Post by MIRIAM JACOB on Jul 15, 2013 23:45:27 GMT -5
Miracle in the Mirror
Nita Edwards and Mark Buntain
WITH
Ron Hembree and Doug Brendel
CONTENTS
19 Celebration
20 Reminders
Afterword
Magnificent Obsession
by Ron Hembree
Faith on the Line
by Brother Andrew
Faith on Fire
by Syvelle Phillips
________________________
19
CELEBRATION
The chains of paralysis exploded away as Nita rocketed out over the end of her bed.
She landed on her knees with a thud, and her first sensation was the cold, hard tile floor beneath her. The divine warmth of the touch of her Lord had suddenly given way to this startling awakening. In the days to come she would realize that God had touched her so warmly only to thrust her into a ministry of fervent intercessory prayer in the cold real world.
Her knees had not been bent in over a year; now they were bent before her Jesus. Her hands, useless for so long, were now straightened, upraised, worshipping God. Her voice had been still; now her mouth began to fill with heavenly words, tumbling out in a bubbly fountain of praise. For the first time in her life, she was leading others in prayer.
Mrs. Edwards had felt the bed vibrating and opened her eyes. There before her, she saw Nita's withered left hand, the tiny one, spring to life. The mother watched, awestruck, as her crippled little girl grasped the bed covers and threw them off -then catapulted out of bed.
The doctor who was kneeling heard the rustling of linens and looked up to see Nita leaping past her.
Beryl had looked up at the same moment, and as Nita went by the secretary's eyes fell on Nita's oversized wristhingych. It was precisely 3:30.
The Great Physician was on time for His appointment.
Suzanne heard the action and opened her eyes. Nita was not in the bed. She glanced immediately to the foot of the bed, and saw her dropping to her knees with the momentum of her leap.
Dr. Sudo, sitting against the wall, heard Nita praying - something she had never heard her do. She looked at the bed and found it empty. There was Nita, kneeling at the foot of it, worshipping her Healer in glowing ecstacy.
The Buddhist nurse was in the habit of checking in on Nita every few minutes, regardless of who was visiting. She had peeked in twice since three o'clock, and each time found the prayer meeting in progress, with Nita looking comfortable in her bed.
When she stepped in again, she stopped in the doorway -furious. These lunatic Christians had lugged the poor cripple out and propped her up against the foot of her bed to pray!
Young Michaele came back to find Nita on her knees, and immediately he knew what had happened. He smacked his forehead, chagrined. She had asked him to be there, and he had failed.
Nita was not conscious of the others praying and worshipping God. She had tuned out this earthly realm a full ten minutes before, and was engulfed by the presence and the power of her Lord, the Almighty God.
Shortly after four, Colton suddenly jumped up.
"We've prayed long enough!" he declared smiling, his face wet with tears. "Now it's time to celebrate!"
Everyone stood - and Nita stood.
The room fell silent for a moment as the people absorbed the shock of what they were seeing. Now that Nita was healed, the rest of them were paralysed. Like Peter on the Mount of Transfiguration, they could not quite yet take in the miracle.
Mrs. Edwards blanched as Nita took her first step. Suzanne - even knowing what to expect - instinctively reached out to help her. Nita drew away. She felt the strength of ten tigers. She was ready to go jogging, to climb up the roof. She was fully empowered and ready to roar.
But her guests were still stunned. Nita stepped toward them, kissing each one in turn and mumbling the only verse of Scripture that came to her mind, "He is faithful that promised," the obscure little portion of Hebrews 10:23 that the King James Version relegates to parentheses.
"He is faithful that promised."
Nita's mother was dazed. She had never expected this.
"Mama," Nita whispered as she embraced her tearfully, "He is faithful that promised."
The Buddhist attendant was standing in the doorway, clutching the door frame as if she were about to faint. She was crying in quiet hysteria, unable to believe that she had just seen Nita stand up. She cried for forty minutes - immoveable. Nita slipped her arms around the woman she had never been able to touch, and then, ignoring the Buddhist standards of propriety, kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"Didn't I tell you my Jesus was going to heal me?"
The woman jumped. She had forgotten. She broke loose, pivoted, and charged back to her room.
Michaele took the opportunity to grab his dear friend and check out the Physician's work. Nita sat on the bed and let Michaele administer her first physical examination - putting each limb through its paces, giving her an impromptu vision test. Satisfied, the teenager began boxing with her merrily. Nita laughed with him. When they started armwrestling, though, Suzanne intervened.
"Michaele, stop that!"
"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "God healed her! She can take it!"
And with childlike faith, he went back to boxing with her.
The match was cut short as the Buddhist attendant came to the door. She held the scrap of cardboard in her hands.
"What is written here?" she asked one of the doctors, still unable to fathom the miracle.
The doctor read the scrawled message aloud:
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 11TH, 1977 3:30 P.M.
The attendant began weeping profusely, her eyes racing frantically.
"She told me!" the woman cried. "She told me! She told me several days ago! And today she made me get her slippers out! Now I know why!"
She ran out of the apartment, compelled to talk about what she had just seen. Up and down the street, from door to door, the electrified Buddhist woman declared the miracle - to neighbours, to passersby, to anyone who would listen - perhaps the first Buddhist evangelist.
Nita's mother was the next to leave the celebration. She hurried home to begin making phone calls and sending cables -contacting every person she had ever asked to pray, and announcing that the answer had come! First she would call Ted - if he had even arrived in London yet. And then there were Sonny, and Auntie Vivian, and Uncle Jay and Auntie Patty in Nigeria ...
Colton's older son Eran drove up, and as soon as Nita heard the car, her mental wheels began turning. To play a joke on him, she hid behind the door as he walked in. When she stepped into view, Eran shouted with fright. He thought she had finally died, and he was seeing her ghost. Everyone exploded in laughter.
Eventually the super-charged meeting broke up, as Colton's family and Beryl and the two doctors made their way home.
When Nita was left alone in the apartment, she began to walk . . . into the kitchen, around to the bathroom, into the foyer, back to the bedroom. Such a novelty - to walk! Her waist, terribly thin from months of weight loss, would not hold up her slacks. Even as she clutched them with one hand they sagged around her hips and hung about three inches too long. But she rolled them up and continued her happy pacing for hours. Like a newly hooked jogger, she must have covered ten miles that night within her small apartment.
As she went she filled the place with praise and thanksgiving, dwelling on the incredible goodness of her Lord. At times during the marathon walk, she stopped to sit down and examine her fingers or her toes in amazement. She pinched herself. She scratched. She touched household objects just for the thrill of feeling them. The sense of touch was like a new toy and Nita, the child, was inclined to wear its batteries all the way down on the first night.
Mrs. Edwards, having exhausted all the people she could possibly call or cable, hurried to her kitchen to fix up something special for her daughter. Soon she reappeared at Nita's door to drop off some food. Nita was touched by the sentiment as she opened the container - it was shrimp! With a flourish, she actually fed them to herself. It was a far cry from the last time she had eaten shrimp, when her mother had to put them in her mouth for her in the hospital.
And she wanted to indulge in one more temporal delight. Nita headed for the bathroom, locked herself in, and ran a hot bath. She played in the water with complete abandon, flapping at the soap suds and splashing like a happy baby, revelling in her newly-sensitive skin. They were luxurious moments, except for her nervous attendant pounding on the door every few minutes to make sure she was still healed and okay.
After lounging lazily in a hot tub, Nita went back to her bedroom and sat down in her visitor's chair. She had never sat in it before. It was a great improvement on the wheelchair! She picked up her Bible and opened it. For the first time in a long time, she could see clearly the words of Psalm 23, the words that had buoyed up her spirit from the beginning: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me."
She thumbed over to Isaiah 40. Here, too, she had found solace many times when the waiting seemed futile. But now, she had the promise in hand: "He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength .. .
"But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run; and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint."
For so long, it had only been an elusive, haunting promise . . . now she was living on the fact side of faith.
Nita sat worshipping before the Lord for a long time before preparing for bed. It was thrilling to be able to do this for herself after being exposed and reexposed so many times. It was glorious to brush her own teeth, to plump her own pillow, and finally - after craving privacy for so long - to shut her door.
She sank into the cosiness of her bedsheets. Tonight, for the first time ever, this huge bed was a friendly place.
Later on, when people asked her if she was afraid to get back into that bed - afraid that she might wake up a cripple again the next morning - the question invariably surprised her. Her body was so full of energy that night, so vibrant with God's supernatural power, that the idea of a relapse never entered her mind. Instead she lay there, enveloped in the afterglow of the presence of her Lord.
She sang to Him softly in the darkness until she fell asleep. The song had been one of her favourites from her early days in the hospital.
How can I say thanks for the things you have done for me?
Things so undeserved, yet you give to prove your love for me.
The voices of a million angels could not express my gratitude;
All that I am and ever hope to be, I owe it all to thee.
To God be the glory; To God be the glory, To God be the glory For the things He has done.
With His blood He has saved me,
With His power he has raised me,
To God be the glory For the things He has done.
Just let me live my life,
Let it be pleasing Lord, to Thee; And should I gain any praise, Let it go to Calvary.
With His blood He has saved me,
With His power He has raised me.
To God be the glory For the things He has done!
20
REMINDERS
It is a medical fact that anyone who suffers paralysis in the legs for three months or more suffers muscular atrophy and must undergo physical therapy to regain his normal gait.
Nita Edwards was scientifically documented as completely paralysed for a year. Her normal gait returned on Friday, February 11, 1977, at 3:30 p.m., Sri Lanka time, the very moment of her healing.
She bore three reminders of her personal holocaust. First, she had lost weight, and had to have new clothes tailored, but eventually she gained back the lost pounds.
Second, the soles of her feet were tender after a year of non-use. For a few weeks after the healing, it tickled her to walk. But this reminder disappeared as well.
The third reminder is still with her. To this day, she bears scars on her body from the pricking, cutting, and "testing" of the medical experts.
Nita Edwards told her story in public for the first time in church on Sunday after the miracle. She was bashful about appearing in public, but she felt God had given her something too astounding to conceal.
Many who had scoffed at the constant prayer requests for Nita were in the congregation that day. The youth of the church experienced powerful revival as a result of her testimony.
Nita's Buddhist attendant had no choice but to accept Jesus Christ as her personal Saviour. She is an active, enthusiastic Christian today.
Brother Andrew jumped for joy when word reached him that Nita Edwards had been healed. He never doubted.
Back in the United States, when Nita and Syvelle met in person for the first time since the miracle, Syvelle sobbed openly. He was thrilled that he had been wrong.
Sandy Koelmeyer rejoiced and wept when Nita called her with the news. Father Shirley beamed with joy when he first encountered his old friend made new.
The day of Nita's healing, the first call her mother made was to England. Ted had arrived home only ninety minutes before, still emotionally strung out, when the phone rung.
"Son, Sissy got healed," she said breathlessly. "She can walk."
His response was instantaneous. "Are her hands normal?"
Nita's crooked fingers had made the deepest impact on him.
He was hurt, however, when he found out that Nita had known of the impending miracle and failed to tell him about it or to keep him in Sri Lanka for it. As her brother, he saw no reason to have been deprived of that. There was a strain in the relationship between brother and sister for a long time afterwards. But overpowering family love and Ted's respect for the power of God eventually mended the tested relationship.
Dr. Shan, the specialist who had scarred Nita's body, soon heard about the miracle. Each time Nita visited people in the hospital later, Dr. Shan studiously avoided her.
Dr. Pieris, the Buddhist neurophysician, told the medical staff that her healing was a hoax, a psychological stunt. He crossed Nita's path a few times in public places in the ensuing years, but he pretended not to know her. To do otherwise, presumably, would mean admitting that his therapy had failed -and that indeed Nita's recovery was a miracle.
But the facts were undeniable, and the two doctors who witnessed the miracle arranged to have the case fully documented. In the end, there was only one truth that could be absolutely verified: Nita Edwards was no longer a hostage in her own body.
She was free!
She is free!
And ye shall know that I am in the midst of Israel,
and that I am the Lord your God, and none else:
and my people shall never be ashamed.
Joel 2:27
AFTERWORD
Magnificent Obsession
Ron Hembree
The four of us huddled around the small table in the busy Orlando, Florida, coffee shop. We were bone tired, but buoyant because the "Nita book" was about wrapped up. We had carefully chased the story across two continents and now all that was left to do was the epilogue. But, it was a troublesome task because it is not easy to close the "Book of Acts." Luke had the same problem.
Mark, Nita, Doug Brendel and I had wrestled with the difficulty until the wee hours of the morning before giving up in exhaustion. We had followed Mark around the country with his heavy speaking schedule so we could snatch the hours needed to complete the story. Our odyssey had taken us to Toronto, Chicago, back to Toronto, to Charlotte, Atlanta, and now Orlando, Florida. We were not only exhausted from the strain of writing but also travelling. But it was more than exhaustion. The epilogue simply would not come together.
Much of the problem came in trying to sort out what should be included. We still had so much more to tell. And there were the still unanswered questions of just how Nita would fit into the coming great Third World revival.
Should we tackle the thorny problem of the criticism against Nita's decision to come to America? There were those in Asia who could not understand why she would come to finish her education when time was so short and the Asian need so great. Perhaps we should deal with this problem - but how? Would our epilogue satisfy those critics, or would it merely seem like a defence for her decision?
Then, there was that strange spiritual kinship that God developed between Mark and Nita. All through the book project Mark would call me or cable from India, saying, "POURING MY HEART OUT FOR YOU IN PRAYER FOR THE BOOK, LOVE MARK." He talked about her all the time and begged prayers for her.
For all of our training and experience, we still could not get a handle on how to end the book.
Our waitress patiently brought another round of coffee even though we had long overstayed the allotted breakfast hour. I'm sure she wished we would leave to free the table for tippers who would exceed her expectations from us four. We sipped slowly and verbally battered around different ideas.
Our tedium must have created some tension, for at that moment, just a brief apostrophe of time, something happened that would burn into my spirit and let me know what the Nita book was really all about.
Mark had started to speak when his raspy voice broke down into a whisper. I looked up and saw scalding tears roll down his ragged cheeks and splash on the table. His whole face seemed to collapse in a chasm of agony. I tensed with concern, but I knew Mark well enough to sense he was opening his deepest soul and letting us take a small look inside the sacred secrets of his life. It was as if some divine sword, for some unknown reason, clave open his bleeding heart and the pain of that incision forced tears, choked his voice, and distorted his cherubic features.
We leaned close physically to his broken whisper. But more, our souls strove to sense what was stirring Mark so deeply.
"Please forgive me, dear ones," Mark whispered. "I am embarrassed, I didn't want to cry. I must tell you why I'm so tied to Nita's miracle."
He stopped to try to gain his composure. Unable to do so he plunged ahead.
"I'm so afraid, I'm so afraid of forgetting the spiritual. For so long now I've been spending so many hours in the natural -building the hospital, feeding the starving. I don't want to forget the most important of all."
A heart-shattering sob exploded from his pent up soul. He couldn't go on. Mark's whole frame began to react to his heartbreak. Suddenly he jumped up and rushed from the room. He had not wanted to embarrass us with his shattered emotions in a public restaurant.
I knew Mark would be back. But, I also knew something else. I knew he had not slept after our late night session. At about 2:30 we had given up and gone to bed. But Mark had gone on praying, searching, asking. His soul was so wrapped up in this story, sleep was impossible. It bound him as a prisoner and haunted him every step of his day. Slowly it began to dawn on me why Nita's story meant so much to him.
We waited, not daring to speak a word. Nita's head was bowed and tears streaked her beautiful brown face. Doug sat solemnly staring down at the floor not knowing how to handle the deep emotion of the moment. I was stunned because I had not been able to see it before. We sat silent and waited to let the significance of what had so suddenly happened sink in. Mark's great heart was broken in two. My mind whirled with what had so deeply touched my great friend.
Mark had become a legend in humanitarian circles. His sudden acclaim had burst on the western world only rather recently. For over twenty-five years he had laboured in the world's worst slum, Calcutta, virtually unrecognized. But all that was different now. Two bestsellers had been written about his work and himself. A movie was made of his accomplishments and television crews commissioned from the western world had wheeled through the bustees to catch a glimpse of the great missionary - humanitarian.
"Reader's Digest" contracted a writer to do a major book section story of "The Apostle of Calcutta." The administrators were so impressed with his work they sent their Ottawa, Canada, editor to Calcutta to verify all that was written. After days of being with Mark, the editor asked, "What is it Mark that I feel coming out of you? It is like electricity! Like some kind of life."
The editor had ample reasons to be impressed. There is that great Christian hospital Mark built in the "City of the Dreadful Night." It has been so successful and of such high quality nearly all of India knows of it and seeks admission there when ill.
There is the feeding programme where each morning Mark feeds twelve thousand starving children. Many of them would die without this man. Mark had seen the starving, hollow-eyed children and he could not leave them to die. While others talked of doing something, Mark marched on the horrible holocaust of human suffering - giving milk and a meal. Fourteen thousand more human beings live every day because of this man.
When Doug Wead researched his best-seller about Mark on the streets of Calcutta an old Hindu stopped him.
"Young man," the toothless man said, wagging a bony finger in the writer's face, "You people think Jesus lives in North America. But you're wrong."
The old man went on: "Jesus lives in India. You come with me tomorrow and watch as Pastor Buntain dips the milk and gives the food, and you'll see Jesus too."
There is the school of six thousand youngsters Mark has started in a country where over 60 per cent of the population can neither read nor write.
There are the industries Mark began, and sustains, to employ nine hundred and fifty Indians. He provides work for these -his people - in a city where men and women work feverishly from sun up to sundown for a single bowl of rice.
There are the forty village churches, schools, and medical centres surrounding Calcutta that Mark has started and keeps going.
There is the two-and-one-half-million dollar budget he raises annually in North America and pours into the broken city of Calcutta. None of this money finds its way into Mark's own pocket. He lives in the same apartment he lived in when he went to Calcutta over twenty-eight years ago. It is three stories up, by stairs only, and much of the time is without water. When in America Mark buys his clothes at K-Mart and wears seven-dollar slacks and three-dollar shirts. People give him clothing but he continually gives it away to those who are needy.
Mark has lifted lepers, healed the sick through his medical facilities, and raised those who were sick to some hope of a future. He haunts the bustees and stalks the streets to haul out the helpless and hopeless and he gives them life. Like his female counterpart in Calcutta, Mother Teresa, he is a living legend to the people there.
It is for all of this and more that Mark is highly acclaimed, publicly praised, and nominated for his country's highest honour, "The Order of Canada." Millionaires now vie for the chance to dine with him. Senators and congressmen rearrange their schedules to talk with him. Movie stars ask him to their homes. He has the world at his feet.
But Mark's world is Calcutta.
Several pregnant and silent minutes passed as I pondered those thoughts. Our waitress, not knowing the dynamics, but sensing something strange and wonderful, poured more coffee, darting her glance from face to face. She sought the secret in one of the lingering trio. .. not finding it she shrugged and left.
Mark returned, but he was still shaken. He sat down carefully, saying. "I'm sorry, dear ones. Please forgive me." He worked his fingers in that familiar kneading action so well known to those who love him. Mark prayed. But, he always prays.
He started again, trying to carefully control his voice, telling us why Nita and her miracle were so special to him. Nita was sent to Mark when the applause of the world began to fill his ears. He had seen what popularity had done to others and realized that more prophets have been silenced by prosperity and popularity than persecution. He had been deeply searching his heart to always be sure he would never sacrifice the spiritual for the natural. Then Nita came.
Mark's heart is consumed by a burning love for the lost souls of Calcutta and all of Asia - and in Nita's miracle he sees the bombshell that will detonate a great explosion of spiritual revival throughout that whole continent. Her miracle is an ever-startling reminder to him that the spiritual is all that really matters.
In Asia, that repository of many gods, people listen lightly and easily accept another god. Jesus just becomes an addition to the collection, like Kali or Krishna. Mark knows that there must not be merely an acceptance of Jesus, but a turning away from all other gods to serve Him alone. The only way the Asian mind can clearly comprehend this necessity is for them to see the dramatic power of Christ that supersedes any other god or power known to them. This is why Nita's remarkable miracle means so much to Mark. Here is a dramatic miracle that clearly calls Asians to the awareness of who Jesus is. He is not another god, He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Mark Buntain will never give up his humanitarian ventures. They are as much a part of him as his own heart and hands. He will always feed the hungry, heal the sick and lift the load of physical suffering. These are overflows of compassion from a heart crammed full of love and concern. He could no more turn from the needy than make the day turn from the light.
"I must give myself more to evangelism," Mark pleaded, not to us, but to his heavenly Father. I began to realize that day that Mark will never comfortably fit into the role of the "great humanitarian" so many of us try to press him into. This is because his life's passion is to preach the cross and the Christ he so passionately loves. Now, God has sent him Nita, and her presence is a constant reminder to Mark of the great Third World revival he has prayed for now for over a quarter of a century.
Our marathon breakfast finally broke up. Nita went to her room and Mark to his. Doug and I talked. We knew that when Mark finally stands before the Lord he loves, it will be a strange account of his life that Mark will give. On that day Mark will not tell the Lord about the hospital he built or the children he fed. He will not speak of the great school he started or the lepers he lifted and helped to' heal. Rather, Mark will simply bow before his Lord and whisper through his tears, "Thank you, Jesus, for letting me go to Calcutta and to Asia to tell others about your love."
We still do not have the end of our book. But, I suppose that is okay. Luke could never finish "The Acts" because the acts of the Holy Spirit are still going on. We will hear from Nita again. She will be part of the coming great Third World revival.
Then, there is Mark. Mark will continue to weep and work his life out for the Lord. He will continue to be criticized and canonized. But, I believe Mark too is a vital key to revival in all of Asia. He was the third face in Colton's vision, But for me, there is an even more personal reason for holding this conviction.
In the first days of building this book our writing team was in Charlotte. We stayed in a lovely chalet loaned to us for the day by the PTL Club. We had worked long into the night on the book, and finally, we broke up to go to bed. Nita went to her room, and we to ours. The house was dark and silent except for one haunting sound.
My room was directly above Mark's. As usual he was praying. But, this time there were no words to his prayers. I could only hear groans of agony from his soul for lost Asia. I was strangely moved by those soul sounds of intercession for the lost souls half a world away. The brown, seeking, hungry, haunted faces of Asia paraded before me.
I saw the blind and groping beggar lift his empty cup mouthing a cry for a simple bowl of milk.
I saw the zombie-teenage girl shuffle by me, unseeing, on her way to death, unaware of the vomit and excrement blotching her ragged dress.
I saw the tired and hunger-worn mother offer her milkless breast to the crying, hollow-eyed infant she held.
I saw the children, who did not even know their own names, dig through the garbage of Calcutta for a scrap of something to eat.
I saw the haunted and harried Guru searching, seeking for some unknown elusive light.
I also saw the other face of India, sophisticated, subtle, sumptuous; sick of the death around it, but honestly not knowing how to heal the hurts.
I saw Asia, dear Asia, as Mark calls it, in its sickness and sorrow, waiting for some touch to cure it from its interminable paralysis of suffering.
But in the spirit I saw something else. I don't know how it will be done, but I saw the prayer of my dear friend, Mark, being answered. Asia will know revival soon. The suffering and sadness of that mass of humanity will be touched by our Master's nail-scarred hand because He cares. He cares.
I slipped into a warm and welcomed sleep still listening to plaintive cries coming from the room below me.
Mark was weeping again.
Ron Hembree is author of Mark, the biography of Dr. Mark Buntain.
For we have not followed cunningly devised fables,
when we made known unto you the power and coming of
our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of His majesty.
2 Peter 1:16
Faith on the Line
Brother Andrew
I believe in miracles. That is as much a general statement as saying, "I believe the Bible," or "I believe the Bible from cover to cover." Then suddenly you are faced with a crisis situation, and your whole faith seems to be on trial. You stand there helplessly, groping around and calling for help, and then at that moment, where is your faith? In God, in His Word, in miracles?
That evening, I had a meeting in Pastor Colton's great church in Colombo. Somewhere to my right I could see that beautiful girl in a wheelchair, but what did I know about what God had told her? The story has been unfolded in this book. At that moment I did not know, but after my preaching on the Great Commission, Pastor Colton came to me and asked me to please pray with Nita for tomorrow God was going to heal her.
Basically, it is always a tremendous privilege and challenge and an act of confidence when anybody asks you to pray for a sick person - in fact, to pray for anything or anyone. But there she was; a lovely young girl, almost completely paralysed, telling me that the next day she was going to be healed, that God had spoken to her, that she knew the will of God; and asking me to pray for her.
There you stand. Is it going to depend on my prayer, on my faith, or her faith? Can I be a hindrance if I do not have faith, if I do not pray? Shall I pray without faith? Or shall I simply obey -pray, commit myself to God and this person for whom I pray? Call on the Name of Jesus Christ who can do anything, any time, to anyone?
I did not doubt. But to say that I believed was another thing. However, I obeyed because God told me to. So that evening I prayed with Nita, bending over her wheelchair and laying hands on her.
The next day, the plane had taken me back to my native Holland. But a great friend of mine, Francis Grim, the founder and president of the International Hospital Christian Fellowship, happened to be in a meeting the following evening in Pastor Colton's church. He is a man of God who believes in the Healer and in healing, by miracles and by the medical profession, but not himself exactly a man who prays often with the sick for divine healing. But, to his utter amazement, he saw that evening a totally different Nita - not in a wheelchair any more, not in braces, not paralysed, but walking, speaking, testifying, and electrifying that audience by the word of her testimony. God had kept His word, not because I believe in miracles, not because my faith was shaken, but because God is God: He speaks and His Word is creative; He touches and there is healing; He comes and there is new life. And then He calls into His service.
Nita, that's what He has done for you! He has called you to Himself for His service. You've travelled more than you ever imagined you would do. God has used you, and He will use you even more. Those great lands in the East - India, Sri Lanka and other Asian nations - are going to produce men and women of God, of whom you are one. So let's just keep looking to the Lord to do greater miracles, in our lives and through our ministries.
Dear reader, I pray you have opened your heart as you read this book. God is the same in Jesus Christ, yesterday, today and forever - in Asia, Europe, America, China, Africa, Israel or wherever you live.
Brother Andrew is founder of "Open Doors" ministries.
Faith on Fire
H. Syvelle Phillips
The Book of Acts has no formal conclusion. Many believe the reason is that God wanted to convey the idea that the miraculous ministry of the Holy Spirit, which is so evident in the book of Acts, would go on century after century without interruption or conclusion.
Jesus Christ is indeed the same yesterday, today, and forever. The days of miracles and divine visitation did not cease with the death of the New Testament era apostles. While the Canon of Scriptures closed the record, the Acts of the Holy Spirit is still being written today.
The true story of the miraculous healing of Nita Edwards is strong evidence of the glorious fact that God is answering prayer and honouring faith today.
I had the privilege of visiting Nita Edwards in Colombo, Sri Lanka, on two occasions approximately three weeks before she was healed. Nita was wasted away under the scourge of her affliction. When I saw her, she weighed only 79 lbs. and could only move one hand and her head just a bit.
In spite of the devastating ordeal Nita went through, she had a beautiful smile and trust in God. After prayer, Nita told me the date and the hour she would be healed, February 11, 1977 at 3:30. I must confess that my faith for such a miracle was not as strong as the bold faith of Nita Edwards that filled the room that day.
Shortly after my return to America I received a letter from Rev. Colton Wickramaratne that said, "Dear Pastor Syvelle Phillips, just as she said, on February 11, Nita was healed by the mighty power of God."
This healing was so instantaneous and complete, it can be said that Nita Edwards' body was recreated and restored to the same healthy and vivacious state as before the accident.
Every time I see this charming young lady who has a radiant smile, a spiritual glow and good health, I say, "Thank God the Book of Acts has no formal conclusion."
Jesus Christ lives and the Holy Spirit is ministering to human needs in love and power.
Syvelle Phillips is founder of "Evangel Bible Translators".
Miracle in the Mirror, Torbay Publishing, Paignton, Devon, England, Revised edition 1988
Nita Edwards and Mark Buntain
WITH
Ron Hembree and Doug Brendel
CONTENTS
19 Celebration
20 Reminders
Afterword
Magnificent Obsession
by Ron Hembree
Faith on the Line
by Brother Andrew
Faith on Fire
by Syvelle Phillips
________________________
19
CELEBRATION
The chains of paralysis exploded away as Nita rocketed out over the end of her bed.
She landed on her knees with a thud, and her first sensation was the cold, hard tile floor beneath her. The divine warmth of the touch of her Lord had suddenly given way to this startling awakening. In the days to come she would realize that God had touched her so warmly only to thrust her into a ministry of fervent intercessory prayer in the cold real world.
Her knees had not been bent in over a year; now they were bent before her Jesus. Her hands, useless for so long, were now straightened, upraised, worshipping God. Her voice had been still; now her mouth began to fill with heavenly words, tumbling out in a bubbly fountain of praise. For the first time in her life, she was leading others in prayer.
Mrs. Edwards had felt the bed vibrating and opened her eyes. There before her, she saw Nita's withered left hand, the tiny one, spring to life. The mother watched, awestruck, as her crippled little girl grasped the bed covers and threw them off -then catapulted out of bed.
The doctor who was kneeling heard the rustling of linens and looked up to see Nita leaping past her.
Beryl had looked up at the same moment, and as Nita went by the secretary's eyes fell on Nita's oversized wristhingych. It was precisely 3:30.
The Great Physician was on time for His appointment.
Suzanne heard the action and opened her eyes. Nita was not in the bed. She glanced immediately to the foot of the bed, and saw her dropping to her knees with the momentum of her leap.
Dr. Sudo, sitting against the wall, heard Nita praying - something she had never heard her do. She looked at the bed and found it empty. There was Nita, kneeling at the foot of it, worshipping her Healer in glowing ecstacy.
The Buddhist nurse was in the habit of checking in on Nita every few minutes, regardless of who was visiting. She had peeked in twice since three o'clock, and each time found the prayer meeting in progress, with Nita looking comfortable in her bed.
When she stepped in again, she stopped in the doorway -furious. These lunatic Christians had lugged the poor cripple out and propped her up against the foot of her bed to pray!
Young Michaele came back to find Nita on her knees, and immediately he knew what had happened. He smacked his forehead, chagrined. She had asked him to be there, and he had failed.
Nita was not conscious of the others praying and worshipping God. She had tuned out this earthly realm a full ten minutes before, and was engulfed by the presence and the power of her Lord, the Almighty God.
Shortly after four, Colton suddenly jumped up.
"We've prayed long enough!" he declared smiling, his face wet with tears. "Now it's time to celebrate!"
Everyone stood - and Nita stood.
The room fell silent for a moment as the people absorbed the shock of what they were seeing. Now that Nita was healed, the rest of them were paralysed. Like Peter on the Mount of Transfiguration, they could not quite yet take in the miracle.
Mrs. Edwards blanched as Nita took her first step. Suzanne - even knowing what to expect - instinctively reached out to help her. Nita drew away. She felt the strength of ten tigers. She was ready to go jogging, to climb up the roof. She was fully empowered and ready to roar.
But her guests were still stunned. Nita stepped toward them, kissing each one in turn and mumbling the only verse of Scripture that came to her mind, "He is faithful that promised," the obscure little portion of Hebrews 10:23 that the King James Version relegates to parentheses.
"He is faithful that promised."
Nita's mother was dazed. She had never expected this.
"Mama," Nita whispered as she embraced her tearfully, "He is faithful that promised."
The Buddhist attendant was standing in the doorway, clutching the door frame as if she were about to faint. She was crying in quiet hysteria, unable to believe that she had just seen Nita stand up. She cried for forty minutes - immoveable. Nita slipped her arms around the woman she had never been able to touch, and then, ignoring the Buddhist standards of propriety, kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"Didn't I tell you my Jesus was going to heal me?"
The woman jumped. She had forgotten. She broke loose, pivoted, and charged back to her room.
Michaele took the opportunity to grab his dear friend and check out the Physician's work. Nita sat on the bed and let Michaele administer her first physical examination - putting each limb through its paces, giving her an impromptu vision test. Satisfied, the teenager began boxing with her merrily. Nita laughed with him. When they started armwrestling, though, Suzanne intervened.
"Michaele, stop that!"
"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "God healed her! She can take it!"
And with childlike faith, he went back to boxing with her.
The match was cut short as the Buddhist attendant came to the door. She held the scrap of cardboard in her hands.
"What is written here?" she asked one of the doctors, still unable to fathom the miracle.
The doctor read the scrawled message aloud:
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 11TH, 1977 3:30 P.M.
The attendant began weeping profusely, her eyes racing frantically.
"She told me!" the woman cried. "She told me! She told me several days ago! And today she made me get her slippers out! Now I know why!"
She ran out of the apartment, compelled to talk about what she had just seen. Up and down the street, from door to door, the electrified Buddhist woman declared the miracle - to neighbours, to passersby, to anyone who would listen - perhaps the first Buddhist evangelist.
Nita's mother was the next to leave the celebration. She hurried home to begin making phone calls and sending cables -contacting every person she had ever asked to pray, and announcing that the answer had come! First she would call Ted - if he had even arrived in London yet. And then there were Sonny, and Auntie Vivian, and Uncle Jay and Auntie Patty in Nigeria ...
Colton's older son Eran drove up, and as soon as Nita heard the car, her mental wheels began turning. To play a joke on him, she hid behind the door as he walked in. When she stepped into view, Eran shouted with fright. He thought she had finally died, and he was seeing her ghost. Everyone exploded in laughter.
Eventually the super-charged meeting broke up, as Colton's family and Beryl and the two doctors made their way home.
When Nita was left alone in the apartment, she began to walk . . . into the kitchen, around to the bathroom, into the foyer, back to the bedroom. Such a novelty - to walk! Her waist, terribly thin from months of weight loss, would not hold up her slacks. Even as she clutched them with one hand they sagged around her hips and hung about three inches too long. But she rolled them up and continued her happy pacing for hours. Like a newly hooked jogger, she must have covered ten miles that night within her small apartment.
As she went she filled the place with praise and thanksgiving, dwelling on the incredible goodness of her Lord. At times during the marathon walk, she stopped to sit down and examine her fingers or her toes in amazement. She pinched herself. She scratched. She touched household objects just for the thrill of feeling them. The sense of touch was like a new toy and Nita, the child, was inclined to wear its batteries all the way down on the first night.
Mrs. Edwards, having exhausted all the people she could possibly call or cable, hurried to her kitchen to fix up something special for her daughter. Soon she reappeared at Nita's door to drop off some food. Nita was touched by the sentiment as she opened the container - it was shrimp! With a flourish, she actually fed them to herself. It was a far cry from the last time she had eaten shrimp, when her mother had to put them in her mouth for her in the hospital.
And she wanted to indulge in one more temporal delight. Nita headed for the bathroom, locked herself in, and ran a hot bath. She played in the water with complete abandon, flapping at the soap suds and splashing like a happy baby, revelling in her newly-sensitive skin. They were luxurious moments, except for her nervous attendant pounding on the door every few minutes to make sure she was still healed and okay.
After lounging lazily in a hot tub, Nita went back to her bedroom and sat down in her visitor's chair. She had never sat in it before. It was a great improvement on the wheelchair! She picked up her Bible and opened it. For the first time in a long time, she could see clearly the words of Psalm 23, the words that had buoyed up her spirit from the beginning: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me."
She thumbed over to Isaiah 40. Here, too, she had found solace many times when the waiting seemed futile. But now, she had the promise in hand: "He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength .. .
"But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run; and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint."
For so long, it had only been an elusive, haunting promise . . . now she was living on the fact side of faith.
Nita sat worshipping before the Lord for a long time before preparing for bed. It was thrilling to be able to do this for herself after being exposed and reexposed so many times. It was glorious to brush her own teeth, to plump her own pillow, and finally - after craving privacy for so long - to shut her door.
She sank into the cosiness of her bedsheets. Tonight, for the first time ever, this huge bed was a friendly place.
Later on, when people asked her if she was afraid to get back into that bed - afraid that she might wake up a cripple again the next morning - the question invariably surprised her. Her body was so full of energy that night, so vibrant with God's supernatural power, that the idea of a relapse never entered her mind. Instead she lay there, enveloped in the afterglow of the presence of her Lord.
She sang to Him softly in the darkness until she fell asleep. The song had been one of her favourites from her early days in the hospital.
How can I say thanks for the things you have done for me?
Things so undeserved, yet you give to prove your love for me.
The voices of a million angels could not express my gratitude;
All that I am and ever hope to be, I owe it all to thee.
To God be the glory; To God be the glory, To God be the glory For the things He has done.
With His blood He has saved me,
With His power he has raised me,
To God be the glory For the things He has done.
Just let me live my life,
Let it be pleasing Lord, to Thee; And should I gain any praise, Let it go to Calvary.
With His blood He has saved me,
With His power He has raised me.
To God be the glory For the things He has done!
20
REMINDERS
It is a medical fact that anyone who suffers paralysis in the legs for three months or more suffers muscular atrophy and must undergo physical therapy to regain his normal gait.
Nita Edwards was scientifically documented as completely paralysed for a year. Her normal gait returned on Friday, February 11, 1977, at 3:30 p.m., Sri Lanka time, the very moment of her healing.
She bore three reminders of her personal holocaust. First, she had lost weight, and had to have new clothes tailored, but eventually she gained back the lost pounds.
Second, the soles of her feet were tender after a year of non-use. For a few weeks after the healing, it tickled her to walk. But this reminder disappeared as well.
The third reminder is still with her. To this day, she bears scars on her body from the pricking, cutting, and "testing" of the medical experts.
Nita Edwards told her story in public for the first time in church on Sunday after the miracle. She was bashful about appearing in public, but she felt God had given her something too astounding to conceal.
Many who had scoffed at the constant prayer requests for Nita were in the congregation that day. The youth of the church experienced powerful revival as a result of her testimony.
Nita's Buddhist attendant had no choice but to accept Jesus Christ as her personal Saviour. She is an active, enthusiastic Christian today.
Brother Andrew jumped for joy when word reached him that Nita Edwards had been healed. He never doubted.
Back in the United States, when Nita and Syvelle met in person for the first time since the miracle, Syvelle sobbed openly. He was thrilled that he had been wrong.
Sandy Koelmeyer rejoiced and wept when Nita called her with the news. Father Shirley beamed with joy when he first encountered his old friend made new.
The day of Nita's healing, the first call her mother made was to England. Ted had arrived home only ninety minutes before, still emotionally strung out, when the phone rung.
"Son, Sissy got healed," she said breathlessly. "She can walk."
His response was instantaneous. "Are her hands normal?"
Nita's crooked fingers had made the deepest impact on him.
He was hurt, however, when he found out that Nita had known of the impending miracle and failed to tell him about it or to keep him in Sri Lanka for it. As her brother, he saw no reason to have been deprived of that. There was a strain in the relationship between brother and sister for a long time afterwards. But overpowering family love and Ted's respect for the power of God eventually mended the tested relationship.
Dr. Shan, the specialist who had scarred Nita's body, soon heard about the miracle. Each time Nita visited people in the hospital later, Dr. Shan studiously avoided her.
Dr. Pieris, the Buddhist neurophysician, told the medical staff that her healing was a hoax, a psychological stunt. He crossed Nita's path a few times in public places in the ensuing years, but he pretended not to know her. To do otherwise, presumably, would mean admitting that his therapy had failed -and that indeed Nita's recovery was a miracle.
But the facts were undeniable, and the two doctors who witnessed the miracle arranged to have the case fully documented. In the end, there was only one truth that could be absolutely verified: Nita Edwards was no longer a hostage in her own body.
She was free!
She is free!
And ye shall know that I am in the midst of Israel,
and that I am the Lord your God, and none else:
and my people shall never be ashamed.
Joel 2:27
AFTERWORD
Magnificent Obsession
Ron Hembree
The four of us huddled around the small table in the busy Orlando, Florida, coffee shop. We were bone tired, but buoyant because the "Nita book" was about wrapped up. We had carefully chased the story across two continents and now all that was left to do was the epilogue. But, it was a troublesome task because it is not easy to close the "Book of Acts." Luke had the same problem.
Mark, Nita, Doug Brendel and I had wrestled with the difficulty until the wee hours of the morning before giving up in exhaustion. We had followed Mark around the country with his heavy speaking schedule so we could snatch the hours needed to complete the story. Our odyssey had taken us to Toronto, Chicago, back to Toronto, to Charlotte, Atlanta, and now Orlando, Florida. We were not only exhausted from the strain of writing but also travelling. But it was more than exhaustion. The epilogue simply would not come together.
Much of the problem came in trying to sort out what should be included. We still had so much more to tell. And there were the still unanswered questions of just how Nita would fit into the coming great Third World revival.
Should we tackle the thorny problem of the criticism against Nita's decision to come to America? There were those in Asia who could not understand why she would come to finish her education when time was so short and the Asian need so great. Perhaps we should deal with this problem - but how? Would our epilogue satisfy those critics, or would it merely seem like a defence for her decision?
Then, there was that strange spiritual kinship that God developed between Mark and Nita. All through the book project Mark would call me or cable from India, saying, "POURING MY HEART OUT FOR YOU IN PRAYER FOR THE BOOK, LOVE MARK." He talked about her all the time and begged prayers for her.
For all of our training and experience, we still could not get a handle on how to end the book.
Our waitress patiently brought another round of coffee even though we had long overstayed the allotted breakfast hour. I'm sure she wished we would leave to free the table for tippers who would exceed her expectations from us four. We sipped slowly and verbally battered around different ideas.
Our tedium must have created some tension, for at that moment, just a brief apostrophe of time, something happened that would burn into my spirit and let me know what the Nita book was really all about.
Mark had started to speak when his raspy voice broke down into a whisper. I looked up and saw scalding tears roll down his ragged cheeks and splash on the table. His whole face seemed to collapse in a chasm of agony. I tensed with concern, but I knew Mark well enough to sense he was opening his deepest soul and letting us take a small look inside the sacred secrets of his life. It was as if some divine sword, for some unknown reason, clave open his bleeding heart and the pain of that incision forced tears, choked his voice, and distorted his cherubic features.
We leaned close physically to his broken whisper. But more, our souls strove to sense what was stirring Mark so deeply.
"Please forgive me, dear ones," Mark whispered. "I am embarrassed, I didn't want to cry. I must tell you why I'm so tied to Nita's miracle."
He stopped to try to gain his composure. Unable to do so he plunged ahead.
"I'm so afraid, I'm so afraid of forgetting the spiritual. For so long now I've been spending so many hours in the natural -building the hospital, feeding the starving. I don't want to forget the most important of all."
A heart-shattering sob exploded from his pent up soul. He couldn't go on. Mark's whole frame began to react to his heartbreak. Suddenly he jumped up and rushed from the room. He had not wanted to embarrass us with his shattered emotions in a public restaurant.
I knew Mark would be back. But, I also knew something else. I knew he had not slept after our late night session. At about 2:30 we had given up and gone to bed. But Mark had gone on praying, searching, asking. His soul was so wrapped up in this story, sleep was impossible. It bound him as a prisoner and haunted him every step of his day. Slowly it began to dawn on me why Nita's story meant so much to him.
We waited, not daring to speak a word. Nita's head was bowed and tears streaked her beautiful brown face. Doug sat solemnly staring down at the floor not knowing how to handle the deep emotion of the moment. I was stunned because I had not been able to see it before. We sat silent and waited to let the significance of what had so suddenly happened sink in. Mark's great heart was broken in two. My mind whirled with what had so deeply touched my great friend.
Mark had become a legend in humanitarian circles. His sudden acclaim had burst on the western world only rather recently. For over twenty-five years he had laboured in the world's worst slum, Calcutta, virtually unrecognized. But all that was different now. Two bestsellers had been written about his work and himself. A movie was made of his accomplishments and television crews commissioned from the western world had wheeled through the bustees to catch a glimpse of the great missionary - humanitarian.
"Reader's Digest" contracted a writer to do a major book section story of "The Apostle of Calcutta." The administrators were so impressed with his work they sent their Ottawa, Canada, editor to Calcutta to verify all that was written. After days of being with Mark, the editor asked, "What is it Mark that I feel coming out of you? It is like electricity! Like some kind of life."
The editor had ample reasons to be impressed. There is that great Christian hospital Mark built in the "City of the Dreadful Night." It has been so successful and of such high quality nearly all of India knows of it and seeks admission there when ill.
There is the feeding programme where each morning Mark feeds twelve thousand starving children. Many of them would die without this man. Mark had seen the starving, hollow-eyed children and he could not leave them to die. While others talked of doing something, Mark marched on the horrible holocaust of human suffering - giving milk and a meal. Fourteen thousand more human beings live every day because of this man.
When Doug Wead researched his best-seller about Mark on the streets of Calcutta an old Hindu stopped him.
"Young man," the toothless man said, wagging a bony finger in the writer's face, "You people think Jesus lives in North America. But you're wrong."
The old man went on: "Jesus lives in India. You come with me tomorrow and watch as Pastor Buntain dips the milk and gives the food, and you'll see Jesus too."
There is the school of six thousand youngsters Mark has started in a country where over 60 per cent of the population can neither read nor write.
There are the industries Mark began, and sustains, to employ nine hundred and fifty Indians. He provides work for these -his people - in a city where men and women work feverishly from sun up to sundown for a single bowl of rice.
There are the forty village churches, schools, and medical centres surrounding Calcutta that Mark has started and keeps going.
There is the two-and-one-half-million dollar budget he raises annually in North America and pours into the broken city of Calcutta. None of this money finds its way into Mark's own pocket. He lives in the same apartment he lived in when he went to Calcutta over twenty-eight years ago. It is three stories up, by stairs only, and much of the time is without water. When in America Mark buys his clothes at K-Mart and wears seven-dollar slacks and three-dollar shirts. People give him clothing but he continually gives it away to those who are needy.
Mark has lifted lepers, healed the sick through his medical facilities, and raised those who were sick to some hope of a future. He haunts the bustees and stalks the streets to haul out the helpless and hopeless and he gives them life. Like his female counterpart in Calcutta, Mother Teresa, he is a living legend to the people there.
It is for all of this and more that Mark is highly acclaimed, publicly praised, and nominated for his country's highest honour, "The Order of Canada." Millionaires now vie for the chance to dine with him. Senators and congressmen rearrange their schedules to talk with him. Movie stars ask him to their homes. He has the world at his feet.
But Mark's world is Calcutta.
Several pregnant and silent minutes passed as I pondered those thoughts. Our waitress, not knowing the dynamics, but sensing something strange and wonderful, poured more coffee, darting her glance from face to face. She sought the secret in one of the lingering trio. .. not finding it she shrugged and left.
Mark returned, but he was still shaken. He sat down carefully, saying. "I'm sorry, dear ones. Please forgive me." He worked his fingers in that familiar kneading action so well known to those who love him. Mark prayed. But, he always prays.
He started again, trying to carefully control his voice, telling us why Nita and her miracle were so special to him. Nita was sent to Mark when the applause of the world began to fill his ears. He had seen what popularity had done to others and realized that more prophets have been silenced by prosperity and popularity than persecution. He had been deeply searching his heart to always be sure he would never sacrifice the spiritual for the natural. Then Nita came.
Mark's heart is consumed by a burning love for the lost souls of Calcutta and all of Asia - and in Nita's miracle he sees the bombshell that will detonate a great explosion of spiritual revival throughout that whole continent. Her miracle is an ever-startling reminder to him that the spiritual is all that really matters.
In Asia, that repository of many gods, people listen lightly and easily accept another god. Jesus just becomes an addition to the collection, like Kali or Krishna. Mark knows that there must not be merely an acceptance of Jesus, but a turning away from all other gods to serve Him alone. The only way the Asian mind can clearly comprehend this necessity is for them to see the dramatic power of Christ that supersedes any other god or power known to them. This is why Nita's remarkable miracle means so much to Mark. Here is a dramatic miracle that clearly calls Asians to the awareness of who Jesus is. He is not another god, He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Mark Buntain will never give up his humanitarian ventures. They are as much a part of him as his own heart and hands. He will always feed the hungry, heal the sick and lift the load of physical suffering. These are overflows of compassion from a heart crammed full of love and concern. He could no more turn from the needy than make the day turn from the light.
"I must give myself more to evangelism," Mark pleaded, not to us, but to his heavenly Father. I began to realize that day that Mark will never comfortably fit into the role of the "great humanitarian" so many of us try to press him into. This is because his life's passion is to preach the cross and the Christ he so passionately loves. Now, God has sent him Nita, and her presence is a constant reminder to Mark of the great Third World revival he has prayed for now for over a quarter of a century.
Our marathon breakfast finally broke up. Nita went to her room and Mark to his. Doug and I talked. We knew that when Mark finally stands before the Lord he loves, it will be a strange account of his life that Mark will give. On that day Mark will not tell the Lord about the hospital he built or the children he fed. He will not speak of the great school he started or the lepers he lifted and helped to' heal. Rather, Mark will simply bow before his Lord and whisper through his tears, "Thank you, Jesus, for letting me go to Calcutta and to Asia to tell others about your love."
We still do not have the end of our book. But, I suppose that is okay. Luke could never finish "The Acts" because the acts of the Holy Spirit are still going on. We will hear from Nita again. She will be part of the coming great Third World revival.
Then, there is Mark. Mark will continue to weep and work his life out for the Lord. He will continue to be criticized and canonized. But, I believe Mark too is a vital key to revival in all of Asia. He was the third face in Colton's vision, But for me, there is an even more personal reason for holding this conviction.
In the first days of building this book our writing team was in Charlotte. We stayed in a lovely chalet loaned to us for the day by the PTL Club. We had worked long into the night on the book, and finally, we broke up to go to bed. Nita went to her room, and we to ours. The house was dark and silent except for one haunting sound.
My room was directly above Mark's. As usual he was praying. But, this time there were no words to his prayers. I could only hear groans of agony from his soul for lost Asia. I was strangely moved by those soul sounds of intercession for the lost souls half a world away. The brown, seeking, hungry, haunted faces of Asia paraded before me.
I saw the blind and groping beggar lift his empty cup mouthing a cry for a simple bowl of milk.
I saw the zombie-teenage girl shuffle by me, unseeing, on her way to death, unaware of the vomit and excrement blotching her ragged dress.
I saw the tired and hunger-worn mother offer her milkless breast to the crying, hollow-eyed infant she held.
I saw the children, who did not even know their own names, dig through the garbage of Calcutta for a scrap of something to eat.
I saw the haunted and harried Guru searching, seeking for some unknown elusive light.
I also saw the other face of India, sophisticated, subtle, sumptuous; sick of the death around it, but honestly not knowing how to heal the hurts.
I saw Asia, dear Asia, as Mark calls it, in its sickness and sorrow, waiting for some touch to cure it from its interminable paralysis of suffering.
But in the spirit I saw something else. I don't know how it will be done, but I saw the prayer of my dear friend, Mark, being answered. Asia will know revival soon. The suffering and sadness of that mass of humanity will be touched by our Master's nail-scarred hand because He cares. He cares.
I slipped into a warm and welcomed sleep still listening to plaintive cries coming from the room below me.
Mark was weeping again.
Ron Hembree is author of Mark, the biography of Dr. Mark Buntain.
For we have not followed cunningly devised fables,
when we made known unto you the power and coming of
our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of His majesty.
2 Peter 1:16
Faith on the Line
Brother Andrew
I believe in miracles. That is as much a general statement as saying, "I believe the Bible," or "I believe the Bible from cover to cover." Then suddenly you are faced with a crisis situation, and your whole faith seems to be on trial. You stand there helplessly, groping around and calling for help, and then at that moment, where is your faith? In God, in His Word, in miracles?
That evening, I had a meeting in Pastor Colton's great church in Colombo. Somewhere to my right I could see that beautiful girl in a wheelchair, but what did I know about what God had told her? The story has been unfolded in this book. At that moment I did not know, but after my preaching on the Great Commission, Pastor Colton came to me and asked me to please pray with Nita for tomorrow God was going to heal her.
Basically, it is always a tremendous privilege and challenge and an act of confidence when anybody asks you to pray for a sick person - in fact, to pray for anything or anyone. But there she was; a lovely young girl, almost completely paralysed, telling me that the next day she was going to be healed, that God had spoken to her, that she knew the will of God; and asking me to pray for her.
There you stand. Is it going to depend on my prayer, on my faith, or her faith? Can I be a hindrance if I do not have faith, if I do not pray? Shall I pray without faith? Or shall I simply obey -pray, commit myself to God and this person for whom I pray? Call on the Name of Jesus Christ who can do anything, any time, to anyone?
I did not doubt. But to say that I believed was another thing. However, I obeyed because God told me to. So that evening I prayed with Nita, bending over her wheelchair and laying hands on her.
The next day, the plane had taken me back to my native Holland. But a great friend of mine, Francis Grim, the founder and president of the International Hospital Christian Fellowship, happened to be in a meeting the following evening in Pastor Colton's church. He is a man of God who believes in the Healer and in healing, by miracles and by the medical profession, but not himself exactly a man who prays often with the sick for divine healing. But, to his utter amazement, he saw that evening a totally different Nita - not in a wheelchair any more, not in braces, not paralysed, but walking, speaking, testifying, and electrifying that audience by the word of her testimony. God had kept His word, not because I believe in miracles, not because my faith was shaken, but because God is God: He speaks and His Word is creative; He touches and there is healing; He comes and there is new life. And then He calls into His service.
Nita, that's what He has done for you! He has called you to Himself for His service. You've travelled more than you ever imagined you would do. God has used you, and He will use you even more. Those great lands in the East - India, Sri Lanka and other Asian nations - are going to produce men and women of God, of whom you are one. So let's just keep looking to the Lord to do greater miracles, in our lives and through our ministries.
Dear reader, I pray you have opened your heart as you read this book. God is the same in Jesus Christ, yesterday, today and forever - in Asia, Europe, America, China, Africa, Israel or wherever you live.
Brother Andrew is founder of "Open Doors" ministries.
Faith on Fire
H. Syvelle Phillips
The Book of Acts has no formal conclusion. Many believe the reason is that God wanted to convey the idea that the miraculous ministry of the Holy Spirit, which is so evident in the book of Acts, would go on century after century without interruption or conclusion.
Jesus Christ is indeed the same yesterday, today, and forever. The days of miracles and divine visitation did not cease with the death of the New Testament era apostles. While the Canon of Scriptures closed the record, the Acts of the Holy Spirit is still being written today.
The true story of the miraculous healing of Nita Edwards is strong evidence of the glorious fact that God is answering prayer and honouring faith today.
I had the privilege of visiting Nita Edwards in Colombo, Sri Lanka, on two occasions approximately three weeks before she was healed. Nita was wasted away under the scourge of her affliction. When I saw her, she weighed only 79 lbs. and could only move one hand and her head just a bit.
In spite of the devastating ordeal Nita went through, she had a beautiful smile and trust in God. After prayer, Nita told me the date and the hour she would be healed, February 11, 1977 at 3:30. I must confess that my faith for such a miracle was not as strong as the bold faith of Nita Edwards that filled the room that day.
Shortly after my return to America I received a letter from Rev. Colton Wickramaratne that said, "Dear Pastor Syvelle Phillips, just as she said, on February 11, Nita was healed by the mighty power of God."
This healing was so instantaneous and complete, it can be said that Nita Edwards' body was recreated and restored to the same healthy and vivacious state as before the accident.
Every time I see this charming young lady who has a radiant smile, a spiritual glow and good health, I say, "Thank God the Book of Acts has no formal conclusion."
Jesus Christ lives and the Holy Spirit is ministering to human needs in love and power.
Syvelle Phillips is founder of "Evangel Bible Translators".
Miracle in the Mirror, Torbay Publishing, Paignton, Devon, England, Revised edition 1988