Cynthia Argil first put ink to paper after the Lord awoke her with a puzzling request: She had walked in the shoes of Peter and Job, and now He had deemed it time for her to write. With only a seventh-grade education, Cynthia had always considered herself as a slow learner. Why would the Lord ask this of her, when so many others were gifted with the skills she struggled to master?

Doubt crumbled as each day at 3am she was driven from her bed by a powerful compulsion to write. Cynthia convinced herself these scribblings were little more than journal entries to serve as reminders of daily events. Then came the most surprising command of all: The Lord desired her testimony in the form of a book, and “Norah” was born.

Cynthia has been married to her husband Manuel for thirty-one years. The Texans are blessed with a beautiful family, twenty-four grandchildren, and a successful business. Each day is a new opportunity to show that all things are possible with the Lord, for those who follow His word.

This book was inspired by a vision the Father revealed to me. The events that transpire within these pages are true incidents. Nothing has been added or exaggerated for entertainment purposes. This is not a tale of fantasies but a recollection of my life as it was and is. I now see that I was born to be a testimony to the voice of the one true God. This is the life, chosen for me by my Creator, that I was afraid to come to terms with for so long.

But no longer.

The emptiness and loneliness I felt inside after my grandson, at the age of three, drowned in his family’s swimming pool shattered me and awakened a deeper longing within me to question the God who loved me so much that He sent His Son to die for me. Many of my fellow Christians, I know, have felt loss or betrayed just as I felt as I passed through this life. Many have questioned our loving God just as I have done. Was I supposed to accept everything that is painful as good? Was I supposed to accept good when even the rocks were so large that they pinned me to the ground? Even the ones that were so heavy that I could not lift them alone; the ones that brought on so much pain that I was not sure whether to close my eyes and just let death come?

His sovereign grace is supposed to be enough without any questions asked. I remember standing there looking at my grandson’s little body as he lay on the table where they were unable to revive him. I leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Junni, Nana heard you, and she loves you,” and I kissed his tiny lips. Words escaped me as I listened to my son cry out for me to do something. It was as though he thought I could find a way to save his child, but I did not know what to do. Tears burned my face as I listened to my son, Jeremiah, cry out for someone to save his boy. I, his mother, stood there sobbing, looking down at Junni, and knowing that I was defeated.

Junni’s death sparked a fire inside of me. I wanted to know this God I had been serving for twelve years. If we are supposed to do greater things than Jesus did, then why are we not raising the dead?

From that moment, I began to pour myself into reading, schooling, and simply letting the Holy Spirit speak His wisdom into my very soul. After two years of this, I felt defeat was not an option. I would not be shaken. Not anymore. I knew I had been given a sword, and I was ready to use it. I learned that there is an ongoing war out there, a war that is hidden, and I needed spiritual eyes to see it.

In those two years, I gained more knowledge than in all twelve years I had spent simply warming the bench. So much was revealed to me in those two years as I dug deeper.

My hunger was so great! I could not satisfy my hunger. The talks I shared with the Lord opened a new craving to know my ancestors and learn from their walks. I hungered for more. I sought more. I craved to know my ancestors and the walks they had had with our Father.

I felt chosen. God was speaking to me. I was His, and nothing … no one … could pluck me from His hand. I felt that I could not be knocked down! I felt I had so much knowledge that I could correct any misconception of wrong teaching from anyone who uttered a word about God. I was ready to battle anyone who dared to question His absolute perfection and sovereignty. I had fire inside of me, and at times I felt as though I was His favorite daughter, and nothing could harm me any longer. And yet …

Two years later, I found myself answering a phone call. My oldest son Johnathon’s voice broke as he told me that my nine-day-old granddaughter was not going to survive. Before that, I had felt that my faith was unshakable, yet in that moment I felt a strong kick to my stomach that took my breath away. What was happening?

My knees buckled as I found myself falling onto the floor, shouting out to my God, “No, God! This is not You. You would not hurt Your daughter! I know Your voice; it has to be a mistake …”

And I sobbed as it took every ounce of strength to stand up and dress. I stumbled on shaky legs out the door to my vehicle, and my hand trembled as I pushed the button to start my car.

The drive was so long as I traveled on the icy road to the hospital. I could hear Satan whispering in my ear as he oh-so-softly giggled, “Where’s your God now?”

Walk in my pain and rejoice as God steadily reveals Himself in His timing. I now know that I have been molded to survive as this world continues to throw stones at me. In the past, I had to either lay down and die or use them as steppingstones. Well, now I have learned to turn my tribulations around and learn the lessons that have been sent to me by my Savior.

I was once called Cynthia, but as I came to embrace my trials and tribulations and accept them as acts of a loving, benevolent God, He granted me a new name.

My name is Norah, and this is my story.

She is a very successful business woman. She and her husband have multiple successful businesses. Owned and operated by their family. They also provide many individuals a wonderful work opportunities.