EnidSong

By Enid Ning

“You can go ahead and speak in tongues now.”

I stared at Johnny. Did I just hear him correctly? Was he really expecting me to “speak in tongues” for the very first time, right now in front of him?

Being raised in the Presbyterian Church didn’t exactly prepare one to “speak in tongues.” It was not exactly favoured as “prime time content”; in fact, I was under the impression that no one in our church, not even pastor or elders, had even heard of the gift. I first learned of the baptism of the Holy Spirit when I read The Cross and the Switchblade by David Wilkerson and Run, Baby Run by Nicky Cruz, but that was about the extent of my exposure. Then I met Johnny.

Johnny Early was my supervisor for a summer job selling woks at the Canadian National Exhibition (CNE) in Toronto. He was really from California, but had come up to Toronto to help out with the People’s Republic of China exhibit in the International Building. He wasn’t Chinese, but apparently had married into the family of the boss. And he was an on-fire Pentecostal.

Right from the beginning, as soon as he determined I was a Christian, he spoke to me of the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Thirsty for more, I drank in his words. I wanted this baptism. I wanted a deeper, richer experience of God than I had had so far. So when Johnny offered to pray for me for the baptism of the Holy Spirit, I agreed. It was after that prayer that he urged me to try speaking in tongues.

I wasn’t really sure if I could speak in tongues, but I certainly didn’t feel comfortable to make my first feeble attempts in front of him.

“Umm… I don’t feel comfortable to do it right now,” I stammered. “I’ll try it later by myself.”

Not in the least bit pushy, Johnny acquiesced.

Late that night, driving myself home from the Go station in my Mom’s little orange Ford Fiesta hatchback, I decided now was the time to try speaking in tongues. I spoke a few unknown words that came to mind, then some more. It seemed easy, but I wasn’t sure whether what I was doing was real. So I prayed, “Lord, if this is really from You, then please tell me what I am saying.” Then I spoke out in English, “Little child, don’t be afraid.” My eyes flooded with tears, touched to the core of my heart at these words. As I continued speaking, it seemed that God assuaged my fears and reassured me of His love and constancy. I was amazed that He called me, “Little child,” as if He knew and cherished me.

I was convinced that night of the reality and power of the Holy Spirit. It was the beginning of something wonderful.