Testimonies and trials

Bill McDonald and his wife were frequent visitors to the Hallelujah house when it was in Tampa, This is his recounting of some of the times he spent there.

My wife (at the time at least) and I didn't live at the h.h., never did, but we lived with our two children within two blocks of 607 Horatio, Tampa, and visited the worship services there almost every night for a couple of years, while I was stationed at MacDill AFB.

I was "taken up" with the sincerity and focus of the youth who resided at the house. These were dynamic, "know what they had been saved out of" sort of people. As driven and evangelical as many were, I'm sure their parents and families must have stepped back, shook their heads, and uttered "Whoa" numerous times.
(Mine certainly did!)

I remember people like Bro. Jack who, on reflection, reminds me so much of a current television figure
(can't remember his name) who hosts the military series "Mail Call." This guy even bears a strong
facial resemblance to the late Jack Oliphant. (At least I think so.)

And there was Cindy Shoeman. Would anyone who ever met Cindy ever forget Cindy? I think not.
She lives in the Midwest now. I hope her life has been nothing short of wonderful in the thirty plus
years since we were privileged to know her.

And Bro. Jesse, who sustained that horrible motorcycle accident, and who resisted the temptation to have the wound treated at a hospital, but depended on the prayers of his compatriots. (And while I personally believe God has given us doctors and nurses and medical technology, who can second-guess his determination and commitment to what he believed, as misguided as he may have been?)

I remember, (was it Bill Wolfe?) and his printing press. I spent hours in that little shed "out back" watching him, and others as they zipped out countless multi-page tracts for distribution to the unsaved masses.
And there was, for lack of a better phrase, "the Walks." I joined the h.h. gang on one such walk through the streets of Tampa, and into the campus of a nearby university. As we walked, we prayed, and as we prayed many of the young people broke out in "tongues." (Acts 2:4) As we made our way through the university parking lot, a guard threatened us with arrest, if we didn't immediately "find our way" off the campus. We didn't linger long, but neither did we hurry.

I will never forget the groups of three and four, as we prepared to do one task or the other; be it the dishes or dirty clothes. For just before undertaking a task, we would join hands and pray that things would go well, and that not one of us would surrender the unity we had, one with another.

And there was the night in which I asked for prayer; (and who can say at this juncture what my request may have been?) But as old Bro. Jack laid his hands on my head and prayed, I fell backwards in
the Spirit... and hit that wood floor, as straight as the boards it was made of; and never felt a thing,
nor sustained a lump or a bruise.

In July 1973 I finished my tour of duty in the Air Force, and was reassigned to a reserve unit in Baltimore.
Well, for whatever reason, the former Lutheran minister that we all knew, loved, respected (and mostly feared) breathed a prophecy over me... that I would be actively involved in establishing a branch h.h.
outreach in Baltimore, and that I would influence countless young people for Christ; the hopeless, the homeless, the addicted. I admit, I once took a quick tour of that city, scouting for a possible location.
But this was the jest of it. And the prophecy was forgotten as quickly as it had been pronounced.
Never during that period of time did Bro. Jack contact me, or offer any further guidance, nor did I
ever see him again. And all of you are well aware that a h.h. ministry never developed in Baltimore.

Still, in spite of our founder's growing tendency to veer off track, and his ultimate and amazing end, I have come to believe that his prophetic utterance that day had some merit. Not in terms of location, but in relation to outcome. For thirty years later, a full thirty years, my pastor called on me to establish a recovery ministry in our local church. And it was then that I remembered that singular prophecy in the early
70's, when that fellow, who had once worn the ecclesiastical collar, placed his hand on my head, and
foretold my spiritual future.

I can't say that our support group bore a great deal of fruit; (only God knows for sure, and "He's not telling." LOL) But during the two years it was in existence, well over a hundred souls passed through
our portals. We seemed to attract the "hopelessly" addicted, and those who were more interested in socializing than changing. (It's a real problem when the leaders are more committed to change than
the members.)

But there was one. Judy "showed up" at our meeting one night, trembling under the effects of cocaine withdrawal, (or possibly in need of her next "fix.") And so began a new season in her life; a season that neither she, nor I, nor the other leaders could hardly hope, or believe or expect... for lasting, enduring,
wondrous change was on the horizon for this dear young lady. (Jeremiah 33:3)

Judy, even in her addictive stage (and it had been chronic and it had been long) was a "Person of
Excellence"... in the rough; in the stage of germination. 'Cause Judy was different. Judy was a fighter.
And so her journey towards health and spiritual wellness began. Her mother called me, some time after she began attending our meetings, and pleaded with me to help her locate a residential treatment facility.
I made a few calls, and Judy admitted herself to a local outreach. Time and space would not permit me to
adequately recall the entirety of this story, but suffice it to say that after Judy was released, I counseled her (for I am a pastoral counselor,) and I mentored her, and ultimately she became my friend, and nothing less than my spiritual daughter. And glory beyond glories, one day I had the privilege to perform her wedding ceremony. Well, my friends, Judy has been clean and free for several years, and has gone on to act as chairperson of a group of 50 volunteers, who minister to the addicted populations of our local jails and hospitals.

And to hearken back to Jack's prophecy, uttered so many decades hence. I think it was all about... Judy. How blessed I am to have impacted that one precious soul, and how proud she has made me.

I will never forget the h.h. It was a breeding ground of lives, not yet fully formed, and yet to embrace Mission. And as much as we were misunderstood at the time, and as obvious as was the ultimate derailment of that ministry; it was a crucial season for some, the "some" who may have never found
spiritual enlightenment and opportunity in any other environment.

Strange, I sat down to type out a few lines, and the past suddenly became as poignant and "there there" as the present ever was.

Enough for now. I feel like that lone old fellow at the end of the movie "A River Runs Through It." He was musing about the waters of time, and how they flow over the rocks, and how that "God's Words (and those of his family and friends) are under the rocks." For as long as I breathe in and out, I will never forget your words, your deeds, your ambitions and intentions. I will forever remember and be blessed by my fellowship
with you all; should we never be united, 'til we pass through "The Gates of Splendor."

We have touched one another's very souls and in doing so, have been touched. We would be the poorer for having never met. We are forever changed. And we will never forget.