The Enemy Takes Notice

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Journal Entry. 230AM. 12th, October. 2025

My mind is a whirling compass, traversed by many considerations, the very least of which, I am ashamed to confess, concerns the surgery that now awaits me. The street meetings, however, must on no account be permitted to falter or cease, for we have most earnestly petitioned the Lord for His favor, and our very souls are expecting a glorious outpouring of His Spirit upon this city.

This last Lord's Day—a day consecrated to the joy of service—found me not in fellowship with the beloved brethren, nor engaged in the duties of ministry, but rather in the confines of the emergency room, receiving injections to abate severe pain.

My sole distraction in that hour of physical duress was the profound fear regarding those souls whom I had invited to return the previous week. I was beset by the thought: What if they arrived, seeking the Word, and discounted my absence as a breach of good faith, or a sign of insincerity? Yet, I am brought low in humble gratitude that the Lord does not follow the compass of my own plans and schedule. He is the Master of the vineyard, and His wisdom surpasses our own frail designs. My comfort is firmly placed in the unshakeable promise: "All things work together for good to them that love God" (Romans 8:28). In my surrender I find my strength.


This past week, following that distressing Sabbath, my body is verily set against me, rising up in opposition and once again threatening to bring the Lord's sacred labor to an absolute halt. With the constant pains on my right side already serving to restrain my zeal, my left ankle suddenly became swollen overnight, thus making the simple act of walking impossible. And as if this were not sufficient chastisement to fully immobilize this poor vessel, my old disease chose that very hour to flare up with renewed severity.

The least movement was excruciating and utterly unbearable. So intense and overwhelming was this suffering that I was consumed by a fever throughout the whole day on Friday, culminating in a series of intense convulsions in the dark hours of two in the morning on the following Saturday. I have been taught anew that the flesh is a fragile, rebellious thing, and that these trials are designed to perfect my faith, for our sufficiency is wholly of God, and His strength is made perfect in my weakness (2 Cor 12:9).

My health regressed, but my spirit worshiped. The LORD is so good to me. I could not stop thanking Father. I thought on His flock, His little children—how blessed was I to be tending to them. I find my greatest delight whenever I tell them how beautiful, majestic, and trustworthy the Lord is. I thought on how spiritually they have deepened in their prayers, and how they are walking in the path of obedience and usefulness. How they love one another, in fellowship and in prayer. I kept thinking how lovely they are being born of God, of good report, of virtue, worth praising the Lord for (Phil 4:8). With my eyes closed I kept whispering to be allowed to speak in behalf of Christ this Sunday at the park, until I fell asleep. When I awoke, my pains have gone down. It continued receding the whole day. As I am writing this, I am pain free.  

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