[Meeting] RE: meeting: FW: Fwd: Power of prayer

[Gerald Boisvert]

> ----------
> From: 	owner-meeting at kent.net on behalf of Gerald Boisvert[SMTP:GJB at GOL.COM]
> Sent: 	Friday, October 22, 2004 5:37:57 AM
> To: 	meeting at kent.net
> Subject: 	RE: meeting: FW: Fwd: Power of prayer
> Auto forwarded by a Rule
> 
Don,

The basis of this story is true. Some details seem to have been added, but
the basics are accurate.
See: http://www.truthorfiction.com/rumors/h/hotwaterbottle.htm

When I was in Zaire for a few months, we got talking about the incident, and
I was directed to the young girl of the story.

It is thrilling how God answers very specific prayers.

Gérald

Gérald & Marilyn Boisvert
Châteauguay, QC
gjb at gol.com
-----Original Message-----
From: owner-meeting at kent.net [mailto:owner-meeting at kent.net]On Behalf Of Don
Andersen
Sent: October 21, 2004 12:51 PM
To: meeting at kent.net
Subject: meeting: FW: Fwd: Power of prayer









From: Don Andersen danedon1 at yahoo.com
To: me danedon at hotmail.com
Subject: Fwd: Power of prayer
Date: Wed, 20 Oct 2004 09:52:22 -0700 (PDT)
[If you have seen this before, sorry. But, hope you enjoy it as much as I
did in seeing it again!]

++++++++++++++++++ This story was written by a doctor who worked in South
Africa... One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward;
but in spite of all we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny premature
baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping
the baby alive, as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an
incubator). We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on
the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student
midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the
baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot
water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling
the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates). "And
it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed.

As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa
it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not
grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.

"All right," I said, "put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and
sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is
to keep the baby warm."

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of
the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters
various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny
baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning
the hot water bottle, and that the baby could so easily die if it got
chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her
mother had died.

During prayer time, one ten-year old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt
conciseness of our African children. "Please, God" she prayed, "send us a
water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so
please send it this afternoon."

While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added, "And while
You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so
she'll know You really love her?" As often with children's prayers, I was
put on the spot. Could I honestly say,"Amen". I just did not believe that
God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything, the Bible says
so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this
particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from homeland.

I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never,
ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel,
who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training
school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the
time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a
large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not
open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children.

Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded
the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some
thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From
the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I
gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy
patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed
raisins and sultanas - that would make a batch of buns for the weekend.

Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it really be? I
grasped it and pulled it out - yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle. I
cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He
could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying
out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly too!"
Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small,
beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted! Looking up
at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little
girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my
former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's
prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the
girls had put in a dolly for an African child - five months before, in
answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that
afternoon" "Before they call, I will answer" (Isaiah 65:24)



Find the music you love on MSN Music. Start downloading now! To unsubscribe,
send a message to esquire at kent.net with unsubscribe meeting as the BODY of
the message. The SUBJECT is ignored.



To unsubscribe, send a message to esquire at kent.net with
	unsubscribe meeting
as the BODY of the message.  The SUBJECT is ignored.