Faith can move mountains

Approximately 10 years ago, on a freezing July night, the cold, hard, truth hit me like a freight train.

NO ONE WAS COMING TO MY RESCUE.

On our bedroom floor, my wife was giving birth to our son, he’d come so quickly that we had just called the hospital to tell them we were on our way. But we never made it out of the house.

The complication was he was breech, and when he had come out to his shoulders, the contractions stopped and he stopped coming. My wife and I stayed calm, but for all my trying I just could not get his head out.

While this was happening my sister had called an ambulance, but we were stuck in this position for about 15 minutes before they arrived and were able to fully deliver him.

What I didn’t realise was that the umbilical cord was obstructed and our baby was suffering asphyxiation. When he was finally born our boy was blue, and his heart rate was 40 beats per minute when it should have been 140 beats per minute.

As the paramedics worked on our son, pumping oxygen into his lungs, with a hand pump, I went outside to talk to God.

I'd been studying faith at a local church for a while, and had achieved some small successes. One of the scriptures that has always impressed on me the most was Mark 11:24 “Whosoever shall say unto this mountain, be though removed and be though cast into the sea, and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he says shall come to pass. He shall have whatsoever he says.”

This scripture told me I had to take responsibility in the situation, and not wait for something to happen, but make something happen.

I felt strength flow through me as I reminded God what this scripture said. I told God that I was not going to ask for anything but that I was going to take control of the situation.

I had a strong belief that parents are supposed to protect their children, not just naturally but spiritually as well.

I also could not accept the idea that a child would be born just to die ten minutes later.

After my conversation with God I felt fearless and determined. When I went back into the house the main paramedic pulled me aside and asked me if he could have a word with me. With a grim look on his face and a professional tone in his voice he told me, “I don’t think the little blokes gonna make it.”

This was a defining moment, I refused to become afraid and accept his opinion!

Looking directly into his eyes I replied “No he is going to be fine.” I know I must have had a look that said I meant business, because the paramedic backed off immediately with a quick reply “Yer Okay”.

It’s amazing how quickly people will change their mind and come into agreement with you when you are clear and absolute about something.

Upon entering the hospital I repeated with conviction “No he’s going to make it, He’s gonna be just fine,” to any one that spoke to me.

As I stood back and watched Doctors and Nurses buzzing around my son in a hive of activity, things became surreal.

A smiling woman in a white coat approached, “You know when they called in, I thought they’d be bringing in a dead baby, but it’s a miracle, they’ve done a great job, he’s looking good.”

Of course our baby did survive.

But the next day he was placed in intensive care. At a meeting with the head of intensive care, the Doctor explained to us that our baby was “fitting” and this was most likely because he would have suffered brain damage and organ damage due to the lack of oxygen he received during birth. At this point, once again I reassured the Doctor, “No, don’t worry, he’s going to be just fine.” Because of what we had just been through, I thought there’s no way I’m going to start backing off now.

About this time we were interviewed by the hospital psychologist, to see how we were handling the fact our baby would be severely handicapped. After the meeting my wife sneaked a peek at the psychologist’s clipboard and notes. Amoung other things, my wife noticed the statement “This couple is not prepared for failure.” It was not written as a positive statement, but I found it incredibly empowering.

The ward is divided into ten sections. Section one for the sickest babies and our son was in this section. Some babies are in section one for months and some never get well. However, within two days our son was in section three and in three days he was in section nine. Within another three days we were taking him home in absolutely perfect condition.

Since that time I have pushed myself to learn as much as possible about this incredible power that saved my son’s life.

What I have learnt I have applied to many different areas of my life, I have used this power to transform my near bankrupt, failing business into a thriving prosperous company that has allowed me an income that has totally changed my lifestyle.

I have seen this power make cancer and arthritis completely disappear from people’s bodies.

I have seen it transform children with learning difficulties and sleeping problems into peaceful intelligent, happy kids.

I have seen it do many incredible, wonderful things in relationships, and every area of life. I believe this power controls the world, and I believe it exists for the benefit of mankind.

I truly believe it’s the answer to every obstacle we face.

“And you shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.” John 8:32

Shayne Hammond

Dawn Norton

Fear is opportunity knocking. Too often we hide behind the door and quiver. It is when we open the door and shine the light of faith into the shadows, that our fears are banished. Only then we learn that fear conquered is faith revealed.

Faith + Action = Success

This came in my inbox this morning. Believe.

Not Just Another Town

Fred Everhart read the mail and felt sick. What would the kids do? Fred, head of the recreation commission, experienced what many American towns and committees felt - loss of funds.

Greenfield, Ohio, population 5000, just another town reliant on the auto industry. Five hundred jobs (70% of the town's industrial employment) would be gone by October 2009. In Willington, the nearest town, DHL Express announced it was pulling out, leaving another 8,000 employees without work. Due to the economic downturn, Greenfield lost fifty percent of the money budgeted to run the city.

The economy didn't factor in people like Fred Everhart. In January, 2009, Fred called a meeting. Twenty-five to thirty angry parents showed up. The anger and frustration prevented productivity. The parents understood their own hardship, but how could a city face the same?

Fred, not to be beaten, called a second meeting. Nine people attended - The Gang of Nine. Together, they convinced the town to give them $5,000.00 of the $20,000.00 budgeted for little league baseball.

Greenfield had only one ballpark, which it could no longer afford to maintain. The "Gang of Nine" convinced the city to give the park to them. Fred posted an advertisement in the local paper a few weeks before opening day - Memorial Day - volunteers needed.

On that Saturday morning, Fred arrived at 9 A.M. Only two others waited. They looked out over the field. A small breeze picked up a piece of paper and sent it tumbling over the barren field. The grass was uncut. Holes surrounded the bases, dug into the dirt by last season's players. Water rimmed home plate.

Fred looked at his two companions, "Looks like it's just us." He surveyed the field. "Where's the flag?" He frowned, "For that matter, where's the flag pole?"

"It blew down five years ago." One of his companions said. "They couldn't afford to replace it."

"No matter," Fred said, "Let's get to work."

They pulled their mowers, shovels, and rakes from their trucks and began to work. At 9:30 A.M. another truck pulled into the parking lot. Behind it, trailing dust, were more cars and trucks. They soon had fifty to sixty men, women and children working. The small army mowed the grass, painted dugouts, patched the fields and mended fences.

A local newspaper picked up their efforts and printed a story. The "Gang of Nine's" efforts symbolized the strength of community and was picked up by national media. Fred was overwhelmed with emails, letters, and donations from around the country. They came from Hawaii to Vermont. One lady called from Illinois. She'd lived through the depression and knew what it was like to go without. She didn't want the kids to do the same. A few days later, Fred received a check for $500.00 from her.

Baseballs arrived. Twenty-four dozen came in one delivery from New Orleans. Donations of equipment arrived from individuals and little leagues in Pennsylvania and Illinois.

The league was featured on "Good Morning America". They received more equipment from the major baseball leagues, and the Cincinnati Reds invited the entire Greenfield league to see a game at "Great American Ballpark" in Cincinnati.

Fred wasn't done. He spoke to members of the "Concerned Veterans of Greenfield". Their bylaws prohibited them donating money, but they donated a flagpole and a flag.

Fred spoke to a stone mason, Jay Hardy, owner of Hardy Memorials. Fred wanted to do something in return to the veterans. Jay agreed to donate his work to those who fought then and now. Fred expected a small plaque, but one morning, Jay pulled into the parking lot with a section of marble three feet, by two feet, by two inches. The flagpole and monument where mounted in cement.

The league made concessions: only one new baseball per game; the scoreboard and lights remained dark; and restrooms were locked, replaced with portable toilets.

Four hundred and fifty children, ages five through sixteen, signed up to complete forty-seven teams. On opening day, Fred and his gang surveyed the field once again. Fred remembers one thing - sounds. He listened to the laughter of children, the crack of bats against balls, and above it all, the snapping of the flag blowing in the wind.

A call for silence - the national anthem played and the plaque was dedicated to the veterans.

"Play ball!" The umpire yelled.

The season was on.

On July 3, 2009, the last game was played. The last ball was struck. The last game of the season came to an end. The players, parents, coaches, and umpires left the field. The last breath of wind rolled a hotdog wrapper over the infield. The sun dropped below the horizon. The light of day faded. The stars and stripes gave a final wave in the dying wind. It hung limp against the pole - vigilant - waiting for another season. One could imagine the sound of a bugler playing, signaling the end of the day, the end of a season.

The economy caused problems around the globe, but in Greenfield, it was beaten - Greenfield, not just another town.

Michael T. Smith