This is a testimony of Frank Foglio, author of "Hey, God" and an International Director of the Full Gospel Business Men, told Merlin Carothers one of the most remarkable accounts of freedom through praise he have ever hear. I wanted to share it with you.
Franks' daughter was injured in an automobile accident. Her brain was severely damaged, and although many thousands of prayers were made for her recovery, her condition grew steadily worse. Finally, she had to be placed in the "hopeless" ward of an institution for the mentally ill. It was the very end of the line. Patients in the ward were so far removed from reality that their families seldom came to visit them. One patient had been strapped down for twelve years because of violence. Other inmates sat passive, staring at nothing, their vacant eyes reflecting brains emptied of all knowing. Still others sat rigid in bed, without sight or motion. Vegetables. Fran's daughter had clawed her way out of straightjackets and tried to hang herself with a bed sheet.
It had been seven years since the accident, and the absolute hopelessness of the situation began to take its toll of a very tough Italian. Frank's faith in God started to waiver. On one very difficult journey to the institution, Frank was struggling with God. "How could You be a God of love? I wouldn't even permit such a thing to happen to my daughter if I had the power to prevent it. You could heal her. But You won't. Don't You love people as much as even I do? You must not." Frank felt his anger rising against God.
"Praise Me" a voice said to him. "What for" Frank replied. "Praise Me that your daughter is where she is." "Never" he spat out. "I would rather die than do that."
God had no right to ask him to praise Him when God wasn't doing His own job of showing His love for people.
Frank remembered hearing a tape about giving thanks in everything. He had been deeply moved by the message, but at that moment he was in no mood to put it into practice.
"Thank Me that your daughter is exactly where she is" the voice said again. "God, I couldn't praise You if I tried. And I'm not going to try, because I don't believe I should."
As Frank continued toward the mental home, Holy Spirit worked in his heart, and he felt his attitude begin to soften. He said, "Well, God, I would praise You if I could, but I just can't." A little further along, he confessed, "I would praise You, but You would have to help me."
After arriving at the Institution, Frank went through the necessary procedures to get clearance to get into the most restricted part of the buildings. It always took a long while to get into his daughter's ward. Sometimes he wondered why he continued to come. His daughter didn't recognize him. She didn't know him from a stone on the ground.
Finally, Frank was in the last waiting room, the one that separated him from the ward. One steel door remained to be opened. Standing before it, Frank Foglio heard the calm firm voice of God one more time.
"Thank Me that your daughter is exactly where she is." The disobedience, the unwillingness, the hardness of heart had melted away. The stony heart of anger and bitterness and unfaith had somehow been replaced a responsive heart of flesh. Frank, his throat choked with emotion, whispered his surrender: "Okay, God, I thank You that my daughter is where she is. I know that You love her more than I do."
At that moment a vaguely familiar voice cried out, "I want my daddy, I want my daddy." The attendant opened the door, and Frank raced to his daughter's compartment. Clothed in her right mind, she threw out her arms and embraced her father. Nurses, attendances, and guards gathered around to weep their joy.
Frank says, "Tell everyone our daughter is home now with us. We know that God always wants us to praise Him, regardless of how things look."