Unwrapping Lazarus: Freeing the Supernatural in Your Life

By Pete Carter and Bill Johnson

You are invited by God into a life beyond imagining.

Do you wish your faith were greater? Do you suspect that bigger things are offered by a bigger God than you have dared to hope for? The destructive thoughts and behaviors that bind you can be unwrapped--just as Lazarus was unwrapped from his bindings at the mouth of his tomb--freeing you to walk into the supernatural.

With warmth and candor, Dr. Pete Carter equips you to discover a new life of freedom. In these pages you will learn how to:
· Meet Jesus through a liberated imagination and creativity
· Enter into--and enjoy!-- the wildness of Kingdom work
· Enjoy the Bible as an intimate space where God reveals Himself to you
· Experience friendship with the Holy Spirit as the place where miracles happen

You can expect bigger things from God. Live freely, live fully, live joyfully in the supernatural.

It's time to unwrap Lazarus.

"I highly recommend that you read this book and prepare yourself for an encounter with the living God."--Danny Silk, director, Global Transformation Institute; senior management team, Bethel Church, Redding, California

"This is a must-read book for today's Christian."--Dr. Roberts Liardon, Roberts Liardon Ministries; author, God's Generals book series

"Discover more of the goodness of God, the power of the cross and faith to see signs and wonders--and be empowered to develop a naturally supernatural lifestyle."--David Webster, senior leader and director, NKCC Schools of Supernatural Ministry

• Language: English
• Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
• Release date: Jun 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781441263971

Book preview

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Unwrapping Impossibility

Revealing the Reality of Miracles

His name was Otilio. He was an indigenous Mexican of the Pame tribe, and he lived in the central part of Mexico in a remote mountain village. He was eighteen years old and was about to transform his area and his tribe, although he had no idea that was his destiny.

It was 1995, and since the age of eight he had been paralyzed in all four limbs after being beaten up by some other children, who also assaulted his head mercilessly with rocks, leaving him severely brain damaged. His mother tried to look after him as best she could. She was small and frail and her countenance was understandably sad. There were no other children to be seen, and as far as I could ascertain, the father had abandoned the family.

Home consisted of a hut constructed by putting sticks next to each other in the ground; the roof was fashioned from various odds and ends. There was nothing between the sticks to keep out the wind and cold, inescapable conditions of their mountainous winter. The floor was compacted mud, and an open fireplace on the floor, with a few sticks of wood, served as her cooking stove. It was a desolate picture, occasionally brightened when some men from the village would come to carry Otilio outside to lie in the sunshine for a few hours. Other than that, Otilio lay on a bed made of woven reeds with a small threadbare blanket to cover him and just his mother to care for him.

I looked at his poor body, little more than skin and bones, and felt useless in my capacity as a medical doctor. The local people had raised their hopes at the news of my coming and were wondering what miracles this British doctor could do with his education and experience. Such hopes raised simply by my presence became quite a burden, but even in the best hospitals in England the outlook would have been bleak. Here, with no medical facilities at all, I could not see how I could help as a doctor.

We had traveled to the region to offer support to an exceptional young couple, Pepe and Vero, who were missionaries living there trying to bring hope to a people who were downcast and downtrodden. Dysentery was rife because of the polluted drinking water taken from the local rivers. There was no clean water supply. It was a familiar sight to see donkeys laden with water containers being driven reluctantly the few miles backward and forward to the river.

It had been a long journey, ten hours’ drive from Leon, the last two and a half hours on unmade mountain roads that barely merited the title. There were nine of us in the van, plus the family dog of the couple who were driving us there. This trip to Mexico was the first time Andy Merrick and I had met; it would prove to be the start of a lasting friendship. Fortunately for me, Andy was sitting next to the dog! A few hours into our journey, we realized that a good number of other passengers had hitched a ride on the dog—passengers of the jumping, biting kind. It was difficult not to scratch.

When we arrived at our destination we were very happy to get out of the van. We were introduced to Pepe and Vero, who greeted us with warm smiles and offered us something to drink. Pepe is a bit of a genius when it comes to innovation, and his ingenuity was most helpful in that remote place. He had rigged up a system whereby a container of water would get heated by the sun during the day, so that a warm shower was possible. Such pleasantries are taken so much for granted by those of us who live in many other parts of the world.

That night four of us bedded down in the chapel, sleeping bags on pews, balancing carefully so as not to fall off and end up on the floor with the scorpions and black widow spiders. There was no electricity once the generator was turned off; it was pitch black. I was amazed by the noise generated in such a remote place—donkeys, dogs, cockerels, pigs and chickens all seemed to think that darkness was a sign for the ultimate sing-along. As I lay there in the darkness, I wondered what lay ahead of us in the next few days, prayed for God to do amazing things and eventually drifted off to sleep.

The next morning we awoke to more pitch blackness—the shutters on the windows effectively blocking any light. We used our flashlights to check around us for anything nasty, banged our shoes out in case any scorpions had taken refuge in them and, having decided all was clear, ventured to our feet and opened the shutters. We were greeted by a beautiful sight: mountains, trees and blue sky. I felt ready for the day ahead. The call of nature took me to the not-so-pleasant long-drop toilet, which I was glad to escape from.

Breakfast was not ready yet, so I decided to go for a stroll in the village, walking along the mountain roads trying to get a feel for the environment and praying as I went. Generally speaking, the Pame as a tribe are short in stature, and I am reasonably tall, so greeting eye to eye was a slight challenge. As I walked along, I met several local people and tried a greeting of Buenos dias, hoping that they could understand my rather poor Spanish. I realized that some of them spoke only the local Pame language, but I thought that they would acknowledge me at least. After a few attempts I was rather baffled, as my greetings seemed to fall on deaf ears. The people shuffled past me awkwardly, not even raising their heads to look at me, but rather lowering their heads further and looking at the ground. Surely my Spanish was not that bad! Did they not recognize my greeting?

As I continued this walk, and in the days ahead, I came to learn that these people lived under a cloud of shame, a lack of dignity and hopelessness. They obviously felt inferior and unable to connect with this white stranger.

I learned of their history of retreat from conquistadors centuries ago, retreat that had finally deposited them in this inhospitable place. They were victims of a cruel world, downtrodden and hopeless, fatalistic in their attitude, accepting of the harshness of life. This was evident in even the most basic decisions—starting with the water they drank. Despite various attempts to educate them on the importance of boiling the water drawn from the river before they drank it, they ignored the advice, preferring to trust to fate. The result was that about a quarter of their children died before the age of five from amoebic dysentery. Such misery and sadness was part of life itself.

But that was about to change as God did what only He can do.

Will God’s Power Work Through Me?

I returned to Pepe and Vero’s hut thinking of breakfast. We had brought most of our supplies with us, since the nine of us would overload the local system, and it was about a three-hour drive to a town where food could be purchased. We chatted and decided that, after breakfast, we would set off to visit various sick people scattered around the small settlements in the mountains.

Thus, before long, we found ourselves squeezing back into the van. Including Pepe and Vero there were now eleven of us, plus the dog and his little companions. We bumped along the road until we came to a large settlement where we parked the van and set off on foot. It was a warm day and we were at quite an altitude, so the walking was strenuous. After about half an hour we came to a small settlement consisting of a few huts. There were one or two women to be seen.

Pepe and Vero had been visiting this village regularly and knew the way to the hut where Otilio lay. As we approached, a small woman appeared, head bowed down, shoulders stooped, a frail hand offered limply in greeting. She led the way into the hut. Inside was dim and my eyes adjusted slowly to the light level.

Lying motionless on a thin reed mat, which was his bed, was Otilio, a threadbare blanket draped over the skin and bones that made his body. His mother stood to one side and let me pass. I had no idea what was going through her mind as this doctor from some faraway country entered her home in order to help her son. My heart was stirred with compassion as I regarded this scene of utter poverty. Never had I seen such a desolate sight. Yet somehow, hope was being placed in me.

I went over and examined Otilio as best I could in the circumstances, quickly ascertaining that he had a spastic paralysis of all four limbs and that his mental function was also impaired. I looked at him and he looked at me, both of us uncomprehending that this was a day of extraordinary significance. I felt helpless; there was no hope medically, but hope stirred within me as the God of hope whispered to me, You can pray.

As a Christian, I knew this already, of course. And, of course, I was planning to pray, but an invitation from God Himself put a different light on it. I was willing to pray, but was I willing to hope that something was going to happen? In my experience, I had sometimes prayed out of Christian duty without much hope of change, but here that did not seem an option. Was I willing to risk praying with the expectation of something happening to Otilio? Was I willing to risk disappointment if nothing happened?

The rest of the party seemed to be waiting for my lead, so I explained briefly my assessment of the situation and said that we were going to pray for Otilio. Through translation we asked for his mother’s permission to pray for him and lay hands on him. She agreed without any sense of anticipation. I knelt down, placed my hands on Otilio’s fragile frame and started to ask the God of miracles to do a miracle.

As we prayed, I heard God whisper to me, Ask to lift his blanket off him. This seemed like a simple request. I asked and the mother agreed. Now we could see his body in more detail—his legs constantly in spasm, scissored across each other; his arms bent across his upper body, a twisted form. We continued to pray and my heart was stirred even more.

Fortunately, I was praying with my eyes open, because as we prayed I noticed Otilio’s arms and legs relax and go floppy—still paralyzed, but with a different form known as flaccid paralysis. I moved one of his legs and it moved easily rather than jerking with the spasms. Something was happening to Otilio. My medical training was proving to be of use after all: I could see this sign of God’s activity that the others were unaware of. (This underlines my belief that Christians with medical knowledge should be at the forefront of Christian healing, but that is for another time.)

God whispered to me again, I want you to lift him up off his bed. This was not such a simple assignment!

Two weeks previously, I had been at a conference in England—a gathering of church leaders—and we had been fortunate enough to have John and Carol Arnott, founding pastors of Catch the Fire (formerly the Toronto Airport Christian Fellowship), with us. They had prayed for me with a particular view to my upcoming trip to the Pame in Mexico. They had laid hands on me, one at my head, the other at my feet, and for about twenty minutes the power of God hit me and surged through my body like electricity. At times I felt that I might die, but I knew I would not. I wanted them to stop, but then again I did not. At the end I lay on the floor exhausted, knowing that I had encountered God in an awesome way. He had placed His power within me.

Back with Otilio, I had to face the question in my head: Did I believe God’s power would work through me to perform a miracle? This was a large leap of faith if ever there had been one in my life. But I had heard God’s invitation, so I turned to my colleagues, told them what I had noticed God already doing and what He had told me to do next.

I was hoping for some encouragement from the group. Another church leader from England was there with us, and to my shock he told me clearly that I could not lift Otilio off the bed. He was adamant. (Later I learned that he had a sister with a degree of paralysis who had not been healed despite much prayer. I guess he was not prepared to face possible disappointment.) I had a choice to make: Give in to the fear of disappointment or have faith in the power of God. The others, including Andy, made more encouraging noises. I decided to take the lead in the situation. I asked Otilio’s mother if I could pick him up off his bed. She nodded her agreement.

Could I do this? With my heart thumping and my mind racing, I bent down and lifted Otilio from his bed. There was nothing of him; I could feel his bones, and as our eyes met, I seem to remember smiling at him while he gazed back at me. I guess he was wondering what was happening. Then I tipped his body so that his feet approached the ground, and once they touched, I let him go!

Immediately he stood and walked out of that hut for the first time in ten years, his muscles and coordination restored in an instant. Stunned, I followed him out into the sunshine, and I will forever remember when he lifted his head to look at the sky and smiled the most magnificent smile I have ever seen. He carried on his walk, exploring his environment. Our group was in tears, hugging one another, jumping up and down and marveling at the love and power of God. Otilio’s mum followed us out of the hut. Her shoulders straightened, and her head came up.

God had started to heal a nation.

After a while we left Otilio and his mother. They could now enter into a new place of freedom from the affliction that had dominated their lives for the past ten years. There was a swing to our stride and a song in our hearts. I felt ready for anything. I do not remember the rest of the morning, but the afternoon and evening are etched upon my memory. If I thought the morning had been amazing, then God was preparing a lesson for me that was going to change me on an even deeper level.

The Heart of the Matter

Back at the main village where Pepe and Vero lived, we set up a makeshift medical clinic. They had received, over the course of time, unwanted medicines donated by individuals and pharmacies with the thought that these might be useful to the Pame people. There were mounds of plastic bags on the floor of the hut in which Pepe and Vero lived, filled with all sorts of drugs. If I had wanted to perform a kidney transplant, I would have had the medication available for care afterward. I was reasonably certain, however, that I would not be entering into that level of expertise! I looked through the bags and pulled out the few basic drugs that would be useful, mainly antibiotics to try and counter the amoebic dysentery so common there.

News had obviously spread that a doctor was in the area and soon a long queue snaked back from the hut from which I was working. Old and young came. I tried to help people as quickly as I could, constantly aware of the large number of people waiting patiently, but was slowed because of having to work through a translator. I asked the others with me to pray for the people as they waited, and we prayed for each person I worked with.

Time passed and we were doing quite well. Then a mother arrived at the front of the queue. She was carrying her young daughter, who was about eighteen months old. I could see immediately that another miracle was needed. The poor child was suffering from dysentery and was already dehydrated. She was limp and her eyes were sunken back in their sockets; her skin had lost its elasticity and her pulse was rapid. If I had been back in England I would have immediately admitted her into a hospital, where intravenous fluids, antibiotics and full supportive care would probably have guaranteed a happy outcome. But that was not available here. I was not even confident that anything she drank to try to rehydrate her would not be contaminated by those wretched amoebae. I was also aware that she was probably beyond the point where drinking alone could rehydrate her sufficiently. I was so frustrated. I knew how to save her life, but the facilities were not available.

We had, however, already seen an amazing miracle that day; surely it was time for another. We started to pray, fully expecting to see the child recover in front of our eyes. But that did not happen. We continued to pray but nothing seemed to change. How could this be? Pressure mounted as nothing happened and time passed. There was still a large queue of people waiting to see me, so reluctantly, I agreed that we needed to stop praying for this child and carry on seeing the rest of the people. We gave the mother the appropriate antibiotics, but I knew they would not work quickly enough; the child was nearing the point of no return.

As the mother walked away, cradling her daughter in her arms, I said to the people around me that the child was going to die and probably before the day was out. I struggled to understand and keep my emotions in check. Being a true professional I was able to put my feelings aside and carry on with my work. But my mind kept returning to that little girl.

Eventually, everyone was seen and most seemed content that they had visited the doctor. We stored the plastic bags back in the hut, and I put away my stethoscope and other medical equipment. We went inside for a meal, which was very welcome after a long day. That evening we were holding a meeting in the chapel with worship, Bible

Reviews for Unwrapping Lazarus

[cherylcope_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Freeing the Supernatural in your LifeI found this book to be engaging from the beginning and throughout, through the author’s excellent use of stories. And in the case of this book most of the time the stories equaled supernatural testimonies. I was crying and laughing all by the first three chapters. No dry expounding of the Word here. Don’t worry though, as plenty of the Word is included.Each chapter dealt with a different topic and it seemed a little bit like hodge podge to me but there was the overarching characteristic of the supernatural which I believe was the author’s point.One of my favorite chapters dealt with the imagination (chapter 9, Unwrapping Imagination). There were several confirmations in that chapter for me and I particularly liked the following quote (a question that he asked of a professor of theology at Cambridge University, p.101). “Can I confirm that you are saying you believe in a continually developing theology?” “Certainly,” he replied. “Otherwise it can’t be God, but only our limited thoughts about Him.”Another chapter I really enjoyed was the one about angels as again it confirmed something very specific for me. Some of the other topics include freedom, authority, wisdom, miracles, expectation, hope, and the Bible.For those of you new to the supernatural side of Christendom there will be a lot in here for you but even for seasoned veterans in this area, you will find at the very least, much encouragement.Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the author himself. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commision’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”