 speed on the column) and the speedometer read kilometers instead of miles (which was very good for real world math practice.) </p>
<p>And, oh yeah, the D stood for Diesel. <br><br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/76db1e872bf184888f5d44d30c05850f1e6fc28e/medium/180d.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Hildegarde - A 1959 Mercedes 180D. My First Car</p></div>
<p>I couldn’t drive it though, at least not without a grownup, because I wasn’t 16 yet. </p>
<p>Now before you get too far into thinking that I was a spoiled little rich kid, let me just say this. It wasn’t really in the same class as the Mercedes’ models the Allesio kids drove. I loved it and I was Gobsmacked! It had wheels and it went vroom vroom. Well actually not so much vroom vroom, more like. . .umm. . .you know, it really sounded more like a Cessna than a car when it got going. Sometimes people would hear me coming and look up into the sky. And it was about as heavy as a tank. </p>
<p>I think that was what Lukie Bean liked most about it. It WAS a tank. I never got it over 100 kilometers per hour (60 mph and brother, that was downhill and to the floor! I know. I tried often to get it really going) so speeding was not possible and the 0 to 60 was about 2 minutes. It had a lot of torque but I didn’t know what torque meant so that was kind of lost on me. I think Lukie figured that, although I might possibly be able to kill others with this thing, they probably weren’t going to be able to kill me. And maybe I wouldn’t be able to go fast enough to do a whole lot of damage one way or the other. </p>
<p>Lukie Bean picked this beauty up for $500 from a guy who drove it up from somewhere in South America and then decided he wanted a real car that could keep pace with Southern California speed limits. I flunked my driving test three times in this car because the examiner said I was going toooooooo sloooooow. I really wasn’t. It just felt like it. And. . .Jeez Louise! I was going as fast as the thing would go! On my fourth try I convinced mom to let me take the test in her car and passed without a hiccup. I never got around to naming this beast, but if I had, her name would have probably been Hildegarde or maybe Brunhilde. So, for the sake of this story, we will call her Hildegarde. </p>
<p>Right out of the gate she started having starter problems. We would fix the starter only to have the alternator go out. Then we’d find an alternator, put it in and WHAM, the starter would go out again. Eventually I just gave up and found a work around. Now, I know that you kids who have never driven a stick shift won’t know what I’m talking about here and I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. Go ask an old person what it means to “pop the clutch” or “bump start” a car. We lived at the top of a steep driveway, so bump starting Hildegarde to get to school was no problem, but finding a place to park that had enough elevation to get her going for the drive home again was sometimes a little harder. And it was great practice trying to make sure I didn't kill the engine at stop lights. If I did, I would need to find some nice person who wouldn’t mind giving me a push with their own car to get going again. Ummm, that happened more than once. The back bumper got a little dented, but I got where I needed to go. I finished High School that way and the first part of one semester of Jr College as well. Later, when traveling around Southern CA, for ministry started in earnest, mom finally put her foot down. </p>
<p>I had to tell you about Hildegarde because she is part of the story - just in case you were wondering.</p>
<p>Lukie Bean built things. Sometimes he was building two or three or four things at once. He built several churches, lots of custom homes, spec homes that he bought and moved and remodeled, then sold or just bought lots to build on and then sell the house. He built RV parks and restaurants and well, you name it. However, after “The Day That Changed Everything,” Lukie Bean would never build a liquor store or club or anything he thought might add momentum to someone's down hill slide, be it owner or patron. No way. No how. No matter how much money he could make from it. God bless him. Oh yeah, and Lukie Bean's other name was Robert Durnal.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/d6091061162b4b6a5c6e863aa1e954ce6a53a5ea/medium/lukie-bean-sign.jpg?0" class="size_m justify_center border_" /><br><br>He was a good man and a good dad and I never wanted for anything important while in his care. He never hit me and hardly ever yelled at me. He didn’t have to. He let mom take care of the attitude corrections. </p>
<p>One day he got a call from a guy who needed a "build out" in the new mall that had just opened in the Mission Valley area of San Diego. </p>
<p>It was a modeling school, a very well known and very prestigious modeling school, and Lukie liked the guy right away because he was Jewish. So they shook hands, drew up some papers and Pops started the job. By the time the walls were up and the paint was dry Lukie Bean had somehow succeeded in getting me both a scholarship to the school AND a part time job there. The job was answering phones and doing Girl Friday stuff in the evenings from 6 to 9 p.m. It was just a few evenings a week since there was so much church and music in my life. I would also work some Saturdays after the classes were over at the modeling school.<br><br> </p>
<p>It was the first job where I got an actual paycheck that had taxes taken out and it was for the going minimum wage at that time, a whopping $1.65 an hour. Woohoo! Now Hildegarde could eat and I could go places besides school. </p>
<p>Just as with the gift of Hildegarde, this was a gift with something behind it. It was a loving, fatherly, not so subtle thing (I got it and I was blonde, 17 and oblivious) and honestly, I was okay with it. </p>
<p>By now I was very aware that if my Mom was Maureen OHara. . .then I must be Haley Mills.</p>
<p>I’m not sure just how old you have to be to get this 1961 movie reference, but if you don’t get it then your homework is to find the original version of “The Parent Trap” starring Brian Keith, Maureen O’Hara and Haley Mills. And, if I was Haley Mills, I wasn’t the East Coast prim and proper twin. Nope. I was the other one who grew up on a ranch and rode horses bareback etc etc.</p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/dab86a26bc3718a7dfeb607a0ee3ff83c5c95978/medium/serveimage.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">The Parent Trap Poster</p></div>
<p> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/7f150a56a9da8ad4aa6f64ceedbed8f8e401800c/medium/serveimage-1.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Maureen OHara & Haley Mills</p></div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><br>I was the girl who got bloodied playing soccer and didn’t cry or whine about it; The one who tried really hard to keep up with the boys and sometimes succeeded. I could put a choke hold on my little brothers before they had a chance to follow through with whatever it was they were scheming. Oh. . .and they were always scheming!<br><br>I think Lukie Bean secretly hoped that modeling school would do for me what the old time finishing schools used to try to do for wayward, clumsy, unfeminine females. Yeah, I could clean up okay - if I worked hard at it - but I was falling a little too far from the tree and “Sweet Mommy JoAnna Marguerite” was his ideal for women everywhere. He knew I couldn’t be her and I don’t think he REALLY wanted me to be. After all, even he treated me like “One of the boys.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once I got started in modeling school, however, it didn’t take them long for them to let me know that I had a very “sporty” look. (Ya think?) They told me I was too short to be a really successful model (designers just didn’t make clothes for people like me and I could never be a walking clothes rack.) Maybe I could be a living mannequin in a department store window or perhaps, if I was lucky, get catalogue work for sports attire. Sure, they would put me in their database and point me toward things that came in to the “Agency”, but really they didn’t seem all that excited about my prospects. <br><br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/4969f8dc559fe73e02e28e6e5c381c57a2aa6e84/medium/model.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Boy Howdy! Those eyelashes were sooooo heavy!</p></div>
<p>And, oh yeah. I was too NICE. I remember the jaw dropping day when my modeling school instructor said, "One has to remember that modeling is a very competitive business and every other girl out there is trying to get the same jobs as you so you better realize they are ALL the enemy." </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="font_large"><strong>RED FLAGS!!!! </strong></span></p>
<p>Well, at least there was the job thing and I could go ahead and finish up with the modeling school (for Mom & Lukie’s sake) and maybe I could learn how to do my make-up better and be a little less of a klutz. So I didn’t quit. I finished the school and got to keep the job too, at least for a little while. </p>
<p>I might have been a kid, but I knew the Lord didn’t want me in a career where everyone I worked with was the enemy. God had called me. To what I wasn't quite sure yet, but this thing had just failed the Jesus test and so I checked it off my mental list of possible paths into my future. </p>
<p>There were several instructors at the school, but the main people I interacted with were the women who pretty much ran the show. Judy was very cute and even a little shorter than I was, probably about 23 or 24 years old and full of spunk. She had a wholesome look about her, but there was something else there that made me uncomfortable and I couldn’t figure it out.<br><br>The manager was tall and quite a bit older, probably in her 40’s. Obviously a former model, she reminded me of an aging ballerina, teaching what she could no longer do herself. Proud and cool. She was tall and had long hair, bleached white with a black streak going down one side. I can’t remember her real name so let’s just call her Elvira. Still very beautiful, but somehow hard, Elvira’s beauty was a little scary to me. My beautiful mother was 180 degrees out from this one, soft and inviting, generous and friendly, she could be impetuous and hard headed and emotional sometimes, but she radiated love from the inside out. Her beauty was redeemed and comfortable and I felt safe with her. Not so with Elvira. </p>
<div class="captioned justify_left"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/09fc7bd52023ba1c1b3abb3a45c8badb1269bdbe/small/serveimage-3.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_left border_" /><p class="caption">Close But Not Quite</p></div>
<p>Somewhere along the way I heard (probably from other students) that Elvira claimed to be a Medium and that Judy was a witch. I hadn’t been exposed to much, so I tended to think that it was just the girls talking nonsense. Yes, Judy and Elvira were a little weird, but I took them for just normal every day heathens. After all - witches? Mediums? Get real. And if they had told the other girls those things, they sure hadn’t told me. Teenage gossip. Looking back on that time I realize that they probably didn’t say anything because they could smell Jesus on me and might have even been afraid of the Jesus in me. </p>
<p>For good reason. </p>
<p>One evening Hildegarde and I were on our way to the school when suddenly two cars were merging into my lane on either side as I took the off ramp that led to the mall. The one was trying to duck under me on the right and the other trying to dive for the off ramp from the lane to the left at the last second. I suddenly remembered from science class that three things couldn't occupy the same space at the same time and felt like this one might be really bad because there was seriously nowhere for me to go. I was in the process of becoming a Mercedes sandwich as the two cars filled both sides of my peripheral vision, apparently not happy with my (lack of) speed or seeing each other. A major crash seemed unavoidable. <br><br><br> </p>
<p>I grabbed the wheel a little harder, called on Jesus and closed my eyes, trying to brace for impact. </p>
<p>Nothing happened. </p>
<p>Neither one of the cars hit me! After what couldn't have been more than a half second I opened my eyes to find Hildegarde ahead of the other cars, waaaaay further down the off ramp than she was just an instant before, totally in the clear. </p>
<p>Something had moved me. Angels perhaps? I had no idea. My eyes were closed. Dang it! I wanted to see my angels so bad and I had missed it! </p>
<p>It took me quite a while to stop trembling that night and I'm not sure I got a lot of work done. But it wasn't so much fear as excitement and this wonderful and terrible sense of awe. That the Lord should be so intimately active in my life. I'm not sure I ever told too many people about this part of the story before. Even telling it now just seems almost too bizarre for words. </p>
<p>Not too many work nights later, I was sitting at my little desk as usual, writing postcards for the school and thinking. Judy was the only other person there. Her office was further down the hall and she usually kept the door closed. Out there, by myself, the silence was often thick and there seemed to be waves of God’s presence alternating with normal teenage fear of being alone somewhere with nothing familiar around to make it feel comfy, and sometimes something that seemed darker. To battle those normal teenage fears, and the other as well, I didn’t whistle, but I sometimes did sing softly (trying not to bother Judy) and if it got bad I prayed very quietly. </p>
<p>It really never did get too awful. Even back then I really enjoyed silence and solitude and the fellowship with Jesus that I found there. My most poignant memory of those silent times was once when the idea of Jesus’ return - “Like a thief in the night” - the reality of that event - not as just a possibility, but as a certainty, hit me like a wave crashing on the beach. It bowled me over and became so real that I was riveted, for a time, in a state where everything got bright and sparkly in my mind and I was caught in this place filled with alternating joy for the thing itself and anxiety over the state of the hearts of others. People like Judy. People like Elvira. People like so many that I had known from the school and even the youth group at church. This was important. Maybe the most important thing of all, that people should know how real his Kingdom, His coming and His love was. It was a moment of real clarity, in an otherwise topsy turvy teenaged life, that really grounded me and kept me heading in the direction of missions. </p>
<p>The silence heightens everything and I heard the door to Judy’s office open and close and then soft padding down the hall. I looked at the clock. Perhaps it was time to go home. No. Not yet. She stopped behind me. I could feel her there not far away, but I resisted the urge to turn and look at her. Maybe she was looking for the words to correct me on some error in my work. </p>
<p>But instead, she laid a hand gently on my shoulder and said “Dee, do you believe in the devil?”<br><br>Now I <strong>did</strong> turn in my chair and look at her. “Oh yes,” I said. <em>“I believe in the devil." </em></p>
<p>“I serve him and he gives me power,” she continued. </p>
<p>A sudden rush of Holy Spirit anger washed through me and I stood, leaned in a bit and looked her in the eyes. She leaned away, trying to protect her personal space and I held up my left hand with my pinky finger pointed at her. </p>
<p>“Judy,” I said. “There is more power in this little finger right now, than the devil can ever give you. You are on the wrong side." </p>
<p>She gathered herself and started to scoff. I must have said something about eternity and her soul. I really don’t remember much of what was said after that except that she kept saying that she just wanted to be an evil force roaming the universe when she died. Poor Judy. That just wasn’t the way it was going to be. It didn’t work like that. The evil force that was her would have to be confined for eternity, not free to roam the universe. </p>
<p>I think she decided to close up a little early that night and I wasn’t due to be back there again until Saturday. I did a lot of thinking and praying on the way home and in the days between then and going to work on Saturday afternoon. I felt pretty inadequate and I got a little anxious. I really wasn’t sure what would happen or what I would say to Judy and/or Elvira. Now that the elephant in the kitchen was there in plain sight. Now that the lines had been drawn. Now that we knew what each of the others really was, it would be impossible to go on as if were still just regular people, as if life was just about working hard and being civil and getting through the day. We were on opposite saids of a very old war. This was getting interesting. </p>
<p>It was years later that I discovered and finally read C.S. Lewis’ “The Screwtape Letters”, but since then I’ve wondered at times what the unseen, spiritual battle looked like leading up to these events. </p>
<p>Whatever was going on, all I knew was that I had to get up and go to work on Saturday. </p>
<p>When it was time I bump started Hildegarde, as usual, and headed toward the Mall. Going West on Highway 8, I didn’t feel like playing any of my 8 track tapes. I only had three. The Bee Gees, The Mama’s and the Papa’s and The Lettermen. I played those a LOT - over and over and over. But not today. Between the confrontation with Judy and that moment I had prayed everything I knew to pray, so I just drove and prayed in tongues a bit, trying hard to listen. Everything was kind of slow motion, but Hilde got me to the mall without stalling and I found a piece of parking lot with enough downhill to get me going again and then walked toward the tall, wooden castle-like doors that led into the school. I never bothered locking Hildegarde. There probably wasn’t a thief within a 1000 miles that would have known how to start her or who would have wanted her. </p>
<p>I got to the doors, stood for a moment and asked the Lord to be with me, which was weird cuz I KNEW He always was, but I always did it anyway. I reached out, pulled the big door open and stepped inside. There was a big, fancy reception desk just inside the door and Judy was sitting behind it. Elvira stood next to the desk to Judy’s right. They were waiting for me. Maybe they heard the Cessna. </p>
<p>I looked at Elvira, then Judy and then Elvira raised her hand toward me and opened her mouth to say something. But nothing came out. She tried again and this time there was sound but it was unintelligible. Gobbledegook. She got a weird look on her face and looked at Judy, who opened her mouth to speak. She couldn’t say anything understandable either. Not a word. </p>
<p>Finally, they made me understand with body language that I should leave and so I did. On Monday, when I got home from school, there was a message on the answering machine telling me I didn’t need to come in. There wasn’t much work and they probably wouldn’t be needing me any more. </p>
<p>So I guess at least one of them got her voice back. </p>
<p>I never saw the Medium, the Witch or the Modeling school again and honestly that was alright with me. </p>
<p>There were probably a dozen things I could have done differently as I stood there in the doorway that last time, but I was blonde and 17 and oblivious. Maybe not quite as oblivious as I had been on Saturday morning - but still just a kid. A lamb in the midst of wolves. I didn’t know much, but I knew Jesus and that was, and still is, pretty much all that matters.<br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/e4fb6fbb52bc211055a92f8c39e61d827e0b3251/large/durnal-fam.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Dee, Dante, Mom, Monte & Lukie Bean</p></div>
<p><br><br>Guess that's it.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/41331872016-04-12T17:26:53-05:002022-06-24T09:20:24-05:00Is Salvation About Relationship<p>In February of 2011 I posted the following to my Facebook Page (notes) and that is where it has quietly stayed pretty much until now. Back then somebody asked a question about the topic in the title and so, you know, it kind of got me going.<br><br>I thought of it again this afternoon as we were getting ready for tonight's Live Stream on our <a contents="YouTube channel," data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC7P3f95s0iJ6XKt3L4Cylkg">YouTube channel,</a> <em><strong>"At Home With Jim & Dee." </strong></em>One of the things we plan to do (Lord willing and the Creek don't rise) is to sing the song(s) we wrote many years ago called <em><strong>"The Noah Suite." </strong></em>These songs appeared on an album called <em><strong>"Agapeland" i</strong></em>n 1974/75 and just a small part of the lyrics were eventually quoted in a book called <em><strong>"The God They Never Knew" </strong></em>(The Tragedy of Religion Without Relationship) written by George Otis Jr and released in 1982. So once again - there it was! That topic of actually knowing God & having a relationship with HIm.<br><br><a contents='"The God They Never Knew" is available on lulu.com ' data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/george-otis-jr/the-god-they-never-knew-the-tragedy-of-religion-without-relationship/paperback/product-22377697.html">"The God They Never Knew" is available on lulu.com </a>and those who offer it do so with permission and at cost. (no profit for them)<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/b645d977eb0c61c35e8d5644dce6378821335619/original/product-thumbnail.jpg?0" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br><br>So, I will re-post this entry here as a part of the theme for tonight. :)<br><br>Feb 6, 2011</p>
<p>Last week I got an email from a friend. He had been communicating with someone and told her that Salvation was about relatioinship (with God). She had a hard time with that wondering how that could be since she had been taught that SALVATION WAS A FREE GIFT. To her, the two didn't seem to mesh. It broke my heart because there are so many like this, who think salvation is something we are handed. So he asked me what I thought...what I might say to this person. After it was done and sent I got to thinking perhaps it was something I ought to share. So here goes... </p>
<p>Is Salvation about relationship? Well, to me it's simple really. Maybe not always easy, but simple nonetheless. <strong>The free gift IS the restoration of relationship</strong>. Sin has separated us from God relationally. We rebelled. Salvation is God spanning the gulf between us and Himself and bringing us back into relationship with him. It is the forgiveness of our past rebellion based on his willingness and on our humility and desire to cease that rebellion (repentance) made possible through Jesus. It is absolutely free to us in that we cannot do anything to earn what He has made available, but we are also warned to "count the cost" lest we wither and die spiritually (relationally). when trials arise. (Parable of the sower) So it is a paradox in that, though it is FREE, we must count the cost. That means that we should fully understand that maintaining Our renewed relationship with Him will put us at odds with this world and will not always be easy. It will cost us death to SELF....and...death to self is the hardest death of all. He says we cannot love him and love this worldy system at the same time. </p>
<p>Everyone talks about Grace, but they don't even know what it is. It is not God going easy on us, it is God empowering us as we cry out to him moment by moment - standing with us and giving us what we need to do and become what it necessary. Once again...relationship. And even if Grace were actually what they say it is, then still, one way or another, He doesn't give it to the proud, the rebellious, the stubborn - but to the humble - the NON rebellious. This "Salvation" is not just salvation from the consequences of sin, but salvation from SIN itself. It is the SIN that is killing us. The death, OUR death, lies in the sin. God's gift is life eternal - eternal relationship and fellowship with the Godhead, and not just in terms of endless time, but infinite love and quality of life. </p>
<p>Jesus said that He had life in himself and that God had granted that he could give that life to whomever he wished. However it is not a gift that comes without Him or is separate from Him. The LIFE is IN him. He cannot give us the LIFE without giving us Himself. He is the vine...we are the branches. To live...there has to be a connection...relationship. A really good book about the subject is "The God They Never Knew"...by George Otis Jr. It is available again through amazon I think. Another is "Life In The Son" by Robert Shank. </p>
<p>"Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." Such a misunderstood scripture, but all it means is this....If you make Him what you want most, then He is happy to oblige and come and abide (dwell....have ongoing relationship) with you. If you WANT him more than anything....He will give you what you want more than anything. Himself. (Relationship) It is free in that we do not have to "work" for it. In fact, works, striving, doing good things to make ourselves "worthy" of his attention...being driven to be "better" or in fact better than others is exactly the WRONG direction....But as with any relationship, what we have with Him has to be based on love and ongoing commitment and trust. It is not performance oriented, but it IS obedience driven. And he says, if you love me you WILL keep my commandments. These commandments...that we love God and each other... are not law based but love based. It has nothing to do with entitlement and everything to do with humility and mercy and selflessness. It is not about actions, but about the heart and motive behind them. </p>
<p>Salvation is not a golden ticket we present at the pearly gates. It is Christ IN us the hope of Glory. Oh, that we should know Him as intimately as a lover, no secrets, no lies, no rebellion, no manipulation, nothing hidden...just love. The Kingdom of Heaven IS loving relationship. The Kingdom of the Evil One IS independence and rebellion, selfish ambition and self interest without considering the needs of God or others.. </p>
<p>He woos us, lays His life down for us, forgives us over and over and over and then tells us to let him live in us so that we will be able to go and do the same. If THAT is not about relationship, vertical AND horizontal, then it is nothing at all and we are as lost and adrift as ever we were. </p>
<p>So there you have it. My opinion on Salvation and Relationship and a few other things as well.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/41168492016-04-01T16:25:43-05:002021-09-28T15:33:03-05:00The Reedley Awakening in 1971<p>Here is an article from New Wine Magazine, first published in November of 1971</p>
<p>New Wine Magazine - November 1971 <br>Reedley Awakened By Revival </p>
<p>Time has allowed us to look backward to events that happened before the awakening began in Reedley, California. </p>
<p>SOME SOW SOME WATER BUT GOD GIVES THE INCREASE </p>
<p>Within the Full Gospel Tabernacle congregation, prayer groups were organized not by the Pastor or the Church Board, but by earnest people within the congregation who felt desperately that God must touch us, especially our young people or the church would die. A prayer group met on Saturday evening, another on Tuesday, another on Thursday and many of these had been in progress for two years, others for four years. The Saturday prayer meeting had been meeting much longer. <br>The young people, under the guidance of Joe Peacock and his wife, Lynda, had begun cottage prayer meetings with the youth. One of the prayer captains was Melody Johnson, who would express her desires to Joe and Lynda in such a way as, "Let's have a prayer meeting party." <br><br>The tragic drug problems that involved families of our church and families of our community gave me deep concern. Prayer alone could not lift my burden. <br>I was impressed to conduct a special youth rally. Unless youth could hear what was a real answer to their problems, we would surely collapse as a church as far as fulfilling our purpose in our community. <br><br>With the help of friends and businessmen of the city, we leased the auditorium in Dinuba and engaged the youthful band called the Solid Rocks, a Youth for Christ group from Fresno. Together with local groups and Teen Challenge of Fresno, we launched our first rally. Over 250 attended, paying to get in. The impact of the witness of Teen Challenge was effective. A second rally was held the next month and over forty came forward making decisions for Christ. From these rallies we opened a coffee house called the Carpenter's Shop in Reedley. A Youth Employment Center and a Teen Camp was conducted through the summer months. In September, a weekly schedule was directed by Joe and Lynda Peacock. Faithfully, the doors were kept open and many found Christ. The town of Reedley came to accept the ministry of the "Youth Rescue Mission." <br><br>In January of 1971, we were asked to promote a Gospel Rock Festival in the foothills for the Sugar Pine Camp out of Fresno. Coming to help us at this time was Pastor Jim Slentz. Together, we sought for a man to help in this one-day rally who would take not only the responsibility of master of ceremonies but who would be led of God in bringing young people to Christ. The date was set for Saturday before Easter. <br><br>We called Youth With a Mission offices in Burbank and Winkie Pratney suggested to us a Brother Tony Salerno. Brother Salerno agreed to come to us if he could bring a group of young people called the Agape Force to do a special invasion for that Easter week. Brother Pratney and Brother Salerno with some of their young people, came to visit us prior to this meeting, and they felt led to stay in our town for the week's invasion. Now, that invasion is spiritual history. <br><br>About twenty young people came. By the end of the week 150 were dealt with for salvation. Of these, many stepped out for Christ counting the total cost. Among these youths were leading athletes. <br><br>Many of the Agape Force had to return to school. The final number left behind to pick up the heavy load of ministry was about seven. Others would come in and join on the weekends. Brother Salerno was able to return sometimes three days during the week, making countless long drives from the LA area to Reedley, sleepless nights, as he had other obligations of ministry he had to keep. He'd return to rally forces, give directions under the direction of the Holy Spirit. The revival kept cresting higher and higher week after week. <br><br>There is no way to calculate just how many were dealt with in the prayer rooms, but sometimes as many as 500 tracts a week were used as a means of spreading the Word. <br><br>Youth groups came in from the mountain towns, coastal areas and even from the Los Angeles area. Many of these found Christ. Night after night the youth mission room was packed. Many times the doors were locked after it was filled to capacity then second services were held. <br><br>Invitations came from churches in the area for youths, from the Carpenter's Shop to give their testimonies. The Mennonite Brethren Church of Reedley, The Colony Covenant Church near Kingsburg, the American Baptist Church, Southern Baptist Church, First Mennonite, and the Spanish Mennonite Church are some that the youth ministered to. Civic clubs, such as the Kiwanis of Reedley and Kingsburg, the Full Gospel Businessmen of Fresno, Christian Businessmen of Kingsburg and the Assemblies of God Men's Fellowship of Kingsburg. At the latter is where Barry McGuire, former Broadway singer and actor accepted Christ. <br><br>CAMPUSES CHANGED <br><br>The impact on the campuses in the Reedley area was reported by the teachers. Bible carrying students, formerly apathetic, now alive in Christ, were studying. Bible clubs were formed at Grant Junior High School, Reedley High School, Dinuba High School and Parlier High School. Teachers report of students lives so drastically changed that whole class rooms were feeling the impact of the revival. Plans by outside groups to make trouble in two high schools were revealed; one, the plan for bombings and the other was a threat to cause trouble as to disrupt school completely. Trouble subsided on these campuses and school finished without difficulty. Many have expressed this was possible because of the spiritual awakening among the youth of Reedley. </p>
<p>“WE WRESTLE NOT AGAINST FLESH AND BLOOD” </p>
<p>The revival sweeping the area did not keep back attacks from the enemy, Satan himself. In the second week, financially it looked as if not enough money would come in to keep the doors open. In prayer, the Agape Force, the Pastors and evangelists claimed victory in Jesus' name. By the weekend, over $900.00 had come in to meet the needs. Threats came from a neighboring town. Young people armed with a gun were coming in to break up the meetings. Before they arrived, plans were intercepted by the local police and it was stopped. Fire bombings were threatened on the day of the big youth rally scheduled for a weekend outside the Carpenter's Shop. The bombings did not take place. One of the young people on the original Agape team was totally brainwashed by an anti-government group. Youth were gathered together with adult friends to battle demon forces. At 5:00 A.M. the young man was delivered from mental possession of Satan. </p>
<p>THE CONSECRATION CAMP </p>
<p>June 14th opened our Consecration Camp which was held in the Full Gospel Tabernacle of Reedley. Our teachers were: Winkie Pratney, Tony Salerno and Dr. Phil Opperman. The daily classes averaged about fifty with the evening classes swelling to perhaps over a hundred or more. What a beautiful sight to see youth scattered over the building each with their Bibles, notebooks and textbooks eagerly drinking in the Word of God. The messages were heart-searching and God was bringing them to a place of walking holy before Him. From junior high through college and some young professional people joining in, the Word of God was honored and the Holy Spirit flowed through the camp. Dr. Opperman's assignment was to teach about the Holy Spirit with the wonderful gift of the Holy Spirit being the main theme. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday the youth were carefully instructed. On Thursday, Dr. Opperman gathered them in the prayer room of the Full Gospel Tabernacle, which was in the basement, but is now our "Upper Room." The young people waited on the Lord. From one of the youth who was there, he described the meeting as such, "It was silent, then there was a gentle sobbing from one, then another, then suddenly almost at once like a great breath, all began speaking in other languages . . . like on the day of the first Pentecost when like a mighty rushing wind the disciples were filled with the Holy Spirit." So it happened that night. <br>No record was kept of how many received, but it is believed that perhaps over fifty received the Holy Spirit that evening. One of the young people expressed himself, "Wow, now I can pray to God and the devil can't hear me." </p>
<p>COMMISSIONED OF GOD </p>
<p>Friday, the last night of camp, the young people at the climax of the service were called forward. The very presence of God rested heavily upon the evening service. The youth were called to stand where the hands of the ministers could be laid upon them as each life was dedicated to His service. Some were to leave for full time service for the summer, others were to stay at home, support and press the home front forward for Christ. <br>The Spirit of God, through His gifts, was made manifest confirming His Word that had been planted in the hearts of the youth. The congregation itself was moved deeply by the presence of the Lord. <br>The entire body of youth then moved to the Chapel where a communion service was held. Two large loaves of bread and one large common cup was used. The story of the first communion was told, the bread was broken and passed from one to the other, then the cup was passed. <br>Through the gift of prophecy, God spoke again to the entire body. God Himself, through His Word and the wonderful Holy Spirit, touched, anointed and commissioned the youth to go into all the world preaching the Gospel. First at home, then our beloved land and then the whole world. </p>
<p>HOMES ARE CHANGED </p>
<p>Parents, whose homes were battle grounds, now express how the love of God, through the lives of these youth, have brought not only harmony in the home, but the communication gap has been bridged. The trend of our times is children to hate parents and rebel against any adult authority. What a wonderful answer Christ becomes to these nation-destroying problems. </p>
<p>WATER BAPTISMAL SERVICE </p>
<p>Sunday afternoon, June 20, 1971, around two hundred people gathered at the Kings River near Reedley to watch a baptismal service. Fifty-three candidates for water baptism gathered for instruction prior to the main service of the afternoon. What a beautiful sight to see the faces of so many youths beaming with happiness. Just a few weeks before many were trapped in drugs, some hopelessly entwined in rebellion against everything and everyone. Others were haunted with restlessness, being driven endlessly with a search to find the answers to problems in their lives and problems about them. Now, they were at peace with themselves, with the peace of God reigning within. <br>Barry McGuire, former Broadway performer and recording artist, sang at the opening of the afternoon service. He began with such meaningful words, "You know, this is Father's Day," and he looked up to the blue sky overhead, then looked over to the quietly flowing waters of the river, "And this," he said, "Is the Kings River, how fitting."<br><br>Barry then sang: <br>"Turn your eyes upon Jesus <br>Look full in His wonderful face <br>And the things of the world <br>Will go strangely dim <br>In the light of His glory and grace." <br><br>Many hearts were touched and tears streamed down the cheeks of many. This burly, large young man, fully bearded with a full shock of hair to his shoulders, once trapped in the quagmire of sin just a few weeks ago, now was totally free of the past and clean from sin by "His precious blood," and singing of the beautiful Savior. <br>After sharing with them the Word of God, Pastor Slentz, my associate minister, and I waded into a very cold Kings River and called for our first candidate. Each giving their testimony of praise for his salvation; fifty-three were baptized. <br>The crowd dispersed and almost all had gone home when a young lady, Vicki, as we know her, came dashing across the park and stood breathlessly before me and tears in her eyes said, "I'm too late." "It took me all this time to talk my folks into letting me be baptized." I said, "Surely, it is not too late." We walked into the water and baptized this precious girl and this was the fifty-fourth. </p>
<p>RESTITUTION </p>
<p>The Holy Spirit began to speak to many about making restitution. Several youths went to the local Police and apologized for pushing and using drugs. Athletes, Doug and Morris Buller and John Blanchard, confessed publicly, before their coaches in a Kiwanis meeting to drinking and using marijuana during the season they were on the school's athletic teams. They asked these men and the people of the town to forgive them and told how Christ had come into their lives. <br>Other young people went to businesses in town and asked forgiveness for taking clothes, shoes and records. The people of the town were deeply moved at the courage and conviction of these youths whose lives had been totally changed. </p>
<p>CAMPS </p>
<p>The Reedley Youth Ranch conducted a Junior camp at Huntington Lake. (The Reedley Youth Ranch is an outreach for youth launched as a preventive program). About twenty of the teens from the Carpenter Shop, came to counsel. Eighty-four were in camp and quite a large number of these junior children were not Christians. By Wednesday all had accepted Christ but one and many received the infilling of the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Lord moved continually on the mountain top. Campers from North Shore joined in the evening services which were conducted by the McCRARY FIVE and several of the guests accepted Christ. <br>This is not the end of the AWAKENING, it is only the beginning. </p>
<p>Rev. Mel Harrel is the pastor of the Full Gospel Tabernacle in Reedley, California. As a special note of interest, a diary was kept up to the third week. At this writing, we are now in the twelfth week. Any correspondence should be addressed to the Agape Force, PO Box 10137, Fresno, California 93745. <br> </p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/41162582016-04-01T11:25:15-05:002022-06-28T19:46:14-05:00And Then The Phone Rang<p>I was lying on my stomach in my own, new little studio apartment. Yes, that apt with it’s own entrance - that was leaving home without leaving home, below the garage office next to Mother’s house and at the bottom of the concrete stairs that led from the garden. Her garden. The deep orange shag carpet tickled my elbows and forearms as I propped myself up to read the chapter in front of me. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/9ae0ab9088acfa66649f00d4c4791dec293a3213/medium/princess-phone.jpg?0" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>I was finally a true teen. Driving with my own car. A studio with it's own entrance instead of a bedroom off the kitchen. I was also in that last leg of high school when you’re not finished but it has really started to chafe. I was involved in some kind of ministry every week and often found myself in situations where people expected me to say something instead of just sing. Yikes. A few months earlier I had been smitten by the shameful realization that I had never read the Bible all the way through. It became a MUST DO and so I was on my very first cover to cover read through.</p>
<p>I had made it into the book of the prophet Isaiah. As I read through that book for the first time; not just bits of it; not just to open and point with eyes closed for a “word,” but really reading it from the beginning, I was amazed - more like completely blown away - to see so much of Jesus in it. </p>
<p>So here I was tonight on chapter 53 - Jesus pouring out of that page as I read it again and then again, amazed that such a perfect description of my savior and best friend had been penned so many hundreds of years before His birth for me to read now almost 2,000 years after. The Lord amazed me like that at every turn it seemed. He filled, not only my heart, but my mind and my entire vision all the way to the horizon these days. And tonight was right up there near the top of those instances where my mind was unable to take in the magnitude that was Him. </p>
<p>What a wonder was this glorious God and wonderful Lord I had given myself to!</p>
<p>And then the phone rang. </p>
<p>I had to get up off the floor to answer the phone. No cells phones yet. They were still a LONG time coming. But I did have a princess phone with a LONG cord and so I was back lying on the floor in a moment. </p>
<p>It was Cindy, from next door. Cindy was my friend and had been for quite some time. We were the same age and she was also just about my ONLY friend in high school - really my only friend not connected with church. And Cindy and I could talk about ANYTHING, well almost anything. </p>
<p>There was one thing we couldn’t talk about and that was Jesus. We couldn’t talk about Jesus because Cindy was Jewish. Her family was Jewish. Not orthodox Jews, but secular Jews. Cindy’s mom and dad were both professional psychologists - so Jesus was off limits. If we never went there we would get along fine. I tried going there a few times and it didn’t ever go well. I got tongue tied and Cindy got mad so after a while I let it be. </p>
<p>But just because I couldn’t talk to Cindy about Jesus didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to Jesus about Cindy. And I did. . .quite a bit. I would often day dream about what I might say if we ever DID get to talk about Jesus, but conversations never go the way you imagine do they?<br><br>So, I prayed and waited and thought and prayed some more. <br> </p>
<p>Me: “Hello" </p>
<p>Cindy: “Whatcha doing?" </p>
<p>Me: “Reading" </p>
<p>Cindy: “Oh yeah, what?" </p>
<p>Me: “Ummmmm…..well, let me read you just a little bit. It’s pretty cool." </p>
<p>Cindy: “Okay" </p>
<p>Me: “ '. . .Surely He has borne our griefs </p>
<p>And carried our sorrows; </p>
<p>Yet we esteemed Him stricken, </p>
<p>Smitten by God, and afflicted. </p>
<p>But He was wounded for our transgressions, </p>
<p>He was bruised for our iniquities; </p>
<p>The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, </p>
<p>And by His stripes we are healed. </p>
<p>All we like sheep have gone astray; </p>
<p>We have turned, every one, to his own way; </p>
<p>And the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all. </p>
<p>He was oppressed and He was afflicted, </p>
<p>Yet He opened not His mouth; </p>
<p>He was led as a lamb to the slaughter, </p>
<p>And as a sheep before its shearers is silent, </p>
<p>So He opened not His mouth. </p>
<p>He was taken from prison and from judgment, </p>
<p>And who will declare His generation? </p>
<p>For He was cut off from the land of the living; </p>
<p>For the transgressions of My people He was stricken. </p>
<p>And they made His grave with the wicked— </p>
<p>But with the rich at His death, </p>
<p>Because He had done no violence, </p>
<p>Nor was any deceit in His mouth. "<br><br><br>And then she had had enough and stopped me. <br> </p>
<p>Cindy: “Dee! I told you I don’t want to talk about Jesus! I don’t want to hear about Jesus either!" </p>
<p>Me: “But Cindy, what made you think I was talking about Jesus? I was reading from the Prophet Isaiah." </p>
<p>There was a long silence on the other end of the line and pretty soon she had to go. </p>
<p>After that something changed in our relationship. She was softer somehow. Less sure of herself - in a good way. That conversation, I think, created a crack in her armor. Where there had been no room for Jesus in her mind - now He was there whether she wanted Him to be or not. </p>
<p>I wish I could say that Cindy got saved that night. She didn’t. </p>
<p>That night what happened that was so extraordinary was that I got a glimpse - maybe my first real, personal glimpse of the Lord doing something that I could never have dreamed, in a way that I would never have thought of. He injected Himself into a situation and demanded to be dealt with. </p>
<p>It has happened many times since - God surprising me by orchestrating meetings, conversations, opportunities, events. It is one of the ways I know that He is not just in my imagination - because when He shows up He seems to act in ways that I would never have considered. When He speaks, He says things differently than I would have expected Him to.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/40517032016-02-20T17:05:00-06:002022-03-30T16:52:34-05:00The Day That Changed Everything<p>It had been a warm day in August of 1959, but as evening approached it carried with it cool breezes from the Pacific that would make it cold when the sun set. It always got cold at night. Some Aunts and Uncles and my cousins were visiting! Oh what a great day! <br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/a042b0f0635c3bd5cd9d2826adeed3e82958e1fd/medium/denise-at-6-img-0224.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Me at 6-yrs-old. About 2 months before the day that changed everything.</p></div>
<p><br><br>What made it especially exciting is that the visit was one of the first on my own turf, and I wanted to show them every little thing in the house and yard. Well, everything that was important to ME that is. There was my bedroom with the hand written paper sign tacked to the door that said “BOYZ KEEP OUD” and my very own playhouse between the house and the garage workshop. Lukie Bean had built both the garage and the playhouse, and the playhouse looked like a Disney cartoon created especially for me.</p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/261eafd3f1c87564e21f85946a9ed61383e41141/medium/denises-playhouse.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">My playhouse with carport for my candy striped surrey and matching doghouse for our Basset, Duke.</p></div>
<p><br><br>Lukie Bean was not my Daddy. Just my Dad. But I liked him. He was okay by me. My mother was happier than I had seen her in a long time and I thought he was probably the reason. I didn’t want her to be sad. She was my best friend and she had seemed sad ever since I could remember. I tried to be very good, as good as I could be. Not because I would be punished. That hardly ever happened. I tried to be good because I couldn’t bear to see her sad and I didn’t ever want to be the reason she was sad.</p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/1df8d6946fa3acbeb934f7358ad327a34f6f3068/large/mom-3.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Mother and I in 1961, less than 2 years after the 'day'. The spider web went up one halloween and never came down again.</p></div>
<p>A very big yard stretched out as we passed through the garage which had BIG doors on both sides so you could drive right through into the "back 40" as Mother used to call it. It was really only a 1/2 acre, but it felt big, there in our neighborhood in Linda Vista on the bluffs overlooking the San Diego River Basin. Out there in the "back 40",I had some really neat playground things. My favorite was the huge rectangular trampoline. I would jump on it for hours and hours trying to count how many seat drops or knee drops I could do in a row without faltering. Someday I would master the flip, but not today because everyone wanted to have a turn. Usually I only had Stanley, the kid next door, to play with, and I didn’t have any brothers or sisters yet so having other kids, and real live cousins to boot, there in my own pretend kingdom, was just too exciting for words. My little sister, Becky had died not long after her birth. She was born too early they said. That made ME sad. I had really been looking forward to a brother or sister, but Mother said I wouldn’t have to wait long. She was expecting in about a month and was waddling around like a duck. I thought she looked so funny waddling that way. It was a glorious day, full of promise and the kind of joy and excitement only a six-year-old can know.</p>
<p>The smell of BBQ wafted through the late afternoon air. We would be eating in the palm frond covered patio, but the kitchen of the smallish tract home we lived in was the center of activity. The meat was cooking on the grill outside, but everything else, it seemed, was happening inside and soon the bigger cousins were called away to help with the final preparations. I wanted to help too, but I was too little, being the youngest cousin in the troupe that day. Mother grabbed me as I was running somewhere and forced me into a sweater. I didn’t like that at all. It was wool and a little bit itchy, but even though I told her I wasn’t cold it didn’t matter. The sweater was staying on. </p>
<p>Deprived of the cousins, I ended up back in the “back 40” again to see if I could “do something” for my new favorite grownup. We called him “Uncle Buddy” and he was really keen. He was Lukie Bean’s younger brother and had just come to San Diego from Illinois, where he and Lukie Bean grew up. He had come to work for Lukie in his construction business and he was hardly more than a teen-ager. He lived, temporarily, in the travel trailer behind the house and he drove a model A pick-up. Sometimes if Mother and Lukie Bean had to go out he would watch me. He let me eat green beans cold and right out of the can and he had something else in a can I hadn’t ever seen before. Bread! Canned bread was amazing to me. He opened it with a can opener, plopped it out like a can of dog food and just like magic - round bread! <br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/1960c2b20249c9283d94c5a5f9e74e8a1bf88016/large/mom-12.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Uncle Buddy, Lukie Bean and my youngest Bro Dante. Mother, Aunt Erika (Uncle Buddy's wife) with Monte.<br>Christmas in Illinois 1965 at the home of Luke and Buddy's parents, (Grandma & Grandpa Spanks)<br>I think that might have been the year the boys named them that!<br>Not long after 'the day', Uncle Buddy joined the army and was sent to Germany, where he met Erika.<br> </p></div>
<p>So, (back to my story) since no one else was paying any attention to me at the moment, I found Uncle Buddy and asked him if I could clean his fishbowl. He had showed me how already and I had done it before. I felt really grown up putting the little goldfish in a glass and then washing out the small, rounded tank. I usually took the whole business in the house and did it there. He said I could and so off I went, trying not to slosh the fish out before I even got to the house, walking like a tight rope walker and holding the fish and the bowl against my chest very carefully with both hands, which, of course, only made it slosh more. </p>
<p>My sweater was getting wet. Icky green fish water wet. Maybe Mother would take it off me when she saw that. </p>
<p>Up the back steps slowly. Carefully holding the big glass bowl cradled in the crook of one arm, I opened the kitchen door. Inside and across the kitchen. My Cousin, Loyce, was the only one in the kitchen now. She was filling a pitcher of ice with water to take out to the picnic tables in the patio. That's where everyone else seemed to be at the moment. I reached the fridge. A few of my drawings were there. Not all of them made it to the "Frigidaire Art Gallery." Next to it was a counter top with a cutting board built right into it. I liked that. It would slide in and out and in and out until my mother told me to "quit it." That’s where I decided to set the fishbowl down while I got the other things I needed. Sitting on top of that counter, that afternoon, was a HUGE coffee pot. It was a giant cylinder that looked like a rocket ship and the smell of percolating coffee was strong as I stood right in front of it. <br><br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/d5818ccc08e12f665020a6ad9554b22e06eb2d75/large/mom-3a.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Mother sitting at the table in the kitchen where it all happened. Behind her, the door I came through with the infamous fishbowl.<br> </p></div>
<p>My arms were getting tired after carrying the fishbowl across the back yard, through the garage, up the paved drive past my playhouse and into the kitchen. I realized that I had better be quick before I dropped it. The hand that opened the door shot out again to pull the breadboard out. I guess I didn’t see the electric chord of the coffee urn draped a little over the edge of the counter and hanging where the breadboard would catch it when I pulled, but I did notice as the big coffee urn tilted in my direction and started to fall off the counter, tipping sideways like a rocket ship that never made it off the launching pad. Both hands shot up instinctively to protect myself from being hit by the urn. The fishbowl crashed to the floor (poor little gold fish) and when the side of that urn hit my small outstretched hands, the lid exploded off the top and about 30 or 40 cups of boiling coffee hit me squarely in the face and chest, finding the floor by following a path down my left arm and leg. </p>
<p>Then commenced a period of time where I don’t remember much of anything except strange emotions and surreal, disjointed impressions. They say when you are dying or in shock you don't feel much pain and I don't remember feeling any at all. When I got a little older Mother filled me in on the details of what happened next. </p>
<p>Cousin Loyce, still standing by the sink with that pitcher of ice water in her hand, saw most of what transpired. When she saw me standing there covered with coffee grounds and literally stewing in the aftermath of being dowsed with the boiling liquid, she didn’t really know what to do. She was still just a youngster herself, only 4 or 5 years older than I was, but she knew she had to do something! As she screamed for help she took the pitcher of ice and water and poured it over my head.</p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/9f804724f4a65c384b3ad6fe956f8184dd5ac6b0/medium/img-0189.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Rare photo. Step brothers, Randy and Sam (sons of my Daddy's new wife, Nancy), Cousin Loyce and Myself.<br> </p></div>
<p>I ruined a perfectly good BBQ and family gathering that day. Everyone was beside themselves. Mother ran in and started to undress me to look at the burns, but the woolen sweater had literally melted, it’s fibers merging with my boiled skin. Because of that, taking the sweater off meant taking the skin off as well. The ice over the head was both the best and the worst thing that could have happened, the Doctor told us later. Washing out the coffee grounds probably saved me from infection, but iced water over burning flesh had the same effect as heating a marble in the oven and then plunging it in icy water - You get cracked marbles, all shot through with tiny fissures that create a kaleidoscope effect. The extreme hot and then extreme cold popped the burned skin loose. And now I know, though I didn’t then, that our skin is what keeps what is inside on the inside and most of what is outside from getting in. So, what was inside me, didn't have much to prevent it leaking out. You get the picture. Sorry. Yet infection might have killed me just as easily.</p>
<p>Mother stopped what she was doing, wrapped me in a clean sheet and they rushed me to the clinic of our brand new family Doctor. Even though it was after hours and a weekend, Dr. Wilson met them there and surveyed the damage. He spent a very long time with tweezers removing badly damaged skin, and doing what he could to keep me going. I remember laying on the table and looking into that strange, giant face that was very close to mine, nostrils flared, frowny face concerned. After a while an ambulance was called to take me to the hospital his practice was connected to. As the night wore on, he could offer no hope. Death would almost surely be the outcome here. 3rd degree burns over more than 50% of my body and not enough skin left to hold the fluids in. I would die sometime in the night. They needed to prepare themselves for what he thought was inevitable. He was a kind, but very blunt and practical man.</p>
<p>As doctors and nurses swarmed around me in the hospital, the family gathered in the waiting room. The mending of fences that was beginning for my mother and her sisters, after her divorce and re-marriage, began to dissolve. The youngest four of the eight siblings were a pretty religious bunch and Mother hadn’t been doing very well in their eyes for quite some time. They were right, but they didn't know how to handle a backslider sister. To top it all off Grandmother was ill. Too ill to have traveled the hour or so to the gathering that day. They weren't sure what was wrong with her. She shouldn’t be told. She couldn’t be told, the sisters said. It might kill her! Her precious, youngest grand-child injured and dying. This would have to be handled with care. But mother resisted. Grandma knew God. She knew how to pray. She had to be told! But they wouldn’t have any of it and they became a united front against her.</p>
<p>As a child, teen and young adult my Mother had experienced a vibrant, exciting and Spirit-Filled relationship with God. She and my father had gone to Bible-School and were planning a life of full-time ministry. But disillusionment during those Bible School years, a failed marriage and even adultery had all but destroyed her faith, and Daddy's as well. In her heart, she was far from God and she knew it, even though her life was slowly getting back on track outwardly. </p>
<p>Mother had always been the head-strong one, though among the 5 Payne sisters, Allie, Mary, Lillie Jean, Betty and and Mother there were several that rivaled her. The youngest of eight and baby of the family, my mother, JoAnn, was hot or cold and nothing in between. That night she didn’t care one bit about obeying the wishes of older siblings. She knew she wasn’t walking close enough to God to have the faith that was needed in this moment. So, she went outside to “get some air," found a payphone and called her mother. </p>
<p>My Grandmother, Lillie Payne, was polar opposites with Mother in personality. Slow and methodical. Not one to talk much. Extraordinarily patient for most of her life. Very short with long, straight grey hair and high cheekbones in a round face that framed slightly slanted eyes. Piercing eyes, but eyes that smiled. All together her physical features clearly betrayed the 1/4 Choctaw Indian that flowed through her veins. She was Lillie Shrum and had married, James Payne at the very young age of 14. Then she had stubbornly stayed married to that alcoholic husband who would disappear, sometimes for days and sometimes for years at a time. She kept her family of eight children together, housed and fed through the Great Depression and beyond - even when she had to do it alone. She had come to Jesus when Mother, her youngest, was only a year old. And though her life had been hard beyond imagining, she was sweet and kind and generous and full of the Holy Spirit. At six years old I loved her beyond words. She lived to come stay with us and help with my wedding and then went home to heaven about a month later. Her house was more familiar to me than any I had lived in. I can still see it’s rooms and furniture and her standing in her kitchen whenever I wish to. With her I was safe and around her there was peace, and we doted on each other. When Mother was single and I was very young I spent a lot of time there. </p>
<p>So Mother sneaked away and called Grandmother. And Grandmother went to her knees. What she prayed I don't know. How she prayed that day I couldn’t say. How much she prayed. No idea. All I know is what Mother told me later. After a long night of not being allowed to sleep and sipping 7-Up through a straw that was almost continually held to my lips (I do remember that and I guess that’s why I’m not a big fan of 7-Up to this day), lying in a humiliating, crib-style, child’s hospital bed; which is mortifying for one who is a BIG GIRL and SIX-YEARS-OLD, (Isn’t it weird the things we remember), morning FINALLY came and I was still alive. When Dr. Wilson made his morning rounds and poked his head in at the door, he was amazed that I was still in the land of the living. He changed my bandages, talked to the nurses and then came and told my very pregnant mother that I seemed to be “out of the woods.” I would probably live. BUT! Yes, but. And this was a very big BUT. Here’s what we had to look forward to. Months and months in the hospital. Horrible scarring was a certainty, especially on my face, neck and chest. To expect to have anything like the appearance of a normal child, while growing up, was a thing not to be grasped. Any good looks, not to mention beauty, Mother might have hoped for in me needed to be forgotten. At that point I wasn't at an age to know or care about such things. And one last thing. There would be surgeries. Many, many painful surgeries - skin grafts that would need to be done and re-done as I grew since grafted skin doesn’t grow with the child. </p>
<p>So, Mother waited for Dr. Wilson to leave, then put down the glass of 7-Up with the straw in it, picked up the phone and called her mother again. </p>
<p>I’m sure there must have been others praying. Grandmother went to the local Assembly of God, a Pentecostal church there in Vista, California where she and Grandpa (who had finally settled down in his old age, but still hadn’t given his heart to Jesus) lived. Grandma went to church faithfully. It was her support group. Her extended family. Her social network - even though Grandpa steadfastly refused to go with her. Aunt Betty, however, who was Mother’s next youngest sister, lived near Grandma and they all went to church together. Aunt Betty, her husband, Uncle Eddie, and two of the cousins, Roger and Loyce. I would imagine that the prayer warriors of that church were involved and probably the pastor as well, and the others in the family too. But Grandma was certainly the tip of the spear and she continued to storm heaven on that second day that I was in the hospital. Me there with Mom, who sat by my bed in what must have been incredible discomfort and fatigue in her last month of pregnancy, forcing me to sip 7-Up, trying to stay awake and keep me alive. She probably got breaks relieved by other members of the family, but I don't remember that and I don't remember them. I only remember that she kept watch and Grandmother prayed.</p>
<p>The clock ticked away another day there in that, oh so boring, room. When Dr. Wilson appeared the next morning and took a look at me, pulling bandages away from oozing flesh to have a look (a pretty painful process as I recall since I wasn't in shock any longer), he got a funny look on his face and sort of rubbed his brow. He didn’t speak for quite some time, but after bringing others in and talking among themselves, in whispers outside the room, he came back to Mother and said, </p>
<p>“I’ve never really seen anything like this before. We’re going to change her bandages here in a bit and then you can take her home." </p>
<p>And that was it.<br><br>I never went back to the hospital. There were just some regular visits to Dr. Wilson's office for bandage changes, checkups and wound care. I never had a skin graft or any other surgery - not one from then until I was all grown up and had to have a C section. Within 6 months of "the day that changed everything", in August of 1959, when all the scabs had healed and dropped off and the sun had tanned the new miraculously smooth skin again, no one (not even the family) could tell where, or even if, I had been burned at all. <br><br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/afc8972ab611b305eea8a11d4775e847ef5b44fe/large/teendee.jpg?1452295122" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Me around the age of 16 with siblings Todd and Tracy. My Daddy's kids. Look Ma, no scars.<br> </p></div>
<p>By the time I was all healed up I was just turning seven. My little brother, Monte, had arrived strong and healthy, during my convalescence and Mother and Lukie Bean had found a church in town where the pastor was one of my mother’s former bible school classmates. They attended faithfully there for many years. Mother threw herself on the Mercies the Lord again, and in genuine repentance never looked back. Lukie Bean, who had been raised in a very decidedly NON charismatic/NON Pentecostal household and church, was also beginning to surrender to the Lord and see life under grace in a whole new way. Soon he knew that there was more, much more to serving God than his “Cessationist” upbringing had led him to believe. God DID care about us as individuals and WAS still doing miracles today. And. . . you COULD have a real personal relationship with Him. Thank you very much! </p>
<p>Mother was walking as forgiven and also learning to forgive herself for the failings that had almost destroyed her life. As for me, when I heard a ventriloquist and his dummy at a child-evangelism meeting tell me that Jesus Loved me and that He wanted me to give my life to Him - I didn’t even bat an eyelash. It was a done deal.<br><br>I already knew it for certain sure.<br><br>I knew then just as I know now. God is REAL and He CARES for me and for you. It was all very fresh for me then, but I bear the evidence of it in my body each day.<br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/52ee500d23afec232f16eeeb15ee231ac1fd815c/original/mom-10.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Lukie Bean and Monte, Mother and myself ready for church on a Sunday Morning.</p></div>
<p><br>I have walked with Him ever since.<br><br>When I was 11, I was filled with the Holy Spirit. The next day, He spoke to my heart and called me into ministry.<br><br>By the time I was 12 He was already drawing me to sing and speak for Him in public.<br><br>When I was 18 I became a full-time missionary and am today, still walking in that calling. <br><br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/9959c3a25d334f6bf77fa47886366304eb05463e/medium/015-pattons-mcguire-shubin.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Early on - around 1973 with the Agape Force backing up Barry McGuire<br><br><img class='justify_center size_m' src='//s3.amazonaws.com/content.sitezoogle.com/u/137203/f16729bb1f86867d4ee98e58a69e006b2c96dd96/medium/af025-1.jpg?0'>A little later in 1977<br><img class='justify_center size_m' src='//s3.amazonaws.com/content.sitezoogle.com/u/137203/73071ebbc05e0106093aafcbba9a9ee2a91de21b/medium/d88g1730.jpg?1397765248'><br>Still singing and playing and working for Jesus</p></div>
<p>When I was 21 and expecting our first child a funny “rest of the story” kind of thing happened. Jim and I were in Northern California and getting ready to go on tour with the Agape Force. The Lord provided money for me to have a checkup and the doctor that saw me happened to be a young resident at a local hospital/clinic while he was working toward a specialty in dermatology. The check-up that day was just to make sure that I was healthy and that my pregnancy was going well before I left town for the Summer. But after I was examined I sat for what seemed to be a very long time, mostly dis-robed, in a cold examination room, waiting for this young Doc to return and give me the "All Clear". When he did come back he seemed a bit flustered. <br><br> </p>
<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/eb254831f3fa81327ebe85b9b597be153bdf0317/medium/06-1974-lpsession2-1.jpg?0" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Jim & I around the time of my meeting with the dermatologist and 'the rest of the story.'</p></div>
<p>“Have you ever been burned,” he asked timidly. </p>
<p>“Yes, I have,” I answered. A smile was forming inside, but I tried not to let it out just yet.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me about it,” he asked again? </p>
<p>And so I did!<br><br>I told him a somewhat shortened version of what I have just told you here. All the while, he listened intently, his eyes getting big a few times like what I was saying was a little hard to believe. But when I was done he said, with what seemed like a kind of relief, </p>
<p>“That explains a lot because your skin is not right. Well, what I mean is, ummmm, it’s not the right texture. It’s texture is like scar tissue, but it's smooth like normal skin and I have never seen anything like that before." </p>
<p>And so, Dear Friend, that is my memory of the day that changed everything for me, for my family and for many people since. And also the rest of the story. It is why I know, for certain, that God is real and that prayer does move the hand of God. It is just one of the reasons why I belong to Him completely and it is why there is nothing so important in my life as communicating His love. Nothing I care about as much. Nothing else that really motivates me. Nothing else that seems more worth doing than to speak or teach or sing or write or serve and show, somehow, that He is real and that His Kingdom is HERE. His power and love are NOW and his open arms are for ALL who will submit themselves to His loving, Fatherly heart. </p>
<p>I am essentially still that same little girl who, having done nothing to deserve this healing, was touched and changed forever as an answer to the prayers of others.<br><br>I was pulled, as a child, into His loving embrace and that is the only place I ever want to be.</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/40244292016-02-04T09:14:16-06:002023-10-16T09:46:42-05:00To Face or Embrace<p style="text-align:center;"><span class="text-big"><strong>To Face or Embrace </strong></span></p><p><br>Each day, each morning gives to us, not just a chance to try again; not just a reset button or a new “life” (like in a video game). It gives us, rather, a new opportunity to re-create ourselves by losing ourselves. An opportunity to gain new life by giving ourselves away and to welcome that opportunity with joyful, open arms. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/6e7321edd552838031ca0d7d81de527e0adfd93a/medium/unknown-5.jpg?1454598507" class="size_m justify_left border_" /></p><p>In a nutshell, it boils down to one question. </p><p>Is each day something for us to face or</p><p>something to embrace? </p><p>Todd Rundgren wrote the lyric: </p><p>“How can I change the world when I can’t change myself?” </p><p>Such overwhelming truth behind those words. A question born of trying and trying and trying again. </p><p>Michael Jackson penned and sang: </p><p>“I’m looking at the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to make a change.” </p><p>In the end, although the song is moving and so much essential truth is there, it didn’t seem as if that idea alone worked out too well for him. </p><p>Each new year brings resolutions; new beginnings to old efforts, new diets, new promises - a new girding of the loins to hit the world head on. Again. </p><p>But, most of the time, we must admit that by the end of the year, the month, the day - that encounter and ensuing struggle more often leaves us with bruises about that head that went “head on” and a noticeable limp for all our effort. Or worse. We fight. We try. We grow weary. Our resolve crumbles. We may last a week or a day or an hour. Some may even last a month. But looking at life like an enemy we must face leaves us with more battle scars than victory marches. Something more is needed. </p><p>For each of us, life does, indeed, have it’s Goliath. Sometimes more than one. There ARE going to be battles that we must fight, go through and come out the other side to look back on. However, what David knew and Goliath didn’t was simply this. David wasn’t leading a charge; He was following the lover of His soul. He never had any intention of facing the giant alone. </p><p>It didn’t start on the battlefield with a sling. It started in a pasture with a harp. </p><p>No. It doesn’t start with facing. It starts with embracing. </p><p>A birth doesn’t start with the labor, it starts with an intimate encounter. And when the labor does start in earnest, if the intimacy has not been maintained, the labor soon becomes a sad, desperate, lonely affair. Even a live healthy birth can very easily become a reminder of something lost; not through any essential change or fault in the one born, but because it was born in effort without intimacy, without passion, without joy.</p><p>Do not mis-understand. It can be redeemed. It can ALL be redeemed! But only by going back to the embrace. </p><p>This morning I do NOT vow to do better. This morning I kiss the One who made the morning, thank Him for doing it and give myself to Him one more time. Then, when I hear the whisper of “follow me”, I know the breath behind that whisper is the same breath that is a rushing, mighty wind and a tongue of fire to ignite me for His purposes. </p><p>That done, Goliath can only hope that he does not encounter me!</p>Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/39895322016-01-14T18:25:11-06:002016-01-14T19:25:34-06:00Thoughts on RevivalIt's hard and sometimes weird to label yourself and uncomfortable when others label you. None of us really fit well into the little boxes that culture - church or otherwise - have so neatly laid out for us and ask us to climb into and STAY! Sometimes it's hard to find out what you're gift(s) is/are. Sometimes it's hard to say in a word or two what you really stand for without seeming trite. But I guess if there was one word that fit's Jim and I best it would be "Revivalists."<br><br>As a teen and young adult I witnessed, experienced and participated in what was truly a revival and spiritual awakening during the Jesus Movement. One day it was one way and the next day another. One day I was an outcast for being a believer and a follower of Jesus. The next day people were waiting for me at my locker to ask me about my faith. I was gathered up and swept away and completely changed by it. I've been waiting, praying, working and hoping for another Revival ever since.<br><br>Completely ruined for anything like average or ordinary life. Don't care about things that others seem to get excited about and even live for. I found that pearl of great price - that treasure hidden in a field and since then everything I see is through that lens - every decision made with a mind and heart imprinted, overlaid with a sure knowledge that there is only ONE thing important enough for me to really strive for - really live for. The God whose living breath and presence explodes every average thing we know and makes normal something vivid, alive and colorful in an otherwise gray and dull and cookie cutter world.<br><br>So to say that I think about Revival a lot would be an understatement.<br><br>Following are just a few of those thoughts - something I started writing while reading the Gospel of Mark in my <a contents='"Revival Study Bible."' data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.winkiepratney.net/revival-study-bible/" target="_blank">"Revival Study Bible." </a><br><br>Here goes :)<p><em><strong>So many people are talking about Revival these days.</strong></em><br><br>But do we all mean the same thing when we speak of it or even pray for it? When we pray for revival what is it that we are asking God for?<br><br>Winkie Pratney often says, "Don't seek revival. Seek GOD. Revival is just Him showing up in a culture." </p>
<p>Long ago we also used to say. "If you want revival draw a circle on the ground, get in that circle and pray for revival to come to everyone in the circle." So, what we are asking God to do then is something He has so clearly said he WANTS to do. John the Baptist said "I baptize you in water, but one is coming who will baptize you in the Holy Spirit." </p>
<p>So the mission statement of Jesus would be, at least in part, to: </p>
<p>1. Fill me/us with the Holy Spirit - John the Baptist - Mark 1:8<br>2. Destroy the works of the devil - John the Beloved - ! John 3:8<br><br>John the Baptist announced number 1 under the anointing and compulsion of the Holy Spirit and the Apostle Johnc learly stated number 2 in 1John 3:8</p>
<p>I was not created to live without the flow of the Spirit in me. Without the anointing power of God, without Him moving in and thru me - my work and my words quickly become dry and dead and my heart is not far behind if I don't humble myself and ask for it. With my total surrender and obedience to Him comes revival in ME and then through me to my "world" - my sphere of influence and the places of obedience where God calls me. </p>
<p>Charles Finney defined revival like this "Revival is nothing more or less than a new beginning of obedience to God." </p>
<p>We pray together for many reasons. Getting away from our "self focus" is one. Exposing ourselves to the passion and purpose of others is another good thing, but a main reason is that Jesus promised He would be in our midst when 2 or 3 are gathered together. He knows we not only need Him - but each other and that power comes out of that unity. The same kind of love and unity that the Godhead continually have with each other. In our little Wednesday morning prayer group we have been amazed to see that power and anointing and the resultant answers to prayer are often obviously exponential. </p>
<p>"One will put a thousand to flight. Two, ten thousand." </p>
<p>Winkie wrote this in the Introduction to the Gospel of Mark page 1358 in the Revival Study Bible. (which I unashamedly import, promote and make available through the materials distribution arm of our ministry) </p>
<p><em><strong>". . .Revival is the influx of the miracle life of the Son of God. It flows, in holy love like living lava and light, into a cold culture, frozen in its own fossilized time and space to the claims of God and the call of another world. That divine life is always accompanied by power, real power, to reverse the effects of decay and destruction, to flow against the flood of evil. The evil of the mind is ignorance and idolatry; the evil of the soul is infidelity to God; the evil of the spirit is the influence and infestation of alien entities; and the evil of the body is illness and disease. And God is against all evil." </strong></em></p>
<p>Revival will destroy the works of the devil in ALL of these areas even though people are often called, gifted and anointed more in one area than another. Oh how we need each other! In so many ways. </p>
<p>Let us not neglect our prayer life, friends, and let us not neglect to pray for and with each other - both for the larger manifestations of revival in the culture, but also for revival on a cellular level - in our own hearts - in our families - in our work - in our play - in our overt ministry - in our day to day interaction with others. It will spill over. It WILL reach critical mass. God will do what He wants to do if we obey Him - not just out of obligation but out of love. . .not just so our country can last longer or be better, but so that He can get what HE wants - loving relationship with us - each of us and everyone we know, everyone we meet, everyone who hasn't heard, everyone who is still in rebellion against His loving, holy embrace. </p>
<p><strong>He wants revival far more than we do - both in us and in the world.</strong></p><br> Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/39809882016-01-08T16:21:40-06:002021-07-19T13:03:29-05:00Greetings and Salutations<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/137203/735e611d44d53cec28279acaaaf6e47b8a428389/original/jimndee.png?1397767900" class="size_l justify_center border_" />My first post here was just to point you to our other blog sites - jimpattononline.com and deepatton.com. And I did that the first day we set up the site. Those still exist - but we have been doing a lot of different things. Jim's blog URL is mostly used for his artwork right now and mine is . . .well . . .sporadic to say the least. Can't promise the moon here, but I think with our Jimndee.com stuff - in some places branded as Jim and Dee Music - there needs to be things that have to do more with our music and our thoughts about life, the world we live in and Jesus...always Jesus. Cuz after all, we are still Jesus People (Jesus Freaks) at heart - even after all these years. And actually probably more now than ever. Time and life and the bumps gotten there may have mellowed us some (or it could have been the Lord actually doing that I imagine) - but we are still just the same kids that got married as hardly more than teens, thinking we could do more for God together than apart. Looking back I'm thinking we were right to think that.. . .and I'm betting that the best is yet to come. We look a lot different now. Some folks might have a hard time recognizing what time has wrought... lol. But the outside isn't the most important part. That's what mother told me. That's what I told my girls and it's still the truth. So here goes nothing. Gonna dive in here and see if we can do something fairly consistent. Catch ya on the up side!Jim & Dee Pattontag:jimndee.com,2005:Post/28799102014-04-17T19:57:44-05:002021-10-26T12:10:19-05:00Entering the Multi-blogiverse<p>We're excited to have jimndee.com up and going again on this fine evening in April of 2014. Jim may speak out here from time to time. Dee might as well, but both of us have our own blog sites - alternate dimensions of sight and sound and well....mostly words and stuff like that. Dee's lives here at jimndee.com and another at agapeforce.com where she shares stories. Jim isn't blogging at the moment but he is working on our music. Sometime's it's hard to do music and write about it at the same time. Nevertheless - stuff will be forthcoming. We hope it will be worth the reading, listening and contemplating.<br><br>Musically Yours,<br><br>Jim & Dee</p>Jim & Dee Patton