Gift of Faith
(continued)

Part Two

by Lynn Ridenhour

A month goes by and I start receiving notices from the hospital that my bill was due. Another month goes by. And another. I'm getting really nervous. I don't have the money. And I tell the Lord, "Lord, I need $600."

Finally, the hospital wants their money. The notices keep getting nastier. You know how that is. I've got to do something. And I'm down in the dumps. Here I trusted God and now look at me. I'm about to get sued!

I don't know what to do. Out of desperation, I remember Uncle Bob. Uncle Bob is my "rich uncle." Maybe I can sell Uncle Bob my '38 Chevy for $600. I had fixed it up, painted it metallic blue, put white & blue pleated leather seat covers in it, a blue carpet on the floor, with white leather door panels and a white leather ceiling-and a blue light. It was definitely worth $600. Uncle Bob lived about 200 miles away. One weekend I drove down, praying most of the way.

I pull up in Uncle Bob's driveway. He's out in the garage and notices me. I see him walking toward my '38 Chevy. And I'm praying, "O, Lord, please let him notice it."

He shakes my hand, tells me how good it is to see me, then points to the house, "go inside and say hello to your grandma. She'll be glad to see you." He didn't say a word about the car.

We visit awhile, then Uncle Bob says, "Nephew, come with me." We get in his Jeep. "I've never showed you our farm." While driving me around his 150 acre farm on the way back to the house, we come upon a '51 Chevy parked in the barn. "Uncle Bob, is that yours?." He nods.

"It took me two years talking my neighbor out of it. It only has 41,000 miles on it. He only drove it to town and back. I just bought it from him."

We pull up next to it and get out of the Jeep. Uncle Bob opens one of the doors. It slams like new. Sure enough, the car is in mint condition. "Here, take the keys and drive it. We've got to go get some ice cream."

I took the keys and drove it to the Dairy Queen. On the way back, Uncle Bob begins talking. "Nephew, I've never done anything for you. I want to give you this car."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. Here I am at Uncle Bob's to sell him mine and he's giving me his! I didn't know what to say. Just to be nice (I had to say something) I said, "Uncle Bob, you can't do that. It took you two years to buy this car from your neighbor."

"No. I've made up my mind. Let's go back to the house and fill out the papers."

We did. We went back to the house, filled out the papers, I drove my '38 Chevy back home, caught the train and drove my '51 Chevy back to the house. Now I have two cars. A couple days later, the phone rings. It's Joe Hoover, a friend. "Lynn, I'm going down right now to pick up a new car. The Lord has laid it on my heart to give you my car. I'll be right over."

I can't believe it. Joe gives me his '55 Oldsmobile. Now I have three cars. I sell one. Give one away. And keep one. And you guessed it--I have exactly $600 to pay off my hospital bill. I learned a valuable lesson. It's not for me to say how or when the Lord will accomplish what He sets out to do. I never would have paid off a hospital bill that way! But it's none of my business. It's my business simply to believe Him. The Lord wanted me to trust Him no matter what. Especially when circumstances look like they've turned against me. When we're walking by faith, we can't trust our circumstances. They lie. I'm glad I learned that lesson early, for I would need to rely on it later again and again.

"Tell them, you're going."

A strange twist of events occurred soon after Brother Beasley left. Brother Manley was impressed with my hunger for God. Two weeks after he had left, I received a letter from Milldale Bible Conference, Zachary, Louisiana. It was signed "Jimmy Robertson, Pastor."

They were looking for a Youth Pastor and had invited me to come "by faith." Brother Manley had recommended me. Four evangelists worked out of the Bible camp. Manley was one of those evangelists. I was in heaven. I couldn't believe I had been asked. I really had to seek the Lord's will, for I immediately wanted to go. I had heard about these people. Brother Manley had taught them the principles of faith, especially how to live their lives by the gift of faith. They were a small community of saints living together on 50 acres just 20 miles north of Baton Rouge-about 30 families. It was a Bible camp and families drove from all over the United States to attend the week-long Bible camps. They had four camps a year. I was invited to minister to the youth.

I had just turned 25 and had one more year of college. It was difficult to pray. It wasn't long, however, 'till the answer was clear-I was to go. I would have to finish my last year of college later. I threw everything I had in the back of my Oldsmobile and headed south. I was given an apartment in the back of one of the dormitories on the campgrounds, and was told I would be living by faith. There was no salary.

O, the things that I saw!

I saw God move mightily in camp meetings. I saw people slain in the Spirit, laid out on the ground under the power of God. I saw demons leave the possessed (not a pretty sight). I saw blind eyes opened. I saw little children perform miracles "in the name of Jesus." I saw God's glory.

Pastor Jimmy (as we all called him) was a man of great faith, a man in his late 30s. The camp was always growing, or building something. I remember we needed $13,000 to finish the prayer chapel. James Stewart, missionary to Europe, was walking down the gravel road one day in front of the chapel, reminiscing with Pastor Jimmy. "How much do you need to complete this?" he asked. "We need $13,000 more," said our pastor.

Right then and there the missionary knelt in front of the chapel on the gravel road and prayed. Two hours later there was excitement in the worship hall. Someone had stuck in Pastor Jimmy's mail box a check for $13,000! And everyone was praising God with a shout.

I remember another time we ran out of food. The camp meetings were free of charge. Pastor Jimmy believed in trusting God for our daily provisions rather than charging the Lord's people. We were halfway through the camp meeting-around midweek-when our pastor called everyone into the dining hall. "Brothers and sisters, we've run out of food. I've called us here to pray (over 1,000 were in attendance), to ask the Lord to supply our need."

Everyone knelt.

I don't mind telling you, it was a holy sight to see over 1,000 saints kneeling in prayer before empty plates, asking the Lord to send food. I wasn't used to this kind of faith. God is my witness-while we were yet asking, trucks were pulling up outside, delivering food!

I'll never forget the prayer for the bowling alley. The camp had outgrown its dining hall. We couldn't feed everybody; there just wasn't room enough. One day Pastor Jimmy was driving down one of the main highways in Baton Rouge. And he passed by a bowling alley that was being torn down. He pulled over to the side of the road, got out of his car, and walked over to the site, asking to see the foreman.

It was on a Wednesday night when Pastor Jimmy was telling us. We met together as a community every Wednesday evening for prayer. There was less than 100 of us-around 30 couples who had congregated. I'm sitting there listening.

"Brothers and sisters, I asked the foreman if the bowling alley was for sale. It would make a perfect dining hall for us. He said it was. I asked him 'how much?' He said '$100,000,' and I said, 'I'll take it.' I just bought us a bowling alley."

I'm not used to this. I hadn't been there that long yet. I'm not used to such boldness. I'm looking around, noticing that most of us are poor to poor-middle income families. And there's only a handful of us. I knew this church did not have $100,000. I wasn't ready for what I heard next.

"Church, I believe if we all come to the altar and pray, and ask the Lord to move on that foreman's heart, I believe he'll give us that bowling alley."

Everyone immediately moved out of their seats and knelt at the altar. It seemed no big deal to them. They seemed to be used to it. I followed. This is the first time I ever knelt in church, asking God for a bowling alley.

The next day Pastor Jimmy went back to purchase the bowling alley. The foreman told him, "tell you what, pastor. You bring your men, tear the building down, and you can have it. We'll give it to you." I was part of the wrecking crew. And stood amazed as I saw the men of our church disassemble a bowling alley, hire a crane to haul the steel frame out to the camp grounds, and reassemble it, turning it into a spacious dining hall for the Lord's people-free of charge! We sold the lumber off the siding to pay for renting the crane.

Jewish evangelist Hyman Appleman from Kansas City was our keynote speaker. He asked the campers, "how many of you would like to see the apostle Paul? Raise your hands." I raised mine. I would love to visit with the apostle Paul.

"I can't do that," he said. "But I can take you with me as we follow in the steps of the apostle Paul." He was talking about taking a tour to the Holy Land and touring the three missionary journeys of the apostle. I sat there, yearning to go. I had always longed to go to the Holy Land. To walk where Jesus walked. Visit the sites he visited. See where he was born. Gaze on Golgotha's Hill. Evangelist Appleman had left us a brochure of the trip. They would be leaving in three months. I looked and looked at that brochure, daydreaming what it would be like.

One Sunday afternoon, between services, I was alone in my room, and felt the urge to kneel in prayer. To ask our Heavenly Father if He would let me go. I prayed with tears and the answer came. "tell them you're going and that I have already paid your way." God could not have said it clearer over the phone. He meant-tell the people tonight in the worship service. I told the Lord, "Lord, you know Pastor Jimmy very rarely gives opportunity for us to speak."

That evening before he addressed the people, Pastor Robertson said, "Does anyone have anything they would like to say?"

That gave me courage. I stood but still was shaking. "Brothers and sisters, I have always wanted to go to the Holy Land, and you remember a few weeks ago Evangelist Appleman was here, asking for those who would like to go with him. Well, I'm going with him. The Lord has already paid my fares and expenses. We'll be leaving in two weeks." And I sat down.

Brother Manley Beasley was sitting in the audience. He was between revival meetings, and he knew what I was doing. I was declaring a thing so before it was so. I don't mind telling you, I was a little shaken. I had no job, no income. I was living by faith on the campgrounds. The Lord had been providing. It was a holy moment. Everyone there knew what I was doing. Brother Beasley stood up and commented, "brothers and sisters, we have to be desperate to do what Lynn has just done. Don't try it unless you've heard from the Lord." And he sat down. That made it even more difficult for me, but I knew I had heard the Lord's voice this afternoon. It couldn't have been clearer over the telephone. So I stood in faith for the next two weeks.

And was on the plane headed for the Holy Land!

Jim was the local drug dealer. He kept the whole area supplied, getting his drugs out of St. Louis. Of course, we didn't know this at the time.

For about six weeks, a long-haired, skinny-looking guy would show up every Sunday afternoon at two o'clock for worship. (We had our worship services at two o'clock on Sundays.) Actually, our worship services were more like informal get-togethers. Young people would come dressed in their cut-offs. Girls would show up in bikinis. Some sat on the floor; others sat on chairs. We usually sat in a circle, singing psalms while someone strummed the guitar.

As I said, Jim would show up-always stoned. He would "shoot up" morphine right before the service, leave his needle in the car, and come worship. I could tell he was "high." His eyes were glazed, he staggered a lot, and slurred his words. During our sharing time, Jim would stand (barely able) and tell how much he loved God.

I think the Lord has a sense of humor. One Sunday the Lord had had enough. Sure enough, in comes Jim high as a kite. He shares with the rest of the group, slurring his words, weaving back and forth a bit, and telling how much he loves God. No one ever said anything. We all knew. Well.that particular Sunday afternoon the Lord truly intervened. I felt impressed to pray for Jim, so after worship I asked him to come with me. We went into a back room with three other brothers. I laid my hands on Jim's head and began to pray. Jim fell to the floor and came up praising the Lord in another language-as sober as a judge! The Lord had instantly converted him-and brought him down from the influence of morphine. It was truly one of the most miraculous conversions I had ever witnessed.

Jim became steady as a rock. He fell in love with the Lord and His scriptures. I asked him to move in with us and help us out on the streets. He did. Jim became my "right hand man," with a tremendous influence on the youth in the area. Most knew him. He supplied them. Now he stands tall and straight for the gospel, and never wavering in his testimony.

I came home one evening, and noticed-Jim was sullen, sitting in a chair in deep thought. I could tell something was bothering him.

"What's the matter, brother?"

"I'm supposed to meet my connection tonight."

I didn't understand. Then he told me. Jim had been getting his drugs from a supplier out of St. Louis. It was that time of the month again. Then he dropped a bombshell.

"I'm a member of the Mafia. And every month one of the members meets me."

I was floored.

"You don't cross the Mafia. Or want out," he said. "They'll bump you off. I'm really scared not to go."

Now I'm really listening. And have a huge pit in my stomach. I can't believe this is happening. Sure makes church attendance a piece of cake. This is the real thing. I didn't know what to tell him.

"What if you don't show up?"

"O, they know where I am."

I suggested we pray. We got on our knees, begging the Lord to show us what to do. Does Jim go out of fear of the Mafia and pick up the drugs, or does he stay, knowing they might come after him? We hadn't a clue.

After earnest prayer, seeking His direction, both of us got up off our knees, believing the Lord wanted Jim to go meet his connection that night. So.with Godspeed, asking the Lord to send His angels before him, I watched Jim get in his car and drive off. I really prayed. I mean-really prayed.

Two hours later Jim came home. I could tell he was relieved the moment I saw him.

"They never showed up. I waited at our usual spot, but they never showed up."

And that was the last we ever heard from the mob. Jim served the Lord relentlessly.

We invited drug addicts, hippies, the homeless, convicts & prostitutes to come live with us. We literally lived with the hippies for two and a half years-and shared the gospel. I said.shared, for you could in no way "preach" to these extremely sensitive young souls. You had to live the gospel before them. Believe me, they had a "sixth sense." These young people were remarkably "street-wise." And could spot a "preacher" or religious person a mile off. I say-young people. They ranged from 13 to 38 years old. Tina and Debbie, for instance, had just turned 13. Tina's step dad had been taking her to motel rooms, getting her drunk, and molesting her. Debbie's dad was the town drunk and her mother was hooked on legal prescriptions. Both Tina and Debbie lived with us for six months. And both received the gospel. They became angels. Their countenances, at times, literally shined (no joke) and the rough edges on their faces slowly disappeared. It really was something to see-the gospel in action. These girls became Mary Magdalenes. Clean.

We only had one rule--you could stay with us for six months. Actually we had another rule-no smoking pot on our premises, for we couldn't take the risk of getting busted. At times my lovely wife cooked meals for as many as 30 young people. Where did we get the money to feed all those hungry stomachs? Without intending to sound pious, we prayed our meals in every day. To be quite candid, most of the religious folks in the area distrusted us, including churches-especially pastors--for we still looked like hippies. But for two and a half years, the Lord met out needs. We never went hungry and we never missed a meal.

We owned a van. I remember a cop pulling us over one day and searching the van for drugs. He found nothing but copies of the Word of God strung around on carpeted floor. That particular afternoon we were on our way to a pool hall to play "Jesus Rock" music. It was Halloween night. We had formed a rock band and called it "The Voice." One of the members of the band, Jerry, used to play the sax for Ike & Tina Turner before they broke up. This young person could make that sax yak!

What was the Lord teaching us? That he is the God of the insignificant. Little things matter to him-and us. The Lord was concerned that Joe did not know how to dial a telephone. He knew that my wife needed a button for her blouse. He cared that we had but a quarter of a tank of gas. He is our "daily" God.

It mattered not-the gift of faith operated for buttons and millions. If you can't believe God for a button, I'm not sure you can believe Him for a million.

At the Upper Room I got my first real taste of community. We lived together, prayed together, ate together, and argued together. But stayed together. Like the saints in the book of Acts. Authentic Christianity is a balance of doctrine and community. The reformation destroyed the balance. Today churches are divided (and united) by doctrine. That ought not be. The only legitimate biblical reason for division is geography. Paul wrote to the church at Rome, to the church at Corinth, to the church at Ephesus. There was one church per city in Paul's day. Saints were separated by geography, not doctrine. It's the same today. When God looks down upon a city, He sees one church. There may be 45 churches listed in your yellow pages, but the Lord doesn't recognize them. Our fellowship is around His Lordship. Not creeds, dogma, names and doctrine.   The 80s & 90s One day my neighbor handed me a Book of Mormon. The year was 1985. I read it and had an instant conversion. Discovering the restoration gospel has set my soul on fire! It's like I've been born again-again. Now I know why the gift of faith has been so central to my life. "concerning the purchasing of all the lands in Jackson County that can be purchased, and in the adjoining counties round about. For it is my will that these lands should be purchased that my saints should possess them." --D&C 105:28,29 The Lord wants my wife and I to buy up land here in Jackson County, Missouri. It takes the gift of faith to do that. And it takes millions to do that. I'm glad that in the 70s my wife and I had to believe God for buttons. In the 90s we were called upon to believe Him for millions. It's the year 2,000 now and we're in the beginning stages of developing a 35-million dollar project in the heart of the Center Place of Zion. A 95-acre community in Independence. Let me highlight the story. In October of '93 my wife was driving out near the Independence airport when she ran across a sign standing in a field which read, "20 Acres For Sale By Owner." The owner's phone number was on the sign. She called him and asked me to go take a look at the land. I did and quite honestly, didn't have any leading of the Spirit one way or the other. In the meantime, I had to leave town, was doing a training seminar in Fargo, North Dakota. In my hotel that evening I get the strangest burning in my bosom to write this man a letter, to pour out my heart to him and to let him know, we'd like to purchase his land and use it for ministry purposes. I mentioned in the letter that we'd even be interested in using it to minister to underprivileged children. I mailed the letter and asked him not to sell his land until I arrived back in town to talk with him. I came home in the middle of the week and called him. His name was Mr. Burton. He said he could meet with me Saturday morning, for me to come over to his house. I wasn't there five minutes until we got down to business. I told him I felt he should sell the land to my wife and me. "Mr. Ridenhour," he said, "you're the 54th couple who wants to buy this land. Do you know that?" Of course, I didn't. "And the reason so many want the land, is we're financing it. Were you aware of that?" I wasn't. I sat there attentively listening to his every word. "Of all the couples that want to buy our land, my wife and I talked it over. We want you and your wife to have it." My heart was doing hand springs. I could hardly contain myself "Do you know anything about me?" he asked. "No, sir. I don't." "When you mentioned in your letter, you wanted to use this land for ministering to under privileged children, you didn't know I was orphan?" "No, sir." "Well, we want you to have it. We want $6,000 an acre and 20 percent down." I'm sitting there in this stranger's house whom I've just met; my head is reeling. I'm counting $6,000 times 20. That's $120,000. Twenty percent down is $24,000. "I'll take it." We shook hands and I left. My wife was at work. I called her and said, "hon, the twenty acres is ours. I just bought it." She didn't know what to say. She was happy and puzzled at the same time. She knew our financial situation. We didn't have $120,000. We sure didn't have $24,000 cash for the down payment. But we'd been in these situations before. There is a God in heaven. We both got down on our knees that night and asked God for $24,000. Our business was still in the start-up phase so we really couldn't expect much from it. We'd just opened up our business in March. This was only October. I really didn't know what to do. I knew I couldn't go to the bank or ask a relative for $24,000. I had God to look to and only God. The end of the year was upon us and I had an idea. I believe, a God-inspired idea. I called Mr. Burton on the phone. "Say, Mr. Burton, would you mind if we broke our down payment up into three payments. We'll pay you $8,000 starting next month, $8,000 the next month, and $8,000 the following month." "Sure, you can do that." Now, we really prayed. Linda and I got back down on our knees and said, "Lord, we need $8,000 for the next three months. Would you please bring it in?" Do you know, our business exploded! During the holiday season too. The following month I hand carried an $8,000 cashier's check to Mr. Burton. The following month another $8,000 came in. And the following month another $8,000! That's November, December, and January--typically the three slowest months in any business! Twenty-four thousand dollars came in and our business was still in the start-up phase. We made our $8,000 a month payments and still had money to live on. God is so faithful. We started cleaning up the twenty acres. Mr. Burton left us an old 1958 D-14 Allis Chalmers tractor. He gave it to us, along with an old brush hog. The weeds were over my head when I started brush hogging. But as we say down home, "I was in hog heaven." I sat on that old tractor many a morning and sang praises to my God, the God who got us twenty acres in the heart of the Center Place. I knew people could bear me singing on the tractor in the early mornings as they drove to work but I didn't much care. There's more to the story. We end up with 55 more acres next to us--the Conwell Berry Farm. One day I was sitting on my tractor brush hogging as usual when I noticed down in the valley my neighbors, the Conwells, were doing their spring planting. It was a beautiful sight, seeing them work the ground, as busy as bees. The soil was rich. The fields were flat. And the view was mighty fine. I said to the Lord, while riding up and down the rows brush hogging, "Lord, it sure would be nice owning that land too. That would make it perfect. Twenty acres here and fifty-five down there to farm. Would you give it to me?" And I went on about my business. I really didn't think that much of my prayer, not really. I more or less said it "off the cuff." But I did start discussing the issue with a few friends, telling them how nice it would be to own the entire 75 acres. The responses I received weren't too encouraging. "You obviously don't know the Conwells, do you?" And I didn't. "They'll never sell. That's a family farm, been in the family for over 50 years." Three weeks later I was driving down Eureka road in front of the Conwell Berry fruit stand. Linda was with me. I couldn't believe my eyes. I saw a For Sale sign stuck in a yard next to the fruit stand. I pointed it out to Linda and turned into the driveway. "What are you doing? she asked. "I'm going to find out what's for sale. The fruit stand or the farm. And who's selling it." I parked my pickup, walked up to the door and rang the door bell. A middle-aged lady came to the door. I introduced myself and asked, "ma'am, do you know who's selling what?" She laughed. "I ought to. It's my dad. Please, won't you come in." I stepped inside and made sure I understood what was for sale. She let me know the 55-acre farm was up for sale. "Well, I'm interested," I told her. I pointed out, I had purchased the 20 acres next to her. "0, you're the one who sings on the tractor." I chuckled and said, yes. She was pleased to meet me and told me that I had done a lot of cleaning up. Then she gave me the number of her Realtor. That evening I called. We talked, and he told me, "Mr. Ridenhour, I'll be right up front with you. We already have a pretty good offer. The gentleman is willing to pay one- quarter million dollars and give us half down. Can you beat his offer?" A developer was wanting the farm. My heart sank. "No, I can't beat that." And hung up. That night I couldn't sleep, tossing and turning. So I got out of bed and wrote the owners a letter, pouring my heart out, telling them not to sell their farm to a housing developer, but to sell it to us. We would carry on in the tradition of the Conwells, farming the land. The next morning I hand-delivered the letter to the daughter. At that time I had a friend who was selling her home. She said, "Lynn, you need a Realtor." And gave me the name of hers. "She's one of the most aggressive I know." I called Sally Groves and told her over the phone our situation--that we would like to purchase 55 acres of land next to ours and that we were up against a better bidder, perhaps a developer. She said to come to her office, that she would help. So I walk in, introduce myself, and we go to work. First, she said, we need to draw up a proposal. "What's a proposal?" I had never worked with a Realtor before. She explained and we drew one up in her office. I can still see her sitting behind her desk typing, asking me questions: "What's your offer?" I didn't know. It was all happening so fast, so I actually pulled figures out of the sky; that is, out of my head. "Offer them $220,000." "How much down? They won't take less than 20 percent, I'm sure." Again I'm pulling numbers out of my head. "Let's offer $45,000 down." She keeps typing. "Who's your mortgage lender?" "We don't have one, Sally. Ask them to carry the papers." She balked but finally typed "owner-financed" and mailed the proposal off that afternoon. I went home and prayed. Our offer was not nearly as impressive as the one they had already received. Three days later Sally calls me, all excited. "Lynn, I can't believe it. They took your offer." I said, "what do we do now?" "We finalize the paper work. That's what we do." I was elated. I call Linda at work. "Hon, we now own the 55 acres next to us. They sold the farm to us instead of to the developer." She was excited but realized, here we go again. "We don't have $45,000 for a down payment!" "I know that hon, but the Lord has money." That evening Linda and I get back down on our knees and ask God for $45,000. It worked once before. Maybe it'll work again, I was thinking. I was referring, of course, to splitting up the down payment. So I call Virginia and ask, "Mrs. Conwell, Linda and I would like to pay you $11,000 next month, $11,000 the following month, $11,000 the next month, and $12,000 the final month. We would like to break up our $45,000 down payment into four payments." "I don't have a problem with that." So Linda and I ask the Lord to bring in $11,000 extra income a month for the next four months. You want to know something? He did! He really did. Our business exploded again. I hand-carried this time $11,000 cashier's checks four months in a row. The last month I hand-carried a $12,000 cashier's check. And we were still able to live and make our monthly obligations. Here's the scenario. God allows us to purchase $345,000 worth of prime land in the heart of the Center Place without borrowing a dime! Our cash down payments added up to $69,000. That was in '94. By the end of 1999 we owned the property with a clear title. Today we're in the beginning stages of developing log homes on the property -- a 35 million dollar project. How did we do it? The gift of faith. We've learned to call those things that be not as though they were.

http://www.greaterthings.com/Ridenhour

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