Our family, for the most part, was making progress in our new Holy Spirit-led life in 1980. Most of us had only recently made our spiritual turn-around. It was like the blind following the only seeing member of the household, the Holy Spirit! Only our youngest son was not part of this journey, and the rest of us were trying to influence him to join us.
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The Holy Spirit was leading us into new vistas in God’s Word, and while He was concentrating in me with cleaning and throwing out the garbage, He was concentrating on us all regarding authority and loyalty to truth and right. Horace, my husband, was the one that was into prayer the most, but we were actually all coming into our own in that area, too.
We had just been studing the principle of Agreement in Matthew 18:19: “If two of you agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ASK, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven,” and the speaking forth of our prayers by faith.
Our inspiration for our confessions of faith was found in Mark 11:23. “For verily, I say unto you, that whosoever shall SAY unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he SAITH shall come to pass: he shall have whatsoever he SAITH.”
So, fortified with those laws, my husband, our oldest boy, Tim, and I began to pray for a truck to use in a new business we wanted to expand: a flatbed truck.
After deciding what the truck needed to have, I suggested that Horace or Tim draw a symbolic picture of it that we three could sign and hang on the refrigerator to agree upon. That way, whenever any of us went into the frig we could lay hands on the picture and thank God for bringing it to us.
Dean, the one who was not yet part of that inner sanctum, thought we were nuts! He’d watched us, day after day, talk to a stick drawing on that door, and mocked us under his breath. We’d just grin back and say, “You’ll see!” We knew there was a lesson in this for him to see, too.
We’d done that for about a month, to no visible avail. Then one day, Dean answered the phone and stood there silently with his mouth agape as he motioned for me to come to the phone.
As I took the phone, he said, “Somebody just gave Dad a truck… a flatbed truck.”
He looked bewilderedly at the penciled drawing on the refrigerator door, now oil-and catsup stained and curling at the edges. He waited stock-still for me to get off the phone.
As I picked up the keys and told him I was going to pick Horace up at a job site and then go pick up the truck, he asked if he could ride with me. The ride gave us ten minutes to talk, and I tried to explain to him some of the things we were learning.
We picked Horace up and went to a garage, owned by a member of the church we attended. To the back of his lot was a beat-up, rusted, old FORD monster with dents on every inch of the body, and some holes where there shouldn’t have been any.
The seat was so high there were two steps up to it, and the gas petal was about even with the top of our Pinto Station wagon. It had huge dual wheels under the bed and six gear speeds with a huge floor shift rod.
I’d drive the station wagon! I figured that was just my size.
Horace let Dean ride home with him. They were both smiling when they pulled up behind my car in the driveway, and I had spiced iced tea in tall glasses ready and waiting in the kitchen when they came in. I saw Dean gravitate to the picture on the frig.
“Well, Dean.” Horace said. “I hope you can see that prayer works! We asked God for a truck, and He has delivered one to us, free: lock, stock and barrel in less than thirty days. It even has six months of insurance paid on it. What do you think?”
Dean looked at the picture and then out at the truck. He rubbed the stubble on his chin when he began to mutter.
“Well, Dad, everywhere your pencil lurched, there’s sure-enough a ping or ding on that truck. I think you should have gotten a picture from a dealer to pray over!”