Out of 142 countries surveyed, New Zealand was ranked the world’s fourth most optimistic. Ireland was number one—despite its current economic woes—and Zimbabwe was the gloomiest.

So, are we born optimists, or are we influenced by what happens to us? A bit of both, according to psychology professor Martin Seligman, author of Learned Optimism. He found about 50 per cent of lifelong optimists showed ‘inherited’ influences. Although there is probably no optimism gene, ‘there’s a markedly high correlation between your level of optimism and your mother’s,’ says Seligman. (Strangely, fathers don’t appear to have this influence—no one knows why, but one theory is that mothers still tend to be the primary caretakers.)

However, if you experience a series of setbacks, you are likely to start seeing these as a pattern and may assume the same negative events will happen in the future. This might explain why countries like Zimbabwe and Haiti rated poorly for optimism.

The good news is that positivity can be learned by choosing to change our thought patterns. ‘If a setback is thought about as temporary, changeable, and local, that’s optimism. If it’s thought about as permanent, unchangeable, and pervasive, that’s pessimism,’ says Seligman. Optimists tend to see negative events as isolated and external, but pessimists tend to think of them as internal and part of their life pattern. When an optimist burns dinner, they’ll think something like, ‘Something must have gone wrong, I’ll try that again.’ But a pessimist will think, ‘Typical, I just can’t cook!’

In order to reframe our thought patterns, we need to change our inner voice and replace negative thoughts with positive ones. Learn to see where you have succeeded, and celebrate those successes in what you do well. Celebrate the successes of others, too.

Rather than thinking you’re the failure, see the situation as a failure. Is there a bright side to this situation that will help you make positive sense of it, for instance?

Being an optimist doesn’t mean you have to be a chirpy Pollyanna, denying the harsher realities of life. But optimism—just like pessimism—is a way of interpreting reality. Research shows that people who interpret things more positively, and see setbacks as temporary, tend to be more successful in the workplace and have better health.

If your family role models didn’t teach you optimism, find someone whose positive outlook you admire and begin to emulate them. It can be as simple as learning to smile at people—this puts out a positive message that is usually returned. You may feel like you’re ‘faking it’, but like all skills, practise makes perfect.

Optimism ‘is the skeleton of hope,’ sums up Seligman.

The norm was a daily hiding and men touching me whenever they felt like it. School was my only place of freedom. I wanted to run as fast as The Six Million Dollar Man to get away from my life.

I lived a promiscuous, drinking, drug-abusing lifestyle, but work was important to me and I strove to prove myself. I had to be the best at everything I did. Relationships were something I did not do well. When a relationship broke up, due to my unfaithfulness, a whole series of events led to my coming into relationship with God.

I was angry, and challenged God to show me he was real. When I had a workplace accident resulting in a broken back, amazingly a religious TV programme spoke specifically about my needs and I experienced healing. I felt warmth in my back for three whole days as I began to move more. I had planned to kill myself that day after sending everyone away.

My physical rehabilitation involved a new workplace and new friends. One was a genuine Christian woman. She and her husband went to The Salvation Army in Napier and witnessed to me regularly. When I was charged with drunk driving for the fifth time, I was surprised to see the man arrive at court. He prayed with me, saying he would wait for my return, as I would not be going to jail. I laughed, but was sentenced only to community service. Ungratefully, I grew less tolerant of this couple’s intensity and pulled away from them.

But God had another relation-ship strategy. My community work was at The Salvation Army Hastings. There, I witnessed officers who loved God and respected people. They loved me without trying to get anything from me. They did not judge me the way I judged myself. They assisted me to attend counselling and I attended church occasionally, asking lots of questions. I asked the church people to be ‘real with me’. This was important after so much abuse and pretence in my life.

Next in God’s process was hearing his audible voice one morning walking to work. I was at first scared and then excited. My work mates didn’t understand me saying God spoke to me. Shortly after this, I attended a Salvation Army ‘New Zeal’ conference in Wellington and felt God was telling me, in another way, to ‘pick up my cross and follow him’.

I was beginning to see God as my anchor and learning more about forming and keeping healthy relationships.

God had more for me in the area of relationships. I became aware of God directing me to attend The Salvation Army in Flaxmere, where I began relating to more Maori Salvationists.

This has been very important to me, as I have been helped to explore aspects of my cultural identity. I also benefited from a 12 Step course, which brought further healing to my life.

I am very busy at Flaxmere Salvation Army. It was to express my loyalty to God that I became a soldier where he had planted me. It has been a blessing and a responsibility to wear the Salvation Army uniform as I continue on my journey of keeping it real and enjoying my walk with God.

By Joanne Whiu (abridged from War Cry, 18 May 2013, p9)

More than evangelism

John and his wife, Vera Mae, expected to arrive in Mississippi and just teach the Bible. Yet they were confronted with a host of other community issues that demanded their attention.

‘We saw that somehow we had to integrate a more holistic approach to life—caring for the body, the soul and the spirit,’ says John. ‘We needed to preach a gospel that recognised the dignity of human beings.’

This meant that their simple Bible teaching ministry eventually morphed into a health centre, a leadership development programme, a thrift store, low-income housing, a training centre, a church, and other similar initiatives in neighbouring communities over the years. Alongside all this, John became a leader in the civil rights movement, realising that the political and cultural oppression of black people was a major hindrance to that ‘holistic approach to life’.

But this approach was not without opposition. John’s outspokenness on racial injustices led to him being arrested and jailed in February 1970. While behind bars, he was badly beaten, almost to the point of death.

On top of this, many of the churches that had supported him in his evangelism were wary of his civil rights agenda. ‘The church that sent me [to Mississippi] wanted [black people] to know about Jesus, but they didn’t want them to have the same rights as the white people,’ he explains. ‘Which is a contradiction if you believe that all people are created equal in the image of God.’

In those days, people who supported the civil rights movement were considered liberal—and being liberal essentially meant you were communist and set on overthrowing the government, John recalls. However, things started to change after he was beaten in prison and shared this story in his first book Let Justice Roll Down. More and more white Christians began to join the fight for racial reconciliation.

Forty years on, John is excited about the future of civil rights in the US. ‘I think we are winning that battle now. There are new, emerging young people who are beginning to truly value diversity.

‘We have a wonderful opportunity to preach the gospel that releases the power of God to do what Paul said it would it do. It can burn through these racial and cultural values and we can be reconciled to God and each other. We can become that Church that God wants us to become—that Church that recognises one race of many different ethnic groups.’

Making disciples

When quizzed about the key issues facing today’s Church, John warns that we mustn’t stop at evangelism but focus on actually discipling Christians. ‘We are at a very important moment if we can turn back to discipling people and expect them to create a witness for Jesus Christ,’ he exclaims, his voice and huge hand gestures highlighting his passion. ‘Evangelism is not enough!’

John is critical of Christians who come into communities with the idea of getting people’s souls saved but are then content to leave converts to live ‘any kind of life’. [We’ve] just evangelised people without seeing them as people with a responsibility to be salt and light, to be stewards of God’s earth and to carry the gospel to all human beings. Jesus said, “I have come that you might have life and that you might have it more abundantly.” We have evangelised the world too lightly. We have made them Christian without discipling them. And now we have a prosperity religion that serves God now for what we can get, instead of serving God in gratitude for his redemptive love—because we know he loves us and has provided for us all the things that pertain to life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3).’

John believes that today’s Church has a poor understanding of Jesus as leader, treating him like a helper when we need him and otherwise exhibiting selfish and greedy motives. ‘We are not really biblical,’ he says, ‘because in [the US] we have shaded the Christian faith with a prosperity theology that enriches my life. It’s a heresy that we have just accepted as a reality.’ John believes discipleship is the antidote to this heresy.

The three Rs

John’s approach to community development (which he sees as a means of holistic discipleship) has become famous. It is based on the three Rs of relocation, reconciliation and redistribution.

One of the key problems in poor neighbourhoods is that as people become educated and improve their circumstances, they will often move out of that poorer neighbourhood. John says this can lead to ‘the people who have the gospel commuting in to do all this poverty stuff for people—doing stuff for them instead of living with them. Of course, that passage of Scripture [in Galatians 2:20], as I got to know it, [taught me that] the Christian life is really the outliving of the in-living Christ.’

John argues that we should follow Jesus’ example of living with people. ‘We need to be incarnated, to live among the people and develop the church there, in the community. If you want to plant a church, what you need to do is get some people to move in there and become friends, rather than just commute in and out. That was our idea to break down some of this “us and them”. You become the body of Christ. That’s the relocation, where their needs become our needs, and it brings about the second R: reconciliation.

‘If prejudice is the main word in segregation—and that means to pre-judge people before you know them—the only answer is to get to know them. Once you get to know you can love them and you can forgive. You can disciple them properly.’ This, says John, is true reconciliation.

The third R of redistribution was a carefully chosen word. John could have settled for ‘redevelopment’, which has more of a capitalist, conservative flavour. But one of the geniuses of his approach to community ministry is the ability to straddle the gap between right and left political mind-sets—and to successfully challenge both.

He says ‘redistribution’ worked as a word ‘because people thought we were communist when we would say it and it would shock them. That was good because when you talk about justice you have to shock people and challenge them. In our country, capitalism is to God, and communism and socialism to Satan, so [redistribution] threatens our capitalist way of life, and, well, it needs to be threatened some.

‘Capitalism has a good production system but a very weak redistribution system, so it ends up in the hands of the people who have the greatest advantage. We are doing that not only in our country nationally but we are also exploiting the labour forces of the world in order that we might get richer. [Instead,] Christians should be salt and light and have a message from God, a message of justice and equality.’

In the late 1950s, after first encountering Christ, John fell in love with studying the Bible and modelling his life and ministry around Jesus’ teaching. After talking with him, I am left with the distinct impression that no political model could ever dictate the way John lives his life. He takes his cues from Scripture and desperately wants to see the global Church doing the same.

By Hayden Shearman (abridged from War Cry 18 May 2013, p5-7)


*Be sure to catch Dr Perkins at the Just Action Conference, 18-19 September, Manukau (go to www.salvationarmy.org.nz/justaction). Visit  www.jmpf.org for more on Dr Perkins and his ministries.

Having a child was a dream I had already grieved for and let go. Now the dream had come true.

With excitement, my husband Martin and I read weekly updates about our baby’s development. We studiously attended antenatal classes where we learnt to expect a natural, empowering birth. And breastfeeding classes taught us that this aspect of motherhood would be like riding a bike—anyone could do it with practise.

Sure, I’d heard rumours of sleepless nights, and something about babies crying. But mainly I thought being a mum would be about wearing long flowing skirts, while carrying my baby on my hip. I imagined being an earth mama, enjoying an intuitive, loving bond.

Save my baby!

I was 11 days overdue when I was induced. My little one didn’t respond well to the induction, his heart rate slowing every time I moved. The midwife said the writing was on the wall and I’d need a caesarean. As they put in the epidural, I prepared myself by imagining what it would soon be like to hold my baby in my arms.

Then suddenly his heart stopped. A medical team rushed in and began putting me under anaesthetic, literally running my bed down the corridor. A room full of people were shouting, and as I looked around for my husband, I saw him in scrubs behind a sea of faces. He was being taken out of the room. I prayed over and over again, ‘God, save my baby, and save me.’

God answered my prayer. The surgeon got our son Jacob out in less than three minutes, and saved his life. I, of course, didn’t come out of anaesthetic for another three hours. My husband sat by our son in his incubator, stroking him and weeping. I don’t remember the first time I met our baby—there is a picture of me in my hospital bed holding Jacob, but I have no recollection.

To hell and back

I was too traumatised and too sick, but I felt driven to breastfeed. Every message I had heard and whole-heartedly believed was that ‘breast is best’, and that it was necessary for bonding. But it didn’t work. Over the next two months, I tried every gruelling regime I could and expressed milk after every feed. It took so long that one feed would run into the next, and neither Jacob nor I got any sleep.

Every unspoken expectation I had about loving my baby and being a carefree new mum was falling down around me, and I felt like an absolute failure. I found no enjoyment in being a mother. I feared I wasn’t bonding with my son. I was unravelling, and dark thoughts intruded my mind.

My husband had always said he would support me in my decisions, but eventually he lovingly suggested that it was time to stop breast-feeding, and sent me to the doctor. I believe our GP was a gift from God. He was the first professional to show me compassion, telling me that breastfeeding was not best for me and my baby if it wasn’t working. He also told me, ‘I have no doubt that you have post-natal depression.’ After the initial shock, I was relieved to go on medication.

During this time, a small handful of people spoke truth into my life. A friend I didn’t know well at church told me their first few months with their baby was ‘hell on earth’. I felt relieved that someone had said out loud what I was feeling.

With my counsellor, I was able to grieve for my shattered expectations. I felt ripped off that I had never had that moment: where I held my baby in my arms and felt it was all worth it. I grieved for the fact that I had been so traumatised I couldn’t face any visitors, or proudly announce Jacob’s birth.

A psychologist who goes to our church and happens to specialise in post-natal depression, gave me the words to process my shattered expectations. He said, ‘You didn’t feel you had a choice; you felt driven.’ He observed that teenage mums with no expectations are better off than the conscientious older parents who attend all the right classes and whose expectations are sky-high.

Where was God?

During this time, I felt confused about where God, the creator of childbirth, was in all this. The Bible talks about the pain of childbirth as the result of sin (Genesis 3:16), but I just found that more confusing. But my counsellor put it simply, saying, ‘Satan has screwed up child birth, but what Satan has meant for evil God will use for good’. I now see being born as the greatest spiritual battle of our lives. While the enemy brings death, God calls us out for a life that is significant to him.

Shortly after his birth, God gave Martin a vision that helped us understand the battle for Jacob’s life. In his mind’s eye, Martin saw the birth being replayed. But this time, as I was being rushed through the corridors, crowds of people lined the walls: they were the prayers of the saints. In the operating theatre, a man stood next to the surgeon, with an encouraging hand on the surgeon’s shoulder: he was the Holy Spirit. And as Martin waited outside the theatre, he saw an angel, about eight foot tall and dressed in Roman armour, standing guard in front of the doors. The angel held a giant, blazing sword, and repeated over and over again, ‘He’s ours, he’s ours’.

Learning to be a (less than perfect) mum

Each night, I prayed that God would heal me and restore my sleep—and that Jacob would sleep. But every night, I woke in the early hours and my anxiety increased. My counsellor suggested that maybe I should
change my focus to thanksgiving as a way of dealing with anxiety. So, each night as I went off to sleep, I began thanking God for the blessings of each day. This was one of the most transformative actions in my recovery. If I woke during the night, I found things to thank God for. I wasn’t being spiritual, I was just trying to get back to sleep. But as I began looking for the small joys, my focus started to change and I slowly—if unsteadily—began to experience the good in each day.

It was also really important that I practised telling myself the truth. I asked Martin to tell me each day why I was a good mum, and I tried to let his words to sink in. It was as simple as believing that I loved Jacob because I fed him and got up for him in the night. It was as simple as lying next to Jakie, and breathing in the moment.

In those months when I felt nothing, I learned the truth that love is an action. Love is doing all you can for another human being, even when you’re stripped of emotion. Yet, it was the biggest relief when I began to enjoy Jacob—when I looked at him and began to feel that transcendent love and adoration.

I began to cherish the bond I had with my boy as I held him close and fed him his bottle, sprinkling kisses on his forehead. I unlearnt many of the ‘truths’ I had believed about motherhood.

Recovery didn’t feel like a ‘spiritual journey’. Trying to pray and read the Bible would simply have felt like another expectation. But I knew, deep down, that I needed God for every second of every day.

I thanked him for the miracle of medication, which lifted me out of the pit and helped me start adoring my beautiful son.

It wasn’t deliberate, but as I began living within new expectations, I learnt to accept it was okay to do things the easy way, rather than the ‘right’ way. I drank tea and watched daytime TV. I didn’t go to playgroups. I deleted my Facebook account, and didn’t do any writing or journalling. I only felt slightly guilty that I wasn’t keeping a diary of Jacob’s milestones. I threw out half of my pre-pregnancy wardrobe. I couldn’t be bothered anymore with glossy magazines that idolise the super-mum myth. I began to love pottering around home, joking with Jakie and enjoying his presence.

I remember the deep sense of relief I felt when I caught up with some friends-of-friends who are now mums too, and they broke into a can of Diet Coke and chocolate at 10 in the morning. It was freeing to be with people who weren’t trying to be perfect, and I decided that’s the kind of mum I want to be. I want people to feel rested in my average, getting by, self-accepting presence.

Lessons from my son

I don’t believe that life is a series of lessons from God—he is not standing at a distance, teaching us things for our own good. I believe God walks our journey with us, holding us up in an intimate embrace, and along the way we get to know God more. On this journey of motherhood, God has revealed so much about his love through Jacob.

As a mum, I delight in my son’s smallest accomplishments. I even find myself praying that God will help with his crawling, or with his teething—to me, nothing about Jacob is insignificant. And it blows my mind that if God made us in his image, he must feel exactly the same way about us. Is anything too insignificant about us, that he wouldn’t be interested? Does he really delight in our smile; does he give us things just because he finds joy in blessing us? He calls himself our heavenly father, and we, the apple of his eye. He delights in all our quirky uniqueness, just as we do our own children.

I hope that Jacob will know he is utterly accepted by me and that he never needs to earn my love. Yet, in so many ways, I have tried to prove my worth to God. If only I had known, deep down to my core, that I am loved and accepted just as I am! Because that’s the truth. God doesn’t call us to strive, but to the deep spiritual rest of knowing we are loved.

Today, I can honestly say Jacob is the light of our lives. I’m looking forward to my first Mother’s Day because Jacob is the thing I am most proud of in this world. Part of the mystery of this new journey into motherhood—one I am still just embarking on—is that life’s deepest heartaches sit snugly alongside life’s greatest joys.

This was perfectly captured in a children’s verse I heard at my niece’s Sunday school production (she was an angel). The chorus of children sang: ‘When things are good, God is there. When things are bad, God is there too.’

This struck me as a profound piece of theology, and sums up all that I have experienced and all that I have learned over my first year as a mum. It is the truth about our heavenly father.

He is there.

By Ingrid Barratt (abridged from War Cry 4 May 2013, p5-7)

If you are suffering from post-natal depression … here are some words of encouragement:

This is something that has happened to you, it is not who you are: If you had diabetes, for example, you would take medication and get help. PND is no different—it is an illness you have; it is not who you are.
You don’t need to be ashamed: People often keep PND secret, but there is no shame in it. It can be really helpful to let people know you’re having a rough time so they can support you.

Getting help is the best thing you can do for your baby: Soldiering on won’t help your baby, but getting help will. Your baby will be happiest when you are happy—even if that means giving up some of your expectations.

Your feelings are not the truth: Strong truths can help you combat negative thoughts. I had truths prepared such as, ‘I’m doing a great job under difficult circumstances’, and ‘It’s okay, nothing is really wrong’ to reassure myself. Sometimes I had to say truths forcibly—and out loud. 

You are not alone: PND is a lonely feeling, but there are people who care about you and want to help. Ask for help, ask for encouragement, ask your partner for a cuddle, ask for meals. You can’t do this on your own—it really does take a whole community to raise a child.
If you know someone with PND … here are some ways you can help:

Acknowledge it: PND doesn’t always look like depression —a mum is driven to get out of bed in the morning by her baby, and she may seem like she’s coping. But if you sense she is struggling, don’t minimise it, encourage her to get help.

Ask about it: Sometimes we want to talk about our struggles, but need permission to open up. Don’t avoid the topic, ask how things are going. Sometimes it’s helpful to talk, and at other times it’s not, but it’s good to be asked.

Don’t compare: We often relate to others by making comparisons from our own lives, such as ‘Oh yes, I felt weepy when my baby was born, too’. But when you have PND these comparisons can make you feel more alone or play further into your fears. Do be sympathetic, do listen, do ask—but don’t compare unless you have really been through it.

Give her a break: If you can, offer ongoing support that will provide a break, such as walking the baby or making meals. Taking the load off a little bit can be hugely restorative.

Go to www.plunket.org.nz/your-child for more information on post-natal depression

Highly recommended.  

Review by Martin Barratt

A Place At The Table
Genre: Documentary
Directors: Kristi Jacobson and Lori Silverbush
Rating: E (Exempt)
Run time: 1 hour 24 mins

For the past few years, they have led the music team and have been on staff working with at-risk youth. Gareth has developed a pre-trade and life skills course to help get these kids’ lives back on track.

However, in the winter of 2012, Gareth and Maryanne searched for answers as they witnessed the cycle of oppression trapping so many Hutt Valley youth. ‘Working with these people can feel pretty hopeless,’ confesses Gareth. ‘You can do all you want but they typically end up at the same place.’

They were frustrated with the spiritual environment they were battling and asked each other one night what they were supposed to do and how they could bring truth to the world around them.

‘The next day,’ says Maryanne, ‘I was having my quiet time and opened to Psalm 8:2, which we’ve heard lots before, but for some reason I’d never read the second half. The first half is, “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise … ”. That’s a lovely psalm quoted by many a pre-school leader. But the next half says, “… because of your enemies to silence the foe and the avenger.”

‘So God called forth praise from little children to silence his enemy. Simple praise—the most pathetic thing in the world’s eyes—actually puts a bar over Satan’s mouth. I thought, “Oh my gosh, that’s the strategy—we have it in our home, it’s worship.” I really felt like God said, “That’s what I want you to do right now about it: just worship”.’

Maryanne and Gareth were also gripped by the idea that it is children and those with child-like hearts that God especially wants to use in worship. He doesn’t just want those with supposedly perfect lives and blemish-free backgrounds.

So the couple began to make plans for a home-grown worship recording featuring the voices and musical abilities of Hutt City people—people who knew real struggles but could also testify to real, life-changing encounters with God. Last summer, they gathered this group of people together to record a five-song EP and also an online documentary.

The 20-minute doco is beautifully filmed and captures the incredible testimonies of several band members. ‘The impact of testimonies is massive,’ says Gareth. ‘I think we forget that the Bible is testimonies, really. And God is still moving, so why are we not hearing that stuff now?

‘It’s amazing the responses from that documentary that we are getting from people in our church. They’re saying, “Now I’ve got something I can give to my friends that explains why I’m a Christian.” ’

‘And it all comes back to that psalm,’ adds Maryanne, ‘because testimony is worship and that too is “silencing the foe and the avenger”.’

The CD itself kicks off with a karakia spoken by children, which obviously sets the intention of the project. Gareth wrote the four songs on the EP, and each has its own remarkable back-story. The first, titled ‘Giving it Back’, emphasises the EP’s sole focus on worship as it dives into a lively first verse, singing ‘You’ve given this life to me and I’m giving it back to You’.

The second track, ‘Pure Gold’, came together at the last minute. ‘We were days away from recording and only had three songs,’ explains Maryanne. ‘Gareth sat down with his guitar and said, “God, I’d really like it if you just gave me another song so we have a four-song EP.” He literally just strummed and wrote down a new song in five minutes.’

‘Pure Gold’ passionately sings of a desire to experience God and to remove the walls—which Maryanne says can often be from our own religion—that prevent us from doing so. Even with such heavy themes, the mood remains joyful, particularly as the song erupts at the end to shouts of celebration. Gareth says, ‘On Friday we practised it and recorded it on Monday. I’ve never been that loose with recording a song in my life.’ Maryanne adds that perhaps that looseness is the reason why kids particularly enjoy this song.

On the other hand, the repentant ‘He Says’, was much longer in the pipeline. Inspired by 2 Chronicles 7:14, it had become something of a church theme song, where God was teaching Salvationists at Hutt City Corps to corporately humble themselves and pray—and to not wait but
to do it today.

Gareth describes the final track, ‘Rain is Coming’, as initially ‘a bit of a joke song that ended up on there not as a joke, but as a fun song’ about the hopeful expectation we have of Christ bringing revival. Remarkably, the day they released the Ragamuffin Army Band EP at Crossroads was the day Wellington received rain for the first time in months after the summer’s drought. This symbolism was also significant given the spiritual drought that had initially inspired the worship project.

The name, ‘The Ragamuffin Army Band’, may well raise some eyebrows, but there’s a great story behind that too. Before they were married, Maryanne was on a mission trip in Russia and in the middle
of a time of heavy spiritual oppression, she received a vision. ‘I saw this really clear picture of countless people lined up on the horizon. They were all in raggedy clothes. Some were on crutches; they were almost like mummies, just a rag-tag bunch. And God said, “Look at my army, aren’t they hilarious?” ’

This vision filled her with joyful laughter and she felt it was a picture of the army God wants to raise up out of broken, everyday Christians. ‘[God] gave me that vision again to do with Crossroads,’ says Maryanne. Calling the project the ‘Ragamuffin Army’ was a way of saying to people in their church, no matter their backgrounds, ‘You are God’s precious army; this has come out of you guys.’

Maryanne and Gareth view the project as something of a parting gift to Hutt City Corps as they and their two young children, Indie and Rhema, leave for a sabbatical year, travelling the country in a house bus. They intend to visit churches all over New Zealand to see what God is doing and to seek out more testimonies of children and ragamuffins alike encountering God.

By Hayden Shearrman (abridged from War Cry, 4 May 2013, p 18-19)

Visit  TheRagamuffinArmyBand to download the EP free (or by donation), to order CDs for $10 (incl. p&p) and to watch the Ragamuffin Army Band documentary.

Maryanne and Gareth would love to visit and help to develop Salvation Army music teams as they travel around New Zealand—e: maryanne.shearman@gmail.com