Dear FGGAM family, let us gather and pray for Pastor Larry Moss of LA Center, Kentucky. Many of you in New Mexico will remember Larry as the Pastor of Heights Cumberland for years. Larry became a mentor of mine when I became manager of KIIM Christian radio. Larry had a radio program on KKIM for nearly 35 years. He taught me much and was not afraid to correct me! What a man of God! I just got off the phone with Larry and he has been in the hospital 6 times since June. He had double bypass surgery on March 23rd of this year and has had one health problem after another since. Larry asks for your prayers for healing. He has been preaching for the 3 years he has been in Kentucky, but right now he is needed of healing………we pray healing over Brother Larry, complete healing for this man of God, in Jesus name, Amen.
This picture of me and Larry was taken at the KIIM 35th Anniversary which was held at Heights Cumberland in 2007 I believe.
Many have said that Larry is the Father of many preachers in New Mexico, he raised many to serve God! AMEN!
A GIANT MAN of FAITH! BOLD MAN of GOD! Not afraid to rebuke, but Larry is loving as anybody. God doesn’t make ’em any better than Larry Moss.

My heart aches for America, these folks at Freedom From Religion Foundation are causing great harm to our Country! Kicking God to the curb! They are ripping apart the fabric of America!

WE MUST NOT GIVE INTO FREEDOM FROM RELIGION FOUNDATION, THEY ARE DESTROYING THE CHRISTIAN FOUNDATION OF AMERICA! JOIN US HERE AT FGGAM AND STAND IN THE GAP FOR GOD!!!

Ezekiel 22:30…….And I sought a man among them who should build up a wall and stand in the gap before Me for the land, that I should not destroy it, but I found none.

A Georgia high school violated local public school district policy by allowing a mass baptism of members of its football team on the school’s field in an event criticized by a group advocating for the separation of church and state, officials said.
A pastor baptised 18 Villa Rica High School players and one coach into a tub of water on the school’s field in a Christian baptism ceremony before an August football team practice. MORE HERE

Dear FGGAM Family, We have this urgent prayer need for Oscar Hernandez of Canutillo , Texas. Oscar has just been told he has stage four cancer. Please pray for healing for Oscar, pray for his family, for peace and strngth, in Jesus name, Amen! We are praying constantly Oscar!
Philippians 4:6-7……Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Thanks to Frank Haley who sent this in………
An Experience to recall

This 1967 true story is of an experience by a young 12 year old lad in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. It is about the vivid memory of a privately rebuilt P-51 from WWII and its famous owner/pilot.

In the morning sun, I could not believe my eyes. There, in our little airport, sat a majestic P-51. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S. Airport, on its way to an air show. The pilot had been tired, so he just happened to choose Kingston for his stop over. It was to take to the air very soon. I marveled at the size of the plane, dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the pilot’s lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. It looked like it might have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn – it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal (“Expo-67 Air Show”) then walked across the tarmac.

After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the tall, lanky man returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he “flashed the old bird up, just to be safe.” Though only 12 at the time I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use — “If you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!”, he said. (I later became a firefighter, but that’s another story.) The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another barked — I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard -built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar. Blue flames knifed from her manifolds with an arrogant snarl. I looked at the others’ faces; there was no concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight run-up. He’d taxied to the end of runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds. We ran to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway. We could not. There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before. Like a furious hell spawn set loose — something mighty this way was coming. “Listen to that thing!” said the controller.

In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight. It’s tail was already off the runway and it was moving faster than anything I’d ever seen by that point on 19. Two-thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were supersonic. We clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellishly fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze. We stood for a few moments, in stunned silence, trying to digest what we’d just seen.

The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. “Kingston tower calling Mustang?” He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment. The radio crackled, “Go ahead, Kingston.” “Roger, Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass.” I stood in shock because the controller had just, more or less, asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show!

The controller looked at us. “Well, What?” He asked. “I can’t let that guy go without asking. I couldn’t forgive myself!”

The radio crackled once again, “Kingston, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west, across the field?” “Roger, Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass.” “Roger, Kingston, I’m coming out of 3,000 feet, stand by.”

We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive G’s and gravity. Her wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic. The burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air. At about 500 mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed with the old American pilot saluting. Imagine. A salute! I felt like laughing; I felt like crying; she glistened; she screamed; the building shook; my heart pounded. Then the old pilot pulled her up and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelible into my memory.

I’ve never wanted to be an American more than on that day! It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother. A steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the old American pilot who’d just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of America at its best.

That America will return one day! I know it will! Until that time, I’ll just send off this story. Call it a loving reciprocal salute to a Country, and especially to that old American pilot: the late-JIMMY STEWART (1908-1997), Actor, real WWII Hero (Commander of a US Army Air Force Bomber Wing stationed in England), and a USAF Reserves Brigadier General, who wove a wonderfully fantastic memory for a young Canadian boy that’s lasted a lifetime.