God Stepped on the Scene

The wheelchair was empty because Gary had a visit from the Lord.

By Don Wolfe

When I was two years old, my father and mother left Washington, D.C. and moved to Portland, Oregon. My father was working for the government at that time and, through answer to prayer, was transferred to Portland where he could worship among the people he had corresponded with for several years. When we arrived in Portland, we began attending the Apostolic Faith services. During the summer when I was five years old, my mother left our home.

It wasn’t long before I realized that I would have to do something about my soul’s salvation if I was to make Heaven. At the age of six years, I made my way forward to an altar of prayer and asked the Lord in a simple, childlike way to be merciful to me, a sinner. I will never forget that morning, because when I got to my feet, I was a new little boy. I felt like I was just floating up the aisle of the church.

A “game” that stayed with him

My father and I lived alone together for many years, and though I was living in a “broken home,” I really never thought about it because I felt so much love from my father. He was faithful to take me to Sunday school and church, but much of my knowledge of the Bible came in the darkness of our bedroom before we went to steep. He began a “game” with me when I was still very young, in which we would take turns quoting Scriptures until one of us (guess who) could not think of another one, or until I had gone to sleep. A particular passage that always came up was, “Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is In the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world” (1 John 2:15,16). I never got away from those verses.

Following graduation from high school, I got a job, married, and spent two years in the United States Navy during the Korean conflict. I drew the line on what I would and would not do: I never tried cigarettes, liquor, or drugs, but I had a lot of worldly ambitions.

In 1955, freshly home from the service, the Lord showed me that even though I had played the part of a Christian for many years, I had let the love of the world creep into my heart. I knew from my early training that the love of the Father could not abide under those circumstances. I was living with an empty profession, and I didn’t see how I would ever have the courage to face up to the truth and get straightened out with the Lord. On March 16, as I sat in a young people’s meeting, it seemed as though the Lord shut me away from everything around me. His Spirit was thundering in my heart: “Where will you spend eternity?” At the close of that service, I didn’t care what anybody thought about me. All I wanted was to make sure I was right with God.

Fear of death gone

I made my way forward to the altar of prayer, and kneeling at the foot of the pulpit, I repented with bitter tears. I told the Lord I wanted to be a real Christian—that I would confess that I had been nothing but a hypocrite. The Lord was faithful to encourage me as I prayed, and that night He restored my soul, witnessing that I was forgiven. When I rose to my feet, I had peace in my soul at last. All the fear of death was gone, and the burden of condemnation was rolled away. What a joyful night that was! He took the love of the world out of my heart and gave me the assurance that I was His child.

In the next few years, my wife and I enjoyed God’s blessings. I started college. We had two little girls, and then our first son, Gary, was born. Of course, we were elated at his birth. However, very soon after bringing him home from the hospital, we realized that something was seriously wrong. His bodily functions were not working correctly. The pediatricians we saw did not seem to know what to do, giving conflicting advice. He began getting wan, weak, and very distended. This condition worsened through his first two years.

During this time there was widespread publicity about a court action against some parents who had refused their child medical attention because of religious beliefs. We were looking to God to heal our son, but because Gary was so young, we felt we had no choice but to take him to a different doctor for another opinion. This doctor said he felt Gary should be taken to the University of Oregon Medical School Hospital, where specialists were equipped to deal with unusual conditions.

A crisis

That very night the situation came to a critical point when, after an all-night vigil, Gary could not hold down even a spoonful of water. He was admitted to the University Hospital the next day. After he was changed into a hospital gown, he was whisked away, crying his heart out. His mother and I thought, What have we done? They told us that we might as well leave and try to get some rest. We spent that difficult afternoon with my wife’s parents. When we called the hospital later in the day they said, “We have been trying to get in touch with you. We have a team standing by to perform an emergency surgery, but we need your signature. Please come up and sign the papers.” We weren’t ready for that at all. We had not thought of an operation.

When we first saw Gary after the surgery, his tiny body was connected to tubes everywhere. As he gradually gained strength he seemed to be doing better, but soon the same symptoms started once more. During the next year he underwent five more operations. He would come home for a while, the symptoms would recur, and he went back in again. Severe obstructional pain is said to be among the worst that humans can experience, but Gary wouldn’t even cry; he would just grit his teeth. From birth, pain had been his way of life. After the last operation, the most severe procedure yet, we were assured, “This should take care of the problem.” At first he seemed to be doing fine. Then—it happened again! The same familiar signs of trouble came back.

His condition became so critical that they allowed my wife and me to stay in his room around the clock. We had called the church time after time requesting prayer, but on this particular night, we called once more. Before putting him down for the night, we decided to take Gary around the hospital ward for a short ride in a wheelchair. He was too weak to hold up his head, so we propped him up and tied him into the chair with flannel straps, his head resting on a pillow. As we came out of his room and started down the corridor, I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was ten minutes to eight. The lights were being dimmed around the ward. I thought, They are probably praying at the church right now for Gary.

A visit from the Lord

As his mother and I continued our walk with him, suddenly Gary’s head snapped up off the pillow and he said, “Daddy, me walk!” I didn’t question him. I just untied the straps that had him bound, and turned him loose. He took off, running and laughing and giggling. I can assure you, that caused a real stir among the nurses! There could be no doubt: Gary had had a visit from the Lord. We took him home the next day.

Before his release we were cautioned that he would not be able to eat normally, and that the trauma he had experienced would very likely affect him psychologically. They missed it on all counts. God had done a perfect job on Gary. Today he is a healthy man, and the father of three children. He is a born-again Christian, and works full-time in the Lord’s service.

In 1975, my wife, a sister from our church in Medford, and I had the privilege of visiting my mother, who many years earlier had left our home because of the Gospel. At that time she was living in a rest home in Illinois. After we played a tape for her of “Alleluia,” a musical by the Gaithers that we had presented at the church earlier in the year, tears began flooding her eyes. I asked her if she felt like she wanted to pray. She was too weak to get up, but there, lying in her bed, my mother gave her heart to the Lord.

During the past forty-some years there have been other times when I have walked a path that I never thought would be mine. One of those times came just a few years ago, when I found myself facing a serious physical condition in my own body. Yet, I can say that there was never a trace of fear, and the Lord brought me through.

I’m not a young person any longer, but I still feel young at heart, and I still have a zeal for the Gospel. God has given me so many opportunities to serve Him, and I love those privileges. I have gratitude in my heart to the Lord for all He has done for me through the years. I rejoice that today I can report spiritual victory.

Don Wolfe served as music director of the Apostolic Faith Church in Portland, Oregon, for forty-four years before his retirement.