At a time of seeking the Lord back in 2000 about who He has made me to be and what He has called me to do, He gave me a vision one morning of a coat, and the following is what He spoke to me.

God has a coat (life plan and purpose) for me that is mine alone, that fits me perfectly in all respects. But I must take it off the hook and put it on (we must choose to step into what God has for us). It will feel totally at home and comfortable on me and I need not fear wearing it (God’s plans for us are for good and not evil).

It will not be too short and lacking what I need, nor too big that it will fall off me so that I would always be having to hold onto it with one hand, and only have one hand to do everything else. It will not be too hot nor too cold, nor the fabric too weak. It is a coat that speaks of authority, power and purpose (anointing).

It will not be an ugly coat that does not suit who I am, and it would be a coat made for the purpose (God’s call on my life) for which I will need it. I must use it everyday, for if I let it sit hanging on the hook it will become stiff, damp, mouldy and full of bugs. I must keep it clean and washed (prayer, communion, obedience, repentance) , and never use for a purpose it was never intended for (wrong motives, ungodly purposes).

My coat has arms to love and serve with. It has a collar to keep the chill of the wind out (Satan’s attacks). It is long enough to protect my back from the weather, and goes all the way around me, buttoning up comfortably. It is sufficient for all I need it for.

It has pockets that carry the tools I need to use. The buttons keep the coat snug on me - they are prayer, praise, humility, commitment, forgiveness, grace etc. There are buttons on the cuffs of the sleeves - servanthood, giving, helping, mercy, compassion. On the breast pocket of my coat is a coat of arms. It belongs to the One who made the coat for me. It speaks of I serve, who I belong to, and under whose authority I wear the coat.

In that breast pocket I carry a handkerchief so I can remember that the Creator of my coat, sent His son to die for me. As He rose up out of His grave clothes He took a square of cloth from His face and walked out of a tomb of death into victory.
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This coat is mine. It does not and never will belong to anyone else. It may get mouldy from lack of use, but it will never perish because of overuse. The more I wear it and use, the stronger it’s fabric will become. The bolder and more vibrant will its colors be. Unlike a coat in the natural, it is I who will have to be adjusted to fit the coat. Then I will have a coat just like Joseph did.

Have you ever wondered what it actually meant to be a 'warrior for the Kingdom' especially for we women. We certainly don't think of ourselves as large muscled, armor bearing men. I think we all understand the concept and this phrase certainly conjures up a feeling in my spirit of what it means.  The question that comes to my mind is "what is the difference between a soldier and a warrior?".  Again we have some conceptual understanding of what that might be, but I also realised that being a warrior is somewhat a level above being a soldier.  So this sent me on a bit of a journey to find out what it is that makes a warrior tick.  Surprisingly, it has nothing to do with being male or female.

Our testimonies are stories of triumph over adversity of some kind. Working our way through offence can be one of the most challenging triumphs to achieve so sharing our stories with others often brings hope that you too can have the same triumph in your daily life. So here is one of my stories about journeying through offence. ​

​Many of my childhood summer holidays were spent at my grandparent’s lovely old weatherboard home on the edge of a very long and sandy beach in the north of New Zealand. In fact the beach is commonly called 99 Mile Beach, but is actually less than that in length. On fine summer days when the tide was low there were vast expanses of golden sand and it seemed to our young minds that the beach extended into infinity. We spent long hours playing on that beach, hunting for cod and crabs in the rock pools that dotted the beach, racing each other between them and hoping to be the first to find the next treasure the sea had left behind.  Occasionally a pool just perfect for young children sat beside a mound of rocks and we would have a bit of a swim in the sun warmed water.