 
1EXCUSE ME,

### I HAVE TO SHOOT THE GUITARIST

The amazing adventures of a Kiwi cartoonist

By

### Neville W.W. Logan

with Barbara Logan

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Barbara Logan on Smashwords

Excuse Me, I Have to Shoot the Guitarist

Copyright © 2013 by Barbara Logan

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This book is dedicated to my Father

Matthew 6:9

Luke 11:2

### I KNOW SOMETHING IS UP THERE

My father, Walter Logan, was up the hill a little way from the jetty when Ronnie tipped out of the dinghy. Dad knew his brother couldn't swim and took off down the hill not knowing what he could do to help, but sensing that Ronnie's life was in his hands.

There was a spare dinghy moored to the jetty and Dad clambered down the rusty ladder and into the boat only to find to his horror that the rope was tied to the top of the ladder, necessitating a waste of precious seconds as he rushed up again to untie it. On reaching the top he was met by a young local Maori who also had seen Ronnie capsize the dingy and had rushed to the jetty.

By this time the boy was nowhere to be seen, the only indicator of his whereabouts being the upturned dinghy slowly drifting from the shore. Frantically Dad rowed out to where he imagined Ronnie would be, his Maori friend directing him as best he could from the back of the dinghy.

I remember Dad telling us this story when we were boys. He always said the Maori's name was Jim Tirikatene, but also added that he was called Jim Tregerthan by the locals.

Dad's family used to spend their holidays at Port Levy on Banks Peninsula and his stories of "when I was a boy at Port Levy" kept us enthralled around the fireside during the cold winter nights in Christchurch.

Anyway, back to his story.

Dad and Jim had only the vaguest idea of where Ronnie might be, so could only head in the general direction of where the original mishap took place. At a certain point, for no apparent reason, Dad stopped rowing, turned the oars into the boat and looked straight down into the water.

There was his brother's head, about a foot below the surface. He had his arms folded and seemed just suspended there. They quickly hauled him into the boat, laid him over the centre seat, and did their best to give him artificial resuscitation. In those days mouth-to-mouth was not heard of as a resuscitation method so they just pressed on his back, raising his arms regularly to expel the water from his lungs.

Ronnie survived and Dad, of course, was delighted, but was not impressed when his brother went back to school after the holidays and told everyone that he had rescued Dad!

We never tired of hearing that story and I remember my father always adding a comment that "I just know there's something up there."

He knew absolutely that he had been 'led ' to Ronnie, but was never able to identify this 'something' or 'someone' that had guided him. We never talked about God in our family. Religion and politics were subjects that were just not discussed.

There is a story in the Bible that has always fascinated me. It concerns a man called Paul.

Paul was strolling through Athens, a city in Greece and was amazed at all the idols made of wood and stone that the locals were in the habit of worshipping. Paul could see that the people were trying to contact the true God. They had an idol (which they called a god) for every purpose. They even had an altar to 'the unknown god' in case there was someone else up there. That sewed it up for them - they had the field covered and there was no chance that they had missed out any god.

While Paul was waiting for them in Athens, he was greatly distressed to see that the city was full of idols. So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the God-fearing Greeks, as well as in the marketplace day by day with those who happened to be there. A group of Epicurean and Stoic philosophers began to dispute with him. Some of them asked, "What is this babbler trying to say?" Others remarked, "He seems to be advocating foreign gods." They said this because Paul was preaching the good news about Jesus and the resurrection.

They took him and brought him to a meeting of the Areopagus, where they said to him, "May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting? You are bringing some strange ideas to our ears, and we want to know what they mean." (All the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there spent their time doing nothing but talking about and listening to the latest ideas.)

Paul then stood up in the meeting of the Areopagus and said: "Men of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious. For as I walked around and observed your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: TO AN UNKNOWN GOD. Now what you worship as something unknown I am going to proclaim to you.

"The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by hands. And he is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else. From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. 'For in him we live and move and have our being.' As some of your own poets have said, 'We are his offspring.'

"Therefore since we are God's offspring, we should not think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone - an image made by man's design and skill. In the past God overlooked such ignorance, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent. For he has set a day when he will judge the world with justice by the man he has appointed. He has given proof of this to all men by raising him from the dead."When they heard about the resurrection of the dead, some of them sneered, but others said, "We want to hear you again on this subject."

Book of Acts, Chapter 17 verses 16-32, New International Bible.

If you fit into the latter category and would like to hear more on this subject, this book is for you.

Most of the events recorded here took place during the Seventies and Eighties. All the stories are true, but realistically I would have a hard job proving them. Years have passed, so it is impossible to contact some of the individuals featured in the stories, in fact, even at the time I would not have known many of their names. For this reason I have invented names for the unknown persons and have changed some of the names of those whom I am able to identify but have been unable to contact.

Why have I written this book? I believe there's probably not a person on earth who hasn't asked the question: "Is there a God?" That was my question and I assume was or is yours too. The events related here helped to answer the question for me, and I hope they will also add to your sum of evidence.

Neville Logan

New Zealand (1997)

### THE GREAT DEBATES

Have you ever organised a debate between teams of Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons and born-again Christians? That used to be one of my favourite things.

When the Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons knocked on my door (the Born-agains for some reason never bothered), I was always happy to stop and talk to them. After all, I reasoned, if some young chap was motivated enough to come all the way from Salt Lake City to Christchurch to tell what he knew about God, I felt it was only polite to hear him out.

My father always advised me to turn the hose on them, but that seemed a rather drastic response. Occasionally I would invite teams of them to my home and pit them against each other. Then I'd mentally score them in an attempt to somehow arrive at the truth.

One of the most interesting debates I recall was between the Mormons and the Born-agains. These Born-agains were a fascinating bunch. One of their less appealing practices was their custom of writing in their Bibles. I virtually worshipped books, and to me, writing in any book was a sin - but the Bible! They used coloured felts to highlight verses and some would even write along the edges of the pages things like: JESUS IS ALIVE. Even during church services they would be writing notes in the margins. A really strange lot, these 'born-agains.'.

However, one thing about them really intrigued me. What set the 'Bible-scribblers', as I called them, apart from the JWs or the Mormons, were the astounding stories they had to tell about what God had done in their lives. It was as though they had Jesus in their hip pockets. They were so excited about God (to them Jesus is actually God) that their enthusiasm sometimes seemed to border on arrogance. In my assessment they lost the debate with the Mormons mainly because they seemed to lack self control.

The Mormon boys (wonder where the girls are) were a polite bunch. Never lost their cool.

In contrast the Scribblers got so excited about their Jesus that they totally dominated the debate to - in my mind - the point of rudeness. Quite an uncouth bunch, but what was I to do with those fascinating stories?

One of these Scribblers was the local manager of a large printing works and his 'story' was one of the first I heard.

Charles related that prior to the 'story' his wife was a Christian, but that he himself was indifferent to her beliefs. Then, unexpectedly, he was confronted by a major crisis when his wife gave birth to a baby who, according to the doctor, was highly unlikely to survive. He had a condition that at the time could not be corrected. Charles was told to go home from the hospital and was assured by the medical staff that they would phone if there was any change in the baby's condition. A nurse was assigned to keep a close watch on the baby.

On the way home Charles, who was naturally distressed, made a critical decision. It was Sunday evening, so he called in at his wife's church. The pastor who was preaching as Charles walked in the door, stopped on spotting the visitor, "Charles, I think there is something you want to tell us," he said. Charles walked to the front, and after relating the situation, was prayed for by the pastor.

At that very moment back at the hospital, the nurse noticed a sudden change in the baby's colour, and, fearing the worst, called the doctor.

When the baby was checked out he was found to be completely normal. The impact of that miracle as Charles called it, turned his life around, and he was transformed into a 'Scribbler'.

His pastor's name was Cecil Mulvagh, and on week days he too was transformed - into a Postie. Cecil was actually my postman at the time, and thanks to Charles our paths were to meet soon after.

Cecil's church was the Christchurch Assembly of God, and his job was to produce their national magazine, The Evangel, which Charles printed for them. When he discovered I was a commercial artist, Charles asked me whether I could help them put together the art work for the magazine.

This intrigued me as I couldn't quite grasp that they would want a non-Christian to do something as important as the art work for a Church magazine. Nevertheless, I agreed. Designing the cover was fun, but the inside was just lots of church news - column after column of it, broken up with a few photos.

Cecil had no idea what my job entailed and used to drop into my home on his rounds and hand me endless strips of paper with all the type-set news items in columns.

He'd say, "There you are - just put in what will fit."

"Hold on, Cecil," I said, "I can't decide what to put in or leave out. Only you know the relative importance of the different items. If I start making those decisions, that makes me the editor! How can a heathen be the editor of a church magazine?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll do a great job," chuckled Cecil as he rode off on his bike. "Just trust the Lord, He'll show you what He wants included."

Oh well, I'm a professional, so I just got on with the job and turned out their art work every few months for a year or so.

That was quite an experience. Often I was left with a blank space, maybe two inches long, and had to choose from a selection of spare two inch news items. I might have a two inch story about someone in New Guinea whose eyesight was restored in answer to prayer. Competing with this would be a girl who had one leg shorter than the other and, when prayed for, it instantly grew to the same length as the good one.

OK, make a decision, Logan - how many eyes healed? - Two! How many legs? One! The eyes have it! Stick it down.

### THE END IS NIGH

John Parr had been the manager of an advertising agency, and when I met him he was running a studio where freelance commercial artists shared the premises. John would hunt up work for the artists. At that time I also had my own studio and John would occasionally get me to do some art work for one of his clients, especially if it involved cartooning, which was my speciality.

Yes - John was a 'Born-again!'

I don't know what it was about them that bothered me. Like all the other 'Scribblers', he seemed to be bursting with enthusiasm and life. I suppose that unsettled me because I wasn't. One day he came into my office and, pointing his finger at me with an expression in his eye that was a weird combination of joy and aggression, he announced that he was praying for me.

"Oh really", I said, "good on you, mate - go to it!"

"Yes", he said, "I'm making you my first prayer-project. I'm going to pray for you until God zaps you!"

In a funny way, I was quite intrigued and 'blessed', if you like, by this. Nobody had ever prayed for me before, as far as I knew, and I was quite interested in seeing if his God would answer him. My legs were both the same length and I wasn't blind, so I didn't quite know what God was supposed to do to me, but I always had a sense of adventure and was happy to submit to John's 'prayer experiment'.

One thing really bothered me about these Christians - they were far too happy.

I felt they were ignorant of the fact that no one on earth had any reason to be happy. You see, I was an environmentalist. I had studied the population figures of our tired old planet, and I knew that before too long the numbers would increase until the world would be choked with people and all their pollution. Buried in the sea was enough nuclear waste, in containers that were gradually corroding, to kill all life in the sea when the contents finally escaped. This meant that all life was doomed and there was absolutely nothing we could do about it, as it was impossible to retrieve the containers.

Scientists estimate that approximately 85% of our oxygen is produced by micro-organisms in the sea - plankton and things like that - and, every year there are less and less of these organisms due to pollution. In fact, in the Sixties, I read that you had to go 200 miles out from the coast of California before you would find any plankton at all, due to pollution from the United States. And then, of course, there was a similar situation out from the coasts of Asia and Europe.

Being an environmentalist was very depressing because, added to these catastrophic facts, was the threat of a nuclear war or a major non-nuclear conflagration that could wipe all of us out in hours, and, in those days no one had even heard of the ozone layer or global warming!

Now you may understand why people like John Parr bothered me. We environmentalists understood that people like him were simply naïve. Someone said, "So heavenly minded they were no earthly good."

An international organisation called The Club of Rome - a group of top industrialists and businessmen - had put all the population figures and other data through a computer to see if there were any grounds for hope. The answer the computer spat out, no matter what information was fed in was - "HOPELESS".

So there I was, one of those special people who knew all the facts. Although these facts were depressing there was a strange sort of satisfaction in knowing that I was one of the enlightened' ones. Poor old Christians - nice people, but if only they knew what I did! However, it did cross my mind that if there really was a God who was Almighty (in other words in total control) things might not be so hopeless after all.

I wondered what would happen if the Club of Rome people were to feed 'GOD IS ALMIGHTY' into their computer along with the other information.

### THE JAYCEE CONNECTION

I was a nobody in Christchurch at the time - no credibility whatsoever. However, even a nonentity can get a good idea.

What the city needed, I thought, was a revolutionary type of public swimming pool. We already had several, but they were boring, sterile affairs, just rectangular tanks with a few diving boards. Invariably they were filled with screaming kids - not the place for older people like myself to have a relaxing afternoon in a pleasant civilised setting. What we needed was a glorious natural pool with boulders and waterfalls, beautifully landscaped and with a café and outdoor tables and chairs. A great place to take the wife or girl friend. It would probably be quite profitable too, as I was sure people would be happy to pay extra for the enjoyment afforded by such a facility.

How do you get it built though?

As I said, I had no credibility, although I did occasionally help a local company to design their pools, so I had some experience in that field.

I decided that I would join a respectable organisation which had a good record of community projects as I thought if they decided it was a good idea they could very well spearhead a campaign to have it built. I settled on the Jaycees (Junior Chamber of Commerce).

No 'Scribblers' here - at least if there were, they were very quiet about it.

The Jaycees seemed for the most part to be nice young men who were 'on their way up' in business, and I'm sure many joined because of the business contacts they would make as members.

On the first night, I was astounded when we all stood to recite the Jaycee creed. The words on the banner hung at the front of the hall hit me like a bombshell.

WE BELIEVE THAT FAITH IN GOD GIVES MEANING AND PURPOSE TO

HUMAN LIFE

There were other lines that followed, but this first statement is the only one I really remember. That's it - I thought. That's the factor that could turn the Club of Rome's verdict around.

I knew there was absolutely no meaning and purpose in human life, as regardless of what we might try to do to save the world, it would prove futile. Faith in a God who is almighty and omniscient would be our only hope. Just possibly, if He did exist, it could be all okay in the end.

Some weeks later a couple of other young men and I attended a special evening where we were to be accepted into membership. One by one we walked forward, were sworn in, and returned to our seats. When all had been 'processed', the president asked, "Do any of the new members have any questions they would like to ask the board?"

"Yes," I said, and I was invited to put my question. "Would someone please explain to me the meaning of the first line of the creed?"

I had been looking around at each meeting and watching as the Jaycees recited their creed. Rightly or wrongly I would watch them and think to myself, "They don't really believe what they're saying. They're just reciting it parrot fashion. I'm not like them - I think I actually believe it ..."

The president rose and said, "Certainly, Neville. I'll answer that." I think he felt that as he was president and as it was the first line of the creed it was right and proper for him to answer my question.

Now remember that these Jaycees are great debaters. They love it. And, of course, in a debate you don't necessarily have to believe your own argument. You just present your case with enthusiasm, authority and confidence.

The president stood, thumbs tucked into his waistcoat, and casting his eyes upwards as if to somehow graciously acknowledge a greater authority than himself, said something like this:

"Now God to one man may be his family. To another man, God may be his abilities or skills. To yet another man, God may be a vision, an inspired idea or a great and lofty dream of a wondrous work for the benefit of all mankind. Then for another, God may be ........"

When he finally finished, he lowered his eyes to the level of his newest member and smilingly asked, "Does that answer your question, Neville?"

"No," I replied, "but it gives me an idea of where you're at."

Now believe me, I really didn't have any idea that I would say that. It just came out! I'm not normally the sort of person who would insult anyone in that way, it's just that the first line of the creed had such a profound impact on me, and his explanation somehow triggered that reaction in me.

Needless to say, my pool idea went over like a lead balloon, and not long after, I quietly withdrew as, like some other members, I'd had ulterior motives for joining, and with my pool went my motive.

### MIRACLE ON THE PHONE

At the time of the events of the previous chapters I lived with my former wife and three children in Christchurch. For the sake of their privacy I will not be writing any more about them than absolutely necessary in this book, but in order for the reader to fully understand the events that followed you need to know that I was married with a family at that time.

Although I had met many Christians over the years and basically believed in God, there was no way I could call myself a Christian. My life didn't measure up, and I'm ashamed to say I had at that time been unfaithful to my wife.

My friend 'Will' was worse though! (In my opinion). He had actually left his wife and run off with his secretary. He was the Christchurch manager of a large international company.

At the Jaycees I was always looking sideways at the other members, judging them and satisfying myself that I was superior to them spiritually. Comparing myself with Will, I was convinced that I was a much better person morally. After all, although I had done some rotten things, at least I had never actually left home with my secretary. Maybe that's because I didn't have a secretary.

Anyway, eventually Will came back home and Jenny was gracious enough to take him back. There was tremendous damage done to their relationship however, and even though Will was genuinely sorry for what he had done and determined to mend his ways, things were still rocky between them. Will seemed to be most upset by the situation, and one night Jenny phoned me.

"Neville," she said, "would you please talk to Will? You're the only friend he's got. Would you please talk to him?"

"No," I said, "to be honest Jenny, when I think of what he's done to hurt you, I couldn't be bothered with him. The best thing you can do is to boot him out again. You're better off without him"

No amount of pleading had any effect on me. I simply didn't care. A week or so later, at about midnight, Jenny phoned again. This time she seemed really upset, even desperate.

"Nev, you've got to talk to him. He's at his wits end. Please just talk to him!"

In the end, Jenny's persistence wore me down and I said, "Okay, put him on."

He poured out his problems to me and basically indicated that his desire and priority was to see his relationship with Jenny restored.

"Have you tried the Marriage Guidance Counsel?" I asked.

"No, they're no use. It's a waste of time talking to them," replied Will.

"Then how about the Presbyterian Social Services?" (I didn't actually know anything about them - I'd just heard the name.)

"No, I don't want any of that religious rubbish. I just want my marriage put right."

"Well, what about the Catholic Social Services? I don't think they're too religious," I offered.

"No way man - I'm not a Catholic," was his reply.

Now, I spoke to Will for about an hour and a strange thing was happening. As I was suggesting these various organisations, in my mind I was thinking, "Jesus is the only answer." At the same time as I was saying "Why don't you go to such and such..." the thought would be there - "Jesus is the answer". Now I wouldn't dare say this to Will of course. He wasn't interested in anything that seemed in any way religious, but during our conversation the thought would just not go away. Quite frankly, by one o'clock I was fed up with the whole thing. I really couldn't care less about Will and I was running out of suggestions as to what he should do. At the same time I was feeling really bad about thinking one thing and saying another. I had never really talked to anyone about my belief in God and even Will, who I suppose knew me as well as anyone, had no idea I was interested in that sort of thing. At one o'clock I made a decision.

I decided to say what I was thinking and take the flak that would surely come. Actually, I couldn't lose. It was way past my bedtime and I was really tired, so if he mocked or abused me I'd just hang up and go to bed. On the other hand, if he accepted what I was about to say - who knows - it could change his life.

Will - a Scribbler? As my Christian friends would say, "Nothing's impossible to God", so here goes.

"Will, do you really want your marriage healed?"

"Yes!"

"Well, there is only one person who can heal your marriage."

"Who's that?"

"Jesus."

Well, you'd think I'd hit him over the head with a brick!

"What should I do? Tell me what to do!" he cried.

I really can't tell you what followed. No doubt I told him about my friends who had become Christians. From their stories, I had a fair idea of what had happened to them and maybe I told him to ask God to forgive him and to invite Jesus into his life.

Whatever I said, Will became a Christian that night, right there over the phone and the next day, his wife made her decision too.

You may wonder why what I'd said had such a dramatic effect on Will. He had been careful not to tell me, but that day he and Jenny had already been to a SAVE OUR HOMES seminar at the New Life Centre Church.

After the meeting they had been counselled by an elder of the church by the name of Max Palmer. In his church office, Max had said, "Will, do you really want your marriage healed?"

"Yes!"

"Well there's only one person who can heal your marriage."

"Who's that?"

"Jesus."

Exactly the same words that I had uttered on the phone, Max had already said to him.

They had returned home from the seminar having utterly rejected Max's counsel and later that evening had a tremendous row. That was when Jenny decided to phone me.

"Let me just phone Neville again, Will," she said, "he won't ram the Bible down your throat."

My mother used to say, "God works in many ways, His wonders to perform."

I was starting to think she may have been right.

### TURNING POINT

I have tried to start this chapter several times, but have discarded script after script as words are inadequate to describe what went on in my heart and mind over the next few days, but as you have read of my experiences during the preceding few years, I'm sure you will understand my quandary.

Here were Will and Jenny, transformed, and so excited about their new faith in God. Contrasting with that was my own life which was an absolute shambles. Yet I was the one God used in such a remarkable way to reach them. I've never heard of a non-Christian leading someone to faith in Christ, but that's what happened.

I knew God had ways of speaking to people, and although I can't say I heard His voice, I reasoned that He would have to be saying something like this:

"Look Neville... I've done so much to reveal myself to you over the years. You know I'm real and that I love you. I even put specific words into your mouth the other night as further proof that I really am God Almighty. Now I've used you to salvage someone's life, and I've transformed someone you yourself wrote off as hopeless.

You told Will that no matter what he had done, he could find forgiveness, as my Son had already paid the price, and died for his sins.

Now what about you — Hypocrite?"

"Hold on, Lord, that's a bit strong!"

"Really? You know that 'hypocrite' is a Greek word that means 'actor'? You are a consummate actor. The real you was revealed on the phone the other night. You're a man who knows the truth, but your life is a sin-filled lie. Like most actors, you enjoy playing the role – My Word says there is pleasure in sin, for a season – so daily you act out the part of the sinner, and it's an act that will lead to your destruction. The wages of sin are death."

I had always said that God would get me in the end and it was obvious to me that to ignore His prompting now would be ludicrous in the light of what had happened. Really - I had no choice.

Will answered the phone.

"Tell me where I can contact this Max Palmer," I demanded. "I've got to talk to him."

Max arranged to meet me in the tea kiosk at the Botanical Gardens and there I poured out my story to someone who had heard it all before and knew exactly what I was talking about.

Even at this stage I was still weighing my options. If Max had for some reason suggested that it wasn't really necessary to make a decision to turn to Jesus, I would probably have been relieved.

I told him the whole story, blaming everyone else for the mess I was in, but explaining that although I was doing things that were obviously wrong, I still believed in God and so I did have that good side to me.

Max is an interesting man. He has these eyes that seem to look right into your soul. During my talk he didn't say much, just looked into my eyes as if he was seeing past my words. When I'd finished he slowly picked up his butter knife and placed it on the table in front of me.

He pointed it 'north' and said, "Neville, this is your life. This is now pointing to God." Then he spun the knife around and said, "This is where you are at, as far as your daily life is concerned. You're having a bit of God and a bit of the sinful life and it doesn't work."

He spun the knife back and forth between 'sin' and 'God', then stopped and left it pointing 'north'.

"This is what you have to do," he said. "Get your eyes on God and keep them there, and let Him take care of your problems."

I had told him of a particular problem I had that I didn't believe even God Himself could fix.

"Keep your eyes on Jesus," he said, "and let Him deal with it."

"Oh sure." I replied. "You know, Max, you've been a minister for so long now you don't even remember what it's like to be an ordinary bloke like me. I'm telling you God can't change this particular situation. It's a temptation I just can't resist."

"Just keep your eyes on Jesus," he repeated, "He'll take care of it."

Well, over the next few days, no doubt the people at the New Life Centre were mobilised to pray for me and God did another miracle.

I can't go into detail, but there was a particular person who visited me in my office whom I knew shouldn't have been there, but I was powerless to stop these visits and their consequences. Even with my imagination, I couldn't conceive of any way God could halt this situation.

The day after my meeting with Max, the person arrived at my office as usual and an astonishing thing happened. (Let's call this person 'J'.) When 'J' came into my office, I couldn't stop myself sharing my excitement about Jesus with her. It was like letting a cork out of a bottle. For a few minutes I left every 'Scribbler' I had ever known for dead as I poured out all I knew about this wonderful God who had become so real to me.

'J' was absolutely stunned and as I spoke was almost jolted back towards the door by the power of what I was saying. In no time I was on my own gazing at the empty doorway — thinking literally, "My God, You've done it again!"

### 0INTRODUCTION TO DEMONS

Let me paint you a word-picture of a particular service I remember at the Christchurch New

Life Centre.

"I love Church! I love Church!" screamed the popular Australian evangelist as he leapt around the stage. He was hurtling across the floor, stamping his foot on a demon that he had just cast out of a woman. Apparently he could see the evil creature as it scurried toward the exit, and was gleefully intent on making its departure to the pit of hell as dramatic an event as possible for his audience.

The congregation was ecstatic with joy, and around me a thousand odd souls (not that the people were necessarily all odd) were praising the Lord in English or whatever their native tongue was, and also in 'unknown languages,' a phenomenon called 'speaking in tongues' or as it is listed in the Oxford Dictionary, 'Glossolalia', from the Greek: glossa (tongue) and lalia (speaking).

However, back to the demons!

My first encounter with one was at a New Life Centre meeting in the Horticultural Hall in Cambridge Terrace. That's where the Church met until they moved into their new home at the renovated Majestic Theatre in Manchester Street. I was standing at the back of the hall while people were being prayed for at the front. When the preacher invites anyone who needs prayer to come forward, Christians call this an 'altar-call'.

Suddenly a blood-curdling scream came from the front, and I caught sight of a flurry of arms as a woman collapsed on the floor. Somehow, although I had never seen anything like this before I understood that a demon was being cast out of her. I had heard that demons are evil spirits that can live in people (or animals). They are also free-ranging as they search for a 'host body' through which to express themselves. It is commonly accepted by Christians that they can actually talk through the host person, using the host's vocal chords to talk, or in this case, scream.

A few minutes passed, and eventually I saw the woman stand up and walk out to a side room accompanied by the Pastor's wife. The woman's face was absolutely radiant. I don't think I can remember ever seeing a person so filled with joy.

She was the wife of a well-known radio and television personality, and some months later I found myself sharing a picnic lunch with the couple in the Botanical Gardens. I couldn't resist the temptation to ask her to explain to me what had happened at the front of the Church that night.

She related that she had been involved in some dubious spiritual activities before becoming a Christian, and felt that an evil spirit must have entered into her as a result. When she was prayed for at the front of the church, she had physically experienced what felt like a snake come out of her mouth, and, whatever it was, it had screamed as it left. She stated she was convinced it was a demon and had experienced a new freedom and joy in her life since it had been cast out.

Over the years I have been involved often in praying for people, and seeing them delivered from demons, but I think the most notable example was in the early Nineties in Auckland.

I was visiting some old friends in the suburb of Takapuna, and from the kitchen I could see the nineteen year old daughter lying on the couch in the lounge. It was a split-level room with a few steps down to the lounge from the kitchen where I had been chatting to her mother. Mum had told me Jane had a really bad migraine and as I approached her I could see she was really suffering.

"How are you, Jane?" I whispered as I quietly approached her.

"Terrible," she replied.

"Oh well - sorry about that," I said and turned to tip-toe back up the stairs. Half way up to the kitchen I stopped, and a tremendous anger welled up inside me. In a way I was angry at myself. "What's this - 'sorry about that'?" I thought. "I'm supposed to deal with things like this. Why didn't I pray?" Also, I believe God simply gave me - in that moment of time - an understanding of the true nature of Jane's problem and an intense anger toward the devil, who is often responsible for these types of conditions.

I stormed back down the stairs, laid my hand on her head and yelled, "Go to hell, in Jesus' name!"

Jane blinked, looked at me, sat up, and within a short time went out and beat her boyfriend at squash.

Without even realising exactly what I was doing, I had dealt with what was obviously a demon.

Makes you think doesn't it?

On another occasion some friends and I were praying for a Maori street kid. As we prayed, the demon spoke to us in Yugoslav. There's no way that girl knew a word of Yugoslav, but one of my friends had a knowledge of the language as he had lived with people from Yugoslavia in Australia. He was able to interpret what the demon was saying. I don't recall exactly what it said, but generally it would have been resisting our orders to leave the girl.

The demon left, of course, as they have no choice but to obey when Christians command them to depart in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.

### BAPTISMS AND A BOARDING HOUSE

Mary Grantham was the New Life Centre receptionist.

One day I dropped in to the office, and Mary gleefully grabbed me and suggested that I should get baptised. She was gathering candidates for a special baptism night, and obviously knew that I had not been 'done'.

I had attended an Anglican Church Sunday school as a child and had been baptised, or christened, as the Church of England calls it. Since becoming a Christian however, I had aligned myself with the viewpoint that while it is fine to dedicate a baby to the Lord, to be baptised is something that is really a decision of the will.

There has always been a debate about methods of baptism, but I believe that in baptism we identify with the death, burial and resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ. Baptism comes from the Greek word 'baptiso' which means 'to bury'. To me it's logical at baptism to 'bury' the convert, which means complete immersion. There are however other sincerely held opinions that differ from mine and God is gracious.

To be honest, at the time I had not thought much about baptism but I told Mary I was happy for her to put my name down, and I dutifully turned up on the night. What followed took me completely by surprise. I was unprepared for the tremendous spiritual experience that I was to discover baptism to be.

It was traditional for the 'baptisees' to pause at the edge of the pool and give a brief testimony as to how they 'came to the Lord' and what baptism meant to them.

As I waited my turn I pondered on my family circumstances. My wife didn't share my faith and so she and my children were not with me that night. It was a really sad time for me, so my enthusiasm for being baptised was tempered by a realisation that I was really alone in this experience. It was just Jesus and me.

I mounted the steps by the pool and paused to give my testimony, but only uttered a few words before bursting into tears. It was futile to try to explain the tears to the onlookers so I just stepped down into the water.

My pastor was Peter Morrow, who, I believe, was one of the finest Christian leaders in the country and it was my privilege to be baptised by him. Peter is known to have a remarkable prophetic gift and it was usual for him to pray for each person after baptising them. Most times his prayers would be prophetic - often amazingly accurate and always very encouraging. As I had listened to his prayers for the people preceding me into the water, I was amazed at the wonderful things the Lord gave him to say. Mine, however, was very different:

"God has taken you through misty years to bring you to a clear vision. God will anoint your mind and lips and will make your purpose clear.

"Something is going to cut deep into your heart, for a purpose. It will almost tear you apart, but God will never leave you nor forsake you no matter how tough.

"He is going to cause you to walk in the heights. Criticism comes from men: despise it and look to Jesus the author and finisher of your faith."

I didn't really hear what he was saying at the time, but later on I was given a copy of the sound tape and as I listened I wondered what it all meant. Within a month or two it all became very clear.

I won't be saying any more than absolutely necessary about my family, but within a few months of becoming a Christian I was separated, with my wife having custody of the children.

In due course we were divorced.

The family home was sold and I started looking for a house that I could purchase with my half of the proceeds. I had $16,000, and at that time it was possible to get a small modest house for that price, which would mean the children would have somewhere to come during their visits.

Scanning through the 'homes for sale' section of the Christchurch press, I circled a half dozen possibilities that were near the $16,000 mark.

One house however really caught my eye. It was priced at $32,000, but I circled it as well. A two storied stately home on Bealey Avenue in the centre of the city, it had five bedrooms, a huge lounge and a large living room. It also had a garage and other small outside buildings including a laundry and woodshed, and some small fowl houses.

A relative had recently become a Christian and I gave the newspaper to her, asking what her preference would be. She scanned my short list of houses, put her finger on the $32,000 one and said, "that's it."

We visited the house and were really excited about it but considered we should run it past a Christian Real Estate agent to get his opinion. The agent met me at the house where he informed me that as he had turned the corner he'd felt the Lord say, "That's it."

That was good enough for me. As he was not handling the house sale it was no advantage for him whether I bought it or not. I borrowed the balance of the price from the bank and moved in.

It was a strange experience, suddenly finding myself alone after all those years. In all my life, I don't think I had ever lived entirely alone, but while there was an awful sadness in my heart, deep down I knew that God had led me to buy the house, and I was sure He had a special plan for me and it. One thing I did know - I wasn't to invite anyone to share the place with me. Although there were many people I knew who needed a home, I felt the Lord was saying, "Don't invite anyone to live with you, because the people I'm going to send are not necessarily the type of people you would ask."

When I'd been in the house a week or so, enjoying a God-given peace about everything, which was really extraordinary considering the shambles of my family situation, I pondered that before too long the Lord would bring people of His choosing to share the home with me.

It was a cold, rainy Friday night, and I remember there was an All Black versus Wallaby rugby test on at Lancaster Park the next day.

In the bathroom there was one of those big old-style bathtubs with the moulded legs, and I decided to have a good hot bath and turn in for the night. I had one foot in the bath, when it began.

It's impossible to explain the experience, but I just knew that God was telling me to get into the car and go down to the City Square, as there was someone there He wanted me to meet.

"Hold on, Lord," I said, half-heartedly drying my foot. "There won't be anyone in the square tonight - it's really raining heavily."

Well, I quickly realised it was no good desiring to have the Lord lead you in life and then arguing when He spoke to you, so I headed for the Square.

Since moving into the house I had often wandered down to the Square in the evenings and talked to people about the Lord – anyone that would listen – and more often than not I would find myself in a fast-food joint behind the Cathedral, called The Doghouse. You can imagine what it was like – Space Invader machines and kids, kids, kids!

I assumed that the person I was to meet would be there, so I parked the car in front of the Post Office and set off for the Dog House. On the way I passed a music shop and noticed a rather dishevelled looking individual with his back to me looking into the window. As I passed he did a strange thing – he spun around and held up his arms to defend himself, as if he was expecting me to attack him.

There was about a twelve foot gap between us, so it seemed to me his action was a bit extreme. He had my attention though, and I stopped to talk.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"No, I'm not," he said. "I just met this guy that I lent four dollars to a couple of years ago and he denied that he had ever borrowed it from me."

"Well," I said, "does four dollars really matter? You shouldn't let it get you down."

"Maybe so," he said, "but I believe if you won't work you shouldn't eat."

I couldn't quite understand what he was getting at, but said, "That's interesting, you're quoting the Bible. Did you know there's a scripture that says - If you won't work you shouldn't eat?" "Yes, I know," he replied, "I'm a born-again Christian and have been for five years."

By this stage I knew that this was the person I was led to meet, so I suggested he have a cup of coffee with me. Upstairs at the coffee bar he told me his story.

He had been staying at a Church accommodation house and a decision had been made to close it down. All the residents had found alternative board, except for 'Roger'. He had asked at Church but there were no offers. The pastor had appealed to the congregation for someone to take him in, but to no avail.

That Friday night in a fit of desperation he had cried out to God, "Please God, all I want is a nice Christian home to live in."

In his frustration he had hopped on his motor bike and headed through the rain to the square.

To be quite honest I can really sympathise with the people at his church. Roger wasn't a pretty guy, and they all knew him well. There is a limit to what you can expect of people. But God had clearly said that He would send His choice of people to me, and I know that Roger was the first, so I arranged for him to move in a couple of days later.

If my previous nights spent in the house had been pleasant, the first night with Roger was a nightmare.

I installed him in the bedroom next to mine and went to bed. Before long, I awoke to see Roger standing over my bed with an evil sneering grin on his face. It was the most traumatic thing I had ever experienced, and I was unable to utter a word. It was as if something had its hands around my throat. I knew that whether it was actually Roger there or some sort of demonic manifestation I would be able to deal with the situation if I could call on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.

No use – I couldn't make a sound. Then somehow I managed to whisper the name of Jesus and the apparition disappeared.

I got up and checked the next room – Roger was fast asleep, totally oblivious of my experience. In fact he was amazed as I recounted it to him at breakfast the next morning.

Later that day I phoned Max Palmer and told him what had happened. He dropped over to see me later on and prayed through the house. After that we had no further instances of that particular type of demonic activity.

Incidentally Roger and I weren't the only ones in the house that night. A Canadian hitchhiker called Doug had become a Christian while visiting Christchurch and the people who led him to the Lord had asked if I could put him up.

Doug was a really nice young man and his bright personality was a tremendous encouragement to those at the home over the following months. I talked to Doug about what had happened the night before, and he said he had also had a dreadfully disturbed night.

It was a dramatic introduction to the tactics of Satan, and helped to prepare me for other attacks that would be sure to follow.

### A SHORT-LEG STORY

Over the next year or so, a remarkable variety of people passed through the home.

People like Kim, a Maori from the East coast of the North Island, who made his home in the woodshed, which was apparently the sort of accommodation he was used to.

Then there was Alf.

Alf was an alcoholic who, while staying with us, made a dubious name for himself by walking into the local bank and putting a note across the counter which read:

"Give me a million dollars and make it quick."

The young lady teller quickly sized him up, walked out from behind the counter, took Alf by the arm and led him into the manager's office.

The house at 53 Bealey Avenue was God's place. He brought the people of His choosing. Some strong Christians; some like Alf, who just needed a refuge from the bewildering world they were living in; and some hitch-hikers whom the residents had invited home.

One day a Power Department meter reader walked in the front door, paused, looked slightly stunned and said, "Hey, that's strange, this place is different. There's love here. You can feel it."

I suppose that said it all. God's Spirit was present in a very real way – all the time. We had our moments of conflict, but through it all, everyone who set foot in the home left knowing they had been in a very special place – God's place.

The home became well known in Christchurch and there was never any shortage of people who would drop in and just be part of what was happening.

One Christmas a Dutch family who were very supportive of what we were doing sent their fourteen year old daughter over with a chicken for our Christmas dinner. There must have been a lot of activity in the old place that night because the girl didn't leave for home until about 10.30pm. Obviously I should have sent her home earlier, but with all that was happening, had neglected to do so.

She needed to catch a bus from the other end of Bealey Avenue, about two miles away, so I walked down with her as I no longer had a car. She duly hopped on the last bus and as it disappeared into the night I found myself alone in the street.

Alone, that is, until I noticed a solitary figure hobbling towards me out of the darkness. It was a young woman of about seventeen and she was obviously crippled. Somehow I just knew God was 'up to something'. I paused and waited for her to draw level with me and as she passed me, she stopped and looked at the timetable on the bus stop.

"Are you wanting to catch the bus?" I asked.

She indicated that she was, so I informed her that she had just missed the last one for the night. Of course she was upset and had no idea how she would get home as she had no money for a taxi.

Trevor Scott, a good friend of mine lived just around the corner and so I suggested that as he had a car he would probably be able to run her home, and I invited her to come with me to his place.

Let me tell you about Trevor. He looked a little like Errol Flynn, was about 6 foot 3 inches tall and a really colourful character. He had once dived off oil rigs in the China Sea and had entertained me often with swash-buckling stories of his adventures on the rigs. In later years he had worked as a repossession agent for a large appliance retailer, and I think at the time of this story was rep. for a drug company serving doctors.

His wife, Colleen, was a particularly lovely lady who had been Miss Canterbury at one time. That's just a little background.

Well, life for the Scotts changed dramatically when they made a decision to have a holiday in the Marlborough Sounds.

A Christian friend of theirs (the Scott's weren't Christians at the time) loaned them his holiday home and off they went. It rained every day and I don't think in the entire time they were there they were able to venture outdoors.

The only thing in the place apart from furniture and furnishings was a book called "The Late Great Planet Earth" by Hal Lindsey. It's a study of events that will take place in the world in the years immediately preceding the return of the Lord Jesus Christ; an event that most Christians believe is imminent.

Colleen was sitting up in bed reading the book when Trevor asked her what it was all about.

"It's amazing", said Colleen, "You should read this when I'm finished - you need it!"

Trevor did read it. Before it was finished, he was almost in a cold sweat.

"We've got to do something about this, this is serious!" he exclaimed.

The upshot of it was that Trevor and Colleen gave their lives to Christ and never looked back.

Trevor has a really exuberant personality - full of life and enthusiasm for everything he does, and of course, when he became a Christian, God was quick to use these qualities to reach out to people. He found himself praying for people and seeing extraordinary healings and other wonderful things happen in the lives of the people he ministered to. With great zest he started a healing meeting on Friday nights and soon became known as a man who was used mightily by the Lord.

As I walked with Helen Willis to Trevor's place, I asked her how she got to be crippled. She told me she had been injured in a motor accident and that as a result one of her legs was two inches shorter than the other.

A few weeks after our meeting she told me she was amazed that she had walked away with me that night. She had realised the danger of doing such a thing, but somehow knew it was right to accompany me and that she would be safe.

We walked into Trevor and Colleen's kitchen where they were having a chat to Maurice Atkinson, a policeman who had recently become a Christian and who later was to minister as the Baptist Pastor at Oxford, inland from Christchurch.

"Hi, Trev," I said. "This is Helen. She needs a lift home to Parklands. Do you think you could run her home?"

Trevor ushered us into the lounge and indicated that he would be with us as soon as he had finished with Maurice.

As you can expect, Trevor and Colleen eagerly shared with Helen what the Christian life was all about, and the fact that Jesus Christ was still "in the healing business". Trevor was quite confident of praying for Helen's condition and had no trouble believing that God could lengthen the short leg.

His confidence was due in part to his belief that I had previously done this sort of thing, while I too was confident, assuming that Trevor had.

We were both wrong.

Neither of us had ever prayed for anyone with this condition, although we had both witnessed legs growing at meetings in the past.

We invited Helen to sit down and ensured that her lower back was firmly up against the back of the chair. Trevor took hold of her feet, putting her legs up to a horizontal position and it became obvious that one of her legs was indeed a couple of inches short. I remember Trevor once said that quite often it's not that one leg is shorter but sometimes the hips are badly twisted and this gives the impression of one leg being shorter.

I'm unsure what the exact nature of Helen's condition was, but Trevor and Colleen simply prayed for a miracle. As they prayed, we all watched the leg grow – one inch!

At that moment the phone rang, Colleen answered it, and the leg stopped growing.

It was one of the boarders from our home. He was in a state of high anxiety.

"Tell Neville to come home quick. We've got a real problem here. Please tell him it's urgent."

Colleen relayed the message to me and we resumed praying for Helen.

To our amazement, as we prayed, the leg grew another inch.

Then Helen stood up, and I'll never forget her excitement. She walked up and down the room, absolutely ecstatic at what the Lord had done for her.

We were pretty excited too, but there was no time to hang around. We had to get home.

Helen hopped into the back of Trevor's Morris Minor and, with Trev and I in the front, we headed down Bealey Avenue.

On the way I said to Trev, "What an incredible life this is! Who would imagine the fun we have? The average person wouldn't believe this if we told them."

"Right, Nev", replied Trevor. "You know, what people need is to see the power of God operating. We can counsel people till the cows come home, but at the end of the day people need to see demonstrations of God's power."

Helen of course was agreeing wholeheartedly.

"You know Trev," I said, "it's anybody's guess what we're going to find when we get home, but why don't we just walk in the door, take hold of the person who has the problem, lay hands on his head, and in the name of Jesus rebuke the devil and pray that God will zap him?"

You can see I was a pretty new Christian. Nobody with any maturity or respectability would suggest such a radical thing.

"You're absolutely right Nev, let's do it," said Trevor, who was about as fired-up as I've ever seen him.

If I wasn't a Christian and didn't realise that he was just filled to over-flowing with the Holy Spirit, I'd probably have suggested he drop by the chemist for some tranquillisers.

We walked in the back door, right into a fight in the kitchen.

Two characters, I can't recall who they were, were slugging it out, and I stopped to help separate them as Trevor carried on to the living room. He surveyed the scene.

In the corner of the room, perched on the edge of an armchair and clutching the arms, was a wild-eyed individual who gave the impression that given half a chance he would make a bolt for the door, or somebody's throat! Surrounding him was a motley group of residents and visitors who had been guarding him for a half an hour.

Apparently some of the boys had been down town and had witnessed this poor chap attempt to throw himself under a bus.

They had captured him and dragged him home – for his own good, of course.

It turned out that he was separated from his wife and she had a non-molestation order that forbade him from visiting her.

The police had chased him from her home that day, using Alsatian dogs, and, in his despair, he had decided to end it all, not expecting to have his suicide bid foiled by the Bealey boys.

Trevor strode into the room, stepped up to the man and shouted, "Get up!"

Now, when Trevor says, "Get up!" a prudent man will obey. The gentleman leaped to his feet, but wasn't there for long. Trevor slapped his hand on the man's head and from the kitchen I heard him say something like, "In Jesus' name!"

He couldn't have said much more than that because in an instant the man's legs shot up in the air and he crashed to the floor.

Then he was on his feet again, completely transformed. The joy shone from his face and I have no doubt that like the woman I had seen delivered of a demon at the New Life Centre, he had just been set free from something that may have been tormenting him for years.

There's no doubt in my mind that much of the violent and bizarre behaviour we see in our society these days is the result of demon possession.

Now we had two people in the back of the Morris.

The man had requested to be taken back to his wife's place, and although we had reservations about it, we decided to do as he wished. We felt that he was in such good shape and was so keen to see her that we would in no way be putting her at risk. He leaped out of the car, jumped the gate, and as we drove off, was knocking excitedly at the door.

I suppose we should have waited around to see what transpired but it was late, remember it was 11pm when I first met Helen at the bus stop, and we really needed to get her home.

I often wondered about that man.

Was his wife a Christian who had been praying for him for years? Were the events of that night simply God answering the prayers of that woman in a way she could never have anticipated? Maybe he, or she, will read this book and get in touch with me.

That sort of thing happens all the time. Often people I have had contact with in the past write to me and fill me in on what has happened in the intervening years.

In September 1995 I received this letter.

Dear Neville,

I was listening to Radio Rhema a few weeks back when you were Jim Stinton's guest speaker and after listening to you on the radio it challenged me to write this letter to encourage you.

I don't know if you remember me, but quite a number of years ago I met you at a bus stop late at night as my last bus just drove off. You took me around to Trevor Scott's place and he ended up praying for me and my leg grew.

I wanted to write to tell you that after that time I walked away from the Lord to do my own thing for a number of years and I got to such a bad state - I had my fingers in all the things of the world and I was so alone and the drugs and the booze were my only friends.

Then, I had a young nephew that was killed in an accident and as I sat at his bedside before he died – he was in a coma – I began to question God – why should an eight year old die when He let me survive the accident I'd had many years before.

God began to minister to my life and I went to a church and there was a guy speaking who was involved in prison ministry and he had a young man with him who shared his testimony and talked about how he'd met Neville Logan in the street one night. And I began to remember back to when I met you so I wanted to write to say all these years later, "thanks" - thanks for stopping to talk and having that input into my life.

That night made quite an impact on my life, so I just wanted to encourage you in the work that you do with kids even if it takes years to see seeds grow, it's well worth it.

I've been walking with the Lord for the last 4 years. It's been really hard. I'm working in a Christian childcare centre and it's such a blessing to be able to have input into other children's lives as you did into mine. I just thought after hearing you on Radio Rhema it would be good to write you a note to tell you that sometimes you don't realise what sort of impact you make on people's lives. I will never ever forget that bus stop and the divine encounter with the Lord through you – so don't give up on what you do.

Helen Willis.

I'm sure you can imagine the effect Helen's letter had on me.

The young man who was preaching at the church Helen went to had first met me at a Social Welfare home in Christchurch, and eventually had gone to prison for killing his girl friend's baby.

A couple of years ago he wrote to me from Paparoa Prison. He and ten other men in the West Wing had become Christians and were attending regular Bible studies. He was looking forward to being released a few months later. His desire was to work full time for the Lord, and since his release I have had reports of the impact he is making around the country as he shares the love of the Lord in churches and other meetings.

At the time of receiving Helen's letter (late 1995), I attended Mahurangi Baptist Church at Snells Beach and felt it would be good to share the letter at a Sunday morning service.

I started by telling the bus stop story in my own words and then read Helen's letter. It was difficult to decipher the words through the tears that were streaming down my face.

My father used to say, "I hate to see a grown man cry," but I've learned since becoming a Christian that tears are sometimes the result of a loving touch of God's Holy Spirit, and so in a way I welcome them. Sometimes it's a sign that the Lord is doing or about to do something powerful.

After the service I was invited by an elder of the church to pray with a young mother who had requested prayer. Eleven years previously she had sustained a serious back injury and had been in constant pain ever since.

After we prayed, I asked her to stand up, which she did, and then to touch her toes. She said that since the accident that had not been possible. I repeated my instruction with increased vigour and immediately she complied, bending down and touching her toes with graceful ease.

Then she did something that she had never done before. She bent down and swung up her three year old daughter to chest height for a great big hug.

This is Julie's story as told by her parents.

Dear Reader

Our daughter Julie endured eleven years of pain after sustaining a back injury. At one stage she was a 'couch-potato', unable to do anything for herself.

She had attended physiotherapists, an orthopaedic surgeon and chiropractors. Some of these treatments brought a measure of relief but she still was always in pain. Any slight stress on her back and she reverted to severe pain, necessitating the taking of strong pain relieving tablets.

Many a time we were phoned to come and lift her baby out of the cot when her husband was away at work as she was just in too much pain to do this. It was a sixty kilometres return trip from our home. As Laura (her daughter) grew to the toddler stage, Julie taught her to climb up on her lap as she was unable to bend down to pick her up.

Julie had been prayed for many times over the years in healing meetings and by individual Christians. We as her Christian parents sought the Lord daily for her.

One Sunday morning at the Mahurangi Baptist Church at Snells Beach, Neville Logan and another deacon prayed for her and she was instantly healed. Julie had been unable to bend over to touch her toes or to lift Laura. How wonderful she felt as she lifted Laura, at three years of age, off the floor for the first time to give her a cuddle! This was 18 months ago and she is now totally free of pain. We give all praise to our wonderful Lord for the healing of our daughter, and thank the believing men concerned for their faith and compassion.

Harry and Heather Denham,

Retired Directors of Exodus Ministries, 20 May 1997.

### CARTOONS, CAMPS AND COMEDY SHOWS

My father was quite a good cartoonist, and often amused my brothers and myself with his quick sketches. At one time he also tried his hand at landscape painting and the results were promising. These occasional forays into the art world were usually short-lived though and his artistic gift found expression instead in the things he created in his workshop.

Most of the Logans were craftsmen in timber or metal, and dad was a brilliant cabinet maker.

At an early age it became apparent that I had inherited my dad's cartooning gift, and at school I was forever drawing on anything that was blank.

After the war, when I was about eight or nine, my brothers and I used to fight for the small flaps on the Weetbix packets as they had no printing on them. Paper was scarce and those flaps were like gold to us kids.

I cartooned my way through primary school, and then went on to do the same at Christchurch Technical College.

School to me was sheer hell. I hated every minute of it, from Miss Gribben's class at Beckenham Primary to 'Pansy' Parker's at Tech.

My most enduring memory of primary school was of hearing the incredible news that school would be breaking up on Friday. To this day I can remember jumping on my trike early on Saturday morning and tearing down Birdwood Avenue and into Sandwich Road to view this happy event.

To my absolute horror I discovered that they had lied. There was the whole school with Miss Gribbens' classroom and the school dental nurses' "murder house" alongside it, still standing, triumphantly intact!

The second most traumatic experience of my school career, albeit with a happy ending, was at The Christchurch Technical College. Here I'd managed to avoid doing anything that resembled schoolwork, my sole occupation being the drawing of cartoons on anything and everything I could lay hands on.

On my fifteenth birthday, 'Doc' Lyall, the Principal, called me to his office.

Mr Lyall was like God to us. Nobody ever got to talk to him, he was far too important and I was mystified as to why he would summon me into his presence. In his cloak he looked like a great black eagle as he surveyed me from behind his giant oak desk.

"You're not very happy here, are you boy?"

"No, sir."

"Well, to tell you the truth boy, we're not very happy with you either."

"Sorry sir!"

"I notice, Logan, it's your fifteenth birthday today. Happy birthday, Logan."

"Thank you, sir."

"You know, Logan, we can't expel...er, I mean, you can't leave school until you're fifteen, and we thought you might like to consider that option now that you're old enough."

"Oh – um – I've never really thought about it, sir."

"Well, we have, Logan! Oh yes! We've taken note of your attitude to your studies and especially of the cartoons you seem to like drawing all over your friends' textbooks! In fact we've even had a meeting about you and the teachers and I are so sure that you'd like to leave that we've found you a job."

Well, you could have blown me over with a feather!

In a week I was working as a junior commercial artist at a large printing works in the city.

In the course of my work I would occasionally get a cartoon job to do, but not often.

Later at nineteen I worked as art director for an advertising agency, and then went on to establish my own studio which was my situation when I became a Christian.

Even then I would sometimes go a year or so without drawing a cartoon, and unlike other artists I would never draw or sketch 'just for fun'.

I was a 'commercial' artist – I only drew for money.

Soon after my born-again experience, a young man came to my office and asked me if I would consider coming over to a place called Living Springs to do some cartoons for the children.

Living Springs was a Christian camp on Banks Peninsula, just over the hill from Christchurch.

What a strange request, I thought, wondering why I would want to do a thing like that.

I agreed. I was always ready to down tools at the slightest excuse and it would be a new experience.

As I walked through the doors into the dining room as the hundreds of youngsters were having lunch, the most amazing thing happened. Suddenly I realised why I was there – I was a cartoonist! Kids love cartoons!

This gift I've got is from God, and at last I understood what I was to do with it.

The Bible says all good gifts are from God, and I believe millions of people spend their lives squandering the gifts the Lord has given them, or simply using his gifts to have fun or make money.

At worst, of course, a person can use a God-given gift to produce works that are an abomination to God. Some of the most impressive works of art feature on demonic record covers, occult printed matter and advertising materials that promote harmful products, services or practices.

Anyway, as 'Pansy' Parker (my former teacher of English) would say, "So much for that, let's move on."

I went back to camp every day that week and did dozens of cartoons for the kids and over the next few years was involved with almost every holiday camp they held. My greatest desire though, was that the children should know the Lord Jesus, and I suppose over the years I must have led hundreds of children to faith in Christ at Living Springs and other camps throughout the country.

With this cartooning gift finally finding expression, my interest started to range into newspapers and television.

I started a children's club called Neville Logan's Cartoon Club, and eventually it was syndicated to 32 newspapers with a final membership of over 70,000 children. As well as this I did a regular TV spot on Ollie Ohlsen's After School programme – cartooning with a studio audience.

As my underlying motive was to communicate Christ to people and particularly to children, I was always exploring new programme ideas.

One concept was taken up by Seven Seas Television which had produced a series of programmes for TV that featured stories of how certain individuals had become Christians.

The crew arrived in Christchurch to film a pilot programme of what I thought was a great comedy idea for children.

I was to play the part of an eccentric old Sergeant Major character by the name of Willy Wally (my middle names are William Walter.) Each week, Willy Wally would instruct the viewers on how to do things such as wall-papering, painting, crafts, and so on. His efforts to communicate his skills would always be frustrated, however, often in spectacularly disastrous ways, and, at the end of each programme, he would philosophically abandon the idea and ponder on other ways to get some satisfaction in life.

For the pilot programme we erected a dummy hall-way in a sheep paddock at Living Springs. Willy was to do a wall-papering demonstration, so the camera would be aimed down the hall at him, with a door visible behind him. As he was just getting into the demonstration a multitude of kids would burst through the door, career down the hall, knocking Willy for a six, and continue past the camera. They would all be yelling, "Hey, we're on our way to the Willy Wally Show!"

This sequence was to be used as a short introduction to the first of a series of half hour programmes.

The kids came through on cue and did a great job of flattening Willy who gradually got himself together and wistfully addressed the camera. "You know I think I may go back to the farm. Sheep are lovely animals. Never violent or aggressive. Not like those kids. Yes, I'm sure I'd love to go back to the farm."

At that point, with Willy still on his hands and knees, the Living Springs farm manager was to drive a flock of sheep through the door. They would stream down the hall, knocking Willy over again, and run right over him as the children had done. Then some other crazy things would happen ending the sequence.

You know, it's quite easy to write a script for a TV show – I used to be a script writer for TVNZ and was responsible for some of their children's programmes in the early eighties. However, there's a vast gap between an idea in a script writer's head and the finished show, and, sometimes things go horribly wrong.

The sheep came through the door alright, but when they saw Willy prostrated on the floor they turned back, scrambling over each other to get away. We stopped the shoot and called in the farmer.

When he realised what we were expecting the sheep to do, he said, "No way, they'll never run over you. You'll have to change the script."

Well, that was impossible. The success of the programme depended on the sheep running right over me, so we were really stumped.

Ian Ralston, the producer, suggested we stop for a cup of tea, which would give us a break to explore ways around the problem.

There weren't any. The sheep had to trample over me, but according to the farmer nothing would entice them to do it. I wandered over to the set and pondered the situation. The crew had come all the way down from Wellington to do the shoot and we'd already had a few difficulties, but this was a major problem. Then, I GOT IT!

Running back to the boys I interrupted their tea break to declare that we'd pray about it.

"What a good idea," someone said, "why didn't we think of that before?"

We had prayed before of course. This was a Christian film crew and they would never start a day's work without committing the project to the Lord. However, I believe the Lord himself dropped the idea into my head, and the outcome, I believe, confirms that He did.

As far as I can remember the prayer I prayed was something like this: "Father, I come to you in the wonderful name of Jesus, the Great Shepherd of the Sheep. Lord, I pray that you would send the Spirit of God, who is the Spirit of Christ, the Shepherd of the sheep to lead these sheep through the hall and right over me. Amen"

"Back to work, guys!"

I positioned myself on the floor again and waited for the farmer to have another go. Through they came, dozens of them, and I was flattened as they pounded me into the ground.

"Praise the Lord, it's in the can!"

A TV studio is a spiritual battle ground. There's no way Satan wants Christians on TV and I could relate many stories to you of occasions when prayer has dramatically altered the course of events on a set.

### A BENT NOSE MIRACLE

One of the New Life Centre pastors phoned and asked me if I could find time to visit an eight year old boy in Christchurch hospital. He was from out of town and the pastor thought I might be able to cheer him up by doing some cartoons for him. Of course, I assured him I would find time and decided that I would drop down to see him on Saturday evening. I assumed it would be best to visit in the early evening so as not to interfere with his sleep-time.

Saturday night arrived and it was pouring with rain. Looking out the window as it approached 7pm, I wondered how I was going to get to the hospital. At that time I didn't have a car, and the hospital was a couple of miles away, so walking on this particular night was out of the question.

We prayed about it, of course, aware that the Lord was able either to stop the rain or send someone around with a car.

7.30 came and went and it was still raining heavily, so summoning up all the faith I had, I set off on foot. I was sure the Lord would stop the rain.

Well, He didn't, and when I arrived at the hospital I was soaked.

On arrival at the casualty department I first went into the toilets where I planned to dry my hair with a towel and generally clean myself up. As I approached the toilets I quickly surveyed the scene in the outpatient's area.

Apart from the usual sports injury cases and other walking wounded there was another group who were creating no small disturbance – some sort of gang who had been in a scrap and shown up with their injured members.

I found myself sharing the toilets with a couple of the gang members. One of them who seemed to have a broken nose was sheepishly surveying his bloodied face in the mirror, and gently dabbing his bent 'hooter' with wet toilet paper. His mate, who was apparently uninjured, was still full of fight however, and was raving on about how he was going to smash the hospital security guard in retaliation as it was a security guard at the roller skating rink who had broken his friend's nose.

The logic of this escaped me, but that was his plan. I took a towel and dried my hair as the pair continued to hatch their plot. Of course the one with the bent hooter was considerably less committed to the plan than the one doing the talking.

It was quite strange being right there alongside them, drying my hair and having the dubious privilege of being privy to this preposterous plan.

They didn't seem even to notice me.

The thought of visiting the little boy faded as I contemplated the immediate situation and whether the Lord had plans of His own.

I walked out to the waiting room and there was the security guard sitting at a little table with not the slightest idea of the fate that was about to befall him.

Soon the two characters appeared and approached the guard. An argument ensued and within a short time they had somehow enticed him to go outside with them. Naturally I joined the group and leaned on a rail outside the door as they continued their 'conversation'. I took no part in it, but the boys appeared frustrated by the fact that I was there.

I'm sure if I had not been present they would have followed through with their plan to attack him.

Suddenly things took an unexpected turn.

The door opened and out walked a young man called Matthew. He had been at a Living Springs camp a month or so before and had found himself in my cabin. Matthew had become a Christian at that time, and was so dramatically changed that I invited him back a couple of weeks later as a junior leader.

At the second camp, he was 'filled with the Holy Spirit' and the transformation in his life had been remarkable. I asked him what he was doing at the hospital and he revealed that he was one of the gang and had accompanied them, as he had suffered an asthma attack and needed medication.

The difference between Matthew and the other gang members was astounding. His face radiated joy and his eyes were soft, bright and lively - in marked contrast to his mates'.

Interesting that he was still hanging out with them! I suppose it wasn't surprising as they were his friends and I'm sure the Lord had a plan to use Matthew to shine His light in the darkness of the lives of the others.

Matthew's appearing and the joy of our greeting totally defused the angry standoff between the other boys and the guard, and everyone just moved back into the reception area.

Now I was right in the middle of the gang, being introduced to them all by Matthew.

Around us were dozens of 'innocent bystanders' who had witnessed the aggression and filthy language of the gang members over the preceding hour or so. There were families with children and all around us disgusted faces glared at the boys.

Matthew finished the introductions and so it was my turn to speak.

"Okay, Matthew," I said, "how about telling the boys what happened to you at Living Springs?"

"Oh - er - well, I'm not too good at talking. How about you tell them?" he replied.

Jesus gave us an order to "Go into all the world and preach the gospel (good news) to all creatures," so that was all I needed.

For the next fifteen minutes or so I gave them both barrels. I really ripped into them, out loud so that everyone else in the place could hear too.

The 'general public' element in my audience was gripped by what I was saying, and through it all I couldn't help noticing a Maori woman who was sitting with her back to me.

I don't know what it was about her, but I knew she wanted to turn around and look at me but was possibly too shy.

Meanwhile the gang was equally riveted. Probably they had never been confronted by the gospel preached in such a way – especially in a hospital waiting room.

I also had the attention of the hospital staff, to the degree that they were able to take it in, as they toiled away at the usual Saturday night backlog of broken bodies.

As I spoke a quite remarkable thing happened. The filthy language and 'Rambo' behaviour ceased and the gang members were as meek as lambs, hanging on to every word I said.

I then told them about an Australian Evangelist, who happened to be in town, who had a remarkable healing gift. His name was Steve Ryder, and I took the opportunity to invite everyone present to go to one of his meetings to be held the following week.

The boys then started discussing what they would wear to the meeting, one proudly revealing that he actually owned a suit.

All the time I was speaking the one with the broken nose was sitting looking very sorry for himself and in contrast to the others seemed to grow angrier as I held forth. He was the last to be treated, so I suppose could be forgiven for being a bit 'brassed off'.

However, I believe what I was saying was his biggest problem – the Lord was really stirring him up.

Finally he could stand it no longer. Leaping to his feet, he thrust his bruised and bloodied face up to mine and pointing at his nose, yelled, "Okay - if Jesus is real, how about He heals my bloody nose?"

Oh dear - now I've done it, I thought. Walked right into this one! Now I have to put my faith where my mouth is and pray for him. What if he isn't healed? I'll look a proper twit!

All those thoughts went through my head, but I had no option, I would have to pray for him.

"Okay," I said, "stand here and I'll ask Jesus to heal you."

I lifted my hand to touch his head, or nose or whatever, but never got to do it.

The Lord beat me to it and the young man staggered back and fell into a chair with his back to the Maori lady. He then grabbed his nose, pulled it sideways, up and down and every other way and yelled, "I'm healed! I'm healed!"

With that and without another word to me, he got up, gathered his friends together and they all left. That's the last I ever saw of any of them.

Back to the Maori woman.

She watched them disappear out the door and then spun around in her seat and exclaimed, "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Oh, I'm just a cartoonist," I said.

"That was a miracle - I've never seen anything like it!"

"It was, wasn't it?" I replied, "a really good one."

The curious thing was that the lady wasn't talking about the 'nose' part of what the Lord did.

She was referring to the way their whole mood, attitude and language changed as I spoke. That was what had been, to her, the real miracle.

I believe that the issue was that the boys were all either demon possessed or influenced by them in some way. As the name of Jesus was proclaimed the demons simply quit the scene and the boys' behaviour improved dramatically as a result.

I sat down with the lady and had a good chat. I'm sure she'll never forget that night and what she saw and heard.

I was reminded of the scripture "Signs and wonders follow the preaching of the Word".

I'm sure if we just get out there and talk to people about Jesus who is the Living Word we can expect to see Him do great things. It's my experience that He has never let me down if I have talked about Him and His limitless love and power.

### SOME WATCH STORIES

As noted earlier, John Steele was a rather spectacular character.

He was one of the team of pastors at the New Life Centre, and each Sunday evening he held an outreach meeting at a hall in the northern suburb of Papanui.

I remember his meetings well. They seemed to me more like rodeos than church services.

As a small boy I attended a denominational Sunday School, and the difference between the two services was like comparing Barnum and Bailey's Circus with Madame Tussauds Wax Museum.

Young people especially loved John and he was a great role model to them – full of joyous energy and simply exuding the positive power of God.

John had a particular healing gift, and many people encountered the Lord at his meetings or were wonderfully healed or set free from demonic powers.

One of his meetings will forever stick in my mind.

As he was preaching, I had a strong impression, or thought or whatever you may call it, to give away my new Edox watch to the little boy who was sitting next to me. Immediately I put the thought out of my mind.

That's not God talking, I thought, He wouldn't get me to do something like that.

Turning my head, I looked at the boy. He was a complete stranger to me, and was accompanied by his parents and other brothers and sisters. I suppose he was about nine years old.

Concentrate on what John is saying, I thought, certain that it was just a stupid idea, or worse still, the devil distracting me from the preaching. Still the thought was there - it just wouldn't go away. My eyes were steadfastly fixed on John, and then, like a flash his were also fixed on me!

He pointed his finger straight at me and his voice boomed out and seemed to reverberate around my brain...

"Give that you may receive abundantly!"

I just knew that was God confirming what He had already spoken to my heart. That was enough for me. Looking down at the boy I enquired, "Have you got a watch, son?"

"No," he replied, slightly mystified at my question.

"Well, you have now."

Silently he took the watch, looked at it, looked wide-eyed back at me, then across at his father, back to the watch, and proceeded to slip it on his wrist. Then he pulled his sleeve down over it and flashed a glance back to his dad, who was oblivious of what had happened. I often wondered how he later explained it to his father.

That was the last I saw of them for a while, although I did get to know the family in later years.

A week or so later I found myself sitting next to an elderly church member at a New Life Centre dinner.

"Have you got a watch, Neville?" he asked.

I was intrigued by his question and told him how the Lord had led me to give my watch away.

"Well," he said, "I've just bought a new Edox watch and I thought you might like to have my old one. It's a good watch - nothing wrong with it."

A day or two later he approached me again and said he had been praying about the watch, and the Lord had told him to give me the new Edox, not the old one. Also, he had told him to give me an amount to money to help with the costs of running the home, and, to give me a new Hoovermatic washing machine!

Well, you can imagine, I was blown away by all this, but was slightly mystified as to why the Lord would have told him to give us a new washing machine. There was a washing machine installed in the wash-house at our home, and although it was really old, it did the job. I have no idea what the brand was. None of us had ever seen one like it before, but it was a faithful old thing, and every Saturday morning it chugged away, churning out loads of clean (well, reasonably clean) washing.

However, I was never one to question God's word, so we arranged for the delivery of the watch, money and washing machine at a mutually convenient time on Saturday morning.

There was a load of washing in the machine as the car and trailer came up the drive, and just as it stopped, so did the old washing machine. Kaput! Had it! Dead as a Dodo!

We unhooked the dead one, connected up the Hoovermatic and continued with the washing.

The words of John Steele came back to me.

"Give, that you may receive abundantly."

Some time later, I was watching a rugby match at Living Springs and when I got back to the camp after the game, I discovered my watch was missing. I rushed back to the rugby ground and found my Edox squashed flat, either by a rugby boot or a spectator's car.

What a miserable way for a miracle watch to end up, I thought.

A week or so after I returned from the camp, I found myself at a friend's home and was telling him of how the Lord has provided the watch, money and washing machine, and of how my Edox watch had been wrecked. My friend, Chris Georges, got up without a word and left the room. He returned in a minute, and with an ear-to-ear smile presented me with a brand new Edox watch. How he happened to have that watch I never did find out, but that's what happened.

Many years later I was boarding with a Christian couple in Auckland, and at that time was wearing a watch that they had presented to me. It was Christmas time and they had given me a beautiful silver watch for my birthday the previous June.

On Christmas Eve I was out shopping with a little fellow called Paul Valentine, the son of a lady in our church, and as we drove around the town, I told him about my amazing watch stories. He loved the stories, and as we talked I noticed that he didn't have a watch.

"On no!" I thought. "Just because he doesn't have a watch, that doesn't mean the Lord's telling me to give him mine."

I imagined going home and having to tell my friends that I had given my birthday watch away, only a few months after they had given it to me. This time I wasn't sure that the Lord was saying anything to me, but I gave him the watch anyway.

As I walked indoors that night, I felt like a naughty boy and wasn't relishing the thought of telling Neil and Jackie that I had given away my birthday present.

I spluttered out the story to them and as I spoke, Jackie's eyes lit up and eventually she just couldn't contain her excitement. Making a dive for the pile of gifts under the Christmas tree, she extracted a small one and pressed it into my hand.

"You'll never believe this," she said, "the Lord told me to give you a new watch for Christmas. I argued with Him that you already had one – the one we gave you for your birthday. Then the Lord said to me. 'Give him a new watch, by Christmas he'll have given the other one away!'"

### HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?

Jackie's revelation that I would have given my watch away by Christmas could be called a 'Word of Knowledge".

The Bible tells us there are nine spiritual gifts, and that the Lord Jesus, who is the head of the Church distributes these gifts as He sees fit. One of the most fascinating of these gifts is the "Word of Knowledge." This gift is demonstrated when the Lord tells a Christian something that the person couldn't possibly have known by natural reasoning. Sometimes, in a church service the preacher may pause and say something like: "There's a person here who has a lump on the inside of his left index finger." Or something equally odd.

The person concerned might then be invited to come forward for prayer and as the Lord had obviously revealed the condition in the first place, He would very likely heal the finger in answer to the prayer.

Jackie was often used in this way, and sometimes in a rather spectacular fashion. The devil of course counterfeits this gift through fortune tellers or clairvoyants.

Anyway – back to the story.

Once I was invited to Tauranga to help with a children's programme at one of the local churches and by a strange series of circumstances I was accommodated overnight with a young family that was not Christian. The young man was an interesting person. He showed me his computers in the garage, and had made a name for himself by designing a radical new type of fence for protecting kiwi fruit vines. Apparently with the regular type fences the wind would buffet the vines but his design reduced that problem.

We spent the evening chatting about this and that, and of course I talked as much as possible about the Lord, as I was sure He put me in the place for a purpose.

At breakfast time the next morning I was talking about the gifts of the Spirit and mentioned 'the Word of Knowledge' as being a particularly interesting one. I then cited Jackie and mentioned how often she would make a seemingly outrageous statement that would prove to be a Word from the Lord.

"For instance", I said, looking straight at my host (let's call him Fred), "Jackie might just look straight at you over breakfast and say something like: 'Fred, have you ever got right with that brother of yours who you had the fight with in Tasmania?'"

I don't recall Fred's response to my imaginary Word of Knowledge – I wasn't really looking for one, and might just as well have said something like, "Have you ever thought of going Piranha fishing again up the Amazon like you did in '86?"

After breakfast I hopped in my car and was about to pull away when Fred walked up to my window and indicated that he wanted to talk to me.

"Just before you go," he said, "how did you know about my brother I had the fight with in Tasmania?"

I was bewildered – in fact for a minute I couldn't even remember saying such a thing.

It transpired that he and his brother had been in business together building kiwi fruit fences and had worked on a contract job in Tasmania where they had fallen out and as a result had not spoken to each other since.

What a wonderful demonstration of the Father heart of God. Fred wasn't a Christian, but God was still interested in him and was revealing Himself to Fred in such a personal way.

It's exciting to be a Christian and be able to call this God, 'Father!'

### JEHOVAH JIREH OUR PROVIDER

I may be giving you the impression that life in those days was one incredible supernatural experience after another, as though I spent each day lurching from miracle to miracle.

Of course, this wasn't the case and I certainly experienced times of boredom, doubt and despair – the same as anyone else. However, in those difficult times, God was always with me, in the valleys as well as on the mountain tops.

I've never been very good at financial matters and one day I was at the fowl-house at the back of our property almost in tears as I cried out to God for help. The house repayments were overdue and only one of the people at the home was paying regular board. I had given up expecting any contributions from most of the tenants, especially the alcoholics, and was close to giving up on the whole thing as I contemplated the impossible pile of bills. Through my tears I saw someone coming up the drive.

"Hi Nev, how's it going?" Barry Botherway was an accountant who had become a Christian at about the same time as me. "What's the problem? You look upset," he said.

I told him the story and we went inside to look at the bills. He sat down at the table and thumbed through the accounts. Every now and then he'd casually flick one into the rubbish tin and put another aside. "Oh yes, OK...fine, that's OK. Well that's that, no problem."

I watched incredulously at the casual, almost nonchalant way he handled the things that had almost driven me to despair.

Within a couple of minutes he had it sorted out. He wrote letters to some of the people, promising so much a month would be paid until the accounts were cleared, then pushed them all aside and suggested we have a cup of tea.

Any normal person I suppose could have done what Barry did, but to me it was an insurmountable hurdle.

I'll never forget Barry's visit. I know the Lord sent him that day.

In the Hebrew language one of God's names is Jehovah Jireh which means 'God our Provider' and I know He really is our provider of all good things.

During the time at Bealey Avenue we regularly saw the supernatural provision of food and finance.

One day we had no milk and no money, and someone challenged me to go to the dairy with no money and just believe that the Lord would supply the money before I got to the counter. I set off and joined the collection of people waiting to be served.

"Oh well," I silently encouraged myself, "no money appeared on the way, but maybe someone here will somehow provide the money."

I looked around at the others in the shop and I must say their faces didn't exactly fill me with faith.

Then it was my turn and the shop-keeper smiled at me in anticipation of my order.

Frantically I reached deep into my pockets in the futile belief that some money could have been miraculously deposited there since I last checked, but no luck.

I don't remember exactly how I explained my lack of money to the bewildered shop keeper, but left for home feeling rather stupid.

As I turned into the drive, there by the corner of the house was a full, unopened bottle of milk.

No one in the home knew anything about it, and we never did have any explanation other than that our Jehovah Jireh had 'done it again'.

It wasn't only milk we were out of at that time. The cupboards were absolutely bare, but the milk miracle had boosted our faith and trust in the Lord, so we decided to do something really radical. We sat around the table and made a list of all the things we needed. Then we all prayed and committed the list to the Lord.

The next morning I opened the back door, and there on the doorstep was a carton. We checked the contents and everything on the list was there.

Someone had obviously been praying for us and the Lord had given him or her a shopping list. Again, we never found out who it was.

It reminded me of a friend of mine who was for a time a missionary in India.

One day he was particularly homesick and as he walked down the crowded street of some remote town he said to the Lord, "Father, what I'd really like is a nice piece of English fruit cake."

Suddenly, there on the footpath in front of him, with dozens of Indians walking past, apparently without seeing it, was a square fruit cake wrapped in cellophane. He stood looking at it, then looking at the passersby, wondering why it seemed only he could see it.

He picked it up – it was freshly baked, still warm, and had Britannia Brand emblazoned on the wrap. The corners of the pack were sharp and square so it couldn't have been dropped – a nice English fruit cake.

He rushed it home to his wife and family and they were able to partake of the amazing blessing.

Then, buoyed up by this incredible answer to prayer, they sat down and made a list of all the food products they would really like.

I remember one of the items was Arrowroot Biscuits. A short time later a box arrived from home with – you guessed it – everything on the list, including the Arrowroot Biscuits.

As I said, these great stories must be balanced up against the times when God seems to have disappeared from our lives, but I'm sure He allows the lean times to encourage us to pray more and look to Him for our provision rather than lean on our own abilities.

### THE PRINCE OF PEACE

During the time at Bealey Avenue I really got to know the Lord as a friend who was with me all the time.

I would often head down town at all times of the day or night, talking to Him and expecting Him to lead me into situations and places that He had prepared for me.

He would set things up, often in a quite unexpected way, and then give me insight into what He was doing and show me what my part was. It was a wonderful and exciting way to learn to hear God's voice.

One night I had attended a big Christian rally in town and was walking home down an almost deserted Bealey Avenue. As usual, I was chatting away to the Lord, not necessarily out loud, but in my mind.

"Lord," I said, "You've led me into some incredible situations over the last few years, but there's one thing you've never done. You've never said to me, 'Go into that house. There's someone there I want you to talk to.' I've heard you've done that to other people from time to time."

Soon after this conversation with the Lord, I passed a big two-storied house a few doors from home. This place used to be a home for a Catholic Community called 'Maranatha', which is Greek for 'Come soon, Lord Jesus', and latterly had been occupied by a bunch of characters who were into meditation, astral travel and other astonishing New Age activities.

As I passed, the thought came to me that in one of the downstairs rooms that had lights on, there was a nineteen year old fellow with whom I should talk.

I discarded that thought immediately.

The imagination is a strange thing.

It's marvellous how you can imagine something and then think God is talking to you.

Our prisons, mental institutions and hell itself are filled with folk who thought God had told them to do things.

I walked home and on my arrival found the place empty, quite unusual, but made a cup of coffee and flopped into one of our old lounge chairs.

"A nineteen year old fellow in that downstairs room that had the light on. Hmmm... wonder if that was true, never know unless I check it out. Nah, just a stupid thought. Okay, Lord, I'll walk back to the house. If there really is a fellow in that room and you want me to talk to him, arrange for that light to still be on. If it's not You talking, then let the light be off. Amen."

There's a story in the Bible where a chap called Gideon did something like this – asked God for a specific answer by setting out fleeces, and he got it, so I'd thought I'd try it too.

Sure enough, the light was on, so I made my way to the front door and knocked.

The reaction of the man who opened the door was quite curious.

"I can't talk," he spluttered, "I have to go to bed. It's late, I'm sorry."

"Hold on," I said, "could you just tell me if there's a nineteen year old fellow in that bedroom over there?"

He confirmed that there was, and after calling him from his room he went to bed and left the two of us alone in the lounge.

Over the next half hour or so I talked to him about the greatness of my God and related some stories of how He had done wonderful things in my life and the lives of others.

The young man (let's call him Tony) was intrigued by my stories and surprisingly wasn't in any way argumentative. In relating the stories I concentrated on incidents where the Lord moved in a particularly powerful way, rather than examples of His doing quiet personal things, which of course is more often our experience. The reason I homed in on 'power' stories was because I was aware that the people in that house were hooked into demonic powers and were quite used to levitation and other spooky manifestations of Satan's power.

So, as much as I could, I stressed to him that no matter what he had experienced of a supernatural nature, the Lord could do better.

He didn't seem interested in contradicting my stories, and in fact, was quite docile, to the point where I wondered if he was 'on' something.

Well, I told him all the stories I could think of and then summoned up the faith to ask him if he would like me to demonstrate the power of my God by laying hands on him and praying for him.

Yes, he was quite happy about that, so away I went.

In the next minutes or so I prayed the most super charged, fanatical, power-filled, Pentecostal, charismatic, sock-it-to-him prayer I could, desperate that the Lord would answer in a dramatic way. Of course, I needed that dramatic answer, not just for Tony's sake, but so I wouldn't look a total idiot. Imagine how I would feel if God didn't do anything!

While praying, I occasionally opened one eye a little bit to see if his face was showing any signs that he was experiencing anything. Just a twitch of the lips would have encouraged me, but each time I peeked – nothing, absolutely blank!

With each disappointing glance I would crank up my prayer. "Oh God! Lord of all! Creator of the universe! Erupter of volcanoes! God of earthquakes and tidal waves!" Or words to that effect.

Well, eventually I was 'all prayed out' and I said my 'amen' and removed my hands from his head. The faith drained from me and my shoulders sagged as I again contemplated his impassive face. I just stood and watched, deflated, as he slowly opened his eyes.

Eventually I asked, "Well, did you feel anything?"

He looked up at me, his eyes full of wonder and amazement and he answered, "Yes, I felt this amazing peace. I've never felt anything like it."

In half a second I moved from depression to elation.

"That's it!" I exclaimed. "Jesus is the Prince of Peace and the Bible says He gives you a peace that's beyond understanding. He's the one who calms the storms and touches the hearts of little children. That's my Jesus!"

I was absolutely amazed at the way the Lord had answered my prayer. In my opinion Tony needed to experience God's power and I had prayed accordingly, but the Lord had known Tony's real need in a way that I couldn't have.

It dawned on me that these people who get into transcendental meditation are searching for peace, not power. Everyone wants peace, but they won't ever find it unless they meet the Prince of Peace.

Jesus knew this young man's need and met it right there, revealing Himself in this wonderfully personal way.

I often wonder what the Lord really thinks of me. I'm sure when I finally meet Him face to face, His wry smile will say it all.

A few days later I went back to check up on Tony and to see if I could talk to anyone else. This time the lounge was full. They were a good natured lot, but amused themselves for a few minutes playing 'bait the Christian' with me. I'd heard it all before and it didn't bother me but Tony sat there without taking part in their antics.

After a while it was my turn and I turned to Tony and said, "Tony, why don't you tell the boys what happened to you the other night?"

"Well," he said, "this guy talked to me for about half an hour about Jesus and then prayed for me. While he prayed, I felt this amazing peace come over me. I've never felt anything like it."

The silence was deafening.

### CAROL

We had a huge old table at Bealey Avenue that seated eighteen people, and every Wednesday evening it was put to good use when a lady came to take calligraphy classes. I had read in a magazine an account of some people in the States who taught calligraphy to low achieving youths, and as a result saw great positive change in the students.

It seemed that learning the basic pen strokes was not too hard, even for the slowest learners, and, with a minimum of effort, which was all some of them were capable of, they could make encouraging progress and develop a quite nice hand-writing style. Then they would discover they could write better than their parents, teachers, probation officers or whoever, and that would give them a self-esteem boost, possibly the first they had ever experienced.

The Americans then noticed that due to this confidence boost, their other school subjects would show improvement as a spin-off.

We certainly had no shortage of low-achievers at Bealey Avenue, so I recruited a calligraphy teacher and we let it be known that we were holding classes every Wednesday evening.

What an amazingly diverse class we had. Alcoholics, gang members, an accountant, hitch-hikers and housewives – you name it.

One of our students was a girl called Carol who had been a drug addict. She just knocked on our door one night and the boys let her in.

Carol was a real mess at that time and none of us really had any idea of what to do to help her. We let her sleep on the couch, and with a bit of decent food, a regular routine and the acceptance and friendship of the tenants she improved markedly. She did our house work and generally didn't give us any trouble.

A short while after her appearance, I had a frantic phone call from one of the pastoral team at the New Life Centre.

"Neville," he said, "what's this about a girl in your house?"

"That's right," I answered, "she's a druggie that we're looking after for a while. What's the problem?"

"What's the problem!? You can't have a female staying at your house! The Bible says we should avoid all appearance of evil! People might think something is going on. I know this is your personal home and you can do what you like with it, but around town the place is perceived as being a New Life Centre ministry. You just can't have mixed accommodation."

"Well," I said, "what should I do about it?"

His reply was, "She's got to go!"

I explained to him that we had been looking after her and had seen her get herself together, assuring him there had been no 'hanky panky' while accepting his argument that it wasn't really on in a home that had developed with a solely male occupancy.

However, I had a problem about asking her to go. She wasn't really ready to put out into the street and I was unaware of anyone who was open to taking in a fifteen year old druggie street kid.

During the next day I thought about the problem and then phoned the pastor. I wasn't absolutely sure he was right so I asked him to get two other church leaders together with him to meet me. I biked down to the church later that day for the 'summit'. On the way I made up my mind that if they were all in agreement that she should go, I would be happy to go along with it.

The Bible says 'There is wisdom in a multitude of counsellors' so I was confident that if these three godly people were in agreement it would be confirmation that the Lord was speaking to me through them.

Sitting down in Max Palmer's office, I put it to them, "If you three can reach agreement that she should go – she goes."

I expected a lively debate but the answer came straight away, "We already are in agreement."

As I broke that news to Carol I was sad in one way, but had a peace about it as I knew that if God was in it He would have something good lined up for her.

I believe in setting deadlines, so I decided that she would have to move out no later than the following Wednesday.

By Wednesday evening she still had no idea of where she would go and I was fresh out of options too, but we were both confident the Lord would provide an answer.

During the calligraphy class that night I often glanced up at Carol as she practised her lettering and pondered on this interesting situation. At some stage one of the boys asked her what she was going to do, and that sparked a debate, with everyone having a say but with no positive suggestions forthcoming.

Then, a middle aged lady who lived in one of the more affluent suburbs and who was an enthusiastic member of our class asked Carol if she was any good at house-keeping.

"Oh yes," replied Carol, "I look after this place and the boys seem happy."

"Right," said the lady, "you must come home with me tonight. My housekeeper has left and I'm desperate for a replacement. You'll have your own bedroom, and of course, you'll be paid."

As we watched Carol and her new 'caregiver' drive away that night we couldn't help but smile, and I'm sure the Lord was smiling too.

### SAM'S SCAR

Soon after becoming a Christian, I joined the Full Gospel Businessmen's Fellowship International and was elected to the committee of the South Christchurch Chapter.

F.G.B.M.F.I. originated in the United States and was founded by the son of an Armenian immigrant by the name of Demos Shakarian. The aims of the fellowship are quite simple. Members invite non-Christian friends along to a dinner meeting, and after the meal, one of the members will share the story of his conversion to Christianity.

This is a particularly powerful ministry, as there is really nothing as effective as a real salvation testimony.

There were several chapters in Christchurch, and while I lived at Bealey Avenue I was able to assist in the establishing of a new chapter in the suburb of Aranui.

I arrived early for the opening night and found a few men setting up the tables and getting the meal ready. We had put advertising leaflets into hundreds of letterboxes in the area and were expecting a big turnout of locals and supporters from other districts.

As the start time drew near, I walked outside and at the door were a number of young teenagers, just hanging around. Stopping to talk to them, I asked if any of their fathers were coming to the meeting.

No, they had never heard of the meeting and so I told them about the wonderful free meal that was being prepared and suggested that they go home and get their dads to come along.

They thought it was a good idea, so I decided to go with them. For the next half hour or so we visited their homes and talked to the parents.

Two of the boys were brothers and were staying for the weekend with their uncle. He was quite interested in the meeting and indicated that he might come along, but in the meantime OK'd the boys to attend.

So we headed back to the hall, hopeful of seeing him later on. The boys were about fourteen years old and it wasn't usual for ones their age to attend these meetings, but there was no law against it, so I went along with it.

On arriving back at the hall, I found that I had collected a half dozen boys, and as the start of the meeting was still about thirty minutes away, we sat down in the reception area to talk.

As you might expect, I talked about Jesus, then more about Jesus, and finished off by telling them everything I could about Jesus. I explained to them that He had died for each of them and that they could inherit eternal life by acknowledging Him as their Lord and Saviour.

Eventually I led them all in a simple salvation prayer and they asked the Lord to forgive all their sins and come into their hearts.

You can imagine my excitement at this incredible situation – six people saved and the meeting hadn't even started!

The boys were just as excited and I could see that they had really experienced a touch from the Lord.

Then I felt to ask if any of them was sick in any way or had any medical condition, as I was sure that if that was the case, Jesus would demonstrate His presence by healing them.

One boy had some eye or ear condition (I can't remember exactly what it was) so I prayed for him. I'm also unclear as to the result of that prayer but I do recall his joy as he asked me if I could heal his brother also.

I was quick to explain that Jesus was the healer and I was simply the one who asked Him to do it, and then enquired as to his brother's condition.

Immediately the brother (let's call him Sam) rolled up his sleeve, revealing a horrible scar that extended from his wrist to the upper arm. He had been badly burned when he was four.

Suddenly my faith did a nosedive, and for some reason, maybe the Lord inspired the question, I asked Sam if he thought Jesus could heal him.

"I know He's going to heal me," replied the boy, with an air of absolute certainty.

This really amazed me, and I suppose I have never in my Christian life witnessed a situation where someone was so absolutely sure they would be healed. If it was a case of a headache or bad back or something like that it wouldn't have been so surprising, but to believe for the Lord to actually remove a scar was to me an incredible demonstration of faith in God.

Well, there was no turning back and I had no choice but to agree with Sam and believe for a miracle.

I had another talk to the boys about the fact that Jesus was the healer, not me, and then suggested that they all pray for Sam, as they had, since they were now Christians, as much right as myself to talk to God.

Sam held out his arm and each of the boys put their hands on part of the scar until no part was visible. "OK boys - you pray," I said, and waited to hear the first prayers they had ever prayed.

Silence ...

I suppose they were overwhelmed by the situation and none of them said a word. Eventually I decided I would have to help them, so I prayed. It was the most unusual prayer - almost as if I was presenting a legal argument to God.

This was my petition: "Lord, your Word says 'Remove from your heart all doubt, as a doubter is guaranteed nothing.'"

Now remember I was a relatively new Christian and my knowledge of Bible scriptures was minimal, but as I spoke these words I assumed I was quoting a scripture that I somehow must have committed to memory. In fact, I know now that the Lord actually inspired me to say these words. They're not in the Bible at all, although in the book of James this principle is stated in slightly different words.

My prayer continued: "Now Lord, you heard Sam say that he knows you are going to heal him. If a doubter is guaranteed nothing, then a person who doesn't doubt must be guaranteed a healing. So Lord, a guarantee is a guarantee, and on that basis I believe you to honour your Word and completely remove the scar from Sam's arm. Amen."

Slowly the boys removed their hands from Sam's arm, and there it was, exactly the same, a horrible red and purple mass of lumpy scar tissue.

Well, what can you say? I had no answers, but was quite relieved that the boys didn't seem to be demanding any either.

One of them exclaimed, "Hey, the meeting's under way. Can we go in?"

"Why not," I answered and we all trouped into the main hall.

We had been outside for the entire evening, and as we walked through the door all the men were gathered in small groups, praying for each other.

I was delighted to see Sam's uncle standing over by a table watching the activities. He was obviously mystified by what was happening which was not surprising I suppose. I doubt that he had ever been in a meeting like that before.

"Hey, Neville," exclaimed one of the boys, "can we pray with them too?"

I looked at Sam's uncle, and, not wanting to unsettle him any further quietly suggested that the boys didn't join in but just sit down and wait a minute. Then I wandered over to talk to the nervous visitor. As I approached him, something snapped and it seemed he couldn't cope with having me talk to him. In a flash he dived under the table and ran out the door. That was the last I ever saw of him.

By this time the prayer groups had broken up and the boys again approached me and asked if they could get up on the stage and tell the men what had happened to them.

I checked with the committee men and they were happy about it, so the boys stole the show with their wonderful testimonies of how the Lord Jesus Christ who the Bible says is the same yesterday, today and forever had touched their lives and filled them with His joy.

After supper I walked the new converts home and on the way Sam said, "Hey, that's strange. Look, I can straighten my arm!"

He explained that he had never been able to straighten it since the accident, as the scar tissue was so tight. To this day I don't know why I didn't ask him to roll up his sleeve and show us his arm. I just said, "Well, Sam, the Lord may be answering our prayer. Sometimes He does instant miracles, but often His healings happen over a period of time."

I dropped each of the boys home and I don't think I have seen any of them since that night.

The next day I received an excited phone call from a young Dutch boy from our church who attended Aranui High School and knew Sam.

Apparently Sam was showing his arm off to all the students in the school and starting from the top and bottom the scar on his arm was gradually being replaced by absolutely new skin. Each day the boy phoned me with a progress report, and the last I heard there was only a couple of inches of scar left at Sam's elbow.

There was a Christian group at the school and the membership multiplied greatly as Sam used his arm to testify to the reality of that wonderful God who still heals today.

### LYNDON'S SCAR

A few weeks after Sam's miracle, I was summoned to be a camp leader at Living Springs.

I was allotted a group of nine year olds and set off for the cabin to settle them in. As the boys chose their bunks and unpacked their sleeping bags I noticed one of them had a prominent scar over a large part of his neck. His name was Lyndon, and my mind immediately turned to Sam, and I wondered whether Lyndon was about to have his own 'scar miracle'.

Most of the boys gave their hearts to the Lord on the first day or two of the camp, and on the first evening I told them Sam's story.

We then discussed the possibility that the Lord might do the same for Lyndon, and so from that time on, every time we met together the boys would pray for him.

After praying they would closely inspect the scar, looking for possible change.

Some boys would swear there was and others would say there wasn't, and so it went on for the next few days.

At the end of the week they all piled on to the bus and went home, and Lyndon's neck at that time was unchanged. Of course we were all a bit disappointed, but we had done all we could.

It's the Lord's business to answer prayers and it wasn't for us to question His answers, or seeming lack of them.

Wherever possible we tried to keep in touch with the children after camp and so a couple of weeks later I phoned to see how Lyndon was getting on. As far as I can remember Lyndon gave his heart to the Lord at camp but his parents weren't necessarily Christians, so I had to somehow broach the subject of the scar.

His mother answered the phone and I introduced myself and asked how Lyndon was getting on.

"On fine," she said, "he just loved camp."

Well, I had to get to the point, so I mentioned about the boy at the FGBMFI dinner and in case Lyndon hadn't told her about our prayer for him, filled her in on the fact that we had also prayed for his scar to disappear.

"So that's it!" she exclaimed. "That explains it!"

You can imagine my excitement as I asked her if Lyndon's scar was gone too.

"Oh no," she said, "it's just the same, but what you may not know is that the scar also covered his chest and had never really healed. It always had patches that were open sores and when Lyndon was upset or anxious he would pick at them, which made them worse. I was aware that as he was nine he really needed to be able to go to camp, but I was concerned that he was really close to me, and in fact had never been away from me since he was burnt, and I was sure he would come home with a really messy chest.

"When I inspected his burns I found that his chest was completely healed, and although the scar tissue was still there, the scabs had gone. That must have been an answer to the children's prayers!"

I've learned not to get screwed up when prayers don't seem to be answered. I believe our prayers are in fact always answered but often in ways we couldn't anticipate, as there is only One who has the whole picture!

### "I ONLY CAME DOWN FOR SOME SMOKES!"

I can't remember much about "Bee" (that was the name he went by) except that he was part Maori and about seventeen.

Bee gave his heart to the Lord outside the Doghouse one night and the change in the young fellow was dramatic.

There's something special about a person who is 'freshly' saved. Often that's a time when other people can see the new joy in their faces as they realise that their sins really are forgiven and they have been set free.

With perfect timing, a minute or so after I had prayed with Bee, one of his friends wandered up to us and Bee started to relate to him what had happened. The boy's name was Chris, and he was intrigued by Bee's story and clearly taken aback by the change in him. In a few minutes, after explaining to him his need to be saved, Chris also made a commitment to Christ. I'll never forget the way Chris was almost beside himself with excitement.

"I only came down here to get some smokes," he exclaimed, "but this is better than any smoke."

By then of course, I was getting quite excited myself and started wondering if some sort of chain-reaction could eventuate. With that in mind I did a very strange thing, which as it turned out had to be the leading of the Lord.

I left Bee and Chris and strode over to the packed Doghouse. Stopping at the door, I stared at the crowd as I had done many times before, believing the Lord to pinpoint the person I was to talk to.

A few yards into the room there was a boy with his back to me, and I just knew that he was the one. Pushing through the crowd I caught hold of his jacket collar and hauled him out on to the street and across the footpath to where Bee and Chris were standing. Up to this time I hadn't said a word to him, and it's anybody's guess what he must have thought.

Without feeling the need to explain myself to the newcomer, I caught hold of Chris' arm and led them both over to the wall beside the Doghouse entrance.

"OK," I said to the mystified fellow, "this guy has something he wants to tell you. Listen to him because you need to hear it."

Then I went back to talk to Bee.

A few minutes later Chris came back with the beaming third boy, whose name was Paul, and gleefully announced that Paul wanted to be a Christian too!

The three of us prayed with Paul, and unlike the other boys, Paul's reaction to what happened to him was much more 'low key', but although he was pretty quiet there was no doubt in my mind as to the sincerity of his decision.

"Have you got anything physically wrong with you, Paul?" I asked. "You know, now is a great time to ask the Lord to heal you if you have some need."

"Only one thing," replied the boy, "I've got a problem with my eyes that the doctor can't fix."

He held his hand up to his face just alongside his left eye and said that to read he had to hold the book up that close and around to the left.

That night there were a number of Christians in the vicinity including a group of young people from the New Life Centre, led by a very enthusiastic youth worker by the name of Ross Shannon. At this point I looked up and Ross was looking over at me, so I called him to come over.

We then prayed for Paul's eyes, believing that the Lord would instantly heal him. God has promised that "Signs and wonders will follow the preaching of the Word" and we certainly had preached the Word that night.

When we had finished praying, I handed my Bible case to Paul and asked him to read the words on a sticker that I had put on it. The New Life Centre had a base in Amsterdam at that time and the wording around the circular design on the sticker was "Pray now for Amsterdam".

Paul held the case out in front of him at arm's length and without hesitation read, "Pray now for Amsterdam."

His eyes were completely healed.

I didn't ever see Bee and Chris again but I was destined to meet Paul once more in one of the most amazing encounters imaginable.

### A STRANGE ENCOUNTER

In those days I was fervently believing for a bigger house where we could really accommodate a large number of people, so I was quite intrigued when I met Henry.

Henry was about seventy I suppose and was from Hungary. He owned a huge old mansion on Papanui Road, and often I would drop in on him and chat about what the Lord was doing in my life.

Secretly, I imagined that one day he might let us have the place or one other that he had nearby. The other house was inhabited by a bunch of Buddhists, and my contact with them was another story!

One day I decided to drop in on Henry, and started the long walk from Bealey Avenue to his place. I had made the trip many times before and couldn't miss the corner property with the huge brick wall. Against all logic, that day I walked straight past and on up the road. Eventually I started to realise what had happened and wondered how I could have missed it.

I stopped and looked back to see if I could see the wall and big castle-like house.

I turned again and looked back in the direction I had been walking and up ahead was a woman who had been walking a little distance in front of me for the last fifteen minutes or so.

It occurred to me that maybe the Lord had closed my eyes to the wall and that possibly the woman had something to do with it.

Quickly I recommenced my walk and gradually gained on the lady.

When I was about ten yards from her, she suddenly stopped, turned around and walked back towards me. As she passed I noticed her face was tense and she was almost in tears. At this point I knew the Lord had led me to her so I turned and followed her.

Eventually I drew alongside her and said, "Hello."

She seemed surprised at my greeting but I just chatted away and she seemed to realise I didn't constitute a threat.

After we had talked about nothing of consequence for a few minutes, I told her that I was a Christian and related how I believed the Lord had shut my eyes to Henry's home as He wanted me to meet her. I intimated that I had noticed the pain on her face and asked whether there was anything I could do to help.

She was adamant that there was no problem but as we talked I became certain that something was drastically wrong. We walked on and I started to tell her of the wonderful things that God had done in my life.

Every now and again I would ask again if there was anything she wanted to tell me, but each time she would avoid the issue, denying that she had any problems.

She seemed really intrigued by my stories though, and accepted everything I said as being true even though she only had my word for it.

Then I decided to tell her about Paul and how the Lord had healed his eyes outside the Doghouse. For some reason this story was beyond belief for her, and it was as if I had been lying to her all along and that suddenly she had woken to the realisation of it.

"I don't believe that," she said, "that's not true! That couldn't have happened! It's impossible!"

I was taken aback for a couple of seconds, wondering how to handle this turn of events when I noticed a young man sitting on a low concrete fence just in front of us. As we approached him he seemed strangely familiar and as I slowed down, I was amazed to see it was Paul!

"Hi, Paul," I said, "would you tell this lady what happened to you outside the Doghouse?"

Without hesitation and to the absolute amazement of the lady, Paul related exactly the events of that night, about six months before, confirming everything I had told her. This was the first time I had seen Paul since his healing.

I think this must have had a major impact on the lady and as we walked on I sensed that the Lord had softened her heart enough for me to ask once more if there was anything she might like to tell me.

At this point we arrived at Henry's place, and looking at the huge brick wall I realised that without the Lord shutting my eyes to it, there's no way I would have missed it. We stopped outside the double iron gates and it was clear that this was the last opportunity to draw her out regarding her circumstances.

"OK," I said, "I'm going in to see Henry, and I'll probably never see you again. Are you sure you wouldn't like to tell me what's wrong? I'm sure God led me to you, and loves you and wants to help."

She gazed at me in silence for a few seconds, her eyes filled with pain and tears.

Then she told me her story.

As she talked we continued to walk slowly on back towards the city. All thought of seeing Henry was gone. It was obviously not part of God's plan that day.

The lady - let's call her Janet - was married to a publican in a small town outside Christchurch. The previous evening her husband arrived home with a young woman and told Janet that she was now "surplus to his needs" and suggested she get out.

Devastated, she left their hotel and caught a bus to Christchurch. In her desperate flight she didn't even pack a bag.

I'm not sure where she spent the previous night, but when I saw her she was simply walking the streets, without any idea of what to do.

By this stage I was in tears but through it all the Lord laid on my heart what to do for her.

I knew it was really beyond me to help and I realised that what she needed was a married couple to take her in and look after her.

Then I thought of the Van Dykes. Peter and Leonie Van Dyke lived just off Papanui Road, only a short distance from where we were, and it would have been impossible to think of two people who would have been more 'right' for Janet at that time.

They were home, of course, God takes care of the details, so we stopped and had a cup of coffee with them and then I excused myself and walked home.

### MOVING ON

Before I became a Christian I was a commercial artist and some of the art-work I produced was quite detailed and required a steady hand. Soon after giving my life to the Lord I was mystified to notice I had lost this ability, and was greatly frustrated by the drop in standard of my work.

Deep down I felt that the Lord was closing a door for me but I had always earned my way in life and tried to carry on and do my best. I knew the Lord could provide all of our needs at Bealey Avenue but some of my more mature Christian friends advised me to continue the business as a way of subsidising the home.

At one time I operated from the front lounge of the home but this was hopeless as trying to concentrate on the advertising work was incompatible with the minute by minute demands of looking after the type of people at Bealey Avenue.

At one time I rented an office a few yards down the road, and this was better for business but resulted in my neglecting to a degree the home situation, so I packed it in and moved back to the lounge.

In retrospect I believe the Lord wanted me to abandon my old trade and just trust in Him, but at that time I simply didn't have the faith to make that step. In the back of my mind I was always conscious of the fact that I could at some time get an idea for a new product design and that the Lord could provide by that means.

Eventually I did get a 'good idea' and pursued it, believing that it was the Lord's inspiration. I still question whether it was or not, and it would take a whole book to relate the story, but suffice to say it was a disaster and as a result of that enterprise I lost absolutely everything and had to sell the house.

Looking back I lean towards the opinion that the Lord allowed it to happen to free me into the things that He had ahead for me. As you read the rest of this book you may tend to agree.

It was a devastating time for me as I had to wind up the home and move everyone on. I had no idea what I would do, but thought that as I had gained some skills in handling alcoholics, street kids and other such folk I could offer my services to the Anglican City Mission. Maybe they would give me a free bed and food in return for helping out at the mission.

Just before I was due to move out, a friend of mine, Colleen Paisley, asked what I was going to do when I left the home. I told her of my City Mission idea and she exploded.

"You're not going to live at any City Mission, Logan! You can come and live with us. I'll get Phil to come down and pick up your gear."

That night I was tucked up in bed at the Pasleys in the suburb of Spreydon, about three miles from the city. From there I carried on with the occasional camp at Living Springs and continued my involvement with Church activities and the children I had led to the Lord over the previous couple of years.

I had accumulated a group of boys and we formed a Christian club that met weekly at the Living Springs city office in High Street. The Springs management had kindly made a room available to me and that was my city base for a few months.

On Friday nights my boys' club operated from the office, with about a dozen 10 to 12 year olds regularly attending. The boys loved to pray and sing Jesus songs, and I would keep them entertained with miracle stories.

I remember one of the boys by the name of Justin Leck had a dislocated thumb and somehow hadn't been able to get it fixed. He was the fullback in his rugby team and desperately wanted to play the next day, so the boys prayed for his thumb. He went out on the field with no apparent improvement in the condition, and early in the game he had to field an 'up and under' - a high catch that had to be taken with eight opposing forwards bearing down on him. With one eye on the descending ball and the other on the rampaging opposition forwards he steeled himself for the inevitable crunch.

Whether he caught the ball or not I don't know but long after the details of the game had faded from his memory he was able to relate his 'miracle' story of how the ball hit him squarely on the end of his thumb and put it into place.

Justin was full of faith, and later in this chapter I'll tell you about one of his most famous 'faith prayers'.

After the Friday night meetings I would put the boys on buses home and head down to a healing meeting at the Horticultural Hall in Cambridge Terrace. This meeting had been started by Trevor Scott, and later handed over to an evangelist by the name of Greg Craw. I was secretary of the ministry and my job was to collect the offering for banking on Monday.

One Saturday night I was back at my office and was finding it impossible to work due to an unearthly racket coming from a building across the street. I tried to ignore it but couldn't and finally decided to go over and see what it was all about.

At the weekends the City Council would allow rock bands to use inner city premises for

practice sessions, the theory being that the central city would be empty of normal citizens and the activities would be an annoyance to a minimum number of people.

I ventured across the road and through the double doors of the old building. A stair case directly in front of me led up into the blackness of the interior, and down the stairs came the most diabolical racket I had ever heard. Up to the first landing, then around to the right and up another flight of stairs, I cautiously made my way, and as I proceeded the sound became almost unbearable.

At the top of the second stairs was a door and through that a narrow corridor leading to what was obviously the source of the noise. I opened the door to discover the source of the cacophony – five or six rock musicians in a music frenzy extracting every decibel possible from their various instruments.

I shut the door behind me and leaned back against the wall. The sound was so intense that my knees were shaking uncontrollably. The musicians took no notice of me and just carried on. A minute or so later the door opened and a young Maori boy came in holding his jaw. He was obviously in pain. I assumed it was toothache.

"Oh well," I thought, "I might as well see if he would like me to pray for him." Sitting down beside him I screamed into his ear, "Would you like me to pray for your tooth?"

He indicated that it was OK by him so away I went. It was a weird sort of prayer. I screamed it into his ear – not that screaming was necessary as I was talking to God not him, but I thought it would be good if he knew what I was saying.

Suddenly, after a minute or so, and at the precise time I said "Amen", the band stopped playing, unplugged their guitars and left the building, accompanied by my 'prayee'. They never spoke a word to me and never ever returned to the building. Maybe I had given some demons their marching orders with my unusual prayer.

On the way out I noticed a massage parlour on the first floor and that the general atmosphere and appearance of the building was really evil. There was dark coloured paint everywhere, and it must have been one of the most unsightly buildings in the city.

As I left my mind went back to a thought I had entertained when I was first saved about the need for a Christian Centre in the city, where people could come, regardless of their church affiliation - a sort of 'family' place. This particular building wouldn't qualify, of course, as it was far too run down.

God would never lead us to a building like that, would He?

Nevertheless, the thought persisted for a few days and finally I decided to go and see the Deputy Mayor, a man by the name of Harold Smith. As a boy I used to call him Uncle Harold, although I'm not sure if we were actually related. He seemed somehow connected with my mother's family.

I shared with Harold my desire to establish a Christian Centre and asked whether he was aware of any available buildings.

"Oh yes," he said, "I know of one in High Street."

Harold was a solicitor, and he handled the rentals for the owner. It was arranged for me to meet the caretaker, a man called 'Montgomery' at midday the next day for a guided tour of the building. Amazingly it turned out to be the one I had visited the previous Saturday night.

The place was situated right opposite the New Life Centre (my church) and I stood and waited across the street, watching for someone who looked like a caretaker.

"Hi, Nev! What are you waiting for?" One of my pastors and Barry Botherway (the accountant from an earlier chapter) were walking by on their way to church and they paused to see what I was up to.

"Oh, I'm just waiting for a fellow that is going to show me over that building. Hey, that looks like him now!"

Across the street a rather scruffy looking individual with a hook where his hand used to be was busy unlocking the door.

"Oh no!" exclaimed my pastor, "That's Montgomery!"

This particular pastor was well acquainted with the local underworld and apparently Montgomery was a fellow with a dubious pedigree.

"He's really dangerous. Don't have anything to do with him!"

"Oh come on," I said, "he's just the caretaker. I can't come to much harm. He's only showing me over the building."

My friends were no doubt shooting up prayers for me as I crossed the street.

Monty, as he was known, led me up the first stairs and then stopped to unlock the door on the left. I was intrigued to say the least when, before pushing the door open, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a 'Jesus is Lord' sticker and slapped it on the wall.

"What's all this about?" I asked, pointing to the sticker.

"Oh, I've just come back from the West Coast," he said. "I went to a Larry Allen meeting over there and gave my heart to the Lord."

"That's great," I said, "I'm a Christian too and I'm looking for a building to use as a Christian centre."

"Great," replied Monty enthusiastically. "The first thing we'll do is chuck all of these other tenants out and we'll move the Christians in!"

Monty was a real character. His gravelly voice and rough manner would have been intimidating no doubt before he was saved, but everyone loved him and he was always showing up at church and other Christian meetings.

I was still unconvinced that this particular building would be right for our Christian centre however, and just kept the possibility in the back of my mind for a while.

At that time I had a major problem to deal with. We had been getting complaints from the owner of the Chinese restaurant below my office regarding the singing and enthusiastic praying of the boys on Friday nights. We imagined dust from the ceiling falling into his chop suey and had come to the conclusion that to be good Christians we should consider his feelings and find other premises for the club.

The next Friday I shared the situation with the boys. We decided to pray about it. I'll never forget Justin's prayer: "Dear Lord, please give us a new building - one that is big enough, and is far enough away from other people not to be a nuisance to them, and please make it free as we don't have any money for rent. Amen."

I looked at Justin and thought, Oh dear, what if God doesn't answer his prayers? How on earth will I explain it to him? I hope it doesn't affect his faith.

He was a faith-filled little fellow though and I had a funny feeling that he wouldn't be disappointed.

Another problem I had was a financial one and related to the healing meetings.

Our entire collection each week was used to pay for the rent of the Horticultural Hall, and this of course was a source of frustration.

We had been looking for another venue and had hoped to get something that could possibly be a permanent home for the ministry. This seemed a little like an impossible dream too, as the rent for permanent premises would have to be no more than the one-night rent of the Horticultural Hall.

The night of Justin's prayer I put the boys on their buses home and made my way to the healing meeting to pick up the collection. As I walked in the door a very excited Greg Craw rushed up to me and gleefully announced that someone at the meeting had a building that might suit us.

The gravelly voice of Monty rasped out across the room. "Hi, Nev! What's wrong with 225 High Street?"

After the meeting we loaded all the 'regulars' into the available cars and headed for High Street. Monty, I'm sure, felt very important indeed as he led the procession to the double doors and ceremonially unlocked and let us in.

We all made our way to the top floor where there was a large hall and stage, and proceeded to have a celebratory prayer meeting that must have rivalled the volume of the rock band.

I wonder what the woman in the massage parlour on the first floor must have thought!

The main hall became the permanent home of Greg's ministry and the rent of the whole top floor was covered by Friday's collection.

The other smaller hall on the same floor was the place of my encounter with the rock band, and this became the home of the boy's club.

Justin's prayer had been answered.

We needed a full-time caretaker, so I moved in, chose a place for my mattress and sleeping bag and settled in to what was to become probably the most exciting six years of my life.

### 225 Hi!

When I moved into 225A High Street we had the whole second floor, but all of us felt that in time we would take over the top two floors if not the shops on the street level.

At the time the first floor was occupied by some very colourful characters, none of whom were exactly delighted by our tenancy of the floor above them.

The massage parlour on the first floor was, I suppose, one of the sleaziest places in the city. There was a hole in the door through which the 'masseuse' was able to see who was visiting her, and there always seemed to be a variety of shady characters coming and going. Occasionally as we came or went we would pass her on the stairs and I just got the impression that we were not her favourite people.

The main part of the first floor was occupied by a group who ran a drop-in centre for street kids and other troubled types. They presented themselves as a Christian ministry but they were very cool towards us, and weren't interested in relating to us in other than a very superficial way.

Nevertheless we tried to relate to them as best we could, always bearing in mind the fact that we felt the Lord would give us the whole building in His time.

These people had made a name for themselves as they were evicted from one building after another, and each time, were in the habit of going to the newspapers to protest the fact that they were the innocent victims of the capitalistic ruling landlord class.

At the time we moved into the place they were having a slugging match with their former landlords, and the Christchurch Star newspaper was championing them as the innocent parties in the dispute.

Not surprisingly, our own landlord, Harold Smith, was also getting impatient with them as he noticed what he felt were confirmations that they were 'less than ideal tenants'.

One day Harold visited me and asked my opinion of them. He couldn't reconcile the fact that they claimed to be Christian with their behaviour. I wasn't about to speak against them and just left Harold to work it out for himself.

Eventually he made a decision to join the ranks of the 'capitalist dogs' and move them on.

Predictably the Christchurch Star had a field day with the story and Harold was in the hot seat. After a few days he tired a little of being painted as the villain of the piece and with all the self control, wisdom and cunning he had developed over many years in his law business, the wily old fox made his move.

All it took was a phone call to George Burns, the editor of the Star.

"I say, George, about these people that have been occupying my building. As you are aware, I've made my decision to evict them and I know of your concern for their situation. I've noticed that your paper has been drawing attention to their plight and their need for some kind soul to give them a nice home. Well, George, I've just been thinking about the floor in your building that has become vacant since your typesetting department was computerised. Now, George, that would make a lovely home for them. What do you think?"

Strangely, the Star campaign ceased forthwith and whatever happened to our friends I'll probably never know, but suddenly a large part of the first floor became vacant, and Harold was happy for us to move in.

There was still the problem of the massage parlour though.

Some parents were concerned that their children who attended the kids' club on the second floor on Friday nights had to pass by the first floor, and it didn't seem to them desirable that the children were exposed to a massage parlour environment. I questioned the situation too, but couldn't quite see an answer, except the Lord move the massage parlour people on as He had done with the others.

One day during a church service, my mind wandered during the notices to the woman in the massage parlour and her two little children whom I'd encountered on several occasions sitting on the stairs waiting for their mother to finish her 'business.' It seemed so wrong that we should all be happy in church, while they were living such hopeless lives.

I whispered to the person sitting next to me, "I'm going to pop in at the massage parlour."

I knew he'd understand as I'd mentioned to him my concern for the children and their mother.

I thought I'd left quietly, but later was informed that the pastor had asked where I'd gone.

My friend had replied, "Oh, he's gone to see the prostitute at the massage parlour."

When I arrived, I'd knocked on the door and the woman had reluctantly asked me in. She offered me a cup of tea. As I was drinking it, she said angrily, "I know you Christians! You just want to kick me out, don't you?"

I replied, "You're a sinner, aren't you?"

"You know I am!"

"Well, if Jesus loved sinners and came to save them, why would I want to do that?"

"I suppose you're right," she mumbled.

"Tell me, can you bake scones?"

All the time I was there, she'd sat with her back to me and wouldn't look at me.

Suddenly, she whirled round, looked at me and said, "Yes, I bake very good scones!"

"Well, we need a mum for our club, would you like to do that and bake scones for them?"

"I'd love to!"

She never did bake scones for the boys as within a short time she moved out. I later learned that she'd decided to give up her 'job' and she and her children had joined a church and her life was totally turned around.

The massage parlour became our chapel, and the big room became our drop-in centre. We jokingly called it the 'Riff Raff Room'.

On the first floor was another big room which also became free and we took that over too, and made it available to 'Prison Fellowship' for use as their national office. This room adjoined a smaller room which became our reception area, with a glass window that opened at the top of the entrance stairs. Prison Fellowship staff were happy to man the reception window, so we were up and running.

The Lord had, in a few weeks, given us the top two floors.

### THE AUDITION

One of the series of cartooning programmes I did for TVNZ was recorded during the 225 Hi! years.

I would sit in the studio on a high stool, with the audience of children on the floor around me, and I would do my cartooning on a vertical board beside me. Eventually I got tired of this format and had a brain wave to do a different type of programme.

I reasoned that at any given time there must be hundreds of children in town with plastered arms and legs, and I had a vision of a studio full of them. Then instead of using the vertical board, I would draw on their plasters!

After inserting a small advertisement in the local paper I waited for the invasion of plastered kids. The arrangement was that they were to make their way to 225 Hi! on a specific Saturday morning.

Only one turned up. A girl with a broken arm, accompanied by her mum.

I made them a drink and proceeded to tell them about my plans for the new type of programme. All the time, of course, I was aware that I should be prepared to share with them about the Lord, but somehow, in the conversation there didn't seem an appropriate opening. They were of course aware that 225 Hi! was a Christian Centre.

It was abundantly clear from the wall decorations!

Hopefully I displayed some Christian attributes too! After we had been talking for a few minutes there was a loud scream from the office. I hurriedly excused myself and ran through to see what was happening.

Before I tell you what had taken place I'll need to give you a profile of the people present in the office.

First there was Tommy. He had been the leader of a Maori gang in the North Island and was a huge fellow, about 6 feet 2 inches tall and weighing at least 18 stone. Tommy had come to the Lord, and God had utterly transformed him. He was a real gentle giant and was a regular visitor to 225 Hi! where he was a good example to the young street kids.

Then there was Debbie, a Pacific Islander, who was a real 'big sister' to many of our young people. She had been a heroin addict and Tommy had led her to the Lord in the City Mission caravan in Cathedral Square. After Tommy had prayed with her in the caravan he stayed with her until she had gone through 'cold-turkey' and got free with the Lord's help, from her drug habit.

During the traumatic hours of her heroin withdrawal Tommy held her down, even sitting on her at times to stop her running away. When she needed to go to the toilet he would pick her up in his arms and carry her to the (men's) toilet under the square and then bring her back to the caravan.

As she asked the Lord into her life she felt she needed to make a specific commitment to God: "Lord Jesus, if you get me off this stuff, I promise I'll never inject another needle into my body as long as I live."

The Lord heard that prayer, and although she sometimes struggled with her faith, Debbie steadfastly resisted taking drugs from that time on.

The other key person present was Murray. He worked for the Anglican City Mission and was actually in charge of the caravan in the square. Later on Murray and Debbie were married and I was privileged to be the groomsman at their wedding.

There were others present in the office that day, including Wendy, one of our helpers, and some others I can't recall.

Anyway, back to the reason for the scream.

Debbie had lived rough for most of her life and had, I believe spent time in prison for assault. She bore the marks of her lifestyle and apparently had a scar across her stomach from a knife fight. She also had a smaller scar on her wrist. Her nose had been badly broken and after becoming a Christian she had a desire to get it straightened. Murray took her to the doctor and as part of his examination he did a series of blood tests.

Debbie was horrified when the doctor, on analysing the blood samples, diagnosed that she was a diabetic. His verdict was that she would need insulin injections and he was amazed when Debbie adamantly refused to accept this treatment.

The doctor stressed that it was a matter of life and death and that to refuse insulin injections would eventually prove fatal. Debbie was adamant, and told the doctor of her promise to the Lord never to take another needle. She made it quite clear that she wouldn't go back on her promise to God, even if it cost her life.

The doctor apparently got quite angry, but to no avail. Debbie had made up her mind.

In the few weeks after the visit to the doctor Debbie and Murray sought other advice as to the wisdom or otherwise of Debbie's stand.

Murray's counsel to her was that she should take the doctor's advice as he didn't believe that taking the treatment would constitute a lack of faith on her part. He also felt that Debbie's commitment to the Lord regarding the taking of drugs was meant as a vow never to take illegal drugs by injection and that insulin was not in that category.

They also approached her pastor, and he agreed with Murray's advice as did I.

Debbie accepted this and it was decided that Murray would give her the first injection at 225 Hi! that Saturday morning.

This is what happened.

Debbie was sitting on the couch with a rug around her shoulders. They decided to pray before Murray gave her the injection and this was Debbie's prayer; "Lord, you heard my promise to you that if you got me off heroin I wouldn't ever inject myself again. Father, I accept that you have spoken through Murray, Neville and my pastor and I know it's OK to take this insulin. Lord, I'm prepared to do this, but I'm going to ask you one thing. Please, if I do this would you remove the marks from my arms?"

Tommy was the only one to have ever seen Debbie's arms. She always wore long sleeves as she was so conscious of the horrible marks on her arms from where the heroin injections had become infected. Her arms were a mass of old scars and fresh sores, which were patched over with elastoplast strips.

As she said 'Amen' to her prayer she thrust her arm out from under the blanket and pulled the sleeve up revealing a cluster of plasters.

"OK," she said to Murray, "do it!"

Murray gave her the injection and that is when she started to scream.

"Take them off! Take them off!"

Her eyes were tightly closed as Murray peeled the strips off, one by one. When he had finished she screamed again. "Are they gone?"

"Are what gone?" replied a baffled Murray.

Debbie's eyes shot open and she stared incredulously at her arm. Not a mark! Her arm was absolutely clear, except for the small scar on her wrist from the knife fight.

That's when the screams really started, and in a few seconds I arrived to see what on earth was happening.

After hearing a garbled account from those present as to just what had transpired I ran back to the Riff Raff Room to fetch the lady and her daughter.

"Come with me!" I exclaimed. "You've got to see this!" and I led them through to the office where Debbie, Murray and Tommy related the story again with tears and whoops of joy.

I wonder if the lady and daughter will ever forget that unusual audition.

As it happened the programme was never recorded in the way that I had envisioned it, but that didn't really matter, as in the light of what the Lord did that day, TV programmes didn't seem of any great consequence.

### DIVINE DENTISTRY

Johnny was a great little fellow. He was about nine years old when I met him at the New Life Centre Sunday School where I was helping out.

As a relatively new Christian I was amazed at Johnny's knowledge of the Bible and his close relationship with the Lord. I would sit enthralled as he would tell me about this wonderful God of his.

"Hey, Nev, do you know the difference between a rat's foot and a mouse's foot?"

After I had confessed my ignorance he explained the difference and enlightened me as to why God had created them differently. I can't say I remember what the difference was or why, but I do remember Johnny.

So do a lot of other people!

My pastor Peter Morrow came to me one day and complained that one of my 'disciples' had caused him untold embarrassment at the Church picnic.

Apparently a church member had a husband who wasn't a Christian and the man had steadfastly refused to attend any church meetings with his wife. The lady and many others of course had prayed constantly for him that there would be an opportunity for him to come along and hear the Word of God, so she was overjoyed when he reluctantly agreed to accompany her to the picnic. His only stipulation was that he didn't want anyone preaching at him and threatened to go home if anyone talked to him about God.

His wife informed Pastor Peter about the situation and he came up with a sure way to ensure that the man didn't get hassled. It was decided that the couple would go to the picnic with the Morrows who would personally see to it that he was shielded from anyone who was over zealous about sharing the Lord with people.

The day of the picnic arrived and, at the venue, they spread out the blanket, unpacked the picnic baskets and prepared for a lovely day.

Of course everyone had prayed that the man would get to know the Lord, but today it was just to be 'friendship evangelism' – just let him see that we're 'normal' people.

Enter Johnny who sat down on the rug and focused his entire attention on the poor chap, and for the next few minutes he got 'both barrels'.

I could tell by the look on Peter's face as he related the story of my wayward 'disciple' that he was actually delighted with what had happened.

This great little fellow became a good friend of mine. He was part Maori. His mother, with whom he lived, was European. I didn't ever ask him about his father who was conspicuous by his absence from the boy's life, so it was a special occasion when he excitedly informed me that his dad was back in town. I was thrilled to hear the news of course and asked what his dad's name was.

"Muru," was Johnny's reply.

My mind flashed back to a Maori friend I'd known many years before whose name also was Muru, so I asked what his surname was.

"Smith," Johnny answered.

"Muru Smith!" I exclaimed. "Is your father Muru Smith, the leader of the Christchurch Mongrel Mob?" I didn't really need to hear Johnny's confirmation. It had to be my old friend, Muru.

Years before I became a Christian, I had published a magazine called the Garden City Grunt, and in it we featured an article about Muru and the boys. As a result of the extensive contact I had with the gang while putting together the story, a close friendship with Muru had developed. Later he drifted out of my life and I suppose it was fifteen years since I had seen him.

Johnny was really excited about seeing his dad again. "He's a Christian now, Nev, and he's got his own Christian band."

I was starting to get excited myself – Muru a Christian! It was almost more than I could take in.

"You must get him to come up to 225 Hi! and see me as soon as possible."

A few days after this, I was shaving in the kitchen at 225 Hi! when I noticed one of my front teeth was discoloured. It was going a horrible brown colour. I was alone in the building at the time and can remember chatting out loud to the Lord as I shaved. "Oh Lord, look at that old tooth. I must be getting old. What I need is to get it neatly cut off at the top and get a false tooth to replace it."

I was aware that dentists could do that sort of thing but was also aware of the cost, so I put it out of my mind and finished shaving.

That night I was in the chapel with a group of the young people and in walked Muru. As you can imagine, I was overjoyed to see my old friend, but the joy of our reunion soon faded as he started to speak. His language was pretty disgusting and I wasn't very happy about the young people having to listen to it.

Johnny was sure his dad was a Christian but I wasn't at all certain that there was any real change from the old Muru I used to know. Apparently he had been in Australia for a few years and when he came back he made attempts to get his old gang together again. He was surprised and disturbed that some of his old mates had become Christians while he was away, some of them even preaching in the square at lunch time.

"Oh well," he'd decided, "at least Logan will still be bad. I'd better look him up."

To his horror he discovered that I was running the city's biggest Christian drop-in centre!

The Bible says, "God inhabits the praises of His people." I believe when Muru walked into the chapel at 225 Hi! he unwittingly entered a really powerful presence of God as the young people sang praises to the Lord and played their guitars.

When a person in Muru's spiritual state walks into that sort of 'spiritually supercharged' situation generally one of two things can happen.

Either he will be stunned but respond positively to the Holy Spirit and possibly even come to the Lord as he realises the reality of God's presence. On the other hand he may be repelled by that presence and want nothing more than to flee the scene.

Muru fell more into the second category and his disturbed state was obvious by his language and the fact that as we talked he got increasingly angry with me for no apparent reason.

I was keen to get him out of the chapel as he was upsetting some of the young girls so I asked him to continue the conversation upstairs. We made our way to the top floor and ended up almost directly above the chapel.

The young people sensed all was not well and apparently began to pray for me. They thought I might be in some sort of danger. Muru was really disturbed by this time and accused me of doing something years before that as far as I could remember wasn't true.

I no longer remember what the accusation was, however at the time I know I denied it. Muru became increasingly adamant about my 'guilt' and in the finish I terminated the conversation by calling him a liar.

In retrospect I'd say that's not a smart thing to say to the leader of a Maori gang.

Muru decided to leave the building and I walked in silence with him to the bottom of the entrance stairs and out on to the street.

At that point I should have seen him off and returned to the chapel, but for some reason I walked with him to the square.

We ended up at the Doghouse and congregating on the footpath outside were eight or so members of his gang. I was increasingly the focus of their attention. The mood of the situation was turning quite tense, and I had a strong feeling that I was soon going to have another story to tell. I wasn't disappointed.

One of the boys stepped up to me and challenged me with, "You're not really Muru's friend."

I answered cautiously, "Well, we were great mates a few years back, and nothing's changed as far as I am concerned."

"Yes, but you don't love him like us boys do."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"If you loved him you could kiss him!"

At this point I knew he was having me on, but there was not a lot of humour in his attitude, and I was expecting trouble.

He continued, "But not on his cheek – on his lips."

I tried to buy time. "Well, I'm not really in the habit of kissing men, on the lips or on the cheek!"

The fellow then spelled it out in no uncertain terms. "If you love him you could kiss him!"

Often when I'm telling this story I ask people what they would have done in that situation. The replies are quite interesting.

I was talking in a Sunday School once and one little fellow said I should have Kung-fued him!

As it turned out, I took up the challenge and made my decision. I looked over at Muru, at his hairy, pock-marked, weather-beaten old face, then I stepped up and kissed him, on the lips!

I'll probably never know what that was all about. It didn't seem to defuse the situation so I probably could have saved myself the embarrassment, but in the next few seconds I became aware that Muru had set the whole thing up, and I was about to be taught a lesson not to question his honesty.

He turned away from me to the boys and said, "Logan called me a liar."

With that the Mongrel (pardon the expression, but after all that is what they call themselves) who had initially challenged me, stepped up, took off his jacket, dropped it on the ground and gave me the distinct impression that he was about to deck me!

At this point I remember being intrigued rather than anything else. I knew I didn't have anything to worry about, after all the Bible says, "He that is in me (Jesus) is greater than he that is in the world" (demon possessed Mongrels). It was also a fact that I was covered with the Blood of Jesus, and I had a spiritual hedge of protection around me. Angels were yet another element in the equation.

I remembered reading a book called "Forgive Me Natasha" in which a young Russian Christian girl was beaten up regularly by the Secret Police whose job it was to break up Christian prayer meetings. After sustaining numerous vicious beatings the Lord had intervened, and as the policeman was about to punch her an angel grasped his wrist and held him like a vice.

As a result of this the chap got saved and fled to the United States.

I waited for the first punch with more curiosity than fear so you can imagine my surprise when he bopped me right on the nose.

Where was my angel? He must have been getting a hamburger at the Doghouse!

There was blood everywhere and turning to Muru, I indignantly suggested, "Stop this nonsense!"

"Not till the police come," was his reply and he turned away.

From then on it was one punch after another and the Mongrel slowly drove me backwards away from the Doghouse towards the corner about thirty yards away.

For some reason he wasn't able to knock me over and I often wonder what my fate would have been if he had succeeded.

As he punched and pushed me he was continually hooking his foot behind my leg in an attempt to trip me up but couldn't manage it. He repeatedly kicked me too, so with the punches and the kicks I was taking a fair hammering.

I clearly recall that I wasn't at all concerned during the whole ordeal. I don't remember crying out to the Lord or anything like that, but the Scripture about turning the other cheek was certainly on my mind. Well, I got that right and dutifully turned the other cheek, and everything else, but he just kept coming.

Then, in the middle of it all, a funny thing happened.

Although I had a real peace in my heart I was, to be quite honest, getting fed up with him, and as I pondered the situation another Scripture came into my mind: "It's more blessed to give than receive."

Are you (the reader) smiling now? Right, well that's what I did at the time. There's no way I can say that was a word from the Lord and that He wanted me to retaliate, but I devised a plan to turn the situation around.

To my left, as I reeled backwards, was a wine shop with a huge plate glass window. I made up my mind that the next time he kicked me I would grab his leg, throw him off balance and toss him through the window.

In a second or two he lashed out again with his foot, and like a flash I caught it.

The rest of the Mob were a few paces back down the footpath so I would just have had time to hurl him into the wine display and make a dash for the police station about half a mile away.

One problem! As I stood there with his leg up in the air, it occurred to me that I was supposed to be a Christian and that Jesus never said to chuck people through plate glass windows.

It was a ludicrous scene!

All the action stopped momentarily as the Mongrel and I eyeballed each other, each trying to work out what to do next.

The rest of the Mob were equally intrigued and just watched to see the outcome.

In the end I dropped his leg and he resumed his onslaught.

I think I caught his leg another couple of times, each time eyeing the display of wines in the window and wondering whether I really should launch him into a new drink experience, but each time thinking better of it and releasing him to continue kicking and punching me.

Eventually we found ourselves at the corner of the building and for some reason he stopped and headed back to the Doghouse.

I just stood there with blood all over me, mainly from my nose, and aching from the kicks I had taken.

In a few seconds I was aware that Muru was standing beside me. "Don't move!" he said. "Stay there!" With that he walked back to the Doghouse and eventually returned with an old rag that he used to check the oil in his car.

"Here," he said, "get that blood off your face."

Then he proceeded to clean me up, as I suppose I was a bit dazed and wouldn't have made any effort to take the rag from him. After he had finished my face and deposited as much oil as he had wiped off blood, he asked, "What are you doing now?"

"Oh, I suppose I'll just head back to 225 Hi!" I replied.

"OK," he said. "It was good enough for you to walk down to the square with me. So it's good enough for me to walk back with you."

What a bizarre situation! It was as if we were old friends again and the events of the preceding few minutes were quite inconsequential, in his eyes at least. I realised that Muru had to have what Maori call Utu (revenge) and that in calling him a liar I had set in motion an inevitable chain of events. Now that I had been taught a lesson, his attitude was that it was all behind us.

We walked in silence across the road and around in front of the cathedral, and then made our way across the road again in the direction of the BNZ building. Half way across we were abruptly brought to a halt by two cars that screamed up beside us.

In one car was a bunch of Mongrels and the driver was the one who had attacked me. He was screaming with rage and at the same time bashing the door in an attempt to get out of the car. I thought, "If he ever discovers there's a door handle, I'm in big trouble."

In the other car were some of the young people I had left in the chapel at 225 Hi!

Apparently they had sensed that I was in trouble and headed for the Doghouse.

When they arrived they probably asked some of the Mongrels if they had seen me and when they drove off in search of me, the gang members assumed they would take revenge on Muru, so they set off in their own car to even the numbers up.

Eventually the Mongrel driver found the door handle, leaped out and came at me again. He was about to lash out when Muru said, "Don't touch him!"

With that he got back in his car, followed by Muru, while I hopped in with the youth group and headed back to 225 Hi!

I cleaned myself up in the kitchen and was amazed to find that the only real injury I had sustained was to the tooth I had been talking to the Lord about. It was broken off as clean as a whistle at the gum.

That was in the early eighties and the Accident Compensation Commission had just been set up, so what would have been a very expensive root filling and cap cost me nothing! The Lord had provided me not only a new tooth but a story that I have told many times over the years as I've endeavoured to witness to people about the incredible, wonderful God I love and serve.

A footnote. Straight after the attack, the staff and youth group at 225 Hi! prayed that the Lord would forgive Muru and the gang for what they had done.

Some years later Muru really did accept Jesus as his Lord and Saviour and once invited me to speak at one of his meetings.

### ELVIS IS ALIVE!

One day as I was cleaning the toilets at 225 Hi! I heard the most amazing sound.

Surely that couldn't be Elvis Presley singing on the fire escape! I opened the fire escape door and looked down to the first landing, and sure enough, there he was! He was wearing a white, shimmery suit covered with sparkly stuff and was belting out 'Jailhouse Rock' for all he was worth.

Now that was amazing enough, but sitting behind him on the step was a young girl slowly peeling a banana. Beside her was a pile of bananas about 12 inches high - I suppose 20 of them.

Looking to my left, I was intrigued to see another young man leaning on the railing, enjoying the show. He had orange hair and was dressed in some very strange punk-type clothing.

I walked over to him and leaned on the rail.

"You one of Elvis' friends? I enquired.

Neither confirming nor denying, he turned to me and without the slightest emotion said, "Excuse me, I have to shoot the guitarist."

With that, he pulled a revolver from his jacket pocket, strolled down the steps and proceeded to empty six shots into Elvis' back!

The pop idol dropped his guitar, lurched forward and collapsed over the fire escape railing. There he hung, suspended over a 12 foot drop, while his girl friend continued to casually peel and eat one banana after another.

I don't expect you to believe that story, but I can assure you it really did happen.

Before I continue to describe what followed the slaying, I need to explain the layout of the area where the drama took place.

225 Hi! backed on to a grotty courtyard, that served as a service and parking area for the surrounding old buildings. The courtyard was almost completely enclosed by buildings, the only access being a narrow vehicle entrance from Lichfield Street, which ran behind 225 Hi! On the ground floor of our building was a Chinese restaurant and the owner had a car park at the back of his premises just below where the murder took place.

At precisely the time I tried to strike up a conversation with the punk, the Chinese gentleman drove his car through the alley to his car park, and as he stopped he glanced up and witnessed the punk pulling his revolver.

I'll never forget his eyes as they followed the assassin on his slow walk down the steps and the horror on his face as Elvis gasped his last and collapsed on the railing.

In a flash he flung open the car door and with a couple of bounds shot through the restaurant gate and hurled himself through the door into the relative safety of the restaurant.

What the poor fellow didn't see, but what I had actually been aware of from the start, was the movie camera and crew situated on the fire escape of a neighbouring building.

They were a bunch of students doing some sort of production as part of their studies.

I invited them in for a coffee after they had wrapped up the shoot. As I recall, it wasn't the most relaxing and genial afternoon tea we had experienced at 225 Hi! When they spotted the Jesus graffiti and posters around the 'Riff Raff Room', they became decidedly uncomfortable and excused themselves as quickly as they could.

Just another day at 225 Hi! but you must admit it's a great name for a book!

### A MAYOR, A MORRIE AND A MAORI

Max Lines was one of the most colourful characters to cross my path in the 225 Hi! days.

He was a projectionist at the Odeon Theatre and used to drop in on us from time to time. During his lunch hours he would preach in the Square and found those times to be a blessed contrast with his job at the Odeon. Some of the movies featured there were not exactly 'family' entertainment and one evening while he was screening a particularly dubious feature he made a decision to claim the theatre for the Lord.

To seal the deal he wrote a note to the effect that the theatre would become a church, and put it up in the ceiling above the projection room. Then, after the manager and ushers had gone home he made his way to the empty theatre and preached the first sermon from the stage.

Up until that time the only way he was able to make the presence of the Holy Spirit evident in the place was to play Christian music over the sound system during the intervals, which had varying effects on the patrons.

Max shared with me his belief that the theatre would become a church during one of his visits to 225 Hi!, and also 'ran' another idea past me.

Apparently he was on a bus one night and as he looked out the window into the blackness of the night he had a vision of a man walking with a large cross over his shoulder. He realised that the man was himself, and he felt that the Lord was telling him to get a cross and walk the length and breadth of New Zealand, preaching the gospel on the way.

"What do you think, Nev? Do you believe that's the Lord talking to me or do you think I'm imagining things?"

"Of course it's the Lord," I answered. "The devil wouldn't tell you to do that, and you certainly wouldn't be motivated by self interest in doing it. In fact, to show you I really do believe it, I'll come with you!"

I did manage to walk part of the way with Max, but was not free to join him until he was a hundred or so miles from Bluff, after he had walked from North Cape.

During the early part of his walk I kept in touch with him and was able to have lunch with him as he passed through Auckland.

Max amazed me with the incredible stories of God's provision on the first stage of his walk and I couldn't wait to join him and share the experience.

When he started his journey, the Lord spoke to him and said that his picture would be on the front of many newspapers in the towns he passed through between North Cape and the Bluff.

As it turned out that came to pass exactly as the Lord had said, and Max dutifully sent us all the front pages to pin up on the wall at 225 Hi!

Finally the great day came and I caught a train from Christchurch to meet him at Balclutha.

Max walked pretty much in the one set of clothes and I knew that I would have to do the same, but this was Winter and so I took a warm overcoat with me. When Max saw it the disdain showed on his face and he informed me in no uncertain terms that it would be unnecessary.

So off we went, trudging down the road, minus my coat which I left in Balclutha.

What a glorious time it was. I could fill a book with the amazing things the Lord did on the trip, but will limit myself to one 'spectacular'.

The last stretch of our journey was, of course, from Invercargill to Bluff, and you can imagine that by this time we were somewhat weary.

It was evening as we walked along what seemed to be a causeway between the two towns, and the weather was really cold and miserable. Rain was threatening and we were not exactly encouraged by the fact that some people we had talked to in Invercargill had stated with absolute conviction that there were no Christians in Bluff, and the chances of our getting a bed for the last night of our trip was almost nil!

Max had only slept outside once during the whole journey down from Cape Reinga, and his stories of how he had been invited to stay with people every night really confirmed what Jesus promised about meeting all our needs.

During the week or so that I accompanied him we slept in a proper bed every night, and although we were weary and cold on this last stretch of the trip we really had no doubt that we would have a bed for the last night.

In fact we tended to believe that the Lord would pull out all the stops and provide the most glorious accommodation in Bluff on this momentous occasion.

As we walked, we strained to see our destination on the sky line, only our muffled footsteps and the scraping of the cross on the road breaking the silence.

There seemed to be no houses on either side of the road and it was as if we were walking into a black hole.

Then we saw the fire. Along the shore line something was on fire, and the flames formed a long thin band on the horizon. I may have been blessed with an over-vivid imagination, but to me it was as if we were walking into hell itself.

Considering the comments of our Invercargill 'encouragers', the threatening rain and then the impression that Bluff had been the target of a Sodom and Gomorrah type judgement was enough to make a man wish he had a cell-phone to phone home!

We staggered into town at about seven, and as it was starting to rain, we were quite surprised to see a young boy sitting on what seemed to be a War Memorial beside the road.

We flopped down beside him, Max leaning his cross up against the stone column.

I looked at the young fellow and said something like, "Hi, son. We're new in town. What do people in Bluff do in the evenings? How would you like to be our guide and show us where the action is?"

He seemed quite honoured at his appointment and duly led us to the fish and chips shop which seemed to be the epicentre of Bluff culture at that time.

The boy recognised me as the TV cartoonist and it wasn't long before I was churning out cartoons for all his friends. Then the word got around and others started to make their way to see these two strange visitors.

It was raining quite hard by then and I was surprised to witness Max in one of his rare 'unbelief periods'.

"Nev, it's eight o'clock and we don't have any money for food or a place to stay."

"Don't worry , Max," I reassured him. "Let's just take care of business – do cartoons, talk to whoever shows up and trust the Lord to meet our needs."

It was quite a reversal of roles for me to be encouraging Max in this way. He was the one who had spent the last few months experiencing the often miraculous provision of God, but I suppose there are always times when we need to support each other, and thank the Lord we are not all 'down' at the same time.

This lack of money day by day really tested our faith in God, but what a wonderful way to learn the truth of the name Jehovah Jireh (God our Provider).

At about 8.30pm I looked up from my umpteenth cartoon to see the owner of the shop standing in front of us with two heaped plates of seafood and chips. Fish, scallops, oysters, crab sticks, the lot!

"Hold on," I said, "we didn't order that!"

"No problem," was his reply, as beaming, he informed us that it was his pleasure to provide this complimentary meal for such distinguished visitors. He had read about us in the paper and had phoned the Mayor to inform him of our arrival.

"The mayor is in Invercargill at a meeting but will meet you at the council chambers in half an hour. I'll run you down there. You can leave your cross in the shop and pick it up in the morning. I'm sure the mayor will look after you."

Max and I just looked at each other, and it's impossible to convey in words what went through our minds at that moment.

What more could our God do to show His love for us?

Then my imagination started to run wild. The mayor's place! That's where we'll be staying tonight! Who would ever have thought it? The most glorious, luxurious residence in Bluff. Exactly what we should have expected. Why did we ever doubt?

Soon the fish and chips man deposited us at the council chambers and we stood under the verandah out of the pelting rain and waited for his worship to arrive.

Eventually a Morris Minor drew up and out stepped our host. He didn't look much like a mayor! No robes or chain or anything like that, but after all, this was Bluff, not London.

"Hi, boys!"

His cheery greeting warmed our hearts and as he unlocked the building he informed us that he was a waterside worker who had never really had any interest in being mayor but succumbed to the persuasion of the residents who were convinced he was the best man for the job.

His first task was to invite us to sign the visitor's book and he took great delight in showing us the very first name in the book - ELIZABETH R.!

Elizabeth took a whole page for her signature, but I think the intention was for us to use a line each, although I'm sure he didn't make that clear. I drew a full page cartoon with some sort of appropriate caption and Max wrote a relevant Scripture and something like "Glory to God - we made it!"

His message also took up a full page.

There was a distinctly unwell look on the mayor's face as he witnessed our enthusiastic scribbling but he was gracious and smiled as he closed the book and returned it to its case.

"Well, chaps , where are you staying tonight?" he asked.

Of course, our reply was as always. "We haven't got the foggiest idea."

But we waited with anticipation for his invitation to join him at the 'palace'.

At this point he looked very ill-at-ease, and the impression I had was that if there was a little TV screen on his forehead displaying his thoughts it would have read something like this:

"Well, I'd better find somewhere for them to say. Not with me though! Religious nuts. I'll phone some possible candidates."

What he said was, "No worries, boys. I'll fix you up with something. The local vicar will have some spare beds for sure."

He moved to the phone and must have tried every religious leader in the town, but to no avail! His face was showing the strain, but finally he hit on a possible answer.

"If we can't get you in anywhere else, I'll book you in at the camping ground. They've got quite tidy cabins there, and the council will meet the cost. Would that be OK?"

Of course we were happy about that and grateful for the offer.

Eventually, as all his phone calls had proved fruitless, we all piled into the 'Morrie' and headed for the huts.

It was a pretty desolate scene. A bit like what I would imagine a camping ground on the Falkland Islands might look like. Dotted on the bleak landscape were the cabins. Each seemed to consist of two units, each with a door and window.

As we moved to the door, the mayor asked us if we had any sleeping bags or blankets. We informed him that all we had was what we stood up in.

"Right, I'll get you some," he replied, and indicated that the council would also provide them free of charge.

The little Morris' tail lights disappeared into the black Bluff night and we turned to survey our accommodation.

"Well, I wonder what this is all about? Why would the Lord put us in a funny old place like this?" queried Max.

Then we noticed a light through the curtain in the window of the adjoining cabin, and as we watched the curtain was pulled to one side and a Maori face peered out at us. Just as quickly the man pulled the curtain shut, and we knew that Max's question had been answered.

We were here to talk to him about the Lord.

In a few minutes the mayor returned with a pile of blankets which we gratefully received and then put on the jug for a cup of tea. Max looked at me and I got the message that it was time to invite our neighbour over for supper.

Much later we learned that his man, whose name was Danny, had spent time in prison for serious offences. We also learned that when we met him he was planning to rob the Hotel at Alexandra in Central Otago.

When he saw us rather rough looking individuals arrive he assumed Max and I were probably drug dealers and that the mayor was the respectable member of a criminal trio, and so he made up his mind to invite us to join him for the 'pub job'!

However, before he was very far into his coffee he realised that he had made a slight error of judgement, as Max left him in no doubt that he was preacher of some distinction. Max really gave him both barrels, and when he seemed to run out of inspiration I would take over.

I couldn't help but give him credit though, that he gave as good as he got. He really gave us a rough time. At one point he rose out of his chair and moved towards Max. I was ready for anything and had he laid a finger on my buddy I would have beaten the daylights out of him! (I do fantasize a little!)

Happily this response was not needed.

Fixing his eyes on Max, he thundered, "There's no God! When you die you go into the ground and rot like a dog! And one day, in about a million years, an archaeologist will dig you up and do all sorts of tests on you." Then taking Max's head in both hands, he added, "And the archaeologist will take your skull and study it and say, "This is a well developed jaw bone. He must have been a preacher!"

Well, I couldn't let that go without a response, so I retaliated with, "Yes, and when they inspect your skull they'll find you had no ear holes and couldn't hear what God was trying to say to you!"

The whole thing, as you can see, was getting a trifle unedifying by this stage, but we continued the discussion late into the night and eventually he excused himself and returned to his room. In the morning, as we left to pick up the cross I tried to poke some Christian magazines through the window to him, but he kept pushing them out again, and as we walked to the fish shop we couldn't help but wonder if our encounter with Danny hadn't been a complete waste of time.

During our walk from the shop to the bottom of the island we came upon a bus load of school children out on a field trip. They crowded around us and challenged Max to race them to the end of the road. I don't think the cross actually touched the road during those last frantic seconds of Max's journey, as he took up the children's challenge.

What a joyous climax to Max's monumental walk, and, at the tip of the island, overlooking the Southern Ocean, this scripture features on a sign that honours the God who had inspired the idea in the first place and had met all Max's needs on the way.

Mightier than the thunder of many waters. Mightier than the waves of the sea. The Lord on high is mighty. Psalm 93:4

That completed the first part of the journey.

Later Max was to walk from Napier to New Plymouth, thereby effectively inscribing a cross on this land.

When he was half way through this second stage of the journey it was my pleasure to inform Max that the Odeon Theatre had been bought by the Assembly of God Church. The church members completely renovated the building, and for many years the Odeon joined the Majestic Theatre (now New Life Centre) in providing a wonderful Christian presence in central Christchurch.

Later on a fire badly damaged the Odeon, and during the second restoration of the building a worker discovered Max's note, hidden in the ceiling above the projection room. It said:

I CLAIM THIS BUILDING FOR THE GLORY OF GOD!

### DANNY MAKES IT HOME

Occasionally one hears of an individual conversion to Christianity that defies all natural explanation. I'm sure God does this sometimes to demonstrate that He really is Lord of all, and that He is still a God of miracles.

After we left Danny at the Bluff camping ground we really felt our encounter with him had been an utter waste of time, but that was to overlook the fact that the Lord is well able to finish the work that He starts.

Danny travelled from Bluff to Alexandra with every intention of carrying out his plan to rob the hotel, but on the way some very strange things started to happen to him. In his mind he kept hearing the words we had said to him, and no matter what he did, nothing would take them away. At one point he thought he was going insane and would wrap a pillow around his head to try to keep the thoughts out. He even climbed under his mattress to insulate himself from the words, but to no avail. The trouble was, they were inside!

To add to his distress he kept hearing what he called 'Radio Ecuador music' in his head. Radio Ecuador is a Christian radio station in South America and at some time in his past he must have heard the music on their short wave broadcasts.

It was all there in his head – the music and the preaching of the two characters at Bluff, and it just wouldn't go away. He abandoned the plan to rob the hotel and in desperation went to a doctor.

After hearing of his plight and establishing the religious nature of his troubles, the doctor quite wisely suggested he go see a minister. By this time Danny was starting to consider that it could very well be God attempting to get through to him, and he decided to take the doctor's advice.

The local minister heard him out and suggested that he might be losing his mind and referred him back to the doctor.

I'm a fairly happy sort of fellow most of the time, but occasionally something makes me really angry! Nothing's new though. Jesus very rarely clashed with ordinary people. His wrath was usually directed at the religious leaders of the time who did all they could to block people from meeting the Lord.

Enough said!

Abandoning the pub job, Danny made his way north, with the music and words still ringing in his head. Some of the things that were to happen to him in the next months were truly extraordinary. By this time he was convinced God was getting at him, so he started to talk to the Lord and do some experiments with a view to establishing once and for all, if God is real.

At one time he was in a forest area and he decided to shut his eyes and start walking and ask the Lord to guide him to some Christians. He set out, carefully picking his way through the trees.

Eventually he felt he should stop and open his eyes. He discovered he was standing at the edge of a cliff. Immediately below him was a house, so he carefully made his way down to it and knocked at the door.

There just happened to be a Christian gathering there, and no doubt the Christians were as encouraged as Danny by the way the Lord had brought them together.

Danny's search for God continued over the next few months and eventually he found himself in Christchurch.

Amazingly, the music and preaching were still in his head, and although this remained a great distraction to him, he had at last accepted that God was "on his case".

One day, while walking along High Street, still with the voices in his head, the Lord spoke to him and said, "Today you will meet an Australian who plays the guitar."

At that point he noticed a blind man walking on the opposite side of the road.

Danny watched as the fellow tapped his way along the street and into a building.

Later in the day Danny returned down High Street, on the other side, and was amazed to hear the music in his head was actually coming from the blind man's building.

It was as if he had arrived at the radio station. He made his way up the stairs, turned to the right and was met by a man by the name of Allan.

"Can I help you?" asked Allan.

"Yes, can you tell me where to find Neville Logan?" Danny had not seen me or Max for months and I doubt whether he would at any time have remembered my name. God just put the words in his mouth.

"Yes, just a minute," answered Allan, and called me out from the chapel.

The music in Danny's head was from a group of people singing in the chapel.

Danny and I looked at each other. I was trying to remember where we'd met.

Then he looked at the newspapers pinned to the wall, each one with a picture of Max with his cross. Among them was one from the Southland Times of Max and I relaxing on the side of the road near Invercargill.

Then, of course, the penny dropped!

I can't remember exactly what happened next, but for Danny he really knew this was the end of the road, or rather the start.

We prayed with him, thanking God for the incredible way He had led him back to us, and then we handed him over to the Pastor of a Maori fellowship who had an office at 225 Hi!

Incidentally, one of the people who prayed for Danny was my old friend Ken Brown, who also had an office in the building. Ken is from Perth in Western Australia, plays the guitar, and is blind.

The Maori pastor found accommodation for Danny with a Christian family and in a day or so, after all his struggles and questioning he asked the Lord to forgive his sins and come into his life. The transformation was dramatic.

I remember bumping into him occasionally in the square and every time his face would light up, he'd rush up to me and with a "Hi, Brother Neville!" he would give me a great brotherly hug.

From the time we met at 225 Hi! the music and preaching in his head stopped. He had invited Jesus, the Prince of Peace into his life and at last had been truly set free.

The Bible says, "Whom the Son sets free, is free indeed."

### GOD ALWAYS GETS HIS MAN

As a boy I was fascinated by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Their motto, I believe, is, "We always get our man."

This is a story about a former Mountie who had a dramatic encounter with God.

During the years I was at 225Hi! I also had a working relationship with the Christchurch Boys' Home in Stanmore Road. Someone had once asked me to visit her son who was being held there, and my visit developed into an involvement with the home in the capacity of art instructor. As well as showing up each Tuesday evening for art classes I tried to visit at other times, whenever possible.

I loved the time at 'Stanmore' as it was called, and have many wonderful stories of boys there who not only learned to draw but more importantly, learned that they have a heavenly Father who loves them.

Most of the boys were from 'at risk' situations, as they are described these days, and the Social Welfare Department did all they could to ensure the boys had as many healthy life experiences as possible.

With this in mind, I decided to arrange a camp for some of them at Living Springs. It took a little organising and as there were some details I needed to settle that could best be finalised at the home, I decided to go there for the afternoon.

Having no vehicle at that time, I set out as usual on foot for the couple of miles journey. Not long into the walk, as I was passing the Centennial Pool in Oxford Terrace, I had a definite feeling that I shouldn't be going. It was simply an uneasiness about what I was doing. I had no peace about going on. As I began involuntarily slowing down, I started talking to the Lord about it.

"But, Lord, I really have to go and organise the camp."

"Yes, but I didn't tell you to, did I?"

"But, Lord, I've cleared up all my work at 225Hi! and there's nothing else to do today."

"Yes, but I didn't tell you to, did I?"

Then clear as a bell, I know the Lord said to me, "You can go if you want to, but you'll miss out on something good if you do."

During our conversation, I had been slowing down until at this point, I stopped. I could no more have gone on my way to the home than fly to the moon, and I was happy to turn back as I really knew something great was going to happen.

Arriving back at 225Hi! I found everything in order and sat down at my tidy desk to wait for whatever the Lord was going to do.

Carl Emerson was a close friend and often we would go out together to the most amazing places sharing the gospel with the ones the Lord led us to. He had decided that he would stay away from me this week though, as he knew I had lots of work to do. In fact, all my work was completed by this time, but he didn't know that.

As I sat at my desk, he was at home praying and the Lord clearly told him to come and see me.

"No way, Lord, that can't be You talking, Logan's too busy!"

This started a two-way debate that the Lord won, so Carl hopped into his car and headed for 225Hi!

He walked into my office and asked, "What's happening, Logan?"

I told him what the Lord had said to me, and of course, I was excited to hear his story. All that remained was to find out what God was up to!

"Have you had lunch?" Carl queried.

I hadn't, so we piled into his car and headed off. We discussed the situation as we drove, trying to get some idea of what we should do. The only clue we had was that in his prayer time that morning Carl had seen a vision of both of us walking in the Botanical Gardens.

So that's where we headed.

Soon we were walking through the beautifully landscaped park that in the early days of Christchurch had been a shingle pit. We made our way to the Tea Kiosk where years before I had met with Max Palmer. Carl had a little spare money and so we joined the tourists and chose a table.

The feeling as we sat enjoying our coffee was in stark contrast to the uneasy experience I'd had in Oxford Terrace. Now we were totally at peace and knew for sure that we were in the right place.

As we chatted a man came in and sat down a couple of tables from us. He was an absolute wreck! He showed all the signs of being an alcoholic, was smoking like a train and was quite clearly partially crippled. Carl had his back to him, but he was directly in front of me, so my attention was pretty much fixed on him.

Two packets of cigarettes were on the table in front of him and I remember the brand was Sportsman. One pack was red and the other green if I remember correctly. I'm from an advertising background and I know the power of advertising, so as I watched I felt disgusted that a cigarette company could call a product that did so much to destroy lives Sportsman!

Carl saw the disdain on my face and asked what I was looking at. I drew his attention to the fellow and explained why I was looking 'less than impressed'.

Shortly afterwards the man left his table and made his way to the door where he paid his bill and then left. Now Carl and I knew he was the reason we were there, so we quickly got up and followed him. As we paid for our coffees I noticed the man was watching an artist at work on a painting.

"Excuse me, do you know who that man is out there? The one looking at the painting?" I asked the lady at the cash register.

"Oh, he's one of a bunch of guys on sickness benefits that hang out around the gardens," she answered.

By the time we had paid and were outside, the man had disappeared.

There are several paths leading away from the kiosk and we had no idea which one he had taken, so we selected one and set out. Not far down the path we spotted him limping along with clouds of smoke emanating from him. We soon caught him up and were quite excited at the prospect of meeting him, as we knew something great was about to happen. As we were about to draw level with him, I wondered what to say. Keeping it simple, I just greeted him with "Hi!"

"Oh gidday", was his reply.

I opened my mouth again and the Lord gave me a scripture that was one of my favourites. I simply stated, "As many as are led by the Spirit of God are the sons of God."

"Far out! Are you Mormons?" was his response.

As we continued to walk towards the museum I explained to him how the Lord had directed Carl and myself to meet and then to come to the Gardens. He was astounded at my suggestion that God cared about him enough to bring us both across the city just to talk to him.

"Oh, I often go to the Salvation Army," he said, "so I've heard all about God."

Then he went on to tell us that he had been a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and had retired after being shot several times and sustaining a crippling back injury. He had subsequently ended up an alcoholic.

He wore a checkered shirt, and we could see from the curves in what should have been straight stripes that his back was badly twisted.

The three of us sat down on a park bench near the museum and for the next half an hour or so we told him about the God that does miracles and loved him enough to do one for him.

After listening to us for a time, he decided to ask God's forgiveness for his sins and we had the privilege of praying with him and leading him in the 'sinner's prayer'.

Immediately he had said "Amen" to his prayer we were startled to witness him leap to his feet and exclaim, "I'm healed! I'm healed!"

"What's healed?" we asked.

"My feet! Look, they're flat on the ground? They haven't been like that for years."

Previously the outsides of his feet touched the ground but the insides were curled up, giving him a bow-legged sort of stance.

Carl and I were amazed. We hadn't even prayed for healing yet. God had sovereignly fixed his feet as he gave his life to Him.

Well, as you can imagine, we were getting excited, and Carl suggested we see if his legs were the same length. I got him to sit down again and I made sure his back was right up against the back of the seat before I pulled his legs up and brought his feet together. Sure enough, one was considerably shorter than the other, and in answer to our prayer, we watched the short one grow to the same length as the other.

"Get up," ordered Carl, who by this time was almost beside himself with excitement and joy. "We're going to pray for your back!"

Three seconds into the prayer, the stripes on his shirt straightened up as the Lord restored his spine. He was absolutely transformed.

Quite honestly, I've never seen a greater miracle in all the years I've been a Christian.

We then climbed into Carl's vehicle and took him to Sydenham where he needed to pick up some meat from the butcher. As we sat in the car, we watched him walk down the street and into the shop, just like a policeman, straight and true. There was no indication of the terrible degradation apparent in the man we had seen in the Kiosk.

I sent Carl a copy of this chapter and this was his reply:

Dear Neville,

Great to be part of telling the events we shared back in the eighties. Psalm 126 puts it well..

When the Lord brought back the captive ones of Zion, We were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, And our tongue with joyful shouting; Then they said among the nations, "The Lord has done great things for them." The Lord has done great things for us; We are glad.

I remember that day well. Seeing God's power transform a total stranger we had been directed to pray for. I was literally jumping for joy with praise and awe. Our Jesus was at work in the 'market place' again and we were privileged to share in His work.

The only regret I have is that when we went to leave the kiosk, the Lord told me to tell the lady operating the till that she would not see the man in the same sorry state again. I chickened out and said nothing, but the Lord still turned on a spectacular miracle, despite, not because of us.

Another couple of things you didn't mention in the script...

Do you remember that in your morning Bible reading that day you felt that the story of Peter and John healing the cripple at the temple gate had some significance? Also in my prayer time I had a vision of us walking in the Botanical Gardens, and on the way to your office I stopped the car two or three times to pray as I was sure something dramatic was going to happen.

Oh, and another thing, you asked the chap if he believed God could heal him and he replied, "Yes, but I've been waiting a long time."

Events like this one are the fulfilment of a childhood dream to do what Jesus did, and we can when we give our lives to Him and follow the instructions in His Book with childlike acceptance.

Carl Emerson

### CAMP CONCRETE

The boys club continued in the room set aside for that use at 225Hi! and as well

as the 'regulars' there was a continuous procession of other children through the place.

Many of them had single mothers and it was a privilege to be able to fill a fatherly role in their lives at a time when they needed it. Some of them I had met at Living Springs, some at Stanmore, and others were the children of parents who attended the New Life Centre.

My enthusiasm for the Lord infected them of course, and we were forever putting on Gospel plays or heading off on some adventure around the country where they would always be expecting God to do some miracles.

I remember arranging a camp at Akaroa, about fifty miles from Christchurch, and all the boys met at 225Hi! from where we would proceed by chartered bus to camp. Everyone arrived on time and we were all ready to go when I realised that I hadn't booked the bus!

How on earth could I possibly have forgotten such a critical item on my check list?

I shared my blunder with some parents who were still there and was amazed to find that a half dozen of them had decided to go to Akaroa for the day with their remaining children, and all up there were enough spare seats to cater for us all. The Lord provides, and I've found over the years that sometimes he takes things out of our minds as well as putting them in.

Kids love camping. There's nothing like getting out of the city and having a wilderness experience, but once I was pondering on this and asked myself ,"What would they really like to do in their holiday?"

The thought crossed my mind that the central city was a pretty exciting place, and just possibly it might be a novel idea to have a camp right there at 225HI!

I thought of some possible camp activities:

  * Parking meter leapfrog

  * Tours of the sewers (Maybe the council could organise something)

  * Watching a brain op. at the hospital

  * A visit to the Mayor in his Chambers

  * A visit to the Doghouse (a must!)

  * Soccer in the Square at 6 am.

I ran it past the boys and their response was a resounding "Awesome!"

In due course we staged our one and only CAMP CONCRETE.

It had to be one of the best camps I've ever taken part in and I'll never forget the boys setting up their soccer goals at 6 am, much to the amusement of the only other occupant of the square, an elderly gentleman walking behind some sort of motorised leaf and dust gathering machine.

The camp ran for about five days and the boys were due to go home on Monday morning.

The last great treat, if they had behaved themselves was to be a visit to a 'night club' at midnight on Sunday. There they would be treated to giant banana splits and other sweet and gooey stuff their mothers would never feed them.

When I say a night club, don't be alarmed. It was really just a late opening restaurant, but night club sounded more adventurous.

The orders were that to qualify for this special treat they had to go to bed at 8 pm with lights out, and absolutely no talking.

We got them down to bed OK but could hear the chatting and other illegal antics through the chapel wall.

I would put on my fierce face, barge in with maximum dramatic effect and let them know in no uncertain terms that their behaviour was totally unacceptable and that every time I had to remind them, their night club visit would be more unlikely to happen.

After a few minutes of quiet, it would be all on again!

The serious aspect of this situation was that they were having pillow fights, using some giant cushions that had been made for us by one of our supporters. They were really heavy and I was concerned that someone could get hurt if they collected one in the head. I warned them time and again but to no avail.

At about 11 o'clock we gave up on any idea that they would get some sleep, so ordered them to get up and get ready to trek downtown.

They didn't deserve it of course, but I love banana splits and I didn't see why I should miss out!

They all assembled in the Riff Raff Room, and soon we were ready to go.

"Where's Glen?" one of the boys asked.

A quick look around failed to reveal the boy, so I went to look for him.

There he was, asleep on the floor in the entrance hall. "Come on, Glen, up you get. We're on our way to the night club."

No response. He was out like a light.

I stooped down and took hold of his arm, and at that point realised something was terribly wrong.

His eyes were open, but he was unable to move. He couldn't talk and just stared up at me as if he was pleading with me to help him. Glen was completely paralysed.

Soon we were surrounded by staff and boys, and after some questioning we established that someone had walloped him with a particularly large cushion.

Then, we made a terrible mistake.

We should have known better, especially as one of our staff members was a medical student. We picked up the stricken boy and carried him into the office and laid him on a mattress.

It is common knowledge that one should never move anyone with suspected spinal injuries, but in the situation we did it without thinking of the possible consequences.

Someone phoned for an ambulance and in a few minutes the St John's men were taking over.

The boys and staff were in shock and some of the boys were in tears, as they knew that it was their disobedience that had resulted in this tragedy.

For my part, I was agonizing over whether I could have done more to ensure that the pillow fights were stopped. Should I have been tougher?

Then one of the staff summoned everyone to the chapel, as much as anything to get them out of the way of the ambulance men, who didn't need an audience.

That triggered one of the most moving prayer meetings I have ever attended. Instantly the boys started to pray, crying out to God to forgive them for what they had done and to heal Glen.

It wasn't new for the boys to pray. They were used to saying grace before we ate, and were always involved in prayer meetings, but suddenly there was a new seriousness and urgency to their prayers.

Eventually the St John's men had secured Glen to a stretcher and it was time to head for the hospital. I went along too, with one of our staff while the rest of the staff and boys stayed back.

We went through to the X-ray department, walking beside the stretcher and talking to Glen as we went. There was still absolutely no response or movement, except that his eyes followed us all the time.

Then, a small encouragement.

During the tests, the doctor noticed his fingers moving slightly.

Soon he was moving his toes.

In a few minutes he had recovered almost completely and the doctor advised us to go back to 225Hi! while they kept Glen overnight for observation.

We were to pick him up in the morning, but before we were able to leave for the hospital, he arrived, running up the stairs.

Some say it was a miracle.

We didn't get a definite diagnosis from the hospital as to what his actual condition was so I prefer to just acknowledge that God answered the boys' prayers, at the same time giving them a lesson in obedience they will, hopefully, never forget.

### FUN ON THE FERRY

There was a time when I was getting a little tired of all the dramas of this Christian life and one of my friends noticed I needed a break.

A group of Bible College Students were heading to Wellington to attend a wedding, and my friend suggested I come up with them, as there was a spare seat in the car.

I was quick to accept and soon we were on our way North.

We had a great time at the wedding, but on Saturday night the group was at a loss as to what to do. My suggestion was to go to the pub, but of course this went over like a concrete parachute with the students who couldn't see that it was an ideal Saturday night activity for Christians.

I wasn't kidding and after some discussion I managed to convince them that it might be a good idea. We wouldn't be going to drink of course, but to share the gospel with the revellers!

This was a revolutionary idea for some of them, but they soon warmed to it and off we went to choose the sleaziest waterside pub we could find.

I remember nothing of that evening other than that everyone found someone to talk to, and I'm sure some of the patrons know a little more about the Lord as a consequence.

On Sunday we headed South on the Inter Island Ferry.

Half way across Cook Strait we moved to the dining room to sample some of our famous Railways Department food. As we were eating I noticed three Nelson College students sitting a few tables away, looking bored to tears.

We finished lunch and still they were there in the same almost comatose state, and I just couldn't resist invading their space. Things had been relatively quiet in the room at the time and to be quite honest I was a little bored myself, so I made my move to liven things up.

"Hey, you!" I shouted, pointing at the boys.

It was as though a bolt of lightning had hit the place and thirty or forty people spun around to stare in the direction my finger was pointing.

The boys were stunned, and one, his eyes bulging, whispered, "Who, us?"

"Yes, you," I said, "are you born-again?"

The three of them looked wide-eyed at each other, then back at me, and one said rather self-consciously, "I...I don't think so."

"Well, come down here and I'll tell you all about it," I offered.

Up they got and soon we were squeezing along our seats to make room for them. All eyes in the room were still on us, and everyone who was in earshot carefully monitored our conversation over the next few minutes or so.

We had a lot of fun telling the boys about the Lord and the Bible Students were really enjoying themselves as they shared their faith, aware all the time that many people other than the boys were listening.

Out of the corner of my eye, over to my right, a fellow was sitting at a table pretending to read a book, but I was aware that he was not at all happy with us. As time went by he got progressively angrier, and finally exploded:

"What right have you got to ram your ideas down the throats of these kids? I'm a school teacher from Tasmania, and we aren't allowed to force our beliefs on anyone, and I don't see why you should!"

I was quite surprised by this outburst, especially as it had been obvious that the boys were enjoying the talk with us, so I turned to the boys and asked, "What do you say, are you happy or should we shut up?"

They were quick to indicate they were happy, so I turned back to the Tasmanian for his response. Of course, he was slightly deflated by the boys' answer to my question and after that was considerably quieter, although continuing to challenge us and what we were proclaiming. For the next few minutes we talked to him, trying to answer his questions as best we could.

Then an extraordinary thing happened.

All the time we had been talking a waiter had been passing backwards and forwards, delivering food and cleaning tables. Each time he passed us he would slow down, and was obviously catching as much as possible of the conversation. Eventually he couldn't contain himself and stopped with his tray of dirty dishes to join in the discussion.

"Excuse me," he asked, "Are you talking about God?"

We all nodded, affirming that He was the topic.

The waiter continued, referring to me, "And I take it that you are for God", and turning to the Tasmanian, "and you are against."

"I'm not against God!" the school teacher indignantly responded. "I'm just against people ramming their beliefs down other people's throats."

"OK... I'm sorry. Then would it be fair to say this guy is a born-again Christian, and you are not exactly?"

The Tasmanian grudgingly accepted that assessment and then the waiter, enjoying the limelight for the moment, asked us all, "Would you mind if I told you a true story?" Without waiting for our reply, he gently put his tray down on the table and told this incredible tale.

"I was once in a bad road accident near Wellington and had broken my leg. We were waiting for the ambulance, and a car stopped with a bunch of people in it from a local church. They hopped out to see what they could do to help, and when they found I had a broken leg they said they would pray for me. When they placed their hands on my leg and prayed, I was completely healed. My leg just healed up! I just thought I'd tell you that."

Then, without another word he picked up his tray and went back to work.

There was a short silence as we all tried to digest his story. Then the debate started up again. This time with even more enthusiasm from all the participants.

The Tasmanian was looking rather unwell by now and was probably wishing he'd never got involved with us, so I thought it was a good time to challenge him.

"Listen," I said, "if you saw a real miracle happen, right now, before your eyes, would you believe in God then?"

He didn't answer, but didn't say no either, so I decided to see if we could get something going.

"Is anybody sick?" I said, loud enough for all the people in the dining room to hear.

There was a little "Yes" from one of the three boys. Apparently he had something wrong with his ears and the doctors hadn't been able to fix him.

I asked if he thought he would notice a change if he was completely healed and he indicated that he was sure he would, so I turned to the Tasmanian and asked, "OK, if I pray for the boy's ears to be healed and they are, would you acknowledge God is real?"

With that he said, "I've got to go!" and snatching up his pack he made a run for the door. Where he was going, half way across Cook Strait, I don't know, but that was the last I saw of him.

From then on things quietened down considerably and we had a good talk to the boys and prayed for the one with the hearing problem. There was no obvious healing at the time, but that didn't concern us. It's our job to pray – God's job to answer our prayer, in His way, in His time.

As mentioned earlier, the three boys were students at Nelson College and when I returned to Christchurch, I bought a pile of good Christian paperbacks and sent them up to them. I never heard back from them, but this story has a delightful sequel.

It's a strange thing, but in the years between meeting the boys and now, I somehow remembered the name of one of them. To remember his name after such a short meeting is quite incredible for me, but every time I've told this story the name has been clear in my mind. Yet, I have never been able to recall the names of the other two boys.

Let's call the boy Troy Kingsley-Jones (not his real name) and get on with this curious case.

About fourteen years after this event I was in Auckland and had to source some prizes for a children's colouring contest. I particularly wanted watches, and asked my wife, Barbara (I remarried in 1993) to find out what brand was best and then to see if she could get some donated. She did some research, decided on the best make and contacted the company – going straight to the top, to the New Zealand Sales Manager. He was happy to give us some watches, so Barbara passed on the good news to me. You can imagine my amazement when she put a memo on my desk with this name on it – Troy Kingsley-Jones!

### CHIPS GALORE!

Very few people, I suspect, will not have heard the Bible stories about the times Jesus took a few loaves and fishes and multiplied them to feed thousands of people. Many of course, regard these stories as fables that can't be taken literally in this technological age. The fact that confounds this viewpoint is that there is a God who is the same today and is well able to perform miracles in the Nineties.

Mid way through the 225Hi! years I took a break and went away to Akaroa for a weekend, and while I was away God proved himself in a wonderful way.

It was Saturday night and there were about forty assorted Christians, street kids and staff in the Riff Raff Room.

One of our regular visitors, Steve Trimen, went out and bought a small pack of hot chips to share with one of the workers. He sat down and handed the chips to his friend, expecting him to take a few and hand the pack back. Instead he offered them to the person next to him who took some and also handed the pack on. Steve watched as the chips proceeded around the room, and was rather surprised when it reached the other side of the room, after about twenty people had partaken. He was astounded when after doing a complete circuit of the room the bag arrived back still two thirds full!

Debbie, our street kid who had become a staff member after getting off heroin told me later that she got tired of seeing the bag keep coming past. Steve kept passing it on!

The part that impressed Steve, apart from the fact that the Lord obviously kept topping it up, was that everyone only took a few chips. Some of them could have been expected to selfishly empty the bag, but did not.

In the end, everyone ate as much as they could and still the bag was two thirds full. It would have been nice to have been there to share the experience, but it was cheering to come back to a good story.

### GOD HEALS A SICK RESTAURANT!

I had a policy at 225Hi! We wouldn't ever throw anyone out, no matter what they did. The challenge was for us to manage the many crises that arose and it seemed to me that ordering someone off the premises was an easy way out.

Some of the people who frequented the place were pretty rough but we were always able to handle them when they were on the premises.

Problems arose for us when they caused trouble in the street at the front entrance or out in the back alley. We didn't allow smoking in the building, so for a time they would go out on to the fire escape at the back, which was acceptable to us, until the owner of the Chinese restaurant below us complained about their stealing soft drinks from behind his premises.

Mr Wong was also extremely nervous about them flicking their cigarettes and matches down among his LPG gas cylinders! That was the end of the smoking on the fire escape and from then on they had to go down to the foot path at the front of the building.

One night someone delivered a message to me from Mr Wong. He wanted to see me immediately, so I went down to see what the trouble was. He was hostile!

The street kids were congregating in front of his entrance which was directly next to ours, and it was at times almost impossible for customers to get past them. To add insult to injury, they were doing unspeakable things (that don't bear mentioning here) and when his staff asked them to move they would abuse them. Mr Wong told me that if we didn't do something about it he would call the police and do what he could to have us closed down.

His customer numbers were way down and he said that unless the situation changed he would be broke in a few weeks.

I apologised profusely and promised that I would do what I could, but explained that I had absolutely no authority over them when they were outside the building.

That particular night we had a full complement of gang members and street kids so I took the opportunity to gather them together and give them a good talking to! I didn't have to pretend to be angry, I really was, and they knew it, so I said something like this:

"You guys are absolutely disgusting. Your behaviour outside the entrance and in front of the restaurant is disgraceful, and I'm telling you now it has to stop! Unless it does, the Chinese owner will have us closed down and you know there's no other place like this in town for you!"

I went on and on but all the time they looked at me as if I was from another planet and I knew I might as well have saved my breath. Nothing I said would make any difference.

I paused for a few seconds as I surveyed the sullen bunch of no-hopers I had managed to collect, trying to think of a better way to deal with the situation.

Suddenly I noticed their eyes were looking right past me, and I turned to see what had caught their attention (because I certainly hadn't!)

Walking in the door was Mr Wong, carrying a large stainless steel food warming cabinet with two sliding glass doors. He walked up to me and told me that if I could use it I was welcome to keep it.

"I just thought you might be able to use it to keep food warm for the kids," he said.

I was astounded! Only a few minutes before he was threatening to close us down and now this! I gratefully accepted it and thanked him for his kindness, then turning to the kids I gave them another ear-full.

"Look at this! After all the trouble you've caused him, Mr Wong is kind enough to give us this almost brand new food warmer. I hope you're all thoroughly ashamed of yourselves and will in future stay away from his entrance!"

I still didn't feel I had really got through to them, but suddenly had an inspiration. Turning to Mr Wong I asked, "What really is your main problem?"

"My main problem is people can't get into the restaurant. Our business is down and we can't go on like this much longer without going broke."

"OK", I said, "the reality of the situation is that I've done all I can in asking the kids to give you a break, but honestly I have no confidence that they will behave themselves. Also there are a lot of kids out there that aren't here now and still more that wouldn't necessarily come up here. So what I would like to do is pray that the Lord would prosper your business despite the problem in the street. Are you happy about that?"

He looked a trifle nervous but indicated that he would appreciate our prayers.

"Right, all the Christians over here please, and any of you others that would like to join in , you're welcome."

None of the others bothered, but soon all of our staff had gathered in a circle. I invited Mr Wong to join us if he wished but he declined with thanks and left to attend to his ailing business.

About a week later he made a special trip up the stairs to beg us to stop praying. He couldn't cope with all the extra business. Even though he wasn't a Christian he knew that it was our prayers that had made the difference.

### THE END OF THE BEGINNING

I remember seeing a particular movie when I was a small boy.

It was called Destination Moon, and as the title suggests it was an account of the first lunar landing as the script writers in those days imagined it would be.

When Neil Armstrong finally stepped on to the moon, his immortal words, flashed back to the billions of people watching him were, "One small step for man. One giant leap for mankind."

In Destination Moon the astronaut's words were: "This is the end of the beginning."

As I sat down today to write this chapter, those words came back to me, "This is the end of the beginning."

In previous chapters I have related some of the more notable events in my early Christian life and there were many more stories that I could have told. This chapter is the end of the beginning in a sense that it marks the end of the slice of my life that I have chosen to share with you by means of this book. Life, of course, continued for me and I will give an update on subsequent moves I have made in the next chapter.

While I was at 225Hi! I lived on the premises and was really quite happy to stay there, but was always aware that at some time I might move into a place of my own.

The Youth for Christ organisation purchased an old two-storied home on the corner of Madras and Chester Streets and I watched with interest as they lovingly restored it. One side of the building would house their offices and the other side would be split into two flats, upstairs and downstairs that they would let out. As I watched progress on the building, I had an increasing feeling that I would rent the bottom flat when renovation was completed.

An old friend, Ian Kington, was the Christchurch Director of Youth for Christ, so I went to see him to discuss my thoughts about renting the flat and he was open to the idea.

How I would pay for it was the only question both of us had, as I had no income (of a natural sort) at the time. However, we both understood that where the Lord guides, He provides, as He had done for years at 225Hi!

So I had to know, "Is God really prompting me to rent the flat and to trust Him for the rent?"

With this in mind I asked Ian to let me have the keys so I could go in and pray about it before making a decision.

Taking my Bible with me I decided to ask the Lord to tell me yes or no. I don't know how long I was in the flat, but at the end of the time a verse from the Acts of the Apostles really stood out to me, it was the second to last verse:

"For two whole years Paul stayed there in his own rented accommodation and welcomed all who came to see him." Acts 28:30

I just knew that it was God speaking to me, so I immediately went back to Ian and confirmed that I would take the flat.

There was actually another verse that seemed significant too: "The earth is the Lord's, and everything it." Psalm 24:1

It seemed to me that Lord was saying something like, "The earth and everything in it is mine. Youth for Christ is mine. The flat is mine. You're mine. So, what's the problem?"

Life at the flat was tremendous. A little more respectable than at 225Hi! and it was certainly nice to have my own bath! At 225Hi! I used to hop over to the Excelsior Hotel and have a shower each morning at the cost of two dollars per week.

I continued to look after 225Hi! while living at the flat but discontinued the 24 hour operation and closed up each night at about eleven o'clock.

My newspaper cartoon club was going well at that time and every few weeks we would add another paper to our list of customers. The membership grew spectacularly, ultimately reaching 70,000 with the addition of Grapevine Magazine in Auckland. As we added newspapers I was aware that eventually we would get virtually all the newspapers in a particular province and that would give us total circulation coverage of the area. I felt that when that happened I would do a special trip there to put on Gospel programmes in local churches as the children in the province would already know me and would hopefully turn up en masse to our meetings.

The first province that was completely covered by five newspapers was Taranaki, and so I started planning for what I called "The Greatest Jesus Show on Earth."

A friend in New Plymouth arranged a meeting of local ministers who wished to take part. They booked venues for sixteen meetings to run over a period of about two weeks.

I wanted the children's meetings to be really special and planned to take a big sheet of chip board along on which I could do some big cartoons and Gospel presentations. I intended to do my drawings with large black felts and then invite the children to colour them in. Because of the large scale of the cartoons I decided that I would cut down some paint rollers into miniatures, and the children could use them to apply the paint.

"What about the mess!" a horrified mother gasped. Soon some ladies were making the most glorious plastic clown suits for the children to wear, and while they were at it they made me a larger version.

The planning committee in New Plymouth set the dates and so there was no turning back. How I would get up there, I had absolutely no idea, but once again I had to trust the Lord to provide. To ensure that everyone in the province knew about the programmes, I prepared full page advertisements that would run in each of the five newspapers.

Some people say when you're doing something like this for the Lord you should wait until the money comes in and then go ahead. That way there's no risk of not being able to pay the bills at the end of the project with the resulting discredit it brings on Christians.

I can see the wisdom of this argument especially as in more recent years I organised a really big project that had a large financial shortfall when it was all over with much resulting embarrassment to me. However, at the time of the Taranaki project I knew the Lord was leading me in the planning, and I had no doubt that everything would be paid for when it was all over, and it was.

As it got nearer to the time to set out though, it started to dawn on me that without the Lord's provision I would be in big trouble! I had the chip board and stands to take with me as well as lots of other equipment but had no vehicle. Then there was the cost of getting there in terms of fuel and the ferry charge for the Toyota Hiace which was the type of vehicle I thought I'd need.

I planned to travel north on the 2pm Inter Island ferry on a Friday afternoon. This would mean I would be able to drive on to Levin where I would drop in on a Christian children's club that I had helped to establish there.

They met at 7pm on Friday evenings and I figured the 2pm ferry would be the latest I could catch if I were to get to the meeting. I would then stay in Levin and go on to Hawera the next day.

To catch the 2pm ferry I would have to leave Christchurch early in the morning and working back I realised that the money for petrol, ferry fares and other essentials would have to come along by the previous evening.

First, though, I would have to get my Toyota Hiace and would need it by Thursday at the very latest as I would have to load it.

On the Friday before I was due to leave I happened to be talking to Warren Smith who operates a Christian bookshop in town and he asked me how my plans for the trip were proceeding. I told him everything was going according to plan but that I would need some sort of a vehicle.

"What about the Toyota Hiace?" he asked, "Would that do?"

"But what about the shop?" I replied. "Won't you need the van? I'll be away for about three weeks."

"No problem," replied Warren, "we've got another vehicle. If you'd like the van you're welcome to it."

If I had any doubts about the Lord's leading in this project they disappeared with the provision of the van, and early the following week I picked it up from the shop.

This put me in a very interesting position. All my equipment was ready to pack and my work at 225Hi! was completed, so really there was no reason why I shouldn't leave a little earlier and spend a few days with my friends in Levin.

The only thing still to come in was the $300 I felt I needed to get on the road, so I loaded up the van and waited. I decided that if the money arrived on Tuesday I would head off on Wednesday morning.

It didn't arrive Tuesday, so I couldn't leave Wednesday. It didn't arrive Wednesday, so I couldn't leave Thursday. I won't say I was starting to get nervous by midday, Thursday, but things were certainly looking interesting!

Virtually no one knew I had a need of money, so I knew that when it arrived it would unquestionably be God's provision.

At about three o'clock on Thursday afternoon, the phone rang. It was my old friend Jenny Tanner. Her son James was in hospital and Jenny asked if I could drop in and see him as he would love a cartoon.

"No problem," I answered, trying to conceal my delight. Obviously the Lord was going to provide through the Tanners. They had a very good business and were extremely generous.

Jenny was at the hospital when I arrived and we sat and chatted as I cheered James up with some cartoons.

"What are you doing these days, Nev? Anything interesting?"

"Well, actually I'm heading off to Taranaki soon. I'm doing a series of gospel meetings up there."

"When are you leaving?"

"Oh, I expect to be going tomorrow, but that's not certain at this stage." I had no intention of giving her any indication that I was broke, so I just carried on talking about the trip and what I would be doing.

There was a few seconds silence as she studied me and then, "You don't have any money, do you?"

"Well, no, not at the moment, but that's no problem."

"Oh, Logan, you'll get your money. You always do."

I sure do, I thought, and I know exactly where it's coming from! Whoopty doo! God is soooo good!

Back at 225Hi! I just sat at my desk with a big grin on my face waiting for Jenny's husband, Sam, to phone me.

The minutes ticked by and at 5.15pm the phone rang.

"Hi, Nev! It's Warren Smith. What are you doing here? I thought you were in the North Island. You were going earlier in the week. What's happening?"

I felt I had to come clean, so I told Warren of my financial situation.

"OK, you'd better come round to the shop," he said, "the money's here for you."

This is what had happened.

At 5.15pm – it was 10 o'clock at night in Los Angeles – my old friend in the USA, Mike Friedeman, was praying and the Lord spoke clearly to him saying, "Send Neville Logan $300."

Mike was getting married a couple of weeks later and needed every cent he could get, but he knew absolutely that God had spoken to him.

"OK, Lord, he answered, "I'll send it in the morning."

"Too late, you must send it now."

"But, Lord, how can I send it at ten o'clock at night?"

"Phone Warren Smith and tell him to give it to Nev from his till."

Warren's shop closes at 5.30 and if Mike hadn't phoned right away he would have missed him.

I know some readers will find that story hard to believe but it's true. God really does talk to people as clearly as He spoke to Mike, but don't feel discouraged if you don't seem to hear His voice in this way. He's well able to get though to you and when He does, you'll know it's Him.

Just trust Him.

I'm tempted to start relating some of the incredible things that happened during the Taranaki trip but suffice to say the meetings were tremendous. Most times I didn't have any idea of what I would say or do when I walked on to the stage, but every time the Lord did wonderful things and everyone present knew it was Him. It certainly wasn't me! I was totally dependent on Him and He never let me down.

I've changed my mind, I'll tell you one story!

One of our meetings was to be held in Everybody's Theatre at Opunake, south of Mount Taranaki (Egmont). On the morning of the meeting I dropped in to check out the theatre, and was not impressed. The downstairs was pretty grotty, with broken seats and litter from the previous performance, and it was not a particularly nice place for meetings. What really angered me though was a large poster in the foyer advertising a movie called 'Motel Hell'. I've never seen such a disgusting poster and it really annoyed me to think that I was inviting children to that place knowing they would have no choice but to view it while passing it on the way in.

By the time the evening meeting came around I was really mad; not a great frame of mind for doing my cartoon presentation and talking of the love of God.

But then, maybe I was in just the right frame of mind!

I made a rather radical decision as to the seating arrangements. Because of the dilapidated state of the downstairs area, I decided to hold the meeting in the circle (upstairs). I set my board up right by the railing at the front, which meant that I only had a couple of feet between it and the first row of seats to work in. So I didn't allow anyone to sit in the front row.

By the time the meeting started I was really upset, and my mood did not improve when the second to front row was taken up by ten of the local louts, bent on creating havoc!

I sat on the rail and watched as the circle gradually filled up and was quite intrigued to see that by starting time every seat was taken. None were empty except the front row and there was no one standing.

During my journey through the province a young man whose name escapes me joined me, and was a tremendous encouragement to me. He played the guitar, so when it came time to sing some songs he was able to take care of that part of the programme. I stood up to open the meeting and was just unable to speak at first, I was so incredibly angry.

Looking over at my guitarist it seemed that he was also in a similar state. He was sitting slumped over his guitar as if he was asleep, and he seemed to have collapsed, but he was probably praying. I looked back to the audience and all I could really take in was this row of rebels at the front.

Then I let loose!

Ignoring the rest of the crowd I addressed the boys directly and told them how disgusted I was at the poster. I told them the Mayor of Opunake and the theatre management ought to be ashamed of themselves for allowing such a thing to be displayed, and that one day they would stand before Almighty God and answer for it.

The aforementioned folk were probably present at the meeting. Opunake is a small town.

I went on to say that Satan is real and that he is bombarding our young people with all this garbage with one object in mind – to drag them all off to spend eternity in hell with him and his demons.

I was in tears all the time I was talking and the main concern in my heart was that those young people were happily hurling themselves into the devil's things, blissfully unaware that they were being sucked into a lifestyle that would end in the lake of fire.

The boys were stunned, mouths open and eyes bugging out, they hung on to every word I said.

I was really in a state, but quite frankly I couldn't have cared less what anyone thought.

Of course, looking back, I can see that God had engineered the whole thing and His Holy Spirit had been directing everything I did and said.

In time I was all talked out, and looking over at my guitarist I saw that he was pretty wide-eyed too, so I thought he might be up to playing some choruses.

After that I did my fun cartoon presentation and then preached the good news about Jesus.

It was an incredible thing to experience the spiritual change in the place during the course of the meeting.

When we started out there was a really bad feeling in the theatre, as if every demon in New Zealand had been summoned to attend. By the end it was exactly the opposite. The beautiful presence of the Lord had transformed the place.

One can only imagine the battle that must have taken place that night between the forces of darkness and the Lord's holy angels as they fought for control of the meeting.

I asked everyone in the place to hold hands, and invited anyone who wanted to ask the Lord to forgive them their sins and to come into their hearts to do so. Along with many others, nine of the ten boys responded and the place just erupted into songs of praise to the Lord.

The boys were well known in Opunake and one of the local pastors came forward and shook hands with them, undertaking to look after them and to help them get established in their new found faith.

Then one of the boys who seemed to be the leader of the group indicated that he would like to speak, "Neville, on behalf of the boys I'd just like to thank you for coming here and telling us all about Jesus."

My last memory of that night was those boys walking off down the road and turning regularly to wave to me.

There's an old song "Jesus is the answer for the world today. Above Him, there's no other. Jesus is the way."

During my time in Taranaki I had a distinct feeling that when I returned to Christchurch I would be moving out of my YFC flat. I had no reason to move, and had no idea why the Lord would want me to, but the idea persisted. By the time I arrived home, I was sure I'd be moving out but still had no plans.

At church on Sunday a young fellow by the name of Malcolm Pasley who lived with his parents in a lovely home on Mount Pleasant invited me home for lunch. As we sat and chatted, Aroha, his mother suddenly said, "Nev, why are you living in that flat all by yourself? Why don't you consider coming up here and staying with us?"

My ears pricked up, and I muttered some sort of non-committal answer as I considered my feeling that I would be moving somewhere. After praying about the situation I really felt right about accepting the Pasley's offer and the next day I moved up to their home on Mount Pleasant Hill and occupied their caravan for the next eighteen months.

I went in on Monday to tell Ian Kington of my decision to vacate the flat and when he checked the rent book he noted that the day I decided to move out, the following Thursday, was exactly two years to the day since I had moved in!

I was amazed as I remembered the scriptures the Lord had given me exactly two years previously as I prayed in the flat.

I sent the Pasleys a copy of this chapter for their scrutiny and this was the reply:

Dear Neville

We've thoroughly enjoyed the chapter of your book and Malcolm and I are happy for you to use our names. You taught Malcolm, myself and Melissa a lot in the eighteen months you were with us. You taught us all to step out in faith when sometimes you don't know what the outcome will be.

Did I tell you the story of how Trevor Scott healed our horse's leg?

We were at a Gospel meeting on the top of Mount Pleasant. It was a pitch black night. I challenged Trevor about healing a horse's poisoned leg – very bad!

He said, "Why not?" So off we went with one small torch. Found the horse. He prayed. In three days the swelling and puss had disappeared.

Praise the Lord!

Your old 'house mum' Aroha.

### UPDATE

I gave my life to the Lord in 1978, and most of the events related in this book took place between that time and August 1984, the time of the Taranaki trip.

In 1985, for family reasons I decided to move to Auckland and 225Hi! became the responsibility of another Christian ministry.

Soon after arriving in Auckland I commenced work for Grapevine Magazine as Art Director and was able to give greater first-hand attention to the Cartoon Club which was appearing in that publication.

Later I moved from Grapevine to a position as advertising artist for Botannix Garden Centres. While working at Botannix, I had the privilege of co-hosting Radio Rhema's "KID'S CALL" programme with Peter Evans.

In 1990 I moved to Snells Beach, about an hour's drive north of Auckland.

For a long time I'd had a feeling that I would one day bring some blind children from Los Angeles to New Zealand for an adventure holiday and in 1990 I put the project together, bringing twenty four children and eight adult chaperons over for what was to be the holiday of a lifetime for them. They were to be based at Snells Beach, so I moved up there before the event to generate local support for the project.

In 1992, during a visit to Radio Rhema, I met Barbara Hamilton, a South African who had worked as a television producer for the South African Broadcasting Corporation. She had initially trained as a school teacher, been an airline stewardess, and for a while worked part-time at the Port Elizabeth Oceanarium in South Africa, where she spent much of her time swimming with the dolphins. I was fascinated with this multi-talented lady and offered her a job, as I felt at the time that I might be needing a TV producer.

To make a long story short, we were married in April 1993 and have lived happily ever after.

### THE NITTY GRITTY CHAPTER

I once wrote a book called "Jelly for Breakfast!"

It was the true story of a hair-raising adventure I had with a group of children, and the last chapter had the same title as this one.

In the book, which was primarily written for children I tried to sum up, in the "Nitty Gritty Chapter," the Gospel (Good News) as simply as I could. I have decided to reprint it here and trust that if after reading this book you want to know Jesus in a greater way, this chapter will show you how.

Jesus said: I am the way, and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. John, chapter 14:16

God knew me before I was born and all my life He has been speaking to me in ways that I could understand at the time. That doesn't make me any different to anyone else. I believe that He talks to all of us, but sometimes we don't want to listen.

Over the years I would sometimes shoot a prayer up to Him, not sure that He would bother to answer. Most times He didn't seem to reply. I didn't realise it at the time, but something was blocking my prayers. This verse from the Bible explains what my problem was:

Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear. But your iniquities have separated you from your God; and your sins have hidden his face from you, so that he will not hear. Isaiah, chapter 59, verses 1-2.

What are sins?

Sin is a Greek work that describes an arrow falling short of the target.

For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Romans, chapter 3 verse 23.

In other words, none of us, no matter how good we think we may be, measure up to God's holy standard. We are separated from Him by our sins and can't be friends with Him in this life or in the life to come.

People who work for a living get a little envelope on Thursday afternoon, containing their pay. This is their payment for the work they have done during the week.

The Bible says that when our life on earth is over we also get what we deserve for what we have done.

The wages of sin is death.... Romans chapter 6 verse 23.

If that was the whole story it would be a pretty miserable end to our book, wouldn't it? But that's not the end.

The good news comes right after that last scripture.

...But God's free gift is eternal life in union with Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans chapter 6 verse 23.

How does God give us eternal (everlasting) life?

But God demonstrates His own love towards us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Romans chapter 5 verse 8.

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world should be saved through Him. John ch. 3 verses 16-17.

You see, Jesus took the penalty for our sin. He accepted the wages of sin, for my sins and for yours, when He died on the cross 2000 years ago. He died for you, so that you won't ever have to die.

Notice that eternal life is a free gift. If I offered you a birthday present, what would you do? You would come to me, reach out and take it, wouldn't you?

God tells us that there are two things we must do to receive this free gift. A friend of Jesus, called Peter, was talking to some men one day and he told them what Jesus had done on the cross for them. When they realised that He had died for them, they cried out to Peter, asking him to tell them what they should do.

And Peter said to them, "Repent and let each of you be baptised in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins; and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you and your children, and for all who are far off, as many as the Lord our God shall call to Himself." Acts ch. 2 verses 38-39.

You will know by now whether God is calling you to Himself. He doesn't call everyone.

Do you feel a desire in your heart to get right with God? As you have been reading this book have you felt an excitement in your heart and a desire to be His friend?

In the scripture above from Acts we are told very clearly what we must do to be saved.

REPENT – to repent means to make a decision to turn away from your sins and towards Jesus; turn your back on your selfish way of life "doing your own thing", and ignoring God and decide to be led by the Lord from this point on.

Are you sorry for all the things that you have done that were not pleasing to God? If you're not really sorry, then you aren't really ready to be forgiven. If this is the case, pray and ask God to help you to have a repentant heart.

BE BAPTISED – the Greek work for baptise is "baptiso" which means to be "buried".

After Jesus was crucified He was buried and then rose again to live forever. When we are baptised we do the same thing, but we are not buried in the ground. We are briefly "buried" in water.

I believe that to be baptised is a commandment and as such must be obeyed, but I also believe that you can receive Jesus into your life and have an assurance of eternal life without being baptised.

And the witness is this, that God has given us eternal life and this life is in His Son. He who has the Son has life. He who does not have the Son does not have life.1 John ch. 5 verses 11-12.

Imagine you are out in the Sahara desert and you repent and ask the Lord to forgive you and come into your heart. Then you look around for another Christian to baptise you, but you are all alone. There's no water for thousands of miles and while you are thinking about the situation you are attacked by a gang of bandits and killed.

Will God turn you away because you have not obeyed His command?

Of course not! He would take your circumstances into account and judge you accordingly.

God looks on your heart and what He is really interested in are your attitudes.

Different Christians have different thoughts about how old we should be before we get baptised. My advice is to pray about it. God will speak to your heart and tell you what to do.

If you are young, ask God to speak to you through your parents. God has commanded us to honour our father and mother so if you accept your parent's decision, you will please God, whatever their decision may be.

RECEIVE – God, the Holy Spirit and Jesus are the same. The Holy Spirit is the Spirit of Jesus and is also the Spirit of God.

However, you are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God dwells in you. But if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Him. Romans ch. 8 verse 9.

So when you ask Jesus to forgive your sins and come into your heart, you receive the Holy Spirit at that time.

There is another experience known as the "Baptism of the Holy Spirit."

I believe this is different from receiving Jesus as your Lord and Saviour, and it is not necessary to be baptised in the Holy Spirit to receive eternal life.

The Bible tells us that if we want to speak with God, we should go to our room and shut the door and He who hears us in private will reward us openly.

When you have asked Jesus to forgive your sins and come into your life, these are a few things I believe you should do:

  * Tell people you are a Christian. Jesus said that if we tell people about Him, He will tell His Father about us, but if we deny we know Him He will tell His Father that He doesn't know us. This will take a lot of courage as some people will laugh at you or give you a tough time. Jesus told us this would happen. He said that if people gave him a hard time and ended up nailing Him to a cross that we can expect similar treatment. The good news is that He is with us every step of the way. Remember He is God and nothing can happen to us unless He allows it. If you have problems God can do one of three things:

1. Take your problem away.

2. Make it smaller.

3. Give you strength to overcome it.

Which one would you ask the Lord for? I'll take no. 3 every time, but always remember that His choice may be 1 or 2.

  * Get a Bible. If your family are not Christians you may not have one at home, although most families have one tucked away somewhere. These days there are many "easy to understand" translations. You are almost sure to have a Christian bookshop in your town. The people in the shop are qualified to advise you on the best translation for your needs.

  * Find a Christian friend to talk to. If you are at school, you will no doubt have someone in your class who loves the Lord. He or she is your "brother" or "sister" now (you have the same heavenly Father) and will be delighted to hear that you are saved.

  * Get involved in a good church. You need to be really careful about choosing a church. There are many strange religions around these days and lots of people have been fooled into getting involved with so-called "churches" that really have very little to do with The Lord Jesus Christ. One of your first prayers should be that the Lord will guide you to the church of HIS choice. Your Christian friend will probably be a help to you and it would also be a good idea to ask at the Christian bookshop.

Well, that's the "nitty gritty." In other words, that's the basic story. There's lots more I would like to tell you about Jesus but there's no space here.

Let's leave the last words to these three well-known Christians:

"Right after the Lunar expedition, I felt that if I lived 10,000 years I could never experience anything compared with that. Now I know an even greater truth. Walking on the moon cannot begin to compare with walking on Earth with Jesus." Charles Duke, Apollo 16 Astronaut.

"I may have been fifth strongest in the world, but I'd rather be a cripple and have Christ, than be a champion and live my life without Him." Don Oliver, NZ Olympic weightlifter.

"The greatest moment of my life was not receiving my Olympic medal or even winning the Fukoda marathon in Japan soon after. It was the night I walked forward during the Billy Graham Crusade in Auckland and said, 'Lord, here I am. Use me as you will.'"

Barry Magee, NZ Olympic runner.

THE END

### THE LAST WORD

By Barbara Logan

1 _LIFE with NEV LOGAN – Cartoonist extraordinaire, Husband, Father, Grandfather, Friend, Writer, Cartoonist, Artist, Actor, Raconteur, Inventor, Builder, Carpenter, Kayaker, Landscaper, and, A Man after God's Own Heart_

After Nev's sudden and unexpected passing on 7th December 2007, it seemed appropriate to provide a further update. Various eulogies and condolences are set out at the end.

Perhaps one should begin a biography at the beginning, when the person is born. However, as I was not there then (only coming into Nev's life in 1992 when we met at Radio Rhema),

I am not qualified to write about his childhood, teens, first marriage, children, divorce, Bealey Ave, 225Hi! or the Buddies adventure. Where appropriate, I can quote his stories, told in his inimitable way and hope that I can convey something of his _joie de vivre_ , glorious sense of humour and all embracing love for God and people, and thereby fill in some of the gaps that will loom large, especially at the beginning of his life, stories that only his mum, dad and brothers could have told.

So, I'll begin at our beginning.

Not long after arriving from South Africa to make a new life in New Zealand, I started work at a Christian radio station in Auckland, New Zealand.

Unfortunately nothing seemed to be working out for me as hoped and planned. I was, to use one of Nev's expressions, 'between a rock and a hard place,' with no option but to put my head down, grit my teeth and work as hard as possible to keep from giving up and returning to South Africa.

Then suddenly, along came long, lean, lanky Nev.

My desk was behind the office door, so when it was flung open, I was hidden from view.

A deep baritone boomed out, "Who needs a hug?"

"She does!" chorused the other ladies in the office and pointed to one sitting close by.

I was later informed that this was Neville Logan who was involved with Kid's Call, a Sunday morning programme for children.

After providing the hug, he suddenly noticed me and swung round to face me with one long leg stuck out in front of him in a parody of a double take.

I was somewhat startled, especially when this odd but attractive personage plonked himself down on the edge of my desk and demanded, "Who're you?"

"Barbara! And who are you?"

"Nev. Are you married?"

I hesitated, then mumbled, "I don't know."

"What do you mean? How can you not know, you're either married or not!"

"It's a long story and I don't have time to tell you now, I'm in the middle of something."

"Tell me," he persisted, so I told him a very little bit about my situation.

Thereafter, he dropped in several times for a chat.

One day, just before Christmas, the divorce papers finally arrived from South Africa. I had been divorced for almost a year.

The next time Neville dropped in, I was able to inform him of my now definite and official status.

All he said was, "Um!"

I thought he'd have a word of knowledge or wisdom for me. I'd been getting a lot of that lately and expected more of the same. It always cheered me as the 'words' were very encouraging.

In fact, a few weeks earlier, just before receiving the divorce papers, I'd gone to a Christmas party for 'aliens', where the sole Kiwi had been particularly prolific with her words of knowledge and wisdom. I'd written down everything she'd said and was delighted until she added, "Oh, and by the way, the Lord has a husband for you here in New Zealand who will love you and accept you just as you are and won't try to change you."

"I don't think so," was my reply. After all, as far as I knew at that time, I was still married. Nevertheless, I wrote this 'prophecy' down as well.

Back to Neville!

Soon after the 'Um!' he rang and asked me to pray with him for some person who was in dire straits. I don't remember what it was about, but he phoned a couple of times more about 'religious' matters.

Then a short while later, Neville again bounded into our office, sat on my desk and offered me a job.

It was a strange offer: "I think I need a TV producer. Tell you what, I'll put a roof over your head, feed you, and if you ever make me any money, I may pay you."

I laughed, thinking he was joking.

The next week he made the offer again, this time adding, "Come work for us and we'll love you and accept you just as you are and won't try to change you."

Remember the alien Christmas with the sole Kiwi, coincidentally named Barbara? At the time, I had been wondering what on earth I was doing so far from home with no direction or purpose. When Kiwi Barbara began to have words of knowledge and wisdom, you'll recall, I was so encouraged that I wrote them all down. In the short interim, I had somehow forgotten this 'word of wisdom' from Barbara, so when Nev said much the same thing to me, I didn't make the connection.

Nevertheless, I decided to go up to Snells Beach where he was living to be interviewed for the very vague but intriguing job offer. A friend accompanied me as she knew where he lived.

We were warmly welcomed into his home but I wondered why we were being interviewed there and not at his office/studio. I soon learned that the cottage was all those things too, at least the garage was.

We had no sooner sat down than a young boy stepped through the window and demanded that Nev do him a 'draw-ring'. Nev asked what he wanted and immediately set to work on the rather strange request – an elephant playing underwater hockey with an octopus. We watched fascinated as this odd request came to life in less than a minute.

Child happy and departed through same window, I thought it would be down to business, but a knock at the door revealed a proud mother with offspring who also wanted a 'draw-ring'. Again Nev obliged and made a cup of tea for his four guests. When the latter two had departed, he decided his remaining guest and interviewee deserved a bite to eat. He presented us with a thick slice of ham, a couple of boiled potatoes, a boiled egg and one large lettuce leaf in which a whole tomato reclined coyly.

After lunch, I thought it would be interview time, instead he began telling me all sorts of things about myself that he could not possibly have known – that _Word of Knowledge_ thing again. God seemed to be putting His finger on every hurt and raw spot in my life but with so much love and gentleness that I found my carefully applied mascara cascading blackly down my cheeks.

I gave up any idea of an interview.

On I arriving home, Joyce (my dear friend and landlady) was horrified at my appearance and demanded, "What did that man do to you?"

"He told me all about myself and that God cared and had a wonderful future for me and a whole lot of other things that don't make sense yet."

"Oh, that's interesting," was her comment. "I think you'd best go work for him."

And so I did.

Initially, Nev had arranged for me to board with friends of his. After a short while there, he moved me into a fairy-book cottage with a white picket fence.

It was great fun going to 'work' each day. At first, I viewed the video tapes of his remarkable Buddies adventure with a view to editing them into a short fast-paced item to send as a memento of their trip to each of the Buddies in America.

Without a cent to his name, he'd decided to bring a group of legally blind youngsters along with chaperones, from Los Angeles to New Zealand for an adventure holiday. The American Society for the Blind asked diffidently if they could contribute by paying the airfares. As there were twenty plus of these, Nev accepted with alacrity. One financial issue solved, only a few more to go – like accommodation, food, transport, actual adventures and entrance fees to places of interest.

Nev had also buddied up every sight-challenged American with a sighted New Zealander from the local high school. Hence – Buddies!

The forty plus youngsters plus camera/sound operator, chaperones, bus drivers and, of course, Nev, did some amazing things including Black Water Rafting; horse-riding; flips in Tiger Moths; a deep-sea fishing trip; a visit to a marae (meeting house) for a Maori cultural experience; to name but a few.

The Americans had a wonderful time and he received a stack of letters thanking him for a never to be forgotten holiday.

Viewing the tapes was great fun and gave a good idea of what they'd got up to.

Many of the organizations concerned contributed their services to the Buddies venture free of charge and there were some donations to help cover costs.

However, there was one problem – by the end of the trip, no money had come in for the bus that Nev had hired.

Not long after our marriage, I'd discovered that Nev's finances were somewhat chaotic, so I took them over and saw to my dismay that the bus invoices were long overdue. That was soon remedied as I had started doing the type-setting for Nev which helped sort out his ongoing financial crises – more money in and less money out. Plus, a large anonymous donation arrived one day in the post with an apology for being so late. Nev hadn't been mistaken in his Buddies venture – it was just that some of the donations had not made it in time.

The paper edit of the tapes completed, I discovered that there was no editing equipment and, no means for acquiring any in the foreseeable future. To keep busy, I set about cleaning and cooking for the two men – Nev had hired a young artist to assist him at about the time he 'hired' me – and joined them in believing for the editing equipment.

The three of us became good friends and our spare time (of which there was a good deal) consisted of walks on the beach, talking about the Lord, praying, telling one another stories about our lives and generally having fun.

Never at any time did Nev show the slightest romantic interest in me and in fact, informed me that he was convinced his ex-wife would return to him one day and that he was faithful to that 'vision'. When I discovered they'd been divorced almost 15 years and she had long since remarried, I was astonished to say the least, but at least it meant our friendship was safe from emotional complications.

Then, one day, as we were driving to Auckland – Nev was going to work at Kings Plant Barn whose advertising he handled and I was going to finish off a documentary at the radio station – I glanced over at him and was suddenly and unexpectedly overwhelmed with the most extraordinary and profound love I'd ever felt for anyone. It really shook me and I wondered if I was having some sort of break-down.

In view of his devotion to his first marriage, I decided to tell him on the return journey that I would be leaving and returning to live with Joyce.

However, when he fetched me from the radio station, Nev pre-empted me by telling me that he had something serious to say to me and would do so over lunch at Kings Plant Barn café. I thought he was going to tell me I would have to leave. This would have been a relief as I hadn't thought up a good reason for leaving with immediate effect – I couldn't tell him the truth, it was too embarrassing.

After parking his van at Kings, Nev folded his arms, cleared his throat and said, "I think it would be a good idea if we got married."

Stunned, I asked, "What about your first marriage being restored?"

Nev retorted with a big grin, "I was wrong about that, I know the Lord brought you here for me. He must have been saving me from other women by keeping me faithful to my first marriage."

"Well, I'll have to pray about it." Divorce and remarriage for a Christian is a very contentious issue and I didn't want to go against the Word of God, hence my non-committal reply

"You have twenty four hours to get an answer," he teased.

That night we were to have dinner with the local pastor.

There, yet another barrage of amazingly accurate and clear ' _Words of Knowledge and Wisdom'_ from the pastor gave me my answer. Nev looked across the dinner table, gave the thumbs up and grinned.

I'd met the twenty four hour dead-line with hours to spare!

As we left, Nev leaned on his van and queried, "Do you do weddings, Bazza?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask," laughed the pastor.

Nev decided we'd be married on the 4th April immediately after he'd completed some illustrations he was doing for Wendy Pye publications. The wedding was announced on the radio station and everyone who wanted to come was invited.

At the time, Nev had a kid's club in Snells Beach attended by about 60 children. He would do cartoons for them, feed them saveloys (sausages) or his special soup into which went 'anything that was bio-degradable' – the children usually spurned his soup so he added it to his own staple diet of banana sandwiches – and, of course, teach them about the Lord. Naturally all the children came to the wedding – as flower girls and page boys.

As I made my way into the packed hall at Lifeway College, it seemed for a while that marrying Nev Logan might not actually happen as getting to the front was proving a near impossibility.

Finally, with much "excuse-me-ing" I made it along the aisle to Nev's request that room be given for me to do some cartwheels up the aisle. Although I was unable and unwilling to oblige with the cartwheels, he was pleased to see me at last. The 'excuse me-ing' was to feature later in his children's book, "The Search for the Cartoonist."

### SNELLS BEACH, AUCKLAND AND BACK TO SNELLS

Soon after, we set off in Nev's little van for the South Island. On the way, we stopped off at various friends of his so that he could introduce me.

Nev was witty and quick with a great sense of humour and his stories had me laughing till my face hurt, so the trip was a great start to our life together.

At the same time he was one of the most devout Christians I'd ever encountered. His relationship with the Lord was deep and personal and his faith unshakeable, the word 'doubt' wasn't in his vocabulary.

Over our years together, I discovered another wonderful quality – he was faithful and true. He was totally committed to me and the marriage even when there were hiccoughs, as happens in relationships, and, to my amazement, he really did love me just as I was and didn't try to change me.

Not long after returning home, our rental cottage was sold and we moved to Auckland. The Cartoon club, which had moved from Nev's garage to the local church, sadly had to be closed down.

The stay in Auckland led to our involvement with the Messianic Jewish community there. Nev discovered that he had a real affinity with Jewish people (actually he had an affinity with almost everyone) which later led to our involvement with HIT (Hosting Israeli Travellers) an organization that 'buddied' Kiwis with Israelis.

We missed Snells Beach, so moved back when a rental property became available there. It was a huge house in a street appropriately named, Kotuku Place – Nev's charitable trust was The Kotuku Foundation.

At this time, Nev began work on his series of Bible teachings for the Kotuku clubs which he was setting up. Within a year there were over sixty clubs in New Zealand as well as a couple in Australia. These teachings impart deep Christian values to children in a fun way.

Not only was Nev creative and prolific, but he made it seem so easy. He'd write swiftly and fluently and his charming illustrations were done equally quickly and effortlessly.

In his young days as a graphic artist, he'd started a magazine called 'The Garden City Grunt' in Christchurch. While there was only ever one edition, it sold out. It featured an interview with the leader of the Mongrel Mob and another with a stripper named Black Pearl.

This was, needless to say, in his pre-Christian days, as was his political graffiti (probably the first in New Zealand) and his plan to have a streaker at a rugby match.

Landscaping was another of Nev's many talents and our gardens were beautifully designed, though somewhat ruined by my haphazard plantings.

Yet another talent was his ability to work with wood like his father who had been a cabinet maker.

Not all his endeavours were successful, however. His 'Amazing Granny Smith Rocking Chair,' which was to have brought him fame and fortune, thanks to a design fault, became the 'Amazing Exploding Granny Smith Rocker,' as some of the chairs 'exploded' as soon as they were put to use. There was no way of knowing which would do so until sat upon.

Another less spectacular disaster was his wooden paving block idea. Series 1 blocks, developed in Christchurch, were washed away with the first rains. Mark 2 blocks worked better as he gave them concrete feet.

Nev also illustrated books including some of the stories for Wendy Pye's children's books and the international Magic Box series as mentioned earlier.

He had no interest in animals when I met him but accommodated my love for all things with fur and feathers, even taking up riding (after a fashion) to keep me company on my long forest treks. When I took on an orphaned forest foal, he helped me keep it alive by making up bottles of foal mix and waking me (I slept with the foal in the stall he'd made) for feeds at two hourly intervals through the night, after night, after night.

It is evident from Nev's school career that he was unconventional from an early age. He described to me his vivid memory of his first day at school along with his first teacher. Neither met with his approval.

His sole happy day at school was at the end of the first term when he was informed that school was breaking up. With joy unbounded, he'd cycled over to watch the happy event. His disappointment at seeing the school still stolidly standing was enormous – he never quite got over it.

This inauspicious start to his school career continued until his 15th birthday when the principal called him into his office to inform the apprehensive young Nev that he'd organised a job for him – as an apprentice commercial artist owing to his propensity for drawing cartoons in his friends' text books.

His great charm and personality always got him out of trouble. His father rather enjoyed his larrikin behaviour, and his mother would scold, "Don't laugh Walter, it only makes him worse!" He loved his father's description of him as 'the family outlaw' and did his best to live up to it.

Nev's dad was his great hero in life and had unwittingly given him a good idea of what God was like. His dad could do anything, he was creative, funny, caring and probably an indulgent parent as the 'straps' with his leather shaving strop were tokens only. Walter Logan did not like disciplining his boys, he preferred having fun with them. His tall stories made a great impression on the young Neville who emulated his father, who no doubt was a great influence on his own gift for story-telling.

When Nev was born, his mother sent his dad off to register the birth, giving firm instructions to name him Neville William. When father Walter suggested his name in place of the William, mother Logan was adamant that their new son was to be Neville William Logan, period!

Some years later Nev applied for a passport. He was astounded to discover that his name was Neville William **Walter** Logan.

Nev decided to confront his father, "Dad, what's my name?"

"What do you mean, have you gone mad, you know your name, it's Neville William Logan!"

"Are you sure, Dad? There's not another name in there by any chance?"

"Of course not, don't be so stupid!" blustered Logan snr.

"Oh, well, the man at the passport office seems to think it's actually Neville William **Walter** Logan!"

Dad Logan had to admit that he'd added in the Walter despite his wife's instructions.

June Dooney, an old friend of Nev's, almost fell off her chair with laughter as did I when he regaled us with his ice-skating story.

He'd gone to the rink with some friends where, to his surprise, he heard his name called to join the speed-skaters on the ice. The lads had entered him in the speed race despite his very elementary skating abilities.

Nev, a good mimic, did the loudspeaker voice of the announcer and created a brilliant picture of his horror and disbelief as the voice kept calling for Neville Logan. His friends shoved him onto the rink where he took his place with the speed skaters.

As they shot off, well the others did, Nev slid one foot forward and brought the other up behind, _kerchunk, kerchunk, kerchunk_ , cutting a rather forlorn figure as the others lapped him again and again. He finally made his way to the rail which he vaulted awkwardly, 'almost taking off a spectator's nose' as he did so, and fled the scene.

Nev had a glorious baritone voice and standing beside him at church was great as I can't keep a tune and thanks to his very powerful voice was able to follow him and sing in tune, well some of the time.

I suggested he take singing lessons and become a professional singer as it seemed a shame to waste this great talent. However, he didn't like new experiences. Plus, unless he could do something without effort, he wasn't interested.

He cited his desire to learn the guitar, the single lesson, and his disappointment that he couldn't immediately play like Jose Feliciano.

Nev continued to, as he put it, 'lurch from miracle to miracle' – and I was privileged to witness, in Sydney, Australia, one that really touched my heart. A Muslim taxi driver whom Nev prayed for, had a vision of Jesus and came to faith in _Isa al Masih_ (Jesus the Messiah, in Arabic).

A holiday in Cairns where we went snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef was to prove a major disaster for Nev as he accidentally swam too far out and was so traumatised that he developed an irregular heart beat which was to plague him thereafter.

We also made two trips to the Gold Coast where we thoroughly enjoyed all the tourist attractions as well as Nev experiencing his first 'diving through the waves.'

While at Snells we purchased kayaks and took to the water like ducks. Unfortunately the kayaks were actually river craft and our trips to Kawau Island were rather hazardous as was our attempt to surf in to shore at Langs Beach on one occasion. Our guardian angels must have been very busy as we were both oblivious to the dangers of kayaking on the open ocean in those flimsy craft.

Once we were caught up in the middle of a swarm of mutton birds that parted over us as they skimmed the water heading for wherever mutton birds go in such huge numbers. Nev was relieved that they all had good eyesight and he didn't end up with one skewered through his ears.

During our second stay at Snells my mother visited us and was very taken with Nev, she declared, in contradiction to all the norms of mother-in-law-dom, "Nev is an absolute saint, a darling! In fact, I think he's too good for you!" I'm still puzzling over that.

My father and brother visited us at a very dramatic time.

While they were with us, we discovered to our horror that Nev had lung cancer. At least that is what the doctor told us at our home where he was waiting when we arrived back from a walk on the beach.

Nev had been coughing for some time and had finally agreed to see the doctor who had insisted on taking the X-rays which he had come to show us. The results were alarming especially as the doctor informed us (it was a Wednesday) that Nev was booked in with the specialist in Auckland on Friday. My dad and brother were also at the gate and just as shocked as I.

Nev took it in his stride and joked that he wanted to be buried in his old Valiant with his hands stapled to the steering wheel.

Friday we duly arrived at the specialist's rooms and Nev was put through various tests. The specialist was very concerned and booked him into Mercy Hospital (Auckland) for a biopsy on Monday.

When we arrived home, my father, who had been praying fervently, informed me that he felt impressed to anoint Nev with oil and pray for him and that the Lord would heal him.

However, we were so busy with people dropping in and other matters that nothing happened till the Sunday when my mild-mannered father insisted that he wanted to anoint Nev with oil and pray for him – NOW!

There happened to be olive oil in the pantry – which seemed a bit more Biblical than canola – so I fetched it and my father duly anointed Nev and prayed for him.

Monday, at Mercy hospital, the biopsy was carried out and Nev's lungs were perfectly clear. A miracle healing? I don't know, only our Lord does, but whatever happened, it was a great relief as the doctor had described this type of cancer as a very quick 'creeping' one.

Nev was in great demand for end of year Bible in Schools and primary school celebrations. He would put on a show which consisted mainly of cartoon demonstrations – with The Incredible Six Stage Twerp Chart, the Shark that thought it was a surf-board, Gloria the ballet dancing elephant and the Bulldog on a Harley Davidson ("har'ly recognizable" was his description) – his stock in trade.

His death defying act – drawing Wizz, short for Wisdom (formerly known as Twerp) blindfolded – was a great favourite.

A child would be asked to volunteer as his assistant, then the chosen one would blindfold him and hold the drawing board steady while the drawing happened. Of course, it was a mess, and the children would look on non-plussed while he scribbled all over the paper.

Then he would leap up with his back to the drawing, whip off the blindfold with a flourish and wait for the applause.

When the reaction was not what he expected, he'd turn to the board, do a double take, then ask if the blindfold assistant had moved the board.

There were screams of yes, she/he did, then some more honest or brave child would yell out that it wasn't so and after all the chaos had died down, he'd thank the assistant and admit that he couldn't really draw blindfolded.

Children loved his show and when he left, I pitied the teachers having to restore order. From the children's point of view, however, it was always a resounding success.

One of the shows ended on a poignant note with a sad-looking little boy coming up to him and announcing solemnly, "You made me laugh."

### TROUNSON KAURI PARK and ISRAELIS

After four years at 4 Kotuku Place, the owners were about to retire and move into 'our' house, so we decided to move on and purchase a place of our own. We found a lifestyle block across the road from Trounson Kauri Park north of Dargaville and moved there in March 1999.

At Trounson Park, our own home, I was again amazed at Nev's creativity – he could build as well as renovate.

Nev was a man of excellence and there was the touch of the artist in all his projects.

The shack at the back of the property was turned into a splendid cottage that housed visiting family and friends as well as providing a home from home for our next project – our HIT (Hosting Israeli Travellers, an organization which allowed Kiwis to host Israelis) kids.

The Israelis who stayed with us over the years at Trounson – more than 250 of them – were young people who had completed their long, compulsory military training and had come to NZ for their gap year. Nev loved them and they loved him. They entertained him with stories of their experiences in the Israeli army and tried to teach him Hebrew and about the political situation in their homeland.

His favourite girl, Adi, was 21 at the time and had been a tank commander, or something like that. This impressed him enormously, particularly as she was a very attractive and feminine young woman and didn't quite fit the picture of a tough tank instructor/commander.

In turn, he regaled them with his stories and challenged them about their relationship with their God, as most were secular.

It was a fulfilling and happy time. Our visitor's book, signed by our young friends, testifies to the fun they had with us. Most left with a drawing by Nev, each unique and exactly what was requested. Some took home drawings for family members too.

Many returned to Israel with a new interest in the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and a resolve to read the Bible.

At this time, Nev also wrote his story " **Excuse Me I Have To Shoot The Guitarist** " in the café at Kings Plant Barn while he waited for his business meetings with the manager. He was still doing the advertising for Kings despite our distance from Auckland, thanks to the wonders of modern computer technology.

It was also while we were at Trounson that Nev experienced one of the highlights of his life – a trip to Israel.

Shortly before we'd joined HIT a young Israeli couple had contacted us through a local who knew we loved Israel. They subsequently stayed with us for two weeks while their vehicle was being repaired.

Anat and Gil were beautiful, gentle souls and a great introduction to Israelis. They were so patently in love that I jokingly suggested they marry and invite us to their wedding in Israel. A couple of years later they did just that. Only one of us could attend as the other needed to stay home to keep the business going.

Since I had already been to Israel it was decided it should be Nev. Instead of using an accountant that year, I did the tax returns myself and with the money thus saved, Nev had his ticket to the Holy Land.

### ISRAEL

Nev did his usual Nev thing and made no plans regarding his trip other than informing our 'kids' that he was coming. He allowed himself to be totally led by the Holy Spirit.

At first he stayed at a Christian hostel near Mt Carmel. Later he moved to Jerusalem.

Every day the fax would summons me to receive the day's update. I think I enjoyed Israel almost as much as he did, as his observations and comments were vibrant and insightful.

He immediately invaded everyone's life with his love and joy, making many friends all over the country.

He was also hosted by the families of some of our HIT kids who treated him like royalty for loving their children.

Adi arranged for him to be interviewed by one of the newspapers – two full pages with photos and a cartoon of Nev doing a cartoon of himself.

His stay in Jerusalem was the highlight of highlights, he loved the Old City and met many Arabs as well as Jews and Christians, all of whom he befriended.

He stayed in an Arab backpackers' in the Old City where he met a couple who introduced him to aspects of life in Israel that few tourists would ever experience.

He also spent a day at Hadassah hospital doing drawings for Mohammed, a little Arab boy. He was amazed that this famous Jewish hospital treated the 'enemy' (the second _intifada_ had started when Nev arrived) as professionally and well as their own wounded and ill.

He informed me that one day we would return to Israel to live – in the Old City, of course!

The _intifada_ meant visitors stayed away and Nev promptly claimed the title 'tourist of the month.' He spoke to many people on the buses as he travelled about, not only about New Zealand and Israel, but also about the God of Israel. Not one person ever rejected his message or himself. I guess only Nev could manage that.

### THE FAR, FAR NORTH AND YEBIT WATIF

In March of 2004 we sold our Trounson property and moved to a lifestyle block in the Far Far North, up on the Aupouri Peninsula.

The property we purchased was to be a haven for all who were worn-out and needed a rest as well as being a home from home for Israelis.

During this time Nev wrote a children's book, something he had been brooding for many years and which was to have evolved into an internet based, world-wide 'creationist' club for children.

The book was entitled, "The Search for the Cartoonist." One of the zany characters was a snake called, Yebit Watif. The main character was Arnold, a cartoon kiwi bird deeply concerned about its nostrils that wanted to find its cartoonist and get some answers.

Just before completing the book, he flew to Switzerland to visit his son, Kelly. This was another great time for him as it was the restoration of their relationship.

When he returned, he completed the final drawings for the Cartoonist book and began writing the first chapters of the sequel, "Scoop."

During September 2007, he flew to Invercargill to meet his new grandson. He spent some quality time with there with his daughter.

On his return home, he was very quiet (for Nev) and said he was the happiest he'd ever been and that he loved our farmlet more than any place he'd ever lived.

It was as if he'd suddenly 'come home' and was at peace.

He thanked me profusely for things I'd done that seemed inconsequential to me and told me often how much he loved and appreciated me.

I suspect that deep down he knew that his time on this earth was drawing to a close.

### THE END AND BEYOND

Throughout his life as well as our marriage, Nev frequently had terrible headaches which only increasing amounts of disprins could relieve, and, also suffered much from nausea and stomach pains (the dispirins?) He also had severe back pain at times and could barely move. He told me that when he was young, he'd play one game of rugby, the first of the season, and then his back would give in and he would barely be able to walk.

Visits to the doctor were met with the usual panacea, 'It's stress.' Yet when asked what he was stressed about, he didn't know and felt it must be 'subconscious.'

On 6th December, the day we were to go into Kaitaia (the nearest town) to do our Christmas shopping, he woke up feeling ill.

He went off to shower but quickly staggered out of the bathroom clutching his chest and gasping that the pain was unbearable.

Thinking he was having a heart attack, I got him settled on the sofa, put a blanket over him and tore off to a friend nearby to ring an ambulance.

Our street was without power or phone – we truly lived close to nature, in the 'wop-wops' as Nev described it.

After ringing for the ambulance, I rushed home to Nev.

It took over an hour for the ambulance to arrive from Kaitaia. There were no volunteers to man the local Pukenui one.

The doctors at Kaitaia hospital said there were major problems and he would need to be taken by helicopter to Auckland hospital.

The St John's paramedics were marvellous and did everything to keep Nev comfortable. Morphine helped with the pain and he was able to doze off.

Finally we landed in Auckland but bad weather meant we couldn't land at the hospital itself so there was yet another wait for an ambulance.

At the hospital, the medical team swung into action immediately.

The very kind and compassionate surgeon informed me that Nev had suffered an aortic aneurism and required immediate surgery or he would not last the hour.

Nev's eldest son, James, arrived and we were advised to return to his home to wait for a call from the hospital when Nev regained consciousness.

About 2am the call came, but it was not good news. The operation had been successful but the medical team could not wean Nev off the bypass. His heart was too damaged.

Not long after, at 2.36am on the 7th December 2007, the amazing, one and only, unforgettable Neville William Walter Logan embarked on his final adventure.

I've no doubt he was met by his Master with these words, "Well done, good and faithful servant!"

It had never occurred to me that Nev wouldn't be coming home with me. He was so vibrant and full of life that he seemed indestructible. How wrong I was, he was actually quite frail and an undiagnosed condition was what had made him quite ill at times.

His irrepressible spirit and strength of character had carried him through much pain and suffering with his only complaint being that he sometimes 'didn't feel too great'.

People came from far and near to farewell Nev and we tried to make it a 'happy' funeral as he'd always said he wanted his send-off to be a celebration. I hope we succeeded.

While I know for sure that Nev is unutterably happy in the presence of his King and heavenly Father, for those left behind life will never be the same.

Would that our time with him had been longer, much longer, but our lives are in the Father's hands.

Below are just a few of the many tributes to Nev that poured in from all over the world.

### TRIBUTES

1. Chris Georges – MY FRIEND NEV

Barbara,

Robyn and I would dearly love to be there to wrap our arms around you at this time and express the love we have for you. This is what Nev would do; he would wrap his long arms around my large frame and in his unmistakeable voice would say, "Great to see you, mate, everything all right? Hey, good to see ya!"

At this time Nev would probably say, "Babs, I love ya, God loves ya and He will work it out for ya, so just hang in there."

In life, we generally have a group of people we work with that we are friendly with. A smaller group we call friends that come for coffee and chat. But there are one, two or three that are our closest friends – there is total trust, one can share anything, troubles and joy, cry and laugh, and the conversation seems to continue from where we left off even after much time has elapsed. Nev has been that for me, in 30 years he never changed.

My memories of him would fill the pages of a book, but there are a few moments in time I will ponder on. To see the joy in children's faces when he would draw one of his famous cartoons, just for them!

A dancing elephant wearing a tutu. A smiling crocodile on roller skates. Whatever the child's imagination dictated he would draw and make the drawing his own. And, of course, his signature little bird (Twerp) would take prime position.

There are literally thousands of homes around the country that have a special drawing or poster penned by my friend Nev.

He would sit cross legged with one arm on the shoulder of a hurting child and pray God's comfort. He would tell the most hilarious stories of his adventures and have you hurting from laughter. And he would have us spellbound at the miracle working power of God in situations he found himself in.

Nev was larger than life, he would sometimes venture where no other would dare. He would stand up for those that could not. He loved people and people loved him. Nev was my friend for 30 years, and although at times physical distance stopped us from having coffee and tales, our phone conversations sure made up for it.

2. Adi Porat – Israeli

My time with Nev:

As a young Israeli woman, around 21 years old, after 2.5 years in the army, I decided to go and travel in NZ, a heaven on earth.  
I did it with joy but with fear as well. I didn't know what to expect. I had heard that the views are amazing, the food is good, there are many sheep and that the people are warm and kind, and I totally agree with that.  
As soon I met Barbara and Nev, through Trish from Auckland, I discovered a lovely couple, caring and respecting each other in such a unique way.  
Nev and Barbara showed me around, travelled with me for a day and more and revealed to me the wonders of nature combined with the joy of travel.  
I slept in their caravan, played with their animals and felt like I have partners in NZ, while my real parents were in Israel. For a young girl it gave a secure and loving feeling as well.  
At last, I had to continue my trip so I left with sad feelings and have kept, till this day, in contact with them through e-mails. Although the e-mails were once in a while, each e-mail was very important for me as they shared their NZ experience with me and updated me with their ongoing life.  
I was extremely happy when Nev wrote me one day that he was coming to Israel. I thought to myself "now I can return the same..."  
Nev did come to my house and met my parents. My dad and Nev bonded and all the way to Jerusalem were talking and told stories to each other. Nev was very interested in Israel's history and army, and my father, Haki, who served many years in the army and "gained" his rank when he became an officer, had fought in the war and was happy to share his stories with him.  
At last we came to a hotel in Jerusalem where he stayed. I had a great day. It is hard for me to remember everything but I remember Nev's eyes, glowing and appreciating the fact that he was in the holy land, walking on Jerusalem's soil.  
I was totally sad when I got the terrible e-mail from Barb, but I can say that I was lucky to know this special person and I take his joy of life, curiosity for life and willingness to help people, as a lesson that will lead me all my life. Today, almost 28 years old, I can say that the trip to NZ and meeting Barb and Nev was one of the high lights in all my journeys around the world that I have done till today, and I thank you for that.

I wish you, Barb, to be strong and I'm sure that Nev is watching you and accompanying each step of your way.  
Love and peace  
Adi

3. Hugh and Di Willis (Christian Fellowship with Disabled):

How he loved his Lord and Saviour! What a witness for Jesus! Nev didn't need to follow the ABC of witnessing – he just lived out his life. He told us of the amazing God-incidences that were scattered in profusion throughout everything he did. The situations he got himself into were so interesting – they grabbed your attention, and you wanted to hear more, and even an atheist couldn't fail to be intrigued at the way God was so obviously behind every situation in his life.

He loved children of all ages, and they in turn adored him. We can't think of anyone else who would have invited the number of children he did to his and Barbara's wedding. They were everywhere, and it was all so absolutely appropriate.

Our children loved it every time he called. Out would come his drawing kit, and they would be enthralled as "Twerp" emerged in yet another drawing he did especially for them. Not just drawings of Twerp but cartoons would be rapidly created with a few swift turns of his pen. Our three children invited their friends to come along and every child would go away with a specially drawn sketch – yet another one of Neville's creations.

What memories we have!

A few years ago we went up north with Di's sister and brother in law. Late in the afternoon we were heading for Opononi for the night, but huge flooding in the Waipoua Forest blocked our way, and the road was closed. We suddenly remembered Neville lived somewhere in the vicinity, in a tiny little settlement with very few houses. No problem – we just had to stop the first car. Everyone knew him. He and Barbara and their two guests were only too happy to share their dinner with what we had brought with us. And they would have happily put us up for the night in their small dwelling, but God had seen to it that the only motor camp for miles around was right there in that tiny collection of houses miles from anywhere.

Another time we went up north needing to see him about designing a cover for the book "On the Knife Edge of Faith" that we were about to publish.

The cover he drew was stunning, just as had been the one he designed for an earlier book we put out, "For Bitter or Better."

When Di's Mum came to NZ for a visit we were determined she should meet Nev, so Di and her Mum went for supper and Nev made his famous Banana Split! Di's Mum had never seen such a big one!

Nev came several times to the Christian Ministries with Disabled Trust Drop in Centre and the talks he gave were always very lively and peppered with stories, and of course, doing cartoons after! And he came to the big National camp at Totara Springs too. Our folk really loved and appreciated him. He accepted everybody, once writing an excellent, thought provoking article inspired by Hayden Bailey who is totally dependent with cerebral palsy, but highly intelligent and creative. Nev could see beyond the exterior to the person within.

Nev's life was ACTIONED PACKED, always open to an adventure. He has left a legacy, like the wake of a plane, of touching people's lives and thousands of cartoons.

4. Ian and Christine Stone

Nev was always a great man of faith. In Christchurch NZ around 1977 we had just come to know our Saviour and Lord and within a year we met Neville Logan who had not long become a Christian himself.

He never spoke of his life, apart from the fact he had been divorced and that he desperately wanted to get back into relationship with his children. That was the whole sum of his personal life that we knew.  
He had also mentioned he was a graphic artist. He would often draw pictures for our sons Daniel and Adam.

Of course if there were any kids around the place they would all get a drawing. One of the last times I saw Neville I asked him to do me a drawing and I have that framed on the wall. It was one of his favourites – a ballet dancing elephant in a tutu, with his trademark bird, Twerp, on the elephant's shoulder.  
We had some great times with Nev through the years. He had invited us to work with him at Living Springs children's camps. Busloads of kids – from social welfare or from churches – would turn up to be attacked as they entered the camp grounds by 'Red Indians' in war paint, and we would have the best time a kid or adult could have. Many of the kids came to know Jesus and cried as they left the camp.  
We went abseiling down mountains; did extreme confidence courses; and even had night camps on mountain tops with evangelistic rallies. Ian and I would sing ourselves voiceless. Then, the next holiday we'd do it all over again. Those were the days.

The children adored Nev. His huge smile made you feel good. He would snuggle up to you and love you just like Jesus would. He was always surrounded by children listening and watching his every movement. He had a great sense of humour and loved to laugh and the sun seemed to shine right out of his face.

He made decisions at times to do some crazy things such as taking five children from Christchurch to Auckland with only $125-00 in his pocket.  
They all stayed the first night at Nev's and got up the next morning to find the only thing in the cupboard was jelly and instant pudding for breakfast hence his book "Jelly For Breakfast" – food was not important to Neville but faith and fun were, so that's what they ate.

They had the most amazing time with testimonies of what they did and who they met and how far the money went. I believe they slept on a few floors throughout the journey. They may have even slept in a barn! Ian wrote a song called "We had Jelly for Breakfast" and it had plenty of air time on Radio Rhema.

5. The Black Family

Nev shared a pretty special place in our family. I personally will never forget how he would come in and sit in my bedroom the year or two after my sickness and just hang out. We also did some work together in my business and he was absolutely brilliant at capturing what I was intending to convey in the many presentations we prepared.

The children always enjoyed it when Nev came to stay. Nev had a huge heart for God and didn't miss an opportunity to share Jesus with anyone.

6. The following prayer provides a good closing:

Dear Lord, You created Nev to THINK IN CARTOONS and live life as if it were a cartoon, so all of us blessed enough to know him were automatically drawn into his vibrant world of fun, joy, laughter, laughter, laughter. What a rare occasion joyous laughter is in this day and age of Mammon.

Nev's ability to strip away the world's pompous airs and replace them with the purest delight of a child is perhaps what we miss the most.

Only You, dear God could so successfully balance such a huge presence of a man with such remarkable humility, so much booming laughter and joy with so much gentleness and compassion, such a deep gratitude and respect for life with the willingness to pay the huge price to serve You and remain steadfast and focussed on You dear Lord ABOVE ALL ELSE.

Dear God, we have been so awesomely blessed to personally know Your Neville Logan, and we are so incredibly grateful that You allowed us to learn and laugh so much with him. Amen.

Janet

*******

Indeed knowing Nev was a privilege and a treat. He was, is, and always will be a blessing to all who knew him.

THE VERY END

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