God Whispers

I have changed all the names in this story as I have forgotten a few.  A group of university bushwalkers walked for about five days in the Carnarvon Ranges long before civilisation made them accessible to everyone. See the header on my Facebook page. That's me on the right. “Franny,” I called. “Be careful when you reach this part. The ground’s all broken  up.   Bit scary.” I clung to a scrap of wind-tattered foliage in loose, gravelly soil near the top of the mountain. Franny was puffing. “Okay,” she called. “I hope we’re near the top.” Just a fleeting thought flickered in my mind: all around me, except for the dirt a few inches from my face, was air.   High altitude air. What if . . . I’d already had to silence my fear of heights. It would be easy to slip. Beside me a stone rolled and clattered down, pinging on and off the mountain side. Then silence. The great valley and Carnarvon Gorge yawned beneath me. We reached the top and wal...

                                “Is it safe to walk along that little road up the hill?” I pointed towards the road. Jim ‘hmmed’. “Yes, fine,” David replied. “Bit steep though.” “I don’t mind that, “I told him. “I’ll take a thermos of tea and have a break at the top.” “It looks a bit like rain,” Jennifer said. But by then I was determined to go. “I’ll be fine,” I told her. I peered out through the fig tree at the clear sky. “I’ll be back before it rains, I’m pretty sure. But I’ll put my umbrella in.” As I set out, with my journal, a small umbrella and a thermos of tea in a basket, I was glad I’d made the effort to get up a bit earlier. The skies were blue and sunlight lay in slanting golden sheets across the grass. I wondered what the walk into an unfamiliar area would bring. When I had prayed that morning, as I usually did, for God’s protection on my comings and goings, something...

 Photo by Margaret J Smith In my late thirties and early forties, I lived for several years in Nambour, a pretty little town inland from the Sunshine Coast. My first few months there flew by. I was getting to know new friends, setting up house with a friend and her daughter and I’d just resumed studying speech and drama with the aim of getting my letters to teach it. I loved everything I was doing, but it was hard to concentrate on study with all the new sights and sounds, comings and goings, around me. I’d had visions of vegetable gardens and leisurely walks in the country but my   ‘escape to the country’ seemed to have turned into a busy time. I craved a quiet spot where I could study and think and pray alone. (We’re all different!) “Why don’t you go over to the creek?" Jo asked me. “You could take your books.” So I set off into the hot sunshine and across the scorching oval to a gap in a hedge leading to the creek. Slipping through overhanging b...

  Aerial photo of Back to Eden and the adjacent beach and reef Alan and Bronwen Prisk are Australian expatriates running Back to Eden Restaurant on Vanuatu. They also have a bungalow for visitors. They are likeable and intelligent – and are both sincere Christians who feel they were sent to take God’s love to the Vanuatu local people. How did they come to that conclusion? Bronnie and Alan One morning in Nambour (Queensland) Bronnie was praying when she found herself staring at a picture of Jesus in a dingy that was tied to a wharf. He was beckoning her to get into the boat with Him. Bronnie saw herself get into the boat and ask Jesus, “Where are we going?” “Vanuatu,” He replied. Bronnie dissolved into tears of awe, joy and many other emotions. She and Alan had been praying about this for some time. It seemed God really did want them to go. Their other children were all either married or living in a house together, so they would be fine, although she w...

Trish Jenkins is a well-presented, clear-eyed, likeable lady. I met her at church. There is nothing to suggest she has ‘done time’ in prison. Conned by a fraud and a breach of the Corporations Act, Trish lost her successful business and their family home – and spent eight months locked away from her husband and three daughters. Ouch! What would I do? What would you do? Undaunted, Trish viewed it as an opportunity to share the gospel with her fellow prisoners and some of the workers. She listened to the pain of her fellow-prisoners and prayed for them. Many of the prayers were answered. Instead of lying there, praying, ‘God, get me out of here’, in particularly difficult situations Trish constantly asked God for His perspective, then acted accordingly. Sometimes she wept. But one of her first prayers was for God to make her more effective! Below is an excerpt from her book, Treasures of Darkness: A Prison Journey, used with her permission. This book is fo...

Issues such as healing-in-the-now bring varied responses. Everyone’s journey is different. We’ve all heard some wonderful stories and a few disasters. But it does seem that God responds to sheer desperation. My friend Beth testifies of an unusual God whisper, perhaps a key to real faith for some. It was for me at one stage too. In 1986, in her thirties and early in her pregnancy with her third child, Beth was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Her doctor wanted to operate straight away, which would mean aborting the baby. Beth was adamant that would not happen. She confided in a couple from church and they met each Monday night to pray. One prayer was always, Let the cancer stop growing. The doctor monitored Beth carefully over the weeks, and took a biopsy every two months. He shook his head each time, amazed. The ‘rapid growing’ cancer was not growing. The baby, Heidi, arrived two weeks overdue. The operation was not scheduled until Heidi was ten weeks old. Beth l...

Last week I left us on holidays in New Zealand. This week we take a detour into my future, years later when I lived in Nambour, a delightful country town just north of Brisbane. Something felt different about that day. I hurried onto the Nambour railway platform, wondering what was important about this particular journey to Brisbane. I travelled down regularly to visit my mother with Alzheimer’s disease but this day I’d felt a clear whisper from God to pray for my train trip. There were quite a few people waiting on the platform but there was space at the end of a seat with a youngish man seated at the other end, so I sat there. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?” the man asked. Do I ever go anywhere without a pen? I handed him my biro and he proceeded to write some notes. A whirring whine announced the arrival of the train. The man, who introduced himself – we’ll call him Joe, as I tend to think of him as Jonah – said, “Oh, I’m not finished with your ...