Everyday Miracles

You can't get AIDS from giving hugs. So we gave loads of hugs.
You can’t get AIDS from giving hugs. So we gave loads of hugs.

You know what’s awesome? Miracles. Those are awesome. On Friday, a group of us from YWAM hit the streets of Fish Hoek, in search of people who needed prayer and healing. We didn’t need to go far.

We pulled the car into the False Bay hospital parking lot. No sooner had we stepped out of the car when we ran into two women walking along the sidewalk.  And the lady who limped from her car into the hospital. And the lady with a pin in her hip who could barely walk and the man who had been beaten severly. And…and…and. We prayed for them all. In total that day, we saw 15 people walk away completely healed and three people were introduced to Jesus.

Yep, I ‘d say that was a good day. It’s so fun when God shows people how much He loves them. And He uses us to do it.

Christmas Wishes

tixindexPLOT TWIST: The Quists would love to come home for Christmas. We are homesick. We could use some relaxation, family time and to meet our newest nephew who is now almost one!

We found round trip flights for the wicked cheap price of $890 per person and one sweet friend has already sent money for one ticket! If you are looking to be a blessing–look no further–the six remaining Quists will be overjoyed at spending Christmas with family and friends.

Check out our Paypal account on the front page for easy donation. Feliz Navidad!

PS We are not flying first class and we didn’t change our name to Enoch.

An Afternoon with God in Greenmarket Square

watercolors1Perfect weather. Friday afternoon, Halloween weekend. Downtown Cape Town. We set up a tent in a little space in one of the busiest areas of the city: Greenmarket Square. Vendors from all over Africa try to convince tourists they need to buy pricey ostrich eggs, hand painted canvas and leather belts.

I have never done ‘prophetic art’ which is where you sit across from a complete stranger, ask God what He wants to say to that person and then paint a picture or word about that message. First, I don’t paint, draw or have nice handwriting. So you can imagine my surprise when people would clutch their paintings and swear to frame them. Continue reading

Pieces. Kickball. Palestine.

Part 2 of my recent trip. Part 1 is here. Part 3 is in my head.

kickballI hated “picking teams” in grade school. With the exception of one glorious fifth grade kickball season, I was never the first player chosen for a team. “Mennonite Molly” claimed that title. A leggy blonde a whole year older than the rest of us; a terror in a denim skirt.

It begins in our bones and stays there until something breaks. That dualism. The US vs THEM mentality.

Last month I got to travel with another woman to visit Palestine and Israel, which unexpectedly broke me into pieces. What I saw in real life isn’t what TV and the Internet told me I’d see. Continue reading

“Why Have You Come Here?”

ssphoto**Part 1 in a series of who knows how many about my recent trip to Syrian refugees, Israel and Palestine.

Have you ever caught yourself thinking about or intrigued by a specific person, people group or place? Maybe even a cause? You know, you try to put it out of your mind, but at random times, it returns? You don’t even know the person, or have never been to the place, but you feel a connection with it; a responsibility or longing to know more?

The first time I felt this particular connection to someone was Michael Jackson in the fifth grade. I may or may not have been misguided by hormones. This is not what I’m talking about. This is stalking. Continue reading

The Not-so-good-2

Christina Quist: The-Not-So-Good-Samaritan

It was late afternoon, on a mild winter Cape Town day. I coerced Kevin into taking a walk around our neighborhood. It’s kind of an intense path. There’s a big hill. It involves stairs, lots of stairs. My mind was focused on both breathing, trying not to collapse and maintaining dialogue.

As we descended the hill, I saw her, sitting on the curb, shuffling her feet in the gravel. The bobby pins in her hair held certain sections more adamantly than others. Her pants were a brown cotton, an ugly brown. Continue reading

Cape Town, South Africa

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