The First Fruits
In 1985, my spiritual journey began with an unexpected and persistent prompting. It wasn’t a voice or a vision, but a deep, unmistakable impression within me—a non-verbal message urging me to tithe my time to God. The request was simple yet profound: “Give Me the first fruits of your day.”
At first, the idea seemed overwhelming. I was 25 years old, newly married, and juggling the demands of a busy life. With an 8-to-5 job and a baby boy at home, every moment of my day seemed accounted for. How could I possibly find the time?
I calculated what this call to tithe my time would mean: 10 percent of 24 hours—2 hours and 24 minutes. The number felt enormous, almost laughable. I dismissed the thought immediately, convincing myself it was an impossible request. “Surely, this can’t be right,” I reasoned. “It’s just my imagination.”
For a few days, the impression seemed to fade, and I thought I’d moved past it. But then it returned—stronger, heavier, and impossible to ignore. The more persistent it became, the more I resisted. There was always something pressing that demanded my attention: work responsibilities, family needs, or the simple busyness of life. “How can I possibly dedicate that much time,” I wondered, “when there are so many responsibilities demanding my attention?”
This internal tug-of-war persisted for months. Each time the quiet nudge resurfaced, I found new reasons to push it aside. Yet, no matter how much I tried to suppress it, the call remained—like a whisper that refused to fade.
Even in my resistance, I sensed something profound about the request. It wasn’t just a burden—it was an invitation. Deep down, I knew that if I answered, it would change everything. But for now, fear and practicality held me back.
The Breaking Point
At the time, my apprenticeship at the truck shop was progressing well. I was in my fourth and final year, nearing the milestone of becoming a journeyman mechanic. One day, while working on heavy beams, I pulled a little too hard, and a sharp pain shot through my left wrist. The injury was bad enough to stop me from working. A visit to the doctor confirmed that I’d need two weeks off to heal.
“Great,” I thought. “For the first time, I have some space in my day.” There were plenty of things I’d been wanting to get done at home, and I figured I could still tackle them even with a wrist brace. When the thought of tithing my time crossed my mind, I brushed it aside. “Yes,” I thought, “time for myself.”
My wrist healed in about two weeks, and I returned to work as usual. For the next month or so, the persistent sense of being called to tithe my time seemed to dissipate. It felt like I’d dodged a bullet. But that reprieve didn’t last long.
Just a few days before Christmas, everything came to a head. I’ll never forget that moment. It started with a small, nagging pain in my lower side. At first, I dismissed it as “just one of those passing discomforts.” But the pain worsened over the next few days, and by Christmas Eve, it was unbearable. My wife and I rushed to the emergency room, where, after several tests, I was diagnosed with diverticulitis—an infection in the intestine.
The doctor wanted to admit me overnight, but I refused. It was my son’s first Christmas morning, and I couldn’t bear the thought of missing it. Reluctantly, the doctor prescribed antibiotics, clear liquids, and a week of complete fasting. I went home relieved to be with my family, but the diagnosis left me grappling with the disruption it caused.
Over the next few days, I tried to keep busy with projects around the house, following the strict treatment plan. By the third day of fasting, I was completely drained—physically and emotionally.
That afternoon, I collapsed onto our old 1980s-style couch—a multicolored mix of browns with hints of gold flowers in the pattern. The house was eerily quiet. My wife and son were out running errands, and I could hear nothing but the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the steady beating of my heart. The silence was so profound you could have heard a pin drop in another room. My body was turning on itself for energy, and I had nothing left to give.
In that stillness, a voice cut through—not audible, but as real as thunder in my spirit. It was undeniable and as powerful as a shout at a rock concert: “NOW do you have TIME?”
The weight of those words shattered me. Guilt hit like a semi-truck, and I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. For the first time in my life, I openly cried—an unrestrained, deep release of everything I had held back. Raised to suppress emotions, I had always kept myself tightly controlled. Even at my wedding, I had shed tears, but never before had I sobbed out loud for minutes on end.
In that moment, I was confronted with the truth of my selfishness and the depth of my neglect. God had been calling me—not just to obedience, but to friendship—and I had ignored Him at every turn. Now, I couldn’t escape the reality of His presence or the clarity of His call.
I was genuinely sorry. God had stopped me in my tracks so I could finally recognize and acknowledge that He was speaking to me. After apologizing, I told Him I would make every effort to work toward the time He had asked of me. I admitted I couldn’t give the full amount at once because I knew I’d fail quickly. So, I promised to aim for the 10 percent as my goal, building up to it gradually. I believe God was okay with that because He never pressured me after that.
Suddenly, I noticed that both my pains were gone. The discomfort in my side and the exhaustion from fasting had vanished. I felt normal again—completely healed. It was as though God had lifted every burden from me, not just physically but spiritually.
A New Foundation
Every morning, I began waking up early and heading to the basement bedroom to pray and read the Bible. At first, I started small—just thirty minutes of prayer—but over time, this practice deepened and grew. Those early mornings became the cornerstone of my day, a sacred space where the demands of life faded into the background.
As my time in prayer and study grew, God began teaching me about spiritual warfare. I learned about the “Armor of God,” the concept of binding the strongman, and the authority believers have in Christ over the kingdom of darkness. This knowledge came swiftly and intensely, leaving me both intrigued and overwhelmed.
I vividly remember one day sitting on a rock overlooking the subdivision below. As I talked to God, His presence felt tangible, as though we were having a true conversation. These moments became the foundation for the journey ahead.
A Father’s First Battle
Little did I know, the knowledge God had been teaching me about spiritual warfare would soon prove invaluable. One June afternoon, my fifteen-month-old son developed a fever. He was listless, not eating or moving much, and occasionally let out soft whimpers. My wife, concerned, decided to head to the drugstore to get something to help bring his fever down and make him more comfortable.
While she was out, I sat in my floral swivel chair with my son on my lap. His small chest rested against mine, his head heavy on my shoulder. I rocked him gently, listening to his soft cries and feeling completely helpless.
As I held him, a thought crossed my mind—one that was both simple and profound: Bind the enemy from harming him and apply what you’ve learned. Though I didn’t fully understand the authority I had been taught about, I decided to act on it.
Leaning close to my son’s ear, I spoke quietly but firmly: “I bind you, Satan, and render you powerless.” I clarified aloud that this command wasn’t directed at my son but at any spiritual influence that might be around him. “In the name of Jesus Christ,” I continued, “you have no authority here. Leave him, and take this sickness with you.”
What happened next stunned me. My son suddenly sat up straight, pushing against my chest with his small hands to steady himself. He let out a loud, piercing cry, and then, just as suddenly, he relaxed back into my arms as though nothing had happened.
For a moment, I froze, unsure of what to make of it. I watched him closely, and soon I noticed something extraordinary. His body began to cool down, the fever that had burned against my chest moments before now fading. His head, which had been hot to the touch, felt normal. By the time my wife returned from the store, he was back to his happy, playful self, ready to eat and full of energy.
This moment left me awestruck. For the first time, I fully grasped why God had been teaching me about spiritual warfare. I realized the power of the authority He gives to His children—an authority that is not our own but comes through the name of Jesus. The enemy has no power over us when we walk in alignment with God’s will.
It was a humbling revelation, one that deepened my faith and gave me confidence in the unseen realm. While I knew this would not be my last confrontation with the adversary, I also knew that the Teacher had equipped me for the battles ahead.
Lessons in Authority
That experience marked a turning point in my understanding of spiritual authority. I no longer saw the spiritual realm as distant or abstract—it was real, immediate, and deeply connected to the life we live every day.
God continued to teach me, sometimes in subtle ways and sometimes through experiences that felt overwhelming. He showed me how to pray with boldness, to speak His Word over my life and family, and to trust in the power of His name. These weren’t just lessons for a moment; they were truths that would anchor me for years to come.
One of the most surprising lessons was how often spiritual warfare is tied to our ordinary lives. Whether it was speaking peace into a tense situation at work, praying for protection over my family, or simply resisting the temptation to fall into old habits, I began to see that the enemy’s tactics were not always dramatic. They were often subtle, designed to sow doubt, fear, or division in the most mundane moments.
But with each test, I found myself leaning more into God’s strength. I began to trust that He was always present, always equipping me, even when I didn’t fully understand His methods.
A New Sensitivity
Weeks later, I began noticing subtle but profound changes within myself. I felt unusually attuned to the emotions of those around me, especially when I looked into their eyes. It was as if I could see past the surface, catching glimpses of a deeper truth hidden beneath the façade. When someone was being dishonest, an unsettling awareness of their deceit rippled through me like an echo I couldn’t ignore. If they were gripped by fear, it was almost tangible, as though it radiated from them and resonated within me. This heightened sensitivity was inexplicable yet undeniable—a shift in perception that left me both intrigued and uneasy.
This new awareness brought an unexpected dimension to my relationships. It gave me insight into the unspoken struggles of those I cared about, but it also created tension. Close friends, upon discovering my new sensitivity, grew hesitant. Some avoided making eye contact altogether, afraid I might uncover something they weren’t ready to reveal. What had started as a quiet awareness began reshaping my interactions with people in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
These experiences weren’t confined to family and friends. My wife and I would go shopping or sit in public places, and I’d sense it happening with strangers, too. People would walk by, and something about their presence would catch my attention. Often, it felt as if there was something lingering around them—something that didn’t belong.
I began sharing my impressions with my wife, trying to articulate what I was sensing. At first, it became a sort of game between us, a unique form of “people-watching.” While waiting in line or observing from a bench, I’d name the traits or impressions I felt emanating from those around me. The more I tuned in, the clearer the patterns became.
Over time, I began noticing that these impressions often aligned with sinful actions or attitudes. Someone might pass by, and I’d sense anger, greed, or lust clinging to them like an invisible shadow. Other times, it was fear, shame, or despair. These impressions weren’t visual—they were something I felt deeply, like a whisper I couldn’t quite hear but instinctively understood.
At first, I found this new awareness fascinating, even entertaining. I marveled at how vividly I could perceive what others seemed oblivious to. But as the patterns became clearer, the weight of this gift grew heavier. What I once thought of as a curious talent began to feel like a responsibility.
Why was I able to perceive this unseen dimension of the world while others seemed unaware of it? Was it a gift from God, meant to help me guide or protect others? Or was it simply a byproduct of the spiritual growth I had been undergoing? These questions nagged at me, and I knew I couldn’t brush them aside.
The strangeness of this ability left me with more questions than answers. I struggled to discern its purpose, unsure of how—or if—I was meant to use it. The more I paid attention, the more I realized that this sensitivity wasn’t something I could control or turn off. It came unbidden, a constant reminder of the unseen reality all around me.
As I prayed and reflected on this newfound awareness, I felt a growing need to seek God’s guidance. If this sensitivity was indeed from Him, then surely He had a reason for giving it to me. But what that reason was remained elusive. I began asking God not only for understanding but for wisdom—wisdom to know how to steward this gift faithfully and to discern when and how to act on what I sensed.
Despite my confusion, one thing was clear: this ability wasn’t meant for idle curiosity or entertainment. It was part of a larger plan, one I had yet to fully comprehend. Whether it was to help others, to grow closer to God, or to better understand the spiritual battles taking place around me, I knew I needed to trust the Teacher who had guided me this far.
This sensitivity, though mysterious and sometimes overwhelming, became a new chapter in my spiritual journey. It reminded me that God’s ways are higher than mine and that even when I don’t understand His purpose, He is always at work, shaping me for something greater.
What a joyful story it is from the outside. he truly called you to some good stuff.
Really good! "Do you have time now", hit me!