190 GOOD MORNING, HOLY SPIRIT
amazement.
But I don't think I've been as frightened in my life as
that Sunday night in April 1975. There I was on the
platform of a small pentecostal church on the west side of
Toronto when my parents—Costandi and Clemence—
walked in the door.
My heart almost stopped, and I could feel the
perspiration on my forehead. My worst nightmare could not
have matched this. I was petrified—too startled to laugh
and too shocked to cry.
What Must They Be Thinking?
I had been preaching for five months, but my parents
had no idea. The tension in our house over the Lord was
bad enough without my breaking that news. But they saw
an ad the pastor placed in the newspaper and walked into
that little church.
I couldn't even glance in their direction. But the
moment I opened my mouth to preach, the anointing of the
Holy Spirit filled that building. It was so strong. Words
began flowing out of me like a river. I found myself
actually "listening" to what the Spirit directed me to say.
As I was finishing my message, I felt led to begin
ministering to people who needed healing. I thought, "What
must my mom and dad be thinking of all this?" Then they
stood up and walked out the back door.
"Jim," I said after the service, "you've got to pray!" Jim
Poynter was with me on the platform that night and knew
the seriousness of the situation. I even thought of spending
the night at his home to avoid the inevitable confrontation.
Instead, I got into my car and began to drive the streets
of Toronto. I thought, "If I get home in the middle of the