This story has inspired me so much in living in healthiness. Hope this will be blessing to all your lives too. Taken from A book: I Believe in Vision by Rev. Kenneth E. Hagin
How God Raised Me From a Deathbed 
'The Baby Is Dead' 
Bedfast at Age 15 I Went to Hell 'I Am Dying' The Horrors of Hell The Best Thing in the World The Verse That Changed My Life Live by the Word Job's Comforter Arrives Planning My Funeral Feelings vs. Faith One Gleam of Light My Struggle With Mark 11.24 'I See It!' Up and Out of Bed Return to the Courthouse Square My Ministry Begins 'That Tongues Business' 'What Does the Bible Say?' Why Tarrying Isn't Necessary How To Receive a Gift Speaking in Tongues! My Vision Expands
"He is dead," stated the doctor who delivered me. I was born prematurely on August 20, 1917 in a house in the 900 block of East Standifer Street in McKinney, Texas.
My Grandmother Drake, who was present at my birth, later told me there was no sign of life in me. Thinking I was dead, the doctor laid me on the foot of the bed, and he and my grandmother continued to work with my mother, who was in very serious condition. She had been ill for several weeks before I was born.
After about 45 minutes had passed and my mother was doing better, the doctor told my grandmother he would run to his office to get some supplies he needed. While he was gone, my grandmother picked me up to carry me out. Suddenly she detected a sign of life. She washed me and put a little dress on me, but she had to use a makeshift diaper because the regular king would have swallowed me. Then she weighed me, and with the little dress and diaper on I weighed slightly more than two pounds.
Today, even with our advanced medical knowledge and skill and with the incubators we have for premature babies, the chances are very small for a baby to survive who weights fewer than two pounds. I was born in a day when there were no incubators, and I was born in the home, so my chances of living were almost nonexistent.
After a while the doctor returned, and my grandmother asked him what she should feed the baby.
"The baby is dead," he said. "I examined him earlier."
When she told him I was alive and she had washed and dressed me, he reached into his pocket for a sample package of baby formula. "Feed this to him," he said. "It will last longer than he will."
Granny mixed the baby formula and fed it to me. After that was all gone, she gave me milk, feeding it to me a drop at a time with an eye dropper. She said she had never seen anyone to tiny - she had a large comb that was no longer than I was. She said sometimes even a single drop of milk in my mouth would choke me, causing me to strangle and turn blue.
My childhood was not like other children’s, for I had been born with deformed heart and was not able to lead a normal, active life. I wasn’t completely incapacitated, but my activities were limited. I wasn’t able to run and play as other children did.
In those days, children didn’t start school until the age of 7. However, I learned to read when I was 6. My brother was already in school, so I read his books. Since I couldn’t use my body, I used my mind.
Soon after started school, I learned that children are prone to take advantage of a weaker child. I guess that proves how big they are. I couldn’t fight to defend myself because I would lose my breath, turn blue, and almost pass out, so I decided I would have to have an equalizer.
There was one boy in our class who was the bully of the playground. He was three years older than the rest of us, because he had failed three grades. He would run up to someone and knock him or her down. Knowing I couldn’t fight, he seemed to delight in picking on me. One day I found a two-by-four that was about 20 inches long.
The next time he hit me, I got the two-by-four, slipped up on him, and knocked him in the head. He was out cold for 40 minutes. He soon learned to leave me alone. (When a person can’t fight, he has to learn to take care of himself some way - and I had.) My older brother learned not to fight with me, either, for I knocked him in the head with a hammer once, and he was unconscious for 45 minutes!
During the years when I was growing up, I was always very small for my age. My brother would tell me I would never be any bigger than a 56-year-old man we knew who weighed only 89 pounds and was the size of a 10-year-old boy. When my brother wanted me to do something for him, he would say that if I didn’t do it I would turn into a girl when I was 12 years old. Of course, he was always about half a block away and running when he said that, because he knew I would hit him with anything I could get my hands on!
My father left Momma and us children when I was still very young, leaving her with all the responsibility for providing and caring for us. When I was 9 years old I went to live with Momma’s parents, because Momma’s health was very poor and she needed help in taking care of us.
At the age of 15, just four months before my 16th birthday, I became totally bedfast. Five doctors, including one who had practiced at the Mayo Clinic, were on my case. My Grandfather Drake, although not a wealthy man, was a man of some means. He had quite a bit of property, although this was during the days of the Great Depression when property wasn’t worth too much. If the doctors at Mayo Clinic had been able to help me, he would have sent me there. However, our doctors said that the doctor who had been at Mayo was one of the best doctors in America, and if he said nothing could be done, it would be a waster of time and money to make the trip to the Mayo Clinic. They said there was absolutely no hope for me; I didn’t have one chance in a million of living. As far as medical science was concerned, to their knowledge, no one in my condition had ever lived past 16 years of age.
Day after day and week after week I lay on the bed of sickness, wondering what was wrong with me. I knew something was wrong with my heart, but I didn’t know exactly what it was, because the doctors didn’t tell me. Later I learned that I had two serious organic heart problems.
My body became partially paralyzed. I can remember seeing a glass of water beside my bed, wanting to drink it, and not understanding why I couldn’t get it. After strict concentration of all my mental powers on it for 45 minutes, I would be able to reach my hand over to it, but I couldn’t pick the glass up. One of the doctors said I was bordering on total paralysis and eventually would become completely paralyzed.
Sometimes three weeks would pass when I didn’t know anything. My mother and grandmother fed and cared for me, for I was as helpless as a baby. I reached the point where I could hardly hear them talking to me. They later told me that they would put their mouths down to my ear and shout at the top of their voices, but I could barely hear them. It seemed as if they were a block away. I was somewhere between reality and unreality.
I gave my heart to the Lord and was born again the very first night I became bedfast. That was Saturday, April 22, 1933 at 7:40 p.m. in the south bedroom of 405 North College Street in McKinney, Texas.
Earlier that evening, my heart had stopped beating and the spiritual man who lives in my body had departed. When death seized my body, my grandmother, my younger brother, and my mother were sitting in the room. I had time only to tell them "goodbye." Then the inner man rushed out of my body and left my body lying dead, with eyes set and flesh cold. (For a complete account of this experience, see Rev. Hagin’s minibook, I went to Hell.)
I went down, down, down until the lights of the earth faded away. I don’t mean I fainted - I don’t mean I was unconscious - I have proof that I was actually dead. My eyes were set, my heart had stopped beating, and my pulse had ceased.
The scriptures tell us about the lost being cast into outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth (Mt 25.30). The farther down I went, the blacker it became, until it was all blackness - I could not have seen my hand if it had been one inch in front of my eyes. And the farther down I went, the hotter and more stifling It became.
Finally, far below me, I could see lights flickering on the walls of the caverns of the damned. The lights were caused by the fires of hell. The giant, white-crested orb of flame pulled me, drawing me as a magnet draws metal to itself. I did not want to go, but just as metal jumps to the magnet, my spirit was drawn to that place. I could not take my eyes off of it. The heat beat me in the face. Many years have gone by, yet I can see it just as clearly today as I saw it then. It is as fresh in my memory as if it just happened.
I came to the entrance of hell. People ask, "What does the entrance of hell look like?" I cannot describe it, because if I tried, I would have to have something with which to compare it. (Similarly, if a person had never seen a tree in his life, it would be impossible to tell him what a tree looks like.)
Coming to the entrance, I paused momentarily, because I did not want to go in. I sensed that one more foot, one more step, one more yard, and I would be gone forever and could not come out of that horrible place!
Upon reaching the bottom of the pit, I became conscious of some kind of spirit being by my side. I had not looked at him, because I could not take my gaze off of the fires of hell. But when I paused, the creature laid his hand on my arm to escort me in.
At that same moment, a voice spoke from far above the blackness, above the earth, and above the heavens. I don’t know if it was the voice of God, Jesus, and angel, or who. I did not see him, and I do not know what he said, because he did not speak in English; he spoke in some other tongue.
When he spoke, his words reverberated throughout the region of the damned, shaking it like a leaf in the wind, and causing the creature to take his hand off my arm.
I did not turn around, but an unseen power, like a suction, pulled me up, away from the fire, away from the heat, and back into the shadows of the absorbing darkness.
I began to ascend until I came to the top of the pit and saw the lights of the earth. I saw my grandparents’ home, when through the wall back into my bedroom, and it was just as real to me as it was any time I had entered through the door (my spirit needed no door).
I slipped back into my body as easily as a man slips into his trousers in the morning. I was the same way in which I had gone out - through my mouth.
I began to talk to my grandmother. She said, "Son, I thought you were dead."
My great-grandfather had been a medical doctor, and Granny had worked with him. She later told me, "I dressed many people for burial and laid them out in days gone by. I have had much experience with death, but I learned more about death in dealing with you and your experiences than I ever knew before. You were dead. You had no pulse or heartbeat, and your eyes were set."
"Granny," I said, "I am going again. I am dying. Where is Momma?"
"Your mother is out on the porch," she replied. And about that time I heard my mother praying at the top of her voice as she walked up and down the porch.
"Where is my brother?" I asked.
"He ran next door to call the doctor," Granny answered.
If you’re not ready to go, you want somebody with you. You’re afraid! I said, "Granny, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! I’m afraid I’ll go while you’re gone! I want somebody with me! Don’t leave me!" So she gathered me into her arms again.
I said, "Tell Momma I said goodbye. Tell Momma I love her. Tell Momma I appreciate everything she has ever done for me and for all of us. And you tell Momma that I said if I’ve ever put a wrinkle in her face, or a gray hair in her head, I’m sorry, and I ask her go forgive me."
I felt myself slipping. I said, "Granny, I’m going again. You were a second mother to me when Momma’s health failed. I appreciate you. Now I’m going, and I won’t be back this time." I Knew I was dying, unprepared to meet God. I kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye.
My heart stopped beating for the second time. It’s almost as real to me today, nearly half a century later, as it was that day. I felt the blood cease to circulate. The tips of my toes went numb - then my feet, ankles, knees, hips, stomach, and heart. I leaped out of my body and began to descend: down, down, down. Oh, I know it was just a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity.
I began to descend again into the darkness until the lights of earth had faded. Down below, the same experience occurred. The voice spoke from heaven and again my spirit came up out of that place - back into my room and back into my body. The only difference this time was that I came up at the foot of the bed.
I began to talk to Granny again. I said, "I will not be back this time, Granny." I asked, "Where is Grandpa? I want to tell Grandpa goodbye."
She said, "Son, you know your Granddad went down to the east part of town to collect rent off of some of his rent houses."
"Oh," I said, "I remember that now. I just forgot momentarily."
I said, "Granny, tell Grandpa goodbye. I’ve never known what it means to have a daddy. He’s been the nearest to a daddy I’ve known. He gave me a home when I had none. Tell him I appreciate him. Tell him I love him. Tell Grandpa that I said goodbye."
Then I left a word for my sister and two brothers, and my heart stopped for the third time. I could feel the circulation as it cut off again - and I leaped out of my body and began to descent.
Until this time, I had thought, This is not happening to me. This is just a hallucination. It can’t be real!
But now I thought, This is the third time. I won’t come back this time! Darkness encompassed me ‘round about, darker than any night man has ever seen.
I wish I had adequate words to describe the horrors of hell. People go through this life so complacently, so unconcerned, as if they will not have to face hell. But God’s Word and my own personal experience tell me differently. I know what it is to be unconscious - it is black when you are unconscious - but there is no blackness to compare with outer darkness.
As I began to descend in the darkness this third time, my spirit cried out, "God, I belong to the church! I’ve been baptized in water!" I waited for Him to answer, but no answer came - only the echo of my own voice as it came back to mock me.
It will take more than church membership - it will take more than being baptized in water - to miss hell and make heaven. Jesus said, "… Ye must be born again" (John 3.7).
Certainly I believe in being baptized in water - but only after a person is born again. Certainly I believe in joining the church - but only after a person is born again. If you merely join the church and are pabtized in water without being born again, you will go to hell!
The second time I cried a little louder, "God! I belong to the church! I’ve been baptized in water!" Again I waited for an answer, but there was no answer, only the echo of my own voice through the darkness.
I would frightened a congregation out of their wits if I ever imitated the way I screamed the third time, although, if I could scare them out of hell and into heaven, I’d do it! I literally screamed, "GOD! GOD! I BELONG TO THE CHURCH! I’VE BEEN BAPTIZED IN WATER!" And all I heard was the echo of my own voice.
I came again to the bottom of that pit. Again I could feel the heat as it beat me in the face. Again I approached the entrance, the gates into hell itself. That creature took my by the arm. I intended to put up a fight if I could to keep from going in. I only managed to slow down my descent just a little, and he took me by the arm.
Thank God that voice spoke. I don’t know who it was - I didn’t see anybody - I just heard the voice. I don’t know what he said, but whatever he said, that place shook; it just trembled. And that creature took his hand off my arm.
I was just as if there was a suction to my back parts. It pulled me back, away from the entrance to hell, until I stood in the shadows. Then it pulled me up headfirst.
As I was going up through the darkness, I began to pray. My spirit, the man who lies inside this physical body, is an eternal being, a spirit man. I began to pray, "O God! I come to You in the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ. I ask You to forgive me of my sins and to cleanse me from all sin."
I came up beside the bed. The difference between the three experiences was that I came up on the porch the first time; I came up at the foot of the bed the second time; and I came up right beside the bed the third time.
When I got inside my body, my physical voice picked up and continued my prayer right in the middle of the sentence. I was already praying out of my spirit.
Now, we didn’t have all the automobiles in 1933 that we have today - that was in the Depression. But they tell me that between me and Momma praying so loud, traffic was lined up for two blocks on either side of our house! They heard me praying from inside the house, and they heard my mother as she walked the porch praying at the top of her voice.
I looked at the clock and saw it was 20 minutes before 8 o’clock. That was the very hour I was born again due to the mercy of God through the prayers of my mother.
I felt wonderful - it was just like a two-ton weight had rolled off of my chest. Although I was rejoicing and was happy in my spirit - although I felt wonderful spiritually - I felt no better physically. The doctors had been called, and they told my family that I was going to die. I thought I would die that night, but it no longer bothered me. I know I was ready to go.
My experience of being brought back from the dead is not new. Jesus raised three people from the dead: Lazarus, Jairus’s daughter, and the widow’s son. The Apostle Peter raised Dorcas from the dead; the Apostle Paul raised a young man from the dead; and others throughout Church history have had similar experiences.
Through my experience, God brought me to a knowledge of salvation, which is the best thing in the world to know. I was so thankful to know that my heart was right with God, and to know that if I should die before morning I would go to be with Him.
Every night when the lights were out and my family was in bed, I was left alone with my thoughts. I did a lot of thinking and praying. I remember thanking God that I was saved and was His child.
I told the Lord I was going to go to sleep smiling and praising Him, and if I should die during the night, they would find me with a smile on my face and a praise in my heart. While praising the Lord, I would drift off to sleep. I never had to take anything to help me sleep, and this is still true today.
The Bible tells us that God "giveth his beloved sleep" (Ps 127.2). I am His beloved as is every Christian, so we can simply take that verse, thank Him for it, and go to sleep peacefully. We don’t need any tranquilizers.
The next morning I was awakened by the sun streaming across my bed. The first thing I did was to praise God. I thanked Him for the light of another day. I thanked Him for the sun, trees, flowers, grass, and leaves. I thanked Him for the songs the birds sang. I praised Him for all of these little things that are so wonderful, marvelous, and beautiful.
I had never heard anyone praise God like this, but when one’s heart is in tune with God and he knows he is ready for heaven, there is an automatic praise in his soul. I didn’t know anything about divine healing. I didn’t know that God answered that kind of prayer. But I thanked God that I didn’t die and go to hell!
At noon, when Granny would bring my lunch to me on a tray, I would pray and thank God for food. Then I would say, "Lord, I guess I won’t be here by the time the evening shadows fall. I’ll Probably slip away this afternoon. But I’m so glad I am saved! I’m so glad You didn’t let me die and go to hell! I’m so glad I didn’t have to stay down there!"
After a while, Evening would come, and soon I would be alone in the dark once more. Again I would praise the Lord for salvation. I would tell Him that I probably would pass away during the night, but I was thankful to be saved and ready to meet Him. I would go to sleep smiling and praising the Lord. Day after day, week after week, month after month I did this.
In the fall of that year, when the weather became cooler, I began to feel somewhat better. Granny would prop me up in bed. Then she would bring her Bible to me and prop it up in front of me. I often say that I was a Baptist boy reading my grandmother’s "Methodist" Bible.
When I first started reading the Bible I could read only 10 minutes at a time - I couldn’t see after that. The next day I would read for another 10 or 15 minutes. After a few weeks of reading this way, I could read for an hour at a time. Finally I could read for as long as I liked.
I had been brought up in Sunday School. I can’t remember the first time I went to church, nor can I remember the first time I ever read the Bible. It seems, too, that I have prayed all my life. But until that Saturday night when God permitted me to have a glimpse of hell, I really had never been born again.
You can be religious and not be a born-again child of God. When you are born again, however, the same Bible that you have been reading all your life suddenly looks different. As I read Granny’s Bible, I found that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
The doctors said that I could die at any time, so when I began reading the Bible I began with the New Testament. I reasoned, "I have to utilize this 10 minutes, or whatever time I have, so I will start with the New Testament."
I read through the Book of Matthew and began reading in the Book of Mark. There I read a verse which was to transform my life: "Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye received them, and ye shall have them" (Mark 11.24).
Salvation is, of course, the most important thing that can happen to a person. But you cannot possibly understand the all-consuming desire a person can have for health, healing, and life when he never has had a normal childhood, has been sick all of his life, and then lies bedfast month after month, knowing that this will be his deathbed before long.
The greatest desire of my heart was to be well and strong. And here is this verse of Scripture Jesus said, "What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.". It seemed as if someone had turned on a bright light in a very dark room. And you cannot imagine how dark it can be, even in the daytime, when you are shut in between four walls and are staring at the ceiling all the time with a feeling of utter hopelessness.
I didn’t know that the Psalmist had said, "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and alight unto my path" (Ps 119.105). But without knowing the Word, I had the experience. The whole room suddenly seemed engulfed in light, and there seemed to be light on the inside of me. I never have forgotten that experience or that Scripture. It is as if it were branded on my heart.
Naturally, the devil was right there to plant doubt in my heart. The minute the light came, he came, too. I didn’t know at the time, however, that it was the devil. I didn’t have enough spiritual discernment or knowledge of the Word to know.
Subtly the thought came that maybe the words "… what things soever ye desire" didn’t apply to physical things, but just to spiritual things. Maybe it just meant "… what things soever ye desire" spiritually.
The light went out. Doubt had blown out the candle of faith, and I was in the dark again. I had believed what the devil had told me, and again I thought there was no hope. I thought I had to die!
I decided to send for my pastor and ask him exactly what Mark 11.24 meant. Looking back now, I see how foolish it was to send for someone to ask if Jesus really told the truth or not! But this was all so new to me, and I had great confidence in my pastor up until this time. I would have believed anything he told me. I was just like so many other people who are following men and not really following God.
I try to tell people whom I minister to not to believe something just because I say it. That doesn’t make it so. If I cannot prove by the Bible that what I am saying is truth, then don’t believe it. Don’t accept it. I have no right to force any of my theories or pet doctrines on someone else. I would not want to impose any of my convictions on others. Let us live by the Word of God.
Longing to talk to my pastor about this Scripture, I called Granny to my bedside and asked her to go get the pastor, who lived about four blocks from our house. She walked to the parsonage, asked to see the pastor, and told him that I wanted him to come to see me. He said he was very busy that day, but he would come two days later. She suggested that he come early in the morning, because I was more rested and alert then than later in the day. (After about 10 o’clock in the morning, I usually lay in a stupor for the rest of the day.) He said he would come about 8:30 in the morning.
During the years before I became bedfast, I had been very faithful in attending Sunday School. I never had missed. Yet in all the time I had been sick, the pastor had not been to see me once.
When Thursday morning came, the day appointed for his visit, I eagerly looked forward to seeing him and asking him the questions that burned on my heart. Eight-thirty came and went. Nine o’clock came, and I looked anxiously for my pastor. Nine-thirty, then 10 o’clock, but still no word from him. And even though I lay on that bed for another entire year, he never did come to see me.
Although I was crushed with disappointment and disillusionment at the time, I could look back later and see that it was best that the pastor did not come, for he would have told me the wrong thing. Rather than inspiring my faith to believe God for my physical healing, he simply would have reinforced the doubts I already had.
When my pastor didn’t come to see me, my grandmother walked to another part of town to see yet another preacher in whom she had great confidence. She told him about my condition, and that I had asked to see a preacher. He told her that he would come, but he, too, failed to keep his promise. Again I cried with disappointment when he did not arrive, and again it really was a blessing that he didn’t. (Many things we cry about are for our own good, but we don’t realize it at the time. We wouldn’t be crying if we could just see into the future.)
My aunt, who was a member of another church, said her pastor would come to see me. However, by this time I was certain that he, too, would not come. My aunt was superintendent of the Junior Department in the Sunday School of her church. During the years I was eligible to go in her department, when I was 9 through 11 years of age, I went to Sunday School with her and never had missed a Sunday. I had met her pastor, of course.
One day I heard someone knocking on the front door. A member of my family answered the door, and the minute I heard the voice of the caller, I recognized it as the voice of my aunt's pastor. Suddenly my heart leaped with joy because I thought I could ask him what this Scripture meant. Surely he would know and could clear up this confucion in my mind. I Knew if this Scripture meant what I thought it meant, I was coming off of that bed!
At that time only one person at a time was allowed in my room, so the pastor came in alone. Until he stopped over me, I couldn't see him too clearly. Then his face came into focus.
Partially paralyzed in my throat and tongue, I could not speak distinctly, and I would say a lot of things backwards. Sometimes it would take me a long time to get my words out. Often I would have to stumble around for 10 minutes before I could ask a question. My brain didn't seem to work right.
I moved my mouth and lips, trying to say something. I tried to call his name. I tried to tell him to get my Bible and turn to Mark 11.24 and tell me what it meant, but I couldn't get the words out. I was just stuttering; I couldn't frame the words.
Before I could say anything, he thought that I was unable to talk. He patted my hand and drawled in his professionally pious voice, "Just be patient, my boy. In a few more days it will ALL be over." Then he laid my hand down and left the room.
Although this pastor had prayed no prayer with me, he went into the living room and said a prayer with my family. For some reason, my hearing was very keen at this time, and I could distinctly hear every work he said, although he didn't pray very loudly. He said, "Heavenly Father, we ask You to bless this dear grandmother and grandfather who are about to be bereaved of their grandson. Prepare their hearts for the dark hour that is about to come upon them."
As I listened to this prayer, I was like the naughty little bow who was being punished by his schoolteacher by having to stand in a corner. He might have been standing up outwardly, but he thought to himself that on the inside he was sitting down. I felt just as rebellious as that little boy. Although I couldn't speak the words audibly, on the inside of me I was shouting, "I'm not dead yet!"
I listened as this pastor continues his prayer. "Bless this dear, brokenhearted mother who is about to lose her son." My mother had had some hope until then, but he robbed her of what she had, and she started crying.
After the preacher left, my grandmother came into my room and asked me if it would be all right for this preacher to preach at my funeral, as he was the only one who had come to see me. I agreed that this would be all right.
Granny then asked me what songs I wanted sung at my funeral. I told her I didn't have any favorites. They could sing whatever they wanted. She suggested two or three, and I said they would be all right. Then she asked me about pallbearers. She suggested some, and I told her they would be all right. My mother asked me if I wanted to be buried in a certain place that she mentioned, and I agreed. Then they left my room. Although the sun was still shining brightly outside, it seemed ever so dark in my room.
All of this so stunned me that I lay motionless on my bed for 30 days. I gave up and wanted to die. After about 30 days, I began to read the Bible again. I still couldn't seem to get away from Mark 11.24: "What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them."
Later in the fall I became bolder. I told the Lord I had sent for two preachers who didn't come. The third came, but I realized that it would have been better if he hadn't.
I told the Lord that when He was on earth He said, "What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them," and that I desired to be healed.
I told Him I was going to take Him at His Word: I was going to believe He told the truth, and this verse meant what it said. If the New Testament was true, then I was going to come off this bed.
I told Him I was going to live and not die. "If I don't get off this bed, then the Bible isn't so, and I am going to have them take it and throw it in the thrash can." I meant business!
I was determined to get up from that bed, but I still didn't know how to act my faith in that verse of Scripture. A person can cry, pray, and do everything he knows to do, but if he doesn't have faith, he will remain the same. Jesus didn't say just to pray. The key word in this Scripture is believe.
At this time, I didn't fully understand faith. I prayed and prayed, but I didn't get any results. I was sure that God heard me, and I had a good feeling inside me. Yet my heart still wasn't beating normally.
What I didn't know then is that we have to go by faith, not by our feelings. We have to stand on the promises in God's Word and not look at the circumstances surrounding us.
I did improve to the extent that I was able to use my hands. Sometimes Granny would prop me up in bed for a short time. I would reach down and feel my legs. There was no muscle at all, just bone. I was extremely skinny.
I seemed to be making no real headway, and I said, "Lord, I thought You would heal me." I was so sure that He had heard me, but I felt no better. I know now that just feeling better after you pray is no sign that God heard you; likewise, feeling no better after you pray is no sign that God didn't hear you.
We cannot rely on how we feel. We have to come back to what God's Word says about the matter. For months I struggled this way.
When New Year's Day 1934 rolled around, it was moving day. Grandpa owned several houses in town, and he decided to move into another one of them. He had told the people who were renting this certain house that he wanted it for his own house. When they moved, he had it redecorated, and then we were ready to move in.
When the movers came, they moved the furniture from the other parts of the house first, saving the furniture in my bedroom until last. When they came to move my furniture, an ambulance came and moved me.
While I was riding along in the ambulance, one of the attendants remarked that he had heard I had been in bed for about a year now.
"Nine months, to be exact," I told him.
He said that if I felt like it, they would take me for a little ride through the residential areas so I could see the scenery. I was so happy for this chance to see things I had been missing for so many months. The smallest joys, which we so often take for granted, can bring immense pleasure to one who has been deprived of them for so long.
I was able to move my head to look out the window as they drove slowly through the town. Then the ambulance attendant said, "Son, if you feel up to it, we'll drive down to the square. Since it is a holiday, there probably won't be much traffic, and you might enjoy it." How wonderful, I thought, to get to see that old courthouse again, the stores, and other buildings in this beloved little town of McKinney with its population of 8,000 or 9,000.
I saw the familiar old drugstore on the corner. I saw the J.C. Penney's store. Next to that was the Mode O'Day dress shop and next6 to that was Woolworth's. On down was a shoe store and on the next corner a ladies' ready-to-wear shop. Then we turned to go down the south side of the square. I drank in all of these sights, not knowing when, if ever, I might see them again.
Just as we turned the corner and started down the south side of the square, I turned and looked at the old courthouse that sat in the middle of the square. I shall never forget that moment as long as I live. In that instant something said to me, "Well, you never did think you would ever see these old buildings again. And you wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for the kindness of the man who is taking you."
Then I remembered the verse in Mark 11.24: "What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them," and I recalled the verse that went before it which said, "… he shall have whatsoever he saith."
As I said it in that ambulance that day, tears rolled down my face. I didn't understand all that I know now. I had just one small gleam of light. It was like a little light that might peep through a crack in the dorr, but it was a beginning point for me this first day of January 1934 about 2 o'clock in the afternoon.
I said, "Yes, I will see these buildings and this courthouse again. I will come and stand in this courthouse square, because Jesus said that what you believe in your heart and say with your mouth shall come to pass." I had committed myself.
January and February went by, and I was still bedfast, March, April, May, June, and July went by. The devil might have said it wasn't working, but I held onto my confession and refused to give up. I kept telling the Lord that I was going to hold on, that I was standing on His Word, and it had to work!
Finally I saw what I had been doing wrong: I wasn't really believing what God's Word said. I was saying it in my mind, but I wasn't believing it with my heart or acting upon it with my heart.
I realized that for months I had been hoping I would grow better gradually. I was praying with hope, not faith, and that won't get the job done.
I realized that my faith was not yet based on what God's Word said, but only on what I could see and feel. I could feel that my heart wasn't beating right yet. I often would look at my legs and arms and start crying because they were unchanged. I was believing only what I could see with my physical eyes.
Thus I came to the second week of August 1934. That Tuesday, I prayed through the early morning hours. At the usual time my mother came in and helped me with my bath. It was about 8:30 when she left the room. I continued to pray.
I had been struggling with Mark 11.24 for a long time, but I still wasn't any better. I told the Lord, "You said when You were on earth the 'what things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.' I desire to be healed, and I believe. If You were to stand here in my room and I could see You with my physical eyes and take hold of your hand, and if You were to tell me my trouble is that I'm not believing, I would have to say this isn't true. I am believing."
Then a voice on the inside of my spoke so clearly it seemed as if someone had spoken audibly: "Yes, you are believing as far as you know, but the last clause of that verse says, 'and ye shall have them.'"
I believed as much as I knew how to believe, but I didn't know enough. A person annot pray and get faith. The Bible says that faith comes "… by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God" (Rom 10.17). We need knowledge of the Word. When this light of knowledge from the Word comes, faith is automatically there.
In this moment, I saw exactly what that verse in Mark 11.24 meant. Until then I was going to wait till I was actually healed. I was looking at my body and testing my heartbeat to see if I had been healed. But I saw that the verse says that you have to believe when you pray. The having comes after the believing. I had been reversing it. I was trying to have first and then believe second. That is what most people do.
"I see it. I see it!" I said with joy. "I see what I've got to do, Lord. I've got to believe that my heart is well while I'm still lying here on this bed, and while my heart is not beating right. I've got to believe that my paralysis is gone while I'm still lying here helpless, flat on my back.
"I believe in my heart that You have heard my prayer! I believe that my heart is healed and that my paralysis is gone! I believe in my heart that I have received healing for my body!"
As I said this, the thought came to me, "You're a pretty thing. Just look at you, claiming to be a Christian and here you are lying. Don't you know the Bible says that all liars will have their part in the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone?"
"I am not a liar," I declared.
"Certainly you are, because you said you are healed and you're not."
"I didn't say that I am healed because I feel like it," I stated. "I'm healed because I believe it. And, devil, if you say I am not, then you are a liar. I am acting on the Word of God. If I am not healed, then Jesus is a liar. Go argue with God about it; don't fuss with me."
With this, the devil left me alone. Then I said, "Thank God, I'm healed." I lifted my hands and praised God. Momentarily, I started to feel my heart to see if it was beating normally, but I caught myself and stated that I wasn't going by feelings but by faith. I kept saying that my heart was well. I praised the Lord in this manner for about 10 minutes.
Then the Holy Spirit spoke as an inner witness on the inside of me and said, "You believe that you are healed. If you are healed, then you should be up and out of that bed."
I felt this was right, so I pushed myself up to a sitting position with my hands. Then I reached down, got hold of my feet, and swung them around to the side of the bed. I couldn't feel them, but I could see them. Then I said that I was going to stand and walk.
The devil fought me every inch of the way. He kept telling me that I was a fool. Of course I couldn't walk, he would tell me. (As long as the devil can keep us in the sense realm, he will defeat us. But is we will stay in the faith realm, we will defeat him!)
I got hold of the bedpost and pulled myself up. The room started spinning, for I had been in this bed for 16 months. I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around the bedpost, and stood there for a few minutes. Finally I opened my eyes and everything had stopped spinning.
I declared I was healed and I was going to walk. Feeling began to return to my legs! It seemed as if two million pins were pricking me. The nerves were being reactivated. I rejoiced because it was so wonderful to have feeling back in those lifeless legs, in spite of the painful prickling sensation. After a short time, the pain left and I felt normal.
Determined now more than ever to walk, I held onto the bedpost and cautiously took a step. Then I took another. Holding onto pieces of furniture, I managed to walk around the room one time.
I told no one of this, but the next morning I got up and did the same thing. That night I asked my mother to bring me some clothes because I was going to get up and go to the breakfast table the next morning. She was shocked, but she did as I asked. On the third morning I got out of bed, dressed myself, walked into the kitchen, and joined my family at the breakfast table. And I've been doing it ever since.
On the second Saturday of August 1934, I walked to the courthouse square. It was crowded downtown, because people always came to town on Saturday to do their shopping. I had to elbow my way through the crowd to get to the outside curb of the square. As I stood there, tears coursed down my face and I thanked God for His goodness.
I took out my New Testament, which I had brought along with me. I don't know what people thought as they watched me standing on the corner with tears streaming down my face as I opened the New Testament to read, but I didn't care. I had read the Scripture which says, "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good" (1Thess 5.21). I had proved the verse in Mark 11.24, which I had come to love, and had found it true in my life. I knew that God's Word was true. It was possible to have "what things soever ye desire" by right believing in God's Word.
Some time later, a doctor checked my heart and said that I no longer had any kind of heart trouble. He said that people with the type of heart condition I had almost never get well. This had to be a real miracle, because now he could find nothing wrong with me.
I soon began my ministry as a young Baptist preacher, and pastored a community church just eight miles from that courthouse square. The first year I pastored, I wore out four pairs of shoes walking to preach. I walked down dusty old roads to preach the Gospel, to tell how Jesus had saved and healed me.
I used to say, "I'll preach from the Red River to the Gulf of Mexico, telling everywhere I go that Jesus saves, heals, and is coming again. And I'll preach it from the Louisiana border to the New Mexico state line." I thought at the time that covering Texas would be covering quite a bit of territory!
Because I believed in divine healing, I began associating with Full Gospel people who also believed and preached divine healing. I liked to go to their services, because I enjoyed the fellowship, and hearing others who believed in divine healing made my faith grow stronger.
They also preached about being filled with the Holy Spirit and speaking in other tongues, something I didn't quite understand or altogether agree with, but I tolerated it in order to have fellowship on the subject of divine healing.
The thing that bothered me the most, however, was when everyone would pray at once. I wasn't accustomed to it and I started to say something a time or two to straighten these people out. Then I heard someone else tell them, "Don't you know God isn't hard of hearing?"
"He's not nervous, either," they replied.
When they invited believers to pray at the altar, I would go forward to pray with them, but I would stay as far away as I could, because their praying in unison bothered me. I would get off in a corner somewhere and pray quietly.
After a while it occurred to me that these people know about divine healing and my denomination apparently didn't; therefore, they might know more about the Holy Spirit than I did, too. I decided to read through the Acts of the Apostles to see how the Early Church prayed.
As I read, I couldn't find one place where they called on Deacon Brown or Sister Jones to lead in prayer. I found to my utter amazement that in the Early Church everybody prayed at once. "And being let go, they went to their own company, and reported all that the chief priests and elders had said unto them. And when they heard that, they lifted up their voice to God WITH ONE ACCORD …." (Acts 4.23,24).
The thing that cinched it with me was the 16th chapter of Acts, where I read that Paul and Silas were in jail at midnight. Their backs were bleeding. Their feet were in stocks. Yet at midnight they prayed and sang praises to God, "… and the prisoners heard them" (Acts 16.25). Until then I had believed in praying to God, but I believed in being quiet about it. But here I saw that Paul and Silas weren't quiet, even in jail.
The next time I went to the Full Gospel service and they invited everyone to the altar to pray, I got right in the middle of them and lifted my voice just like they did. I felt wonderful release and freedom in prayer. Jesus said, "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free" (John 8.32). God's Word is truth, and it will set you free.
But the subject of the baptism of the Holy Spirit and speaking with other tongues which these Full Gospel people preached was quite another matter. That "tongues" business was a bitter pill to swallow. I had been warned against it. But as a fellow down in East Texas had said about going around with these Full Gospel people, "It is like a slippery creek bank. You keep fooling around and you'll slip in!"
I meditated and thought on the Scriptures concerning the Holy Spirit and came to the conclusion that the Full Gospel people were wrong. Tongues weren't necessary; they weren't for us today. A believer could receive this enduement of power without speaking in tongues. That was my own judgment, of course. It certainly wasn't Scripture.
I said to the Lord, "These are good people, I know. They are thoroughly saved and they knew about divine healing when my church didn't. I certainly believe in the Holy Spirit. And I believe in the infilling, the enduement of power, from on high. I sense a lack of power in my own life and I know I need the infilling of the Holy Spirit. And I expect to receive, al right, but I am of the opinion that the tongues don't go along with it and are not for us today."
Immediately the Lord spoke to my heart. I knew it was the Holy Spirit speaking through the Word. That same still small voice that had brought me off a bed of sickness and into divine healing asked me, "What does the Bible say?"
I quoted the Scripture, "For the promise is unto you, and to your children, and to all that are afar off, even as many as the Lord our God shall call" (Acts 2.39).
Then the voice said, "What promise is that?"
"… And ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost" (Acts 2.38). "The reference here, Lord, is to the promise of the gift of the Holy Spirit." Then I hastened to add, "But Lord, I believe in the Holy Spirit. It is the tongues I am not so sure about."
The Holy Spirit always leads us in line with the Word. The Word and the Spirit agree. I am not in favor of following voices, for a person can go wrong following voices. But we can never go wrong following any voice that leads us to walk in line with the Word of God.
Jesus said, "… he shall receive of mine, and shall shew it unto you" (John 16.14). And, "… he shall not speak of himself." Thank God, He does speak. "… But whatsoever he shall hear, that shall he speak" (v. 13).
The born-again Christian has the Holy Spirit in a measure. However, this is not the same as an enduement of power; he is not filled with the Holy Spirit. But there is the work of the Holy Spirit in the New Birth: "The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God" (Rom 8.16).
Then the Lord said to me, "What does Acts 2.4 say?"
I could quote the Scripture, of course. But just because you have it in your mind does not mean that you really know what is says. You have to have the revelation of it in your spirit to really know what the Word of God means.
I quoted, "And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance." I get this far and said, "'And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to sp…' Oh, I see it, I see it! 'They were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak.' When I get filled with the Holy Spirit, I will begin to speak in other tongues. Lord, that settles it. I am going down right now to the Full Gospel preacher's house and receive the Holy Spirit!"
I walked over to the parsonage and knocked on the door. I said, "I've come to get the Holy Spirit."
The preacher said, "Wait." From that day until this I have never been able to figure out why anyone would ever tell someone to wait to get the Holy Spirit.
Some will say, "Didn't you read where Jesus told His disciples to tarry, and 'to tarry' means 'to wait'?" Yes, but that is not a formula for receiving the Holy Spirit. If that were the formula for receiving the Holy Spirit, then why take out the word "Jerusalem"? Jesus said, "… tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem, until ye be endued with power from on high" (Luke 24.49). It was just as necessary for that group - the 120 - to be in Jerusalem as it was that they wait.
Also, they weren't waiting - getting ready and preparing themselves - to be filled with the Holy Spirit. They were waiting for the Day of Pentecost. The Holy Spirit could not be given until then. If they had been waiting and preparing themselves, the Bible would have read, "When they were ready …." But it reads, "And when the day of Pentecost was fully come …." (Acts 2.1).
Someone said, "Well, waiting gets you ready." No, it doesn't. Getting saved gets you ready. A fellow down in East Texas said, "I had to take back a pig I had stolen before I could get the Holy Spirit."
That is trying to clean yourself up, but you can't clean yourself up: "… the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin" (1John 1.7). If you are blood-washed, you are ready right now!
Cornelius and his household were not only saved but also were filled with the Holy Spirit - in almost the same instant (Acts 11.14,15). They didn't have time to get ready. The Holy Spirit fell upon them, and they began to speak with tongues.
If it hadn't been for speaking in tongues, we Gentiles never would have gotten in the Church. It was strictly Jewish until then. Even Peter himself didn't know that the Gentiles could be saved until he had the vision which is recorded in the tenth chapter of Acts. Is astonished the Jews who came with Peter when the Holy Spirit was poured out on the Gentiles. "For they heard them speak with tongues, and magnify God …." (Acts 10.46).
When I told the Full Gospel pastor, "I have come here to get the Holy Spirit," and he told me to wait, I blurted out, "But is won't take me long to receive."
Because the church was having a revival service that night and it was already 6 o'clock, he wanted me to wait and seek for the baptism in the service. But I knew I would have to wait until the preliminaries and the preaching were over. It would have been 9 o'clock before I could have gotten to the altar, and who wants to wait for a gift?
I have been associated with Full Gospel people for many years now, and in all that time I have never told anyone to wait for the baptism in the Holy Spirit. If people say they want to get saved tonight, you don't say, "Wait and come to church on Sunday and seek for it." If someone wants you to pray for their healing, you don't say, "Wait." They want to get healed immediately, especially if they are in pain. Salvation is a gift, healing is a gift, and so is the baptism in the Holy Spirit.
A pastor once said, "I know you can receive the Holy Spirit right away, because we read about it in the Acts of the Apostles. But when you have to wait a long time, the experience means so much more to you. Take me, for instance. It took me three years and six months to get the Holy Spirit. I waited and waited. Now the Holy Spirit really means something to me."
I said, "Well, poor old Paul didn't know that. I wish you could have gotten to him and told him about it. He got the Holy Spirit immediately when Ananias laid hands on him. He didn't wait, tarry, or seek. But then, all he ever did was write half of the New Testament. Of course, he did more singlehandedly in his 38 years of ministry than any denomination had done in 500 years. But if you could have gotten to him and told him to wait for three years and six months, maybe the Holy Spirit would have meant something to him."
Seeing my eagerness to receive, the Full Gospel pastor reluctantly said, "Well, come on in, then." I went into the living room and knelt down in front of a large chair. I closed out everything around me, shut my eyes, and lifted my hands. No one told me to do it; I just lifted my hands.
I said, "Dear Lord, I have come here to receive the Holy Spirit." I repeated in my prayer what I had just learned from Acts 2.39 and Acts 2.4. Then I said, "Your Word says that the Holy Spirit is a gift. Therefore, I realize that the Holy Spirit is received by faith. I received the gift of salvation by faith. I received healing for my body by faith. Now I receive the gift you offer."
Let me point out here that the Holy Spirit was given on the Day of Pentecost, and He has been here ever since. God hasn't "given" Him to anyone since the Day of Pentecost. It is a matter now of our receiving Him.
I can't find in the Acts of the Apostles where the disciples ever asked anyone, "Has God given you the Holy Spirit?" I do read where they asked, "Have you received?" Paul didn't ask the Ephesians, "Has God given you the Holy Spirit?" He said, "Have ye RECEIVED the Holy Ghost since ye believed?" (Acts 19.2).
The emphasis is not of God's giving, because He has already done that. The emphasis is on man's receiving.
In the Scripture, the Word says, "Therefore being by the right hand of God exalted, and having received of the Father the promise of the Holy Ghost, he hath shed forth this, which ye now see and hear" (Acts 2.33).
Acts 8.14,15
14Now when the apostles which were at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had received the word of God, they sent unto them Peter and John:
15Who, when they were come down, prayed for them, that they might RECEIVE the Holy Ghost.
Notice that it ways "that they might receive." Peter and John didn't pray that God would give the people in Samaria the Holy Spirit. They didn't even pray that God would pour the Holy Spirit out on them; they prayed that they might receive the Holy Spirit: "Then laid they their hands on them, and they RECEIVED the Holy Ghost" (Acts 8.17).
Acts 9.17
17And Ananias went his way, and entered into the house; and putting his hands on him said, Brother Saul, the Lord, even Jesus, that appeared unto thee in the way as thou camest, hath sent me, that thou mightest receive thy sight, and be filled with the Holy Ghost.
Ananias didn't say, "God has sent me to pray for you that He would give you the Holy Spirit." He didn't say, "God has sent me to pray for you that He would pour His Holy Ghost out upon you." Ananias said, "He sent me, that thou mightest … be filled."
We don't pray that God would send salvation and save someone; all that person has to do is receive. We don't pray that God would send healing and heal someone; we pray that the person would receive healing. Neither do we pray that God would send His Spirit to fill a hungry heart; we need only to open our hearts and receive.
There in that parsonage in April 1937, I said to the Lord, "The Holy Spirit is a gift. I received salvation by faith. I received healing in my body three years ago by faith. Now I receive the gift of the Holy Spirit by faith. And I want to thank You now because I have received."
Notice that we don't speak in tongues and then know we have the Holy Spirit. We have the Holy Spirit first; then we speak in tongues. "And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance" (Acts 2.4).
Speaking with other tongues is a result of having received the Holy Spirit. We received the Holy Spirit first.
I said to the Lord, "I have received the Holy Spirit. He is in me because Jesus promised, 'He shall be in you.' I say it with my mouth because I believe in my heart that I have received the Holy Spirit. Now I expect to speak with tongues because they did on the Day of Pentecost. And, thank God, I will. I have received the Holy Spirit. I believe that. And I will speak with tongues now as the Holy Spirit gives me utterance."
I was grateful for the Holy Spirit whom I had received and for the speaking with tongues that He was going to give me, so I said, "hallelujah, hallelujah." But I had never felt so spiritually dry in my life as when I said it.
Feelings and faith are far removed from each other, however, and sometimes when you feel you have the least faith, the is when you have the most! So I said, "hallelujah" seven or eight times, even though it seemed as if that word would choke me.
About the time I had said "hallelujah" for the eighth time, not very fast, but very slowly - way down inside of me - there were these strange words. It seemed as if they were just going around inside me. It seemed that I would know what they would sound like if they were spoken, so I started speaking them out. And eight minutes after I first knocked on the pastor's door, I was speaking in tongues! He had said, "Wait," but instead of waiting, I spent the hour and a half speaking in tongues.
I believe in waiting on God, of course. We should have "tarrying meetings" for everyone who is Spirit filled. It is more wonderful to tarry and wait filled with the Holy Spirit then without.
During the hour and a half that I was talking in tongues, I had a glorious time in the Lord. Talking in tongues edifies you. "He that speaketh in an unknown tongue edifieth himself …." (1Cor 14.4). This is a spiritual edification, or building up.
Language students tell us that we have a word in our modern vernacular that is closer to the meaning of the Greek word than "edify," and that is the word "charge." We charge a battery - we build it up. Paul said, "He that speaketh in an unknown tongue edifieth himself." He charges himself. He builds himself up like a battery.
I continued to preach the same thing I had been preaching; I just added a little bit to it. The Holy Spirit will help a minister enlarge his vision.
I had said, "I'll preach that Jesus saves and heals. I'll preach that He fills with the Holy Spirit and that He is coming again. Now I'll preach from the Atlantic Coast to the Pacific Coast. (I even got bigger in my thinking than Texas. The Holy Spirit will make you even bigger than Texas!) I'll preach it from Los Angeles to New York. I'll preach it from the Gulf of Mexico to the Canadian border."
And God has blessed my ministry so that I have been able to do it. During the years I was in the field ministry, I traveled more than a million miles throughout the United States and Canada in my automobile.
For half a century now I have been proclaiming the glorious Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, first as a local pastor, then as an evangelist throughout North America, and now internationally as a prophet and teacher.
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