Life Stories

Bro. Booker’s Testimony – The Short Version

Pastor Larry Booker's Testimony

Pastor Larry Booker
Pastor Booker before and after coming to God
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I was born in 1952 and lived in Colorado, mainly in the city of Pueblo. My mother raised my older brother and me by herself. At times we were reduced to very dire circumstances. My mother married my step-father when I was in fourth grade. He adopted us, and my mother, loved, cared, and provided for all of our needs. I have no complaints or sad tales from that point on concerning my upbringing.
In spite of all my parent’s efforts, when I reached my teen years I “spinned out” as did so many young people of the Sixties era. From the age of 14 until nineteen, my life became completely captivated by the drugs, alcohol, rock music, and rebellion that earmarked that generation. Read More »

Taking A Stand And Running To Win

Pastor Scott Smith's Testimony

Excerpt:

Pastor Scott Smith
Pastor Scott Smith
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“I walked into the men’s prayer room and I said, “If you see where I’m not mature enough or lack character; if this would go to my head; I would backslide, be a reproach to your church, then I want you to let me lose and lose miserably. But if I can be a witness, if I could bring kids to church, if I can let my light shine,” And I said “Then I want you to give me a speech.” And I want you to know when I prayed that, the anointing began to flow and ya see this is… this was unnatural to me for something like this to happen and ya know. And so I’m writing, I mean I am writing so fast and I’m thinking about that nine year old prayer meeting and I’m thinking about other things that happened and I’m writing and it’s just coming and it’s just.. I mean I remember literally my wrist hurting and I’m saying “God would you slow down, this… just slow down!” It was just ya know. And so in about thirty minutes it was all written. Folded it up, went home, got in the bed, went to sleep. [The] next day I go to school, and I’m walking down the hall. Now I had heard by way of the grapevine (now the grapevine is when you hear something you ain’t supposed to hear). And I had heard by the way of the grapevine that Randy Angsworth who was the assistant student council sponsor to Miss Nichols, had been meeting during the student council hour in the library, working with Mike Connelle on his speech. They were collaborating and writing a speech together. So I’m walking in the hall between class, and Mr. Randy Angsworth comes beside me and, “Hey Scott, how ya doin?” I said, “Oh oh yeah, I’m doin great.” He said, “Well ya know… uh, just a few days here we’re gonna give speeches. You ready?” I said, “Well, I’m gettin ready.” And I don’t know if his conscience was bothering him or what but he said, “Is anybody helping you write your speech?” And I looked at him and I said, “Yes sir.” And he said, “Who?” And I said, “God!” … He looked at me… like I had fell out of tree!”

Bro. Scott Smith is the pastor of Christ Center United Pentecostal Church in West Columbia, South Carolina. On May 15, 2005 he shared his personal testimony entitled “Taking A Stand And Running To Win” at Victory Tabernacle in Burbank, California.

To listen to his testimony, click below…

 
(00:51:33)

Pastor-Scott-Smith-Taking-A-Stand-And-Running-To-Win.mp3 (11.7 MB)

Daddy In The Grandstands

Vivian's Testimony

When I walked down the empty corridor, the bare floor seemed to stretch on forever. Nearby, the clicks of my mother’s shoes rang sharply in my ears. When I opened the large metal door, my senses were immediately flooded by a pungent, stale stench. In front of me were rows of steel stools and bulletproof transparent windows. As I stood molded against the wall, my body shuddered, yet I hid behind a cover of indissoluble emotion. A short, stocky man with a close-shaved haircut, wearing pale blue overalls approached a window. Tears came to my eyes, but my feet remained stationed in place. My mother walked over to a steel stool and took a seat. When she picked up the receiver, I watched as an array of emotions swept across her face. After a few minutes of conversation, she motioned me over. Slowly, I lifted one leg and then the other. At the window, I stared across at a face which I had adored my whole life.

Vivian and her father
Vivian with her dad
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“Hello, mija,” he said casually. With those words, the torrent of tears that pressed against closed lids released a single trickle down my stricken face. Why? I asked myself. Why did our family reunion have to take place in this remote prison cell? Why was I crying? You have been through this many times; I tried convincing myself. What is the difference now? Nevertheless, my heart gave way at the sight of my father, three feet in front of me, separated by the glass partition. “Hello, daddy,” I said at last. Read More »

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