Free Sons of God's Generals: Unlocking the Power of Godly Inheritance by Joshua Frost Page A

tried to be as open and accessible as possible with everyone I met, which at times left me hurt when others judged me. There was an element of needing to protect myself and not let my guard down
too
much. A challenging part of being in the public eye, being “famous,” was that people felt like they knew me and knew my family. The reality was that only a few people knew me on a deep level. I wanted people to know me in a genuine way, but we weren’t in one place long enough for that to happen.
    I had the privilege of growing up with a broad worldview. Most children in America are shielded from suffering. They do not have the opportunity to see more than their own city. I saw a lot of poverty, pain, despair, and sorrow. That caused me to be tender, aware, sensitive, and have a heightened compassion for others. My compassion for others’ suffering was overwhelming at times. When I was 18 we went to Mozambique to visit Heidi and Rolland Baker’s orphanage. I sat for hours with a teenage boy who was lame and prayed for his healing. Another time I prayed and wept for a lame Roma (gypsy) woman in Kazanluk, Bulgaria. Once my parents and I were in Ethiopia and a little boy was begging at our taxi window. He was missing a hand, his eyes were sunken in, and his eyelids were hanging down. He was so close to the car that his tears were dripping onto the window. I remember lying on my hotel bed crying out to God, “Why is there so much suffering in the world?” I felt powerless. That moment still makes my heart hurt and brings a lump to my throat.
    Not everyone I prayed for received healing, but I’m certain that each person I hugged and cried with experienced the love of God in a tangible way. While I have felt immense sorrow and empathy for others, I’ve also experienced incredible joy. I saw a blind Mozambican woman receive her sight. I saw two deaf and mute boys hear and talk for the first time. I have danced with Bulgarian Roma (gypsies) in the rain. I have given orphans toys on Christmas. I remember an adorable Mozambican orphan girl named Paulina wandering into my room. She must’ve been about three years old. I shared my Starburst candies with her and her eyes lit up like stars. That was a precious moment. It was that same morning that I woke up to the sound of African women singing and praising God outside my window. I will never forget the sound of their voices. I’ve seen Mama Heidi Baker sit down in the garbage dump dirt with her “children” and hold them, pray for them, and eat an offering of cashews one of them had found in the trash and given to her. She was an inspiration to me then, and still is now. So many beautiful moments of joy and pain are etched into my memory and ingrained on my heart. I believe that the extreme joys and pains I have felt for others have made me a very compassionate and empathetic person.
    Throughout those years of relentless full-time ministry, there were moments where I wanted something different. A more “normal” normal, where I didn’t have to live on planes, trains, and automobiles. Where I could make friends and keep them for more than a day, and where I didn’t feel sacrificed for the sake of the “ministry.” As a teenager, missing my home church’s youth retreats, celebrating birthdays in a foreign country without my friends, and wishing that holidays could be spent with our family back in Washington was very hard. There I was, blessed beyond measure, with more unique life experiences than many adults, yet I felt that I was missing something, and that little something was balance.
    I was 18 when I approached my parents with the idea of not traveling with them anymore. They thought I was crazy, but they agreed. I got a job at a clothing store, went to youth group, sang on the worship team, and lived at home by myself while my family was gone. The grass is definitely greener on the other side, and I quickly realized my idea wasn’t as great as I had thought it would