Christina accompanied the Holy Spirit through 23 years in Germany under the Weimar Republic, Hitler’s Nazi Germany, then the Communists behind the Iron curtain (from which she escaped) and, then later spent 20 years in Saudi Arabia. The fact is, only examples of real life experiences can make it clear to most readers how to recognize the touch of the Holy Spirit in their personal lives. The Holy Spirit is the least understood person of the Trinity, therefore a book like “Holy Sprit and i” is greatly needed.
The book tells of the Holy Spirit saving her from the danger of war in Nazi-Germany; He protected her from the brutality of communism and later directed her to find freedom in America. Through the valley of deep sorrow when she had to leave her homeland with little hope to return, was confounded by the` unexpected news of her mother’s death that turned great joy into sadness, and later loosing her home again because of the tragic accident of her husband Paul.
Christina Fez-Barringten is an ordained minister with a bachelor of arts in Bible theology from Global University. She and her husband founded the Saudi Arabia Division of the International Correspondence Institute (now Global University) and missioned in Saudi Arabia. Barie was contact pastor to the United States Air Force and is associate professor at Global University.
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Holy Spirit and i
Holy Spirit and i
“The Holy Spirit and i”
By Christina Fez-Barringten
With Introduction by Darleen Beem Betzer
25,886 words on 106 single spaced pages (say 27,000 on 90)
Feb 21, 2011
Chapter 1: Weisenborn
Chapter 2: Bombing the city of Leipzig. Chapter
3: Running to be free Chapter
4: Going to America Chapter
5: Two prophetic dreams Chapter
6: Manhattan School Of Art Chapter
7: The Accidents Chapter
8: Failing the Lord’s Calling Chapter
9: The End and a new Beginning. Chapter
10: Some enchanted evening Chapter
11: Pentecost again Chapter
12: Getting married the second time Chapter
13: God knows best Chapter
14: Return to Saudi Arabia Chapter
15: Narrow escape Chapter
16: The devils is a failure
The first one chapter summary version was completed in 1990 while we pastured Christian Fellowship at Del Tura between our mission to Saudi Arabia.
Forty-seven years ago the Holy Spirit stepped into my life in a very special way. At that time I wrote an article about that happening called “The Holy Spirit and i”. Since then I searched my life’s past and observed that the Holy Spirit was always on my side, yet sadly unrecognized, happenings with a positive outcome were called luck or a coincidence. Christians have no luck; the Spirit of God is our guide and much more. He blesses us in all we do, even if it is a blessing in disguise. Luck is by chance but God’s blessings are certain! Because I experienced the Holy Spirit’s special attention unusually often, I feel I know Him very well and therefore can teach others to recognize His works in their own lives.. Most people are skeptical when I talk about the Holy Spirit, yet He is so real to me. At the day of Pentecost He came in fullness to be the helper and guide to all Christians. His power carried me through many obstacles; His love eased my sorrows and His presence made difficult times bearable. Most of us do not recognize Him. Many Christians flatly deny Him and others learn to know Him with time, mostly very late.
I wrote this book because it fills a necessary gap. There are relative few books written about the least understood person of the Trinity. While some books explain the gifts of the Holy Spirit and mention what he is capable of doing, my inspiring book tells the reader what the Holy Spirit has actually done in my life. Therefore it will encourage the reader to look for the works of the Holy Spirit in their own life. This informative book with its versatile selection of real life events glorifies God and arouses new interest in the Holy Spirit. I know this unusually life-changing book can give the reader new hope, confidence and power. Forty-seven years ago the Holy Spirit stepped in to my live in a very special way. At that time I wrote an article about that happening called “The Holy Spirit and i”.
Since then I searched my life’s past and observed that the Holy Spirit was always on my side, yet sadly unrecognized, happenings with a positive outcome were called luck or a coincidence. Christians have no luck; the Spirit of God is our guide and much more. He blesses us in all we do, even if it is a blessing in disguise. Because I experienced the Holy Spirit’s special attention unusually often, I feel I know Him very well and therefore can teach others to recognize His works in their own lives. Most people are skeptical when I talk about the Holy Spirit, yet He is so real to me. At the day of Pentecost He came to earth to be the helper and guide to all Christians. His power carried me through many obstacles;
His love eased my sorrows and His presence made difficult times bearable. Most of us do not recognize Him. Many Christians flatly deny Him and others learn to know Him with time, mostly very late. I wrote this book because it fills a necessary gap. There are relative few books written about the least understood person of the Trinity. While some books explain the gifts of the Holy Spirit and mention what he is capable of doing, my inspiring book tells the reader what the Holy Spirit has actually done in my life. Therefore it will encourage the reader to look for the works of the Holy Spirit in their own life. This informative book with its versatile selection of real live events glorifies God and arouses new interest in the Holy Spirit.
I know this unusually life changing book can give the reader new hope, confidence and power. Biographical Note: Authors production note Forward/endorsement: I will request one of several long time friends who are well-known preachers to review and comment on Holy Spirit and i Darlene Betzer. All chapters have been proofed and edited. As needed, I have many photographs and artworks, which can be added. Also, parts of the book proposal may be suitable such as the summary of chapters, concept statement, competitive books, book cover, etc. Also, I have artwork which may be used for the cover. Bio I have a BA in Theology.
I have taught religion in Leipzig and Saudi Arabia. I have written brochures for a mission in Germany, The Leipzig Evangelical Ministerial Alliance. I am an artist and have created collages of a religious themes. One is soon used for a cover of a magazine. I have written and illustrated a children’s book called “The Little Fisherman”, not yet in print. I have a BA in Theology and ordained minister of the gospel by Gospel Crusade Ministerial Fellowship. I have taught religion in Leipzig and Saudi Arabia. I have written brochures for a Mission in Germany, The Leipzig Evangelical Ministerial Alliance.
I am an artist and have created collages of religious themes. One is soon used for a cover of a scholarly journal. I have written and illustrated a children’s book called “The Little Fisherman”, not yet in print. I have written the verses to “A Look of the End Times: Pastors Sketch book” . Introduction: This is about the work of the Holy Spirit in my life. To tell His story I must tell you mine.
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Forward Complete by Darlene Betzer
At twilight, when the sun was sinking into the mist blanketing the floor of the valley, there was a hush in the stately old home of my grand parents. All six of us grandchildren were snuggled up with Grandfather listening intently while he told us the adventures of Robinson Crusoe over and over again. Finally, when it got totally dark, Grandmother clicked the light on and began preparing the table for dinner.
My grandfather was born in that old country farmhouse and it was the family residence for several generations. The pretty home came alive again when my grandparents retired and moved back home.
A large building, the farmhouse sat comfortably upon the side of a hill overlooking the valley, which shimmered like gold when the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. Behind the house there was a pine forest that seemed to stretch on forever. The fresh-smelling trees delighted us with a gentle hum as their branches swayed rhythmically in the perpetual breeze of the mountain wind.
Today, my cousins and l love to remember the happy times when the whole family drove to the little village of Weisenborn to visit Grandfather and Grandmother. Our favorite playground was the forest behind the house. We found mushrooms in its sandy soil, picked wild strawberries on its sunny clearings and rolled gaily down the slope of its soft moss covered ground. Life there was easy and fun.
But there was one day when our joyfully flowing life was rippled. It was the summer before my fourth birthday.
I was the youngest grandchild. My cousin Lea was already eleven and the three boys were nine, eleven and twelve. We always liked to play together, and only on rare occasions would we permit kids from the neighborhood to join in on our fun.
However, there was one exception to this rule -- my best friend Grete. Grete was special. Though she was only one year older than I, she seemed to me to be so very wise and grown up. Grete lived down the road with her family in a building my grandfather had donated to the town so that poor families with many children could live rent-free. Grete had six older brothers who were a rough bunch and not well liked by my cousins. Every now and then the two boys closest to my cousin’s age came to play, but those play sessions almost always ended in a big fight.
One morning, I was standing in my grandmother’s herb garden when two of Grete’s brothers were creeping around. They called me over to the fence and said, “Christl come quickly, your cousin Günter is up in the forest and he wants to show you something. You have to come with us right away.”
“No,” I said, “Günter went with the others to the glassier get the cellar window fixed.”
“Oh no,” the boys protested, “Günter didn’t go with them, he went with us. We found something very special and we want to show it to you too, but only if you can keep a secret.”
“I’m not going if Greta doesn’t go with me,,” I replied.
“She’s already there, she is waiting for you,” they said. “Come on, come on!”
Reluctantly, I squeezed through the fence and went with the boys into the forest. The path was full of big black roots. The older kids made a game out of jumping from root to root, giggling and chatting while I struggled to climb over each of the slippery, knurled obstacles. Walking was cumbersome and I was beginning to regret that I had agreed to go with them in the first place. I also realized that I had never gone so deep into the forest without a grown-up by my side.
All at once I sensed that something was wrong.
“Where is Günter?” I asked.
“Over there, don’t you see?” said one of the boys pointing into the distance. I hesitated to go on, but the two kids pulled me and yelled, “Don’t stop, just let’s go, let’s go.”
“No,” I said with determination, “I want to go home”.
The way they were behaving caused a strange feeling of fear to well up in me. It was odd because I’d never before had a reason to be fearful of anything or anyone. Even my cousins knew that I was never scared. They’d try to startle me by sneaking up on me from behind, but my response was always just a giggle.
This time was different. I was truly frightened. I didn’t know why I was so scared, but instinctively I knew that what was happening was not good so I yelled at the top of my voice, “Günter, Grete where are you?” There was no answer.
Then the boys pushed me down and hovered over me, staring silently. In that moment it was as if I heard my mother praying a lovely little prayer she had taught me in which I ask Jesus to send an angel to watch over me. I sprang to my feet and pulled myself away from the two angry boys crying out to the angel.
“Angel help me, help me,” I called. And then I ran.
The large roots and ruts on the path were no obstacle for me anymore. The boys ran behind me trying to catch me, but one of them must have tripped over the roots. I heard them cursing and shouting at me to stop running. I ran so fast that it felt like I was flying.
Soon my little legs could not go on any longer so I stopped to face my pursuers. But, where were they? I wondered. Why was it suddenly so still?
To my amazement I saw my German Shepherd Prince standing in the path snarling and growling at the two quivering rascals. The dog made sure they didn’t move an inch. Prince was trained to be a watchdog so he knew not to bite, but he also knew how to scare anyone who came to close to us children.
Instantly I felt safe. And then, what joy, I looked up to see my mother standing next to me. She lifted me up into her loving arms and held me tight. All was well again.
Later, my mother told me that when she and Grandmother couldn’t find me in the house, they assumed I had been running after my cousins. Grandfather had sent them to the glassier to fix the window they had broken while playing. Mother and Grandmother knew that my grandfather had told me to stay home, because the walk was much too far for a little girl.
But my mother and grandmother also knew that I did not always listen. So, they assumed I had run to catch up with my cousins. As they hastened into town to fetch me, my mother clearly heard me crying even though it would have been impossible for her to hear me from that distance.
Intuitively she knew my cry came from the forest and turned around abruptly. She ran up the hill into the forest. It was a long, long way to where she found me and she couldn’t explain how she got there as fast as she did. Also, Prince was usually along with us children whenever we went for a long walk. But because the walk to the glassier was a punishment for breaking the window, Grandfather kept the dog chained up in the yard. Prince yanked himself free from his chain to come to my rescue in the nick of time.
On that day God showed me that I need never be afraid or worry. God and His Angels are with us all the time to help whenever we are in need. We are never alone -- if only we believe.
“The Holy Spirit and i” B
By Christina Fez-Barringten
Chapter 2: Bombing the city of Leipzig.
World war two raged in and around Germany. All our available men had been drafted into the army. Only old people, women and children lived in our cities. Yet night after night our large cities were systematically bombarded and much of our historical heritage where forever lost. Only Dresden and Leipzig, two of our major urban centers, where not yet in ruin. We hoped and prayed, that the senseless destruction of war would spare this great metropolis. After all, before the war Leipzig was the capital of German commerce. For centuries the beautiful place, Goethe called it his “little Paris”, had welcomed business people from all over the world to attend the “Leipziger Messe.”
The visitors to that great city enjoyed her business opportunities, and her excellence in music, art and play. It was the home of many great men and women.
Johan Sebastian Bach, Wagner, Mendelssohn, Clara and Robert Schumann, Gutenberg and many more called Leipzig their place of expression. Leipzig benefited the whole world with its leading university, books and science. There was no reason to destroy this treasure of human accomplishment.
Regardless, the precious business center of Leipzig and its civilian population was senselessly obliterated just the theme as all the other German cities. Ruthlessly, a multitude of human beings were killed. In Leipzig alone, in one night more than
140 0000 people became homeless. What the bombs had not demolished was later eradicated by the Russian occupation. To day Leipzig is of little importance, and its glory is forgotten.
In December 1942 we all suffered under the consequences of the war. Most Germans were hungry and cold; there was little food to eat and no coal to heat our homes. As if that was not enough, night after night, the alarm sound, aiming to warn us of an air rate, robed us of our much-needed sleep. Shortly after the sirens stopped wailing, the people living in our apartment house, staggered in to the safety-room located in the damp cellar. We huddled silently together for ours listening to hear the monotonous hum of hundreds of allied airplanes and wondered if we’d survive to see the next day.
My Father was a voluntary- warden; he did not undress any more at night, because as soon as he heard the warning call of the sirens he rushed to open the front door, so that people, who were out on the street, could enter our shelter. My mother and I drag us slowly out of bed and procrastinated in our apartment, till my father ordered us to go into the cellar for safety.
Bat that horrifying night of December 4, 1942 was very different. The sirens had not yet summoned, but some one pulled me forcefully out of my bed. I heard distend amines bangs, which cam speedily closer. I knew this was it. The sirens sounded of. I heard my father jumping down the stairs. There was no light.
A person behind me said, “quickly get your mother. Already she was right beside me. I grabbed her hand, and both of us where propelled with such a speed down the stairs to the cellar that neither of us can explain how we got there so fast. As soon as the cellar door closed, we clicked the lights on. The person behind us had loosened its grip on our shoulders, we looked around, there was no one their; my mother and I were alone.
But we had no time to wonder because at that very moment a deafening blast of an exploding bomb filled the air, followed by shouting voices and persistent pounding on the cellar wall. What is the pounding? Instantly we got an answer, the wall broke and through the hole, people from the neighboring house who had been trapped, streamed into our shelter, carrying their wounded with them. My mother and I hastened to help the needy. Finally, thanks to God, my father appeared, but his news was grim. The upper floors are blown of by the blast and the rest will burn down soon. He ordered every one to bring quickly the wounded to a less damaged building across the street. While we where busy saving the wounded a second wave of airplanes threw fire bombes and the whole city was in flames.In that horrible night we had lost our home, my father’s business and life’s work. But we had each other and we thanked God to be alive.
It was already afternoon, yet it was still dark, because the daylight could not penetrate the hovering smoke over our burning city, when my parents and I finally arrived at my grandfathers home. We were exhausted and in shock.
My kind Grandfather, who was always a generous host, had spent all of his food stamps for the month to prepare a scrumptious meal for us, we appreciate what he did, but we could not eat. We told him in detail what had happened jet one thing we could not explain, how come that we are still alive while most of the people around us had died?
Even my father said, when the blockbuster bombe hid, he stud petrified in his ground floor office. Glass and wood was fling but nothing hit him. How is that possible?
We guessed and thought on many humanly logic possibilities, but not once did we mention God, or the Holy Spirit, or our guardian Angel. I know my parents believed they were good Christians. Perhaps, in their heart they thought about God, but to admit that God’s guardian angels had performed a Miracle was not in their vocabulary, even so there was no other explanation.