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If you have ever clung to a child near death you know the dramatic fork in the road. You either give in almost totally to despair, fear, hopelessness, knowing death is eminent, realizing no miracle cure is coming, you are fighting a losing battle. believe there is a God over all things...AUTHORITY. You believe He wants good things for His children. You believe some things transpire here on this awful earthly plane are not His will--because He is a good God. You believe He has a good plan for man and a good will. You believe if you can just have an audience with this good God and make your case that He, Who Is able, will change the course of your situation. And your child will rise from the bed of sickness and live.

Lying on a cot at the midnight hour in Arkansas Children's Hospital Thursday May 14, 1987, that's when I decided that was the character of the God I served. In-laws all around jibber-jabbering sick platitudes, "Let's hold hands and give God thanks for giving us little Clinton for 7 days as we now give him back to God. God needs another angel!"

I want you to know, I didn't hold hands and stand in any family circle of prayer. I was too busy doing battle with the devil, then going back to the throne-room to give the Father an operations report. I had no pride. If I lost the battle, I already had my speech prepared. "Heavenly Father, You are a good God! You did not do this. But even if they slay me, yet will I serve You! I get confused. I get discouraged. But You are my God. There is no other! I worship You today in the hour of my loss and grief. In Jesus name."

Then, at 3:30 am on Friday May 15, 1987, I stood with the Holy Spirit beside me surrounded by doubters and unbelievers--not a single person of faith, everyone giving me the most pathetic look I'd ever seen in my life, as I demanded a bottle of formula so I could feed my yet unconscious newborn son as the Holy Spirit had instructed me to do. It was a lot of trouble, but the nurse procured one for me. It was like it a dying person's final request granted. And when the nipple touched Clint's lips, his eyes popped open, he just about sucked the bottle inside out. He drank 2 1/2 of them.

I didn't say, "I told you so." I said, "He told me so."

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