In 1986, I was holding a revival meeting in Indiana in a Full Gospel church.   One particular night, a blind boy, whose name was Robert, came to the service.   He had fallen, and a weed eater had cut his eyes.   Oh, he had been in Europe and everywhere, but no surgery could restore his eyesight.   Somebody told me he was going to be there, so I was fasting and praying.   (In the church I grew up in, they didn't miss just one meal and call that fasting.   It's still proper to fast and wait on the Lord.   I still believe in fasting and praying and getting alone with God.)

I felt the Lord was pressing me to fast and pray in sackcloth and ashes, according to Isaiah 58:5, so I had a suit made of sackcloth.   I fasted and prayed like the prophets of old did - their faces in ashes and their clothes made of sackcloth.   I thought that's what God wanted me to do, and God did meet with me.  He knew that I was desperate.

That night, I had preached my message and was ready for the altar call, when I found myself saying, "Before we ask sinners to come, God is going to give this young man his eyesight." A hush went over the building.   You know, you could just feel that the people didn't know whether to believe it or not, but I knew what the Lord had said.   I called the young man up, and we laid hands on him and prayed.   Before the congregation, God opened that boy's eyes.   His daddy, a backslidden Pentecostal man, couldn't get to the altar because of the crowd.   He just flipped over the pew and fell down on his face and gave his heart to God.   By the next night, they were renting an auditorium because of the crowd.