Sons of God's Generals: Unlocking the Power of Godly Inheritance by Joshua Frost Read Free Book Online Page B

prayer-seekers would form around both my parents. All very inconvenient for a seven-year-old boy who wants to go to Godfather’s Pizza and play the arcades!
    When our congregation started delving deeper into themes like persecution, my annoyance with church turned to fear of things I was too young to understand. Unbeknownst to my parents, one church member even told me that we Christians would one day confront a tyrant whose minions would shoot us in the head if we did not renounce Christ. At the ripe age of seven, I was ready to stop going to church!
    A truce developed with Mom and Dad involving my tolerating church as long as I could draw on sketch paper and speak to no one. The truce kept the peace until one Sunday an incident sent my relationship with not only church, but God, into a tailspin.
    Since my dad’s primary aspiration at the time was fostering the prophetic movement, I had become accustomed to seeing eccentric men proclaim things about the end times from the stage. The preacher for that particular Sunday was a guest speaker who looked like he would be no different. However, that would not prove to be true. After some initial remarks, this man walked down the platform steps, reached ground level, and suddenly launched his hand toward a man sitting in the nearby aisle. The seated man shook violently, as if struck by a seizure, and fell to the ground. The energy of the room hit a frenzied pitch. Several people began groaning loudly in their seats. The guest speaker touched three more people who all collapsed like the first man.
    Most young children’s understanding of Holy Spirit “manifestations” is limited, to say the least. I thought the man had unmitigated power to knock me over, to even take away the function of my limbs if he wanted. I was seated with my parents about fifty feet from this spectacle, and the terrifying truth hit—he was coming toward me. The prophetic men who talked about the end times were no longer confined to the stage. Like a lion let loose from his cage, this man began walking closer and closer as men and women fell down in droves around him. He came within twenty feet, and suddenly I cried out inside, “God, leave me alone!” Immediately, a cold sensation came over me. The man stopped his approach. When that silent, angry prayer filled my soul, something changed that I could not describe. I no longer knew if God was on my side or was like that man who was out to get me.
    A Spirit of Fear
    From that day on for many years, I believe I was deceived by a spirit of fear. Our pastor would occasionally call for the congregation to extend their hands to pray for a matter. In my mind’s eye, I would see white light emanating from the hands of these seated people, but I would see gray light—neutral—coming out of mine. My dream life followed the same path. After my experience with “the man of power,” I dreamed rarely, if at all.
    In middle school this deception bloomed into a decisive cynicism about anything spiritual. My parents had become international leaders in the prophetic scene. Both had traveled the world extensively, praying for thousands of people, fasting, and teaching Christians about intercession. Occasionally they would have a group of intercessor friends over for a prayer meeting. Let me tell you, these people were binding and loosing and binding again just for good measure. I, of course, thought this was ludicrous! After some meetings focused on combating demonic influence in our neighborhood, I sarcastically remarked to my mom, “What are you casting out of the land today?”
    Glimpses of Love
    Despite my conviction that God was none too kind, there were several moments growing up where God reached out, got around the protective shield I had raised against Him, and gently touched me. The first time I recall experiencing the
pleasure
of God’s presence, I was nine. I was attending the mandatory chapel at my school when the worship leader started playing “Holy