Touched by Heaven

TOUCHED BY
H E AV E N
Inspiring True Stories of One Womans
Lifelong Encounters with Jesus
N A N C Y R AV E N H I L L
G
Nancy Ravenhill, Touched by Heaven
Chosen Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group, 2015. Used by permission.
(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

Ravenhill_TouchedByHeaven_KS_kf.indd 5
1/12/15 2:11 PM
2015 by Nancy Ravenhill

Published by Chosen Books
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.chosenbooks.com
Chosen Books is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy,
recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception
is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on le at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-0-8007-9604-4
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the New American Standard
Bible, copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The
Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
Scripture quotations identied asv are from the American Standard Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations identied esv are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version
(ESV), copyright 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers.
Used by permission. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2007
Scripture quotations identied Message are from The Message by Eugene H. Peterson, copyright 1993, 1994, 1995, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress
Publishing Group. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations identied nkjv are from the New King James Version. Copyright
1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations identied nlt are from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation,
copyright 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of
Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations identied Phillips are from The New Testament in Modern English, revised editionJ. B. Phillips, translator. J. B. Phillips 1958, 1960, 1972. Used
by permission of Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc.
Scripture quotations identied kjv are from the King James
Version of the Bible.
Cover design by Dual Identity
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To the Praise and Glory of God, my Father, and Jesus Christ

who gave His life for me and called me to fulfill His purpose
that I might serve Him with love in His Kingdom. I thank
Him for guiding me to David, my wonderful husband, and
for giving us our three beautiful daughters, whom we named
Lisa, Tina and Debra; our very special treasures. For with
God nothing shall be impossible.
Luke 1:37 kjv


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I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined

to me and heard my cry. He brought me up out
of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay, and
He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps
rm. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of
praise to our God.
Psalm 40:13


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Contents
Foreword by Mike Bickle 11

Preface 13
Acknowledgments 15
1. The Storm Breaks 17
2. Demons in the Second Heaven 26
3. Seeing Is Not Always Believing 36
4. A Vision for the Future 44
5. Who Were Those People? 54
6. Eternity! 64
7. Blessing the Little Ones 77
8. A Stranger in the Night 89
9. The God Who Heals 96
10. Peace at Last 106
9
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Contents
11. Early Morning with Jesus 116

12. A Hard Good-bye 127
13. Ways That Angels Minister to Us 133
14. The Abiding Presence of God 148
Epilogue by David Ravenhill 157
10

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For ewor d
eality television is showing us that we love to learn about

real people and their daily lives. Everyone loves a good
story, especially a true story.
The incidents you are about to read are true. What is even
more important is that they happened to someone just like
you. My good friend Nancy Ravenhill has been a Christian
longer than I have been alive. In this book, she opens her
heart to share some trials and triumphs, and lets us see the
extraordinary ways Jesus has revealed Himself to her from
her childhood to the present.
While we might not have the exact same experiences as
Nancy, we should all expect God to reveal Himself to us as
the great i am. My prayer is that as you read about these encounters with Jesus, you will come to experience the touch of
heaven in your own life. Remember, He is the same yesterday,
today and forever; He will never stop being who He isthe
supernatural God!
Mike Bickle,
International House of Prayer of Kansas City
11

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Pr eface
very person I know has a life story to tell! I nd it fascinating to listen to people talk about their lives. The
past is always interesting, the present can be dauntingbut
we look to the future with eyes of hope and expectation,
by faith.
My story begins when I was ve years old, and my life
changed dramatically. I could not imagine how I would walk
through the difficult days that were to come. But the Lord
Jesus Christ had compassion and love for me, and so began
a journey with God that I never expected. I began to know
Jesus as my true Father and found Him in my heart. I learned
that we see Jesus most clearly in the hard timeswhen we
cannot make it unless He helps us.
The supernatural experiences God has given me have quickened my spirit and shown me how very real, dear and near
our heavenly Father can be. I never forget Jesus divine visits,
His amazing appearances, His voice to me and, most of all,
His face.
13
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Preface
It was in Christchurch, New Zealand, in 1981 when the

Lord came to me on a beautiful sunny afternoon and told me,
Youre going to have to write a book about your life one day!
I turned around abruptly and said, Lord, Ill never do it.
I dont want anyone to know about my life. I said no, but
I knew that day that this assignment, the writing of Gods
visits to me, would be completed by His grace.
That day has come. I pray that you will be blessed, encouraged and quickened by God inside your heart as you read and
live these stories with me. In the words of the beautiful hymn,
Yesterday, today, forever, Jesus is the same,
All may change, but Jesus, never
glory to His name! . . .
All may change, but Jesus, never
glory to His name!
Nancy Ravenhill
Siloam Springs, Arkansas
14

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Acknowledgments
ecently, while in a small village in Turkey, my husband

and I watched a young girl weaving a carpet on a loom.
Above her hung numerous colorful threads that had to be
carefully selected and then tediously, skillfully, strategically
placed and knotted by hand in order to produce a true authentic Turkish carpet. We were told that a large carpet could
take more than a year to complete.
Without Ann McMath Weinheimers skill, patience and
ability, my book would never have been enjoyable and readable. While I supplied Ann with the various threads of my life,
she wove them into an accurate account of my experiences.
Ann, it was a pleasure and privilege to work with you. I can
truly say that without you, this book never would have been
written. Thank you so much!
I also want to thank my husband, David, for his much
needed wisdom and help, as well as his willingness to write
the epilogue.
My thanks also to Jane Campbell, who began this journey
with me and encouraged me to the end.
15

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Acknowledgments
Finally my thanks to Linda Valen, who was the rst to

suggest that I contact Jane at Chosen Books. Linda believed
that my experiences should be told and that they were worthy
of being published.
Above all, my thanks to my wonderful Lord. To Him be
all the glory.
16

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1
The Stor m Br eaks
And he shall be like the light of the morning when the sun
rises, a morning without clouds, like the tender grass springing out of the earth, by clear shining after rain.
2 Samuel 23:4 nkjv
walked timidly into our living room, curling my small nger along the pink owers in the wallpaper and making my
way quietly to the big chair beside the picture window. Our
house was a short walk from the shores of Lake Michigan.
On this day, the late afternoon sun streamed through giant
puffs of clouds onto her dark waters.
My parents did not seem to notice me. They stood facing each other, feet planted, eyes locked. Their voices were
almost indistinct in the shrill and uncontrolled effort to be
heard one above the other.
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Touched by Heaven
I had listened to these same words and angry sounds many

times in the past few months. Like those other times, I climbed
up into the thick arms of the green owered chair, drew up
my legs and crunched myself into the cushions. I felt particularly inconspicuous that day in my pink and green plaid
shorts, my long brown hair pulled back into braids. I am
not sure why I was drawn to be close to them. Seeing them
lled with anger made me desperately sad, but still I came.
Not making a sound, I peeked out from my garden of fabric
leaves and blossoms.
My mother took a deep breath and, pointing her nger in
the air, spoke with deliberation. If you would get a steady
job, we wouldnt always have to be worried about money.
My father, who had begun pacing, stopped long enough
to glare in her direction. My father was not tall, and they
were nearly at eye level. I could get plenty of jobs, he said,
his voice like a growl. But wed have to move and you wont
give up your teaching. Youre just working to make me look
badto make me look like a bad provider!
Thats not true, Billy! You know that I only went back
to work so that I could earn a living. Nancy has to have the
proper things. My mothers voice faltered for a second, then
took up her charge: I have to pay for her to get through a
good school. And she needs the right clothes to wear in the
right places. You arent working, she added, so somebody
has to.
Her accusing tone must have hit a nerve. That sounds so
noble, my father shouted. You spend money to dress up a
ve-year-old. I suppose what I want doesnt matter!
At the sound of my name I had instinctively drawn back.
It felt like an unfortunate intrusion into an adult world that
18

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The Storm Breaks
I did not understand. The arguments about money were unending; yet money seemed always to be available. My mother
did her best to improve our humble surroundings. She bought
beautiful things with her teachers salaryour matching
mother-daughter dresses from Marshall Fields, the marvelous department store just around the lake in Chicago,
my new bedroom furniture, and even a piano so that I could
take lessons.
And Daddy did work. I loved to hear him play his pearly
black and white accordion. At least, he wanted to work. He
had given up his nightclub jobs, and requests were not plentiful for a Christian accordionist; nor, when found, did they
pay well.
So, they argued. Words like mission field and service to
God were part of Daddys new vocabulary now that he was
saved and we were attending the Baptist church. He wanted
passionately to become a missionaryand dreamed of returning to the Caribbean to live. The previous summer a
church there had paid for him to come and minister, and he
longed to return, for they loved both his accordion music
and his preaching.
But his appeals fell on deaf ears. My mother, also newly
converted, was determined to keep her job with the Michigan
school system to provide the proper things for me, which
meant that he was stuck in St. Joseph. Was money the problem, then? I wondered. Or was I really the problem?
The dark and sudden rumble of thunder that was Daddys
voice startled me. I had not moved an inch toward the storm,
but neither could I move away from it. It turned on me with
fury.
This is Nancys fault! Daddy roared.
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Touched by Heaven
With two strides he was standing in front of me. He reached

down and grabbed my upper arm, pulling me out of my
chair, and steered me roughly into a corner. With my father
before me, I was now anked by two windows on the attending wallsthe large picture window on one, and a high side
window up near the ceiling on the other. There was no place
to hide, nowhere to go; the corner seemed, rather, to hold me
prisoner under two watchful, silent eyes.
This is Nancys fault! he bellowed again. And shes
going to nd out what its like!
I watched his hands twitch with furious motion as he unclasped his brown leather belt and pulled it quickly through
the loops of his trousers. I had never been hit before and did
not know what he was doing. Then with his arm drawn fully
back and leaning the weight of his body into the blow, he
ripped the leather across my legs.
The jolt shot through me like electricity, burning my esh
and numbing my brain. Stunned, I managed to lift my arms
to cover my head.
You are going to learn! he shouted, berating me with
every blow to my torso and bare legs.
I bit my lip till it nearly bled, fearful of making a sound,
sensing that cries would enliven his rage. Yet I could not help
wincing each time he raised his arm. I squeezed my eyes shut
to block out the vision of the next explosive strike.
Eight . . . ten blows. . . . My legs were going numb and my
body was beginning to sway.
Then at last, when I felt as though I might crumple to the
oor, the booming thunder ceased and the earth grew still
again. I opened my eyes and lowered my arms. Daddy was
breathing hard and putting his belt back through his pant
20

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The Storm Breaks
loops. After cinching the strap through the buckle, he turned

with a kind of swagger and faced my mother.
I looked between them, from his lifted chin and searing
eyes to her shocked silence. Neither looked at me. Neither
offered me help. Slowly I put one foot in front of the other
and walked painfully past them, past my silent garden chair,
up the gray carpeted stairs and into my bedroom, where I
collapsed onto my knees at the side of my bed.
My little room, normally so cheerful with its pastel stripes,
was a blur as my eyes ooded with tears. Sobs shook me uncontrollably; I buried my face in the bedspread to muffle the
sound.
Two things were clear to me, young as I was. One of them I
had suspected, but it was painful to comprehend: I was utterly
helpless in a violent world. I sensed, correctly as it turned out,
that this was not the sole incidence of my fathers brutality.
In part because of my mothers non-interference, his rage at
her had found an outlet. Their only child had become a mute
sacrice to brutal passion.
The other thing clear to me was that I had only one place
to go. I marvel at this comprehension, but it was true. In all
the world I knew that no one could help me; no one would
believe meeven assuming I could lift the veil of shame and
tell; no one would walk with me through the terror.
No one, that is, but Jesus.
Through watery eyes, wiping my nose with the back of
my hand, I looked up at the picture of Jesus that hung on my
wall. It was a painting of Jesus in a garden, surrounded by
three children. Under the painting was written a question that
the children were asking: What happened to Your hand? I
would often lie in bed at night, look up at that painting and
21

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Touched by Heaven
long to be one of those children. They were safe there with

Jesus. He would help them.
But I was not one of those children. My days were destined
to be sad and lonely, stretching out past any hope I might
try to envision on the horizon. I was not even like the other
children in my Sunday school class. As of that day, I was the
caretaker of a terrible dark secret: the shattering rejection of
my parents. I was numb with the insecurity and pain that reality brought me, and wondered how I would make it through
the rest of my life. Who would take care of me and guide me
as I grew up?
But still I knew, somehow, that the answer to my hurt would
be found in Jesus. One of the Bible verses we had learned
in Sunday school was a promise from Him: Lo, I am with
you alway, even unto the end of the world. I loved to hear
my mother quote those poetic words from the King James
Version to me. Lo, I am with you alway. . . . I clung to the
hope that those words were true, that He was somehow with
me as the Bible said.
Filled with loneliness, barely able to whisper, I mouthed
syllables of a prayer to the One who was the only answer to
my broken heart. I told Him about the good changes I had
seen in my father. I explained that I did not know what I
had done to provoke such a whipping. Even as I spoke those
words, though, I knew that I was not really to blame. Not
really. I told God that He was the only One I could trust, and
the only One who could help me.
After some time, I tried to calm down. I had stopped hoping
that I would hear a kindly step on the stair. I glanced sadly
at the door, then more positively around the room. The ceiling slanted down on one side, meeting the yellow, pink and
22

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The Storm Breaks
green striped wallpaper that rose halfway up the wall. This

was a wonderful feature, for it felt closed-in and protective.
Two little windows on the opposite wall looked out over the
redbrick street.
Then, my eyes were caught by movementsomething appearing. . . . Was it possible? I scrunched my face to focus
more clearly. Yes, there stood a man in a white robe! Incredibly, I had no doubt that what I was seeing was real. And
then I knew, somehow, that God had heard my prayers. Not
only that, the true living God had come to help me and was
standing in the corner of my room.
I was not afraid, and looked at Him steadily. I had learned
about the Trinity at church and wondered which Person this
one might bethe Father? the Son? the Holy Spirit?
As He looked down at me I sensed in my innermost being
that this was Jesus. He had brown hair touching His shoulders,
and His face was serious, but kind. His whole presence was
serene and quiet. In my amazement, the tears slowly stopped
spilling out of my eyes.
Though He wore a robe, He looked very natural. I had
seen Sallmans famous Head of Christ, everywhere present
in churches and Christian homes, and I thought how He resembled the depiction offered in that gentle brown painting.
With Jesus there, I was in no hurry to get up from the side
of my bed. I watched Him for what seemed like ten or so
minutes. Then I looked away for a second, and when I looked
back He was gone.
I had never heard anyone say that Jesus would come and
visit this way, but at that moment, His love went deep into
my soul. I could not comprehend how the Lord could be
there with me, or even how I could sense the Spirit of God,
23

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Touched by Heaven
but one thing was clear: Jesus was with me, and I was His.
The Holy Spirit had lled my room. I wanted to live for Jesus
the rest of my life.
Another thought rose in my mind, equally difficult to comprehend: What would His presence in my heart mean for me?
What difference would it make in my world of arguments
and isolation and pain?
That day as I knelt by my bed, battered and bruised, I did
not know the answer. Both of my parents had shattered any
hope of the world as a secure place. I was in a tiny boat on
the vast sea, with turbulent and angry waters threatening
to drown me. I could do nothing on my own to reach the
safety of shore. How would Jesus help me navigate through
the overwhelming feelings of rejection and worthlessness?
Perhaps you, like me, learned early in life that pain is not
a one-time experience. If so, then I want you to know this
truth: God is with you as you walk out the hard times, the
times you cannot make it unless He helps you.
I could not imagine it that afternoon as I knelt on the
oor, but God was going to allow me to taste the powers of
the world to come. Jesus would appear to me multiple times
on earth and in eternityand He would even show me the
second heaven, the realm where evil resides.
Why? So that I could know in my own heart and share
with you that the supernatural is very real. Help is at the
ready from heaven for you and for me.
Jesus does not have to appear physically to do that
although sometimes He does! God even answers our requests
to see more visibly into the supernatural realm. We cannot
force a vision to occur, but we can walk in deep intimacy with
Jesus so that experiencing the supernatural is the natural
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The Storm Breaks
outcome. More and more, people all over the world are nding this to be true. Jesus is always with us, and we see Him
most clearly in the difficult times.
The Bible says, Your own ears will hear him. Right behind
you a voice will say, This is the way you should go, whether
to the right or to the left (Isaiah 30:21 nlt). As you become
attuned to the supernatural in your own life, you will see that
the world to come is the real world.
Heaven existsand it can touch your life.
25

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TOUCHED BY

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

2015 by Nancy Ravenhill

Nancy Ravenhill, Touched by Heaven

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

To the Praise and Glory of God, my Father, and Jesus Christ

Nancy Ravenhill, Touched by Heaven

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined

Nancy Ravenhill, Touched by Heaven

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

Foreword by Mike Bickle 11

11. Early Morning with Jesus 116

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

eality television is showing us that we love to learn about

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

It was in Christchurch, New Zealand, in 1981 when the

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

ecently, while in a small village in Turkey, my husband

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

Finally my thanks to Linda Valen, who was the rst to

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

I had listened to these same words and angry sounds many

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

The Storm Breaks

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

With two strides he was standing in front of me. He reached

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

The Storm Breaks

loops. After cinching the strap through the buckle, he turned

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

long to be one of those children. They were safe there with

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

The Storm Breaks

green striped wallpaper that rose halfway up the wall. This

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

The Storm Breaks

(Unpublished manuscriptcopyright protected Baker Publishing Group)

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