I really hope and desire that some of the things I have to say will be 
a blessing to you.
   
I'm going to attempt to give you my complete testimony.  Turn to the 
66th chapter of the Book of Psalms, just one verse.  I came across 
this verse about three years ago; I was just reading my Bible one day, 
and this verse kind of jumped out at me.  Have you ever had that 
happen?  I mean, you're reading along, and you may not be paying 
attention at something, and something just strikes you.  This verse 
grabbed my attention; I looked at it and I wrote down right next to 
it, "Testimony verse." A few months later, I got to use it.
   
Psalms 66:16:  "Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will 
declare what he hath done for my soul."
   
Everybody knows my name, so I won't have to start there.  But I would 
like to start years ago in 1961, in Portsmouth, Virginia.  This was 
the place where I was born.  My dad was in the Navy, and that was the 
place where he was stationed.  I really don't know much about what 
happened, but I was born, as you can see tonight.
   
That would be 29 years ago.  From there, my parents later moved to 
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, at which I spent the next seven years of 
my life.  From there, at age 7, my dad moved up to where he was from 
in the western part of New York.  I spent the next fourteen years 
there.
   
Now, my name is Bob Allport.  I lived in a town called Gasport, New 
York.  I went to school in a town called Middleport.  After I got 
saved, the town where I went to church was called Lockport.  And all 
this is west of Brockport.  Hence, my name is Allport.
   
My upbringing is what you would call typical.  We lived on a small 
farm.  My dad worked a regular job, so naturally I got to do all the 
work on the farm.  He worked at a plant.  He was not a religious man; 
to this day, I believe he's still lost.
   
My mom did have some upbringing in church, but the extent of my 
religious education was perhaps two Sundays a year.  So, I was lost.
   
I was like everybody else; you knew about Jesus and what He did.  But, 
it was never personal; it never was applied in my life in a personal 
wife.  It was a known fact; but it was not heart felt.  There's a big 
difference.
   
I continued in life, went through grade school and high school, and 
had the peer pressures there.  I did some things that I won't talk 
about.  I remember, now that I'm older, that I was working in a 
machine shop.  How I got into this trade, I really don't know.  I just 
wound up in it.
   
This period of life was a very dark time for me.  I did something that 
I'm not going to talk about now; I have things in my life that I hold 
back and never talk about--just as you have things in your life that 
you hold back.  It was something that was very deep and very dark, and 
hurt a great deal.
   
At this time, God started dealing with my heart.  At this time, 
another man was hired in the machine shop; his name was Steve Baer.  
He was from a place called Pensacola Bible Institute.  I heard that he 
was a preacher; by this time, I was burdened and decided to go talk to 
him.  I really wasn't ready for some of the things he was going to 
say.
   
I'd ask a question; he'd have a Bible answer.  I'd ask him another 
question; he'd go straight to the chapter and verse with the answer.  
This was the first person in my life who actually did that with me.  I 
mean, through all the other religious experiences I had, nobody ever 
sat down and opened a Bible and showed me, chapter and verse, where 
the answers were.
   
He started dealing with me.  He told me about salvation.  He asked me 
if I was saved.
   
I said, "No."
   
When I was hired at the machine shop, I actually replaced a person 
named Rod Phillips.  He was actually from the same school as Steve 
Baer--Pensacola Bible Institute.  He came up to Lockport, New York, to 
start a church.  By this time, he was pastoring full-time.
   
I knew about him from some of the guys I worked with--some of the 
things he did, his mannerisms, etc.  So I decided that maybe I'd 
rather talk to him.  I said, "Steve, can you set up an appointment, so 
I can come to talk to Rod Phillips?"
   
Steve said, "Yeah." So he made an appointment at his house one night.
   
I was true to my word; I decided to go.
   
Once again, I wasn't ready for some of the things that were going to 
be put before me.  There it was--an open Bible again.  I mean--the 
Truth!  Answers to my question.
   
This conversation we had went on for maybe 15 or 20 minutes--I don't 
really remember now.  At the end, he brought it all together right 
down to a point.  He said, "Bob, would you like to accept Jesus as 
your Saviour?"
   
Now, I really knew neither one of these guys.  If you knew me, you'd 
know I'm rather shy at nature.  I was embarrassed; I was drawn back.  
I said, "No, not right now."
   
But I knew that what the man said was true; I knew that this was the 
answer to my burdened heart.
   
I said my goodbyes; I got up and walked down to my car.  Right there 
and then, in my car, I bowed my head and accepted the Lord Jesus as my 
Saviour.
   
From that day on, things started to change.  I had a purpose in life.  
The burden that I carried for so long was now gone.  There was a peace 
in my heart.
   
I continued at the shop, and the fellowship that Steve and I had was a 
great thing.  At lunch, I could sit down and talk to him, and he would 
teach me from the word of God.  He was planting seed; he was working 
with me.  Then, after he was laid off, he started inviting me over to 
his house, and we had Bible studies, and I started to grow.
   
I met my future wife at these Bible studies.  Debbie and I were 
engaged and decided to get married in a few months--during May.  
During this time, the Lord had been dealing with me about going to 
school.  I surrendered to that.
   
I know for a fact, as you read these very words, that I was called to 
go to Pensacola Bible Institute.  I know that.  In trying to be 
obedient to my heavenly vision, as it is, I decided to go.
   
Two weeks before we moved to Pensacola, Florida, my wife and I were 
married.  Then, just two weeks later, we packed all our earthly goods 
in a four-by-six trailer, hooked it onto our car, and we just took 
off.  I was 23 at this time.  My wife is a couple of years younger 
than me.
   
This is where things start changing.
   
I remember driving down the highway, and suddenly I experienced one of 
those joys that everybody looks forward to on a trip--a flat tire! I 
just spent half the day loading all of the heavy stuff in the car and 
in the trailer, and then there it was.  I was going down the road, the 
tire blew out, and thanks to my Mario Andretti driving skills, I 
quickly maintained control and pulled it over to the side of the road.  
There I was, unloading all of that stuff.
   
I remember a guy in a pickup pulls over and stops just ahead of my 
car.  He gets out and walks back toward me.  I was changing the tire.  
I knew what to do; I had everything under control.  He said, "You need 
any help?"
   
I said, "No, thank you."
   
He kind of hung around for a few minutes; I don't know why, because I 
already told him I didn't need any help.  He got back into his truck 
and took off.
   
Just as I finished changing the tire, I remember standing there 
looking down the road ahead.  I'm going to say something right now 
that doesn't make much sense, but it really did happen.  I remember 
looking down the road, and time stood still.  I something ahead.
   
It was darkness.
   
It was pain.
   
I can't describe it any better than that.
   
But, my Bible says, "The just shall live by faith." Even though I had 
no comprehension of what was waiting for me, I pressed on.  Had I 
known what lay ahead, I probably would have turned around and gone 
back.
   
But, "The just shall live by faith."
   
So, I continued.
   
Our journey took approximately three days.  We arrived in Pensacola, 
Florida--with all the cockroaches and fire ants and sand--no grass.  
We stayed with one of Steve Baer's friends, who put us up for a few 
days.  After that, the Lord opened up an opportunity to get a trailer.
   
Then, the Lord provided a house for us.  Let me tell you how the Lord 
provided it.  Now, this is strange, but in the end, you'll see how a 
lot of this stuff will fall into place.  There was a little house we 
were looking at, and we were fourth on the list to get it.  The 
dimensions of this house were 20 feet by 22 feet--all three rooms! One 
things I did like about it was that it was cheap.  I knew that I 
wasn't going to get very high wages down there, and $100.00 a month 
was something I could handle.   
So, the Lord opened that opportunity.  As I said, we were fourth on 
the list, and the landlord called us and gave us the house.  That was 
the first thing.
   
The next major experience we had was a job provided for me.  I waited 
for a long time--I believe about four weeks--before I found something.  
God first provided a gas station for me to work in.  As I've said, my 
trade is a machinist.  I wasn't getting anywhere in that trade, and in 
fact I wanted to get out of the trade at that time.  I decided to try 
working at a gas station just to help make ends meet.
   
I remember I got into one place; they seemed to like me.  But soon 
they knew of another place in their organization that needed a worker, 
so they farmed me over there.  This was a bad ordeal for me, because 
it was a "family-run"-type thing.  I don't know if many of you have 
ever worked for a family-owned organization, but when you're one of 
only one or two "outsiders," things just don't go too well for you.  
You are always the guy who is accused of doing  wrong, you're always 
the guy who makes the mistakes.  The family's kids never do anything 
wrong.
   
Pressure was mounting up.  I remember one day I decided that I had 
enough of that place.  Around the corner from the tire shop where I 
worked was a machine shop.  One day, I just got fed up with the place 
and said, "That's it.  I'm going down to that machine shop and try to 
get a job."
   
I walked down to that place.  It was a Saturday, and he was open.  I 
walked in there and applied for a job.  He looked at my application 
and said, "I just let go of a guy, so I'll offer you the job."
   
I wasn't making very much at first--a grand total of $4.50 an hour.  
I've already spent four years in my trade, had served in apprentice 
school and had journeyman's papers.  Those wages were really low for 
my trade.  But, as you'll see, this comes in play, too.
   
Now, I had a house.  I had a house.  I was ready to begin school.  The 
next thing caused me to experience one of the joys of a young parent--
you find out that your wife is going to have a child!
   
Just one little complication here--we had no insurance.
   
I was concerned, as a father would be.  I'm the provide, and I want to 
provide for my own.  The Lord intervened, so that we could enter one 
of those programs in the hospital, to where you only have to pay so 
much.
   
Debbie's pregnancy started out as normal as any other.  She was 
growing larger and larger every day.  School was starting, and the 
pressures were beginning--having to work all day, come home, go to 
school an average of three to four hours a night, all the tests, the 
pressures of trying to pay the bills.
   
Toward the end of her pregnancy, complications started to set in with 
my wife.  I can see clearly now, because I can look back with 
hindsight.  But at the time this was happening, I didn't have the 
knowledge about it which I have now.  She started to swell 
tremendously; we're talking thirty pounds of water weight!  At the 
very end of her pregnancy, the doctor insisted she have almost 20 
hours a day of bed rest.  Toxemia was setting in.
   
I remember the hour and the day that our first child was going to be 
born.  My wife was lying in the intensive care unit at the time.  I 
remember the doctors were all gathering around the bed, and they 
brought the machine over which they called the ultrasound machine that 
would take pictures.  My wife was not dilated; things were starting to 
go wrong.  Her blood pressure was going up.  They started the machine, 
and began to take photographs of the baby.
   
I was standing right there, in a darkened room full of all these 
doctors--standing, looking at this screen, looking at my child.  One 
of the doctors, a particularly foul-mouthed man, came over to the 
machine, and he cussed and said, "That looks like swollen ventricles!"
   
My knowledge of medical things at this time was not very extensive.  I 
knew the heart had a ventricle; that was about the extent of it.  I 
did not know that the brain did as well.  So, he started looking, said 
a few more words, and walked out.  As everyone was leaving, I turned 
to the lady who was pushing the machine out and said, "What is this?  
Is there something wrong with the child?"
   
She looked at me funny.  "You're going to have to talk to the doctor."
   
I waited.  The doctor came in later.  He stood straight and looked at 
me and said, "We think your child has hydrocephalus."
   
I didn't understand.
   
He explained, "That word is hydro, the root word for water."
   
I still didn't quite grasp it.
   
He broke it down one more step.  "We think it's water on the brain.  
We're going to have to an emergency C-section.  A normal birth won't 
be possible at this time."
   
I said, "OK."
   
He walked out of the room; I walked out of the room.  I went down this 
little corridor leading out of the building.  I stood looking at the 
sky, looking at all the pure, white clouds going by.  I remember 
thinking back of all the times that I prayed for a healthy.  I mean, 
what father doesn't?  I asked for one, and it seemed to me that at 
this time the heavens were just brass, and none of my prayers, no 
matter what I did or said, were getting through.
   
I couldn't understand it.  Darkness prevailed.
   
I looked up at the sky and asked the question that so many people ask:  
"Why me?  Why me?"
   
Brother James McGaughey once gave an illustration of a piece of 
pottery going through the fires.  But I just couldn't take any more; I 
turned and ran back into the hospital and down the corridor, through 
these two double doors, and then I stopped and looked.  Just about 
knee-high on the wall was a poster; there was a silhouette of Jesus 
hanging on a cross, with His outstretched arms, and underneath it 
said, "With an everlasting love I have loved thee."
   
I dropped my head and walked back.
   
They performed the emergency C-section and called me afterwards.  We 
had a little girl.
   
We named her Christina.
   
When she was born, her head was 17 inches in circumference.  Inside 
your brain, you have four chambers which they call ventricles.  These 
chambers, on a daily basis, produce and store spinal fluid.  These 
things are connected to your spinal column.  This fluid is renewed in 
a day-by-day process.  They figured that, somewhere in about the 
fourth month of pregnancy, a blockage occurred in the bottom half of 
little Christina's developing brain.  And so these ventricles were 
producing this fluid, and the fluid had no place to go.  So, in 
essence, the water crushes the brain within the skull.
   
You don't see many of these hydrocephalic children today.  Most of 
them are put in homes.
   
Christina had every feature of a normal baby.  She was very cute, with 
a round face and a little nose.  She looked an awful lot like the two 
children God blessed us with later, which we have now.
   
I remember the first time I saw her.  The hospital was laid out in a 
strange sort of fashion; I don't think they consider the ordeal of 
people who have to go into an intensive-care nursery, because you have 
to walk right down past the newborn nursery.  That may not seem like 
much, but when you're going through what we were going through, you 
notice things like that.
   
I had to walk down the hall and see all the other parents.  I didn't 
know whether they were saved or lost.  They are looking through the 
window, happily smiling at their normal babies.  I had to walk right 
by.
   
I wasn't ready for some of the shock that I was going to see when I 
walked into the intensive-care nursery.  I don't know if many of you 
have ever been to an intensive-care nursery.  I walked in and gazed at 
all the expensive machinery.  They made me scrub up 'way up my arms 
and put on a special gown.  They took me over to where my child was.
   
On the way over, though I got to see some things.  I saw little babies 
that were no bigger than your hand, wrapped up in cellophane with tape 
over their eyes, while a machine was trying to keep them alive.  You 
get to see some things that make you step back.
   
They took me over to Chrissy, and I saw her for the first time.  I 
wasn't ready for it; so much was happening this day.
   
I saw her, then I left.  My mother was flying in that day; I had to go 
to the airport to get her.  Debbie's parents had come down to visit 
us.  I was about to go through another experience I didn't really care 
for--repeating this story to my mother.
   
Sometimes, it's like a wound.  You put a bandage on it, then you rip 
it off.  Then you put another one on, and then you rip it off again.
   
I went home from the hospital and had to face Debbie's parents.  I ran 
into the house.  They said, "What happened?"
   
I said, "The baby had water on the brain."
   
At the airport, my mother stepped off the plane, all happy to see me.  
Once again, I had to tell the story--everything that happened.  And 
then she said, "We'd better call your grandparents." Once again, I had 
to rehearse the story--to my grandparents.
   
Many details of these days are burned into my mind and my heart.  I 
can't get rid of them.
   
It's hard enough to rear and to care for a normal baby.  But try one 
who's a little different!  Everything that was normal became abnormal, 
and everything that was abnormal became normal.
   
She stayed in the intensive-care nursery for two weeks.  After that, 
we got to take her home.
   
One of the first medical problems which I noticed she was starting to 
have was something we never dealt with before--she had a seizure.  I 
don't know if any of you has ever seen that.  They can be very scary.
   
I was at work.  I got a telephone call from Debbie.  She said, "I had 
to take Chrissy into the hospital.  Something is wrong with her.  She 
started changing colors."
   
Immediately the little girl was put on phenobarbitol, a heavy 
seditive.  She remained on that drug until the day she left us.
   
Let me interject here how God intervened.  When I applied for that job 
at $4.50 an hour, I couldn't see down the road what was going to take 
place.  But my God did.  And even though I didn't think it was a great 
deal, He knew some of the things I would have to face without 
insurance.  So He gave me a low wage--just under the "poverty" level, 
so state funding could take over the hospital expenses.  You see, my 
God provided.  How much in total hospital and medical expenses this 
little girl had wracked up, I have no idea.
   
On one hospital visit, they presented me with a bill.  During the 
three or four days she was in the hospital, they did virtually nothing 
more than take a few tests, and it cost $3,000.00.
   
After we took her home, other complications developed.  An additional 
abnormality for this little girl was that she lost her suckability.  
You put a bottle in her mouth, and she didn't know what to do with it.  
What is normal became abnormal.  I think she did take one bottle one 
time; then she stopped.  From that point, Debbie tried syringes and 
spoon-feeding.  For some reason, the girl took the spoon feeding for 
awhile.  But later she got real picky about what she wanted to eat; 
and then she totally stop.
   
When she was nine months old, she weighed the same as she did when she 
was born.  The doctors suggested that we allow her to undergo an 
operation.  During this operation, they would surgically implant a 
rubber hose in the stomach, so we could feed her, and then the hose 
would be brought outside.
   
I remember when Chrissy went into the hospital for this.  She looked 
very sick at the time.  The operation took a few hours, and was 
successful.
   
During this, God taught me something else.  I remember going up to the 
hospital to see Chrissy and Debbie.  Debbie said, "Come here; I want 
to show you something." She picked up Chrissy, and we went down the 
hall.  We got to a certain room, and Debbie said, "Look in there."
   
I said, "OK," trailing a little behind her.  She walked by the room, 
and I looked, and then I turned away.  I couldn't believe some of the 
things I was seeing!
   
Inside that room lay a little boy.  His name was Paul.  The same thing 
happened to him that happened to our daughter, but in a different way.  
His spinal fluid was thick, and his head was enormous!  I'm talking 
about a baby nine months old with a head the size of my own!  There he 
lay, in a little car seat, propped up on a hospital bed.  He also had 
this surgery to place a rubber tube in his stomach.
   
God showed me some things.  Not only was he unable to eat, but Paul 
had also lost his ability to blink.  They had to suture his eyes shut, 
so they wouldn't dry it.
   
I tried the best that I could to minister to Paul's family.  The 
parents were not around, but I left notes, on which was written, "I'd 
like to talk to you."
   
Once, I bought a balloon and tied it to the baby's crib.  And I stood 
there with my open Bible, and I read a few things.  I said, "Paul, 
I'll see you in glory."
   
I don't know what happened to that child.  Chances are, he didn't make 
it.
   
I remember another time, when I saw yet another hydrocephalic child.
   
It's amazing.  When you go through an experience like this, all of a 
sudden you notice that there are more cases like your own around you 
than you think.
   
I was at the supermarket one day, doing some shopping.  I noticed a 
lady pushing a little stroller, and inside there was a little baby.  I 
happened to notice something about this child.  The little baby had 
undergone a medical procedure called a shunt.
   
This procedure had been performed on my daughter a few days after she 
was born.  A shunt is like an I.V.  tube with a one-way valve which 
they insert underneath the skin, through the skull, into the brain.  
This bypasses the natural passage through the spinal column in the 
neck, and allows the fluid to drain all the way underneath the skin 
down to the intestines.
   
So, I knew what the shunt looked like, and I recognized it in this 
little baby in the supermarket.  I happened to see this mother, happy 
as can be, pushing the baby along.  I maneuvered myself over to where 
she was and started talking with her.  This case was a little 
different from my own, and different from Paul's, and different from 
any other case.  You see, none of these cases is the same.  This stuff 
here affects the brain, right?  And what does the brain control?  
Everything!  So, each case is different.  At times, you can't even 
establish a foundation, from one case to the other, on which to 
compare notes.
   
After talking with the mother, I learned that when this child was 
born, half the child's brain was born outside the body.  These things 
exist.  They had to surgically remove the external half.  So, in 
essence, this child only had half a brain.
   
As I talked with the mother, I noticed that only one side of the 
child's body would move--one arm, one leg.
   
As time passed, Chrissy's seizures got more intense.  Things got 
worse.  The pressures of school started building up and snowballing.  
We had to feed the child in a special way.  For a period of eight 
solid weeks, she had one seizure every week.  Let me describe what a 
seizure can do.  It's an electrical dysfunction of the brain, where 
the waves get screwy.  We would first recognize a funny sort of shake 
come over her face.  From there, it would go down to her hand, and 
then her foot.  Her limbs would start twitching.  From there, part of 
the body would get involved; she would get a very blank look to her.  
At the height of her seizure, she would stop breathing totally, and 
she would turn blue.
   
These things continued to get worse and worse.  To this day, I don't 
know how many seizures she had.  I would take a guess at 30 seizures 
in two-and-half years.  Every time she would gain weight, her 
metabolism would be thrown off-balance by the phenobarbitol--causing 
her to have a seizure.  Every time she had a fever, every time she had 
an ear infection, it would throw something off, and she would have a 
seizure.  Every time, we would have to go back to the hospital and 
stay there.
   
I don't recall how many times I stood there at night, with my daughter 
lying in the hospital bed here, and here I am holding a stupid Greek 
or Hebrew book in one hand, trying to study--how many times, I forget.
   
As time passed, she grew.  She actually was more active than the 
doctors said she would be; they expected her to be a total vegetable.  
But she had personality to her.  She would smile.  At times we noticed 
her watching things which we earlier thought she couldn't see.  We 
think she did have some hearing function.  At the very end, she was 
even starting to crawl.  She would get up in a crawling position--
which was very amazing for a child who wasn't expected to live.
   
I remember the adjustments we had to make, with the eating the weight 
problems, and the doctors.  You know, through all this, you try to 
continue a normal life as much as possible.  During these times, we 
tried to take vacations.  I remember one time in particular, I owned a 
certain car--a Volkswagen Dasher.  I'll never buy another one!
   
Did you ever have a car that just hated you?  Have you ever had that?  
It sees you coming, and it acts right.  Then, you own the thing, and 
it just falls apart.  This was one of these cars.  I didn't really 
trust my mechanical judgment on a car at this time, so I took a friend 
with me who worked on cars for a long time.  We both went to look at 
it.  Our first mistake was to look at it in the rain.  My friend said, 
"Well, it doesn't seem too bad to me."
   
I needed a new car at this time, so I told the owner, "OK, we'll take 
it."
   
I took it home and did what everybody else would do; I changed the 
oil.  That was my first mistake.  I remember, after changing the oil, 
I started the thing up--and the thing was fogging from mosquitoes!  It 
didn't do this when I went to buy it; but, when I brought it home, it 
decided to do it.
   
I listened a little closer to this thing--and now it's making some 
strange noises!  I called my buddy back over.  "What does that sound 
like to you?"
   
He said, "It sounds like the main."
   
I said, "That's what I thought it was."
   
So, there I began this journey of ripping this car half apart.  I just 
did the bottom half; I was going on vacation, and so I was limited on 
time.  I remember getting all the parts, working really hard to put 
this thing all back together.  I remember the day that my vacation had 
come.  We decided we were going to drive back north to New York--1,330 
miles one way.
   
Well, I guess I like adventures!  After working all day, we hopped in 
the car.  I drove a little way--about five miles--and the air 
conditioner quit working.  I got a little tired and let the wife take 
over.  At about 2:00 in the morning or so, she was driving and I was 
dead asleep on the passenger's side of the car.  While dosing in and 
out of sleep, I listened to the sound of the engine.  It's a four-
cylinder; why is it running on three?  As I pondered that, I heard a 
change in the engine noise; it's a four-cylinder; why is it running on 
two?
   
I said, "Deb, pull over."
   
She pulled over.  I got my tools out; I got the flashlight out.  I 
took a spark plug out, and there was solid carbon all over the thing.  
I took the other ones out and started scraping them.  I also had a 
spare set of plugs, for which I was glad.  I put them in, and we drove 
another six hours.  Then I had to pull them back out, clean the other 
set, and put them back in.
   
It was one of those cars in which you pull into the gas station and 
say, "Check the gas and fill up the oil." I think, on my one-way trip, 
I consumed something like 15 quarts of oil.
   
When I start something, I don't like to quit; I'm going to see it 
through.  So I got the thing all the way up north.  Once home, it 
started to do strange things.  We drove it around during our stay up 
there, then headed back to Florida--this time stocked up with 24 
quarts of oil.
   
We came to this town called LaGrange, Georgia.  I looked at the 
gauges.  I knew that thing was going through oil bad.  I said, "We're 
going to check it, and we're going to get some gas." We pulled over to 
a gas station; I filled up the gas and checked the oil and, sure 
enough, it needed some.  I poured some in there.  We had our daughter 
with us; she was in the back.  My wife returned to the car; I returned 
to the car.  Then we both heard that lovely sound...
   
Click....
   
Click....
   
Nothing's working!
   
I got out and looked at it.  I tried messing with the timing enough to 
get it started.  It just wouldn't do it.
   
A black guy stopped.  He said, "You got problems?"
   
I said, "Yeah."
   
He said, "Well, let me try to give you a jump." He tried, but nothing 
happened.  He said, "I think your starter is gone."
   
I said, "That's what I think it is, too."
   
So, I pushed my car out to the side of the road.  Keep in mind that I 
had thirty-five dollars to my name.  I had one $300.00 check in my 
pocket, which Debbie's dad gave us while we were up visiting him.  It 
was an out-of-state check, which we were supposed to use to send my 
daughter to a special hospital.
   
I sat there, looking at my wife, knowing that my funds were low.  I 
looked down the console between the two front seats, and there were 
some Chick tracts.  I said, "Well, I've heard of others doing this..."
   
I said to the wife, "You stay here." I grabbed the tracts and walked 
up to the gas pumps.
   
In a unique way of witnessing, I would start out, "Hey, do you know 
where there are any parts stores where I can get parts for my car?"
   
The attendant told me.  Then I tried to witness to him and give him a 
tract.
   
A red Bronco pulled up.  For some reason, I didn't talk to the guy.  
He walked buy me and said, "Hi," and as I nodded my head, he walked in 
to do what he wanted to do, and came back out.  I didn't stop him.  He 
got into his truck and proceeded to pull out and away.
   
At about the time his truck was beside my parked car, Debbie was 
outside with Chrissy in her hands, patting her on the back.  This guy 
had his wife with him, and they had a daughter.  They looked over and 
looked at our daughter.  They asked if anything was the matter.  
Debbie explained something to them.
   
I turned away, and as I was pondering what I'm going to do and how I'm 
going to fix this thing, I looked up again--and Debbie was calling me 
over.
   
So, I go over, and this guy--whom we don't know from Adam--said, 
"What's the problem?"
   
I said, "I think my starter's gone."
   
He goes, "Well, I'll help you.  I'll try to tow-start this thing."
   
Well, it's an automatic.  I didn't know this at the time, but the book 
says you can't tow-start an automatic.  He left his wife and daughter, 
and my wife and our daughter, there at our car, took me down to the 
store where we got a chain.  We came back and hooked it up to my car, 
and we took off.
   
We were doing about fifty miles an hour--with just two or three feet 
of distance between us--trying to start this car!  I was hitting the 
brake while he was pulling me--and he wasn't slowing down; he kept 
going faster!
   
Finally, we pulled back into the gas station.  He said, "Well, that's 
not going to work.  I'll put you up for the night."
   
Now, I was kind of leery.  Who wouldn't be?  You know what kinds of 
kooks and nuts are out there.  But, I remembered that the Bible said, 
"The just shall live by faith." If I had not said yes, I would have 
missed a great thing.
   
I said, "OK."
   
We piled into his vehicle, and he took off down the road.  While he 
was driving, I was counting the trees!  He's taking a left at this 
tree here; he's taking a right now here....  I'm just visualizing the 
newspaper headlines the next day:  Three Found Slain In The Woods.
   
He pulled in to his driveway and took us into the house.  He gave food 
to my daughter; he gave clothes to her; he let us sleep in their 
waterbed.  He treated us like a king and a queen.
   
The next day he got up and took off for work.  He was a short-distance 
truck driver.  He left word with his wife to help me out.  He knew 
about the check that I had; they helped me cash the check.  They then 
took me to the only parts store there that had the only starter in the 
whole town that would fit my car.  He took me back, and put it back 
together; I was on the road again.
   
You say, "What did you learn?" I learned this:  that my God is able to 
prepare a table for me in the presence of mine enemies.  Who's my 
enemy?  The world.  He prepared a place.
   
Just think for a second.  What would you have done?  Would you have 
reached back into your wallet and pull out that ol' plastic money?  
Would you have done that?  I didn't have any credit cards; I'm glad I 
didn't, because I got to see my God move in a marvelous way.
   
I continued to go through school.
   
By the third year of my schooling, the closer I seemed to get to 
graduation, the stronger the pressures became.  Down there, it's a 
pressure cooker to begin with, but some of the things I was facing 
made it even worse.
   
The next thing I was about to face caught me all off guard.  We tried 
everything for our daughter; what parent wouldn't?  We went to 
different doctors; we went to a naturalist doctor, who suggested using 
certain foods.  To be quite honest, what the guy had to say was true; 
it actually started to help my daughter.  But the one thing that using 
juices and special natural foods didn't do--and I'm all for it one 
hundred per cent--was help my daughter gain weight.  Now, since I was 
making a low wage, the state was still taking care of my daughter to 
some degree.  But they kept their "eye" on me; we had to take her in 
for checkups.  But for awhile, we didn't have to take her to the 
doctors or to the hospital, because she wasn't having any seizures as 
of late.  So we didn't take her in for a few weeks, and they wondered 
where we were.  So they sent out some social workers to see us--
unannounced.
   
They came into our house and looked at our daughter.  They didn't say 
too much and took off.  A few days later, I saw a white car pulling up 
in my yard.  Somebody gets out and serves me a subpoena to go to 
court--for medical neglect.
   
I did everything they said!  I tried everything I could think of.  To 
give you some degree of the complexities of these things, her records 
were over 50 pages long--50 pages of visits, of complications.
   
Here I am, trying to finish school, trying to pay the medical bills--
and now I have a lawyer to deal with!
   
After I was through some of these things for awhile, it just didn't 
seem to have much devastating effect on me anymore.  I had seen God 
move in some mighty and strange ways, and I was learning how to lean 
on Him more and more, learning how to let Him take control.
   
The day I had to go to court, I was reading my Bible, and a verse 
stuck out at me:  "I will build a hedge about thee; I will make you a 
brazen wall, that none can come close." The lawyer, who was also a 
Christian, went in there with me.  A few days later, the lawyer called 
me and said the state decided not to press charges.
   
My God was delivering me again.  He was taking care of me and 
providing for me.
   
I remember graduation day.  I finally got to the end.  Oh, what a 
feeling!  You get to the end, and you are finished.  You know, your 
life falls into a routine; we were getting used to it.
   
One day, my little girl had a dietary imbalance.  She started a 
seizure right after church.  We came home that night, and she started 
in with the twitching right away.  Usually, a seizure lasted only five 
minutes; it seemed like an eternity, but that's usually the extent of 
it.  This one went for two-and-a-half hours.
   
We picked her up and took her to the hospital again.  They injected 
her with heavy drugs, but they wouldn't sedate her.  The seizure kept 
going on and on.
   
I had a friend at this time; all this time in Pensacola, God used only 
one person to comfort me.  The preachers who were there did what they 
could, but God used a fellow classmate who was more helpful than 
anybody else.  He was there with me that night in the hospital; he was 
showing me scripture; he was saying things.  He was a real, close 
friend--oh, the times we spent together!
   
You see, many times I stood all alone, walking out into my yard at 
night, listening to my wife rock a baby who was crying and wouldn't 
stop.  I would look up into the heavens and say, "God, I just want to 
quit.  I've had enough!"
   
A few days would go by, and then somebody would come up to me and say, 
"You know, I really get a blessing out of you." I don't say any of 
these things to give me glory by any means; in fact, to hear them say 
that was a humbling experience.  I would then say to God, "Yes, God, I 
want some more.  I won't quit.  I'll take one more step.  One more 
step."
   
After all, isn't that what life is--just one step after another?  We 
have a tendency to look 'way down the road and think that happiness is 
a thing that's 'way over here--but it's not.  We think that if we just 
own this one car, or this one house, living in a certain place, we'll 
be happy.  But happiness seems to be a thing that eludes us.  It seems 
to be a pot of gold at the end of a receding rainbow.
   
What is "happiness"?  Knowing the Lord.  Walking with Him.  Talking 
with Him.  That's when the joy and the happiness come in--and the 
"peace of God, which passeth all understanding."
   
By graduation, my daughter had grown somewhat, but not normally.  One 
time, when she was born, her whole body proportions were out of whack; 
the head was larger than the body.  Because there was so much brain 
damage, the brain would not develop.  So, now, at the age of two-and-
a-half years, her body had grown larger in proportion than her head.
   
Something started getting seriously wrong with her in September of 
1986.  During one week, we took her to the doctor every day for four 
days in a row.  She was acting strange in way that we had never seen 
before; she could not be comforted by any means.  She would lie in her 
crib and just moan back and forth and just moan and cry, hour after 
hour.
   
We took her to the doctor; the doctor would say, "Oh, it's just 
gastritis.  Here, give her this medicine."
   
We did that.  The next day, it was no better.  We took her back.  "Oh, 
it's this, this, and this.  Let's do this...." It was no better.
   
The third day, we took her back.  "It's this, this, and this." We did 
what they said; it was no better.
   
Now we come to September 17.  At this time Debbie was carrying my son 
Joshua.  That right there in itself added to the pressure.  You 
already had one that wasn't right.  You wonder about the second.  As 
before, Chrissy could not be comforted, so we took her to the doctor 
again.
   
Looking back now, I can see clearly what was wrong--why the doctor 
didn't tell me at the time, I don't know.  I looked at the doctor as 
she looked at the baby; the doctor had perplexity in her face; she 
didn't know, and she wasn't about to tell me.  Had she told me 
something, I could have tried something else--but she didn't.  She 
mumbled, "I think it's this."
   
We went to get some medicine again and went home.  Debbie, carrying 
Joshua at the time, was very tired.  I said, "You just lie down.  I'll 
put Chrissy in the crib and do the grocery shopping." There were two 
stores I was going to.  After arriving at the first store, something--
I don't know what--told me that I better get home quickly.
   
I put the groceries into the back of the vehicle.  I looked down the 
road, and up ahead I saw flashing red lights.  I saw an ambulance.  I 
muttered a prayer, "God, I hope that's not my house."
   
But it was.
   
I pulled into the driveway; they were wheeling a stretcher across my 
yard.  I went in the house; Debbie was crying.  The preacher had just 
arrived, and motioned me to go toward the back of the house with him.
   
You know, people react differently to this kind of stress; some people 
just break down and cry.  But I, at the time, had a tendency to get 
very angry.  I wasn't angry at anybody; I wasn't angry at God.  I was 
just angry at the fact that I had been fighting for two-and-a-half 
years, and I felt like I had just lost the war.
   
As they were working on my little daughter, they asked me questions.  
I snapped the answers back to them.  They asked for a name, and I 
would almost spell it and spit it out to them at the same time.  They 
looked at me strangely--but it was my way of handling the stress I was 
facing then.  It's different when you see your own child right there.
   
They wheeled her out and put her in the ambulance.  The preacher left, 
but his wife stayed with us.  We got into our car--that piece of junk 
I had, the Volkswagen--this time it was fixed, but it still couldn't 
go fast very fast.  As we were driving toward the hospital, I was 
trying to keep up with everybody, but I couldn't.  They were speeding 
down the road, and Mrs.  McGaughey, the preacher's wife, said, "Hit 
the horn!" 
   
It didn't work.
   
We arrived there a little later than the ambulance and everybody else.  
We had returned to a hospital I had been to so many times, I almost 
knew it like the back of my hand--where the corridors were, how to get 
to where.  I pulled in.  We go through the preliminary paperwork, and 
then they took me back to a place I hadn't been before.
   
This was a Catholic hospital.  The only reason we were dealing with a 
Catholic hospital at this time was because they happened to have some 
of the best equipment.
   
This nun came out and started talking to us.  When they were leading 
us to the admissions office, I walked right by where they were working 
on Chrissy.  At the office, they said, "Here's a form we need you to 
fill in."
   
I put the form before me and started to fill it in with my name.  At 
the very end of the form, there was another blank I needed to fill 
in--the time.  I signed the form and then glanced up at the clock for 
the time.
   
If anybody reading this knows anything about Bible numerics, you'll 
understand the significance of this--the time was 5 o'clock--exactly.  
That's the number of death in the Bible.
   
I looked at that clock and then started to realize what was taking 
place.
   
The doctors never knew what happened to the girl.  They performed 
their tests, and after working on her for a period, they came to us 
and said, "She's now totally brain dead." Now, they were keeping her 
alive with a machine.
   
I remember going into her room.  They had her in a bed with a special 
heating element over her.  There are some things you see that you just 
never forget.  I remember looking at her eyes, as she just lay there 
motionless--it's a look I'll never forget.  There was no light coming 
back out.  None.  Have you ever seen a dog, when they are playing?  
Their eyes flash and light up?  You can see that in a lot of people, 
too--their eyes just have a life about them.
   
But that was gone.
   
Like shades pulled over the eyes.
   
Once again, there at the hospital, the staff put me under some 
tremendous pressure by confronting me with a decision.  Thank God for 
doctors; they can do a lot of good things.  But there is one thing 
they cannot do--prolong life.  They can keep the body lying there, and 
they can prolong agony at times.
   
They had done some good, but now they came to me and said, "We've done 
all we can do.  Now what do you want us to do?" Now, they placed the 
burden back on me.
   
Had things gone on in a natural course, that girl would have died that 
day.  But they decided to prolong her life with machines--and now 
they're putting me under more pressure.
   
I had never had to face this before--whether to keep her on the life-
support system, or take her off.