

### Remarkable Incidents

### and

### Answers to Prayer

Georgia Davenport McCain

Published by Ron McCain at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Ron McCain

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by this author. Thanks you for your support.

Originally printed 1998 by Allegheny Publications, Salem, Ohio, 44460

Acknowledgments

To all who have given me their personal testimony to be used in this book, and to all publishers, authors and others, who have so graciously granted me permission to use material from other books, tracts, religious papers and other sources, I take this means to express my heartfelt thanks.

Georgia D. McCain

Dedication

Lovingly dedicated to two dear friends whom I have known for many years, who have stuck by me

through thick and thin\--

Ninah Mae Simmons

and

Virginia Miller,

also to Tami Attaway (another dear friend)

and to

Some very special folk whom God brought into my life who are like family to me\--

Joe Redman and his wife, Lorn,

Their Children,

Sarah, Lee, and Mary--

also to

Mark Calderon, a very special young man,

and to

Emily Elizabeth McCain

(my "littlest" grandchild).

Preface

Once again, God has moved on my heart to write another book, this being my seventh. God has wonderfully blessed my feeble efforts in writing and publishing books. According to letters of testimony that I receive, some have been saved and some have been sanctified through the reading of these books. Others testify as to how they have been blessed and encouraged. To God be all the glory! He has led me all the way, giving me the inspiration and thoughts I needed, plus the time and strength to do the work He has called me to do. I am only a weak vessel but have put myself unreservedly into His loving Hands.

It is indeed a mighty miracle how God has helped me to get the books out, even into a few foreign countries. The first book I had published, "Through Troubled Waters", I contemplated having two hundred copies published, and hoped I should be able to place them. When I contacted the publishers, they informed me that I should have to have at least one thousand published. Oh, how that terrified me! I could visualize boxes and boxes of books stacked all over my house. I was ready to forget the idea of having a book published, but I felt God's nudge to go ahead that He might prove the devil a liar.

The first two hundred books were bought by the Publishers, themselves, and after that, God continued to open door after door. By His help, thousands of copies have been placed in the hands of Christians and non-Christians alike. All I can do is give thanks to God for taking a weak worm of the dust to use for His Glory and Honor. For what has been accomplished, I say, "Blessed be the Name of the Lord:".

I have gone through some dark valleys, troubled waters and many lonely hours before and during the time of writing. Someone close to me and aware of my situation said to me, "You need to write another book," knowing how I enjoy writing. I answered, "I have felt God prompting me to do just that." Her suggestion was the witness I needed to get started. As the trials and tests would seemingly overwhelm me, I would sit down at my typewriter, and as I read and typed the experiences of others, somehow God would use them to strengthen me. I trust others who are going through deep waters will find consolation in reading these wonderful, true accounts. My main desire in writing is to encourage and bless others, and help people to make it to Heaven. It will be worth it all when we see Jesus: Praise His Name!

I have earnestly endeavored to contact either the author orpublisher of every article I am using in this book, if at all possible. I beg indulgence where I have been unable to make contact. All entries are from reliable sources, many being personal friends of the author.

Georgia D. McCain

Table of Contents

This God Is Our God – Georgia D. McCain

When Sankey Sang – Anna McPherson

A Remarkable Answer to Prayer – H. O. Weiland

Winning Souls to Jesus – Irene Hanley

Wood for Christmas

The Son of Man Cometh (My Trip to Heaven) – Marilyn Browning

He Answered – Dawn West and Bonnie Lacy

God's Wonderful Protection – Rev. Earl Newton

How Spurgeon Found Christ

My Arrest and Rescue – H. C. Morrison

Fifty-Seven Cents That Made History – William S. Deal

The Church That Floated

Our God Cares for the Little Details of Our Life – Georgia D. McCain and Virginia Miller

Angel With a Telephone – Marilyn Browning

The Influence of a Mother's Prayers

The Witness Came That the Lord Had Heard – Shirley Wambach

Give and It Shall and Be Given You – Spencer Johnson and G. T. Bustin

"Holy Ann's" Prayer for Water in a Dry Well

"I Hear Music, It's Heavenly Music" – Paul Lucas

Is Anything Too Hard for the Lord? – Bruce Hawthorne

He Went Home Justified – Marilyn Browning

I Shall Not Eat Nor Sleep Nor Rest Until My Drunken Brother Is Saved – W. J. Harney

It Took Great Tragedy For Velma To Obey God – Georgia McCain

On Angel Wings – William Beirnes

A Pea-Patch Revival – D. P. Denton

Charlie Coulson, the Drummer Boy – Dr. M. L. Rosvally

Helen Ewan, The Marvelous Influence of a Spirit-Filled Life – James A. Stewart

The Shoemaker and the Little White Shoes – Frances Willard

A Wonderful Midnight Ride – D. P. Denton

She Did What She Could – P. L. Rounds

The Price of a Coconut – O. L. King

Healed of Malignant Tumors – Linda Garoutte

Forgiven – Marilyn Browning

Four Incidents of Healing – Virginia Miller

A P.O.W. Sustained Twenty-Two Months Through Prayer – Mary Blackman

Against Chiang Kai-Shek's Ruling, God Gets a Missionary Car to China – Ina Shreve McVey

Kentucky Mountain Outlaw Transformed – Charlie Wireman

A Multi-Millionaire Saved and Saloons Put Out of Business – W. J. Harney

An Unusual Pair of Shoes Supplied by God – G. C. Bevington

Arrested – Glenn Griffith

"Get Rid of That Religion Or I'll Get Rid of You" – Delbert Willoughby

Ruth Miller, Former Missionary

A Man Who Lacked Moral Courage – D. L. Moody

Her Most Unforgettable Thanksgiving – Mary Murphy Kibler

John T. Hatfield Gets the Second Blessing

The Book That Shook the Mountains – G. R. French

George Mueller's Conversion and Faith

A Remarkable Soldier

Two Brothers In Their Eighties Give Their Hearts to God – Joe Redman

A Cluster of Miracles – Rev. James Southerland

Deliverance From the Bondage of Oppression After More Than Twenty Years – Barbara Blackshear

A Family of Seven Saved – John T. Hatfield

Escape From Cuba – Dr.. Glen Reiff

A Mighty Awakening on Andros Island – G. T. Bustin

Mary's Little Lamb – Virginia Miller

Two Impossible Cases Delivered and Saved – G. T. Bevington

Experiences of Caroline Talbott – Anna Talbott McPherson

The Homecoming of a Saint of God – Robb French

Trials of Missionary Kids – Carmen McCain

The Last Warning of Five Souls – Glenn Griffith

A Memorial Poem for George Clinton Simmons – Georgia McCain

A Heart-Breaking Experience – Georgia McCain

Little Things Used of God – Georgia McCain

Look to the Saviour – Georgia McCain

The Forbidden Romance, The Church Walking with the World – Matilda C. Edwards

Be Thou Faithful Unto Death, and I Will Give Thee a Crown of Life – Georgia McCain

About The Author

Books By Georgia McCain

Letters From Readers of Georgia McCain Books

This God Is Our God

Once again, I've felt God's leadership in writing another book.

Will you take a few moments and through its pages look?

You will notice that most entries have been by others lent.

I appreciate their kindness in giving me their consent.

I've been blessed time and again, and also, shed many a tear,

As I've read and typed the stories during the past year.

They remind me that God loves His children with an everlasting love,

And His ear is opened to their cry as He looks down from Heaven above.

Not only does He hear His children, but also He hears the sinner's cry,

And if they come to Him repenting, He will not pass them by.

For it's not His will they perish and spend eternity in hell,

But He longs for everyone to go to Heaven where all is well.

The prayer of faith for the healing of the sick and lame

Have received amazing answers when prayed in Jesus' Name.

But not only answers for great needs, as you can readily tell,

But God is interested in the little things that make up life, as well,

Like telling you where your car keys are when you absentmindedly misplaced them,

And directing one to find their dentures which by their loss "disgraced" them.

He provides for the poor and needy who trust in Him alone,

And the ways which He provides proves He is still on the throne.

He comes in mighty power to the church folk who pray,

And the revival He giveth encourages them on their way.

The saints rejoices greatly to see their answered prayer,

And the sinners who mind God are so thankful they are there.

Their lives have changed, they are not the same,

They have become a new creature in Jesus' Name.

When His people are desperate and know not which way to turn,

He has been known to send an angel which makes His child's heart burn.

They, seemingly, appear from nowhere to help, for God does care,

And, when their mission is completed, they seem to vanish in thin air.

Sometimes it's protection that's needed, though one may be unaware,

But God knows just what to do and will always be there.

Just remember, whatever the need, we serve a great God,

And He'll be here beside us as long as on earth we trod.

Sometimes He may bear long in answering our prayer,

But they are being recorded in Heaven and we know God does care.

And some day, as we hold steady, and look to God above

We shall see the answer and rejoice in His great love.

Dear Friend, as you read this poem, and through these pages look,

Remember that the things mentioned in this poem are recorded in this book

I trust you'll enjoy each story and will be drawn closer to God,

For we need lots of encouragement as we continue on earth to trod.

And when life's work is ended and we leave behind our care and tears,

May we meet together in Heaven rejoicing through countless years!

By Georgia D. McCain

When Sankey Sang

On Christmas Eve, 1875, Ira D. Sankey was traveling by steamboat up the Delaware River. Most of the passengers were gathered on deck. Someone recognized Sankey, leaning against one of the great funnels of the boat, and asked him to sing. Before he did so, he lifted his heart in prayer concerning his choice of a song. At last he was impressed to sing, not a Christmas song as he first intended, but the shepherd song. In the deep stillness, Sankey's clear voice rang out over the waters, starting with

Saviour, like a shepherd lead us

Much we need Thy tender care---

And continuing with:

We are thine, do Thou befriend us;

Be the Guardian of our way.

When the song was ended, a rough, weather-beaten man approached the singer. "Mr. Sankey," he questioned, "did you ever serve in the Union Army?"

"Why, yes," answered Sankey, "in the spring of 1860."

"Do you remember ever doing picket duty on a bright, moonlight night?"

Well, yes," recalled Sankey wonderingly.

"So do I," said the stranger, "but I was serving in the Confederate Army. When I saw you standing at your post that night, I thought to myself, 'that fellow will never get away from here alive.' I raised my musket and took aim. Then, you looked up to Heaven and began to sing, like you did just now. 'Let him sing his song to the end,' I said to myself. 'I can shoot him afterwards.' But the song you sang then was the song you sang now:"

We are Thine, do Thou befriend us,

Be the Guardian of our way.

"When you finished your song, I couldn't take aim again. My arm dropped limp at my side. Since then, I have wandered far from the Shepherd of your song, but tonight He found me. Keep on singing, Mr. Sankey, wherever you go."

Ira D. Sankey became Dwight L. Moody's full-time song leader in his evangelistic services extending over a period of nearly thirty years. They traveled together ministering throughout England and America. Sankey literally went around the world, singing the Gospel, and to his surprise found that his name was familiar to people even in Mexico, Egypt and the Holy Land. He extemporaneously composed the melody to "The Ninety and Nine," a poem he found in a newspaper. It is sang to the same tune today.

By Anna McPherson (Taken from "The Allegheny Wesleyan Methodist" paper. Used by permission.)

A Remarkable Answer to Prayer

Mr. Jay Gould once left his eastern home for a trip across the continent. After visiting the Pacific states, he returned by the southern route through Texas. In the western part of that state, the train he was traveling on was halted for a few hours at a little town to make needed repairs on the engine. While this was being done, Mr. Gould, to pass the time, walked up the village street to view the place and see what was going on among them. On one comer, a large crowd had gathered, as though something more than usual was taking place. Mr. Gould walked up and found a sale going on, and the auctioneer calling out, "Fourteen hundred and seventy-five dollars." He inquired of a man what was being sold and was told that it was a new church house, and that the contracting builder had a claim on it for the work. It appeared that the limit had been reached, as no one wished to raise the last bid for the church house. Mr. Gould, to help the sale, offered fifteen hundred dollars, which the auctioneer called a few times without a raise, and the church-house was sold to Mr. Gould.

Three gray-haired old men standing near watched the proceedings of the transfer and, going up to Mr. Gould, not knowing who he was, asked him what he intended to do with the church he had just bought.

What is it to you what 1 do with it? It is mine now, to keep or to give away," said the millionaire.

One of the men said, "This is what it is to us; we three men are trustees of that church house and were sent here to see and then report what disposal was made of it, and in the church, at this moment, the entire congregation with the presiding elder and preachers, are down on their knees before the God of Heaven, asking Him to Divinely interfere in some way to save our church, so that it may not be lost to us. That is what it is to our people."

On inquiry, this was learned to be the fact. Then Mr. Gould said, "I believe you good people have more need of the property than 1 have, and will make better use of it." He wrote out a bill of sale, signed his full name to it, and handed it to the trustees, who were surprised to know that they were dealing with one of the wealthiest men of our land. They heartily thanked him, bade him a warm brotherly good-bye and a safe journey home, and with a kind, "God bless you," the rich man was gone.

The three men hastened to the church and found the congregation singing praises to God for victory.

They reported their great, and apparently miraculous success, and decided to write a formal letter of thanks to their generous millionaire benefactor. Mr. Gould sometimes showed this letter to his friends and prized it very highly, for he said it warmed his heart more than any million dollar bond he had.

This true story shows a remarkable providence. Mr. Jay Gould had to return through Texas. The trouble with the engine happened at the right time. The stop was made at the right town, where God's people were praying. Mr. Gould was lead in his walk to the auction room, and he came at the right moment. Thus providence worked in answer to prayer. So it is still, and so it will be, as long as God's children trust the Lord.

********

Someone has well said, "Prayer moves the hand that moves the world." Indeed no greater privilege is given to the children of God. Thereby simply resting in the assurance of His Word, we find the reality of a marvelous divine mercy and power exercised so that even the impossibility becomes a possibility for God's glory. Let us value it more highly, and exercise ourselves therein more earnestly, in obedience to His Word, making prayer the great business of our life. Heb. 10:19-23 .

Compiled by H.O. Weiland (Taken from a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, Inc. Randlemem, N.C .. This tract financed by W. C. Close, P. O. Box 691, Garden City, Michigan.)

Winning Souls To Jesus

As Told By Irene Hanley

(Irene Hanley, A Jewish lady, whom I met at Hobe Sound Camp in Florida, was won to Christ after her High School Science teacher, visited her for eight years telling her about Jesus. After her conversion, Irene immediately began to witness for Jesus. The day she was converted, she won 17 of her neighbors and her husband to the Lord. Following are some of her experiences in leading souls to Jesus. From her book, "O Israel, my People." Used by permission.)

**********

My phone rang. A friend from St. Louis, a precious Gentile Christian, who lived a life of witnessing to my people, was calling. She told me that a Christian Hebrew brother was to have surgery in the morning and she thought he would appreciate it very much if I would go up early and have prayer with him. I would meet his wife there too. I promised her I would.

Early the next morning I went to his room on sixth floor. As I entered, I noticed that this Jewish man's wife was sitting next to him knitting. There was a curtain drawn between his bed and the one next to him. We had a precious time fellowshiping in the Word of God and in prayer. When the nurse came to give the man his pre-operation sedative, I knew we should quietly leave and let him go to sleep.

His wife and I were walking down the corridor toward the waiting room when I heard a voice saying, "Nurse, nurse! Vait a minute, nurse. I vant to talk to you, nurse."

I turned around, and there was a little old, bald-headed man in his eighties running down the hallway, yelling, wanting me to stop. He was no taller than I, and I am only four-feet-eight and three-quarters. When he caught up with me, he said, "Nurse, I vant you to bless me like you blessed him."

"But, sir, I didn't bless him."

"Yes, you did. I heard you say brocha (a Blessing) over him. I vant you to bless me vith the same vords. I vant you to say the same vords over me, just like you said over him."

But I didn't bless him. I was praying for him."

"Call it vat you vant. Say vat you vant. Say the same prayer over me."

I said, "Zada (meaning grandfather in Yiddish), I can't pray the same prayer for you that I prayed for him, because he's a believer in Yeshua Ha Mashiach (Jesus the Messiah). He believes in Yeshua Ha Mashiach. Do you?"

He opened his eyes wide and blinked. "How can I?" he asked. "I never heard fom (which in Yiddish means about) Him. I never heard anything fom Him."

I said, "Would you like to hear from Him?"

He blinked his eyes again and answered, "Vy not?"

(Jewish people have the habit of answering a question with a question. "Vy not?" can mean anything. It can mean "yes." It can mean "no.")

"Vy not?"

"All right Would you like to come to the waiting room where this man's wife is sitting: I'll tell you about Jesus."

"Vy not?" he said again.

We sat down on the sofa. I began to tell him he was a sinner and why he needed a Saviour. I quoted scriptures from the Old Testament to him. All of a sudden he began to cry .

I said, "What are you crying about?"

"Oi, I am remembering all my sins that I did ven I vas a little boy. I remember ven I vas eight years old I stole an apple from the grocer. I remember that - ven I vas such a tief, I vas such a tief."

He was crying, and I was praising the Lord for the faithfulness of the Holy Spirit in reminding a man that was eighty years old of the sins that he committed when he was a child in Russia. Now he was weeping more and more profusely. He pulled a gold, blue and white farmer's handkerchief from his pajama pocket, blew his nose and wiped his eyes. I felt he was sufficiently under conviction for sin, so I proceeded to press upon his heart the claims of Jesus as his only Saviour.

"Now," I said, "I'm going to pray for you. You want me that I should pray?"

"Vy not?"

So I prayed for him. When I finished, I said, "Now you pray."

"Out loud?"

"Yes."

"I don't vant to."

"All right. You don't have to pray out loud."

"Do you have to hear me?" he asked.

"No, I really don't, but I'd like to."

"I don't vant you to hear me."

"All right. Just so God hears you. That is the most important-that God should hear you. Go ahead. Just pray in your heart then."

We bowed our heads and I could see his lips moving in a silent prayer. Then his words became whispers, then they were a little louder and a little louder. Soon he was praying quite openly. Finally, he was praying loudly.

I became so blessed I jumped to my feet, clapped my hands and exclaimed, "Boruch Aldal Shem!" (This means "Praise the Lord!" in Hebrew).

He thought this was a part of getting saved and he jumped to his feet, clapped, and cried out, "Boruch Aldal Shem!" Then he blinked his eyes and said, "He did it! He did it!"

I said, "What did He do, Zada?"

"He did it! He just now took my sins away. I have peace in my heart. I feel so clean. Really, He did it." He looked at the Christian Hebrew woman at my side. She had stopped her knitting while we were praying. Now she was weeping. He said, "Really! You don't believe me, do you? He did it! He did it! They're gone! My sins are gone!"

He acted as though he had to persuade us, while all the time, we had the witness in our hearts that the work was done. Well, praise the Lord! Faithful is He who has promised.

I left the waiting room, and there, in front of me, was Zada's doctor, who was a cardiologist, a heart specialist, looking through his charts. I had forgotten we were right next to the nurses' station. What should I do? This Jewish man had been so loud and so emotional over what transpired, he could have had a heart attack! I hurried to the elevator, pushed the button and prayed, "O dear Lord, send the elevators." I was afraid if any thing happened to the man, they might even throw me down the elevator shaft!! I got off the floor as quickly as I could.

That man lived for several months. He led over fifteen people to the Lord Jesus Christ before God took him home to be with Himself. Thank the Lord!

When I am home, I do volunteer nursing at a Jewish hospital. How I love that work! How I love my people!

One morning, I arrived at 8:00 o'clock. When I get there that early, I usually go on to the medical floor and work until 9:00, then go into the recovery room. Patients do not begin to come from surgery until 9:00.

I was given a brief assignment. My first patient was a large black lady. I was to bathe her and change her clothes and bedding. But when I saw her I was quite amazed, for she was still in her street clothes, though she had been brought in the night before. She had been in a drunken brawl and had been knifed several times. They had not closed her wounds with sutures, but had just clamped them. She was to have them closed by surgical methods this morning. She had vomited over herself in her drunkenness. Her clothes were soiled and her shoes smelled bad. I took off her dirty clothes, bathed her, put on a clean gown, and changed her linen. All the time I was telling her about Jesus.

She said to me, "Baby, you don't know who I am or you wouldn't ask me to be a Christian."

"Honey," I replied, "I think I know who you are, but I'm still asking you to trust Jesus as your Saviour, for I know He can save you."

"But you don't know all the bad things I've done."

"It doesn't matter. The Lord loves you."

"But I was just a drunk last night. I'm an alcoholic."

"Is this the way you want to live? Is this the way you want to spend your life?" I asked her.

"No, but when I get to thinking how wicked I is, I get drunk so I can forget it."

"Look, my dear friend," I appealed to her, "Jesus came into the world to die, not only for those in the high echelons of society, not only for the up-and-outers, but He came to die for those who are sick and needy. He came to the most sinful, and He'll save you."

By nine o'clock this dear black woman was praying and the tears were streaking down the sides of her face, as the Lord Jesus saved her soul and make her as white as snow-every whit as clean and white as anybody's heart is after Jesus has brought salvation to him.

Now I knew it was time to go into the recovery room, so I changed from my uniform into surgical clothes. My first patient was a Jewish man brought to me by a urologist.

"Irene," the doctor said, "this man's in bad shape. He's had three surgeries for this problem. It's terminal cancer. He may not live the night through. Would you keep a special eye on him?"

I stood by his side, taking his blood pressure, his vital signs periodically.

He awakened and I heard him cry, "O, Moses, help me! Mohammed, help me! O, Jesus, help me! Anybody, help me! I'm in so much pain."

I prayed, "O Lord, help me to help him." I said, "Sir, two of those you have called upon have gone to their graves. Only One of them has risen and lives today. That's' Jesus."

I began to tell him about Jesus, the Good Shepherd, Jesus, the Rock of Ages, Jesus, the Cleft in the Rock where we can hide for refuge, Jesus, the Water that came from the rock when Moses smote it, Jesus, of whom David sang.

The man floated in and out under the influence of the anesthesia, but the message got across, for suddenly he raised his arms (I really do not know where he got the strength) and cried out, "O, Jesus, have mercy on me! Save my soul! Thou art my Messiah! Thank You! Thank You!"

He was exceptional loud - louder than I wanted him to be, because the other nurses heard him and turned around and looked at him. They simply shrugged their shoulders and thought that he had had too much sodium penothal.

He was taken to his room. Later I went to his room and called him by his first name, Ben. He opened his eyes and motioned for me to come to his bedside. When I did, he put his hands over his heart and said, "Jesus mine! Messiah!"

Thank God for the repetition of that confession he had made in the recovery room, because, before the sun went down that evening, Ben had gone to meet his newly-found Saviour.

My next patient was a dear Gentile lady. From this patient, I went out to the City Hospital to visit an elderly man who was dying with cancer of the throat. The City Hospital is for the indigent, the poor. The ward to which I went held about thirty patients. Beds were placed very close to one another. I did not see how any sanitary methods could be carried out there. Nevertheless, it is a good hospital.

Every time I had gone to see this man with throat cancer, I noticed a Chinese man in the comer of the ward. There was something so clean about him that it gripped my heart. A compassion for him was born within me. On this day, I saw him get out of his bed in his pajamas and start to shuffle barefoot towards the washroom. At the same time, I noticed broken glass on the floor, so I hurried over and stopped him while I tried to pick up what glass I could and brush back what I could. He went on to the washroom, and I said to the nurse, "How is it that there is broken glass all over the floor? This ought to be cleaned up."

"O," she said, "we dropped a test tube and thought sure we had cleaned up all the glass."

"Besides," I continued, "that man is walking around barefooted. Why doesn't he have bedroom slippers on his feet?"

"Look lady," she said condescendingly, "this is the City Hospital. We're doing well to provide him with medical care and pajamas. We can't afford to be buying bedroom slippers. As far as I know he hasn't got a penny to his name. I've been here three months and I don't think he's even got a friend. I've never seen anyone visit him. And he doesn't speak a word of English."

Compassion for this man grew in my heart. The Holy Spirit whispered to me, "Buy him a pair of bedroom slippers."

I went out into the corridor and looked into my billfold. I had just one dollar. "Lord," I reminded Him, "I can't spend this dollar on a Chinese man. You sent this to me to be used for Jewish people."

But the Lord very sweetly, tenderly, and gently rebuked me. "My child," He said, "do you think I love the Jews better than I love this Chinese man? Go buy him a pair of bedroom slippers."

I left the hospital hurriedly then and stopped at the nearest dry goods store. I went in and asked for the cheapest pair of bedroom slippers they had. The clerk brought out a pair. "How much are they," I asked.

"A dollar."

"But, ma'am, I can't pay a dollar. That's all I have, and I must have fifteen cents out of this dollar for a bridge toll to get home, for I live on the other side of the river. I must have a cheap pair of bedroom slippers though. Do you have a pair that's soiled or that's perhaps tom that you can sell?"

"What do you want them for?" she asked.

I told her the story .

"O," she said, "take these for eighty-five cents."

I hurried back to the hospital. The Chinese man was sitting on the side of the bed. His feet were so dirty that I opened the door of the little wash stand, got out his wash basin, got some water and washed his feet the first thing. What a blessing came as I washed his feet! Then I slipped the little stretch bedroom slippers on his feet. He looked at them, stood up and looked at them again. He then folded his hands without smiling. He bowed several times in thanks to me for those bedroom slippers.

My heart sank. Here he was thanking me for the bedroom slippers. And it was not my dollar. It was not my idea. But how could I tell him? He did not speak English. I did not speak Chinese. I said, "Lord, how can tell him that Thou didst tell me to get those bedroom slippers? That the money was sent in by a Christian to get him these bedroom slippers?"

I did the best thing I knew. I pointed heavenward to God and then I crossed my arms over my chest to show him the word "love." Then I pointed my forefinger at myself indicating that God loved me.

He nodded his head in assent.

Next, I pointed to God again and folded my arms to show that that God loved - then I pointed to him.

Again he nodded his head as though saying, "Yes, yes."

I was telling the message to him in signs and the Holy Ghost was translating it to him in Chinese. A third time, I pointed to God, then I made piercing motions into my hands and into my feet and into my side. O, I knew these were feeble efforts. I marveled within myself that he could understand what I was trying to get across. The Holy Spirit was leading me and in the best way I knew! How I was trymg to show him that God had come down and was pierced.

Once more he nodded his head that he understood.

I was getting through! Then I pointed to God, the shoes, and then to him. His face broke into one of those ear-to-ear smiles. He clasped his hands and began to move them up and down while his eyes and face were heavenward. He was thanking God for those bedroom slippers. I was overjoyed!

That afternoon when I got home, I called up a missionary to the Chinese and said, "I wish you'd go out to the hospital and see Mr. Lun-Bun. I think he's ready to be saved. Then will you please call me when you get home? I want to hear how things went."

He did call later that evening. "Mrs. Hanley," he reported, "I went out to see Mr. Lun-Bun, but I was too late. He was saved already. He said he was saved this afternoon when you were there – when you told him about Jesus."

Well, thank the Lord for that experience! God knows how to use an unworthy person such as I. All the same day the black lady was saved, a Jewish man was saved, A Chinese man was saved and another precious lady named Salma was introduced to the Lord.

The last experience I will quote from Irene's book is this beautiful story. It happened while she was in Israel -\- visiting and working for God .

One day, I was walking in the Mea Shearin area of Old Jerusalem, which is the very orthodox sector of the city. It is so religious that police have put up barricades so that no one will go up and down the streets driving a car on the Sabbath. The Jews do not want their prayers to be interrupted by the noise of motorcars going by.

As I was walking along, a young man passed me. He went on ahead of me a little way, then turned around, smiled pleasantly and said, "Shalom."

I answered, "Shalom."

"Are you enjoying your stay in Israel?" he asked.

"Yes, I am. Do I know you?"

"No, but I saw you yesterday on Mt. Zion and I've been thinking about you and wondering about you. I can't get over the way you are dressed. Do you belong to the Chasidim?"

I said, "No."

I knew to what he was referring, for the Chasidim are a real orthodox Jewish sect whose women dress very plainly, with long sleeves, their dresses quite long, with long hair, no jewelry, and no make-up. Even their little girls wear long hose and are very plain in dress. This is what made him question  
me.

"No, I don't belong to any Chasidim here," I told him

"Maybe in New York, Chicago \--\- ?"

"No\--."

I was trying to find the right way to answer him. I kept praying, "Lord, give me the answer."

Finally I said, "But I do belong to God's Chasidim, to God's holy people."

"What does your sect believe?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter, what my sect believes because, you see, it's a personal thing. Ask me what I believe."

"All right," he agreed, what do you believe about the Messiah?"

"O," I said, "I believe He has already come. I believe that Jesus is the Messiah."

His face took on a reddish hue in his rising anger. His countenance became distorted with hate, and he began to call Jesus ugly names. I knew God would take care of him for that. That was God's business. He began to call me names. Well, that was God's business, too. He continued reviling.Then he said, "And I have three children and a wife. If I should ever see you touch any of them, I would wring your neck until you were dead."

I said, "They'll put you in prison if you do."

"I wouldn't care. I would gladly die if I could rid Israel of just one JEW that believed like you do."

I said to him, "Look here, young Saul \---"

"My name isn't Saul," he interrupted, very angrily.

"I don't know what it is," I answered, "but you remind me of a young man by the name of Saul. He sat at the feet of Gamaliel. Have you?"

He shrugged his shoulders, looked at me scornfully, and said, "Sat at the feet of Gamaliel? Gamaliel lived two thousand years ago."

"That's what I mean. This young man, Saul, sat at the feet of Gamaliel two thousand years ago. One day on this very road (we were outside the Damascus Gate), this young Jewish zealot was riding on a great white horse and in his hand he had a document, given to him by the Sanhedrin, authorizing him to go to Damascus and kill all the Jews that believed as I do. It was at high noontime when this fiery young Jew was knocked from his horse, was blinded by a great light, and heard a voice saying, 'Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?' Someday, young man, God's going to knock you off your high horse. Just as Saul, two thousand years ago, followed Jesus as the Messiah, you will too. You had better fall off your horse, Saul."

"You're sick, Lady," he retorted, "You're sick!"

"I'll still have to say, you're going to fall off your horse."

"You need to see a psychiatrist," he said haughtily.

"You'd better fall off your horse," I insisted.

He started to run away from me down the street, but he kept yelling back, "Go home, Yankee; you're sick, you're sick."

And all I could say was, "You're going to fall off your horse. You're going to fall off your horse."

About Christmas time, I received a letter from a friend whom this young man had approached, wanting to know whether I was still in Israel. She said he looked very gloomy and downcast. She told him I had returned to the States and asked if she could help him. He turned, muttering something about falling off a horse. Of course she did not know what he was talking about. But this told me that the seed of God's Word had surely taken root in Saul's heart. He had not fallen off his horse yet, however, or he would not have been so gloomy. The sequel to this incident came three years later.

Again by faith, in the spring of 1971, God marvelously provided for me to go to Israel. As I visited Jerusalem, I prayed, "O Lord, could it be possible that I might find Saul? Could it be possible that amongst all these millions of people in Israel that I should find this young man?"

I had heard that he worked in a souvenir shop on Mt. Zion. So I went up on Mt. Zion one morning about nine and sat down on a low ledge in front of the upper room. I waited and watched as people went by. I knew that I would not know him if I saw him, but I prayed that he might know me. Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, one o'clock went by. Still, no one recognized me.

It was about two when several young men passed. They went about ten feet when one of them turned around, looked at me, raised his finger, and said, "Is that you?"

I stood up and said, "What do you mean \- 'is that me?' "

Then he pointed to himself and said, "Me, me, I am Saul."

Then, I pointed to myself and said, "Yes, yes, it's me, it's me."

He ran to me and actually knelt before me. "Madam, Madam," he said, "I didn't think I would ever see you again, first, to ask you to forgive me for, the names I called you, and secondly, to tell you, Madam, I have fallen off my horse. So have my wife and children. O, I am glad that I have seen you again to tell you this. I must hurry now. The men are waiting for me. But I never thought I'd see you again to tell you."

Thank God for the Precious Word. It found root in the heart of Saul and brought forth fourfold.

(While in the process of writing this book, I received word that Irene Hanley passed to her Heavenly reward on Oct. 21, 1997. Her reward will be great for the souls she won for Jesus. ~ Author)

Wood for Christmas

(A wonderful story of God's provision in time of need)

Mrs. Nevins' face showed signs of grief and care, but her smile toward her children was cheery, as she placed the meager supper of potatoes, bread, preserves, and tea upon the table. "I'll put some bigger sticks upon the fire," she said. "Our woodpile is almost gone but I sent William down to Mr. Johnson's coal yard to order some coal, though we cannot pay for it yet."

Just then the door flew open and stalwart William, her twelve-year-old, rushed into the room. "Mr. Johnson's the meanest man that ever was!" he exclaimed. "He wouldn't trust us for even a pound of coal. He told me I was big enough to pick up all the wood we needed along the road."

"He never lost money by this family, and never will," quietly remarked Mrs. Nevins. "I would have paid him right away, only the doctor's and undertaker's bills were large, and we had to have potatoes and flour. However, I am sure that the Lord will provide; so we must not worry."

When all were seated at the table, they bowed their heads while the mother asked a blessing. They then began to eat with a will; and the portions small for the children's appetites, soon disappeared. The mother's portion was smaller than the others, but she took fully as long to eat.

"It's a cold night, and we want a pleasant evening," she said," William, please go to the shed and get some wood. Ruth will do the dishes, and I'll play with Mary and John, as their father used to do, before they go to bed."

In a few moments, William returned and threw a large armful of wood into the box. "There are only two or three more such piles out there." He said "We haven't enough wood to last us two days."

"Well, then maybe we'd better not burn anymore tonight. I'll put the little one to bed, and we can sit by what fire we have until it goes out." said Mrs. Nevins.

At last, William blurted out: "He told me to pick chips along the road. I know where I can find some pretty big chips, enough to keep us warm all winter."

"Why, William, what do you mean?" his mother asked.

"I mean his old rail fences by the canal basin. There's no moon this week, and they won't be missed until Spring. And by that time, nobody can tell where our wood ashes came from. Oh, that's a great idea."

"No, William," said his mother sternly. "That is not a great idea. That's a poor idea. Your father was an honest man. You remember that the day before he died, he commended us all to God's care and said that God would take care of us. No, no, you must not think of such a thing." And Mrs. Nevins buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs.

"Well, Mother, I don't want to be a thief; but we'll have to get wood somewhere or we will freeze to death before the winter is over."

"We might better freeze than steal," said the mother. "But I believe God will take care of us, and we have tomorrow to plan what to do."

"To pick up chips along the road," added Ruth with a smile.

"Well, children, Jesus said, 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' We cannot do anything tonight and worry does us no good. Suppose you get your Sunday School books and study your lesson for next Sunday."

After a few minutes with her book, Ruth exclaimed: "See, Mother Dear, how our Bible story matches our case. It's about the poor widow who asked Elisha what she should do to pay her debts. He told her to borrow vessels and pour oil into them; and she kept on pouring until she had enough to buy everything she needed. Isn't that wonderful?"

"That's just like the Bible," said William, "But things don't happen like that nowadays."

Soon Ruth spoke again. "Here it tells about the Israelites. When they needed food in the Wilderness, God sent a great wind that brought quails that fell around the camp, and everybody had all the meat he could eat." After, a moment, Ruth turned her head toward the window, listening. "Why, the wind is rising now. Just hear how it moans in such a queer way over the canal," she cried.

"It'll take a pretty big wind to blow us coal or wood," remarked the skeptical William.

After the lessons were learned, the mother offered prayer commending herself and family to their father's God; and the three left the chilly kitchen for the warmth of their beds.

While the children slept, the listening mother heard the bleak wind, whistling around the little cottage, but never thought that, as the wind of old was the hand of God to bring food to His children, so now in her day, the wind would again be God's hand to bring the means of warmth to their very door.

William, who, since his father's death, had felt the responsibilities of his position, was up early to build the morning fire. "I won't be able to do this many more days," he muttered as he opened the kitchen door.

"Why, oh, why what's this?" he called. Wood sticks, big and little, piled up all along the bank by the door. And the canal is full of logs clear down to the turn! I never saw anything like this before in my life."

"Mother! Ruth! All of you come down here quickly," he  
called. "Just look at this!"

In a moment, the whole family, clad in their night robes and wrapped in blankets, were crowded at the kitchen door. As far as their eyes could see, the canal was full of driftwood, which in places the wind had pressed upon the bank. There was fuel at their door to last them the entire season.

"The wind is again the hand of God," said Mrs. Nevins, sinking on her knees. "Children, get dressed as quickly as you can. Get the garden rakes and clothes poles and pull the wood to land."

How, they worked! Even baby John did his little best to drag the logs onto shore. Breakfast was forgotten in the pleasure of more important business. By the middle of the forenoon, the woodhouse was full, and the surplus of big and little sticks piled up against the southern side of the cottage. There was no need now to pay a high price for coal; for an abundant supply of wood would keep them warm and cheerful not only for Christmas, but for all winter.

When the dinner hour came, the kitchen stove was red hot, and an awe stricken group of children listened to their mother's broken prayer of thanksgiving.

The children, grown, are now heads in their own homes. And the son, William, has never forgotten that faith learned on the December morning of long ago.

A True Story - Burning Bush

"They that seek the Lord shall not warrant any good thing." "Oh how great is thy goodness, which thou hast laid up for them that fear thee; Which thou hast wrought for them that trust in thee before the sons of men:" Psa.31: 19

(Taken from a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, Inc. P. O. Box 126, Randleman, N. C. – Used by permission)

The Son Of Man – Cometh!

(My Trip to Heaven)

"The day of the Lord shall come as a thief in the night." II Peter-3:10

"Watch ye therefore, for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come.

Therefore, be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not, the Son of man cometh." Matthew, 24:42,44.

The eastern sky was beginning to have a rosy gloom; the sun would soon be peeping over the tree-tops.

This April Spring morning, I had been awake for about thirty minutes, talking to my dear Saviour. What precious communion the Lord and I had in my family's "Quonset hut" home in Glendora, California. The year was 1954.

Suddenly, I was aware my soul had taken flight up through the ceiling and roof, traveling at the speed of light toward Heaven. My first thought was, "This must be the rapture;" when I saw that my two precious children were not with me, I knew that was not the case. I quickly looked to my right; noticing the rising sun. What beauty! But I bade the sun good-bye for I shouldn't need it where I was going! From that moment on, I had my gaze fastened ahead of me. The description of the horrible blackness that loomed up in the distant skies is indescribable. It was so great, I couldn't go above, under or around it! With full speed upward, I thought, "Must I enter that terrible blackness?" No sooner had I thought this, when I was compelled to enter. The density of utter blackness, the excruciating cries for mercy, (there was no mercy), the screams of pain, the moans and groans brought deep pain to my spirit as I continued upward. I also felt ugly hands grasping for my soul. one almost caught me in his wicked clutches, but the precious blood of Jesus covered me, for you see, I had been sanctified wholly seven months prior to this experience; the demon couldn't hold on to me. Praise be to God! I'm so glad I paid the price \-- dying to my carnal self

The moment I got through to the other side of this hellish blackness, I was in the most glorious, beautiful, pure, shining light -\- not from the earth's sun. This light never cast shadows anywhere! Along with this precious light, I felt, as it were, a great sword cutting me loose from ALL POWER of Satan \--Oh, what glorious freedom!!! (It is worth all the struggles against Satan in this life to be completely released from his power which he has held over us, trying to make us yield to him.)

Up ahead, I saw the beautiful city of God. Jesus tells us about it in John 14:2,3, "In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also."

The pearly gates were opened as I came, and I landed on the purest of pure golden highway. (May I insert here, EVERYTHING I saw in that beautiful city had gorgeous light shining from within.)

My first thought was, "Oh, what beauty! I could gaze upon it for all eternity, and never tire of it, but first, I want to see Jesus:" (Every time I would stop to gaze upon the beauty of some scenery or object, I would think this thought.)

A friend, whom I had known during my childhood and teen years in Denver, Colorado, was there and so very happy to see me. After her genuine welcome, I told her we could visit all through eternity, but first, I wanted to see Jesus. She told me I would see Him in the Temple at the end of the highway.

I turned, making my way along the highway. To my left, I saw the sparkling clear water and the inner, shining flowers on the banks of this beautiful river. Throngs of people were making their way to the Temple. Their robes of pure spotless white were so very beautiful. Seeing this, made me look down to see if I, too, had a robe of righteousness; I did! I reached down and felt that material. The soft, fine smoothness of the fabric is beyond description. (I could insert here; this is the same material I took hold of the day the Lord healed me of the cancer which caused my flight to heaven.)

(This is a story in itself and is found in the author's book, "Amazing Answers to Prevailing Prayer")

I finally came to the heavenly gem-studded Temple, where I would see Jesus, my Lord! No sooner had the thought entered my mind that most of all, I want to see Jesus, than I was floating above the shining marble steps and through the closed doors of the Temple.

I stood in the rear of this great sanctuary, observing the Great White Throne in the center of the large platform; the side room with closed door where I knew Jesus was waiting; and the angel choir situated on the light end of the Great White Throne. I was taken aback when I heard the angel choir singing, for I had heard this same angel choir when I was very near death at the age of four. For at that time, I had been in a coma for two days and nights, awakening the third morning while my pastor prayed by my bedside. When his prayer was finished, I told my mother and Bro. Land, "I just heard the angels singing." From that day until I stood in the sanctuary twenty-two years later, I hadn't heard them sing. I was blessed beyond measure to hear them sing again!

The realization that I had made it to this heavenly place overwhelmed me, and I began to shout for joy, going around the great sanctuary three times. It was when I came up near the room where Jesus was that I heard Him call my name\--- MARILYN." I said, "Yes Lord!" I wish I had words to express the way pure, Holy love flooded from my spirit and such awe! It all flowed like a giant river; ever, ever flowing! I bowed my head, making my, way to the Great White Throne. I felt the presence of Jesus as He came to stand in front of me.

When I opened my eyes, the hem of His robe was draped so I could see the nail scars in His feet. I thanked Him, as my love continued to pour forth, for being willing to go to the cross for me! The impact of His suffering struck me as I thought of the soldiers that drove those spikes through His precious feet!

I lifted my gaze to His outstretched hands, where again, I saw the nail scars. Again, I thanked Him for stretching His arms out and allowing the spikes to be driven into His beautiful hands. Love continued flowing freely as I thanked Him for bringing me to Heaven where I could be with Him for all eternity!

"Marilyn, I want you to go back and tell the people I am coming soon!"

My first response to His loving and tender-voiced command, was only because I loved being with Him --\- I said, "Oh, NO Lord, please let me stay here with you." He lovingly reminded me, when He sanctified me I promised I would do anything and everything He would bid me do. Immediately, I longed to obey Him; I said, "Yes, Lord, I will go."

The floor between Jesus and I opened and I could see the blackness I had come through. I asked Him exactly what was the blackness. He said, "Child, that is Satan's domain until the final judgment day. That blackness will come closer and closer to earth, until the very elect will feel they will be spiritually suffocated; then I will come." Ephesians 2:2 speaks of the prince of the power of the air; the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience. Also Isaiah 60:2 says, "For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: But the Lord shall arise upon thee---." Jesus then told me so comfortingly, "When you go through that blackness this time, you will be in the center of my hands!" I had no fear of the blackness then!

The second time, He repeated His urgent command, "Marilyn, tell the people, I am coming soo-o-o-on!" The word "Soon" sounded like mighty waves of rolling thunder! I promised Him I would tell it wherever and whenever He opened the door and gave me opportunity.

(From 1970-1985, He made openings in 134 places.)

The third time, He fervently admonished me with excruciating pain in His voice, "Go tell the people I am coming so-oo-n, much sooner than they think." The last five words caused this heavenly place to violently shake with the impact of His voice! I'll never forget this as long as I have a mind with which to think! Do you see, dear reader, He is not willing that any should perish; He so longs for each person to make it to Heaven.

By the time He finished speaking the third time, I was very anxious to come back and tell His message! But first, He desired to pray for me; oh, what a prayer He prayed that day. I've never gotten over it.

I willingly stepped out through the opening which I mentioned earlier and I started my descent. What sweet comfort, when I felt Jesus' hands taking my spirit and placing me in the very center of those tender, loving hands! We came down, down, down, together; the only way I knew I was in the horrible blackness was when I heard the muted cries, screams, moans and groans. Oh, how my heart bled for those poor lost souls in that eternal damnation. It also made me desire to teach as many as possible of the terrible place awaiting them if they fail to get right with God before they leave this world.

When we reached the end of the blackness, Jesus released me and I continued my descent. The load which once again surrounded me, making me aware of Satan's powers to tempt, to discourage, to lie to me, was so heavy it made my spirit quiver as I descended.

I finally saw my home with its silver covering the outside walls and roof. Oh, the dullness of the sun reflecting against that silver top. Before I made my Heaven's trip, the brightness of the sun against it made me often feel it would blind me!

Down through the roof and ceiling; then my soul re-entered my body lying beside my sleeping husband. It came through the top of my head, causing the bed to give such a sudden jolt, it awakened my husband and he cried, "What was that?" He was the first to hear what had happened to me. When I told him of Jesus' words of His soon coming, he rolled out of the bed, falling on his knees beside the bed crying out to God to have mercy on his lost soul. Praise God, the Lord heard and answered that fervent cry of repentance that morning.

Jesus told me three times His urgent words. Just so in Revelation the 2nd chapter, verses 7, 12, and 20 we read similar words:

Verse 7. "Behold, I come quickly--"

Verse 12, "And, Behold, I come quickly ---"

Verse 20, "Surely, I come quickly, Amen."

John, of old, answered these three admonitions, "Even so, come, Lord Jesus."

Christians everywhere are eagerly awaiting His return when the dead in Christ shall rise first; and then those who are alive, will be taken to be with Him forever and forever, throughout eternity! Are you ready for that great day to come?

By Marilyn Browning - An added note of explanation:

3 and 1/2 months following the birth of my son, I realized I had cancer. When Jesus had me return to earth, I still had the cancer. Nine months later, my three year old daughter prayed for Jesus to heal me, at which time I touched the hem of Jesus' garment and was miraculously healed.

(Author's note: I met Marilyn at Stoneboro Camp in Pennsylvania a few months ago (1997) and we have become close friends in the Lord. Personally, I appreciate her testimonies in this book as well as in my last book. God has wonderfully used her for His Glory and Honour!)

He Answered

An interesting account has come down to us from olden days in Sweden. It was often repeated to the children and grandchildren, for the Skoglunds knew the people to whom it happened. This story was written up by Dawn to be given as a reading while she was in college.

*********

It was a midwinter evening. The forest lay thickly blanketed with the glistening snow; low in the heavens rode the sun, golden and yellow, blue was the sky like a nightly canopy as it rose over the earth. Slowly, slowly, sank the sun over the western horizon, bringing the solemn quiet feeling as the day deepened into twilight.

In a humble little cottage nestled back among the pines of northern Sweden, the good housewife sang as she prepared the evening meal:

"What a friend we have in Jesus,  
All our sins and grief's to bear,  
What a privilege to carry,  
Everything to God in prayer. "

"The day has been cold and those long forest rides through the snow and blast are tiring. I will stir up some biscuits; they will taste good this cold, wintry night."

Supper was fully prepared; night was fast falling and her husband had not come. She pressed her face against the pane of the tiny window, that opened toward the dense forest. Only a lonely path, now rapidly being enveloped by the shades of night, greeted her anxious gaze.

"How late it is! I wonder why his delay? He must have had extra work. I will do up the chores for him."

After carefully banking the fire, placing the food where it would remain hot, and wrapping warmly, she proceeded with her lantern into the gathering darkness. She went hurriedly from one task to another with varied feelings and imaginings. An occasional glance down the lonely path and the dreary whine of the wind only added to her tenseness.

"Surely nothing-ill has befallen him. It must be that he is delayed with the work somehow: he will soon come."

So as the first hours of evening and twilight were engulfed by the deep of night, she wondered on, fearing and then encouraging herself concerning the reason of his failure to come. When the chores were completed, she made her return to the house, singing as she went and taking a supply of fuel for the night. As she laid the wood by the open fireplace, the glow of the smoldering embers illuminated a prostrate form of a man barely concealed by the shadows of the hand-woven spread that draped the day bed. For a moment, her heart seemed to stop beating, only to burst forth with terrific energy as if to free itself from the prison recalls of her horror stricken breast. There was not a sound from her lips, but her heart cried in anxiety, "O, God, help Thou me!" That which they had always feared and often spoke of had come as a reality. This intruder had sneaked in while she was busy with the chores, his intent, one familiar with the life of the Swedish forest could easily guess. It was well known that her husband was the government paymaster for the lumbermen and fur trappers of that vast forest.

At last, the sound of familiar footsteps assured her of her husband's safe return. "Oh, how am I to tell him in this one room? I dare not try to whisper!"

"Fear not, I am able," she heard God whisper in her heart.

"Yes, Lord, I know Thou art able." Bravely, and calmly, she met her husband at the door with her usual, sweet smile. "My dear, why were you so long in coming?" she questioned anxiously as she helped remove his wraps and sweep the snow from his boots.

"Now, you haven't worried, have you? I am sorry it is so late, but I knew I was to get paid tonight and I had to wait quite a while for the ranger to bring the money for all the men. By then, it was too late to pay them tonight."

"Oh, I had forgotten! I never thought of that! Then you have the\--" She caught herself.

Thinking something strange, he glanced quickly at her, but she had turned to put the meal on the table. 'Oh, God, help me!' "Yes, my dear wife, and a handsome sum it is," he said.

"I have done the chores," she said, and he wondered at the tremor in her voice. What could be the trouble?

"I have turned the dogs loose for the night and secured the gate," he assured her. "How thankful we can be for these good watch dogs."

"Oh, yes," she replied. She evaded his eyes as she finished her task. "Come now, we will eat," she spoke gently.

After returning thanks for the food, the husband became absorbed in telling some happenings of the day while he enjoyed his meal immensely. Noticing that she did not chat with him as usual, he looked at her closely and thought he saw signs of tears on her lashes. She wasn't eating either, just sorta playing with her food.

"Why, what is the matter?" he queried with great concern. "You are not yourself tonight." No answer. "Tell me. Are you grieved at me in some way; is it because I was so late in coming?"

"No, nothing of that," she spoke calmly, laying down her fork, and looking at him through her tears. "My dear," she began slowly, "Did you ever feel weak and helpless in yourself, feel that everything was too great for you, and you just longed for the Lord to take you up in His big arms and hold you safely?"

"Oh, I suppose I have felt something like that, but why do you feel that way now? There must be some reason."

"I've been thinking this evening--thinking a lot of things. We are, more or less, sheltered here, and we forget what a cruel world of sin and crime we are living in and of the many who know nothing of Christ's redeeming love. Their lives are ruled only by selfishness, malice, and all those wicked things. I've felt anew how grateful we should be for salvation. When I remember the sufferings that the Saviour went through just for me, I feel so unworthy and helpless. Do you see?"

"Yes, but ---"

"Come, Dear, " she interrupted, rising from the table. "It is late; we leave the dishes; let us read and pray."

She took the large Bible from the mantel, and seating herself by the warm, crackling fireside, she turned its sacred pages searching for courage and strength in this dark hour. She read from the Psalms with that light tremble in her voice:

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked, even my enemies and my foes came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp against me --- in this will I be confident. 'Yes, Lord, in this will I be confident.' "For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion; in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me." Ps.27: 1

"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." 'Yes Lord!' "I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress; my God; in Him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee --- He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust \--\- Thou shall not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; -- Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation; there shall no evil befall thee \--\- for he shall give his angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways." Psalm 91: 1-11.

"I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep; for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety." (Psalm 4:8).

With each succeeding promise from the Word of God, her faith mounted higher.

"Let us pray."

The husband offered a short, simple prayer of praise, asking the Heavenly Father's guidance and continued care over them. The wife felt the need of lingering in the hallowed Presence and in her prayer, she pleaded gently but earnestly at the Throne. "We are comfortable in our little home and so happy because of our love for each other and because of Thy love for us. But we know, Lord, there are many who are far less fortunate than we are; for these we pray tonight. Thine eye is upon every man of this world right at this moment; Thou dost see there may be some praying mother's son planning to commit a terrible crime tonight that will mean suffering for others and eternal damnation for himself. Oh, our Father, stay that hand of wrong. In mercy and love, draw him to Thyself and into the way that is right, for Jesus' sake we ask. Help us to follow Thee in such obedience that we may claim the promises that Thou hast given us from Thy word tonight. May our rest be sweet because of Thy protecting hand over us \---"

As she arose from her knees, her husband thought her never more beautiful as the glory of heaven shone on her countenance. He felt the heavenly Presence and did not speak for fear of marring it, but he silently thanked God for his mate as he prepared to retire. It was not long before he was fast asleep, while she lay hoping, trusting; then she, too, sweetly slept.

Early the following morning, she awoke with a start, remembering the happenings of the last evening. She quickly lit the lamp and glanced hurriedly around the room. On the table where she had laid the Bible the evening before, her eyes caught the glimmer of a large knife in its place.

Three years passed after that eventful evening. One day, as the husband was leaving a public gathering, a man addressed him, calling him by name. The stranger stood with a large Bible in his hand. "Do you remember," he began, "A few years ago, of finding, one winter morning, a large knife on the table in place of this?" and he held forth the precious book. Before the startled man could answer, he continued, "Yes, I had slipped through the open gate and into your house while your wife was doing the chores. I intended to kill both of you with that knife, but," he hesitated, "I couldn't. Somehow, as I lay there and listened to your wife sing (I had never heard such sweet singing) and your conversation at the table, something happened to me. Still I could have carried out my plan, but when she took down the big Book and read from it, oh such words! Then when she said, 'Let us pray,' I thought of my mother. Yes, as your wife prayed, I thought of my mother who prayed, and that prayer, I shall never forget. 'Thou dost see, one planning to commit a crime that will lead to his eternal damnation.' That was me. Then to ask God to put His arms of mercy and love around me-me, such a low, black sinner. Oh, I wanted to crawl out and beg her to pray for me, but I couldn't. I told God that if He would help me to get past those dogs and through that barbed-wire fence, I would leave with out harming you or taking your money. I promised God that I would never do a thing like that again, and that I would give my heart to Him. When I was sure that you both were asleep, I quietly slipped out and picked up this Book and left that knife in its place. I went back to my dear mother and told her the story, and your wife's prayer was answered. He did put His arms of mercy and love around me, and I am His."

After placing the Book in the other man's hands, he was gone.

(By Dawn L. West and Bonnie Lacy from the book, "Light After Darkness," Used by permission.)

God's Wonderful Protection

In the year of 1962, we were in the process of completing a small basement church in the Wyo Community, near Mocksville, N.C. Previous to this, we had held a brush-arbor and tent meeting and a number of souls had sought God. The people wanted a church, so things were falling in place.

However, after much sacrificial giving on the part of the community people, we were still short on funds and material to complete the church. We needed bathroom fixtures, plumbing pipe, a well pump and at least $200.00 in cash. A revival was scheduled in just three weeks to open the church for regular services. I had asked the people for help so much until I was ashamed, yet I knew we had to have help from somewhere if the church was to be ready by revival time. I began to earnestly pray.

I was pastoring the Clearview Wesleyan Methodist Church near Winston Salem. The Lord spoke to my heart on Wednesday and told me if I would go home to South Carolina, He would supply the need. After prayer meeting and consulting with my wife, I got in my VW and drove the 185 miles to my parents' place in Clemson, SC, arriving around 5:00 A.M. I talked to Dad and Mom for a short time, then lay down until about 8:00 A.M.

While eating breakfast, I began to talk of our needs to complete the church. Dad had just put in a larger pump for their water system and the used one (still perfectly good) was lying in the basement. He said I could have it. Praise the Lord!

My dad was in construction work and had renovated some old buildings. As I searched the barns we found a nice water fountain, a lavatory, two commodes complete with water chambers, and a large pile of cast iron plumbing pipe. Afterward, I contacted some business men that I knew, in Clemson, and by 5:00 P.M. Thursday my VW was loaded and I had $200.00 in cash. Now my faith was encouraged until I could see the church completed.

My little car was much overloaded but I shouted and praised God just about all the way back to Winston Salem. It was getting close to 9 or 10 P.M. as I got within 10 or 15 miles of home. My eyes were getting heavy from lack of sleep so I decided to take a short cut through the country, even though the road was rough and curvy. Driving along on this dark and little traveled road, fighting sleep, I was suddenly startled as I saw a man standing in the road. As I got closer, I noticed another man lying on the side of the pavement. The man standing in the road was fanning him calling, "Help! Help!" Then I noticed a third man just off the road. I stopped several feet past them, thinking to myself that an accident had occurred and this man on the road had been thrown out. Backing up until I was beside them, I was frightened until my hands froze to the steering wheel, as the man on the road jumped to his feet and all three started for the door on the opposite side of my car. It dawned on me, they were going to rob me.

So suddenly, things changed! My car lit up as bright as day. The men were poised by my car and reaching for the door when as quickly as the light came, they turned and ran down a side road. I sat and watched them as they went and it was as though a great spot light from above was shining upon them. The light stayed above them until they were gone from sight.

Amazed, I shifted my car into first gear and went possibly a mile on down the road before it dawned on me what had happened. I thought, "where did that light come from?" I was so puzzled until I turned around and went back to the spot to see if there was any kind of light anywhere. There was no light, it was dark as midnight. Then I really did begin to praise the Lord as I realized that God had sent that light for my protection. The devil tried in every way possible to keep us from having a church in Wyo and now he had tried again, but God had sent His big Angel. Praise His Wonderful Name: "The Angel of the Lord encampeth around about them that fear him and delivereth them."

We completed the church; had the first revival and many more since. A great number of souls have been saved and many are already in Heaven. The church structure was eventually erected upon the basement and there's a nice church building there today with a faithful pastor. I believe it will stand until Jesus comes! Again, praise the Lord!

By Rev. Earl Newton (Taken from the book, "God Was There," by Clyde and Margaret Gouge. Used by permission.)

How Spurgeon Found Christ

(The following is by Charles Haddon Spurgeon, who was born twice, first at Kelvedon, Essex, Eng. June 19, l834--The second time at Colchester in 1849. Died once: Fell asleep in Jesus at Mentene, France, Jan. 31, 1892. His body laid to rest at London, Feb. 11, 1892.)

I had been about five years in the most fearful distress of mind, as a lad. If any human being felt more of the terror of God's law, I can indeed pity and sympathize with him. Bunyan's "Grace abounding" contains in the main, my history. Some abysses he went into I never trod; but some into which I plunged he seems to have not known.

I thought the sun was blotted out of the sky -- that I had sinned so against God that, there was no hope for me. I prayed – the Lord knoweth how I prayed; but I never had a glimpse of an answer that I know of. I searched the Word of God; the promises were more alarming than the threatenings. I read the privileges of the people of God, but with the fullest persuasion that they were not for me. The secret of my distress was this: I did not know the gospel. I was in a Christian land; I had Christian parents, but I did not fully understand the freeness and simplicity of the Gospel.

I attended all the places of worship in the town where I lived, but I honestly believe that I did not hear the Gospel fully preached. I do not blame the men, however. One man preached the divine sovereignty. I would hear him with pleasure; but what was that to a poor sinner who wished to know what he should do to be saved? There was another admirable man who always preached about the law; but what was the use of plowing up ground that needed to be sown? Another was a great, practical preacher. I heard him, but it was very much like a commanding officer teaching the maneuvers of war to a set of men without feet. What could I do? All his exhortations were lost to me. I knew it was said, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved," but I did not know what it was to believe in Christ.

I sometimes think I might have been in darkness and despair now, had it not been for the goodness of God in sending a snowstorm one Sunday morning, when I was going to a place of worship. When I could go no farther, I turned down a court and came to a little Primitive Methodist Chapel. In that chapel there might be a dozen or fifteen people. The minister did not come that morning; snowed up, I suppose. A poor man, a shoemaker, a tailor, or something of that sort, went up into the pulpit to preach.

Now it is well that ministers should be instructed, but this man was really stupid, as you would say. He was obliged to stick to his text, for the simple reason that he had nothing else to say. The text was "Look unto Me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth." He did not even pronounce the words rightly, but that did not matter.

There was, I thought, a gleam of hope for me in the text. He began thus: "My dear friends, this is a very simple text indeed. It says, 'Look.' Now that does not take a deal of effort. It ain't lifting your foot or your finger, it is just 'look'. Well, a man may not be worth a thousand a year to look, may be the biggest fool, and yet you can look. A man need not go to college to learn to look. You -- anyone can look; a child can look. But this is what the text says. Then it says, 'Look unto me!' Ay," said he in broad Essex, "many of ye are looking to yourselves. No use looking there. You'll never find comfort in yourselves. Some look to God, the Father. No, look to Him by and by. Jesus Christ says, 'Look unto me.' Some of you say, 'I must wait the Spirit's workings.' You have no business with that just now. Look to Christ. It runs: 'Look unto Me.'"

Then the good man followed up his text in this way; "Look unto Me; I am hanging on the cross; Look! I am dead and buried. Look unto Me; I rise again. Look unto Me; I ascend; I am sitting at the Father's right hand. O, Look to me! Look to Me!"

When he had gotten about that length, and managed to spin out ten times or so, he was at the end of his tether. Then he looked at me under the gallery, and I dare say, with so few present, he knew me to be a stranger. He then said "Young man, you look very miserable." Well, I did, but I had not been accustomed to have remarks made on my personal appearance from the pulpit before. However, it was a good blow struck. He continued, "And you will always be miserable -- miserable in life, and miserable in death -\- if you do not obey my text. But, if you obey now, this moment you will be saved."

Then he shouted as only a Primitive can, "Young man, look to Jesus Christ!" I did 'look'.

There and then, the cloud was gone, the darkness had rolled away, and that moment I saw the sun. I could have risen that moment and sung with the most enthusiastic of them, of the precious blood of Christ, and the simple faith which looks alone to Him. Oh, that somebody had told me that before.  
Trust Christ, and you shall be saved.

E'er since by faith I saw the stream

Thy wounds supplied for me,

Redeeming love has been my theme,

And shall forever be.

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Spurgeon's Last Sermon

The closing words of Mr. Spurgeon's last sermon on June 7, 1891, were characteristic of the man, as follows:

What I have to say lastly is this: How greatly I desire that you who are not yet enlisted in my Lord's band, would come to Him because you see what a kind and gracious Lord He is. Young men, if you could see our captain, you would fall down on your knees and beg Him to let you enter the ranks of those who follow Him. It is Heaven to serve Jesus. I am a recruiting sergeant, and I would fain find a few recruits at this moment. Every man must serve somebody: we have no choice as to that fact. Those who have no master are slaves to themselves. Depend upon it, you will either serve Satan or Christ, either self or the Saviour. You will find sin, self, Satan, and the world, to be hard masters; but if you wear the livery of Christ, you will find Him so meek and lowly of heart that you find rest unto your souls. He is the most magnanimous of captains. There never was His like among the choices of princes. He is always to be found in the thickest part of the battle. When the wind blows cold, He always takes the bleak side of the hill. The heaviest end of the cross lies ever, on His shoulders. These forty years, and more, have I served Him: Blessed be His Name! And I have had nothing but love for Him. I would be glad to continue another forty years in the same dear service here below, if so it pleased Him. His service is life, peace and joy. Oh, that you would enter in at once: God help you to enlist under the banner of Jesus even this day! Amen.

(This taken from a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, Inc., Randleman, N.C. Used by permission.)

My Arrest and Rescue

When I was a little boy two years of age, my mother died. When I was four years of age, my father died. I was living here and there and a sinner. I was to be fourteen years of age the tenth of the coming March. It was Christmas week, and I was caught in sin and put under arrest and dragged to court. I did not cry. I had cried all the tears out of my head. I tried to look at the judge. I wished that I could faint. I was guilty. I did not have a friend, I was miserable. They packed the courthouse. They looked at me then at the Judge. Their faces said, "Judge, give him the full benefit of the law and save trouble later on." It looked as if the whole universe was down on me.

By and by, a clerk stood up and said, "The court is open." The judge said, "Has this boy anyone to represent him?" I did not know the meaning of this. I thought that fellow was the one who was going to take me out and hang me. They said, "No." I was hopeful. The judge said to a lawyer, "I appoint you to take this boy's case." He walked through the crowd, pushed the policeman aside, and took me into a room. I slunk into a comer. I thought he was going to drag me to execution. But I saw tears under his eyelashes. He sat down and slipped his arms around me. It was the tenderest touch I had ever felt, and it drew me to him

"My little friend, are you guilty?" he asked.

I could not have lied to him to save the world. He gave me a little squeeze. I said, "Yes, sir, I am guilty, and lots more they don't know about." I was in for a clean breast. When I looked at him, I could not lie. I had found a friend. I feel his hand yet, Oh, it was a wonderful touch to an orphan child.

He said, "Don't you think we had better confess guilty and throw you on the mercy of the court?"

I did not know what that meant, but I thought if he would throw me, it was best. I said, "Please, sir, throw me on the mercy of the court."

He put his hand on my head, and I put my dirty clawlike fingers and grabbed his coat tail, and the feeling came to me, if I hang on to his coat, he will pull me through. He came to the judge and said, "Please, your honor, it has been my privilege to practice before the bar for many years. I have noticed that when the ends of justice can be secured and society can be protected, it is your Honor's custom to show mercy. I stand with this trembling orphan child, without father or mother, home or friend, to beg your Honor's mercy. His heart is broken. He confesses with readiness his sin. He pleads for forgiveness."

I grabbed some more coat. I thought that was a great speech. It was just an introductory remark. He spoke until silence fell everywhere. He spoke until the most beautiful language filled every comer of the court. He spoke until old men wept. He spoke until my policeman was brushing tears from his cheeks. He spoke until he said, "If you will show compassion to this orphan child, I pledge, your Honor, I'll look after his education and give to society a useful citizen." He spoke until my heart burst within me for love and admiration for my friend. If I could but put my ragged coat sleeves around his neck and kiss his cheek one time, they could take me and hang me, and I would die happy.

He spoke and said, "My Father." That shot through me. The judge had appointed his own son to plead for me. Like as not he would have mercy on me. "My Father, the intentness of my love for my little client comes out of the fact that he is my brother." I wasn't much on mathematics, but I could see at once that if the judge on the bench was the father of the attorney, and the attorney was my brother, then the judge was my father, too. I gave a shout, I made a leap, and the judge stood up and said, "Rejoice, for the lost is found, and the dead is alive." And all the people in that courthouse began to say, "Glory!"

I need not tell you that the scene was not in a courthouse, but it was in an old Methodist Church. Jesus pleaded my case and revealed to me that God was my Father. It went to my heart, as an orphan boy, and I could say, "My Father, which art in Heaven hallowed be Thy name." Jesus carne to reveal that God is love, that God is merciful, that God is compassionate, that God is a Saviour, that whosoever cometh shall not corne in vain, but there is mercy and salvation free to all.

H.C. Morrison (Taken from a tract by Old Paths Tract Society, Shoals, Ind. Used by permission)

Fifty-Seven Cents That Made History

A sobbing little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was overcrowded. "I can't go to Sunday School," she sobbed to the pastor as he passed. Taking her by the hand, he found a place for her inside the sanctuary. The child was so touched that she went to bed that night thinking of the children who had no place to worship God.

Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings, and the parents called for the kind-hearted pastor to make the funeral arrangements. Beneath her pillow, he found a crumpled purse rummaged from the dump. In it were 57 pennies and a note scribbled in childish handwriting. "This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday School."

For two years she had saved for her offering of love. When the pastor read the note, he knew instantly what he would do.

Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion. He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger church. But that was not the end.

A newspaper learned of the story and published it. It was read by a Realtor who offered them a lot worth many thousands. When told the church could not pay so much, he offered it for a modest figure and said he would take as a down payment "exactly 57 cents."

Church members made large subscriptions. Checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little gir1's gift had increased to $250,000. Her unselfish love had paid large dividends.

When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church with a seating capacity of 3300, and Temple University, where hundreds of students are trained. Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday school building which houses hundreds of Sunday scholars, so that no child in that vicinity will ever need to be left outside at Sunday School time.

In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents so sacrificially saved made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a picture of her famous pastor, Dr. Russell H. Conwell.

By Wm. S. Deal (Taken from a tract by Old Paths Tract Society, Shoals, Ind. Used by permission.)

The Church That Floated

What would you have thought if you had seen the little church in which you worshipped, floating right down the main street of your town? Well, that is just what actually happened in Swan Quarter, North Carolina. True stories are often even stranger than the ones people think out in their imagination and then write about to entertain the readers. God has such unusual ways to answer the prayers of His people!

Let us start with how the church came to be built at all. There were some very earnest Christians living in Swan Quarter and they wished to have a place to worship right in the center of town. We can imagine them in their prayer meetings, asking their Heavenly Father to supply the funds to build and then to give them a suitable location on which to erect the building. Money was not very plentiful at best, in those days, and the problem of obtaining a location convenient for the worshippers had to be solved. They desired the new building to be a lighthouse where the ungodly people would be constantly reminded of their need of a Saviour.

The money was slowly gathered for this good cause. It was evident that it would have to be a simple structure, a small building of wood which, in those days, was much the cheapest of building materials. They also decided upon a site right in the middle of the town. It was owned by a Mr. Cash, who many thought to be a Christian as he would talk so much of God and Christianity.

Though these people had enough to build their church, they did not have ample cash to buy an expensive piece of land but they thought that perhaps this Mr. Cash might allow his heart to be softened and would donate this very special site for such a noble purpose. So a committee was appointed to meet the owner. They put their needs before him and begged him for the much needed plot on which to build. But their enthusiasm died when they saw his lack of interest in their new venture. At last he said slowly, "It is no use talking about it. The deed I have, makes it clear that this land must be neither donated nor sold."

That settled the matter, or did it? We must remember that these people had asked their Heavenly Father as well. But in the meantime, they had searched for a building plot elsewhere. They were far from satisfied with the piece of ground some distance from the town centre and in a neighbourhood which did not seem to be what they had at first thought most desirable. We can imagine listening to some of those earnest ones as, shaking their heads, they remarked that they wondered if something had not gone wrong somewhere.

But it was decided that they could wait no longer, so the little timber church, set up on brick piles, was erected. Worship in it commenced immediately upon completion, and many were the times when they felt the presence of the Lord among them. Prayer meetings, Bible studies and Sunday School were brought into being and it would seem as though they were set for many years to toil in that inconvenient place. Could it be possible that places of business, factories, offices and houses of entertainment should all have the best centres while the cause of Jesus Christ took only second place?

God holds the winds, the sea and the clouds in His own wonderful hands. Many times prayer has been answered through weather changes. Swan Quarter was situated right on the Atlantic sea coast, and doubtless it had experienced in its past history, times when the angry waves would wash right past their sand barriers and threaten to flood the little town's buildings. This storm of which we speak caused heavy flooding and soon torrents of water were rushing down the streets of Swan Quarter. People became very anxious. Naturally the church folk thought of their beloved little timber building, knowing it was none too securely anchored.

The water crept up and up until it reached the tops of the foundation brick piles. And could the watchers believe their eyes, when the wooden building began to shudder and then rise with the swirling flood waters? It had been lifted right off the brick piles. What would happen now? Was this to be the end of their little sanctuary which they loved and where they had worshipped so faithfully?

All seemed to be in order for once she was afloat, this nineteenth century "ark" moved slowly out into the thoroughfare. There it met with a strong current which, accompanied by wind, drove it right down the avenue until it came to the main street which crossed the one on which it had been floating.

Here it seemed to pause as if a "pilot" were giving directions. And what do you think happened? It turned squarely at right angles and headed for the centre of Swan Quarter,. An unseen Pilot was steering it to the very site where it should have been located from the beginning. Yes, believe it or not, that little structure did not stop until it was at the spot originally intended for it. When it came to that site, it gently floated to the side of the street and settled on to the vacant plot belonging to Mr. Cash.

When the owner heard what had happened, he went to the office of the Town Registrar of Deeds. There he turned over the deed for the land to the church. When doing this, he was heard to say, "I had plans for this land, but it appears that God had His plans, too."

Though that was perhaps one hundred or more years ago, the little Church rested there until a more permanent structure was raised and there it stood a monument to God's love and care in answer to His people's prayers.

(Taken from the book, "Asking Father" by E. & L. Harvey & Trudy Tait. Used by permission of Harvey Christian Publishers, 70 Dodson Drive, Yanceyville, N.C. 27379)

Our God Cares for the Little Details of Our Life

Isaiah 65:24 And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer, and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.

"Before they call, I will answer--"

One day I was cleaning my bedroom and picked up the small waste basket to empty its contents into a larger one. I held the small container over the middle of the larger one and turned it upside down. I noticed something fell out and somehow cleared the side of the large basket and fell to the floor. After shaking the container in hand, I looked down to see what had so mysteriously fell over the side of the large container. What a surprise to find a roll of dollar bills: How it got in to my waste basket I never knew, but God saw that I needed the bills more than the flames which would have soon made ashes out of them.

"Before they call, I will answer," He said. I didn't call because I did not know they were in the trash, but God who knows all, saw them there and let them (of all the trash that was in the basket), break loose and fall to the floor. Thank You, Lord.

You might ask, "Is Jesus interested in such little details of our life?" Definitely so. I remember one day I could not find my car keys. I looked everywhere I knew to look. Finally, in desperation, I just looked up to Jesus and said, "Dear Jesus, Thou dost know exactly where my keys are and I need them. You show me where they are?" A small still voice whispered, "Look in the pocket of your blue coat hanging in the closet." I walked to the closet, found the blue coat, put my hand in the pocket and pulled out my keys. "Praise God." He's mindful of His children's smallest need.

I remember, as a child, I needed a penny to go with a penny I had to buy a postage stamp. I often went to a little Sunday School in our community, and I had once heard it said that if we would pray and believe that God would answer. I knew not to ask my earthly father because pennies were very scarce at our house, but I dared to ask my Heavenly Father. I prayed, "God, I need one penny and I'm going to believe You to give it to me." I started walking and looked down at my feet and there was a penny at my feet. God heard a little girl's earnest prayer.

One day, I was in a store, and I purchased something and lacked one penny having enough to pay for it without breaking a bill. The clerk said, "I'll pay the penny. Don't worry about it." I answered, "I'll pay your penny back the next time I'm in here." Then I said, "Pennies aren't worth much now, but I remember as a child praying for a penny." And I related the incident I just told you. When I got to the part about walking and looking down and finding the penny at my feet, I demonstrated by taking a few steps and then said, "There was a penny at my feet," and as I looked down, there once more was a penny. I picked it up and said, "Just like this," and handed her the penny to pay my debt. She had an amazed look on her face and told me what a blessing the whole thing was to her. It pays to witness for Jesus.

Another incident of God's care of little things is as follows:

My son, Danny, is a missionary to Africa. He was home visiting and I noticed he needed shoes. My daughter, also, was visiting and she asked if I wanted to go to some garage sales. I told her no, as I had dinner to cook and lots to do. Then I thought of one a short way from our house and I said, "We'll go to one, but that's it for today." So we went. The first thing I saw was a pair of shoes exactly like my son wears. He wears a size 10 1 / 2. I asked, "What size are those shoes?" She said, "Size 10." I thought, "Oh-h-h, what a shame!" But I felt I should check them out, so I picked one up and looked inside and the size was 10 and 1 / 2 and they were like new. I asked, "What do you want for these?" "Fifty cents" was the answer. I was so thrilled and hurried home. I looked my son up, and said, "Danny I bought you some shoes. Try them on and see if they fit." He answered, "Mamma, I don't have to try them on. When God gives me a pair of shoes, they always fit." And so it was, a perfect fit. Amen.

**********

My husband and I went out of town to pick up sweet potatoes which were given to us each year. We were always blessed with a plentiful supply to eat and sold the rest for, what I called, my "giving money," to help the needy.

When we started home it started to rain and for miles it poured. I told my husband, "I'll have to spread all those potatoes (which was about 15 bushels) out to dry or they will rot." They were in the back of an open-bed truck. When we got home, I said, "Back up to the water hydrant and I will spray the rest of the dirt off," since I felt they were already drenched. Then I would have the task of trying to find a place to put them so they could dry. He backed up and got out. "These potatoes aren't even wet," he yelled. I couldn't fathom that. As I jumped out of the truck, sure enough they were just as dry as they were when we got them in the field. Only God could have worked such a miracle. It just seemed He spread His invisible tarpaulin over them and kept His child from hours of extra work. Isn't our God wonderful? He saw how tired I was and kept the potatoes completely dry. Praise His name forever!

**********

Another wonder God worked for us concerns fresh garden peas. We had planted some but they didn't bare very well. But I had read in the Bible in Proverbs 3:9, "Honour the Lord with thy substance, and with the first fruits of all thine increase," so when the first peas came on, I took them to our pastor. After this, the peas stopped bearing, and it looked as if we may not get even one mess, but I had no misgivings about giving the firstfruits to God. One day, my phone rang and a man I hardly knew, asked if I would be interested in picking some peas for my freezer. Of course, I was very interested and asked what would be the charge. "Nothing," he assured me, "I just want to give them to you." I took one of my sons and went over to pick them, and he came out of his house with one of his sons to help, and we picked nearly three bushels of the finest peas one can imagine, and he wouldn't take a dime. I read in Luke 6:38, where it tells us, "Give and it shall be given unto you:" I had given my little, and He had returned it with good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over. Praise God! We certainly did enjoy those delicious peas .

**********

I was visiting in Florida. with my daughter, and we went to a flea market. My grandson, Jeffrey Simmons, discovered when he returned home, that he had lost a ten-dollar bill. He was upset, and we helped him search for it, but finally concluded that it had been lost at the flea market and no use to look further. "But," my grandson protested, "Doesn't the Bible say that if we ask, we receive?" His mother didn't want to discourage him from believing the Bible, but yet she felt the money was gone.

After going to bed, my husband and I decided to give him at least half his money. When we got up the next morning, before we had discussed it with his parents, he came out of his bedroom holding a ten dollar bill. "Where did it come from?" we all wanted to know. "It was in front of my closet when I got up," he replied. "Impossible," his mother declared, "I vacuumed there last night." "But Mom," he said, "It was there in plain view when I opened my eyes this morning." His parents thought we had put it there and we thought they had, but neither was the case. Where did it come from? You tell me. "Ask and ye shall receive."

The following events were related by Virginia Miller, friend of the author:

**********

We were living in Binghamton, New York at the end of the Great Depression. We became acquainted with a man by the name of 'Rock', and he was exactly what his name signified. He owned a little truck which he used for work, but also for taking people to church in. He worked as a carpenter about three days a week. This was about all a man could get at this time.

One night, Rock came home from work, and his wife told him, "I have received bad news concerning my mother. She is sick and I will have to go and take care of her for about a week There's nothing to eat in the house, but one loaf of bread and a tiny bit of butter in the crock You can make bread and butter sandwiches and it will get you through the week, and by the first of next week, I should be home."

She went on her way.

The next morning, he cut two slices of bread and went to the butter crock and there was just enough butter for one day. He said to himself, "I can make one good sandwich and use all this butter and do without the remainder of the week, or I can take just a small bit and try to stretch it all week" Then he thought, "Why could not God stretch this butter so I can have enough each day?" So he put it all on his sandwich and brought it to work for his day's allowance. Many men were doing the same thing.

The next morning, he went to make his sandwich and looked wishfully into the crock and there was the same amount of butter as there was the day before. He took it all and put it on his bread and said, "Thank You, Father." This went on every day his wife was gone. By the time she returned, he had gotten his three day's pay and they were able to get more butter. And never did the butter grow in the crock again.

**********

I had to have an operation on my eye. The doctor gave me two tiny bottles and told me to put one drop from each bottle three times a day in my eye. This doctor was known to have a terrible temper. I had seen and heard him when he was short with some of his patients. He was a good doctor but had this terrible temper.

I took the bottles of medication home and used them as directed for two days, and then accidentally spilled one bottle. I felt sick. I thought, "I can't call and tell that doctor what happened for I know how he will react, so I just lay on the bed thinking and wondering, "What shall I do?" I thought of Brother Rock, and I prayed, " Father, if You made butter to grow in Brother Rock's crock, then You can put eye drops in my bottle." So the next morning, I took the two bottles and first put drops from the full bottle. Then I took the empty bottle and shook it and it seemed I heard a little swoosh. I held my eye open, and held the bottle over it and felt the drop go in. For five days three times a day, I put a drop from the empty bottle plus one from the other. I then went back to the doctor and he asked me if I had put the drops in and I said, "Yes, Sir." He said, "You don't need to put them in any more."

Thank the Lord! It worked.

**********

"During the days of depression, we had an old Chevrolet coup. We were in a revival meeting up in the northern part of New York. One day we decided to drive into the woods, just to be alone. Miles off in the woods, we had a flat. Neither Ethel, who was with me, nor myself knew anything about changing a flat tire. We didn't even know how to put the jack together. We were completely helpless."

Sister Miller said to Sister Ethel MacFadgen, "Pray for a man." They were both single ladies and Sister Miller relates that this was the first time Sister Mac had ever prayed for a man. Anyway, it was the days of CCC boys. They often worked in the forest as there was no work for them elsewhere, and the government paid them.

As the two sat there waiting, they heard a truck coming. It rounded the comer and a man got out and asked, "What's the matter, Girls?" They answered, "We have a flat and don't know how to fix it."

The man made one motion to the boys on the back of the truck and they all jumped off the truck. They didn't even bother to get the jack out, but while some lifted up the truck, others put the spare tire on. Then they got in the truck and left.

"We went on our way," said Sister Miller. "While Ethel praised the Lord, I looked at her and said, "Ethel, the only thing wrong is the fact that you prayed too hard. We only needed one man and we got a truck load."

**********

A missionary lady named Margaret was working in the West Indies. One day she and her husband and another couple went down to the shore where they could relax, wade in the water and enjoy themselves. As Margaret waded around in the water, she bent over and her dentures fell into the water. She scrambled around and searched for them, then summoned help, but with the waves coming in and the tide going out, the dentures were washed away. This meant she couldn't teach school because if she went in without teeth, the children would have made a laughing stock of her and she wouldn't have been able to control them. So she spent a most miserable week.

The next Saturday they went back and as Margaret and the other lady sat on the shore, her husband and his friend were wading in the water. All at once, her husband yelled, "Ouch, I stepped on something and it hurt my foot." Reaching down he fetched the object and it was none other than Margaret's dentures.

They had washed quite a ways up the shore -- nowhere near where she lost them -- but God had them in the right place at the right time. Praise His Name!

**********

Helen Mooshian was laboring for God out West when just a young lady. She was helping to start a church and was on her own without any salary. She got sick and had to go to the doctor. The doctor told her that in order for her to get well, she would have to go on a strict diet consisting of nothing but oatmeal.

She went home and prayed, "Now, Lord, Thou do'st see I have no oatmeal and no money to buy any. The next morning, she got up and ate no breakfast, but soon, a lady knocked on her door and said, "I was cleaning out my cupboard and found this oatmeal which I don't need as I bought too much. Could you possibly use it?"

Helen answered, "I sure can if you don't need it."

By the time that oatmeal was used up, someone else came with more, and this continued until God gave her money with which to buy some. Isn't that just like our wonderful God?

Angel With a Telephone

It was October 10, 1997; a very warm fall day. We had traveled about 4,000 miles visiting friends and family in Missouri, Colorado and Northern California. Before making our "Trek" back home to Arkansas, we were on our way to see a cousin in Visalia, California.

It was God's will (as proven later) for our car to quit running in Madera, California, where we met some saints of God who so lovingly took in these two stranded strangers. Including us in their plans, they fed us, gave us a comfortable place to sleep and included us in their church family fellowship. Besides all these "goodies," the pastor and son-in-law got our car in running condition by fixing some wires; later, the pastor put in a fuel pump. It ended up that we stayed with these wonderful friends three days and nights. May God bless them real good, is our prayer.

The car ran good for about forty miles; then suddenly the engine stopped, forcing us to park along the side of the freeway. My husband, Jim, and I prayed, asking God to help us find help; we believed that God was in full control and He had a purpose for this delay.

Many miles of four-foot high grape vines in a vineyard beyond a fence and dirt road was all we could see until Jim noticed a house back about one-half mile. He decided he would walk back to that house and see if they had a phone we could use to secure help from our Madera friends.

While he was gone, once more I talked to the Lord, telling Him I was glad He knew right where we were; asking Him to send someone to help us. I thanked God for hearing our prayers – and Jim was back. He informed me that we both needed to go in order to help each other over the fence. I got out of the car looking both directions to see if anyone was around, for I didn't want anyone to see me climbing a fence! There was absolutely no one in sight for miles each direction.

We both were looking down as we made our way toward the fence. (Only a few feet from the car); when we looked up, we saw a neatly dressed gentleman about 20 feet from us walking along the dirt road on the other side of the fence. He, purposefully, came directly up to us. My husband asked him if knew where we might find a phone to get help; our car was broken down. The man didn't say anything, but reached to his shoulder strap, taking an instrument and handing it to me. I asked him, "Is this a phone?" He told me it was. In all my life, I had never seen anything like it; I had to ask him how to use it; the technicalities of it floored me! To make my call go through, he had to show me I needed to push the yellow button; it worked! After I had completed my call, I handed the phone back to him, thanking him sincerely. Jim and I turned, walked to the car, taking only a few moments; then I looked down that 4-mile long road to see where the gentleman went; then I looked the opposite direction. THERE WAS NO MAN IN SIGHT ANYWHERE, not even in the vineyard! No one could have gone a great distance in those few moments! At that moment, I thought, "I wonder where that man went."

The next morning, back in Madera, I read my Bible and prayed. At the close of my prayer, the Lord whispered to me, "You asked me to send someone to help you yesterday; I did. I sent an angel with a telephone to you!" I cried out, "Oh, yes, Lord, thank You so much for sending Him to us:"

The thrill and yet the somberness of it all lingers with me yet, when I think of how God sent an angel with a telephone; just to think, we were face-to-face with Him!

A true event, October - 1997 By Marilyn Browning

The Influence of a Mother's Prayers

Many years ago, one lovely Sabbath morning, about eight young men, students in a law school, were walking along a bank of a stream that flows into the Potomac River, not far from the city of Washington. They were going to a grove, in a retired place, to spend the hours of that holy day in playing cards. Each of them had a flask of wine in his pocket. They were the sons of praying mothers. As they were walking along, amusing each other with idle jests, the bell of a church in a little village, not two miles off, began to ring. It sounded in the ears of those thoughtless young men as plainly as though it were only on the other side of the little stream along which they were walking.

Presently, one of their number, whose name was George, stopped and said to the friend nearest him, that he would go no further, but would return to the village and go to church. His friend called out to their companions, who were a little ahead of them: "Boys! Boys! Come back here, George is getting religious, we must help him. Come on and let us baptize him by immersion in the water." They told him that the only way he could save himself from having a cold bath was by going with them. In a calm, quiet, but earnest way, he said: "I know very well that you have power enough to put me in the water, and hold me there till I am drowned; and if you choose, you can do so, and I will make no resistance; but listen to what I have to say, and then do as you think best.

You all know that I am two hundred miles away from home; but you do not know that my mother is a helpless, bedridden invalid. I never remember seeing her out of bed. I am her youngest child. My father could not afford to pay for my schooling; but our teacher is a warm friend of my father, and offered to take me without charge. He was very anxious for me to come; but mother would not consent. The struggle almost cost her what little life was left of her. At length, after many prayers on the subject, she yielded and said I might go. The preparations for my leaving home were soon made. My mother never said a word to me on the subject till the morning when I was about to leave. After I had eaten my breakfast, she sent for me, and asked me if everything was ready. I told her all was ready, and I was only waiting for the stage. At her request, I kneeled beside her bed. With her loving hand upon my head, she prayed for her youngest child. Many and many a night I have dreamed that whole scene over. It is the happiest recollection of my life. I believe, till the day of my death, I shall be able to repeat every word of that prayer. Then she spoke to me thus:

"'My precious boy, you do not know, you never can know, the agony of a mother's heart, in parting for the last time, from her youngest child. When you leave home, you will have looked, for the last time, this side of the grave, on the face of her who loves you as no other mortal does or can. Your father cannot afford the expense of your making us visits during the two years that your studies will occupy. I cannot possibly live as long as that. The sand in the hour-glass of my life has nearly run out. In the far off strange place to which you are going, there will be no loving mother to give counsel in time of trouble. Seek counsel and help from God. Every Sabbath day from ten to eleven o'clock, I will spend the hour in prayer for you. Wherever you may be during this sacred hour, when you hear the church bells ringing, let your thoughts come back to this chamber, where your dying mother will be agonizing in prayer for you. But I hear the stage coming. Kiss me farewell."

"Boys, I never expect to see my mother again on earth. But by God's help, I mean to meet her in Heaven."

As George stopped speaking, the tears were streaming down his cheeks. He looked at his companions. Their eyes were filled with tears.

In a moment, the ring which they had formed about him was opened. He passed out and went to church. He had stood up for the right against great odds.

They admired him for doing what they had not the courage to do. They all followed him to church. On their way there, each of them quietly threw away his cards and his wine-flask. Never again, did these young men play cards on the Sabbath.

From that day, they all became changed men. Six of them died Christians, and are now in Heaven. George is an able Christian lawyer in Iowa; and his friend, who wrote this account, has been for many years an earnest, active member of the church. Here were eight men converted by the prayers of that good Christian woman. And, if we only knew all the results of their examples and their labors, we should have a good illustration of a mother's prayers.

From "Touching Incidents and Remarkable Answers to Prayer." By S.B. Shaw

The Witness Came that the Lord Had Heard

By Shirley Wambach

I was a student at Hobe Sound Bible School. The tabernacle was opened for prayer for an hour on Friday night. Another student, Mary Alice Andrews, and I went over to pray. My mother was backslidden at the time. A burden of prayer came on my heart for my mother. I prayed for sometime, then the divine witness came that the Lord had heard my prayer and would grant me my request. My friend, also, felt the Lord had come and gave me the assurance that Mom would be saved. This was probably in November of 1961 or 1962.

The following February in a revival at a little Friend's church in DeWitt, Arkansas, my mother was wonderfully saved. She faithfully served God until her death by cancer in 1991.

Give and It Shall Be Given You

In her book, "The Life of Spencer Johnson," his wife tells this incident:

Graduation time was approaching. Spencer's suit was a sorry sight. "I need a new suit," he thought. "I can earn enough money this summer to pay for it, but I need it now."

He walked to the bank. After he had been seated in Mr. Davis' office, he asked, "May I borrow $40.00? I could sign a note for it and pay it back next summer when I get into my revival slate."

"Why, of course, Spencer. How is school going? Will you graduate this fall?"

Signing the note and excusing himself, Spencer turned toward the chapel service. There was a missionary speaker that day. He made an appeal for foreign missions.

In Spencer's words, "The Lord said to me, 'Do you love me?'"

"Why, yes, Lord, I love You."

"Do you really love Me?"

"Yes, Lord, You know that I love You."

"How much do you love Me?"

"More than all the world', Lord."

"Do you love Me $40.00 worth?"

"But Lord, I was going to buy a graduation suit with that money."

"Do you love Me enough to give Me the $40.00 and graduate in the old suit?"

"Why yes, Lord. If You want me to, I'll give the $40.00 and graduate in my old suit."

So Spencer put his $40.00 in the collection plate, and the Lord began to bless him so, he could hardly contain it. He ran over to the boy's dormitory shouting and praising God. Mrs. Blackman came down to see what was the matter and got blessed.

The days passed busily along. Graduation time was getting close. Spencer was coming in from classes when he met Ralph Buffmgton on the front steps.

"Hello, Spencer. "What size suit do you wear?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Do you suppose you wear my size?"

Well, I don't know, Ralph. Why?"

"A man gave me five nice suits. They had been left at a cleaners and never picked up. I just wondered if you could use a couple of suits."

Spencer went up, tried on the suits, and they just fit him. So he ended up with two suits.

**********

Brother G.T. Bustin, in his book, "My First 50 Years," tells this one:

One morning a black boy came to our back door and began to give me his story about a dead sister at Newton. He had nothing but rags to wear, and he so wanted to go. He said, "One lady has told me she would give me a shirt if I could find some trousers. Dewy tears rolled out of those big eyes until my own became moist. I said to him, "Go get your shirt and I will have some trousers ready for you." As I went in to get a pair of trousers, I felt that God would have me give one of my suits. I had two, but both were well worn. As my wife saw what I was about to do, she wept a little and said, "That, is your best suit, and I don't feel it is right to give it to this strange boy who may not be telling the truth." It hurt me to go against my wife's wishes, but obeying my conscience, I disposed of the suit. My companion could have said, "I told you so", for the next day I caught the deceiver cutting weeds while wearing my suit, which was then horribly soiled. If he had a sister he had not been anywhere to see her. He had lied. The old devil then had his go at me for being such a sucker, but I quickly committed the matter to the Lord, for He knew I had meant well.

Within two or three days, a railroad man sent his son down to the house to ask me if I could come up to his place. I went to his house at once. The man asked me if I could go up town with him. He took me into one of the fine clothing stores and asked a clerk to fit me up with a good suit. A half an hour later, I walked out with the best suit I had ever owned and a pair of expensive shoes. (This man knew absolutely nothing of my having given the suit to the black boy.)

When my good wife saw what the Lord had done, a great change was wrought in her life. After this experience, I used to say I was afraid to leave her with my belongings lest she give away everything I had, for she had learned that we cannot out-give God.

Holy Ann's Prayer for Water in a Dry Well

The stories are legion concerning the famous "Holy Ann" Preston, the Irish Saint.

An uncouth and unlettered servant from the village of Ballamacally, in the county of Armagh, (Ireland), Ann Preston became one of the heroines of faith whose exploits have been told in many parts of the world. Her biography has been translated into several languages, including Chinese, and from almost every foreign field have come testimonies of blessing received from the story of Ann Preston.

Seemingly incredible - but true - Ann Preston never learned the alphabet and was unable to read a newspaper, yet God Himself taught her to read the Bible.

All her life, she remained a lowly servant; yet, when she died at the age of 96, one of the largest churches in Toronto, Canada, was packed to the doors with people from various denominations who came to pay tribute to this remarkable saint.

The mayor of Toronto declared: "I have had two honors this week. It has been my privilege to have an interview with the President of the United States. This is a great honor. Then I have been pallbearer to Ann Preston. Of the two honors, I prize the latter most."

Among the miracles wrought by Ann Preston through simple faith in God, there stands out the story of the well. Helen Bingham tells how she "was most careful to get the full circumstances taken down as Ann narrated it" to her.

Ann was acting as general housekeeper to the family of Dr. Reid, in a farming community in Thornhill, Canada. A long and scorching summer had completely dried up the well in the farmyard. For many weeks, the Reid boys were compelled to haul water from another well about half a mile away. This was exhausting work for the boys who had to carry water to supply the needs of both the household and the farm stock.

One evening, as Ann was telling the boys some of the remarkable things God had done for her in answer to Prayer, one of them named Henry asked, "Ann, why don't you ask your Father to send water in that well, and not have us boys work so hard? I was down in the well looking at it today, and it is just as dry as the floor"

This half-serious, half-joking request came as a definite challenge to Ann.

That night, in child-like faith, she prayed a prayer something like this: "Father, You have heard what Henry said to me tonight. If I get up in class meeting and say, "My God shall supply all your needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus" the boys will not believe I am telling the truth if You don't send water into that dry well." Ann was led to prevail with God that He would send water to the well by the following morning. The assurance came that her prayer was answered.

Next morning, Henry saw, to his great surprise and amusement, that Ann was on her way to the well with two empty pails in her hands. Hooking one of the pails to the windlass, she lowered it into what had been a bone-dry well not many hours before.

Now, instead of the thud of a pail striking the hard bottom, there was a splash as the pail hit what was quite a depth of water. Soon the two pails were filled to the brim, and Ann returned in a joyful triumph to the house.

It is reliably reported that never again was that well known to be dry either summer or winter.

From a tract printed by The Satisfying Portion, Mahaffey, Pa. (Used by permission)

I Hear Music, It's Heavenly Music

Rev. Paul Lucas told the following at a camp meeting at Hobe Sound, Florida:

Five years ago, I was holding a revival meeting in Ohio and when I gave the altar call, two elderly gentlemen came to the altar. One of them said, "I just wanted to come and pray, Brother Lucas." I said, "Well, you lead us, Brother."

The other was Brethren in Christ. He had a full beard and wore no tie. There was a beautiful smile on his face. I said, "Brother, can I help you?" He looked at me and said, "Brother Lucas, I'm so near the end of the journey, I just want to tell the Lord if I'm not doing what He wants me to, it's because of my ignorance, that I'm willing to do anything He wants me to do. That's why I'm here praying."

His wife, same age, said, "Brother Lucas, I'm ninety-seven years old, and I've served Jesus ninety years and I don't want to miss spending eternity with Him, so I'm just talking to Him."

Every night that I gave an altar call, that old couple was at the altar, and he'd say, "Well, I'm so near the end of the journey," and the tears would flow down his beard and he'd say, "Oh, Jesus, I'm all yours. Thou art the Potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me after Thy will while I am waiting, yielded and still."

The meeting closed on Sunday night. Wednesday morning they had their devotions and were sitting in their easy chair. He looked across the room and said, "Mother, did you turn the radio on?" She said, "No." He said, "Where is that music coming from?" She said, "Why, I don't hear any music." He said, "Oh, yes, I've never heard -- Oh, it's getting louder -- don't you hear it?" She said, "No, I don't hear it." He said, "I see Jesus. He's coming after me," and slumped in his chair.

I wonder would he have been ready had he not minded God.

On Thursday, the pastor and his wife went to the funeral home with her. They had outlived all their family. They were standing at the casket and she looked at her husband, and said, "You know if he was sitting in his easy chair, I'd declare he was just sleeping." She said, "Look! that's the way he smiled when he said, "I see Jesus! That smile has never left his face," She looked around at Sister Rice and said, "Did they turn the record player on?" She said, "No, there's no music," She said, "Oh, it's Heavenly music." Then she said, "I see Jesus. I'm going home, too." And Brother and Sister Rice caught her before she hit the floor. They prolonged the husband's funeral for two or three days, and had both funerals together.

But I wonder if they would have been ready had they not minded God during the revival.

(Are you minding God in all He has showed you to do? Our eternal destiny depends on it. Author)

Is Anything Too Hard for the Lord?

By Rev. Bruce Hawthorne

Our mission was started in the slums of Akron, Ohio, Within two blocks were twenty-two places to buy liquor.

The first night fifty-six men slept on the floor. The mattress was newspaper, with a songbook for a pillow. Seventeen beds were donated by friends. Men who were sober were given the beds. If they got drunk, we put them back on the floor. We tried to give them three meals a day; we gave clothing to the men and to needy families.

The mission had been in operation a few days. Soiled sheets were piling up. We carried them upstairs to the old washing machine. I said to one of the men, "Do you know anything about washing?" He said, "My mother always washed the sheets."

I said, "Do you use hot or cold water?" Nobody knew, so I said we'd play it safe and use warm. We packed the machine with sheets. I said, "How much soap?" Nobody knew. I put in six heaping cups. I plugged in the washer, pushed the handle, the agitator started up and made some of the prettiest suds you ever saw. I left the men to watch the machine. I said, "Call me in two hours. We'll see if they're clean."

I went to the basement and tried to pray. I was twenty years old and green as grass, trying to work with these men. I had to preach that night.

I heard someone rap on the door which we always left open to encourage the men to sit in the mission rather than in a bar. I thought he would try the knob and find out it was unlocked, so I kept on praying. He kept on knocking. I went upstairs, down through the chapel, looked through the glass door at a full-blooded Cherokee Indian.

I said, "Come in, Cherokee." He was as mad as he could be.

He had a butcher knife. He asked, "Is Raymond here?'

I said, "What do you want Raymond for?" He answered that he was going to slit his throat.

I said, "Oh, you wouldn't do that in church, would you?"

He said "I would do it anywhere. Is he here?"

He started past me. I figured I had to work quick. I reached over his shoulder, grabbed the knife by the back of the blade, jerked it out of his hand, and threw it on a pile of song books on a table behind me. He made a swing. I ducked, caught his hand, got up behind his back, grabbed him by the collar, and walked him outside. I said, "When you've cooled down, I'll give you back your knife." I slammed the door shut, locked it, and went back downstairs to pray for a message.

Then I heard someone call, "Come quick: Come quick:"

I ran up two flights of stairs, and there two men were holding the lid on the washer. One said, "The suds keep pushing the lid off." We dragged the machine over to the shower, turned on the water, and rinsed the sheets. (Not a conventional method, but it worked.)

It was a foggy, rainy day, so we strung up lines on the top floor.

I told the fellows to stay and blow on the sheets and I would go back and pray. I heard someone at the door. I thought, "That's Cherokee. He cannot be cooled off yet -- I'll just let him knock."

Someone said, "This is the police." That changed the story so I went upstairs, down through the chapel, and opened the door. There stood two policemen and a big crowd.

I said, "Can I help you, officer?"

He said, "We just wanted to make sure you're O.K. Cherokee came up to one of the bars and said he got in a fight with you and cut you up in little pieces."

I said, "Oh, he's mad because I took his knife away from him. I'll go get it for you."

He said, "We don't want the knife. We just wanted to make sure you were all right." And they were gone.

The next thing I knew, it was time for church. There I was on the platform, no message, wet sheets, no food for the men, and nobody to help. The devil said, "Boy, have you got it hard!" (He's a professional sympathizer.)

I got a songbook and found a song I thought I could sing without music. Halfway through one verse, I said, "Whoa:" Probably, you've never sung acapella with sixty drunks. Half a verse was enough.

I said, "I don't believe we'll sing tonight."

I wondered what I would do next when the door opened and a woman came in. They called her Annie. She was over six feet tall, about seventy years old, weighed perhaps ninety pounds, had one tooth, and wore a mini skirt. Her hair was all mussed up and she was drunk.

She began to sing and dance in the aisle of the chapel. The men started clapping their hands, stomping their feet, and sang with her, right on key. (I couldn't get five of them to sing the same verse.) She had all of them singing the same song. She went to the piano, sat down and began to play. (She really was talented.) I listened to the words, and walked over to her, and said, "Thank you, Annie. You can quit now." She kept right on. I grabbed the piano bench with her on it. I tried to carry her out. She pulled my hair and tried to bite me with that one tooth. I got her outside and locked the door. She wouldn't give me back the bench so I had to let her keep it.

I got back behind the pulpit and the devil said, "This is sacrilegious. (He's not only sympathetic, he's also very religious.) I thought, "I don't have a message. What am I going to do?" The devil said, "The sensible thing, everything considered, is to just quit." (He's very sensible.)

I grabbed a Bible and said, "Lord, if you've got a message for me, you'd better give it to me quick." My Bible fell open to one of the parables. I thought I would tell the story. I was ready to take my text when I heard a rap at the side door. I thought he would probably knock for fifteen minutes so I opened the door. There stood a man in a suit.

I said, "What can I do for you?"

He said, "My wife is a Christian. I woke up this morning, and she was getting out of bed. I asked her where she was going, and she said, 'God told me to do something.' Saturday is my day off, so I visited some friends. When I came home this evening, she had food all over the house. I said, "Woman what  
are you doing?" She said, "You wouldn't understand."

"At five o'clock, she started pacing the floor and praying, 'Lord, I know You told me to fix all this food. What am I going to do with it?' "

He said, "I was so mad. I was walking behind her. I said, 'You finally did it. You've gone over the hill. I knew you would the way you've been going after this religion, Look at all that waste, with heathen starving.' " Then I said, "Why don't you feed it to a bunch of drunks?" She said, "That's what God wants me to do! There's a new mission opened up in town. Call them on the phone. ' "

He said, "We tried to call you, but you didn't have a phone. Now, I've got all this food in the trunk of my car. Do you want it?"

Of course we did. I got a couple of sober fellows to carry it to the basement. I preached a fifteen minute message, and twelve men came to the altar. Just then, a stranger walked in nd handed me a twenty-dollar bill. I turned to one of the honest men and said, "Will you get this bill changed into dimes and get those sheets dried?" While he went to dry sheets, we had one of the best meals we ever had.

We had a message, twelve men at the altar, dry sheets, a good meal, and a whole pocket full of money left over. God said, "Is anything too hard for me?"

From "Word and Spirit" Hobe Sound, Fla. Used by permission of Rev. Hawthorne, Founder of Barberton Rescue Mission, Ohio

He Went Home Justified

"I tell you this man went down to his house justified" Luke 18:14a

My husband and I found him in the hospital, slowly dying with cancer. As part of our ministry, we endeavored to visit the hospital on a regular basis, even though none of our church members were hospitalized. Since Jr. had no church preference, and he lived in the same small town in which my husband was pastor, we made a special effort to visit him that day, and as a result, he and his wife became very close friends of ours.

Through the leading of the Holy Spirit, the conversation often led to spiritual things and the condition of their souls. Jr. always gave us the same answer, "I fully intend to get right with God someday, but not now." We admonished him in love, not to wait too long, for he could miss Heaven by his procrastination.

Much prayer and many times of fasting took place at the parsonage, as the burden deepened upon our spirits. Finally, one day such sweet assurance flooded my soul that Jr. would be saved.

But alas! Jr. almost waited too long. Two weeks following what he believed to be a successful surgery, he was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. When we reached his bedside, we found he was completely out of his head; the cancer had gone to his brain. He kept telling us, "those black cats marching across the foot of my bed are staring at me and some of them are satanically laughing at me."

Both my husband and I realized that death was "just around the comer." While in prayer at home that evening, God gave assurance that He would give Jr. one more chance to pray, even though his mind was so far gone.

During this crucial time, we were in the midst of a revival. I do believe, all during the service, a silent prayer was ascending the Throne of Grace, interceding for Jr. to get saved. The Lord impressed us to go back to the hospital following the service. Upon our arrival at the hospital, we found Jr. was even more out of his head than before. He had no idea who I was.

Several hours passed. About 1 A.M., he sat up in bed and talked about a beautiful city full of beautiful light. Then he cried out, "Oh, my feet are on fire: Someone put that fire out:"

Again I fervently prayed, "O, Lord, Thou didst give assurance that Jr. would have one more chance to pray, but his mind is not alert; wouldst Thou make his mind clear so he will know what he's doing?"

No sooner did I get that prayer finished, when suddenly Jr. cried out, "O, Sister Browning, you've finally come; I've been telling God I wanted you to come."

I talked to him and told him he had only a few minutes to understand what I was to say. Then I asked, "Jr., do you want to pray and ask Jesus to forgive you?" "Yes, O, yes," he cried, "but 1 don't know how to pray."

The Blessed Holy Spirit knew Jr. was sincere. The Lord impressed me to tell Jr. to repeat what I said. Until this day, I could never repeat what I prayed that early morning hour, but it was the Holy Spirit praying through me, having me say the words that Jr. needed. I prayed about ten or fifteen minutes with Jr. repeating every word. When the Blessed Spirit led me to finish praying, Jr. grasped my hand in both of his, and with tears streaming down his cheeks, he exclaimed, "O, Jesus has heard my prayer; that heavy load of sin is gone. I'm ready for Heaven now."

As soon as he gave that glorious testimony, his mind was gone again; he no longer knew who I was.

The next night, we stood by his bedside as we witnessed his soul being ushered to his heavenly home; a smile on his face.

What rejoicing must have taken place in Heaven when this once sin-sick soul, washed in the Blood of the Lamb and Redeemed, fully Justified as he triumphantly entered his heavenly home. Praise God forever:

Told by Marilyn Browning

I Shall Not Eat Nor Sleep Nor Rest

Until My Drunken Brother Is Saved

A young lady, a very delicate woman – looked as if she were about eaten up with tuberculosis – in the midst of a gracious revival, arose from the organ stool one night when we were about to dismiss the audience, saying, "Brother Harney, may I just say a few words?" We knew her to be a level-headed, sane young lady, one who did not go at things spasmodically, hence we granted her request. The tears were raining down her face; all could see that she was under a tremendous strain. She said, "Friends and neighbors and kinsmen, you have known me for twenty-seven years. I have taught your town school for seven years. I have been your organist for twelve years, but I am frank to say that I have never been so burdened in all my life. There is a burden upon my soul that is crushing the very life out of me. I have gladly watched, joyfully watched, these stalwart men rush to the altar and get saved. I have listened to their bright testimonies, and looked into their shining faces with a glad heart. I am rejoicing because God has answered mothers' prayers and saved their sons. The thought just stuck me - why should not my poor drunken brother get to God in this meeting? – and with the thought came this crushing burden, so I want to ask, I want to ask all of you Christians with our good pastor and the evangelist, to cry to God mightily in behalf of my poor drunken brother. I mean to fast. I shall not eat nor sleep nor rest until my drunken brother is sweetly saved."

As she sank in her chair, we looked at that tall woman, we looked into her pale face, and as she buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud, that great audience was moved. Men, stout men, sinners wept. Her father, an imminent lawyer, jumped to his feet, saying, "Daughter, you must retract, recall that rash vow. You are not able to fast. You cannot stand it. You are too weak physically. You have had nervous prostration, and you are bordering on a general breakdown, so I ask you, for your own sake and for your parent's sake, to now and here recall that rash vow."

She jumped to her feet and said in a low tone, "Precious father, I love you, I honor you because you are a Christian man; you have set a pious example before your family, but I must say that God has placed this awful burden upon my poor heart, and the Holy Ghost whispered this fast into my soul, and I promise the Triune God and my drunken brother never to swallow another mouthful of food, never to close my eyes again in slumber, until he is saved."

I at once exhorted the people to much prayer. I said to the pastor after the benediction, "We are both strong men. We must fast and pray. We must get under the burden. If the devil can harden this young man, get him the drunker and keep him from the altar and from getting saved, and this girl dies, it will hurt the cause. It will almost lock the doors of the revival. For Jesus' sake, for the young girl's sake, and for that drunken brother's sake, let us betake ourselves to wrestling, agonizing, soul-travail prayer."

We met the young lady in the vestibule the next morning. She said to us, "The body is weak, but my faith is strong." I met her the second morning. She said, "I am getting weak, but my faith is mounting up." We met her the third morning, and she said, "I'll not meet you in the morning unless my brother gets saved today. My body is growing awfully weak." The brother was pouring more red liquor down him; he was cursing, was awfully cross; cursed right in his own home.

The third night, before we preached we were led to have a short testimony service, and the last one to testify was this young lady. She arose and came forward from the choir to the chancel, and as she looked' out over that great audience, the tears streaming down her face, she said, "My dear neighbors, friends, kinsmen, pupils, and darling drunken brother, I, want you all to hear me, for I believe, honestly believe, that this will be my last testimony in this church. This is the third day I have fasted, and God only knows the heart agony. My body is awfully weak, but I purpose to die before I'll eat or sleep. The Holy Ghost put this on me, and I am going to let Him have His way. I want to say to my drunken brother, who is so drunk on the last pew in this church that he cannot sit up straight, that by tomorrow this time, my lips will be closed and my eyes, my hands will be folded across my peaceful breast, and I will be numbered with the dead. I want him to look into my closed eyes and lifeless face, and say, 'Sister died for me.' I want him to have this written on the slab, 'Sister died for me. '"

As she closed, she sank into her chair. The young man jumped to his feet. Leaning up against the rear end of the church, he cried out, "My God, sister, I can't stand it. How could I see you dead in the casket. How could I see you go down in the old cold grave? I have been miserable for three days, yes, I've been in hell. I have done my utmost to drown conviction, but it has gotten stronger until I can't stand it" - and that young man staggered down the aisle and fell at the altar. That sister threw her arms around him, and such a prayer, we never heard before. The young man threw up his hands, and face, and eyes, and oh, how he confessed! How he repented! How he begged God for pardon! How he begged his sister to forgive him: How he begged his parents to forgive him! He grabbed that sister in his arms; he ran up and down in the aisle, shouting, "If she hadn't fasted; if she hadn't prayed; if she hadn't kept at it, I would have gone to a drunkard's grave and a drunkard's hell." As they stood in that aisle, his arms around his sister, he said, "Good people, this woman prayed me through. I felt this was the time, and my last time. Had she let up, I would have been doomed, lost, damned forever and forever. They went home that night and had a midnight supper, and this brother said grace at the table.

This young lady had to cover up her eyes. She could not look at her father, for he was begging her to cease, to quit. She could not look at her neighbors, for they said, "It is radical." She could not look at her kinsmen, for some of them said, "You'll go crazy." Like Elijah, she covered up her face, hid her lookers; cried to God for three long days and nights, prayed clear through, and her drunken brother was gloriously, triumphantly saved. We must never look at environments; they cannot help us to pray through; they cannot inspire us; they can never bring the assurance of the witness, but they may dismay us, bring doubts and fearful foreboding. Peter looked at the waves, his surroundings, his environments, got his eyes off the Christ, and was sinking rapidly to a watery grave when Jesus Christ grasped his hand. Had Peter never looked at the waves, but looked straight ahead, looked at Christ, kept his eyes on the Master, he would have never sunk, never, no never. His lookers sunk him. His watching the mountain-top waves, sent him down.

(Let us keep our eyes on Jesus and believe as we pray! Author)

W. J. Harney in "Praying Clear Through"

It Took Great Tragedy for Velma to Obey God

About twenty years ago, God called me to hold Bible studies in the rest home, which I am still doing today. One day, I was speaking on how God sometimes has to send tragedies our way to wake us up and help us to obey Him. A lady, named Velma, raised her hand and asked to speak. Since I had respect for her, I granted her request. She always sat on the front bench and brought her Bible to the services, leading an exemplary life for others to follow. Here is her story:

She said that when her first baby was born, that she was in labor for three days and nights. She almost died as well as did her baby. She begged God to spare her and her little one, promising Him that she would serve Him if He would. God answered her prayer but she said she went on her wayward way and failed to get right with God as she had promised.

A few years later, she had heart failure and once more she came down to death's door. The doctors gave her up -- no hope at all. Once again, she cried to God, promising Him she would serve Him if He would only spare her life one more time. Again a merciful God heard her plea and answered her prayer. When she returned home to an unsaved husband, she again failed to mind God, but returned to a life of sin.

When her little boy, whom God had raised up, was eleven years old, some people from church took an interest in them, and invited them to church. They even bought clothes for the little boy since he didn't have decent ones to wear. Her son started attending and God got hold of his heart and he was gloriously saved. He started reading the Bible at home and tried to get his mother to attend church with him. She said she knew she needed to go to encourage her little boy, but again, she put it off.

Shortly after that, they went on an outing and her little boy was accidentally drowned. She told how she fell on her knees there at that body of water and began to scream out to God .She no longer cared if her husband saw her or anyone else. She was desperate.

Some one went and got her mother and brought her to the awful scene. When her mother saw her screaming out to God and found out her little grandson had drowned, she fell over dead.

Velma said she lost her little boy and her mother in the same day, but that's what it took to get her to obey God.

Thank God! Velma has hopes of seeing her little boy again, but what a cost! May everyone who reads this true story heed the warning and not play fast and loose with God.

Georgia McCain

On Angel Wings

Billy was reared around a family altar. As parents, we never urged our children to seek God in Christian experience, but prayerfully watched over them as they entered the age of accountability and came into the light of salvation. We never failed to answer carefully every Bible question they asked us. For three months before his conversion, Billy asked me many questions on the subjects of Heaven, hell, and the second coming of Jesus.

One morning at family prayer, his mother noticed that he was under conviction, and asked him if he did not want to be saved, to which he replied, "Yes." He then came to me as I was still kneeling in prayer, and throwing his arms around my neck, he said, "Daddy, I want to be saved." We told him to just repent of his sins, ask God to save him and believe Him to do it. Without hesitation, he lifted his face and hands to Heaven and prayed earnestly for forgiveness. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, and in a minute or two he came through into a definite experience and praised the Lord. From then to the day of his death, he never failed to pray each day till his soul was greatly blessed.

One day Billy ran a sliver into his foot. It was just a small puncture, and we never expected it to develop into a serious condition; but before we knew it, he was stricken with tetanus. The doctor was called but was unable to help him, and told us so from the beginning.

Believing in Divine healing, we called in two Christian elders to anoint and pray for him. When they prayed, God came in great blessing. We wept and praised God together, taking this as an evidence that God had answered in healing; however Billy did not recover but rather grew worse. Prayer was offered several times a day and attended by the same melting blessings. Heaven seemed to settle down on our little home. It was easy to pray and get blessed.

Frequently, Billy would call the family to prayer, and then call on each one by name, saying, "Mother, cry to God -\- Gladys, cry to God -- Doris, cry to God -- Daddy, cry to God." Then he would pour out his soul to God in prayer, and with tears flowing he would plead for the salvation of others. He would especially pray for one young girl in the community. She had mysteriously disappeared from her home, and Billy would so earnestly pray that God would bring her back and save her. This prayer was answered after Billy had slipped away to Heaven.

In his intense suffering he was an example of patience. He was conscious that he was not going to live, and one day he asked me to carry him from his bed to the couch. 1 did so, and then he asked me to bring him all his playthings, and the few pennies he possessed. After bringing them to him, I said, "Billy, do you want to play with them?" His reply was, "No, I will not need them anymore. Give them all to Malcolm for me." Thus he made his will.

He said, "I am going to die, but do not tell Mother; it will hurt her." How thoughtful he was in everything! His will made, he asked me to carry him back to his bed. While I had him in my arms, he testified with these words, "God has given me a clean heart." How wonderful! God can give every child a clean heart. That is what we all must have to get to Heaven; and God is willing to give it to us, if we but come to Him with an humble and contrite spirit.

After this, Billy called his little brother to him, and asked him to get on his knees and pray. Malcolm kneeled beside the bed, and Billy put his hand on his head and prayed earnestly for his salvation. Malcolm had not come to the years of accountability and did not understand it all; but in one year from then, at his first light, he followed me to the altar and prayed through as clearly as had Billy .

One day I noticed Billy seemed to have a cloud over his soul, but I thought it might be because of his suffering, as he was drawing near to the hour of his death, which came the following night. He kept his soul test and suffering to himself as long as he could, and then, looking up into my face, and in deepest despair, he said, "Daddy, I guess I will have to give up and go down to hell." The devil was tempting him to doubt his salvation and give up his hope of Heaven. The devil is a roaring lion and goes about seeking whom he may devour. He is the accuser of the brethren; but he is a liar and can be defeated by our testimony, and by pleading the blood of Jesus. Call on Jesus and Satan must leave. Oh, how I hated the devil for trying to get my little boy to doubt God and his experience, when so near eternity. But I knew that there was one way of escape, so I told Billy that it was just a temptation and the way through was to point the devil to the Blood of Jesus and to where Christ had saved him. We went to prayer, and in a very short time, he was again rejoicing in victory.

That was not his last test, for just before death came over him, he was again tested. This time, as before, he looked to me and said, 'Daddy, I do not want to go into a hole in the ground.' Death, you know, is an enemy. But Jesus overcame death for us, and has promised us through His Resurrection that glorious Easter morning that His children would also, overcome death, and be resurrected as He was. We have the promise in God's Holy Word, "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." Thank God, the day is coming when there will be no more death. Upon seeing the devil attacking him even in the very article of death itself, I said to him, "No Billy, you are not going into a hole in the ground; that is just your little body. Jesus is coming for you, and will take you to Heaven."

Then I kneeled by his dying bed and read the Scripture to him from Revelations 7: 17: "These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." Revelations 21:4-7 "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new. And he said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful. He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be my son."

Billy held onto every word that he heard read, and then we went to prayer again. As usual Billy closed the prayer, and came through praising God. The friends that had gathered asked him to pray for them, so he prayed for each one who asked him. We lingered on our knees, as we saw that he was fast sinking into death. Suddenly, he saw Heaven opened and raising the one arm that he could use, he pointed upward and cried with delight, "Daddy, look! Jesus!" Jesus had come for him. His face was shining with a heavenly light as he rejoiced and praised God. We all joined in praising the Lord with him. I looked in the direction he was pointing, and when I turned back, I saw my oldest daughter with her shining face turned heavenward, rapt and blest. She saw through into the heavens as though there were no roof on the house, and beheld the dazzling light of glory. Others saw a flash of light, but Billy saw Jesus. Heaven was so near and the presence of God too wonderful for words to describe. In death, Billy was more than conqueror, and we were uplifted and comforted as we rejoiced in his blessedness. His battles were fought and his victories won.

At this time, two doctors came in and were about to inject a serum into his arm. He begged them to do no more for him, but to let him go. His mother asked, "But Billy, do you not want to stay with Daddy and mother?" He cried, "No, I want to go to Heaven." Looking into the glory world and beholding the sweet face of Jesus made him forget the hole in the ground. Home and parents had also lost their attractions for him. A better home and a loving Heavenly Father were just in sight.

After about twenty minutes, the heavens opened again, and his two little brothers who had preceded him to Glory came to the battlements of Heaven to greet his coming. Yes, Heaven is a real place and we will know each other there. When Billy saw them, he said, "Well, there's Wilbur." Wilbur went to Heaven at the age of two and one-half years, when Billy was only six weeks old. They did not know each other in life, but in Heaven they knew each other and that by name. Immediately.after seeing Wilbur, Billy saw, his other brother and cried with delight, "Well hello, Melvin," just like greeting an old playmate. And indeed they had been the greatest of playmates until God took Melvin to Heaven at the age of two years.

Billy then went into an inarticulate conversation that we could not understand. I suppose it was the language of Heaven; but once in awhile, the Lord let him break out in language clear to us. He raised his hand partway with great effort and said, "Reach your hand a little farther, Melvin, so I can get hold of it." His body was now, an encumbrance and holding him back. Then he later said, "Come here, Malcolm; Melvin wants to see you." Malcolm, who is still with us, is Melvin's twin brother. Think of it; Melvin in Heaven wanted to see his twin brother on earth. Mother went to bring Malcolm to the bedside, for we were experiencing so many wonders we did not know what might be revealed next. But God had put him into such a deep sleep that he could not be awakened, no matter how much Mother tried; so returning, she told Billy that Malcolm could not come for he was asleep and she could not awaken him. Billy spoke again to his brother, saying in a disappointed tone of voice, "Malcolm cannot come now, but he will see you in the morning."

Billy soon lost consciousness, and after a while, slipped away to that Heavenly Home. We shall meet him, and all the other loved ones in the morning over there. Praise God forever!

Written by Billy's Father, Rev. William Beirnes - Used by permission.

A Pea-Patch Revival

This is about a young man who got saved and became one of my best helpers in the church. His background was very bad, for he came from one of the "hollers" where most of the folk made whiskey, were hard drinkers and in many ways seemed to be beyond redemption. However, Frank had really gotten saved and his entire life was changed. Now all that he wanted to do was to win some more from the "holler" to the Lord. How this would happen, neither of us ever dreamed, but we pledged to pray for it anyway.

Some weeks after Frank was saved, I was in my room one Monday afternoon, when I was called to the door. There stood Frank with his face all beaming and as soon as I saw him I knew that something had happened in the community.

"Preacher," he blurted out, "we want you to be in our revival tonight and to preach for us."

To say that I was astonished would be a very mild expression. Where was there a revival on, and how did Frank get so involved in it that he simply bubbled over? So I asked, "Where is the revival on, Frank? How did it get started?"

He then told me one of the most amazing stories that I have ever heard. My, how I wish that I could hear some more of them now-a-days. This is the substance of his story.

Frank did not know how to approach the men in the holler about their salvation, but he did begin to talk with his mother as often as possible. She did not seem very interested but neither did she fight back. So Frank kept on witnessing.

One day, he and his mother were up on the side of a hill picking peas. As they moved along down the rows of peas, Frank would talk to his mother about Heaven, hell, death and her need of getting saved. Suddenly, without warning, his mother set her basket down, picked up the comer of her apron and wiped the tears from her eyes, and said, "You don't need to say anymore, Frank. I've got to get saved. Pray for me."

Without a moment's hesitation, she fell on her knees and started weeping and begging God to save her from sin. Frank joined in the praying, and before long they were both shouting all over that hill-side. The noise attracted the attention of some of the neighbors, and they came running to see what the trouble might be. When they came on the grounds, most of them were seized with conviction and begged Frank to pray for them. That went on for the remainder of the day. Several of them seemed to have really gotten saved.

By night fall, the news had spread through that entire holler, and people began to come from all directions to see what was going on. Nothing like this had ever happened in that holler before. With the coming of a large crowd, they moved to a space in front of the simple, little house. From the very rickety front porch, Frank witnessed to the folk and urged all of them to seek the Lord before they died and went to hell. I am sure that his words were plain and direct and no one had any difficulty in understanding that if they went on in sin, an awful hell awaited them. Several more sought the Lord before the meeting broke up for the night.

The next night they gathered again in the simple front yard of Frank's house. From the porch he would try to lead them in some songs, pray for the help of the Lord and then exhort for a short time. Without any fanfare, beautiful singing or planned methods of giving an invitation, moonshiners, bootleggers, gamblers, thieves, and about every other type of sinner had been saved. After two or three such services, Frank did not even need to give an exhortation. They were so eager to tell what the Lord had done for them that they simply started testifying, then others would get under conviction and come forward, and kneel down by the steps seeking the Lord. That was their meeting, and no one really knows how many had been saved already.

Now, Frank had decided that they need someone to preach to them, so he had come for me.

After hearing his story, I said, "Frank, I'll be there tonight and every night that I can, but I will not promise to preach. God is doing a marvelous work in the holler, and I would not lift my hand in any way to hinder it. I will come but do not even mention me or the fact that I am a minister. The presence of an outsider and especially a preacher might put a damper on the services. I'll be there, and if the Lord puts it on me to preach, I will simply mind the Lord as the others are doing. That is the only way that the Lord will bless, and we surely do want Him to continue moving among our people."

That night I dressed in very plain clothes, for I was going among backward people who did not feel at ease with those who appeared to have more than they. When I arrived, I blended in with the crowd of people and stayed out of the way as much as I could. Frank followed my advice and did not even mention my presence nor that there was a preacher in the crowd. When the time for the service came, he simply walked up onto the porch and started singing, "Amazing Grace." Slowly those who knew it took up the song and they struggled through two or more verses. Before the singing had ended, some lady had let out a shout, and was bouncing up and down in a manner that one could not do without the aid of the Holy Spirit. She had hardly begun to shout and praise the Lord until some man started testifying about what the Lord had done for him and how the Lord put him to the test by telling him to destroy his moonshine still -- which he had done that day. Again, I wonder what has happened to folk today -- they get saved -- so they say -- but never feel led to clean house, to get rid of their sinful things or even to change their way of living. Me-thinks there is something wrong with that kind of a profession.

Then the dam seemed to break, and one after another told in their quaint way of the leading of the Lord and His blessings upon them during that day. Occasionally, as the service went on, someone would rush down to the steps of the porch, kneel on the ground there and begin to pray. Then, some of the folk would gather around and help them pray until they got through. When they did get through, no one had to tell them they were saved, for they knew it themselves, and no one had to ask if they got through, for it was always very evident.

As I watched this scene -- and saw how God moved among these simple, yet very sinful people, it was all that I could do to keep from having a shouting spell. But for fear the presence and participation of a stranger might have a cold effect, I praised God silently and stayed in the background. Seldom have I seen God work any more miraculous things than I saw there in that sinful holler.

After the first service was over, Frank introduced me to the people, and I told them of my joy in seeing them getting saved and minding the Lord. I urged them to be faithful and to go deeper with God, allowing Him to baptize them with the Holy Spirit and cleanse their hearts of the carnal nature. Of course, I invited them to come to the church services, and many of them became regular attendants after that. Sad to say, although the church was only three miles away, some of them let me know that I was the first pastor from that community church that had ever been in the holler or invited any of them to attend the church services.

As I look back over the more than 48 years of our ministry now, I remember some of the simple folk who minded God and were blessed by Him in unusual ways. Perhaps it is old age, but I get home-sick at times to see again some of that simple, childlike faith and obedience that used to characterize the true people of God.

Taken from Rev. D.P. Denton's book, "It Happened in Some Funny Ways" Used by permission

Charlie Coulson, the Drummer Boy

A Christian Hero of the American War

Told by Dr. M. L. Rossvally

Two or three times in my life, God in His mercy touched my heart, and twice before my conversion, I was under deep conviction.

During the American War, I was surgeon in the United States Army, and after the Battle of Gettysburg, there were many hundreds of wounded soldiers in the hospital, twenty-eight of whom had been wounded so severely that they required my services at once; some whose legs had to be amputated, some their arms, and others both their arm and leg. One of the latter was a boy who had been but three months in the service, and being too young for a soldier, had enlisted as a drummer. When my assistant surgeon and one of my stewards wished to administer chloroform previous to the amputation, he turned his head aside and positively refused to receive it. When the steward told him that it was the doctor's orders he said, "Send the doctor to me."

When I came up to his bedside I said, "Young man, why do you refuse chloroform? When I found you on the battlefield, you were so far gone that I thought it hardly worthwhile to pick you up, but when you opened those large blue eyes, I thought you had a mother somewhere who might at that moment be thinking of her boy. I did not want you to die on the field, so I ordered you to be brought here; but you have now lost so much blood that you are too weak to endure an operation without chloroform. Therefore you had better let me give you some."

He laid his hand on mine, and looking me in the face said: "Doctor, one Sunday afternoon in the Sunday school, when I was nine-and-a-half years old, I accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Saviour. I learned to trust Him then. I have been trusting Him ever since, and I know I can trust Him now. He is my strength and my stay; He will support me while you amputate my arm and my leg."

I then asked him if he would allow me to give him a little brandy. Again he looked me in the face saying, "Doctor, when I was about five years old, my mother knelt by my side with her arm around my neck and said, 'Charlie I am now praying to the Lord Jesus that you may never know the taste of strong drink. Your dear father died a drunkard, went down to the drunkard's grave, and I promised God, if it was his will that you should grow up, that you should warn young men against the bitter cup.' I am now seventeen years old but I have never tasted anything stronger than coffee and tea, and as I am, in all probability, about to go into the presence of my God, would you send me there smelling with brandy?"

The look that boy gave me I shall never forget. At that time, I hated Jesus, but I respected that boy's loyalty to his Saviour, and when I saw how he loved and trusted Him to the last, there was something that touched my heart, and I did for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier. I asked him if he wished to see his chaplain. "Oh yes, sir" was the answer.

When Chaplain R.- came, he at once knew the boy from having often met him at the tent prayer meetings, and taking his hand, said, "Well, Charlie, I am sorry to see you in this sad condition."

"Oh," I am all right, sir," he answered. "The doctor offered me chloroform but I declined it, then he wished to give me brandy, which I also declined, and now, if my Saviour calls me, I am ready, and can go to Him in my right mind."

"You may not die, Charlie," said the chaplain; "but if the Lord should call you away, is there anything I can do for you after you are gone?"

"Chaplain, please put your hand under my pillow and take my little Bible, in which you will find my mother's address. Please send it to her, and write a letter, and tell her that since the day I left home I have never let a day pass without reading a portion of God's Word, and daily praying that God would bless my dear mother, no matter whether I was on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital."

"Is there anything else that I can do for you, my lad?" asked the chaplain.

"Yes, please write a letter to the superintendent of the Sands Street Sunday School, Brooklyn, N.Y., and tell him the kind words, many prayers, and good advise he gave me I have never forgotten; they have followed me through all the dangers of battle, and now, in my dying hour, I ask my Saviour to bless my dear old superintendent; that is all."

Turning towards me he said, "Now, doctor, I am ready, and I promise you that I will not even groan while you take off my arm and leg if you will not offer me chloroform."

I promised, but I had not the courage to take the knife in my hand to perform the operation without first going to the next room and taking a little stimulant to nerve myself to perform my duty. While cutting through the flesh, Charlie Coulson never groaned, but when I took the saw to separate the bone, the lad took the comer of his pillow in his mouth, and all that I could hear him utter was, "O Jesus, blessed Jesus, stand by me now!" He kept his promise and never groaned.

That night, I could not sleep, for whichever way I turned I saw those soft blue eyes, and when mine closed, the words, "Blessed Jesus, stand by me now," kept ringing in my ears. Between twelve and one o'clock, I left my bed and visited the hospital, a thing I had never done before unless specially called, but such was my desire to see that boy, Upon my arrival there, I was informed by the night stewards that sixteen of the hopeless cases had died, and had been carried down to the dead-house.

"How is Charlie Coulson? Is he among the dead?" I asked. "No, sir," the steward answered, "he is sleeping as sweetly as a babe."

When I came up to the bed where he lay, one of the nurses informed me that about nine o'clock, two members of the Young Men's Christian Association came through the hospital to read and sing a hymn. They were accompanied by Chaplain R- ,who knelt by Charlie's bed, and offered up a fervent and soul stirring prayer, after which they sang, while still upon their knees, the sweetest of all hymns, "Jesus Lover of my Soul," in which Charlie joined in. I could not understand how that boy, who had undergone such excruciating pain, could sing.

Five days after I had amputated that boy's arm and leg, he sent for me, and it was from him that I heard the first Gospel sermon. "Doctor," he said, "my time has come, I do not expect to see another sunrise, but thank God, I am ready to go, and before I die, I desire to thank you with all my heart for your kindness to me. Doctor, you are a Jew, you do not believe in Jesus; will you please stand here and see me die, trusting my Saviour to the last moment of my life?"

I tried to stay, but I could not, for I had not the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy die rejoicing in the love of that Jesus whom I had been taught to hate, so I hurriedly left the room. About twenty minutes later, a steward who found me sitting in my private office covering my face with my hand, said, "Doctor, Charlie Coulson wishes to see you."

"I have just seen him," I answered, "And I cannot see him again."

"But Doctor, he says he must see you once more before he dies." I made up my mind to see him, say an endearing word, and let him die, but I was determined that no word of his should influence me in the least so far as his Jesus was concerned. When I entered the hospital, I saw he was sinking fast, so I sat down by his bed. Asking me to take his hand, he said, "Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew; the best Friend I have found in this world was a Jew."

I asked, "Who was that?" He answered, "Jesus Christ, to whom I want to introduce you before I die, and will you promise me, Doctor, that what I am about to say to you, you will never forget?"

I promised, and he said, "Five days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ to save your soul."

These words went deep into my heart. I could not understand how, when I was causing him the most intense pain, he could forget all about himself, and think of nothing but this Saviour and my unconverted state. All I could say to him was "Well, my dear boy, you will soon be all right." With these words I left him, and twelve minutes later, he fell asleep, "Safe in the arms of Jesus."

Hundred of soldiers died in my hospital during the war, but I only followed one to the grave - that one was Charlie Coulson, the drummer boy; and I rode three miles to see him buried. I had him placed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer's coffin with a new US flag over it.

The dear boy's dying words made a deep impression upon me. I was rich at that time, so far as money is concerned, but I would have given every penny I possessed if I could have felt towards Christ as Charlie did; but that feeling cannot be bought with money. For several months after Charlie's death, I could not get rid of the words of that dear boy. They kept ringing in my ears, but being in the company of worldly officers, I gradually forgot the sermon Charlie preached in his dying hour, but I never could forget his wonderful patience under acute suffering and his simple trust in that Jesus whose Name to me at that time was a by-word and a reproach.

For ten long years, I fought against Christ with all the hatred of an orthodox Jew until God in His mercy brought me in contact with a Christian barber, who proved himself a second instrument in my conversion to God.

(Through the witness and concern of this Christian barber, and because of Charlie Coulson's witness years before, Dr. Rossvally at last surrendered his life completely to God. When He told his wife how he had turned to Jesus as his Saviour, because of how she had been taught about Jesus, she left him. But the doctor stayed true and prayed earnestly for his family and after fifty-four days, God wonderfully saved his wife. She sent him the following telegram, "Dear Husband come home at once. I thought you were wrong and I was right, but I have found out you are right and I was in the wrong. Your Christ is my Messiah, your Jesus my Saviour. Last night, at nineteen minutes past eleven, while on my knees for the first time in my life, the Lord Jesus saved my soul." A year and nine months later, she died, but because of Dr. Rossvally's faithfulness, not only his wife, but his children were saved \-- all because of Charlie Coulson and the Christian's witness. Thank God for faithful witnessing, -\- Let's continue with Dr. Rossvally's story.)

About eighteen months after my conversion, I attended a prayer meeting one evening in the city of Brooklyn. It was one of those meetings when Christians testify to the loving kindness of their Saviour. After several of them had spoken, an elderly lady arose and said, "Dear friends, this may be the last time it is my privilege to testify for Christ. My family physician told me yesterday that my right lung is very nearly gone and my left lung is very much affected, so, at the best, I have but a short time to be with you, but what is left of me belongs to Jesus. Oh! it is a great joy to know that I shall meet my boy with Jesus in Heaven. My son was not only a soldier for his country, but a soldier for Christ. He was wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, and fell into the hands of a Jewish doctor, who amputated his arm and leg, but he died five days after the operation. The chaplain of the regiment wrote me a letter and sent my boy's Bible. In that letter I was informed that my Charlie in his dying hour sent for that Jewish doctor and said to him, 'Doctor, before I die, I wish to tell you that five days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ to save your soul. '"

When I heard this lady's testimony, I could sit still no longer. I left my seat, crossed the room, and taking her by the hand, said, "God bless you, my dear sister; your boy's prayer has been heard and answered. I am the Jewish doctor for whom your Charlie prayed and his Saviour is my Saviour." A Heavenly fervor spread over the meeting at the affecting sight of a Jew and a Gentile being made one in Christ Jesus, and realized His wondrous power in enabling the dying boy to manifest the Spirit of his Master in praying for the enemies of the Cross; in the wonderful answer to the dying lad's prayer and in the glorious prospect of the reunion of the great ransomed multitude which no man can number out of every kindred and tongue and people and nation.

And there among the saved at last,

For ever blest and glad,

The mother dear and doctor saved

Shall meet the drummer lad.

Used by permission - Chapel Library - Pensacola, Florida.

Helen Ewan

(The Marvelous Influence of a Spirit-Filled Life)

By James A. Stewart

When I was saved during a mighty movement of the Spirit of God in Glasgow, Scotland, a young lady was also saved. Her name was Helen Ewan. She was just a slip of a girl, but at the very threshold of her new life in Christ, she crowned Him as absolute Lord and was filled with the Spirit - a definite expenence.

"Be filled with the Spirit"

Ephesians 5: 18

"In the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto Me, and drink. He that believeth on Me, as the Scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water. (But this spake He of the Spirit, which they that believe on Him should receive: for the Holy Ghost was not yet given; because that Jesus was not yet glorified)" John 7:37-39.

The rivers of living water just simply flowed from that young girl's life.

Although she died at the age of 22, all Scotland wept. I know hundreds of missionaries all over the world wept and mourned for her.

She had mastered the Russian language and was expecting to labor for God in Europe. She had no outstanding personality; she never wrote a book, nor composed a hymn; she was not a preacher and never traveled more than 200 miles from her home. But when she died, people wrote about her life story. Although she died early in life, she had led a great multitude to Jesus Christ.

She arose early each morning about 5 o'clock to study God's Word, to commune, and to pray. She prayed for hundreds of missionaries. Her mother showed me her diary - one of her diaries - and there were at least 300 different missionaries for whom she was praying.

It showed how God had burdened that young heart with a ministry of prayer. She had the date when she started to pray for a request, and then the date when God answered her petition. She had a dynamic prayer life that moved God and moved man.

I was talking one day with two university professors in London City. We were talking about dynamic Christianity, when one of them suddenly said, "Brother Stewart, I want to tell you a story." And he told me that in Glasgow, University there was a remarkable young lady, who, wherever she went on that campus, she left a fragrance of Christ behind her.

For example, if the students were telling dirty stories, someone would say, "Sh-h-h Helen is coming - quiet." And then she passed by and unconsciously left the power behind her.

The University professor told me how, in her prayer meetings they could always tell when this young lady entered the room. She did not even have to take part in prayer. The moment she entered the room, the whole of the meeting was revolutionized by the mighty power, of God. "And," said the professor, "She led many of those students to Jesus Christ." She was the greatest power for God that he ever knew in his life.

I said, "Sir, that could only be one person. That was Helen Ewan." He said that was the name of the young lady.

I have been out on the streets of Glasgow at midnight, in the awful cold winter night, giving out tracts and doing personal soul-winning, and as I was going home, I have seen Helen Ewan with her arms around a poor, drunken harlot, and telling her of Jesus and His love.

Friends, she led a great multitude to Jesus Christ. And when I went many years later to the place of her burial, one of the grave-diggers said, "Preacher, I'll never forget when that young lady was buried here. When I was burying that body, I felt the presence of God all over this place."

One night, we were all having a social evening together, young people rejoicing in the Lord, and having a good time, when my wife said, "Is that Helen Ewan's photograph on the mantelpiece?"

Suddenly there was a dead silence and she said, "Jim, have I said anything wrong?" All the laughing ceased and one by one, without a word, we dropped down on our knees and began to pray:

Think of it, years after she had gone home to Heaven, her name was so influential and so powerful. Oh, friends, I believe that this spirit-filled life is for every child of God:

(Taken from a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, PO Box 126, Randleman, N.C. 27317. Used by permission.)

The Shoemaker and the Little White Shoes

I write down the following story from memory. It was related by one of the original Crusaders of Ohio in an audience where I was present.

One morning, during the crusade, a drunkard's wife came to my door. She carried in her arms a baby, six weeks old. Her pale, pinched face was sad to see; and she told me this sorrowful story: "My husband is drinking himself to death. He is lost to all human feelings. Our rent is unpaid; we are liable to be put out into the streets; and there is no food in the house for me and the children. He has a good trade, but his earnings all go into the saloon on the corner near us. He is becoming more and more brutal and abusive. We seem to be on the verge of ruin. How can I, feeble as I am, with a babe in my arms, earn bread for myself and children?"

Quick as thought, the question came to me, and I asked it. "Why not have this husband of yours converted?"

But she answered, hopelessly, "Oh, there is no hope of such a thing. He cares for nothing but strong drink."

"I will come and see him this afternoon," I said.

"He'll insult you." she said.

"No matter," said I, "my Saviour was insulted; and His servant is not above his Lord."

That very afternoon I called at the little tenement house.

The husband was at work at his trade in a back room, and his little girl was sent to tell him that a lady wished to see him. The child, however, soon returned with the message, "My pa says he won't see anyone."

But I sent him a message proving that I was in earnest. I said, "Go back and tell your pa that a lady wishes to see him on very important business; and she must see him if she has to stay till after supper."

I knew very well there was nothing in the house to eat. A moment afterward, a poor, bloated, besotted wreck of a man stood before me.

"What do you want?" he demanded as he came shuffling into the room.

"Please be seated and look at this paper, I answered, pointing to a vacant chair at the other end of the table where I was sitting and handing a printed pledge to him.

He read it slowly and then, throwing it down on the table, broke out violently, "Do you think I'm a fool? I drink when I please. I'm not going to sign away my personal liberty."

"Do you think you can stop drinking?"

"Yes, I could if I wanted."

"On the contrary, I think you are a slave to the rum shop down on the comer."

"No, I ain't any such thing."

"I'll think, too, that you love the saloon keeper's daughter better than you do your own little girl."

"No, I don't either."

"Well, let us see about that. When I passed the saloon keeper's house I saw his little girl coming down the steps; and she had on white shoes and a white dress and a blue sash. Your money helped to buy them. I came here; and your little girl, more beautiful than she, has on a faded, ragged dress; and her feet are bare."

"That's so, madam."

"And you love the saloon keeper's wife better than you do your own wife. When I passed the saloon keeper's house, I saw his wife come out with the little girl. She was dressed in silks and laces, and a carriage waited for her. Your money helped to buy the silks and laces and the horses and carriage. I came here and found your wife in a faded calico gown, doing her work. If she goes anywhere, she must walk."

"You speak the truth, madam."

"You love the saloon keeper better than you love yourself. You say you can keep from drinking if you choose, but helped the saloon keeper to build himself a fine brick house; and you live in this poor, tumble down old house yourself."

"I never saw it in that light before."

Then holding out his hand that shook like an aspen leaf, he continued, "You speak the truth, madam; I am a slave. Do you see that hand? I've got a piece of work to finish, and I must have a mug of beer to steady my nerves; or I cannot do it. But tomorrow if you call, I will sign the pledge."

"That's a temptation of the devil. I did not ask you to sign the pledge. You are a slave and cannot help it. But I do want to tell you this; there is One who can set you free."

"I want to be free."

"Well, Christ can set you free if you'll submit to Him and let Him break the chains of sin and the appetite that bind you."

"It's been many a long year since I prayed."

"No matter. The sooner you begin the better for you."

He threw himself at once upon his knees; and, while I prayed, I heard him sobbing out the cry of his soul to God.

His wife knelt beside me and followed me in earnest prayer. The words were simple, broken with sobs, but somehow they went straight up from a crushed heart to God; and the poor man began to cry in earnest for mercy.

"O God! Break these chains that are burning into my soul: Pity me, and pity my wife and children; and break the chains that are dragging me down to hell. Oh God! Be merciful to me a sinner." And thus out of the depths he cried to God; and He heard him, and broke every chain and lifted every burden. He arose a free and redeemed man.

When he arose from his, knees, he said, "Now I'll sign the pledge and keep it."

And he did. A family altar was established; the comforts of life there soon secured - for he had a good trade - and two weeks after this scene, his little girl came into husband's Sunday school with white shoes and a white dress and a blue sash on, as a token that her father's money no longer went into the  
saloon keeper's till.

But, what struck me most of all was that it took less than two hours of my time to be an ambassador for Christ in declaring the terms of Heaven's great treaty whereby a soul was saved from death, a multitude of sins were covered, and a home was restored to purity and peace.

By Frances E. Dillard (Taken from a tract by Old Paths Tract Society, Shoals, Ind. 47581)

A Wonderful Midnight Ride

Let me tell you about one of the most blessed experiences that I have ever had. Even though I have to relate the story of the death of a truck driver, the end of the story was a wonderful experience to me. It all began on the night of a terrible blizzard when I got put out in the storm.

I was holding a revival in a city some thirty miles from my home. It was during the. days of gas rationing, and in order to save gas, I was riding the bus back and forth to the services part of the time. It was winter time, and we had gotten some snow and sleet during the meeting. Then one night when I left the Hall, where the services were being held, I discovered that we had a bad blizzard on, and walking the two blocks to the bus station was a real task.

In order to get home on the bus, I rode about twenty-three miles to another town and changed to a city bus which would take me within about one hundred yards of my house. On this particular night, we had stayed late helping people to pray and seek God at the altar of prayer, and I was late getting away from the service. Upon reaching the town where I changed over to the city buses, I just did make the last bus for the night. They did not run after midnight. So I climbed on and settled down for the ride to my home as I had done before. Suddenly it dawned on me that something was wrong, and upon checking, I learned that I had made a mistake and had gotten on the wrong bus. This bus did go in the same direction as my house, but it did not go that far. When we got to the end of the line and the bus turned around, the driver said, "Preacher, I sure hate to put you out in this weather, but I am not allowed to go off my route. I sure wish that I could take you home, but I can't, and there aren't any other buses running out there tonight."

I thanked him for his concern and climbed off the bus knowing that I was three miles from home, and the blizzard was no less severe than it had been when I left the church. So I pulled my coat about me, braced myself against the wind and I started down the road as best I could. Naturally, I wondered why the Lord had allowed me to make a mistake and to get put out here in the blizzard three miles from home. I cannot say that I complained about it, but was puzzled as to how and why it happened.

Moving slowly down the highway in the wind and snow, I moved over to the side to allow a big tractor-trailer rig to pass as it, too, was going slowly down the road. But he did not pass me. Instead, the big rig came to a slippery halt, the door flew open, and a booming voice said, "Get in out of the weather." Of course, I was mighty happy to do so, and brushing the snow off as best I could, I climbed in and sat down.

When the driver had closed the door and gotten started down the road slowly again, he asked, "What are you doing out here in this blizzard at this hour of the night?" So I told him who I was and how I came to be out there in that condition. When I told my name, he said, "Why, I know about you. My wife listens to your radio broadcast."

That opened up the subject, and I inquired, "Is your wife a Christian?" "Yes, she is, Preacher, and she is one of the finest women I have ever seen. She really loves God, and is a real Christian." His answer was truly enthusiastic.

With that as a starter, I ventured to ask, "And what about your wife's husband? Is he a Christian?"

His manner changed with that and in a much more subdued tone, he said, "Well, Preacher, I'm not right with God. I used to be, but I guess you would call me a backslider."

"Then, Friend," I said, "maybe the Lord put me out here in this blizzard tonight to help you get straightened out with Him. I was just trying to figure out why He would let me make a mistake and take the wrong bus and end up out here on the highway on a night like this. It must have been to help you get back to God."

Thus we continued the conversation as he skillfully and cautiously drove the big rig down the highway. He did not seem to resent my approach to him about the Lord, and agreed with me that he ought to get back to God. He was very kind and approachable, so when we finally came to the place where I was to leave him, I said, "Fellow, I deeply appreciate you picking me up, and I really believe that the Lord put me out here tonight to talk to you. There isn't any other vehicles on the road to bother us. Why don't you put on the emergency brake, and let's have a good prayer meeting, and you ask the Lord to forgive you and to take you back?"

Without a moment's hesitation, he reached over and pulled up the emergency brake, and then bowed over on the steering wheel and began to pray. I bowed against the dash of that truck and helped him to call on God whom he had failed and to whom he was now seeking to return. It did not take long, and soon he had his head up telling me that God had forgiven him and that he was saved once again. What a time we had out there in that tractor that night. We must have spent quite a bit of time praising God and thanking Him for restoring him to His Kingdom.

When I finally got out to go to my house, he said, "Preacher, if I don't see you anymore in this world, I'll see you in Heaven," and with that he drove away. I went over to my house just hitting the high places, and thanking God for putting me out in the blizzard that night. But I did not know the full story of why God had done that until three days later.

On the third day after that, I picked up the morning paper and was glancing at the headlines when a small heading on the bottom of the front page caught my attention. There was a name there that I recognized, and I read the real reason that God had put me out that night.

The truck driver had pulled his big rig through to a southern city; had unloaded and without sufficient rest, had started back north toward home with another load. That was before the days when these drivers were required to rest a certain amount of time. Driving back through Tennessee, he had gotten sleepy, and had pulled his rig off to the side of the road to get some sleep. It was cold weather, and he had left the motor running to keep himself warm. In his sleep, the poisonous fumes had filtered into the cabin where just a short time before, he had found the Lord, and he died in his sleep. The paper told that the funeral services were to be conducted at a certain funeral home in a city some distance from my home at two o'clock that afternoon.

When I saw that, I had to go to that funeral, and so as quickly as possible, I prepared and left for that city. I arrived at the funeral home just a few minutes before time for the service, and going in, inquired of the funeral director, as to which lady was the widow. He took me into the Chapel and pointed out a lady who was standing by the casket looking at the remains of her dead husband. Approaching her and the casket, I said, "Are you Mrs. G--?" Upon her affirmative reply, 1 said, "Mrs. G--, I have some good news for you." At that, she looked as if I was crazy. But then I proceeded:

"I am Bro. Denton. Your husband told me that you listened to my broadcasts, so I know that you know, who I am . Mrs. G--, I had the privilege of riding with your husband for a short time a few nights ago as he went south. And I am happy to tell you before I left him, he had prayed through and God had saved him. The last thing he told me was that he would meet me in Heaven."

I cannot describe the scene that followed. That precious widow shouted all over that Chapel telling the people who were there, that her husband had gotten back to God. Needless to say, I joined in with her rejoicing. She insisted that I take part in the funeral service and tell the entire congregation the story that I have just told You. Looking back across thirty-six years I shall always remember this as one of my most wonderful experiences. And I often wonder what would have been the difference if I had failed to witness to him, or he had refused to seek the Lord at his last opportunity.

Taken from D.P. Denton's Book, "It Happened on the Road." Used by Permission.

She Did What She Could

How God Used a Japanese Girl

Children and young people are sometimes tempted to feel there is little they can do for Christ and the salvation of souls. Here is an account of what one child did, after someone else had passed a little tract to her. Read how God used them all.

Acts 3:6 "Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have Give I thee: In the Name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk."

I would like to share with you the story of a little girl in Japan who had been for two years in a tubercular sanitarium. Her body had wasted away so much that she could hardly move in bed. One day when a group of Gospel Workers were visiting the hospitals, they left a Christian tract with her. She was not able to hold it, but had the nurse prop it on a stand above her head, and turn the pages, one by one, so she could read them.

As she read and re-read that simple Gospel message, it gripped her heart. She prayed, asking the nurse to help her by standing by to hear her voice in prayer. God reached through, and she prayed for forgiveness of sin; she had a wonderful experience of salvation.

As many do, when they are first saved, this girl wanted to share the joy the Lord had given to her. One day, she read in the newspaper of a wicked man who had been condemned to death for murder.

She decided she must write him, and tell him about Jesus. It took her three days to use her little strength and movement to get a letter finished, and with it she sent the tract which had meant so much to her.

When he received it, he was indignant, but later as he re-read the letter, he realized how much this little one-page letter had really meant to the little girl who had mailed it to him. His heart was touched in thinking that someone would care enough for him to write him a letter at such cost.

He began to read the tract. Over and over, he read, until the truth grasped his heart and he believed it. God came into that Tokyo prison and saved that brutal murderer through the witness of an almost helpless little girl in the tubercular sanitarium across the city.

Later, the murderer was taken to another prison, more than a thousand miles away, where he was placed in the "death row" as his final place before his execution.

One day he was singing a Gospel hymn which he had learned from Christian Workers who held services in the prison. As his lonely cell echoed with the praises of God, he heard a voice call through the "peep hole" to the next cell. It was a man named Uchida, who had also found Christ as his Saviour. What a joy when the two were able to share their faith together.

Mr. Iwata (for that was the prisoners' name) and Mr. Uchida began to pray and work for the salvation of the other men in death row. The Warden gave them permission to share their testimony with other prisoners when they were together at meal time.

In the two years that Mr. Iwata was in death row, 41 condemned prisoners were won to Christ. The Warden permitted the baptism of the Christians in the prison bath tub, and he stated that the whole atmosphere of death row had changed from frenzy and fright to Christian joy and peace. As the guards made their rounds along the cells, they could hear Gospel hymns coming from the cells.

The time finally came for Mr. Iwata to die for his sin. He was permitted his last request – that he might be taken to the tubercular sanitarium to see the little girl who had written him the one-page letter and sent him the Gospel tract.

Standing beside her bed, the converted murderer told her the story of what the letter and tract had done for him and his friends, through the saving power of Jesus Christ. Tears poured from the girl's eyes as she heard the story of what God had done.

Before leaving her, Mr. Iwata was moved to lay his hand upon her head and pray a prayer of faith for healing. He then returned to the prison and was soon executed for his crime, but he went to God whom he knew and trusted and loved.

The power of the living Word of God, which had transformed him and the 41 men of death role, now came into the dying body of the little girl in the sanitarium. Within two weeks, she was completely healed of her illness by the power of God, and she walked from the sanitarium and returned to a normal life.

What a wonderful work of God this was! It all started because one helpless little girl who could not do much, did the little she could do, and because a condemned murderer, imprisoned in death row, did not give up, but did what he could to tell others of his Lord.

Truly the Word became flesh and lived again in the lives of those people.

"I call heaven and earth to record this day against you that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live." Deuteronomy 30: 19.

By P.L. Rounds, Missionary to Japan (Taken from a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, Randleman, N.C. Used by permission. )

The Price of a Coconut

When I was about twelve years of age, after finishing a hard summer's and fall's work, Father promised me, shortly after Thanksgiving, that I could spend Christmas with my grandfather; and I looked forward to this visit with great anticipation. I always enjoyed going to Grandfather's. He had been in the Civil War and drew a pension and always had some money; and he never failed to divide with me, for I was his eldest and favorite grandson. The morning before Christmas came at last, and I was up early in anticipation of the trip to Grandfather's. Only one thing could have surpassed it, and that would have been to have received a big coconut. The Christmas that I had the first taste of the coconut was really the best Christmas, I had ever known.

After dinner, Father went out and saddled the old gray mare. I jumped into the saddle and galloped off to Grandfather's. Along in the middle of the afternoon, I rode up in front of Grandfather's old country homestead and shouted, "Hello!" Grandfather, in his soldier's uniform and brass buttons shining, came to the door. He gave a grand salute and called out in greeting, "Hello, General, where are you going?" I replied, "I thought I would come down and spend Christmas with you." With a smile of welcome, Grandfather said, "Light and look at your saddle and hitch to the rack, and we will put the horse up after you have warmed awhile."

While supper was being prepared, we sat before the old wood fireplace eating shiny red winesap apples. I told Grandfather the apples were very fine flavored and very juicy, and he said, "They can't be beat in the country." I agreed with him that I had never tasted anything better, but once, and Grandfather asked, "what was that?" I replied, "That was a piece of coconut Grandmother gave me for Christmas four years ago." Grandfather said he had seen a few in town several years ago but he had never tasted one.

While we were chatting, Grandfather rose up, threw his shoulders back and said, "we had planned to go to town to- night to see the Christmas lights and get some things. Would you like to go along?" Of course, I was only too glad to go, as all boys would have been. Before he sat down, he took out his pocketbook, took out a dime, handed it to me and said, "You can have that to buy something for yourself." Boys in these days should not think that much to spend for Christmas, but in those days it was a lot of money for a boy. The thought of a trip to town with Grandfather to see the Christmas sights was so overwhelming I almost lost my appetite for supper. Soon we were off - Grandfather, myself, and a couple of uncles, only a few years older than myself.

After a two mile tramp, we came to the little country town, which boasted three or four fair sized general stores, a post office, drug store, and a railroad station. They were all lighted up and decorated for Christmas. Santa Claus was in the win- dow; and to me, who had never been in town at night and had never seen a light more powerful than a No.2 burner kerosene light, this was a sight. There were so many things to buy and I had a whole dime to spend - the first dime I had ever had to spend on myself. The puzzle was, what of the many things should I buy - a present for Mother, or something for Father and Mother both? Thus pondering, I went from store to store, and seeing so many nice things, my mind was in a whirl. What should I buy with my dime?

I stopped in front of a grocery store and, looking in the window, I saw confronting me a large coconut lying on the floor - just one - and it was marked ten cents and I had the money! Here was my chance to have all the coconut I could eat for once. The store was full of people. I was so afraid someone would buy that coconut before I could get in and get it. I took hold of the door knob, but it was hard to turn and as I was trying to open the door, a Voice spoke to my conscience and said, "Leave the coconut alone. Do not buy it now." I had been taught to obey the voice of conscience. I stood gazing with longing eyes at the coconut; the memory of that first taste of coconut still lingered; the pictures in the old geography of the black man packing coconuts passed through my mind, and I wondered what black man had packed that one and how he ever came to send it here. As I stood hesitating, the Voice said very distinctly and positively to leave the coconut alone, and was afraid to disobey. I released the door knob and took an- other longing glance at the coconut, turned and walked back across the street and began looking at the things in the drug store window. In that window, was a small, redbacked Testament. The Voice said, "Go in and buy the Testament." That was also marked ten cents.

This was contrary to all human reasoning, and I could not reason it out, for I had just received a nice Bible as a birthday present, and what did I need of that cheap Testament? But the Voice had said to buy it, and I had found that it pays to obey the voice of conscience more than obey the fleshly appetites. Here I consider I fought one of the biggest and most important battles of my life. Finally, I stepped into the drug store. After waiting on the crowd in the store, the clerk said to me, "what can I get for you, Sonny?" I replied, "I guess I want one of those little Testaments." He reached one over the counter and I turned the pages, tasting coconut all the while. At last I dropped the dime into the hand of the clerk, and he wrapped the Testament and gave it to me, saying, "I think you have bought the most profitable Christmas present in my store for a young man." I said, "I hope so," and walked out into the street planning to go back now and take a final look at the coconut, for the dime was gone, and I was not afraid of disobeying the voice of conscience on that score.

As I walked across the street, my attention was arrested by a poorly clad lad of about eight years of age standing in the middle of the street. His hands where full of snow with which he was pelting the passersby. I observed the crown was about out of his hat, and his little white locks were sticking out. The knees were about out of his faded overalls; the elbows out of his overall blouse. He gave me a whack on the shoulder with his soft snowball. I spoke kindly and gently to him. He said, "You are from the country, too?" I replied, "Yes." Then he told me that he came to town to see the Christmas things, and that I should not leave too early for they would have fireworks after awhile and that would be fun. He said, "we have a time on Christmas."

I talked to the boy about Christmas and the Christ of Christmas. I asked him if he knew whose birthday it was, and he said he did not know it was anybody's birthday. I told him the story of the shepherds and the wise men, and stirred his curiosity as deeply as I could. The Voice that speaks through conscience said, "Give the Testament to the boy." I then asked the boy if he could read and he said he could not. I asked him if his father could read, and he said, "No, but Mother is a good reader." I told him I had a Book that should tell him all about the shepherds and the wise men and the Baby in the manger and how the Baby grew and became a great Man with power to open the eyes of the blind, raise the dead to life, make the sick well, and how He could make good boys out of bad boys. I handed him the little Book, and it was received with eager hands, and I could see it was prized very highly by the lad. He put it into a pocket that had no bottom in it and it fell into the snow. He picked it up, brushed the snow off and said, "I have a good pocket on the inside of my coat and I will put it in there." Searching his clothes, he brought out a safety pin and pinned his pocket together, and as he did so, said, "The boys will likely rough me up before I leave town and I might lose it, so I will make it safe." I told him to be a good boy and wished him, his father and mother a happy Christmas and turned to leave him. He followed a few steps and said in a trembling voice, "Say, I am sorry I smudged you up with snow. I just thought you was some rough, stuck-up fellow, from South of town." I told him it was all in Christmas fun and passed on.

By this time, I had such victory over my appetite for coconut that I scarcely wanted it at all. I met Grandfather, and we hunted up the other boys and started for home.

When I was nearing fifteen years of age, I was led to repentance, and through that, to accept Christ as my Saviour. After I was converted and sanctified, this world seemed so empty to me and everything in it seemed of such little worth. I began to look for something to live for. It was revealed unto me that the souls of men were all that should inhabit eternity, so I began to tarry much in prayer. This impression deepened on my heart and the Voice that speaks to conscience began to impress my heart and conscience that I was to give my life to the saving of men from sin and hell to Heaven and immortal glory.

At about seventeen or eighteen, I began to preach as a kind of exhorter in old schoolhouses and wherever people would assemble and soon revivals began to break out and souls were being saved. One weekend, I was led to go some eighteen miles northwest and fill an appointment for an old circuit rider. The people there looked rough and hard. I tried to preach or exhort or whatever it was I did in those days, but the crowd seemed so hard. The floor of the house was smeared with tobacco juice and there were about as many bullet holes as nails in the ceiling. As I tried to preach, I am sure there were more revolvers in the crowd than there were Bibles.

When I was feeling that I was a complete failure, the Voice that speaks to conscience impressed me to ask the people to hold up their Bibles so I could see how many there were in the house. There were a few around in the "Amen comer", but back in the middle of the house was a clean-faced young man who seemed to be intensely interested in what I was preaching. I noticed he held up a small Testament and immediately the Voice of conscience said, "There is the price of your coconut." Seeing no signs of conviction on the crowd, I dismissed them and made my way back through the house, speaking to them and shaking hands with them as they were lighting lanterns for the homeward journey. Finally, I came to the young man who held up the Testament and I said to him, "Pardon a personal question, young man, but where did you get that little book you held up tonight?"

He replied, "That book has a story to it. I would not trade that book for any farm in this country." I insisted that he tell me where he got it. He said, "Some seven years ago I was in town one Christmas Eve and a boy came out of the drug store and gave me this Book and told me the story of Christmas, which I had never heard before." He said, "We reached home that night about midnight and Mother read the Book until almost daylight. We spent most of Christmas Day reading it, and we spent the long winter evenings reading that Book. The neighbors came in to hear it read and Mother read it over and over. One night we were reading it alone, Mother was reading the little Testament and Father began to cry and got on his knees by his chair, and began to talk to Someone. I could not understand it and I tried to see whom he was talking to. He was looking up to the ceiling but I could see no one. Soon he jumped to his feet and began to clap his hands and jump around the room, and there was a light on his face that I had never seen before. He grabbed Mother in his arms and kissed her and kissed me, and took the Book out of Mother's hand and kissed it, and he was the happiest man you ever saw."

"A few days after, Mother was reading and her eyes filled with tears and she knelt down and began to talk to Someone she had read about in the Book and after awhile her face lighted up and she began to say, 'Blessed Jesus! Blessed Jesus!' She kissed the Book and said, 'Blessed Book that told me of Him. Now He is mine and I know the blessed Book is His.' That happiness continued in our home until the day Father went to Heaven shouting 'Glory.' Because the people came into our log cabin to read this Book and to hear it read, and to hear Father and Mother pray, this old schoolhouse has been converted into a church."

It was an old schoolhouse which had been abandoned, and after it was abandoned it became a gambling den. "See the bullet holes in the ceiling," he said. "Many of them have been plugged up to keep the wind out. It all happened because of this blessed little Book. Now there are a dozen more in the community and you will see in Sunday school in the morning that we use them."

I said to him, "Young man, would you know the boy who gave you that Book if you were to see him?" He said, "No, I was only eight or nine years of age, and I don't think he was over fourteen. Now I am grown and so is he. I don't think I would know him."

I said, "Take a good look at him and see if you can recognize him." He said, "Are you the fellow?" I said, "See if I am," and he turned a searching eye on my face. He said, "Yes, you are the man, for there is the scar on your face." Then things began to happen.

He grabbed me up, threw me across his shoulders and carried me up front and laid me on the altar, and kissed me many times. Then he faced the crowd, which by this time had become not a little curious at such conduct in the church. The young man turned to them and said, "This is the man that sent this little Book to this community. You are all acquainted with the Book, now meet the man who gave it to me."

That night, I was almost shaken to pieces and squeezed blue, and the altar was lined and meeting never broke up until long after midnight.

That was THE PRICE OF A COCONUT when the lad had obeyed his conscience, slain the Goliath of appetite and set the price of a coconut to gathering interest in the kingdom of God - one saved in Heaven, shouting the victory; one home saved and made happy; a gambling den turned into a church and a Sunday school where people met to read their Bibles together instead of meeting to gamble, play cards and fight and shoot the ceiling full of bullet holes. All this cost the author the self-denial of just one ten-cent coconut that he wanted so very much, but hasn't wanted since.

That was a glorious weekend. I spent the night in the log cabin of the young man. I don't say I slept, for the dear, old mother in Israel blessed me all night and shouted because her eyes were privileged to see the one who had rent the blessed Book to them.

Sunday was a blessed day and great crowds came to see the one who sent the first Testament into their neighborhood, and the "God bless you's" are running through my poor unworthy soul yet; and nobody knows when heavenly beings will stop shouting, for "joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth."

Some three or four years later, I decided I should go to school to study the Bible. After two years of honest work and close living and much saving, I had enough money to partly pay my way through school. Some Christian friends had advised me to go to Ruskin Cave College in Tennessee, some few hundred miles from home.

Two or three days after my arrival at the college, I was walking on the campus, and feeling very blue and strange among those hundreds of young men and women. I stopped to watch the hack unload some new students and their baggage in front of the college entrance. Among them I saw a light-haired young man and that inner Voice said, "there is the price of your coconut." It was the same young man to whom I had given the Testament several years before. I asked him what he was up to and he said that God called him to preach. His mother had gone to Heaven and he had sold the old farm and had come to school. Now I had a companion in the loneliest hours of my life - the price of my ten-cent coconut. We had a good year together and a profitable one.

The young man proved to be a brilliant student. Circumstances forced me out of school, but he stayed and finished his course. He wrote me, giving me an invitation to his commencement exercises, desiring I should come, but said if I could not come he was making arrangements to sail for China as a missionary and expected to spend his life there. Who can tell what "the price of a coconut" did for souls in China?

Some day we will have to give an account of how we spend our nickels, dimes, and dollars for self-gratification while souls are perishing for the Word of Life. I, personally prefer to have interest of the coconut piling up in eternity rather than the momentary gratification of my appetite.

By O. L. King (From the book, "The Price of a Coconut" Used by permission)

Healed of Malignant Tumors

My son, Danny, had brain surgery to remove several tumors that a brain scan had shown on X-ray. Eight months later, they found another tumor in the same spot as big as a fifty cent piece. Danny started having seizures again, the same as when the first tumors were diagnosed.

Immediately, he was scheduled for surgery early the next morning. The pain in my heart was great. You know, as a mother, when your child hurts, you hurt right along with him. I had seen him suffer a lot from the first surgery. Fear struck my mind – is this tumor malignant? You would have to have been in my shoes to understand what I was feeling. Again, my world was shaken to pieces. I knew if I didn't get hold of God, I would end up in the hospital myself.

Needless to say, that night I didn't sleep at all. Several of my family came over to be with me since we didn't know what the next day would hold for us. I prayed until I was exhausted. My faith was shaken. I felt I was being tested to see just how much I could praise God through this crisis.

Finally, the alarm went off at 5:30 A.M. I got up to go visit Danny at the hospital before he left for surgery. He was trying to be strong, clowning around, trying to make us laugh. Even though I knew Danny was really frightened, I knew he was ready to meet the Lord if he didn't come through the surgery.

I kept quoting Romans 8:28, "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." The more I praised Him and claimed this promise, the more strength and joy I felt. My pastor, family and close friends were with me and I felt the presence of the Lord. I knew my boy was in the hands of a great God. People were fasting and praying for him.

It seemed like an eternity before the doctor sent word that Danny was doing okay and was halfway through the surgery. About 3 1/2 hours later, the doctor met with Danny's wife and family and told us that he came through the surgery just great, but the tumor was malignant. They were able to remove all of it this time, but he would need to start radiation treatments as soon as possible to prevent a reoccurrence.

My heart was breaking because I knew all the suffering he would go through, but I know that God's ways are not our ways, so once again, I put Danny back into God's hands.

About 3 1/2 weeks later after taking the treatments, Danny started having light seizures again. The doctor took another scan which showed that several more tumors were already growing back. Yet, in the midst of all of this, Danny seemed victorious over the news. I was so proud as a mother to see him claiming the victory even after the two neurosurgeons told him there was nothing else that they could do for him. The risk was too great to operate again so they just gave him up to die. They told him that the only option he had if he wanted to live longer was to go to the National Institute of Medicine in Washington, DC and allow them to experiment with a new chemotherapy drug that had just been approved. The Doctors made the call to Washington, and Danny was placed on a waiting list. His medical reports were sent to the hospital there. All we could do was pray and hope that he would be accepted.

Danny now realized that unless Jesus healed him, he would die soon. He called me one night crying, and though my heart was breaking, I knew I had to be strong. He said, "Mom, will you believe with me and claim my healing?" I answered, "Son, Jesus is our only hope. He is a God of miracles, and He works the impossible. We will stand on His Word, and will confess it as many times a day as we can."

The Scripture verse Danny claimed for his healing was Isaiah 53:5, "But He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed." He even slept every night on the page of the Bible where the Scripture verse was written.

Finally, the doctor called to say Danny had been accepted for the experiment. All of us were happy in one way, but in another way, we didn't know what was ahead of us, nor what the results would be. Very quickly, the Spirit of the Lord spoke to me, reminding me that Danny was in His hands and to leave  
him there.

As I told him good-bye, my heart was breaking. I wanted to go with him but he asked me to stay home and pray. I could feel Jesus holding me up as I walked toward my car. Romans 8:28 and Isaiah 53:5 kept coming to me. My faith began to feel stronger. People were praying for me. I said, "Lord, Danny is yours. I commit him to You. If You take him, I will praise You; if You heal him, I will praise You."

The waiting sometimes was hard because Danny would have to go through all kinds of medical tests and scans to see how they would approach the situation. After about four days of testing, the doctors were ready to start the experimental drug on him by running a tube, beginning in the main artery in the lower part of his leg, and going all the way into his head. They would then shoot the medication through the tube right to the area where the tumors were. Danny was the second person in the nation to receive this treatment. The other person had died.

Danny later told me he was so sick and in so much pain, at that moment death would have been welcome. During these treatments, he had to be on a respirator in order to breathe.

The doctors, some of the best in the country, said the treatments would only arrest the tumors for so long. And although we have some doctors who believe there is a Supreme Being who does perform miracles and answers prayer, these doctors told Danny to go home and enjoy his family. Danny told them, "My Jesus said He would heal me if I would believe and stand on His Word."

Danny was told he would only take seven treatments because that would be all he could stand. Between the treatments, he kept quoting Isaiah 53:5. He lived on that verse. He continued to sleep each night with his head in the middle of the open Bible. His faith was strong, though humanly, at times, he was scared. As his mother, I could feel and sense things about him.

On the fifth visit, the doctors always redo all the scans to determine the progress of the tumors. But, praise the Lord, when they did the scans this time, there were no tumors! They were amazed, because after several of the treatments they had still been growing. They had told Danny that, at the most, he had about six or seven months to live, and for him to get all his personal business taken care of and do all the things he had always wanted to do. He was told that medically, he should have been dead a year ago. He was advised to attend the cancer support group while he was there. Again, he told the doctors, "I told you, I am not going to die. The people attending those meetings have accepted their death sentence. I refuse to accept mine because I am going to live."

I remember how Danny had great faith as a child. Many times when he had a fever and was sick, he would say, "Mother, lay your hands on me and read James 5:14-16, and I will be healed." I would do so, and in a little while, he was doing things again. Jesus honors faith.

When the doctor saw the results of the scan, they were happy, but they still did not want to admit that a miracle of healing had taken place. Danny was told, "We are sending you home. There is no need to give you a treatment with nothing there."

Danny told me, "Mother, I was so happy, I shouted there in the X-ray room. I went up and down the hallways of that huge hospital shouting that I had been healed." He told people lying on stretchers or sitting in wheelchairs, who were dying from terminal illness that if they would give their hearts to Jesus and believe His Word that they could, also, be healed.

When he called to tell me, I shouted as tears of joy ran down my face. I called everyone I could think of to tell them the wonderful news.

This took place in January, 1991. The doctors had told him the past November he only had six to seven months to live. They wanted Danny to come back in February so they could do the scans and X-rays over just to make sure all was well. He really did not want to go. He knew he had been healed, so why go back? But Melinda, his wife, and Rebecca, my granddaughter, encouraged him to go so the doctors could see he was healed.

As all the medical tests were repeated once again, the doctors confirmed there was no tumors. They had all vanished. The doctors finally admitted to Danny that he had been healed by Someone a lot higher than them. They asked him to come back one more time so they could study his case. Danny agreed, and made the last trip in March. Again, there was nothing; he was healed. Jesus honored His Word and the faith of Danny and the many people who had prayed for him.

Every month he has gone to the cancer clinic here in Alexandria (La.) for scans and X-rays as recommended by the doctor, but Praise the Lord, they have not found anything. He is healed.

(Taken from the book "Miracles and Blessings" by Linda Garoutte, Danny's mother, who is a personal friend of the author.)

Forgiven

"The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; they that dwell in the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined." Isaiah 9:2

The year was 1962. Sudden illness overtook my husband; TB was the diagnosis after one and a half weeks of hospitalization and rigorous tests. During the next three months of hospital confinement, God revealed His "WHY" of this illness.

I was permitted to visit my husband only certain hours after he was placed in the TB section of the hospital. One day while waiting for my visiting hour, the Lord prompted me to read my New Testament in the main waiting room. I noticed a seemingly very nervous woman there, for she paced back and forth across that large room, wringing her hands. It didn't take long to notice she was a chain smoker.

I was seated only a few minutes when she came over to me and said, "Pardon me, Lady, but I do believe you must be a Christian, for I see you are reading your Bible. My name is Dolores; I am to have open-heart surgery tomorrow morning and I am scared to death! I will be taken to my room shortly. Will you please come to my room in a few minutes and pray for me?" I assured her I was a Christian and I would gladly come.

In her room later, I dealt with her about her soul's need; she indicated she wanted the Lord to come into her heart. After we had prayer together, she said, "I am all right now." She felt God was going to bring her through the surgery fine. She did come through with "flying colors." After surgery, she recovered surprisingly fast and went home in three days.

The last evening before Dolores went home, another lady was put in the room with her whose name was Nancy. Although Nancy's surgery was to be minor, she was frantic with fear. When she saw me, she cried, "Marilyn, Dolores has told me all about you. Would you pray for me? But before you do, I must tell you something. When I was a child, I prayed at my grandmother's knee. She taught me about Jesus. After she died, I drifted far away from God and my grandmother's teachings. I am a great sinner. Do you think Jesus would forgive a harlot like me?"

I told her of the harlots that Jesus forgave while He was on earth; how He told them to go and sin no more. I assured her He was the same forgiving Jesus; He would forgive her also if she was truly repentant.

As I prayed with Nancy, she prayed silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. I thought she had finished praying, but when I looked at her, she was still repenting, only her lips moving and tears still falling.

I prayed the second time. When I had finished, I didn't have to wonder if she had complete victory, for she cried out, "Oh, He's forgiven me. He has taken all my sins away. He's right here in my heart. I am so happy; I feel light as a bird."

What great rejoicing took place that evening, for truly, a new name had been written down in Glory.

What a contrast between Dolores and Nancy. I found out Dolores only wanted God to get her through the surgery. Upon her dismissal from the hospital, her last words to me were, "I won't need Jesus now. He got me through surgery; that's all I needed." How grievous were these words to my heart.

Nancy's testimony continued to shine out on her countenance, even though she did a questionable thing the day after surgery, which I had no occasion to speak to her about. Evidently, she had not received light concerning this. For when she passed away one week later, fifteen minutes before I arrived at the hospital, I returned home, and asked God to give me the witness as to whether Nancy made it to Heaven. He, lovingly, guided me to Isaiah 9:2 as evidence that Nancy is rejoicing in Heaven. "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; they that dwell in the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined."

I can just imagine Nancy is thanking Jesus over and over for saving her on her death bed, so to speak, and letting Him know how much she loves and appreciates Him. I expect to meet Nancy in Heaven some day. Amen!

Marilyn Browning--Arkansas

Four Incidents of Healing

Told by Virginia Miller

A lady was brought into church who had a terrible goiter. Her neck was swollen so badly that it looked as if she didn't have a neck. She had come to be prayed for, trusting that in God's mercy, He would heal her. She was to go to the hospital the next day to be operated on and she was afraid. The pastor and several others gathered around her, laid hands on her and prayed. She went through a real struggle but after awhile she said, "I am healed." Her goiter still remained and looking at her, one would not see any visible evidence that she was healed as she had claimed.

The lady left and the next day she went to the doctor as planned. The doctor examined her and exclaimed, "What has happened to you? Your goiter is completely gone."

She came to church that night praising God for what he had done. Amen!

**********

We were staying in the home of a lumberjack while conducting a revival at his church. He had cancer and had battled it for a long time, but finally decided to go to the hospital. After examining him, they saw the cancer was too far advanced, and sent him home to die. The strange thing was they sent his X-rays home with him, and we got a chance to see first-hand where the cancer was. Everyone felt he would die in a short time.

One night, he went to bed very, very ill, but the next morning, he got up and went out to the barn where the hired man was milking cows, about fifty in all, and helped to milk the cows. The hired hand could hardly believe it. When they got through, he went inside and said, "I'd like some breakfast." They said, "You can't eat breakfast. It will kill you." He said, "I want breakfast. I am healed. I want bacon, eggs and a complete breakfast." It was fixed for him and he ate it and it didn't make him sick. It took a little while to get his strength back, but God had wonderfully healed this man of God who, along with others had prayed and believed God.

Years later, we saw this man of God again and he was doing wonderfully. We marveled at what God had done, as he never had a reoccurrence of that cancer.

**********

In the New York Pilgrim Conference years ago, a pastor's wife, who had three children, came down with cancer. She looked up to God and asked Him, in mercy, to let her live to rear her small children. She came to church and had the people there to pray for her, and God heard and answered prayer.

She had one breast removed and when she went back to the doctor testifying as to what God had done for her, he told her, "If you are healed, your breast will grow back." She declared that she knew God had healed her and did not believe what he said about the breast growing back. She lived many years and went back to the doctor and proved to him that she was actually healed.

When her three children were grown, she got pregnant and the doctor told her that if she bare that child that both she and the baby would die. Again, she prayed, had the church to pray and trusted God. She bore a well, healthy little girl.

After this little girl got grown and all four of her children left home, she again took cancer and died. But God had answered prayer and let her live to raise all of her children.

**********

We were staying in a trailer in Florida, and company came. A lady was on her way home to Michigan. She had been to a doctor and the doctor told her that if she wanted to see her children again, she needed to go home and see them, as she was in the last stages of cancer.

We knelt in the trailer and prayed that if it could be God's will, to heal this lady before she got home. We said, "When you get home, if you find you are healed, let us know."

Two weeks passed and we didn't hear anything. But then a letter came. She said she got home but didn't feel any different at all. She went to another doctor, and after a through examination he told her "Lady, I do not know who told you that you were going to die with cancer, for there is not a trace of cancer in your body."

More Stories of Divine Healing

By Florence Gwynn

My youngest brother, who was four at the time, had eczema on both hands. My mother would have to put mittens on his hand at night to keep him from scratching. My Aunt Ethel Mae Fadgen came to our house and my little brother asked her to pray for his hands. She took the Bible and had him put his hands on it while she prayed. God healed him and he has never had eczema from that day on. He is now seventy-two.

My left eye started giving me trouble with flashing lights and pain. I went to my optician. Before he examined my eye, he had me read the chart. I could only see the big E. After his examination, he informed me that I had a blood clot at the end of the vein and was hemorrhaging around it.

He took me across the hall to the specialist in Ophthalmology. He, also, examined my eye and verified what the first doctor said. He told me I may not be able to see out of my left eye, that there was nothing they could do. They didn't know what caused it.

People prayed for me, and when I returned in two months, the doctor examined my eye and said it had cleared up. All glory to Jesus.

**********

My mother was sick for a week and had trouble eating. The church people prayed for her and she was healed of ulcers.

A POW Sustained Twenty-Two Months Through Prayer

Mary Blackman said she'd always known since early childhood there was something different about her father. He had an edge to his determination, strength, and will like no other with whom she'd come in contact.

But what this little girl didn't know about this man she called daddy was just exactly what was at the core of his existence that made him so strong-willed.

He was a survivor -- she knew that. Moreover, he was a survivor of the worst kinds of horrors committed to man by other men.

He'd seen, witnessed, and experienced, what he called, "a hell on earth" during the twenty-two months he spent as a POW in World War II, and it definitely made him different.

For daddy's little girl, it would be shortly before his death, in 1992, when she learned firsthand, what made R.V. Rhame more than a survivor and into one who overcame the worst imaginable obstacles, as well as a man whose strength and endurance knew no bounds.

Yes, Rhame was a survivor; but what made this POW from central Louisiana different was the fact he was held in a concentration camp along with millions of Jews and others who were persecuted by the Germans during the war.

In 1989, just three years before his death, Rhame told his daughter all about it.

Mary Blackman said he told her most people during the Holocaust questioned God's existence and wondered why He would allow such horrors to occur.

"But not my father, " she said. "He said it was his faith and trust in God that enabled him to survive what he did."

Rhame entered the US Army as private first class Jan. 26, 1942, at Camp Beauregard, La. when he was 21 years old.

He fought in battles in Algeria, French Morocco and Tunisia during the North African Campaign as a sharpshooter, scout and infantryman, and was a recipient of the Purple Heart .

"He was captured by the Germans in Tunisia March 23, 1943, was listed as missing in action, and was a prisoner of war of the Italians and the Germans," Ms. Blackman said.

She said at the time of his capture, he was in the heat of battle.

"He was given orders to take a mountain at any cost," she said. When he did, he raised the American flag. With only four men in his unit alive and reinforcements knocked out, he knew they were doomed.

"He gave orders to dig two fox-holes. They had just dug deep enough to jump in when the Germans ran up on them."

"They pulled a pin in a hand grenade and threw it into the fox-hole where my father was," she said. "My father caught it and threw it back at the Germans. They threw it back and it went off, blowing several holes in his fellow soldiers. As he tried to help his friend, the Germans pulled him out and captured him."

"At that time," she said, "he was flown to Naples, Italy, where he was interrogated and tortured for three weeks in an attempt to garner information."

"One of the thing they did to torture and make him talk was to have a dentist manipulate the nerves in one of his front teeth without anesthetic," she said. "He called it a 'root canal.' That tooth remained permanently black."

"He told me he never talked or shed a tear because he had been ordered not to talk if captured. He knew also if he weakened, they wouldn't stop torturing him."

Soon after, Rhame was railroaded to Germany and placed in Stalag, a concentration camp.

"He told me he was horrified by what he saw when he got there," she said. "People were walking around just skin and bones, all suffering from lack of food and no sanitation.

It wasn't long before Rhame was suffering under the same conditions as the others, but he never gave up or stopped praying.

One day on a work detail, he was hit in the head by shrapnel from a bomb dropped by an American bomber plane.

He was brought back to the camp where he remained wounded and unconscious for four months.

There was an English doctor there who kept him alive with a few bread crumbs and drops of water during that time," Ms. Blackman said. "The doctor did everything he could to help him without medical supplies, and he finally awoke."

After he awoke, the Germans took 20 volunteers, including himself to a farm \-- or what they said was a farm. When they asked for volunteers, he immediately raised his hand because he thought - farm means food.

"But what I didn't know is that they were taking us to a German officer's retreat," her father said.

"The twenty of us got into a situation as close to hell as I ever want to be," he told his daughter. He said they endured many inconceivable things there.

He underwent many different types of torture while there. They were starving, and at times were forced to stand at gunpoint all night in snowdrifts in sub-zero temperatures. Rhame couldn't understand how he survived but he was aware of the fact that God was with him. Although he prayed all through the war, on this particular night of standing in sub-zero weather, he prayed all night long.

Ms. Blackman asked her father if the men ever tried to escape. He told her they were in the process of digging a tunnel when they were told they were to be liberated.

Rhame survived many tortures and challenges throughout the war, but his "liberation" was to be the toughest. For what he thought was marching to freedom was in reality a march to death. They marched for 30 straight days, 500 miles, with barely any food and swollen, cracked and bleeding feet. But it didn't matter because as he put it, "we marched with all we had for we thought we were marching to freedom." While marching, people would just fall dead at their feet.

Once again, God touched Rhame as they approached a bridge. As he got closer to it, he heard a voice saying, "Take tiny little steps." He said he knew that was God's voice. He said, "Father, I can't walk now." God answered, "R.V., I said take little tiny steps." He said he was about two or three feet from the bridge when he realized why God spoke as He did. When the bridge got enough weight on it, it went sky high - right in front of Rhame's face - just two or three miles from where they were to be executed. It had been booby-trapped by the Americans. Out of 1,200 people on the march, only 400 lived to tell about it.

After the explosion, the survivors crawled to a nearby barn. There they decided to take off their clothes off and spell out "U. S. POW's" in the field. An American pilot flew over and saw it and sent in troops to rescue them.

Mary said her father told her he survived to bring home the story of the war as the wake-up call to mankind from God that evil is a reality on this earth. Furthermore, he said it provided an opportunity for man to get back to a close relationship with God.

Mary said that throughout her father's life, he was a source of strength to many who knew him, and to his wife and family, he was a real inspiration.

"He had an extremely positive effect on our lives," she said. "We witnessed how he handled and lived with all that happened to him and took back control of his life through the grace of God."

Published in our local newspaper, "The Alexandria Daily Town Talk." Used by permission

Against Chiang Kai-shek's Ruling,

God Gets a Missionary Car to China.

The following incident was related by Ina (Shreve) McVey, a missionary to China for many years. She is a personal friend of the author.

She and her husband had no transportation except a bicycle or an ox-cart. Most of the time they walked. At times the weather would be very frigid -- so cold until she would slip off her shoes and attempt to warm her feet on the ox's warm hide. One morning she had gone from house to house, telling the Chinese about Jesus with the weather being around zero. Her feet were so cold she could hardly feel. She prayed, "Lord, won't You please help me find a house with some fire in it?"

In mercy, our dear Lord looked down on His faithful servant and as she rapped on a door, an old lady came to meet her. "Come in, come in," she invited. "Come on and warm your hands."

She had a wash pan filled with ashes with some charcoal burning.

"The home didn't have a big stove to make it comfortable, like in America, but it was so nice to get my fingers warm, and get that fire into my cold body," Sister Shreve reported. She was so thankful that God had heard and answered prayer.

About this time, a church in America bought them an automobile, A Suburban Carryall. Also, an amplifier and other equipment which would be a great help to them in reaching thousands of Chinese with the gospel.

One morning, while in prayer, God spoke to Sister Shreve to go to the US and get the car and bring it back to China. Oh, what a blessing it would be and what a help in promoting the gospel to the lost around about them. But just a short time before she was to leave for the US, Chiang Kai-shek, the president of China, made a ruling that no more cars could be imported into China, from the United States.

Here is her story of faith in Almighty God when it seemed absolutely impossible to obey what He had told her to do, go to the US and bring the car back to China -- when Chiang Kai-shek had expressly forbid it.

God kept saying, "Go on." It looked so foolish to all our friends and people who knew what I was going to do -- go all the way to the US to get a car that couldn't be taken back to China. People's attitude in general was "Why go and try to do a thing you can't do?"

But we went back to the United States.

I drove 15,000 miles around in the US in that car that was to go back to China. It was a station wagon. How good it was to be getting a car so that we could go on and on and on. Yet people could not understand what we were doing. Well, we were just going to try to get the gospel out a little faster, that was all. Not trying to have it easier.

Friends in the US would say, "We understand you can't take that car to China," and always my answer was, "We'll see."

Now this is proving God. If God commands us to do something, friends, don't be discouraged, and don't let any good person or bad person keep you from obeying God. Good people will often discourage you, not knowing they are doing it. I remember several of my best friends saying, "Well, it can't be done," but it was being done all the time. I was working around and gathering up clothes. I had seen so many cold people, naked people, shivering people; and had I not been cold myself? Anything I could put in that car to take free, anything on which I would not have to pay freight across the ocean, I gathered up, just cramming the car full.

One person heard how we take baths in that awful cold weather. We used to have a little old stove something like a tin bucket. We would put cobs in there, and while the cobs were flaming up, we would take our baths real quickly. One lady heard us tell this story and gave us a nice stove. I pushed that stove into the back end of the carryall and went on.

I got way out in Idaho, going toward the coast. Now, I was proving God. He said, "Do it," but people were reproaching me, looking at me as though they thought I did not understand.

I had an acquaintance in Idaho, a German man. He saw that car out there in his yard, just loaded with clothing for the Chinese, and also, the stove.

"The poor thing," he said, "going back with that car and can't take it to China. What is she doing?" He didn't want to discourage me, but he said it was no use to let anyone be that ignorant. "Why be such a fool as to try to take a car when the government says you can't take it?" He came and looked at me pathetically. I remember the tone of his voice. He hated so badly to discourage anybody who was trying to obey God, but he said, "Ina, if you were dealing only with man, that would be one thing. It might be you could intreat him and he would change his mind; but do you know that you are dealing with the government? And no government is going to change just for you. How do you expect to get that car there? You'd better leave that car here and I will take care of it for you."

But I was in Idaho on my way to California to take the boat; and I said, "Well, we'll see."

God had said to go and get the car. Here is the point, friends, we can prove God. If our faces are set like a flint, we can suffer, we can labor, and suffer this reproach, and we will have an increasing faith in God, as sure as you're living.

I had written ahead to a friend of mine who used to be in the secret service, an intelligence man. I said, "Please make reservations for me and for the car I am taking to China."

He went down to make reservations and, of course, they had a great discussion. No car could be taken to China. Why make a reservation? He said, "Well, this lady asked me to do it, and for my sake and for our friendship's sake, you just make a reservation anyway."

So he said, "All right, I'll do it."

I remember going into my friend's home. He hated to discourage us for he loved the Lord too, but he said, "I don't know how far you're going to get, but I did what you asked me to do. I made reservations."

It all looked very dark, humanly, but oh, friends, one day I received a telegram from my husband in China, and he said, "Bring the car; I have the permit."

So I went down and bought my ticket. The ticket agent didn't mind selling me the ticket; but as he wrote it out, he looked up and said, "Now, Mrs. Shreve, you understand that if you can't unload this car, you have to bring it back at your own expense." I looked right up into the face of God the Father, and do you know what God did? Just like a father, He looked at me and gave me the go-ahead signal. I didn't look up and pray a long prayer. I just looked up to God in my heart, and God looked right down and said, "Just go ahead." My, I was almost broke when I bought my ticket to go over; how could I be assured of a return trip? But when God says, "Go ahead," just go ahead. You can go through fire. You can go through the lion's den.

God made the lions! Hallelujah to God! He made the lions, and He knows where their hinges are. So when Daniel went down into the lions den, the lions in the den couldn't open their mouths. Glory to God! Hallelujah! This isn't just talk, and this isn't political campaigning, and it's not making promises that can't be kept. When the Almighty makes a promise, He'll keep it -- through all eternity. Glory to God! Friends, if the lion's jaws were made by the Almighty, couldn't He come down there and take a look at those lions? Daniel just stood there, and they were so friendly. We can't know but I don't believe those lions growled or scared Daniel. He just stood there.

Where was the law of the Medes and Persians? It was there on the books, just as it always was. Where was Chiang Kai-shek's law? On the books, just as it always was. But God is greater than all man made laws. Thank God.

We put that car, jammed full of all that baggage, on the boat. And what thrilled my soul was \-- here was a sweater, here an overcoat, here were dresses, here was underwear and all kinds of warm things to take to our dear converts who suffered day by day. I was thrilled through and through. I felt something like electricity going from my heels to my head. Over and over, the waves of glory were filling my being, because I was taking aid to dying souls -- to those who needed help.

Now, men who travel abroad are usually men appointed by different firms, or perhaps by the government. On the ship in those days were only people who absolutely had to travel. These men went downstairs and saw that car down there with my name attached.

"To whom does this car belong?" they would ask.

"Oh, there is a lady passenger on here taking that car to China."

"I wonder if she doesn't know she can't do that?"

They were very kind; they didn't try to be mean to me; but they would come back upstairs and would say, "Are you Mrs. Shreve?" "Yes."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm taking it to China."

"Don't you know you can't do that?"

"No, I didn't know that."

"But how ignorant to have been around over there and not know that you can't."

"Well, "I said, "We'll see."

Here after a little while would come another man, and I could see how well-dressed they all were, their suits pressed nicely, and walking well, you know.

"Are you Mrs. Shreve?"

"Yes"

"And is that your car? Didn't you know that Chiang Kai-shek passed a law?"

Oh, hallelujah, friends: God didn't touch Chiang Kai-shek's law. God knew how to get a car into the country.

Friends, we can prove God, if we obey Him. You say, "What did you do?" We took the car in and turned it over to my husband. They even told us when we got to Canton that we couldn't go any farther, we couldn't get licenses for it. We got licenses when others had long since left their cars at Canton to rust for months and months -- not because we were any better than they were, but because they listened to people. They didn't suffer reproach. It was reproach, friends, for all those gentlemen of the ship to look at me and say, "Don't you know you can't?" I couldn't, but I was doing it anyway.

Friends, let us trust God, and not lean on the arm of flesh. When He puts us to the test, we can prove Him as Daniel proved God, and as He helped me to prove Him with the car. He is all-powerful. Praise His Name!

Kentucky Mountain Outlaw Transformed

On the 13th day of March, 1890, in a little two-room mountain hut in a remote section of the mountain of eastern Kentucky, a pretty little baby was born, Charlie Wireman, later nicknamed "Bulldog Charlie."

My parents were destitute, my father laboring at hard labor to support my mother and nine children.

My mother was very strict with her children. Though she was a typical mountain woman, she did not believe in fighting. She said that cats and dogs, and not human beings, were supposed to do the fighting. My father, on the other hand did not look for trouble, but if the other fellow was looking for it, he never had to pass my dad up for an accommodation. And I always admired him, and longed to be like him.

We only had three months of school during the year in those days. I got to go about half that time, and the rest of the time I had to stay home and dig tators and pull fodder to help keep the wolf from the door. When I was converted at the age of 23, I hadn't been through the third grade and didn't know my multiplication tables.

My father was a dram drinker. He and I was on the road in a wagon one day and met a doctor on horseback. The doctor produced a bottle of Mountain Dew. They would pass it back and forth. The doctor told my father to give me a drink as I was getting old enough, so my first drink was given to me by my father at the advise of the doctor. Little did he realize that the day would come in my early teens when he would have to walk the back alleys and search for his drunken son. More than once, he had to take his jack-knife and cut my hair out of the frozen gutter, carry my drunken form home, where my mother, who loved her boy as only mothers can, had not gone to sleep -- so afraid that she would hear of her boy killing someone or else killed himself. On and on, my wild career of sin and folly continued as days and years passed by.

I finally became a deputy sheriff. No man in that day, who had any self-respect for his family would serve as a deputy. He was putting himself up as a target for all the bad men in that mountain region. I witnessed many gun battles and engaged in some myself, but was never touched by a bullet or even scathed, in all that time. I believe God saw the day coming when I would be saved and called to preach and I would go up and down this country shooting the old gospel gun as fearlessly as I did for the devil.

After awhile, I got too low to be a deputy, and I opened up a joint in back of a store room. I sold whiskey, wine, beer in open violation to the law. Also, I ran a gambling den and dance hall. Young people were being ruined through the influence of that joint that I ran for the devil.

About that time, the old Methodist Church decided to have a revival. They called a man from Wilmore, Ky. by the name of T. P. Roberts. They nicknamed him "Night-Hawk Tom." They claimed he could go into a town and stay three days and know all the meanness that went on in that town. Some people didn't realize that God could reveal things to His preachers and they thought he snooped around at night.

The boys would go up and stand outside the church and listen, and then come back and sit around the gambling tables and tell what he said, how he preached against the moonshiners and bootleggers. I resented this and threatened to run him out of town. It got around that the bad man in town had threatened to run the good man out of town, and those who knew me and knew how low-down and sorry I was, expected me to do what I had threatened to do.

Bro. Roberts was being entertained in the Connoy home, about one block from where my place was. Bro. Connoy was the leading merchant in town and he and his wife were both Godly people. They had a son about my age who spent his money at the bar in the place of business I ran for the devil. Mrs. Connoy would come to my place sometimes to try to get her boy. If I was in a good mood, I'd get him for her, if not I'd say insulting things to her. One night as she was coming to my place, she met the evangelist and upon learning of her mission, he offered to go with her, but she told him to just go home and pray. When she arrived at home later, Bro. Roberts was still on his knees. He said, "I see many young people in this town. Why can't we get them to God?" She said, "That wicked man, Charlie Wireman is being used as a handy-man for the devil. If we could get him to God, it would be a turning point for the people of this town." Bro. Roberts said, "Why don't you and I enter into a covenant to get this man to God and tomorrow we will engage others into the covenant with us, and we'll fast and pray until God either saves this man or moves him out of the way of a revival in this town." (All this was told me later.)

They began to pray, and one day a miserable, indescribable sensation settled down on me that I had never experienced before, and I was, of all men, most miserable. I walked out the door one morning when I saw the evangelist, who at that time, didn't know that I was the man they had covenanted to pray for. He turned and walked up to me and took my hand and said, "Young Man, we're having a revival at the Methodist Church and I don't think you've been there yet. Won't you come and be with us?" Now the pastors of that town never knew whether to speak to me when they met me or not. If I was in a good humor, I'd speak like a man ought to, if not, I'd give them a cursing. But when that man stopped and shook my hand and invited me to church, there came up in me an admiration, and I thought, "why would a good man like that cross the street and shake hands with a drunkard like me -- a good-for-nothing." I found the secret in the old Book -- "The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord."

I didn't know what that awful, miserable feeling was that I had. I knew nothing about Holy Ghost conviction. At that time, I knew nothing about the covenant of prayer and that all over town, the saints of God with burdened hearts and weeping eyes were calling on God in behalf of my poor, hell-bound soul.

I carried on the best I could, and that evening said "now Jack, take over; I'm going home." He said, "You've been acting strange today." I said, "I'm feeling bad and I'm going home." I started and on the way, I had to pass the home of a lady whose husband and his cousin had come into my place not many days before and bought some drinks. They were both drink addicts and that afternoon, while under the influence of that damnable stuff they got into a drunken brawl and one knocked the other's brains out. The killer was arrested, charged with murder and put in jail. His wife was one of the best Christian women in the world. She could not attend the night services but she went to the day services and entered into the covenant to pray for the bad man. I had to pass this house on my way home.

At that time, I was just a walking skeleton. They said I would be in the insane asylum or my grave soon. I could only walk a little ways without sitting down or leaning against something until I regained my strength. That night, I stopped and leaned on the gate post of the Christian woman whose husband was in jail for killing his cousin because of liquor he had bought at my place. I could see inside the house and she and her children were getting ready for family prayer. I could hear every word that was uttered. She prayed earnestly for her children, then for her poor husband who was in jail. Then she prayed for the widow and orphans of the man whom her husband had killed. Then in desperation she prayed, "Oh, God, we now remember our covenant to pray for poor, sinful, wicked Charlie."

If you would have shot me, it would not have affected me more. I thought, is it possible that I am the subject of that good woman's prayer? I was soon convinced I was the poor guilty wretch for whom she was crying to God for mercy. When she finished, I staggered on to my father's home. All night I tossed to and fro, afraid to go to sleep; afraid I would wake up in hell.

I went down to my business the next day to carry on, but just before dark, I turned it over to Jack and left, promising if they needed me, they could send a horse after me and I would come.

I got home just as the family sat down to eat, but my appetite was gone. I walked out on the front porch and I was walking back and forth like a lion in a cage. I was between two opposing spirits. All Heaven moved me toward the house of God, and all hell marshaled to hinder. I swore vengeance against the churches but prayer changes things. The first thing I knew, the old church bell began to toll, and with every toll of the bell, the arrow of conviction went deeper into my soul. If I were to build a thousand churches, I would insist on putting a church bell on every one of them. Thank God, for the old church bell. The first thing I found myself going toward the house of God.

When I entered, Sister Connoy let out a war whoop of victory and said, "Thank God, Brother Roberts, God has answered prayer."

That man got up and began to preach. I never heard such a sin-scathing sermon. He read my pedigree. If he had known all about me, he could not have read my history more clearly than he did with the old Gospel that night. Before he was half through, I felt like the Samaritan woman who said, "Come see a Man which told me all things that ever I did." I am glad he wasn't a compromiser; wasn't afraid to preach the truth.

I began to wonder if he would ever give me a chance to get to the mourner's bench. Finally, they started to sing and I went to the altar. I had no more gotten on my knees until God said, "Back there is a man you mistreated. You go back and apologize and ask that man's forgiveness." I went back and said, "I'm sorry about the way I treated you. I want you to forgive me if you can." He said, "That's all right, Charlie," and later told me he never was so glad to see anyone at the mourner's bench.

That night after service, I poured out whiskey and burned up cards. The town was stirred and people came from far and near, men and women who hadn't been inside a church for years. When they heard that the bad man was trying to get religion, they came to that revival.

The next day, I went to the sheriffs office. He turned as white as a corpse and said, "What do you want?" I said, "I want to surrender." Pulling back my coat, I showed him I didn't have a gun. I said, "I mean it." He said, "I guess you are doing the right thing. What has come over you?" I said, "I am trying to get religion, trying to be a good man."

He said, "I don't know what to do but to take you up before a new judge that we have." I said, "Let's go and have it done with." The devil told me that I would spend time in the penitentiary, but I knew I must be right with my fellow man, and with the Lord.

When we went before the new judge, he said, "Are you Charlie Wireman?" I said, "Yes Sir." He asked the sheriff, "Where did you get him?" "He surrendered in my office." The judge couldn't understand. He said, "You know what we have against you?" I said, "Judge, I'm trying to get religion in the Methodist revival and I want to be right with the law and my fellow-man." He said, "You know what we have against you? I think we have enough to put you in a place where the dogs won't bite you for a long time. Can you give bond?" "I'm sorry, Judge, but there is not a man in town that will sign my bond." "I don't know what else to do but commit you to jail," he answered. I said, "If there is anyway that you can make it so I can go back to the revival I would be glad." I thought I would die if I couldn't get back to that meeting.

By then, the sheriff was weeping like a child. He said, "Judge, may I speak with you privately?" They held a muffled voice conversation and when they broke away, I heard the sheriff say, "I am sure he will." The judge said, "The sheriff knows your father and knew you from the time you were in swaddling clothes, and he knows you well enough that he believes you mean business and I would take your recognizance that you will come back the day after the revival is over. Will you do that?" I said, "I will." He then recognized me to come back. I felt now like I was converted almost; but I wasn't.

I walked out of that court house and down the street and got a horse. I said, "I'm going to make friends with a man who had threatened my life." We never passed each other that we did not have our hands on our guns and men would turn their backs, expecting one or both of us to die with our boots on. My father stood by the side of the horse and said, "Son, don't go about that man. If he knows you're unarmed, he'll kill you on sight." As I rode away, my father said, "I will never see him alive again." I rode up to the gate, about thirty yards from the house, and hollered, "Hello." He saw who it was and seized a high powered rifle and stepped to the door. I put up my hands and said, "If you shoot me, you will shoot a helpless man. I want us to be friends. I am sorry I shot your brother. Will you forgive me and let us be friends?" He dropped his gun in one hand and came cautiously down the path to the gate, opened it and stepped up beside the horse and said, "Bulldog, do you mean that?" After showing him that I was at his mercy, I said, "I am trying to get religion; I want to be a good man." Tears came into his eyes and he told me later those were the first tears that had dimmed his eyes in thirty years. He then stepped back, set that old rifle down against the fence, and reached up and clasped my hand and said, "Charlie, if you want to be a good man, I am telling you here and now that I will be the last man in this world to lay a straw in your way. You go and be a good man if you can." I fell over on his neck and wept like a baby and told him good-bye and went over to his parents' home.

They had said they would like to tie me to a stake, strike a match and set me on fire and laugh at me while I burned at the stake. I walked up the path to that house and rapped on the door. The mother came to the door. She turned pale and said, "What are you doing here?" thinking that I was looking for some of the boys. I said, "I want to ask forgiveness for shooting your son. I am trying to get religion. If I could exchange places with him, I would, but all I can do is repent and ask forgiveness. Will you forgive me for shooting your boy?" She closed the door in my face, but let me digress here long enough to tell you among the first converts God ever gave me was this dear woman who wanted to burn me at the stake.

I went on and on, making restitution's and confessions. The first at the altar in the day service and the last to go away in the night service, until one night, one never to be forgotten night, thank God when I made an end of resistance, was lying flat on my back and they were singing, "I'd rather walk with Jesus alone," when my faith took hold. Pardon was written on my wicked heart. The glorious salvation of the Lord Jesus Christ broke into my sin-benighted soul, dispelling the dark- ness, with such splendor and grandeur that it made the chandeliers in that old Methodist church hide their faces in shame. Thank God! I was a new creature in Christ Jesus.

Now, there are two spots I always visit when I go back home. I go to the graveyard where my father and mother are buried. I held their hands as they crossed the great divide, and there on my knees I long for the eastern skies to split and these graves give up their dead that I might be changed in the twinkling of the eye and join them in the rapture. And then I go and hunt up the janitor of the old Methodist Church and borrow the key, turn it in the door, and walk down that aisle for I am treading on holy ground \-- and down to that old mourner's bench I go where I find--

"A spot more dear to me than native vale or mountain,

A spot for which affection's tear

springs grateful from its fountain.

'Tis not where kindred soul's abound,

tho that is almost Heaven,

But where I first my Saviour found,

and felt my sins forgiven. "

"O sacred hour: O hallowed spot:

Where love divine first found me;

Whatever falls my distant lot,

my heart shall linger round thee.

And when from earth I rise,

to soar up to my home in Heaven,

Down will I cast my eyes once more,

where I was first forgiven. "

(Brother "Bulldog" Charlie once held a revival at our little church at Tioga, Louisiana. We found him to be a fearless preacher of the gospel and yet a very loving and tender man of God. The story above was told by him on a tape preached at Hobe Sound, Fla. and in a little booklet entitled "Kentucky Mountain Outlaw Transformed." Author)

A Multi-Millionaire Saved and

Saloons Put Out of Business

In the Southland, once lived a poor family. This family had an afflicted daughter, who was minus a left arm and a left limb, and whose right hand had only two fingers and a thumb. Her right limb was so drawn and twisted that she was wholly unable to walk; she was bedridden in an upstairs room; a rickety old bed and one stool were the furniture. Upon this bed lay this afflicted child for fifteen years.

One day, a Salvation Amy lassie found this humble home and in conversation with the mother, learned about the sadly afflicted child. She was taken by the mother to the child's bedside and there, in her Christ like manner, told the sweet story of Jesus in sweetest, simplest language. The child, who had been taught by her mother until she was a good reader, became much interested. This Salvation Army girl kept going to the home daily, taking good religious papers, books, and tracts. The child read and got hungry for Jesus.

One night, she dreamed that, if she were to give her heart to Christ, He would make her a useful channel to lead multitudes to Him. She wondered how this could be true. She said, "Here I am with this horrible affliction, born this way, what can I do? I have but little education, unable to go to school, my father a day laborer and so poor that he cannot do anything for me, so the dream can never come true."

But one night, she began to seek God in earnest. She cried out, "Oh, Lord, I have but two fingers and a thumb, and if you will save me, they shall work always for Thee. Forgive my sins. I am so sorry that I have so neglected Thee. I can, I do believe that Jesus here and now saves me." The clock in the tower was striking twelve, the stars and moon now shone brightly, but the light that broke into that soul at that midnight hour was much brighter than the sun at noonday. She could not help it, in fact she did not try, the laughter, the hallelujahs and praises rang out upon the night air until the whole family were aroused from their slumbers and came into her room, and they soon saw, that she had been with Jesus.

The Spirit there and then began a great work through her feeble instrumentality; her father was gloriously reclaimed by her bedside that night, and her brother and sister were saved; it was a great night for the family. The next morning, calling her father and mother into her room, she told them how the Spirit had been Whispering that there was a work for her to do. The parents encouraged her, the mother taking her in her arms, saying, "Papa and Mamma will do their best to help you."

The next day, she said to her father, "Papa, bring me a lead pencil and a tablet for I am to preach my first sermon at one o'clock this afternoon." The pencil and tablet were purchased and brought to her room. She had spent the forenoon in quiet, earnest prayer, that Jesus would bless her first effort, and the Spirit gave her her first message. He had impressed her that she must write across one page, "Where will you spend Eternity?" She wrote this simple line, then cried from the depths of her heart, "O Thou Blessed Spirit, let this paper strike the right party squarely in the face." She prayed more earnestly, she got a real burden, she felt that God had heard and would answer her heart-cries. She watched the clock and prayed, resting her faith upon this promise, "Ask, and ye shall receive." She read and re-read this promise and again she would pour out her earnest soul to God in prayer, saying, "Now, Father, send the right party along. It is only five minutes until time to preach my first sermon. The sermon is ready, and so am I. Hurry the right party right under my window."

Just then, the clock struck one -- so, taking the slip of paper, she held her hand out the window and cried, "O Lord, please let this strike the right man or woman squarely in the face. Use it to bring faithful conviction; use it to show the right one his lost condition; use it to bring someone to Christ. You shall have all the glory. This poor deformed child does not want one bit."

The paper, slipped out of her hand and was winged by a kind zephyr into the face of a great banker. He grabbed the paper as it came across both eyes and behold, "Where will you spend eternity?" struck him like a cannon ball. He staggered, he was dazed, he was alarmed, he was frightened, he looked up, he looked around. He said, "I'm going to die soon and this is a warning. God sent this by some angel. I must get ready. I am an awful sinner. I have neglected God for business. I have made piles of money, but I am a lost man. I have laid up treasures on earth and I have not any bank stock in Heaven." Soon he was wringing his hands, crying aloud, "I am lost."

The girl's mother heard the pitiful cries of this rich man and hurried to him, saying, "What is the matter? Are you sick? Do you want me to call a doctor? Where do you live? Must I call the bus?" "Woman, read this." As soon as the mother saw the slip of paper and the handwriting, she knew what it meant, she saw that God had honored, blessed and used her child to break the heart of this great business man. She said, "That slip of paper came from yonder window. My deformed child wrote that. She has been converted, and feels that God has called her to do a great work." This man, with tear-filled eyes and a bleeding heart, said, "Take me to her room."

On entering her room, the banker said, "Oh, child, how came you to throw that paper out just at that moment? How came you to write just that line? It has broken my heart. It has shown me my awful condition. I am rich in money, but a pauper in religion. I would rather have this old bed, this old stool, this carpetless room, and have what you now enjoy, than all my wealth. I am a miserable man, and with this poverty, you are a beautiful, happy Christian girl. You look so happy; now, as I kneel by your bedside, place that hand that wrote that line, upon my head and pray Him who carried that paper into my face, to have mercy on me and to save me, for I am willing to do anything possible to get what you have."

He knelt, the hand rested upon his head, and such a Prayer could only come from a heart filled with the fullness of God. How tenderly she prayed, how sympathetic she was in her prayer. She simply poured out her whole soul in earnest prayer. Here was her first fruit, here was the result of her first message; she saw at a glance that her dream was coming true.

The Lord got a deeper grip upon that man's conscience. What confessions: What deep repentance: He began to pray, and the more he prayed, the louder he prayed. Soon, with streaming eyes, he had the girl in his arms shouting, "God has forgiven me. Oh, I am so happy! We are childless at our home, not because we plan or want to be childless, I want a child, I have been hungry for some child to call me father, and why can't I adopt you? Then I could get you a nice rubber-tired chair, hire a strong woman to roll your chair, and you could go about all day, preaching for the Master and come in home at night. Then I could fix a small box to your chair and you could carry tracts, papers, and Bibles." The child said, "That would be nice, my papa is too poor to buy me a chair. We will pray about it, and if our Lord leads, I am willing to be your child."

That night, the whole story was told to her father, they prayed together, God led, and through this seemingly strange Providence, the child was adopted into the banker's family. Soon, she was seen on the streets in her new, rubber tired chair, preaching the glad story of redemption. The banker and his wife were simply overjoyed. How grateful they were that God had given them a daughter.

This child saw for the first time in her life the awful destruction of the liquor traffic. She was amazed to see men staggering, falling, spending their money for that which brought misery, when their families at home needed bread and meat, clothes and fuel. A burden for the destruction of these murder mills (the saloons) came rushing upon her. That night, her banker-father told her of the murderers, criminals, and thieves; how the penitentiaries are crowded, and over one hundred thousand going to a drunkard's grave and a drunkard's hell annually. The child sobbed and cried all night. She saw strong men, noble men, fathers and sons, husbands and brothers, by the thousands, being slaughtered by these hellish monsters. Soon she began to lecture upon the streets; she would go into the saloons and pray and beg men to not sell that which destroyed home, character and honour.

One saloon-keeper got so miserable that he could not stay in the business; he seemingly saw himself at the Judgment, and behold women and children gnashed upon him, shaking their bony fingers in his face, saying, "You took the carpet from our home, you took the clothes from the wardrobe, you took the eatables from the pantry, you sold our house over our heads, you put us out on the cold streets, your business destroyed our husband and father, you made him kill his neighbor, and then the law that gave you the license to sell the damnable stuff, took our father and hanged him. Oh! such a law, such a constitution."

At the breakfast table one morning, this godly child told her banker father and mother how God had so burdened her that she had not slept a wink all night, and now, she had a new field of labor. She was called to put the saloons out of business and purposed, by God's grace and their assistance, to wage a relentless war upon these man-destroyers. Her parents promised their assistance. That day was spent in silent prayer all alone in her room, and she received a promise from God. She laughed, she cried she shouted. Her mother, hearing her, ran upstairs, saying, "Have you prayed through?" The child said, "Yes, glory to God! The saloons will go. I have the victory."

The next day, she began her holy war. She bombarded nine saloons, she kept it up, she scattered good literature. The saloon-keeper who had gotten under such awful conviction, went to another saloon-keeper and said, "Bob, let's quit the dirty business. Our boys will soon be old enough to drink." He had never thought of other mother's sons. The two men agreed to quit, then joined the girl in her battle against this awful enemy of sobriety, virtue, truthfulness, upright character, and noble manhood and womanhood. She got one of the best temperance lecturers to corne for a ten days campaign. This drew great crowds, and soon three other saloons closed. By this time, the mayor and town council read clearly the handwriting on the wall and saw their doom, unless they refused to re-license these devilish, destructive, murder mills, and so the others had to close.

The child one day read about an evangelist who was having a sweeping revival in another town. She urged her father and they went over to the meeting. They soon saw that this was the Lord's work, and made a date with the evangelist and his singer. The five churches joined in this great work. Old and young said they never had seen such interest manifested in religious work in that town. People came by the hundreds, by dark the great building was packed. A great religious awakening broke out and a tremendous Soul saving revival followed. Hundreds were led to Christ. One of the pastors said to the banker, "Your child, by her, earnest prayers, and faithful work has brought about this change. It is wonderful, simply marvelous to see men who once sold whiskey now working in this meeting, and the drunkards, and the gamblers are being saved as well as the upper classes."

One night after going home from this great revival, while meditating, she saw how her dream coming true, how God had worked, how God had multiplied her usefulness. What a marvelous fruitage He had given although she was poor and deformed.

Christians, wake up, listen: Give what you have to God. Consecrate your all upon the altar, present your bodies a living sacrifice. He will use all who are usable, no matter what your deformity, your physical infirmities, your inability's. Just give Him a chance. Let us this moment consecrate our all to Christ.

By W. J. Harney "Praying Clear Through"

An Unusual Pair of Shoes

Supplied By God

Brother G. C. Bevington tells us here of a very unusual happening when he was working in Cincinnati. Here is the story:

In Cincinnati, I received clothing for the poor and distributed it. I was out at Mt. Lookout, a suburb of Cincinnati, and a sister there gave me some clothing. In a few weeks I noticed that one of our strong members was out for a week or so, so I went to see what was the matter. I found her washing, and reminded her that several services had passed without her presence, which was rather an unusual occurrence, She was a poor woman with three children, and had to pay her rent, but never allowed us to help her, as we were accustomed to help many others in similar circumstances. As she seemed loathe to give a reason for being absent, I noticed that she had on quite cool shoes, and finally I said, "Sister, are those shoes the best you have?" Blushing, she turned her back on me, making me feel that those were her best; but she finally said, "Now, Brother Bevington, I will have to admit that they are. I am expecting to get a pair next week, as I am to keep the children clothed and fed regardless of my need."

I returned to my room; and that being Thursday evening, I began to plead a new pair of shoes for her, as I had none that I felt were good enough for her, and therefore I prayed the more. I just held on. Finally, I looked at my watch, and it was two minutes of four A.M. I had been there ten or eleven hours.Then I dropped on my face again, and inside of thirty minutes I saw a pair of ladies' shoes, and new ones, too. That was Friday, morning. I went to my breakfast satisfied that all would be all right for a pair of shoes for the Friday night meeting: that was our regular evangelistic night service.

I was detained some that morning, and did not get to the mission until about 10:00 A.M. and went into the prayer room. One of the kindergarten teachers came out, and said, "There is a lady wanting to see you." She came out into the main hall, and said, "Brother Bevington, I bought a pair of shoes this morning, but one is at least two sizes larger than the other. They look like mates, but they cannot be. The one I tried on at the store fit me nicely. Then, as I was near here, I thought I would run in and see the kindergarten children work; and while waiting to see you, I thought I could put on my new shoes and wear them home, but found one to be entirely too large." I said, "Praise the Lord: I prayed all night last night for a pair of shoes, and I guess these are the ones." "Yes, but Brother Bevington, it seems too bad to give such a pair of shoes as that to anyone, and I don't want to take them back." (She was most too proud to do that, so she concluded to see if I could work them off to a good advantage.) I said, "She is a poor woman, and needs the shoes, and she can easily put cotton batting in the larger one, and the smaller one, I think, will fit her all right." "Here they are," she said, "You take them up." But I wanted her to see this woman, as I felt that she might be able to help her in various ways. So I insisted on her taking them, as she would have to walk near that home to get her street car. Finally, she took up the shoes and started for the woman's house. She found her busy ironing. She introduced herself, and said, "Brother Bevington sent me here, on a rather embarrassing errand." She set the shoes out, not telling the woman that one was larger than the other. All the time, she was talking about the shoes and other things, the sister kept thinking' "What will I do, as I can't wear those shoes, as my right foot is nearly two sizes smaller than my left, and I hate to tell her." But she concluded to take the shoes, and probably could exchange them. The woman started home, but she was impressed that she must tell the sister, so she returned and she told about the shoes. The sister just laughed heartily and said, "Which is the larger?" "The left one." Then she laughed more than ever, and said, "Well, well, well: God surely understands all things, as my left foot is nearly two sizes larger than my right. Here it is just as I want it. Oh, praise the Lord!"

Now, I knew nothing about the difference in the size of her feet, but God did, and see how He worked in order to answer my all-night prayer. Isn't that enough to convince us that God fully understands His business? I say, "Yes:" What do you say? Well, Hallelujah.

(Taken from "Remarkable Incidents and Modem Miracles through Prayer and Faith.")

Arrested

By Rev. Glenn Griffith

I was never arrested until after I got sanctified, but since then, I've been arrested many times. I remember one time in LaJunta, Colorado. I was pastoring there at the time, and our church had held a tent meeting. Many folks had received help in the meeting, and the praying and shouting and crying had been quite loud. While I was away from there in another meeting, I received a summons, along with eight of my members, for disturbing the peace. I called and asked if they would wait until I got home; and they did. I told the church that I would plead the case and to not get a lawyer. I began to fast before I got back to town, and there seemed to be a peace settle down and an assurance that all would be all right; God would see us through. I studied the law of our land on religious worship, so I would know where we were as far as the law of the land was concerned. When the trial came, we all met in the court house; and the place was filled and packed with holiness people from all over the area. I remember that on the inside of the chancel rail stood the city attorney and the city judge. They had their witnesses, and we had ours. We cross-examined their witnesses; and none had been to the meeting; none had been an eye-witness to who was making the noise. It looked to the crowd as though they should have thrown the case out. I preached for forty-five minutes on Christian persecution, from the time of the Pilgrim landing up to the present trial. Some of the folks there got blessed while I was preaching. The judge and attorney and witnesses all got under conviction. After a few words by the attorney, the judge said, "Mr. Griffith, for what you have done, the fine will be $50.00, and sixty days in jail." He waited a few minutes and said, "If you promise to quit that shouting, and will worship in a respectable way, I will cancel the fine and the jail sentence." I told the judge that I didn't have the fifty dollars to pay the fine, and that I would have to lay it out. I said there wasn't any holiness preacher in the jail, so I felt that the fellows should have one there to preach holiness to them; I told the judge that I planned to preach once a day or more and to pray at my usual time each morning. Before I left the court room, I told the judge I'd be at my church about six o'clock the next morning, Lord willing, because this was my time of secret prayer; and that sometimes I got pretty loud praying for the people in this wicked town. I also told him that we were going to carry on our services as we had always done, and that we might shout, and perhaps the praying would get loud; so if he wanted to arrest us, he might as well do it then. He didn't do anything, so we left the courtroom.

On the way out, the folks were lined up along the stairs, and one of the truck drivers that I had been preaching to, took me by the arm and asked me what they had done to me. I told him what they said they would do, if we carried on our services as we had been. I had lots of truck driver friends there, and lots of the boys that I had been preaching to on the court house lawn on Sunday afternoons when our young people played instruments and sang. They said, "Bro. Griffith, you give us the word, and we'll run that outfit out of town." I told them that if we did that, we would be as bad as they. I told the boys that we would go on as always; that I would preach to them and that God would save some of them. Later, I saw many of those same boys pray through and get sanctified in our meetings.

The arrest only added to the church and God's cause. It advertised our cause of holiness, and caused the editor of the "LaJunta Journal" to write in editorial entitled, "Daniel in the Lion's Den." He was our good friend; and this, too, stirred the community in our favor. Praise God: There is still victory for God's cause; and Daniel's God still lives, and moves and has His being: Amen.

"Get Rid of That Religion - Or I'll Get Rid of You"

We have here the story of how John Fletcher helped a real saint of God win a great victory. She was illiterate, and didn't know much about the Word of God, but had a determination to obey Him at any cost. She was a Methodist woman and had been genuinely and soundly converted. Shy was an old-time shouting Methodist. When she got saved, she came home shouting the victory. Her husband gave her a hard time, but she just kept on shouting and praising God. Her soul was overflowing with God's abundant blessings.

Her husband was furious and he would break up the furniture, and swear at her and beat her up, but she would keep sweet, and according to Mr. Fletcher's account, she just kept right on shouting the victory.

This man and the shouting lady operated a small bakery. In the midst of his hatred and animosity, he served notice on her to quit attending the Methodist meetings. "It is either get rid of that Methodist religion, or I'll get rid of you. I'll build a fire, heat the oven, and roast the religion out of you." But the Methodists were having a meeting that morning, and she felt compelled to go, regardless of the cost. She was under tremendous pressure; she knew he was mean and devilish enough to do as he had threatened. But with a conviction that she must be true to God, and keep the shout of victory in her soul, she set her face like a flint toward the house of God.

Mr. Fletcher said he had a message that morning and he proceeded to enter the pulpit to preach it; but God impressed upon his mind that he should preach a different message. As a matter of fact, God impressed upon his mind so strongly that he ought to preach about the three Hebrew children, that he laid his own prepared message aside and obeyed God's voice. He told about the great image that had been raised, and explained that when the music was played, that everyone was to fall down and worship the image. The music was played and everyone did fall down that is, everybody except Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. The king said to them, "Now, boys, you fellows are important wheels in my kingdom; but I'm afraid you have got the signals crossed. Now you understand, when the music is played, you are to fall down. We are going to play the comet, the harp, and the psaltery all over again, and you get down on your knees before the idol." (This is translating it in every day language with the boys answering in every day language.) They said, "Oh, King, we haven't got the signals or the wires crossed. We are going to tell you right now that it makes no difference whether God sees fit to deliver us or not; we are not careful to answer thee concerning this matter. If God delivers us, well and good; and if He doesn't deliver us, that is all right, too, but we are not going to bow down. We are not afraid, thanks to God's grace, of you or your fiery furnace or anything else that would attempt to draw us away from God."

Mr. Fletcher went on to tell how the king's anger rose mightily within him and he charged that the furnace be heated seven times hotter than ever before; then he charged that the strongest men of his kingdom take Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, bind them hand and foot, and toss them into the midst of the burning fiery furnace with their clothes on. The fire was so hot that the men who tossed them in were consumed.

The shouting Methodist woman who was present, was listening intently, for she had something like this coming, and she wanted to know how those boys were going to make it.

Fletcher continued the account. Suddenly the king looked in, and he called his counselors: "Hey, didn't we put three fellows in there?" They told him that was correct. He said, "There is a fourth in there and the fourth looks like unto the Son of God; they are all loose in the midst of the fire, and The Son of God is walking with them in the fire." The king called them out of the midst of the fiery furnace, and out they came with their liberty and their freedom.

At the close of his message, Mr. Fletcher made this statement: "God can keep you in the midst of the furnaces of life." He then pronounced the benediction and sent them home.

The little Methodist woman started for home. "The God who kept the three Hebrew children in the middle of the fire, will keep me in the middle of the oven. Hallelujah. Glory be to God."

When she came in sight of the house, behold, the smoke was rolling out of the little oven in the back yard and her husband was walking up and down in a rage. He was as mad as he could be, and broken furniture was piled up beside the oven. He was cursing and vilifying God. She came within sight of the scene, and a shout left her soul. "The God who kept the Hebrew children in the fiery furnace can keep me in the oven," and she came into the yard shouting and praising God. Suddenly, out of the blue heavens, came a baptism of fiery conviction from God, and for three hours, her husband groveled in the dust, calling on God for mercy, calling for the preacher, calling for the crowd he hated, calling for them to pray him through to victory. That wife had the kind of experience that is beautiful under fire; Hallelujah!

My friend, God is able to keep us. He has proved down through the ages that He is able to keep us. He is able to keep us in the middle of the furnace of affliction, a furnace of physical difficulty, or a financial difficulty, or whatever it may be; whether it is a furnace built and heated by relatives, or whether it is a furnace built by ostracism or criticism; no matter how hot the thing may get, God has an experience in the beauty of holiness that will keep you in the midst of the fire. Glory be to God!

(Taken from Hedge Makers and Gap Fillers -- Compiled by Delbert Willoughby.)

Ruth Miller, Former Missionary

She's a sweet little old lady with a ready smile. We visited her at Lexington House Nursing Home in Alexandria, La. and she seemed so glad to have us come. In fact she left the dining table and we pushed her wheel chair to her room where we could visit with her. Rev. Thornton Merrifield and wife, Bertie were with me. They had seen her picture in our local newspaper and wanted to go see her. You see, Bertie had taken her place on the mission field when the mission board had her return home on her 65th birthday. We listened as she and Bertie reminisced, Her mind was sharp when she conversed about her work in Africa. She said, "Oh, how I wish I could go back." Yes, she's a real missionary. Who is this remarkable woman? Her name is Ruth Miller. She's about ninety-two years of age now. Here is her story:

Dirt sifted down through the thatch roof, spilling granules into a pan of what was supposed to be sterile water, but that was the least of Ruth Miller's problems as she huddled over her makeshift medical table, doing what she could for her patient, a Batonga woman from a village near the Zambezi River.

The woman had wandered too far into the waters of a creek even as her friends cried out to her: "Stop, you can't go that far." in their native tongue.

Before she could turn back, a crocodile attacked, sinking its teeth into her lower left arm, ripping open muscle as she struggled to get free.

By the time, Miss Miller, a missionary nurse, began to treat the wound in the sultry African climate, gangrene had set in.

She had no choice but to perform an amputation, and since there was no doctor, in the region, the job was hers alone.

After anesthetizing her patient with ether, she steeled herself for the task, placing a hack saw blade three inches above the woman's elbow.

Flesh and bone did not yield easily, and Miss Miller could not finish the unpleasant task quickly enough.

"Oh my, how long do I have to do this?" she asked herself as sweat beaded on her brow.

Even if the blade could do its work, she was still faced with closing the wound. With no way to cauterize it, she would have to use the suture. As insects hummed overhead, there seemed no way the patient could survive.

That was a lifetime ago.

Now, as she sits in her chair in the rest home, she turns a page in a photo album that shows a black-and-white snapshot of a younger version of herself in a flowing dress and pith helmet standing beside the tribeswoman, the remains of the amputation healed into a scarred stump. It's one of her minor miracles, one of the many things she attributes to God's mercy as she looks back.

Miss Miller tries to keep up with current events in Africa, listening to news reports even though her eyes don't allow her to read. She likes to recall things that happened while she was there.

"Black people would step off the sidewalk if they saw a white person corning, getting out of the way. I thought that was just terrible, so I made it a point one time when I was meeting an African that I got off the street, too." She's not sure what he thought of it, but it was her effort to protest the circumstances. Changing adverse conditions had led her to become a missionary to begin with.

"Years ago when I was ten years old," she said, "I was in the Methodist church, an old-fashioned Methodist church, and a missionary from India was there. She was telling about her program, I never took my eyes off her. 1 just listened and listened and listened, and 1 said, 'Oh, God.' In my mind, in my heart, 1 said, 'I'm going to be a missionary in India or Africa.' That feeling never changed. It just came very strong."

"That missionary spoke of poverty and how children were treated. That's what stirred me up, how children, boys and girls had never gone to school."

After becoming a nurse and anesthetist, she entered Bible School. Then she went to the mission field as a Wesleyan missionary, and they gave her a ticket to Northern Rhodesia. The first assignment was in the Zambezi valley where no white people, except a couple of missionaries who had preceded her,  
had ever lived. These missionaries had been there a couple of years and had tanned. Miss Miller's skin was snow white, and the native people would brush her arms, trying to see if it was covered with some substance that masked flesh the color of theirs.

When she arrived, two grass shelters had been constructed. These served until she was able to move to a more "luxurious" mud hut.

"It didn't bother me," she said. "Everything just fit me. It was the Lord, you know. He helped me. Praise the Lord for all the things that happened. I want to go back so bad."

While she was there, she did plenty, working on her own for four years in the valley before a doctor arrived. She treated many patients, some suffering trauma to equal that of the crocodile victim.

Once a man was brought to her, after the head of a stone ax split open his skull. He was paralyzed, couldn't talk or anything. With help, she placed the man under the grass shelter -- "We never did get a proper place to treat people" – she commented. Miss Miller reached into the wound and pulled the bone up, pulled it together. The blood stopped.

Later, she began to show how the man should be taught to move his legs again in physical therapy. Still later and using a walking stick, the man came to see her, showing that he could walk again and expressing his thanks.

"He was a Christian. He had a Bible, and he had meetings in his home," she said.

In addition to providing medical assistance, Miss Miller taught Bible School. She never found opposition to Christian teachings among the tribespeople. "They seemed hungry for it," she said.

Her family was not able to visit her in Africa, but sometimes she made trips home. "There wasn't anything to do back home," she remarked, but sometimes she would work in US hospitals to gain experience which benefited her in Africa, but nothing could compare with the excitement on the mission field.

Miss Miller received a letter on her 65th birthday calling her back to the United States. "The church doesn't take you after 65," she said.

She is a native of Pennsylvania. She came to Alexandria, LA. in the 1970's to take a nursing home post and decided to stay here.

Today she continues to practice her own brand of ministry around Lexington House. "The Lord just gives me the energy," she explains as her secret for remaining so spry at her age. She has a little bodily weakness, but still does most things for herself.

She wishes more people would find God. "I just wish there'd be a revival break out, and that even the people in Washington, DC would wake up. That's what we need is revival. When people will surrender themselves to the Lord, things will work out."

Published in The Alexandria Daily Town Talk - Used by Permission
A Man Who Lacked Moral Courage

A few years ago, I went to close a meeting, and said, "Are there any here who would like to have me remember them in prayer? I would like to have them rise." And there was a man who rose, and when I saw him stand up, my heart leaped for joy. I had been anxious for him a long time. I went to him as soon as the meeting was over and took him by the hand, and said: "You are coming out for God, are you not?" He said, "I want to, and have made up my mind to be a Christian; only there is one thing standing in my way." "What is that?" I asked. "Well," he replied, "I lack moral courage." Naming a friend of his, he added, "If he had been here tonight I should not have risen; I am afraid when he hears I have risen for prayer, he will begin to laugh at me, and I won't have moral courage to stand up for Christ." I said, "If Christ is what He is represented in the Bible, he is worth standing up for; and if Heaven is what we are told it is in the Bible, it is worth living for." "I lack moral courage, " he answered; and the man was trembling from head to foot. I thought he was just at the threshold of Heaven, and that one step more was going to take him in, and that he would take the step that night. I talked and prayed with him, and the spirit seemed to be striving mightily with him, but he did not obey the light. Night after night he came, and the Spirit strove with him; but just one thing kept him back – he lacked moral courage. At last, the Spirit of God that had striven so mightily with him, seemed to leave him, and there was no more strivings. He left off coming to church, was off among his old companions, and would not meet me in the street; he was ashamed to do so. About six months later, I got a message from him, and found him on what he thought was his death bed. He wanted to know if there was hope for him at the eleventh hour. I tried to tell him that there was hope for any man that would accept Christ. I prayed for him, and day after day I visited him.

Contrary to all expectations, he began to recover; and when he was convalescent, finding him one day sitting in front of his house, I sat by his side, and said, "You will soon be well enough to come up to church, and when you are, you will come up; and you are going to confess Christ boldly, are you not?" "Well," says he, "I promised God when I was on what I thought to be my death bed that I would serve him, and I made up my mind to be a Christian. But I am not going to be one just now. Next spring, I am going over to Lake Michigan, and I am going to buy a farm and settle down, and then I am going to be a Christian." I said, "How dare you talk that way: How do you know that you are going to live until next spring? Have you a lease of your life?" "I was never better than I am now; I am a little weak, but I will soon have my strength. I have a fresh lease of my life, and will be well for a good many years yet." he answered. I said, "It seems to me you are tempting God." and I pleaded with him. "No," he said, "the fact is I have not the courage to face my old companions, and I cannot serve God in Chicago." I said, "If God has not grace to keep you in Chicago, He has not in Michigan." I urged him then and there to surrender his body and soul to the Lord Jesus; but the more I urged him, the more irritated he got, until at last he said: "Well, you need not trouble yourself any more about my soul; I will attend to that. If I am lost, it will be my own fault. I will take the risk."

I left him, and in about a week I got a message from his wife. Going to the house, I met her at the door weeping. I said, "What is the trouble?" "Oh, sir! I have just had a council of physicians here, and they have all given my husband up to die; they say he cannot live." I said, "Does he want to see me?" She replied, "No." "Why did you send for me?" "Why," she said, "I can not bear to see him die in this terrible state of mind." "What is his state of mind?" "Why, he says his damnation is sealed, and he will be in hell in a little while."

I went into the room, but he turned his head away. I said, "How is it with you?" Not a word; he was as silent as death. I spoke the second time, but he made no response. I looked him in the face, and called him by name, and said: "Will you tell me how it is with you?" He turned, and fixed that awful, deathly look upon me, and, pointing to the stove, he said: "My heart is as hard as the iron in that stove; it is too late, my damnation is sealed, and I shall be in hell in a little while." I said: "Don't talk so; you can be saved now if you will."

He replied, "Don't mock me; I know better." I talked with him, and quoted promise after promise, but he said not one was for him. "Christ has came knocking at the door of my heart many a time, and the last time He came, I promised to let Him in; and when I got well, I turned away again, and now I have to perish without Him." I talked but I saw I was doing no good, and so I threw myself on my knees. He said, "You can pray for my wife and children, you need not pray for me; it is a waste of your time, it is too late." I tried to pray, but it seemed as if what he said was true – it seemed as if the heavens were brass over me. I rose and took his hand, and it seemed to me as if I were bidding farewell to a friend that I never was to see again in time or eternity. He lingered till the sun went down. His wife told me that his end was terrible. All that he was heard to say were these fearful words: "The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved." There he lay, and every little while he would take up the awful lamentation: "The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved." And just as the sun was sinking behind those western prairies, he was going into the arms of death. As he was expiring, his wife noticed that his lips were quivering, he was trying to say something, and she reached over her ear, and all she could hear was, "The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved;" and the angels bore him to the judgment. He lived a Christless life, he died a Christless death, we wrapped him in a Christless shroud, nailed him in a Christless coffin, and bore him to a Christless grave. Oh, how dark! Oh, how sad! I may be speaking to some one today, and the harvest may be passing with you, the summer may be ending. Oh, be wise now, and accept the Lord Jesus Christ! May God's blessings rest upon us all, and may we meet in Glory, is the prayer of my heart.

D.L. Moody

Her Most Unforgettable Thanksgiving

By Mary Murphy Kibler

It was 1935, and our country was in the midst of the Great Depression. My mother was then eleven years old, one of seven children, ranging from one to sixteen.

My grandfather, previously employed at the local limestone mining company, had been laid off with the rest of the workers soon after the Depression began. To feed his family, he took odd jobs whenever available. Hunting and fishing, two sports in which he had engaged at leisure, now became necessary for survival.

The family planted a garden each spring, which supplied food for canning. However, this particular year had brought drought and a shortage of food to can.

Summer had turned into Autumn. With each passing day my grandfather would seek work, hoping that the mining company would soon open.

It was late November when my grandmother's test of faith occurred. The last of the canned goods had been used. All the staple items in the cupboard were gone. For breakfast that morning, the children had eaten pancakes from the last bit of flour and shortening. My grandfather, with the last piece of homemade bread, and an apple in his pocket, set off with his dog to hunt for supper. Time passed too quickly that morning. At noon my Aunt Emma approached my grandmother: "Mother, what are we going to do? We don't have anything left. There's not a bite of anything in the house!" "I know." she replied, "and there's no money either. But I believe that God will provide something. I want all of you to gather around me on your knees. We're going to pray and ask God to help us."

She led her children in prayer. When she finished, she asked her son, William, to bring her Bible, and turned to Psalm 37: "The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand. I have been young, and now I am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread."

"God will not forsake us," she said, "Let us thank Him for taking care of us, and for all that he has given us." With bowed head and closed eyes, she led her children in prayer again. While they were still praying, someone knocked loudly at the door. It startled the baby, and he began to cry. My grandmother cautiously went to the door.

There stood a young man she had never seen before. He looked very pleasant and was dressed neatly and modestly.

"Mrs. Henry?"

"Yes."

"I was told you have need of this, and was sent here to deliver it to you." He said, handing her a white envelope. The envelope contained $50.00, quite a substantial amount for those days. Surprised, when she opened the envelope, my mother looked up. The stranger had gone. So she sent her son, William, running down the hill to ask the man to come back. She wanted to thank him, and, to satisfy her curiosity, she wanted to ask his name and from where he had come.

William returned and said, "Mother, there is no man on the road. I've looked up and down, and there is no man on the road. I don't know where he could have gone."

"Where do you suppose he came from, and why did he give us that money?" he added.

"Because God knew we needed it," she answered. "I believe, William, that truly that man was an angel sent to us from God, because we were in need."

She pressed her son's hand in her own, and turned back toward the house, walking slowly with tears streaming down her face. To her children, all standing in the yard, she said, "Let's get ready to go into town. God wants us to have supper tonight."

That $50.00 provided the family with enough food to last throughout the winter, and by Spring my grandfather was called back to his old job.

My mother told me this story when 1 was a little girl. I have told it to my children, and I hope they will tell their children how a simple faith brought a messenger from God.

"Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." Matthew 6:33.

"My God shall supply all your needs according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." Phillippians 4: 19 Amen -- Praise His Name!

(Printed by Pilgrim Tract Society, Randleman, N.C. Used by permission.)

John T. Hatfield Gets the "Second-Blessing"

For eight years after God saved me, I battled along against that subtle enemy of the human heart, known as inbred sin. During these years, I heard not a word on the possibility of deliverance from this inward foe. One day my pastor, Rev. James Leonard, attended a Holiness camp meeting at Hartford City, Ind., conducted by the National Holiness Association, and in this meeting he professed to have obtained the blessing of entire sanctification. When he returned, he was not the same preacher, and his sermons were not the same. He had something new and there was fire in it, and you could feel it burn. His theme was holiness as a second cleansing work of God's grace, and it made me feel very uncomfortable to sit there and listen to him. He soon had me on the fence, and he had me guessing, but still I was interested. I knew I needed something, and he seemed to have the thing my poor, hungry heart was craving. At last, I became very deeply convicted for it, and told my wife that I was going to have to have that experience or die seeking it. Immediately, I began to seek the blessing, and, often in my prayers, I would become so fervent and intense that I would receive great spiritual enduements, and, at times, I often wondered if I had truly been sanctified wholly; but when I came to dealing with things about the farm, I would become impatient and lose my temper, and this was a clear evidence to me that I did not have it. I spent much time in prayer seeking this blessing. In the woods, in the field, at the barn, at family prayer, in church, at Sunday-School, in the class meeting and in prayer-meeting, I could pray down fire and wonderful blessings upon my soul, but nothing could remove inbred sin.

I was walking in all the light I had, I was not under condemnation, but I had an intense hungering and thirsting for a clean heart; yet the secret of how to obtain it had never been revealed to me. I was persistent and held on like a dog at a root, but I would have my spells of fits and starts. I remember once of hearing Bro. C. W. Ruth say, "Forty fits to one start," but that did not apply to me, for I never allowed but one fit until I took a start. I always took my pain-killer (repentance) after I had my fit.

Before I received this "second blessing," one evening my wife and 1 went to set a hen; we had to move the hen from her nest to a more desirable location. My wife placed the eggs in the nest while I held the hen, which, when all was ready, I very gently placed upon the eggs, then quietly withdrew my hand and up came the hen. I gently placed her back again, and again she arose, so I put her back again (only not quite so gently as before), and again she arose to her feet. I set her down this time with more authority, and the way I stuck my fingers into her old back and ribs was enough to give her to understand that there was something going to happen, but the end was not yet. By this time, my wife was getting a little anxious, for she knew the fellow that was handling the hen. We had already broken some eggs, but the hen still, with all past experiences, refused to set, and I was determined that she should, and so we had it, and before we got through, that hen was well-nigh picked, and feathers and broken eggs were the fragments that covered that battlefield; but that poor old hen, where: oh, where: was she? "Ask of the moon." This was very clear that I did not have the second blessing, and I was very much in need of another dose of painkiller.

At another time, my wife and I went out to the barn to teach a young calf to drink out of a bucket. We went into the stall where the young calf was and I caught the calf and was very gentle with it; I put my fingers in its mouth and tried to coax it to put its nose in the bucket, but instead, it would stick its nose in the air. With much effort, I succeeded in getting its nose in the bucket, and giving it a taste of the milk; this made it frantic, it went wild, it pranced and jumped around, and stood on both hind legs. Presently, I began to talk pretty loud to my wife, telling her first to hold the bucket up and then hold it down. At last, every other expedient unavailing, I leaped a-straddle of that calf, grabbed it by both ears and downed its head in milk to its eyes. It suddenly gave one big lurch which upset my wife, spilled the milk, threw me over its head, and we all went in one pile together. I never thought to help my wife up, I was busy in helping that calf out of that stall with my foot, threatening to kill it, but it survived the treatment and was ready for its milk at the next meal. This was again very clear that I had not received the second blessing and the calf had gotten the first.

I often said it took my wife too long to get ready for church on Sunday morning. Invariably, I found it necessary to wait for her, until at last, one Sunday morning, while she was pressing me to bring on the buggy that she would be ready to go, I said, "I will have the team here, but if you are not ready when I drive to the door, I will drive off and leave you," and sure enough she still had the old failing; she had to go back in the house after something, but when she came out, I was gone, and was soon at church. I took my usual place in the front seat, and presently my wife came in and took a seat by my side. You would have never known anything had happened by looking at her, for she was as calm as a May morning and as patient as a jug of molasses under a kitchen table; but to have seen me, you would have seen a different picture. I had a guilty conscience, the sermon didn't do me any good, I was bothered with other reflections.

After the sermon, (fortunately the pastor did not call on me to pray), my wife and I got in the buggy and started for home; I felt guilty, mean, little, and wretched. I could endure it no longer, so I said, "Amanda, that was a mean trick in me, this morning to make you walk to church; I want you to forgive me." She knew my weakness, and it was willingly done; she very well knew that I could no more keep the "old man" down than I could keep down a sick stomach. I just felt that for that one act, I would like to have her take me in the parlor and pull every hair out of my head, but that would not be like her; she had a different disposition. Her even Christian life was a source of conviction to me for years. I never saw her excited, impatient, scared or lose her temper in all our thirty-eight years of married life, and she did not profess to be sanctified wholly. She possessed the characteristics before she was converted, and I still displayed mine, after I was converted. I needed the second blessing, and that was that I was seeking.

The night before I received this sanctifying work of grace in my heart, while working in a revival in my home church, I received such a wonderful blessing that I ran all about the church shouting and praising the Lord, and yet, when I went to milk my cow, because she did not stand to suit me, we got into a scrap, and I lost my temper, as well as a bucket of milk. I got the milk all over me and the cow got the bucket all over her; the "old man" within, and the devil without; so, as a case of necessity, I was compelled to take another dose of painkiller, but by the time for the service that night I had gotten relief, and was ready for another meeting. The Lord was good to me, He greatly blessed me in my soul, and gave me great liberty in working in the congregation and leading sinners to the altar to seek the Lord.

I never felt the need of a clean heart, and full deliverance from an evil temper so much in all my life as during this night's service. It was intense. My pastor called on me to lead in prayer. The altar was full of weeping sinners. I began to pray for them, but soon my prayers were turned to praying for myself. How often had I prayed for a clean heart, and how often had I been blessed in praying for it, but the "old man" still remained; but this time, by the aid of the Spirit, I was given the key to the situation. Heretofore I had been praying myself up into blessings without exercising any faith, but when I reached the place where I said, "Lord, I do believe," instantly the fire fell, and I knew the work was done. The "old man" was killed, and I have never seen him since, and that has been more than thirty years ago.

I had passed through six months of desperate struggle amidst many a cheering hope and many a blasting fear, but, thank God: I knew I had the blessing this time. From my knees, I looked across at my pastor and said, "Brother I've got it," and he said, "Got what?" I said, "I have been sanctified wholly." Some of our people in the church were very anxious for me to get the blessing, for they said they were getting tired of hearing me pray about it. No doubt they were, it was putting conviction on them. I did not have it many hours until they were wishing that I had not gotten it.

It was not long until I had a splendid chance to tell whether or not I had the blessing. I considered my cow a bad one to milk, and I suppose the cow considered me a bad one to milk her. It was sometimes hard to tell which was worst, me or the cow, for while the cow threw hoofs and horns and milk and bucket, I was not slow in keeping myself busy plying the milk stool to her back and my boots to her ribs. Everything went well in the cow stable that morning until the milking was done and I arose to leave the stall; I was so filled with the joy of my experience that I never thought of the cow, but she had not forgotten me, for just as I arose from my milking, evidently fearing that I intended striking her with the stool, she gave a sudden kick which struck the bucket and spilled the milk all over me, but now, instead of jumping at her and trying to pull all the hair out of her back, I stepped to the front of the stall, put my hand gently upon her back and began to make my confession and tell her my experience. I said, "Lill, I have been mean to you; I have kicked you and cuffed you and beat you with milk-stools and buckets; I have pulled hair out of your back, but now I want you to understand I am sanctified; I've got the blessing and the kick is out of me; you can kick if you want to, but I'm done. I love you, Lill; you are a good old cow. It has been my fault, but you will find me a different man from now on, for I am here to tell you that I am sanctified."

The old cow seemed to understand my testimony. I convinced her that there was something in Holiness, even though nine-tenths of the preachers in the country considered it fanaticism. At once, she relaxed every muscle, put her head in the manger, and began to eat, and I walked out a victor over the world, the flesh, the devil, the cow and myself. I did not need any pain-killer this time; I had taken a dose the night before that had killed the "old man," and that put an end to the use of pain-killers. Next to the cow, my wife was the first to understand that I had the blessing. When she saw me coming up the path that morning from the barn, my clothes bespattered with milk and my face covered with a smile, this was enough for her, she was satisfied that I had the blessing.

Over thirty years have passed away since that morning and God's grace has kept me through all the trying scenes of a busy life. I have worked balky horses, milked kicking cows, been kicked clear out of the stall, taught calves to drink out of a bucket, set stubborn hens, put up stove pipes, helped my wife clean house, sat in the carriage and waited for her to come and get in, been set down on, criticized by preachers, have faced more than a thousand backslidden holiness fighters, have had unnumbered lies told on me, preached while four or five babies were squalling at their best; but through it all I have been able to maintain my experience, and to my best knowledge, I have never made a break in all these years. Now, let all the people say, yes, let everybody say, amen!

(Taken from the book, "Thirty-Three years a Live Wire" By John T. Hatfield.)

The Book That Shook the Mountains

From tiny villages scattered throughout soaring mountains and plunging valleys of Peru comes this testimony to the power of the Word of God in our times.

The story begins with Daniel Sanchez, a young man in his twenties, made prematurely old by his wretched life of poverty, grueling labor, and debauchery. His common-law wife, whom he had taken when he was eighteen, lived in constant fear; for Daniel had been transformed into a beast by drink and drugs.

Together they eked out a meager existence on a tiny, three-acre "farm." The closest gravel road was six hours over the mountains by mule. The nearest town was Puente Cilles near the Maranon River. One of the few things of which Daniel had to be proud was his ability to read -- a rare accomplishment in an area of almost total illiteracy.

One day while visiting a friend, Daniel discovered a prize \- a book. Eagerly, he offered to buy it. His friend, uninterested in the object which had been thrust into his hands by a stranger, gave it to him.

As he poured over the strange, but gripping words, something began to happen to Daniel. He learned that God was Holy and Just. Lust offended Him. Drunkenness would be punished in the fires of hell. Anger and hatred were alike in God's sight as murder. But God loved even the murderer and the drunkard so much that He sent His Son to the shacks and shanties of men to save them.

Daniel saw the wickedness of his own heart - but he saw also a God of mercy ready to forgive those who came to Him in sorrow and repentance. Before ever hearing the Gospel from the lips of another individual, Daniel opened his heart to the new revelation of love and forgiveness; and a spark of divine life was planted that would be fanned by the finds of the Spirit into a mighty flame that would engulf the mountains.

Aglow with his new-found life, Daniel began to teach his friends the truths he had discovered. The planted Word soon took effect and before Daniel had made contact with other believers, he had led three of his friends to Jesus Christ -\- including the one who had given him the Bible.

Then some strangers came into the region teaching a new religion. As he listened, Daniel realized that their message was the same as the message of his Book. He learned that the young men were students from a Bible School at Chiclayo; and, yes, they would come again. A church was organized. Soon other churches sprang from the evangelistic efforts of the missionaries and Bible School students. However, the work remained small and unagressive. The planted Word needed the power of Pentecost to give it life and power.

One morning, while hoeing his com, Segundo Gonzalez, a member of one of the outlying churches, was gripped with a deep hunger for revival. The burden for a barren church and for lost friends became so overpowering that he felt he could not live. Tears flooded his eyes as he put away his hoe and told  
his wife that he was going to the church to pray.

"If God wills, I shall return; but we must have revival, and I may not live."

He bade her good-bye and gave instructions for the care of the family if he should not return. It was Tuesday, and there was a prayer meeting scheduled for the evening. The people began to gather: a spirit of weeping came upon some as they entered the building.

Confessions were made. One man confessed that when he was in sin he had lived with another man's wife and had burned the man's house down. He would now have to make a two days' journey to settle it. He knew he risked being murdered at the worst, and landing in jail at best. Some in the cburch begged him not to go, but he persisted. God intervened, and the offended man brought no legal action against him.

"Lord, shake your people," the Christians began to pray. About three o'clock in the morning, an earthquake shook the mountains. A man shouted, "Praise the Lord! Jesus is coming!" He ran out of the prayer meeting and to the home of one who had taken on certain fanatical vows in a false religion. "Are you ready?" he shouted, "Jesus is coming!" The man broke into weeping and ran to the church where Gonzalez was still praying. He was one of eight outstanding conversions that night.

The church of Segundo Gonzalez was revived and four young men carried the blaze to the mother church at Puente Cilles. It caught fire, and soon teams were traveling through the mountains spreading the flame. Attendance in some churches leaped from 50 to 200. Almost every family in the village of Vista Alegre was converted. Pastor Alfronso Leiva caught the vision of the need of the jungle Indians. In one place, around 80 were struck down with weeping and conviction, and in another there were around 90 on whom the Spirit fell in the same manner. Pastor Leivals work is still reaping results.

The individual who gave or sold the Bible to Daniel's friend may never read this story or know the effects of his faithfulness. It was, no doubt, one Bible among many; and he may have wondered if his labors were in vain. But behind the mighty Works of God in the mountains of Peru was the planting of a seed -\- one seed -- in the heart of one man. And behind that planted seed was a faithful sower who was confident that the Lord of Harvest would see to the reaping.

(By G. R. French \- Taken from a tract by F.E.A. Sonlite Ministry \-- P.O. Box 1065, Hobe Sound, FL. 33455. Used by permission.)

George Mueller's Conversion and Faith

Among the greatest monuments of what can be accomplished through simple faith in God are the great orphanages covering thirteen acres of ground on Ashley Downs, Bristol, England. When God put it into the heart of George Mueller to build these orphanages, he had only two shillings ($.50) in his pocket. Without making his wants known to man, but to God alone, over a million, four hundred thousand pounds ($7,000,000) were sent to him for the building and maintaining of these orphan homes. In all the years since the first orphans arrived, the Lord sent food in due time, so that they never missed a meal for want of food.

Although George became famous as one of the greatest men of prayer and faith known to history, he was not always a saint. His mother died when he was fourteen, and he and his father didn't get along too well. He was put in jail when he was only sixteen. He stole, drank liquor, gambled, and was guilty of immorality.

When George was nineteen, he had reformed his life enough to be accepted at the University of Halle. This was his father's wish, for him to be a student of divinity and become a Lutheran minister.

"Now and then, I felt I ought to become a different person," says George," and I tried to amend my conduct, particularly when I went to the Lord's supper, as I used to do twice a year, with the other young men. I used to refrain from certain things, and on the day itself, I was serious, and also swore once or twice to God with the emblem of the broken body in my mouth to become better, thinking that for the oath's sake, I should be induced to reform. But after one or two days were over, all was forgotten and I was as bad as before."

While at Halle, he began to pal around with a miserable backslider named Beta, who was trying worldly pleasures to drown out his conviction of sin.

In November, 1825, George had taken a walk with Beta. Upon returning, Beta told him he was going to the house of a Christian named Wagner on Saturday where they read the Bible, sang, prayed and read a printed sermon. "No sooner had I heard this," Mueller said, "but it was to me as if I had found something after which I had been seeking all my life long. I immediately wished to go with my friend, who was not at once willing to take me; knowing me as a gay young man, he thought I should not like this meeting. At last, however, he said he would call for me."

Describing the meeting, Mueller said, "We went together in the evening. As I did not know the manners of the brethren and the joy they have in seeing poor sinners, even in any measure caring about the things of God, I made an apology for coming. The kind answer of this dear brother shall never forget. He said, 'Come as often as you please; house and heart are open to you. ' "

After a hymn was sung, they fell upon their knees, and a brother named Kayser, who after became a missionary to Africa, asked God's blessing on the meeting. "This kneeling down made a deep impression upon me," says Mueller, "for I had never either seen anyone on his knees, nor had I ever myself prayed upon my knees. He then read a chapter and a printed sermon; for no regular meetings for expounding the Scriptures were allowed in Prussia, except an ordained clergyman was present. At the close, we sang another hymn, and then the master of the house prayed." The meeting made a deep impression on Mueller. "I was happy," says he. "Though if I had been asked why I was happy, I could not have clearly explained it."

"When we walked home, I said to Beta, 'all we have seen on our journey to Switzerland and all our former pleasures, are as nothing in comparison with this evening. ' "

At his lodgings at last, he walked through his neat, bare study room without lighting a lamp. Crossing over to his bedroom, he sat down in the darkness.

What had happened to him? Because he was curious, he had walked into a man's house, expecting to sing a few hymns absentmindedly, and pick up a few phrases for goading Beta later.

What was there about a man kneeling on the floor beside a chair to shake him this way? Suddenly, he knew. It was because that man showed with every muscle of his body that he worshipped, feared, and really knew the living God. What kind of a man, and what kind of a God!

This was it, of course. For years -- since confirmation -- he had known the facts of the atonement, had understood perfectly that Jesus Christ had died on the cross to save a guilty world. But this atonement had never lived, because, to George, God had not really lived. He understood that now.

And because he had seen a man kneeling to pray, he had seen God also.

At the window, he stared back at the gray university buildings beyond, fingered the unwashed breakfast coffee cups, and crumbled the stale biscuit crumbs. Then he crossed back to his bed and, with stiff motions, he knelt. The floor felt uncomfortable and cold to his knees. He did not know at first whether to bury his face in his arms or to stiffen his elbows on the yielding mattress .

But it didn't matter. He flung his arms straight out on the coverlet and throwing back his head, his eyes wide open but unseeing, he prayed, "When you kneel like this, low before the Highest One, then God is real." He sighed, "At last! God, to- night I am yours!"

He stayed there on his knees for almost half an hour. Then, he got up, a little woodenly and sat down again on his bed. He knew that something wonderful had happened to him. For a second, he thought about his father, wondering if he would be glad or sorry when he learned about it. He assumed he would be glad, and then for no explainable reason at all, George Mueller sighed.

For a few weeks after his conversion, Mueller made rapid advancement in the Christian life, and he was greatly desirous of becoming a missionary. But he fell in love with a Roman Catholic girl, and for some time the Lord was well nigh forgotten. Then Mueller saw a young missionary giving up all the luxuries of a beautiful home for Christ. This opened his eyes to his own selfishness and enabled him to give up the girl who had taken the place of Christ in his heart. "It was at this time," says he, "that I began to enjoy the peace of God, which passeth all understanding. In this my joy, I wrote to my father and brother, entreating them to seek the Lord, and telling them how happy I was; thinking, that if the way to happiness were set before them, they would gladly embrace it. To my great surprise, an angry answer was returned."

George could not enter any German missionary training institution without the consent of his father, and this he could not obtain. His father was deeply grieved that after educating him so that he could obtain a comfortable living as a clergyman, he should turn missionary. George felt that he could no longer accept any money from his father, and told him so. The Lord graciously sent him means with which to complete his education. He taught German to some American college professors at the university, and they handsomely remunerated him for his services.

So George Mueller got through the school year. He took no money from his father. His tutoring lessons paid for almost everything.

In 1828, he offered himself to the London Missionary Society as a missionary to the Jews. He was well versed in the Hebrew language and had a great love for it. The Society desired him to come to London that they might meet him personally. Through the providence of God, he finally secured exemption for life from serving in the Prussian army, and he went to England in 1829, at twenty-four years of age. He was not able to speak the English language for some time after he landed in England and then only in a very broken manner at first.

Soon after coming to England, Mueller received a deeper Christian experience which entirely revolutionized his life. Here he tells about it:

"I became a believer in the Lord Jesus in the beginning of November, 1829. For the first four years afterwards, it was for good part in great weakness; but in July, 1829, it came with me to an entire and full surrender of heart. I gave myself fully to the Lord. Honors, pleasures, money, my physical powers, my mental powers, all were laid down at the feet of Jesus, and became a great lover of the Word of God. I found my all in God, and thus in all my trials of a temporal and spiritual character, it has remained for sixty-six years. My faith is not merely exercised regarding temporal things, but regarding everything, because I cleave to the Word. My knowledge of God and His Word is that which helps me."

Thus we have the secret of George Mueller's faith and success in building orphanages and taking care of the hundreds of helpless orphans who came his way. The orphans were fed day by day for sixty years. In all that time, the children did not have to go without a meal, and Mr. Mueller said that if they ever had to go without a meal, he would take it as evidence that the Lord did not will the work to continue. Sometimes the meal time was almost at hand and they did not know where the food would come from, but the Lord it always sent in due time.

When Mueller began to trust the Lord for money, he found it as difficult to trust the Lord for a shilling ($.25) as it was afterwards to trust Him for a thousand pounds ($5,000). The more his faith was exercised, the stronger it became. Funds for one immense building after another were sent in answer to prayer, until Mueller had received more than a hundred thousand pounds ($500,000) for this purpose alone. Six hundred pounds ($3,000) a week was required for the support of the orphans at the time of Mr. Mueller's death, and yet the Lord sent him day by day their daily bread.

He dropped dead in his room on the night of March 10, 1898. One of his leading helpers took notice that every feature of his countenance showed that he had died in peace.

(Taken from the book "George Mueller" by Faith Coxe Bailey, Copyright 1958, Moody Bible Institute and "Deeper Experiences of Famous Christians" by James Gilchrist Law- son.

A Remarkable Soldier

Desmond Doss lives on Lookout Mountain in Georgia, a little ways outside a little town with the lovely name of Rising Fawn. Doss never wanted fame or glory. When his country went to war, he refused to fight. For this, he was despised. In the army, in basic training, this conscientious objector was tormented by fellow recruits. They threw their boots at him when he prayed.

He would not carry a gun, so he was given a stretcher. He was a company aid man with the 1st Battalion, 307th Infantry Division. They called him a coward -- until he did what he did during the month of May, fifty-one years ago (at the time this was printed.)

It was 1945, on a Pacific Island, few Americans then had ever heard of a place called Okinawa, when his battalion assaulted a jagged escarpment four hundred feet high.

The Japanese let them gain the summit, then loosed a storm of artillery, mortar, and machine gun fire. Seventy-five Americans fell. The others took cover, except Doss. He remained with the stricken men. Under fire, he carried everyone, one by one to the edge of the escarpment and lowered each by rope, lashed in a litter, down the cliff to friendly hands.

This was May 1.

On May 2, he went alone two hundred yards ahead of the lines through heavy rifle and mortar fire to rescue a wounded man on the same deadly field.

On May 4, he dodged a shower of grenades to within eight yards of enemy forces in a cave's mouth to treat four wounded men and made four separate trips through the fire to drag them to safety.

On May 5, he ran through small-arms fire to rescue an artillery officer applying bandages and administering plasma while shells fell close by. The same day, he saved another American, crawling to him within twenty-five feet of a Japanese position and carrying him one hundred yards through fire to American lines.

On May 21, Doss was seriously wounded in his legs by a grenade while treating an injured soldier. Rather than call another aid man from cover, he waited five hours for litter barriers to reach him. On the way to safety, he saw a more critically wounded soldier and rolled off the litter, insisting the bearers take the other man .

Awaiting his return, he was wounded again, suffering a compound fracture of his arm. So Doss bound his shattered arm to a rifle stock as a splint and crawled three hundred yards over rough terrain to the aid station.

For these deeds, in October, 1945, on the White House lawn, President Harry Truman pinned the Medal of Honor on PFC Desmond Doss. Truman said he would rather have this man's medal himself than to be the president of the United States.

(Printed in the Alexandria. Daily Town Talk -\-- Used by permission)

(Author's note: If a mere man, though a president, felt so strongly about an honor bestowed on one who was so selfless, what will it be in that day when the rewards are given out for self-sacrificing saints who have given their all for Jesus' sake?)

Two Brothers in Their Eighties

Give Their Hearts to God

My father and his brothers were not reared in a Christian home. In fact, they were sons of a drunkard. A man lived across the street from them, by the name of Bert Harmison. His wife died and left him with five children. Being unable to cope with the situation, he too, became a drunkard.

A revival came to town, and among the converts was Bert Harmison. Also saved in the revival was a very prominent and popular young lady, the daughter of a doctor. They later married, and the new Mrs. Harmison began to pray for and witness to my father's family. Because of her influence and prayers, my dad's parents' home was changed from a drunkard's home to a Christian home.

My dad was the youngest son and was still at home when this transformation took place. He, too, gave his heart to God. His older brothers were already married and had homes of their own. About twice a year, my dad, though just a young lad, would travel the five hours it took to get to his brothers' homes to visit and witness to them about Jesus. They would acknowledge their need, but always put off their salvation until a more convenient time.

In 1984, my father passed away at the age of Fifty-Seven, due to cancer. His prayers, prayed daily at our family altar and elsewhere for his brothers, ceased but, Praise the Lord, they were bottled up in Heaven, to be answered as God saw fit.

At the present time, thirteen years after Dad's death, both uncles have cancer. Recently, my brother felt a burden for their souls and traveled many miles to see them and pray for them as Dad had done. After stating his mission and dealing with them about their lost condition, he invited them to pray, and God came and gloriously saved their lost eternity-bound souls, a wonderful miracle of God's love and grace.

One uncle is in a nursing home and is heavily sedated at times, but God restores his mind enough that he reads his Bible and prays daily and is doing well. The other states the fact that he regrets his past and has asked God to give him a few more years to prove his love for God. He is so appreciative of God's rich mercy. We, too, are so very thankful to God for not cutting them off and ascribing them to hell, but was abundantly merciful to their never-dying souls.

By Joe Redman, Okla.

(May this wonderful testimony of God's mercy encourage us to keep holding on for the salvation of our loved ones when it looks like all hope is gone. Author)

A Cluster of Miracles

There is no other explanation under the sun besides the fact that God answered prayer by working three or more different miracles in our crusade in Kirovo-Chepetske, Russia.

I was glad to have Brant with me when we got on the train. We had some good spiritual times in prayer, and he was such a blessing to help us. In the first part of my trip, I went on ahead to try to get things ready. By the time you get 15 people ready and you have a town of 110,000 people, you either have things organized, or you're wasting time just spinning your wheels.

After about 26 hours, we arrived at the city of Kirovo-Chepetske. Just as we were pulling into the station, there were some extenuating circumstances that I don't care to go into, at present; but there were some frustrating things that I had to wade through and my mind was preoccupied with them. I finally got my backpack and luggage together and got the guys off the train.

I had my money, passport, papers, train ticket and some other things in a pouch around my waist, and besides that I had $6,000 in expense money in that pouch. When I had laid down to sleep on the train the night before, I put it at the end of my mattress so no one could come in while I was asleep, grab my things and run. You may say that was unwise, carrying that much cash with me, but the banks in Russia are not banks at all. They were set up so you can't borrow money. They want you to put your money in, and then pay all your bills for you. The whole deal is a communist scheme to keep track of the money you have and where you spend it. You can't borrow money; you can't wire it in, so you've got to carry it with you. So I had enough money to pay for the center in Kirovo-Chepetske, and three thousand dollars earmarked for Siberia.

My passport was worth a mint to anyone forging my name. It could even mean a trip to America. If a retired doctor gets $7.00 a month retirement in Russia; how far would $6,000 go? They could retire 40 Russians. Yes, $6,000 is real wealth there.

At the end of the ride, and with my mind occupied I forgot all about that money-pouch. We caught a bus and rode that hour to Kivoro-Chepetske and were settled in at the place we were supposed to stay \-- Brant at one place and my friend and I at Ruslyn's house. While Ruslyn was making supper for us, I got to thinking, "Oh, I'd better check on my money and papers," so I reached down \-- and my pouch was gone! I thought, "Huh, I don't remember taking it off, " so I went to the bedroom where I put my belongings \-- and it wasn't there! All of a sudden, I knew exactly where it was, IT W AS ON THE TRAIN! A train loaded with Russians; one that had another thousand miles to go -- and I almost fainted when I realized what that money meant to the work of God – the Bibles it could buy, etc.

I walked in and said, "Ruslyn, I've got a problem, a very serious problem. My little pouch with my papers and money, it's -- it's still on the train!"

He said, "We'll have to find a way to get it," and didn't seem too concerned. I said, "But Ruslyn, there is $6,000 in that pouch!" He said, "Oh, James! Oh -- we'll have to call the pastor."

"What can he do, Ruslyn; he doesn't have a car? We've got to get over there as quick as we can."

"Oh, but you don't understand. Pastor will immediately call all our believers, we will pray and God will take care of that money." Isn't that amazing? Why didn't I think of that? I was already saying, "God help us," but in agony I said, "we gotta go!"

Ruslyn called the pastor and he called Brant and told him to meet us out front.

We ran out past the house where he was staying, and out he ran and soon caught up with us. We came to the bus stop, the last stop in the city, but didn't even wait on the bus. We just kept running for another quarter of a mile to the main road and started flagging people down. But they paid no attention to us. Ruslyn said, "I don't understand this. It's always easy to flag people down, but nobody's stopping." Finally we said, "What about money?" I pulled out a 5,000 ruble bill. Brant took it and waved it at the next guy who slowed down, looked at it and drove on by. It's an hour to the city and while we anxiously watched, the money sign finally registered and he suddenly stopped. Brant ran up to the window and started jabbering in Russian, and the fellow looked at us and finally hollered back, "Come on and get in."

We told the fellow that we were going to give him 5,000 rubles to take us over to Kirovo and 5,000 to bring us back.

"I don't know what my wife is going to think," he said, "She's supposed to have a meal ready for me." He probably thought she'd be mollified when he took in those two 5,000 bills.

We made the trip across town, came up to the station and we jumped out of that car on the run. Brant went to one office and Ruslyn to another one. They kept sending us over here and over there. Did we ever get our exercise, running up and down stairs until finally, one lady began to talk. Ruslyn looked at me and smiled, "Praise the Lord, James," I said, "Praise God, Ruslyn"

Then he said, "Do you know what happened?" I said, "I'm waiting." He said, "God is answering our prayer. Do you know, they took that train car out ofthe train and they've got it somewhere on these tracks. That car is here!" HALLELUJAH! Somebody was really praying for us and God was answering  
prayer. Listen folks, this is no accident. The only problem was, there were 20 some sets of tracks. We ran up, through, under and around train cars and down the other side for about a half mile, when finally Brant said, "I believe that's it down yonder." and sure enough there were the two cars with lights still on. We ran down there as hard and fast as we could and banged on the door until a young fellow we had seen on the train came to the door. The minute he saw us he started laughing and jabbering something and they jabbered back. All of a sudden, he pulled out a piece of paper. I looked at it but couldn't understand a thing -- it was written in Russian. I said, 'what's that?' He said, "Do you know the granny, (That's what Brant called them) that was in charge of this train?" (And by the way, these grannies are tough nuts to crack. They rule that train. I've seen big old Russians that stunk and were drunk, and these gals would throw them off the train. They are a tough bunch.) This note was from her and she had told this young man, "Now, listen, the Americans will come back to this car and when they do, would you kindly give them this note. It tells them where I live. They will want to come see me." WOW!!! DID WE EVER??

We went back and got our driver and told him, "Hey! We appreciate your waiting, but we have to find where this lady lives."

Here is a city of 600,000 people. There are very few single dwelling homes in the city. Most are 8 & 10 story concrete cubicles. We went to a section of the city and broke it down by region, area and finally blocks. We asked several people about the address that we were looking for and finally found the place. We got inside and were told that the woman lived on the seventh floor, and the elevator wasn't working. We were already worn out from running, and I'm telling you, that by the time we reached step number 13, my legs were really testifying – I was having cramps. We finally got them worked out and knocked on the door. The lady that opened the door didn't look like a conductor, but of course she was home now. She asked what we wanted, then she spied me standing in back of Ruslyn and recognizing me from my passport picture, she burst out laughing and jabbering something that I interpreted as, "I knew you'd corne to see me, come on in." When we got in, I told them to tell this lady I was REALLY glad to see her. After she talked awhile, I glanced over on the TV set and there was my little bag. I wanted to get it and run, but that was not the way it was to be. I was a guest in her house and she asked if we had time to sit down for a cup of tea. We told her no, that we had a long way to go, but appreciated her offer just the same.

She handed me the pouch and asked me to count the money. Her two sons, in their 20's were present and they appeared to be pretty rough characters so I decided against it. I gave her a 20,000 bill, which is a lot of money for the Russians.

When I handed her the money, this is what she said, "When I saw this pouch I knew who you were, and I knew that you would be in very serious trouble. If I'd have turned this in like I'm supposed to do, you'd have had stacks of papers to sign, the police would be all over you, and frankly I don't know what the outcome would have been." I thanked her profusely for what she did, invited her to the crusade and left.

Now, for the outcome of all of this. I wouldn't be surprised if this is why I left the money in the first place. When it came to the last night of the crusade, I looked in the stands. There were 800 people. A guy with a woman and little girl, came in and sat down by my wife - it was the driver of that car. My wife watched them and they listened intently to the message and when the altar call was given, he started for the altar, and the wife and little girl followed him. Right in the middle of that huge crowd, he prayed the sinner's prayer. I mean he was doing business with God. I was watching him when he looked up and it dawned on him that I recognized him. He turned to his wife and said something and she turned and gave me a big smile. He soon came around and told me that this was the first religious service he was ever in, and we were now brothers in the Lord. He said this was the first Bible he ever had and he wanted me to sign my name for his little girl. I tell you my 2 and 1/2 or 3 hour blood pressure problem, and skipped heart beats, had turned into a joyful occasion. I had a new brother in the Lord, Praise God!

They would never have heard the gospel had I not gone through those trying, exhausting hours. I say God is a miracle working God. In ten days, we had services in twelve public schools and camps where the children go in the summer to be indoctrinated in communist ways. They now invited us to come back and teach their children about God! Praise His wonderful Name!

By Rev. James Southerland, Ind. (Taken from the book, "God Was There," by Clyde and Margaret Gouge. Used by permission.)

Deliverance From The Bondage Of Oppression   
After More Than Twenty Years

(Sometime ago, I was in a drug store and was witnessing to a lady who has since become a good friend. She told me that the Lord had healed her, miraculously. Below is her testimony of God's wondrous love, mercy, forgiveness and healing power. Author)

When I was sixteen years old, I became a Christian -- realizing that Jesus Christ had died for my sins. I had striven to live a life that others would consider righteous. Perfection in all of life's situations and experiences was the ultimate goal for me.

During the early 1960's, I married a fine Christian man and our marriage was blessed with our daughter, Pam. About this time, anxiety attacks began. Life seemed to be pulling me in all directions. The attacks became so severe that I was hospitalized for one week. The physicians decided that prescribing Valium was the answer for my anxieties. I saw many physicians and social workers in hope of finding an answer for my behavior. The anxiety attacks increased as well as the dosage of Valium.

Normal life as a young woman ceased to exist for me. Although I was calm while in my home, I was no longer comfortable in any social situation. I did not leave my home much and I stopped driving. Satan's lies controlled my life for over twenty years. The lies kept me in bondage that robbed me of Christ's joy and peace.

By the middle of the 1980's, I began to seek the help of another psychiatrist. He was astonished when he learned of the dosage of Valium that had been prescribed for me. I know that it was with God's help that I broke the addiction to Valium without many problems. The anxiety attacks became less frequent. Miraculously, I was able to start driving again.

In the early 1990's, my family physician, Dr. Forester, suggested that I have some tests completed at the hospital due to a medical problem. This presented a problem because hospitals with small rooms and elevators with small doors felt like sure death for me. I explained this to Dr. Forester. The answer he gave me has caused my life to be revolutionized. He explained that the Lord had revealed to him that there was a stronghold in my life. Somewhat perplexed, I insisted on knowing how to break that stronghold. Becoming aware that it was through prayer and fasting, I used this means and on April 28, 1994, I sought deliverance. God revealed to me the many things in my life that kept me from living freely and completely. I had repressed feelings of rejection, anger, and sin. Also, I realized that I had the inability to forgive God, others and myself. I confessed all these things and laid them to rest at the foot of the cross. Satan tried to convince me that seeking deliverance would mean death, but Christ's love strengthened me. I completely yielded my life to God and became a FREE person. The years of bondage were over.

I drove home that day with a peace that surpasses all understanding. I gazed into the mirror looking for an obvious physical change. Of course, there was none. The change had taken place spiritually. I began to live again. Hospital rooms and elevators are no longer obstacles. I have taken advantage of opportunities to fly in airplanes, ride motorcycles, and play on a Skidoo. All these things seem like small accomplishments to others, but to me, they are mountains that have been conquered by the glorious grace of God. I finally understand the Scripture revealed to me from the book of Isaiah, 40: 1,2, "Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak kindly to Jerusalem and call out to her, that her warfare has ended. That her iniquity has been removed, That she has received of the Lord's hand double for all her sins."

God's Holy word supplies all the equipment necessary to combat Satan's vicious lies. Within its words, one can find solutions to all the obstacles of life.

For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of strongholds. We are destroying every speculation and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, And we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ. (King James Version: For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh: For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds; Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ;) II Corinthians 10:3-5

By Barbara Blackshear, Louisiana

A Family of Seven Saved

Among the many seekers who presented themselves at the altar in a particular meeting was a young lady who was very much concerned about her soul. At times, she agonized with great intensity, but failed of obtaining the victory and blessing she sought. I was anxious to help her through, but I was satisfied in my own mind there was something in the way. After questioning her pretty closely in order to learn the difficulty, I found that the young lady and her father were not on the best of terms. They had, in times past, disputed over some matters concerning her courtship, which resulted in her leaving home. I asked her if she was willing to forgive her father and become reconciled to him. She said she was not. I asked the father if he was willing to forgive his daughter and become reconciled to her and help her in her efforts to live a Christian life. The father declared his willingness to do what was right in the matter, and was ready to forgive his daughter the moment she requested it.

As service after service came around, the young woman always presented herself at the altar. One day, I told her she would never find mercy as long as she cherished a hateful and unforgiving spirit; that she had already cried enough tears to save a dozen souls, and if she was determined to cherish that unforgiving spirit, that I wanted her to leave the altar, and stop her crying, and never come back again till she was willing to pay the price. At this, the young lady, in a very angry mood, left the altar and took her seat in the back part of the house, and during all of the remaining service she sat there and pouted, but her stubborn heart was being powerfully wrought upon by the Holy Spirit. The meeting closed, she felt that her time had come, and to let the night pass, without getting right with her father and with God, would seal her doom. She started for her father's house two miles away in the country on the run, and the further, the faster. The night was dark and the road was lonely, she was frightened, but she was so determined to find peace with God at all cost, that she plunged on and on until at last she bounded into her father's house and straightway begged forgiveness. No sooner was her request granted than she fell upon the floor and cried to God for mercy and in a few minutes she was wonderfully saved. So marvelous and powerful was her conversion, that her father fell upon the floor and began to confess; he was soon reclaimed and shouting the praises of Jesus.

The mother, who had been witnessing the soul-stirring scene, felt that she needed something as well, and she, too, sought and found the Lord in saving power. While the happy three were rejoicing over their victory, a couple of the daughters of the household, who had been awakened from their sleep in an upper room, appeared upon the scene and they were invited to the same mourner's-bench where father, mother and sister had obtained the blessing. They needed no second invitation, but to their knees they went, and soon they were in the glad jubilee. Suddenly, down the stairs came the two boys of the family, their faces were aglow and their hearts attune to the excellent praising of the five, both announcing that, while the shouting was going on below, they had been praying above and got blessed and had come down to enjoy the feast with the balance of them.

The next morning, as I was approaching the church, I looked down the road and I saw a mule team coming at full speed, drawing a wagon load of people. When they reached the church, the laughing, crying, shouting family all hailed me with delight and the father said, "Brother Hatfield, the whole of us were saved last night!" There was no preaching that morning, the meeting was thrown open and the time was spent in testimony, old fashioned shouts, and hallelujahs, and a fruitful altar service.

By John T. Hatfield (From the book, "Thirty-Three Years a Live Wire.")

Escape From Cuba

Jose Cancio's family was not sure when their father finally decided to leave Cuba. The increasing pressure from Castro's cocky militia, the ever-present fear of arrest, was becoming too much. Jose's father had never embraced communism: now he would flee its terror.

Mr. Cancio's first step was to close his profitable fish market in Havana. Then he bought a 19 foot fishing boat equipped with a sail and a one cylinder, nine horsepower motor. Outfitting his little vessel with the usual fishing gear, he passed as one of the thousands of uprooted citizens trying to readjust to the harsh realities of communism. For several weeks, Jose's father went regularly to sea, earnestly plying his business.

One day, Mr. Cancio announced that Jose would go with him fishing while his brother, Jerry, would go to Havana with his mother on business. Jerry was bitterly disappointed but watched as they loaded the boat with supplies. Then he and his mother left in a taxi for Havana. Instead of going to the capital, however, they were taken to a bus station where they were picked up by another cab which took them to a neighboring town. Jerry became suspicious. "Where are we going?" he wanted to know. "To see your father," wils all his mother would say. When darkness came, they loaded into another car and were driven to a roadside park where they waited silently and apprehensively. Others came, and soon there were nine people gathered in the darkness.

Finally, the small beam of a flashlight bobbed down the road and into the park. "Follow me," said a voice. The park was about three miles from the sea through thick jungle. However, someone had marked a path through the undergrowth and the small group of determined people silently followed the beam of light as it threaded its way among the tangle of swamp growth. The jungle ran all the way to the water's edge, and as close as it could snuggle to the shore was Mr. Cancio's little boat with its crew of "fishermen." Asleep on the floor was Jose, weary with a day of setting markers which, unknown to him, would help the escapees avoid the shallow reefs. Suddenly, people were climbing all over him, until there were thirteen crowded together for the escape attempt.

Just off the mainland was an island where deep water vessels docked for loading. Militia were also stationed there. As the boat rounded the island, the motor was cut and the sails were hoisted. Agonizingly, the boat crept around the danger point and headed for open sea. But there were other dangers. Coast guard cutters, spotter planes, and tattle-tale fishermen were certain to see them when daylight came. Besides these, here lay the dangers of the open sea. The small craft with her heavy load and small motor was no match for the angry waves of the Caribbean.

But the desire for freedom is a powerful impulse and the problems would have to be met as they arose. At early dawn, they reached a small key covered with swamp growth. Into its interior ran small canals. Pushing the boat into one of these, they pulled the brush over it and prepared to wait out the day.

Finally, when darkness came, they again pointed the craft toward freedom. As the second day approached Jose and his brother were awakened by the tossing of the boat. They had reached the Gulf and its large waves were causing havoc among the passengers. All but the fishermen were deathly sea-  
sick.

About one o'clock in the afternoon, they reached a small land where they hoped to find water, but were disappointed. Suddenly, an American Coast Guard plane flew over, circled, took some pictures and left. The next day, the plane came again and dropped a note. "Go south five miles where there is a Coast Guard vessel," it said in broken Spanish. As they rounded the end of the island, however, they were surprised to see another Coast Guard ship the plane had evidently overlooked. Soon they were on board, eating their first American bread and drinking milk from half-pint cartons. At Key West, the refugees were questioned, given papers, and placed on a bus for Miami. Soon they were located in a small apartment in Miami, and Mr. Canico had found a job.

Near their apartment, Miss Cecil Driscoll conducted a small Sunday school. The Cancio boys were invited to attend, and soon they found themselves at the mission every Sunday. It took time, but as the Word took root, they saw their need of accepting Christ as their Saviour. When Jose learned of the possibility of attending a Christian Bible school, he began to pray earnestly about it, and soon enrolled in the seventh grade in Hobe Sound Christian Academy.

This account was written many years ago. Later Jose married. He and his wife Priscilla labored in Christian service with the FEA Evangelism team, reaching many of the Hispanic immigrants in West Palm for Jesus.

At the time this account was given, Jose and wife had two daughters, Angela and Rochenda, and a son, Jose, Jr.

Jose feels strongly that it was a miracle of God that delivered him from the grip of communism and led him into a relationship with Christ. How marvelous is the grace of God!

Dr. Glen Reiff, Used by permission

A Mighty Awakening on Andros Island

Bro. G.T. Bustin, a faithful missionary for many years, and now in Heaven, enjoying the rewards of his labors, tells of a mighty revival on Andros Island in 1940. Bro. Bustin lived by faith and heeded God's voice to go anywhere in the world God led, including Australia, New Guinea, India, Egypt, Scotland, England, Bahamas and the West Indies. In New Castle, Indiana, God spoke to him to go to Andros Island and though he knew nothing about it, he obeyed the Voice. Here we have his story:

"Come at once," said the native schoolmaster in terrified tone, as he rushed up to the native hut where I was staying, "something is wrong with my sister." He scampered along the sandy trail with the missionary at his heels. The discovery was soon made that the sister was suffering from the discomforts of moral heart disease -- a virulent case of old-time sin-sickness. Her sobs, cries, moans, and intermittent confessions indicated that she had already begun to apply the remedy of repentance. With a few promises from God's Book and a little in the way of admonition to look to Jesus for deliverance, her heart heaviness soon turned to joy and her sobs to shouts of praise. Already a crowd of people had gathered in the public school building, so the service was soon underway in an electrified atmosphere. God's presence was manifestly there. This was my fourth night on the island. The revival was on.

My camping quarters at that time consisted of a tiny room in the small hut of Mr. Barr, the Roman Catholic sea captain, who had brought me to the island. One morning at about two o'clock, I was awakened by a sudden outcry followed by moans and groans and convulsive sobs. For an instant, I was puzzled as to where these might be coming from, but upon getting awake, it became clear that these were originating in the next room. At this, I rolled off my cot and began joining the penitent in prayer. Yes, Mrs. Barr was upon her knees ear- nestly seeking God to save her soul. Within a brief period of time, her penitential cries turned to praiseful confessions of victory. The poor husband was upon his knees too for a time, for he had been awakened in startling fear. The spiritual awakening which was then in evidence on that part of the island cannot be described. For months, it was a common thing to hear people crying out for mercy at all hours of the night.

To begin with, I was at a complete loss to understand the reason for this mighty awakening which had seemed to sweep upon us so suddenly, like unto one of those freak storms which sometimes appear to arise from nowhere and suddenly strike with smiting power. One night while the "heavenly hurricane" was striking its heartening blows, an elderly lady rose and stood erect with flashing eyes. "Dis am de man," said she, "de man de Lawd showed me in a vision, dis here White man comin tousands an tousands of miles across de haungry ocean to preach de gospel to dese folks in Sodom."

Never shall your writer forget that night. This old lady's English was not good, but what did she care about good English. She had something to say, and she said it. She went on to tell how that for long years she had prayed for her people that they might be awakened to the truth. She told how that she had seen a white man coming to Stanyard Creek with a message, and that her people were turning to God. In Holy eloquence, she warned the wicked to turn from their evil ways and seek God while He was near. Later, I learned that forty years before this time the dear lady had found peace with God, and from her conversion she had cried to God to send a revival among her people. She had told others before now of her vision of a white man coming there to preach the pure gospel. Now, I was able to understand why the Lord had spoken to me near New Castle, Indiana, laying a burden on my heart to go to Andros Island of which I knew nothing.

As the revival continued, it was a common thing to see strong men and women smitten under the power of the Holy Ghost. Some were smitten down in the meetings when they tried to flee from the presence of God. Able-bodied seamen sought to find refuge from conviction by taking to the sea, but became so sick they were brought back to the land to bow before God and plead for mercy. Many of the school children (especially the girls) were under such conviction until they had no desire to play during recess and the noon hour. They would meet here and there to pray on the school ground, then upon returning to their humble homes, they would club up underneath coconut trees and cry to God to save them, and to save their people. Many of these little ones found God and became a problem to their teacher. It was customary for school to open each morning with a song. While singing, these joy-filled little ones would sometimes give vent to their emotions by weeping or by audibly praising God. Their schoolmaster tried to tell them that this was not necessary, and that they should curb their emotions. They replied, "Teacher, we don't try to do this, but it comes out anyway." About that time, another wave of blessing would sweep over their souls. This continued until one morning when the presence of God was so marked in the school room, the teacher, himself, could not hold in. He arose and tried to speak rather sternly to the children about their demonstration, but suddenly, he asked his sister to take care of the school, then turned and rushed into his living quarters where he sobbed out his heart to God. A little while later, he returned to his students with a sober face, but with red eyes. Discerning little minds knew what had happened. A few weeks later, the schoolmaster was thoroughly awakened to his need of a clean heart and power in his life. Before daybreak, one morning he touched Heaven with his prayers and was mightily baptized with the Holy Spirit and at the same time received a call to preach the Gospel. Now the revival was well on in the school, and the children were doubly blessed because the Lord had answered their prayers in making their teacher free.

There were many outstanding conversions. Among the most noted of these mention will be specially made of only three. The first of these was a fine type of young manhood, yet quite wicked. Upon being thoroughly awakened to his need, he began to take his place among the seekers at the front, but in view of the altar already being well filled, he lifted his own little bench above his head and made his way through the crowd looking for a place to put it, then upon finding a place, he knelt in penitence before the Lord. For some reason, conditions of faith were not fully met, so he kept coming back to the altar every night for sometime. Each night, the bench was seen above the head of the seeker as he made his way up front. One thing of interest was that other seekers knelt at the same bench and found peace with God while the one who brought the bench up front seemed to get nowhere. This was a trial to him to see others get help at his altar while he seemingly received no help. One night, he came to do business with God, so confessed, went to the bottom, confessed out, then believed unto salvation. He has been preaching the gospel now for many years.

"Jennie," said someone to the concubine of an outstanding young man belonging to Andros Island, "you should be home now, for there is a white man preaching the Gospel at Stanyard Creek and a great revival is on. People are seeking and finding God everywhere, and there is great rejoicing."

"Taint necessary to act the fool like that to be saved," said Jennie Smith, staunch Roman Catholic and mother of two children born out of wedlock. She was then at Nassau. A few days later, she arrived at Stanyard Creek and made her way to the meetings that night. During the after service, she pushed her way to the front and looked on with a proud and defiant air as seekers poured out their hearts to God. She was well dressed and wore a broad-brimmed flowered hat which was set on her head at about a forty degree angle. Suddenly, as if stricken by lightening, she fell to the floor. The big hat went rolling -- no one knows where -- while its owner literally screamed for mercy. Within about thirty minutes, this woman was on her feet praising God, and has continued to praise Him for these many years. She was saved from a shameful life of sin and moral rottenness, but immediately she was a new creature. The priest had the grandfather drive her and her child from his home with the expectation that she would recant and return to the Catholic fold. She was bitterly persecuted, but remained true. The man with whom she had lived in adultery tried to turn her back, but all to no avail. Jennie Smith has preached the Gospel for many years now and has seen many of her people brought to Christ. She led her old grandfather to the Lord before he died, also prayed many others through in their last days.

Within a few weeks after the revival began, my good friend, C.J. Goodspeed arrived on Andros to help in the work. We were camping together in a native hut which was about 10 by 13 feet in size. This was divided into two rooms -- our reception and dining room, and our bedroom in the rear. One morning we had just finished washing the breakfast dishes, when a trembling voice was heard at the front: "Brother Bustin, would youse pray for the old man?" "Yes, come right in, Brother Bums." We hadn't seen much of this old man, but we knew he was the father of Sister Watkins, the old lady who had had the vision of my coming, after praying forty years. We had also been told he was a Roman Catholic catechist, and that he had brought Catholicism to the island thirty years before. For weeks, he had lived under conviction, and had now come calling for prayer. Immediately, he fell upon his knees and began to pour out his soul to God in confession, while tears were literally pooled into a puddle on the floor. Within a few minutes, his prayers were turned to praise, and the old man was beside himself with joy. Jubilant in his newly found faith, the old fellow shuffled his way along the sandy shore, telling the good news as he returned to his little thatched-roof home. At the age of eighty-four, he helped us build our first open tabernacle at Stanyard Creek. His joy was unbounded as he often testified of the preciousness of Christ in his life.

Nearly four years after the above experience, someone came to me saying, "Brother Bustin, do you know that Brother Bums is quite low? He will not be here long." I had been away from Stanyard Creek then for some weeks, so had not heard of his illness. Soon at his bedside, I asked, "Brother Bums, do you know me?" "Brother Bustin, eh?" Then followed a gracious smile. Upon being asked if all was well between his soul and his Saviour, his face became aglow, while with a weak voice, he answered, "All is well." I learned that the priest had visited him and sought to give him absolution, whereupon Brother Bums rejoined, "Jesus has already given me absolution." Later I was back to visit the dear old Brother who was then near the crossing for the other shore. His eyes were glassy and the rattle of death was in his throat. "Brother Bums, do you know me?" No reply. "Brother Bums, do you know Jesus?" There was no effort to speak, but his time-wrinkled face was wreathed with an assenting smile. A few days later, I witnessed one of the sweetest funerals some of us had ever known, as we laid the mortal to rest in a sandy grave, half-filled with water brought in from the Atlantic with the high tide. All of this seemed in order for the occasion, for upon the bosom of the Atlantic he had sailed as an old seaman for many years.

Brother Goodspeed one day said to me, "Brother Bustin, if none other had been reached for God and made it through to Heaven, the salvation of Brother Bums is worth all our efforts."

Time prohibits my telling of the many experiences of the great awakening in 1940. Some of these are sad, as is always true when God comes in great power and some souls, refusing to obey, seal their destiny forever. But the pleasant experiences we beheld outweighs all the sad things that transpired. Praise the Name of Jesus forever!

Mary's Little Lamb

The following account is given by Virginia Miller a wonderful friend of the author. She knew both ladies personally who are mentioned in this touching story. It should stir us to hold on in prayer until we persevere for those whom we are burdened. God is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him. Praise His Name!

Mary Berg was saved in her late teens and later, in 1902, received light on heart purity, thus walking in the light. God gave her a special call, that of working in the slums among the down and outers. This was difficult work, very discouraging, and even at times dangerous, but Mary worked as effectively as possible wherever God led her -- Binghamton, Albany, Schenectedy, Cortland, Utica, Middletown and North Troy. For 35 years she labored for God in this work.

One night, Mary entered an Albany saloon with other mission workers, to sing and pray. She saw a woman with her face down at a table, drunk, but she made an attempt to join in the singing of the hymns. Mary felt strangely drawn to this drunken woman, and made a covenant with God to hold on in prayer until God changed her.

With deep concern, Mary followed the woman, who was named Jennie, from saloon to saloon, trying to help her. Jennie became known as "Mary's Little Lamb," so conspicuous was the pursuit.

Time after time, Mary would take Jennie to her home, sober her up, feed her, bathe her, clothe her and pray with her. But the first chance Jennie got, she would sneak away, sell her new clothes and return to her old haunts.

Oh, how much grace would it take to hang in there with this drunken, debauched woman? How did Jennie ever get in this terrible mess? Here is her story:

She was once a golden haired, blue-eyed country girl. A city man, soft spoken and well dressed became infatuated with dear, little shy Jennie. She was quite thrilled at his interest and flattery. They later married and moved into a small apartment in the city.

Jennie had never known such happiness. Two sons were born to them, which, with the housework and other duties, kept Jennie quite busy so it took awhile before she noticed the gradual cooling off of her husband's affections. But soon she became suspicious and decided she would follow him the next night he made excuses for leaving her.

She put her little ones to bed and stalked her husband until she came to the house he was entering. Several days she went by the house until she saw a woman there. She confronted her husband, but he only laughed at her.

One evening, Jennie carefully placed her sleeping babies in their cribs, left a tear-laden kiss on each cheek, concealed a large knife beneath her sweater, and made her way to the home of her husband's girl friend.

Bursting through the doorway, she found the two embracing. Blind with anger, maddened by jealousy, Jennie rushed upon the woman with drawn knife, slashing and cutting until the face of her competitor was a bloody ruin.

Police arrived. A short trial ended with Jennie beating helpless hands against the bars that shut her away from home and sons.

The dreary months dragged by. No word ever came from her husband. The bruised heart of the ill-treated wife gradually hardened. She paced the floor of the prison cell like a caged animal, formulating plans of revenge.

At last, the jail doors opened and she sped to her apartment. Her frantic knocking brought a stranger to the door to whom Jennie's name and history meant nothing.

Husband and children were gone -- vanished into the limbo of the large city. Crushed, broken by her loss as the prison had never broken her, Jennie began her search for her boys. Her path led through dark and torturous routes.

With little education and scant knowledge of the world, old values fell by the way. From the ashes of an innocent country girl emerged a woman with a bitter heart and a caustic tongue. She fought the world as an animal would fight.

More and more she sank into the shadowy world of liquor and narcotics. Her last despairing attempt to beat her foes left her seeking the murky waters of the Hudson River in a suicidal attempt.

Recovering in a hospital, she wept in frustration and gave up completely in her endeavors to change her way of living. She slipped further down the path of decency until she found herself homeless, friendless and helpless.

Her place of refuge was now the saloon, the place where Mary found her the night she and others mission workers went there to sing and pray.

Several years went by with Mary praying for Jennie and trying to rescue her from her awful life. At times Jennie would curse Mary, showering her with all the filth and hatred of her life, but Mary held on to God without once retaliating. She met Jennie's hate with love.

But in spite of all Mary's love and watch care for Jennie, she disappeared. Mary began the slow search through the dens and dives of Albany. For weeks she searched and at last found her in a saloon called, "The Bucket of Blood." Jennie lay near a table in the sawdust. As the crowd laughed and jeered, Mary literally dragged Jennie to her home. She pulled her mattress from her bed and lay beside Jennie with arms locked around her. The stench of filth and vomit was nauseating. But Mary held her and wept while Jennie slept. At times, Jennie would try to escape, but Mary would hold the powers of hell at bay, pleading with God to intervene, while Jennie screamed for the liquor her life demanded.

Mary cried out, "Lord, save or we perish," and Jennie fell into a deep sleep.

When she awakened the next morning, she looked at Mary and said, "You have won, Mary, I give up. I can't fight any longer. Pray for me."

They knelt in prayer, the saint of God and the blackened sinner, and Heaven's miracle took place. They both wept for joy as Jennie repented and gave her life over to God. How the angels in Heaven must have rejoiced as her name was written in the Lamb's Book of Life. Praise God!

The years passed and one evening as Jennie and Mary sat together, Jennie expressed to Mary two desires that she hoped God would grant. One - she hoped that God would let Mary live as long as she did and the other was that she could somehow find her boys whom she had not seen since they were babies. If God would grant these two requests, then she would ask nothing more.

With the help of friends, the search for the boys began. She was told that a Baptist minister had taken her children to raise as his own. Under cover of darkness, Jennie made her way to the pastor's house. The parsonage with long old-fashioned windows was sheltered by huge oak and maple trees. Lights were burning in the domicile. Jennie slowly approached. She could hear talking and laughing as she neared a window and peered into the room.

She saw the pastor, his wife and two young men - her boys! Almost she entered, almost she cried, "I'm your mother" almost - then drawing slowly, silently, back into the shadows of the trees, she saw herself as her boys would see her ... old beyond her years, the marks of sin stamped on her face. She stood in the shadows and wept because memories of her sins rose to haunt her. She watched through her tears until the lights went out and the house was quiet. Only then did she turn away, making her supreme sacrifice.

Years passed. Mary and her lamb were getting old and feeble. Would God give Jennie her second request? He did! Death came first to Jennie. Mary sat by her bed, wiping away the death dew, quoting old familiar scriptures, praying for Heaven's door to open for Jennie.

And it did! The tired battered, bruised old body released its last hold on the spirit. Mary's little lamb went home to the Shepherd who loves and seeks all lost lambs. Amen!

Two "Impossible" Cases Delivered and Saved

As Brother G.C. Bevington was preaching in a mission in Chattanooga, some years ago, a drunkard came into the service. Brother Bevington was a mighty man of faith, and here we have his story:

As I was preaching, in came a drunkard, and, as had been their custom, he was singled out. But he did not seem inclined to go out. So the head man of the church said to the leader, "Put him out." He started, but I said, "Hold on there, don't put that man out. Jesus came to save such poor creatures as he." "Well," he said, "you don't know that man; he is the lowest down creature in town. He must go out." I said, "Oh, no! please don't." But he said, "Put him out!" I sprang between the leader and the drunkard, and insisted on his remaining. But oh, what a terrible odor came from him: Well, the boss and all his crowd left -- taking out about fifty. Then the leader said, "Brother Bevington, I know what Jesus came for. But we have been dealing with this man for ten years, and actually there is no hope for him." I said, "My dear brother, you never will make me believe that. Jesus can and will if we give Him a chance." "Well," he said, "You and him for it. I will put out all the lights but one up by the pulpit, and you and him for it. I can't stand the odor." And he left. He went up stairs but could not sleep.

I took the man up to the front of the platform and got hold of God for him. He did right well until about 2:00 AM. and then got boisterous. He said that he was burning up, must have some whiskey. He said, "You get me a pint, and I will get all right. I would like to be a Christian, but I am in hell now." I pleaded with him but about three o'clock he was getting the best of me. He was much stronger than I and was backing me toward the door in spite of all that I could do. By four, we were getting exhausted and were about eight feet from the door, and I saw that something must be done.

I began to intercede at the throne more intensely. I soon just let go of him, and threw up both hands and cried out, "Oh, God, what did You send this man in here for? What did You send me here for? Oh, God, come-come-come," and at the third "come," the man fell prostrate on the floor. We plead with God to cast the whiskey demon out. I said, "Oh, God, cast him out, cast him out." And in thirty minutes the man was as quiet as a lamb. He got up and rubbed himself, and said, "Is this Tom? Oh! I have got religion." I said, "You may have religion, but you have no salvation as yet." "Oh." He said, "I know better, why I have religion." I said, "Come on up to the altar and get saved." "Oh, I am saved right now." "No, you are not saved, you just had that whiskey demon cast out. Now you are a candidate for forgiveness."

At five-thirty, I got him to the altar and he got down and prayed earnestly. Soon he saw that he needed salvation and at seven AM, he prayed through. Well, I was somewhat worn out after wrestling all night with Tom, and needed some rest. I said to the leader that had come in and was satisfied that Tom was a saved man, "Now, you have some clothes to give out so you get me a tub, a broom, a bar of soap, and a scrubbing brush. And bring down some good clothing, and I will take Tom out there in the back yard and scrub him up." His wife sanctioned the suggestion, and brought me down some asafetida as a preventive; so I tied some on and went for him. I used up three tubs of water and a bar of soap, and succeeded in getting him fairly clean. They furnished some good clothing and soon we had him looking entirely different. He was a well-educated man, but whiskey had floored him. But God gathered up the fragments and got them in their places, and polished them up so that he was in pretty good shape, by the time we were through with him.

"Now," he said, "I want you to go down with me to my cousin's. I used to be his foreman in his lumber yard, but he hasn't allowed me around for years." So, I went down about 11:30, and the cousin was there waiting for dinner. Tom had me stand in front: so I knocked on the door and we were invited in. The cousin looked at me and then looked at Tom and saw that we were strangers. He seemed confused as we did not make our business known. After some suspense, I said, "Mister, did you ever see this man?" At that, Tom sprang to his feet and smiled. The cousin said, "This can't be Tom, can it?" And Tom said, "Yes it is. I am a new man, Bill. Jesus has saved me and this preacher has cleaned me up, and the mission man gave me this nice suit. Bill, I want to go to work again. I will join the M.E. Church with you, if they will take me in."

We were then invited in to dinner at 2:30, and I tell you I enjoyed it. After dinner, Tom took me outside, and said, "Now, Brother Bevington, Jesus sure cleaned me up on the inside and you have cleaned me up on the outside. Now, I want you to go with me to see my wife." "Have you a wife?" I asked. "Yes, I have or did have. I haven't seen her for eleven years. They say that she is worse than I was. She is down at Pokey Row with the poorest, onerous, colored people that there are in Tennessee."

So we went down. The leader saw us coming, and I told him our mission. He took me upstairs, leaving Tom down. He said, "Tom is so different, but whatever you do or don't do, please don't go near that woman. She is a thousand leagues lower than Tom was or ever could have been."

His dear wife had listened to it all, and she said, "Husband, I believe that Brother Bevington is on the right track, and that he knows his God better than either one of us. If God could save Tom, He surely can save Lizz. I say let Brother Bevington alone, keep your hands off. Let him and God and Tom do their best." "Well," I said, "Amen!" and took her by the hand, and said, "God bless your, dear, good heart." I just wept for joy, and admired her for her noble stand. The husband said, "All right," and he kissed his wife, saying, "you are the better of us two."

I went out and said, "Come on Tom," and we went down the street into the poorer vicinity, and soon turned up an alley, and of all the poverty and ignorance and filth I had ever been in, this beat all. But I said, "We have started and we will trust God" I still had the asafetida on, but said, "I don't know that Jesus needs any help so I took it off and threw it down. Tom said, "You had better keep it on, we are not there yet, and it's much worse where she is." But we went on holding our handkerchiefs over our nostrils.

Finally, we got there. Now a greater obstacle was in our way, and that was to locate her. We ventured in a yard and began to make inquiries. We found no one that would interest themselves in what we were after, they all wanted whiskey, tobacco, or opium or beer. We saw a stairway going up to a roof of a shanty, so we climbed that and got up some twelve feet above the filth. We thought that there we might escape some of the awful stench, and we began to call on God for information. Soon, a big, black man, oh so dirty, came out and saw us kneeling there. He wanted to know what we were doing there. I told him. "I know who you are after; I will bring her out."

Well, in all our mission work at Cincinnati, St. Louis, Louisville, and Cleveland, we have never looked on such a vile, hopeless looking case as this one. We told her what her name was fifteen years before. She remembered it and acknowledged it. "Oh," we thought, "could Jesus do anything with such a creature?" We talked to her and finally we called Tom in and presented him to her. She said, "Is that Tom?" and she gave a low brutish glance at him. Well, he told her what God had done for him and said he believed He would do as much for her. But she just swore one oath after another and was smoking an old pipe, the odor of which was almost unbearable. But Tom kept telling her of Jesus. Well, I was getting faint and almost wished for that asafetida. I crawled down that filthy ladder, and said, "I will come back tomorrow at 10:00 AM. Make up your mind that Jesus can do as much for you as he has done for Tom, and that you can live a respectable life again."

We hurried out of that malaria. Tom went to his cousins, and I to the mission where I went to bed as I was about done up. It was 5:30 PM. Well, I slept fine, and woke up at 6 o'clock the next morning. I went down and got a nice breakfast and related our trip. The young wife was interested and gathered up a lot of her clothes for Tom's wife, saying, "They are going to get her." The husband tried to persuade us not to bring her there to the mission. "Well," the wife said, "We will take her down to Uncle Ben's coal house, and pray the thing through there." Her Uncle Ben was a saved man.

Well, by nine o'clock, here came Tom full of hope and faith for the poor emaciated wife. So we went down and sure enough, there she was with a bundle of filthy rags, way out at the head of the first alley waiting for us. We told her to drop the rags. The first thing to do was to get her cleaned up as Tom had been. When we got to the mission, they took her to the same yard where Tom got his cleaning up. Five tubs of water and two bars of soap were used on her which got her pretty clean. Then nice clothes were put on her.

The wife went with us and we went to Uncle Ben's coal house, which was nice and clean. Well, I thought I had a terrible time with Tom, but it was nothing to what we went through with that wild, unreasonable woman. We wrestled with God for her soul .for many hours and finally, she was knocked down by the power of God. She lay on her back, powerless, perfectly helpless, and exhausted. About 1:30, she raised her hands and wept, and asked us to help her up. We took her down to Tom's cousin's, and, the next morning, she prayed through most gloriously. She walked the floor with her right hand up, weeping and laughing, and all that she said was, "Oh glory!" She kept this up for two hours, and then we all went to dinner.

The next day, the cousin fitted them up a three-room cottage with all new furniture. He also gave them new clothes. He gave Tom his old job back again.

Well, now you see that God was in the real saving business. That is what Jesus came for. I saw Tom and his wife three times at the Cincinnati camp and they gave their testimonies on the platform - a blessedly saved and sanctified couple.

(Taken from Bro. G.T. Bevington's book, "Remarkable Incidents and Modem Miracles through Prayer and Faith.)

Experiences of Caroline Talbott

The following stories told by Anna Talbott McPherson are actual experiences of her great-grandmother, Caroline Talbott. The first one, "Mysterious Ways" was taken from "The Shining Light" Sunday School paper by Old Paths Tract Society, Shoals, Ind. The second one, "I can do Naught but Obey" was taken from the book entitled "Forgotten Saints" by Anna Talbott McPherson. Both used by permission.

Mysterious Ways (A true Incident of the 1880's)

John Drayton breathed a silent prayer as he knocked at the door. It was not going to be easy to persuade the minister and his trustees to grant him his request, but "being in the way." as he said later, "the Lord led me."

"No," decided the spokesman of the group when John had stated his errand. "It is well known that we are particular in loaning the church to any but our own connection. And to Quakers! Well, we must do better in guarding our reputation ---." He nodded knowingly to his colleagues whose expression readily showed their accord.

It was plain to be seen that to them the question was all but settled. But John was not to be put off. "My dear gentlemen," he continued, addressing the minister, "I fear thee knows not what thee does. Caroline is a true handmaiden of the Lord, owned and anointed of Him for the ministry of the Word. Now He has laid it on her heart to hold a meeting for he salvation of lost souls"

"A woman!" boomed the minister, "That settles the question. I don't believe in woman preaching and we cannot possibly let you have the chapel." He rose from his chair with finality.

But John Drayton sat in deep thought. Presently his face lighted. "Well then, my dear friend, I present this proposition. Thee and thy men sell me the chapel for the evening. Then, it being my house, not thine, thee will be relieved of all responsibility in regard to what is done in it." he paused a moment and went on, "Furthermore, if it should burn down, I will rebuild it at my own expense."

The minister was silent. He knew John Drayton was well able to keep his promise. But still he was not in the mood to be convinced.

While John had been pleading his case, neither of the men had noticed a young man enter the room. He was a youth of brilliance, having just been called to the bar as a lawyer. Furthermore, he was well known as one who was fond of a joke, and no friend to the Quakers.

He called the minister aside. "Don't be too hasty," he admonished in an enthusiastic whisper. "I can put the lady preacher out of countenance and break up the meeting. It will be something they won't ask for again."

The minister smiled. "Hmm - not so bad," he said. "Well, go ahead. Maybe it will rid me of similar requests in the future. Be sure you work out your plan well."

"Leave it to me," the youth winked confidently. In a few minutes, the use of the chapel was granted, and John Drayton drove home, thanking the Lord for prospering his journey.

The young lawyer went down the street, buoyant and conceited. Here was a new and exciting exploit, and he noised it far and wide. Before evening, the whole village knew of his plan to break up the "Quaker Meeting."

"I'm going to put myself directly in front of her and stare at her until she's ashamed!" he boasted. The prospect of his tall form obstructing the preacher's view of the audience gave the youth plenty of assurance. Of success he was certain.

Meeting time arrived. Almost the whole village had been brought together with the curiosity to see the Quakers confounded. So crowded was the chapel that the Quaker preacher and her friends with difficulty made their way to the pulpit.

There sat the young lawyer, according to promise, directly in front of the pulpit, not once taking his eyes off the preacher. Mrs. Talbott had experienced several occasions in her ministry before when deaf persons had taken seats near her, and had even stood up to hear her better. So when she saw the tall young man directly in front, with his eyes fixed on her, the only idea which presented itself to her mind was that he was deaf.

"I'll direct my discourse as much as I can to him," she resolved secretly. "He appears interested, and I must remember to speak so that he shall not lose a word of what I say."

As soon as the Quakeress stood up, the lawyer stood up too. A twitter rippled through the audience, who were watching to see how the joke would succeed. But the speaker scarcely noticed. To her it was merely an expression of amusement at the deaf man's eagerness.

The Quakeress preached under the anointing of the Holy Spirit and gospel power soon made its way into the hearts of her hearers to the extent that they quite forgot the young man and his vain plan. He stood his ground, however, looking at the preacher with fixed attention. Outwardly, he displayed no sign of recanting, but, be the truth known, inwardly his starchiness had very soon melted and withered.

After what seemed to the lawyer like eons of torture, the meeting ended. Many of the audience pressed to the front to greet the speaker, but she was preoccupied with the "Deaf" man who had shown such intense interest, and she resolved to speak to him before he left.

Reaching him in the midst of the throng, she took his hand, and said in a very loud voice so all could hear, "Young man, I perceive that thou art deaf."

The lawyer looked at her in amazement, and in his confusion, could only reply meekly, "No, Madam, I'm not deaf."

Mrs. Talbott quickly apprehended the truth of the situation, and as she did, her attitude changed from one of sympathy to one of purpose. Indeed, she lost no time in solemnly addressing the young man in words of awful warning.

The lawyer dropped his eyes. No longer could he face her with bravado. Around him stood the congregation in silence. Their frivolous intent, too, had been quelled. The place was marked with a grave sense of God's presence.

Nothing was left but for the youth to take submissively the whole dose of admonition the preacher had to give to him. And this he did. But when he was free to make his way outside, an even more bitter humiliation met him. From everywhere, up the street and down, came the general taunt from men and boys, "I perceive that thou art deaf. I perceive that thou art deaf!"

It was not until two years later that Caroline Talbott heard again of her arrogant would-be tormentor.

Invited to be present at a conference of Methodist ministers in a village near the one in which the incident had taken place, Mrs. Talbott was approached by the young lawyer who greeted her with genuine delight

"You gave me the bitterest pill I ever had in my life, Mrs. Talbott," he said warmly, "but it was the best medicine I ever took."

"I have prayed for thee many times since," the Quakeress replied. "Does thee know now the forgiveness of the Lord?"

"That I do," gratefully affirmed the youth. "For a fortnight after that awful service, I could not go into the street without hearing the cry, 'I perceive that thou art deaf!' Neither could I get away from the remembrance of my shameful conduct, and it led me to see that my whole life had been lived in vanity and sin. But, thanks be unto God! He purged away all the dross and gave me such forgiveness and peace, such a sense of the love of Christ, such a sense of the worth of the glory of the gospel that the practice of law became distasteful, and by the grace of God, I have determined to be a minister!"

"May the Lord be with thee," fervently spoke the Quakeress as she bade him farewell. Then brushing away her happy tears she was heard to say reverently, "God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform. Praise be unto the name of the Lord!"

I Can Do Naught But Obey

"The Devil's Pit?" Mr. Benton turned a startled face to the quiet, soft-spoken Quaker lady who was a guest in the home. "The Devil's Pit? I did not suppose you knew there was such a place in all of New York City."

"I didn't know" agreed the Quakeress, "until sometime in the night. And whether waking or sleeping, I cannot tell, but the voice of my Master said to me plainly, 'Go to the Devil's Pit tomorrow night at eleven o'clock to rescue a soul. ' "

Mr. Benton studied the face of the lady evangelist before him. The gray-blue eyes were earnest and kind. The lips were resolute, but not obstinate. The chin was strong, but not self-determined. The whole demeanor of the gray-clad woman told of a gracious and consecrated Christian character.

Mr. Benton proceeded carefully, but definitely. "It would be at the risk of your life, Mrs. Talbott, even the policemen are afraid to go near that place. Why, it's a -\-- a raving den of iniquity."

Caroline Talbott's eyes were still kind, but undaunted. "I supposed as much," she said calmly. "And I would not endanger thy life nor the lives of any of my friends. Indeed, I am willing to go alone. However, if thee would feel easier, we can go together to the mayor of the city where I will state my mission and ask for a policeman as guard."

At that moment, Mrs. Benton, who had heard the conversation from an adjoining room, entered the doorway. "But don't you think such a risk of your life is uncalled for?" she pleaded. "To me it all seems so visionary. Besides, your labors for the Lord are needed elsewhere."

Still God's evangel was unmoved. "My message was clear, that is all I know," Mrs. Talbott persisted quietly. "I would not have thee and thy husband endangered on my account. My gray hairs and plain garb will gain me admission where others could not go. I know there is no religion in the cut or color of a garment, but I find great protection in plain dress, in the slums of the cities where my work often takes me. However, if death should corne in the path of duty, I am ready, thou knowest. Thou knoweth too, Sister Benton, when the Master commands, I can do naught but obey."

Mr. Benton rose from his chair. "Since you feel so strongly that you must go," he said, "I will see what protection I can get from the mayor."

"Thank thee, Friend Benton, thou art kind," Mrs. Talbott spoke appreciatively. "Please believe me when I say I have no fear for myself. The master can protect me as well in the Devil's Pit as He did Peter in prison."

Mr. Benton hurried away on his errand. When he returned some hours later, he had secured the services of two policemen and the promise that the Rev. Dr. Dean and his wife would accompany him, Mrs. Benton, and Mrs. Talbott to their strange destination.

That night, black clouds hung low in the sky, obliterating every star. Not a ray of light glimmered in the heavens above. Had God forgotten His world?

Two carriages wended their way through the well-lighted residential boulevards of New York City and on into narrower, darker, more crowded districts. Each carriage was protected by a policeman sitting on the seat with the driver. Deeper into murkiness and squalor they went. Now there were no lights visible except the lanterns of the policemen and the carriage lamps. Revelry and drunkenness reeked on every hand. Dark forms slunk behind shacks or into shadowed doorways as the carriages approached. Now and then, a door into some gambling house or dance hall was quickly opened only to be as quickly shut again. It seemed that the forces of evil were lurking in the very air.

At last the carriages halted near an inky alleyway. The policemen alighted and warned in hoarse whispers, "Ladies, it's as much as your lives are worth to go any further. Please don't attempt it. Even policemen keep shy of the Devil's Pit."

But Mrs. Talbott was already out of her carriage. "I am not afraid," she answered. "But Friends," she pleaded, turning to her companions, "you had better stay here while I follow the policemen. I must go, for my message commands that I shall enter that place."

Dr. Dean remonstrated, "We will not leave you alone, Mrs. Talbott."

As the party left the carriages, they ordered the drivers to await their return. The group advanced to the alley opening. Again the hoarse whisper of one of the policemen halted them. "I have an idea," he planned. "You all stay here while Ben and me goes to the Pit and look things over. If we turn the white lights of our lanterns toward you, you can come on --but I warn you, if we turn the red lights --" he paused for emphasis, "then run for the carriages and drive away from here as fast as you can!"

The bulky forms of the policemen were soon lost in blackness. Not even their lanterns were visible, tucked away as they were under their cloaks.

One minute, two minutes, three! The little party stood huddled in silence. Would the suspense never end?

Ah! There was a light. Was it white or red?

"Run!" cried Dr. Dean, and he and Mr. Benton each grasped his own wife's arm.

"Here, Mrs. Talbott! Quickly! The light is red! Take my other arm!" ordered Mr. Benton. "We have no time to lose!"

Back to their carriages they hastened, each gentleman supposing Mrs. Talbott to be with the other, only to find when they were seated, that she had stayed behind.

The Godly Quaker lady was grateful for this easy escape from the immediate concern of her friends. "Go to the Devil's Pit at eleven o'clock to rescue a soul." The words rang unmistakably in her ears and she had not yet rescued that soul. Now, she could complete her mission without remonstrance. On she went, picking her way carefully in the dark. Fiendish cries emanating from the orgies of the wicked in the Pit grew louder as she proceeded down the alley.

Reaching the house of the wretched, she met the policemen hurriedly making their escape, with their pistols cocked.

"Run for your life, lady," Ben gasped. "Didn't you see our red lights? You'll be killed if you go any farther!"

"I tell thee, the Lord has commanded me to enter that place this night, " replied Mrs. Talbott, calmly "and I shall obey Him in die on the threshold."

"You'll meet the devil himself," shivered the other policeman. "You're cr-crazy, lady!"

"If it is the mouth of the bottomless pit itself, I must go there and rescue that soul," insisted the woman. "If you policemen will not go with me, I shall go alone. I do not fear when my Master commands me to go."

"Well, it won't be said a lady went where a policeman was afraid to go," Ben decided. "Wait here," he ordered once again, "till me and Dick sees if we can make a way for you."

The policemen turned back to the loathsome den. Cursing and hellish songs increased in volume: At the door, the men found that Mrs. Talbott had followed them.

"Open the door," she requested.

"You'll be killed," they insisted.

"Please open the door," she asked again .

The men forced open the door, then drew back at the terrible sight that met their eyes. Mrs. Talbott stood an instant on the threshold with her face lifted heavenward, then she walked into the inferno of blaspheming, fighting, drunken men, and knelt down and prayed. At first her voice was drowned in the bedlam of oaths and curses that surrounded her. But presently one by one, the fiendish wretches became aware of her presence, and being so astonished at her unheard-of temerity, they quieted themselves until the voice of the praying Quakeress was the only sound in the evil Pit. When she rose from her knees and opened her eyes, Mrs. Talbott knew at once for whom she had been sent.

A beautiful girl, pale with fright, was crouched in a corner, apart from the wicked mass. Quickly, Mrs. Talbott crossed the room and threw her arms about the young woman.

"Come with me, dear, I was sent for thee."

Trembling with horror, the girl choked sobbingly "Oh, I knew God would rescue me some day, "

"The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him, and delivereth them," quoted Mrs. Talbott .

Together the Godly gray-haired Quakeress and the pure young maiden, unharmed, protected by the mighty hand of God, walked through the amazed crowd of bleary-eyed, evil-bent demons and out again into the night.

"I would have sworn you'd be tom to pieces," ejaculated Dick.

"They would have been if the air hadn't been full of angels," Ben prophesied reverently.

"What is thy name?" Mrs. Talbott asked the trembling girl beside her, "and why art thou here?"

"Oh, Mrs. Talbott," came the anguished cry, "The Lord sent you! 1 knew God had heard my prayer as soon as you entered the door. 1 recognized you at once, because 1 have been at your meetings. You know my parents. My father is Dr. Wenthorn."

"Why, my dear child, I know them well. They are faithful Christian people. How did thee get there?"

"It was Jack," confided the girl. "I was engaged to marry him with the consent of my parents. We thought he was upright and true, though lately, since my father lost his property, he has seemed somewhat different. Oh, 1 see it all now. He was marrying me just for the money."

There was a slight hesitation and a smothered sigh. Mrs. Talbott drew the slight form closer to her understandingly.

The story continued. "Tonight he asked me to walk, as we have so often done before. In our stroll, we met a woman whom Jack introduced as his friend. Just then a man tapped him on the shoulder and drew him aside. They talked together for a moment, and then Jack said to me, 'Annie, my friend will take you to her house for a little while. There is some business I must attend to, and when it is finished, 1 will call for you. ' "

"Did thee suspect any evil plot?" questioned the older woman.

"No, the thought never entered my mind. The woman was middle-aged, and dresses modestly. I could see that by the gas light near by. But she took me so hurriedly through these dark streets I couldn't tell where I was, until all at once she said we were 'home' and opened the door and put me in that awful  
place."

The girl shuddered.

"Never mind, now," Mrs. Talbott comforted. "The Lord saved thee, not only from tragedy in that den tonight, but from a wretched life with a young man so wickedly treacherous as Jack."

The girl sighed. Then suddenly, she shrank closer to her rescuer. "There he is now," she whispered.

"Good," breathed the older woman, "I must speak to that man."

Into the wavering light shed by the lanterns, the youth sauntered, only to start back when he saw the policemen .

"Young man," Mrs. Talbott accosted him in firm tones, "The Lord has rescued the girl thou didst so sinfully plan to ruin. Thou didst not take into account Almighty God, but He is able to defeat all the forces of evil combined. I warn thee, repent of thy sin. I warn thee, too, to leave this city at once, for when this young girl's brother learns of thy conduct tonight, he will spare no means to render thee just retribution. I could deliver thee up to these policemen at once, but I will give thee this one chance to reform thy evil ways. May the Spirit of God lead thee to repent."

Jack stood a moment stunned by the forceful words of the woman of God, then he slunk off into the obscurity of the shadows, whether to repent or to go on in his sin, no one ever knew.

"Tell me how to find Him," the policeman Ben requested unexpectedly, as the group continued their way to the carnages.

"Find who?" queried Dick and the others.

"Almighty God," Ben spoke reverently, "if faith in God can work a miracle like the one I saw with me own eyes tonight, I want that faith -\-- and I want that God."

Thus Caroline Talbott, one of God's heroines, traveled across northeast America and the British Isles, preaching the glorious gospel. Wherever the Spirit led, though it was often at the risk of life itself For, said she, "I can do naught -- naught but obey."

The Home Going of a Saint of God   
(Rob French's Mother)

Mother French, in her eighty-second year, passed away in October, 1935. Her life had been one of constant prayer. Dead to the world, determined only that her family might live to glorify God, her goal was to see all her children in Gospel work. Thus, it was doubtless through her prayers that all four of her children entered Christian service.

After the word of Mother's illness reached Robb, he hastened across the continent from Sandy Lake, Pennsylvania, to Pasadena, California, trying to get to her bedside. Even so, he did not realize how serious she was. Neither did the folk who were with her.

Robb called and asked, "shall I come by plane?"

"No," came the answer, "But come as quickly as you conveniently can."

Mother had looked out the window wistfully. "I think Robb will be here," she told them.

Now, he was speeding across the plains, one day through dismal fog, the next through rain that was coming down in sheets.

When, after many anxious days, the train rolled into the, Alhambra station, Robb saw his sister-in-law among the others there to meet him.

He said to himself, "I'm afraid something is wrong. Why should she be here?"

He fairly tumbled down the steps. "How is Mother?" He choked.

"Mother's gone!" she whispered.

Gone! Mother gone! It was the darkest hour Robb had ever known. He staggered into the little station and found a seat. It seemed as though he had no further desire to live, as though the sun had gone down to shine no more. It seemed as though he could never enjoy the flowers anymore. They would never again be so fragrant. And they never were. Why? Not because he was morbid or melancholy, for he looked for a City which hath foundation, whose Builder and Maker is God, but this world would never be the same again with Mother gone.

Robb had spent two or three weeks in the spring with Mother. He thought she must have had a premonition of her death then. She hardly let him out of her sight. She followed him from room to room, caressed him, tried to tell him how much he meant to her.

Now, there he sat, and they were telling him about Mother's death.

"Robb," Francis and Father were both talking at once, "Robb, the electric lights in the room seemed dim in comparison to the glory that was scintillating around her bed. She beckoned with her hands and looked over there -- to the land where she was going." Surely, thought Robb, when a saint comes home, the saints already there gather together, and Heaven in full array comes to welcome that one.

It seemed Robb's heart was tom to pieces. Then he got to thinking, I'll see my mother again - on the banks of the River of Life. I'll see Jesus, the One I want to see first.

The next time Robb was to see Mother, she was in her casket. He walked up and looked at that arm that had enfolded him so tenderly, lying across her breast. Those eyes that had looked so lovingly into his were closed.

"Mother," Robb spoke softly, "Thank you for leading the way. Thank you for your prayer life."

It wasn't that she had gotten up in the night and tiptoed to his room to put another blanket on him. It wasn't that she had taken food from her mouth to give to him. It wasn't that she had sat up in the night when it was dark, when she should have been in bed, to mend his clothes. It was her prayers Robb remembered. "Mother, I thank you for your prayers."

Mother had always been so solicitous. Just a little whimper and she had been by my bedside. "What do you want? What's wrong, Robb?"

Now they stood by her casket, crying and weeping. But she lay perfectly oblivious.

"That isn't like my mother," Robb thought. "Why can't she open her lips and eyes and say, 'What's wrong, Robb?'"

Yes, Robb remembered all -- all her loving ways. He appreciated them all. But now all that was fading away. It was her prayers that had influenced him so profoundly. "Mother, I thank you for your prayers."

As they planned the funeral, Robb said to Father, "Father, Mother was an old-fashioned, shouting pilgrim. She didn't believe in ceremony and form. I wish we'd -- let's have an informal service where the preacher can feel free to preach the truth."

"Well, let's pray about it, Robb. Let's pray."

As it turned out, when Rev. Scott arose to preach, he forgot himself and preached as though he was delivering an evangelistic sermon. Finally, he stopped and said, "I almost believe I'll give an altar call."

"Do it, Bro. Scott," Robb said. "That's what my mother would want."

They all gathered around her casket and Father led in prayer. What a time they had. Heaven came down. They shouted. They rejoiced. Just then Robb noticed the undertaker in the rear. Doubtless he was anxious to get this funeral over with. They might even have another funeral that same afternoon, and it was already late.

Robb went back to him. "O sir, I'm sorry," he said. "We're presuming on you."

"What do you mean?"

"My, my, we've been here so long."

"Never mind -- never mind," he said. "This is all right. Seldom can we undertakers say we enjoy a funeral, but we're enjoying this. Just carry it along."

When the procession arrived at the cemetery, they had another shouting time. Robb and Geraldine sang a special song. Father got blessed. The sun was going down now, and Robb thought surely the undertaker would be impatient by this time. He slipped over to him.

"Brother, I'm sorry, we've been so thoughtless here," Robb apologized. "We have taken so much time."

"Say," the undertaker, stopped him, "haven't you got something else you can do? We'd like to stick around here awhile. This is all right."

"Hallelujah!" Robb said to himself. "This old-fashioned salvation works in life or in the cemetery."

Mother's death brought back a deluge of memories sweeping now across Robb's mind. Many a time, he had seen God come upon that woman. From her lips he had heard eloquence he had heard nowhere else. She used language beyond her comprehension. It was the Holy Ghost taking a frail, little woman and breathing out a message.

One of the pastors in a pioneer church in Oregon often had Mother in his audience. One evening, he entered his church to find a goodly number assembled. Now, he thought to himself, we've got this place full of outsiders. If Mother French doesn't come and have one of those spells, we're going to have a glorious service tonight, and possibly win some souls to Christ.

"Lord," he prayed, "don't let Mother French come. Don't let her come."

But she came. She came down and took the front seat.

The preacher thought, I know what I'll do. She's kind of hard of hearing. I will just preach in kind of a whisper. That way she won't hear me and won't have anything to shout about.

But the fire touched Mother's heart and she couldn't keep still. Up she got, and praised the Lord. She shouted and cried. When she sat down, the preacher gave the altar call, and nearly every sinner in that house came to the altar and knelt. Never had he seen such an altar service. They prayed through and popped up like popped com.

When they all stood up to celebrate the victory, the preacher said, "Now, I want you to tell me what struck your heart? What was it I said?"

They looked at him and he looked at them. Finally, one said, "We hate to tell you, Brother, we did not hear a thing you said, but when Mother French got up there and shouted around, we saw something in her face that made us hungry. Hallelujah!"

In later years, Robb said, "I guess I'm getting old, and I give way to my feelings sometimes, but I want to be like my mother. She was more earnest in her old age than she was when she was young. Even when the weather was bad, she found her way to the house of God. 'O Mother,' we'd say, 'you shouldn't go tonight. It's a rainy night. You have that cough. It's chilly out there.' But she would brush us aside. 'But I've got to go, Robb,' she'd say. 'There is something about it when the church bells rings, I've got to go. My candle is burning out. I've got to make these last moments count for God.' Thank God for her memory. I don't want to get careless and blame it on my age or on my sickness. I want to keep the fire burning brightly on the altar of my heart. I don't want to be surprised and ashamed when the Lord comes."

"Yes, thank you, Mother," Robb said again and again, "that you stepped out and took the lead and suffered persecution. We're all following in your footsteps. We'll meet you on the banks of sweet deliverance."

At one time, John Clement, when introducing Robb French at a camp meeting, referred to the Frenches as a strange outfit, "It takes them half the morning to have morning prayer and half the night to have evening prayer."

"That was stretching it a little bit," Robb commented, "but it was true no matter how, long it took, Mother would say, 'We're going to have the fire.' And we did. If you were to ask me, 'Brother French, what was the greatest service you were ever in?' I think I would answer, 'Family worship.' That is where I got saved.

"Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight.

Make me a child again just for tonight. "

"I remember Mother once had us children gathered together in a little attic room upstairs, and she was sobbing. The tears splashed to the floor. Oh, she was weeping convulsively. 'Children,' she said, 'Children, if you're lost, could you blame me? Have I done my best?' There was silence except for Mother's weeping. Finally, my brother broke the silence and said, 'No, Mother, we couldn't blame you. You have done your best. ' "

When I was a growing boy, I thought I could out-talk my mother. But I tell you, when hot tears fell on me -- that was too much. She'd stand over my bed and weep -- a weeping mother! "Thank you, Mother. Thank you!"

(Taken from H. Robb French, Pioneer, Prophet and Prayer Warrior, used by permission)

Trials of Missionary Kids

My son, Danny, is a missionary in Nigeria. His daughter, Carmen, is quite a writer. She was asked to write a composition on 'Pain' in her English class while in Nigeria, and having to take many shots before going, and more shots while in Nigeria, she chose this as a subject for her composition. This one will cause you to chuckle. (It's not exactly an answer to prayer, which is the theme of my book, unless she was doing some praying while undergoing her ordeal, but being a missionary's daughter, I decided to include it as well as a couple of others written by her.)

English II - Shots 'N Stuff

My parent's take both of my arms and drag me through the door. "Now, Carmen," they reason, "It's not that bad. Just one tiny prick and it's all over. Would you rather get yellow fever and die or put up with one little shot?"

"Get yellow fever," I mutter.

The nurse turns around with a knowing grin, her eyes glinting with a cruel light. She holds the, seemingly, foot long needle inches from my nose. The light glints on the hard gray point. I stare at it; the motion of the sharp tip hypnotizes me as the nurse inserts the sizzling serum into the wicked instrument. In a daze, I watch her swing it rapidly down in a deadly arch. Then suddenly realizing what is happening, I squeeze my eyes tightly closed. My muscles tense, and wait --- expecting it at any moment to jab mercilessly into my trembling arm.

My imagination flickers grotesque horror films through my brain. What if the needle breaks off in my arm? What if it gets stuck? What if the needle is infected and I get AIDS or something? What if -- Yaaahh! A searing white hot flame tears through my tender flesh. Suddenly it subsides. It's over. What? Oh, the agony! I once more feel the terrible flaming hot pain. The tears seep through the crack under my locked eyelids, and the torture once more ceases.

I slowly venture my eyes open and timidly peek out at the cheerful chart of a skeleton on the office wall. A dull throbbing ache shivers through my left shoulder. The nurse takes an unfriendly looking brown bottle and tips it onto a puff of cotton. She then jabs it brusquely at my sensitive arm. I wince at the bee-like sting of the liquid, and holding the cotton to my arm, stumble out of the grisly room. Wait a minute: Why miss the fun of seeing my sister go through the same healthy agonizing process? I poke my head back into the room and watch \-- She squeezes her eyes closed and – (Scene omitted because of violence.) Now I am the one with the knowing grin.

**********

Danny writes:

Dear Friends,

Christian greetings from Jos. Instead of telling the exciting story of hungry pastors studying in the University of Jos and all the other good ministries that I am involved in and love to tell about, I thought I would allow you to see a little of our life from a family member's point of view. Carmen wrote the following description as we traveled to Port Harcourt during the week of Easter. Hopefully, it will give you a little insight into the typical things we see and face when we travel, and also will give you a little insight into the mind of a teenage MK (missionary kid). I have added a few explanatory words in parenthesis to help you interpret Nigerian English.

Traveling with the McCains

The plateau stretches a golden plain, its flatness occasionally interrupted by huge clumps of gray boulders. Brightly clad figures flash past, but now we are on a dirt road, orange with harmattan dust. The cactus corrals rise on either side of us, surrounding round huts of mud blocks and grass roofs. A colorful design adorns the "wrapper" worn by a woman, who stops her conversation momentarily to eye curiously the van full of batures (white people). A baby is tied on her back, and a pink wool shawl is draped over her head. On an asphalt road once more, the village gives way to a wider spaced area, with painted blocks of buildings, doors boasting "Merryland Restaurant" or simply "Food Restaurant." A pile of rusting car hulks lies neglected in front of a small dingy tin shack. The road widens and the plains once more stretch a golden treeless expanse, boulder strewn and dry from the lack of rain for the last five months. We pass a policeman slowly pedaling his bicycle, dressed in black with red arrows decorating his sleeves.

"Farewell from Jos, Plateau State Capital," the sign reads. Hills rise, gently fading into the distance, flat topped and bronze in the afternoon light. In stark contrast, the unbalanced rock formations reach up as if trying to touch the sky. Mushroom tables, giant's stools, they balance precariously, their ponderous weight supported by smaller boulders, their defiance of gravity seeming to tempt an endeavor to topple them off into the valley below. Wild huge things, they are, massive statues of the elephants that once roamed here, side by side with dried yellow vegetation clinging to their sides. The road stretches out a bluish gray serpent, shimmering with silvery mirages.

Palm Sunday, Easter Vacation and we are leaving. Going south, migrating like northern birds, heeding the call of the smoky hills. A Fulani herdsman pauses by the asphalt track, his cattle lank and skinny, milling about behind him, feeding on the dry brown grass. The hills roll past under the spinning wheels of the van, a side of the road dropping away to reveal a shining blue river, snaking sinuously into the distance. Occasional rotting truck skeletons lie mangled and twisted, warnings to those who might attempt to rush. Golden sheaves of dried grass lie against a hut, ready to repair the roof. We quickly pass a small market of tin shacks where stacks and stacks of mineral (soft drinks) crates line their gaudily painted interiors.

The hills are greener now, covered with stumpy trees. As we descend off of the plateau, the trees and bushes seem to glow with added greenery. However, the weather is hotter. It is beginning to feel as if we are standing in front of an open door. This realization doesn't hit you suddenly. The heat increases gradually. It's not particularly noticeable until someone points it out, and then you start panting. A wood slatted truck creeps in front of us, its orange cab bearing a portrait of the Virgin Mary and child. The words "God Does Not Fail" are centered over a huge painted "Why?" on the back of the lorry. A steely blue gray station wagon passes us loaded with people and their worldly possessions. We entertain ourselves reading the signs written on the various vehicles. A big lorry bears the message "The Love of God is upon me" under which is painted the name "Blessed Python" (obviously another religious statement since the python is worshipped in certain parts of Nigeria). A huge turquoise bus bears many sayings: "Beautiful women cannot stay with one man," "Let them say God knows the right," and "Many have gone, be Careful." Another green gray river snakes past, making use of only a fourth of its sandy river bed. Behind us, to the north, the shadowy mountains rise, but we press on southward into the increasing dry heat. Port Harcourt, here we come --

It's six o'clock. I look up from my daydream, to see a field of children playing football. We are now in Okturpo, heading for the Methodist guest house, where we will stay the night. It is not safe to travel after darkness falls. Just let them have water, Lord. That's all I ask. Just water to wash the grimy smelly heat from my body. The van stops in front of a house with a gray station wagon parked in front. Dad knocks on the door, discusses with someone, and then two men follow him from the house. We tumble from our vehicle, straitening sticky skirts and fumbling for our slippers. I smile wearily at the plump jolly looking bishop, as he vigorously shakes my hand. Daniel and I look like Dad. Laura looks like Mom. More polite smiles and we follow them into the dim hall. NEP A (electricity) is off. A living room the size of a small house is arranged with furry couches and easy chairs lining the walls. My family along with Andrew (our driver) and Gordon (our house helper, who is traveling down with us to his village in Akwa Thorn State) settles into the warm depths of the fuzzy cushions. The heat is oppressive, and the darkness settles around the room. 7:00 PM, the buzzing of a mosquito interrupts the hot silence, then the sound of my brother's complaining voice and my father trying to placate him. I lie draped over the chair, trying to blank my mind to the fact that we have been sitting in this oppressive room for an hour. This lasts about five minutes, and my mind turns to another survival technique. Come on, I'm a missionary in Africa, dost I dare feel discomfort? Missionaries thrive on discomfort. Their only reason for living is to be a good example and suffer for Jesus. This reasoning gives way to my imagination -- the cool winds of Jos waft slowly through my mind, but not my body. I flop slowly back into the cushions, thinking of absolutely nothing but the heat, and the trickles of perspiration rolling down my shoulders, and of what a nice good person I am, to not complain like my brother is. 8:00 PM, my family still hangs limply over the soft sinking chairs, wrung dishrags spread out to dry. Someone has now started a generator. A fan in the middle of the warehouse size room, saws at the air, making a slight disturbance in the ozone layer. A daughter of the bishop switches on the television. A football (soccer) match is playing. My eyes glaze over, as the little figures chase the spotted ball around a green field on a nervous blue screen. The roaring crowd buzzes in my ears. My brother decides this is a good time to go out and sit in the van and play his guitar. It is loud. I hope it isn't disturbing the bishop's family. The generator goes back off. The candles reappear.

My dad breaks my reverie to say that Mom is fixing sandwiches out in the van. Sandwiches? I'm not hungry, but I go out anyway, hoping to catch a breeze outside. The air hangs dead, but at least it's not as stuffy. I munch my egg salad sandwich, drinking cup after cup of the melting frozen water that we brought. Wandering around the compound, I strain my neck backwards to look up at the cloudy sky, trying to identify the Big Dipper. I can't see it. I don't know the directions here. It's 9:00, and we still haven't been shown to the guest house. Evidently the keeper of the key is gone. I sit on the floor of the  
van, legs hanging out the door. Hot -- incredibly brain dead. 9:30 -- Hark! I hear voices. Dad and someone is going toward the guest house. AT LAST: A dining/living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom. I listen sorrowfully to the bishop telling Dad that they haven't had running water for a year. Water is very precious, but they spared two buckets for us. Great: Oh, oh. Two beds -- seven people. Er -- O.K. Mom and Dad in one, Laura will sleep on cushions off the couch, I will sleep on the table, Andrew will sleep in the van, Daniel will sleep in the van, Gorden will sleep in the van \-- Hey, wait a minute -- Somebody has got to sleep on the other bed, because I'm not, I'm sleeping on the table. I've never slept on a plain table, and it will be a very good experience to tell about. Daniel, you sleep on the bed. No, he wants to sleep in the van because it will be cooler. O.K., Laura, sleep on the bed. No, she's bound and determined to sleep on the floor on the cushions of the couch. All right, Gorden or Andrew should sleep on the bed. But, no, they'd never dream of such a thing. FINE, nobody will sleep on the bed. We will just waste a part of this 70 Naira ($1.75) it is costing us to stay here. That's great, just wonderful.

The bishop's wife brings, a tray of minerals (soft drinks), EEEwww. Hot Coke makes my mouth feel weird. I disappear into the bathroom, brushing my teeth with the canteen water they brought us, squatting in the filthy bathtub and sloshing water over my body. Not exactly a shower, but at least it washes some of the sweat away. Now, for my bed. I think about the noble thing I'm doing. Sleeping on a table. What fun!

Looking back -- about seven hours later, I decide it's not so fun. Tossing and turning -- well I must have gotten a little sleep, but I don't remember it. I swallowed my pride and tip- toed through Mom and Dad's room to the other bed, only to meet with disappointment. Evidently, someone else had also swallowed his pride; there was already a sleeping figure in the bed. Back to the table. It was in front of a window and the breeze was slightly chilly. How is someone suppose to sleep on a hard table with a constant cool breeze blowing on them? I went back to Mom and Dad's room and asked if there was any kind of blanket. Dad handed me his shirt to cover up with. I first tried it over my feet, then my arms. It stank. I couldn't sleep. My mom thought when I turned three that I could never sleep with them again. Ruefully, her sixteen year old daughter crept in the big bed beside her. I got about an hour's sleep before I had to get up again. I rinsed off again, pouring a cup of water over me. Running a Stridex pad over my face, I was horrified at the amount of dirt that came off onto it.

We were back on the road again by seven o'clock. Traveling in the morning wasn't as hot. The landscape turned increasingly green as we traveled southward. The hills rose up in verdant splendor, as we approached Enugu. Suddenly up ahead two boards with nails were thrust in front of the van, making us slow down, young men yelling at us to stop. Finally, we were forced to pull off the road. They insisted on seeing the receipt for our local government vehicle permit. (Only commercial vehicles are required to carry those.) Andrew showed them our particulars, and they started claiming that we needed to have their local government sticker. We must buy one from them. One guy even stuck the sticker to our windshield so we would have to buy it. "All cars must have one," they insisted. "It's that way all over the Federation." "Look, my brother," Dad protested, "We have lived in Jos for three years and have never heard of such a thing." They kept averring that it was true; we must buy the sticker. They obviously took us for some naive onyochas (Igbo word for white man). Dad hadn't lived in Nigeria for almost six years for nothing. He gave them his righteously indignant speech about how they knew good and well that they were being deceitful--blah--blah\--and finally they hung their heads and said it was true. We did end up buying the radio license sticker (for fifty cents), even though in Jos you don't need one. About ten kilometers down the road, another "Nail Boy" stopped us. He had shifty eyes and didn't seem to be bright. Dad asked for his name and started writing it down. The guy showed the ID card, but covered up half of his name. Dad gave him the same speech he had given the others and finally when a man from the car behind us joined Dad's side of the argument, he let us go. We ran into several police checks after that, but they were nice and didn't bother us.

Around 3:30, we got to Port Harcourt. It has really changed. It is still hot, flat and green with palm trees everywhere. (I'd forgotten exactly how hot, flat and green it was). There are so many new buildings. There is one road near the Crutsingers house that has a whole bunch of banks being built on it. They are really impressive with tinted plate glass and everything, but it makes you wonder if they are spending all the money in the bank, building the bank. There was also very little petrol (gasoline) in Port Harcourt the whole time we were there. The petrol queues were almost as bad as they were in Jos with perhaps 200 cars waiting to get fuel at each station that had fuel.

Tuesday evening, my family and the Crutsingers were all piled in our van, going to the Shell camp to see some friends. We were in a "go slow" (traffic jam), and this dude in a white shirt walked past the window and said to Dad who was driving, "You don't have seat belts for your family?"

"We have seat belts," said Dad calmly indicating the three in the front. The white-shirted man walked away. All of us in the back were all sorta laughing. "Right. Seat belts in Nigeria. Sure. Since when did they start making cars with seat belts in Nigeria? When they do that I'll wear them." (Maybe we have gotten a little cynical). Meanwhile, the guy in the white shirt had walked up to a soldier directing traffic, and led him to us.

"This man assaulted me." We in the van stared open mouthed at the white-shirted man and his soldier counterpart.

"How did I assault you?" Dad asked.

"You have committed an offense, you do not have seat belts on. And you have verbally assaulted me." We continued to stare blankly at him.

"I will deal with you," said the soldier, furiously shaking his finger under Dad's nose.

The man in the white shirt demanded to see Dad's driver's license. Dad, in turn, demanded to see his ID. The man fumbled around and brought forth a scratched plastic card bearing the word POLICE. "Clear well," the soldier broke in. The un-friendly agent of the unknown law, then proceeded to stop three lanes of traffic so that we offenders could pull over to the side of the road. We pulled over and the soldier continued to verbally assault us for several moments.

Dad stayed silent. "Well let us get out and catch transport to where we are going," Aunt Cindy stated, not so much a request as a demand. "Which don't have seat belts," I murmured. The soldier sort of grinned and let the rest of us get out. Dad told Uncle Gene to stay with him as a witness. Nick and Daniel fumbled for their guitars but somebody said they should leave them. So there we were, eight displaced oyibos (another Nigerian word for white man) looking lost. Two women, four teenagers, and two preteens. The onlookers watched us with extreme interest as we made our way down the crowded side of the road. One vendor even called over to Nick, Greg and Daniel, not to try to sell them anything, but to ask what happened. Morn tried to get a uniformed policeman to listen to our story. We had been stopped by a guy who wasn't in uniform, verbally abused for not having seat belts, and made to find our way in public transport that certainly did not have seat belts. The policeman tried to ignore her, and finally said, "It's not my problem. He's an officer." Taxis were scarce because of the fuel shortage, but after about ten minutes, we finally were able to get two taxis for forty Naira apiece (one dollar). Before we got in, however, the van had corne back, and we listened to the rest of the story. The un-uniformed policeman and the soldier had insisted that Dad go with them to Moscow Road (the Police headquarters). Dad had happily complied. When they saw they weren't going to get any dash (bribe), the policeman said, "If you beg the soldier, he might let you go."

Dad refused to compromise, "No, I will not beg until I know what I have done wrong." The policeman looked uncomfortable, and his camouflaged uniformed counterpart said, "If you beg de policeman, he will forgive you." Dad kept refusing and they finally told him to go back, but not to drop them where they had been because "it wouldn't look good." After they had gotten out of the vehicle, a little boy with groundnuts (peanuts) on his head grinned up at Dad and said, "De wicked, oh!"

The Crutsingers said they hadn't been harassed in that way since they had been in Port Harcourt. Katie, who had been rather unhappy all day had cheered up. It was exciting to be stopped like that. It was something to tell your friends about. The McCain family now, has the most unlikely arrest stories in Nigeria. A couple of days , my dad was preaching and he got his biggest laugh line of the day when he said he had been arrested twice in Nigeria, once for not having a seat belt on and also for "over-crowding" (having too many people in the vehicle.)

The rest of our stay in Port Harcourt was hot but relaxing. I totally forgot about all my school duties, and felt no pressure whatsoever. The trip back up to Jos was fairly uneventful, though miserably hot. It was with great joy we hailed the blue mountains rising majestically in the north. Mountains -- the border of the plateau, and then we were on those mountains climbing their smoky blue sides. The plains once more stretched a golden expanse before us, dotted with the familiar occasional tree. The breezes rushing in the van window were so cool and refreshing. On the beautiful plateau once more, we  
were home.

I hope you enjoyed your trip with us to Port Harcourt and back. Came over and see us and you will see and experience these things first hand. Thanks for your love and support.

**********

This one was written after Carmen finished High School and came back to the states to attend college. It, no doubt, will cause you to shed a few tears:

Good-Bye

Last year she had started dreading their departure three weeks before they actually left. She was miserable, wallowing in the homesickness she knew she would feel when they were gone -\- gone out of reach of phone, two or more weeks from a letter. She would be by herself. Maybe this year, she had subconsciously decided she didn't have enough time with them to dread them leaving -- until suddenly, suddenly, it was here. She hadn't thought about them leaving and here they were go\- ing. Now the boxes were piled mountainously in front of the check-in counter, and relatives were crowded about to say good-bye. Carmen will board her plane to Washington, DC, and they will be boarding theirs to Amsterdam and then on to Nigeria. And they will be gone again. Her family will be gone again, and she will be all alone again.

Carmen doesn't cry. When she graduated from High School she really wanted to cry, but she couldn't. When she heard of the death of a friend's father, she wanted to cry, but she couldn't. And yet sometimes there comes a point, when something so ridiculous, so frivolous drops the last straw, and breaks her back. Then the tears flow, and she can cry over the things that really need crying over. They're leaving -- they're leaving. Carmen thought of all the stuff that she thought her parents would take care of while they were in the country \-- school bills, orthodontist check-up, just little things that are hard for her to take care of herself because she can't get in touch with her parents when they are in Nigeria -\- at least she can't get in touch with them quickly. And all of a sudden they are leaving, and Mom is sick -- the American doctor was supposed to help her this summer, but his treatment didn't work \-- none of this stuff is taken care of, and Pat -- the strange hippie \-- who is not family, but helps Carmen's grandparents, was strutting around acting like he knew everything about international travel -- and Papaw, her grandfather, was saying, "Praise the Lord" about everything.

Carmen stared emptily around her, all the bustle, but she felt a deadly quiet -\- a void about to be. "They are leaving. Leaving me here by myself. Why can't I be alone with my family to say good-bye?" Her plane was leaving in less than an hour, but everybody was still scurrying around getting things done. "Leaving -- they are leaving." That straw came, her mother's gentle reprimand for her being cool to "Mr. Pat." And then came the contortions of the face and then the hot flow of the water over the cheeks. It came harder and harder, and Carmen's mom tightened her arm around her daughter's shoulder. Carmen wept, hot tears saltily tracing their course over her face, sobbing, gulping and sobbing. When was the last time she had cried like this? By now, she was crying in front of the whole world seemingly. They gathered in Atlanta airport to watch the Olympics, and they see a side-item, a young woman in a jean skirt and a Ghana vest crying her heart out in her mother's arms. But Carmen was past caring what some distant stranger thought.

She passed through the metal detector with nose running, and puffy eyes. She didn't care what anybody thought -- except Pat. She didn't like to have that strange-looking man see her cry -- over her family leaving her -- she had a right to cry. It was time to go already, and a cousin tightened her arms around Carmen's waist in a futile effort to comfort her as she left her family. She wouldn't see them for a year, hear their voices for awhile. Oh, it wasn't really that long -- but now at the moment of departure, it seemed a catastrophe. Mom and Dad pressed her to them, she had made them sad, too. Oh, what a horrible person she was. Sister and Brother hugged her awkwardly. Carmen didn't do this. Carmen didn't cry like this very often.

The line of Olympic tourists inched toward the plane, tearing Carmen away from her family for another year. She wiped her red nose and puffy eyes, waved and then turned around and headed steadily toward the tunnel that led her to the plane -- pushing back the pain, the homesickness -- to a little ball that would sit in the back of her head until next year when she would have to say good-bye all over again.

Written by Carmen McCain

The Last Warning of Five Souls

Rev. Glenn Griffith

I was praying one morning in my study in a little city in the state of Colorado. I was studying the word of God on my knees, when God came into the study and in that impressive, inaudible language gave me a text of Scripture found in John 3:16. God said, "you take this Scripture and go down to the Salvation Army, for there is a group of boys who have been traveling on the road." (This was in 1931, when men, and even women, were moving across the country trying to find work, but there was no work to be found.) As I arose to my feet, God said, "The boys that need the message will be in the dining hall. I want you to go down and preach this text to them, for danger is ahead." As I got my hat, I was praying; and as I walked down the street, I prayed over that text. As I entered the building, I met the Captain, who was a dear friend of mine.

He said, "Brother Griffith, I've been thinking of you very strongly and wishing you were here to speak to these boys that are here in the dining hall now." He took me to the dining room and showed me the boys, and called their attention, then he made me known to the boys, and told them that I wanted to speak to them before they ate. I took my text, and told the boys how God saved me, and when. Then I preached the best I could for about twenty minutes from John 3: 16 "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son." As I came to a close, the boys were weeping, and the Holy Ghost had dealt faithfully with each of their hearts. There were five boys that were greatly affected. I asked that every one that God had spoken to and wanted prayer to kneel at his chair. Five boys got on their knees, and the other boys waited quietly while I made my way to each of the boys that had knelt. The Captain and I urged the boys to receive Christ, and repent, and turn from sin, because God was dealing with them, and this now was an important time in their lives. We told them that it might be their last time, for God had sent me down with the message, and it was very important to someone. Every one made an excuse, most of them said, "When we get home, we'll get saved and go to church." Not one prayed through that day. That evening my heart was heavy; and as I retired that night, my heart was still heavy.

Early that next morning, the Captain told me how a large group of the boys got into a boxcar and started out across the plains of western Kansas, and something happened to the car they were on, one of the wheels on the car went bad, and jumped the track, and threw the car out of the line by itself. Two of the five boys we had prayed with were thrown up through the telegraph wires, and their heads were severed from their bodies, as though a knife had cut them off. All five of those boys were killed that night, and slipped out into eternity without God. They had been within six hours of death, and the Blessed Holy Spirit was faithful to warn them. This shows that we as God's people should move when God speaks.

A Memorial Poem for George Clinton Simmons

(The following was written by the author and read at Brother Simmons funeral. He was a very faithful member of our church at Tioga, Louisiana for many years. He has been greatly missed since his decease)

Our dear Brother Simmons, his seat is vacant

not only in the home, but in the second pew,

There's been an empty place in church for several weeks now,

and we're wondering just what to do.

Not only in the church pew but outside,

on the backside of the parking lot, also,

The place occupied by his Toyota truck will eventually be filled by another we know.

Brother Simmons was always the first one to arrive at church and Sunday School.

If his truck wasn't there, we knew that he or his wife were sick, as a general rule.

Dear Brother Simmons, our Sunday School superintendent is gone beyond this vale of tears,

But he's been so faithful to carry on for so many, many years.

Now, who we will ever find to take our dear brother's place?

Who will come and fill his shoes to help us in this Christian race?

Who will be as faithful as this dear friend and brother,

To do the little deeds of love neglected by so many others?

Who will turn the heat on in winter when the weather is so bad,

And have the church so cool in summer, making our hearts so glad?

Who will do the little things unnoticed by most everyone,

And never brag or boast at what all "I have done"?

Who will? You tell me -- who else do you know

That can take our brother's place, and to the world can show;

That Christianity is doing the little things like helping a brother in need,

Whether in church, on the street or in homes?

Brother Simmons was a man of good deeds.

Never will we forget the load of wood he delivered when my husband was sick in bed,

He didn't ask if we needed it,just hauled it to us instead.

He didn't ring a bell as the hypocrites do and announce,

"Look what I have done. "

But he just backed up his truck, unloaded the wood, and left as he had come.

But it wasn't always the big things like a load of firewood,

He saw the need in little things and helped whenever he could.

Every day when the postman came, Brother Simmons, without fail,

Would check his widowed sister-in-law's mailbox and take to her the mail.

A little thing: No: This meant a lot to Mrs. Reiff,

This daily occurrence was a great help and a bright spot in her life.

He was very devoted to his sick wife and did for her whatever he could,

Whether it was buying groceries, wiping dishes or just bringing in the wood.

Dear Brother Simmons: His memory began to fail him in his last few years,

Leaving him, ofttimes, frustrated and very close to tears,

But he didn't let it get him down, just kept doing the best he could,

And if things didn't always turn out right, he would just leave it with his God.

Brother Simmons was loved by all, his step-children, grandchildren, relatives and friends,

His easy-going way, his faithfulness and non-complaining attitude, we will remember until our life ends.

We now come to the parting from our dear friend and brother,

Dear and faithful George Clinton Simmons,

we will miss him as no other.

His life work is ended, he has gone to his reward.

Hear Jesus' glad welcome, "Well done thou good and faithful servant.

Enter into the joy of the Lord. "

By Georgia McCain

A Heartbreaking Experience

While in the process of writing this book, an awful tragedy struck our family. My younger sister, Billie Davenport Fenchek, was found dead in her home. She had been sitting at her computer and fell out of her chair with her fingers in the position of one using the computer. It was the next day before she was found. This has caused untold grief to those who loved her so dearly.

There were nine girls and two boys in the family and she was the first one to go -- with the exception of a little boy we called "Little Bill" who went to Heaven about sixty-five years ago.

Billie appeared to be the picture of health, therefore causing the shock to be greater. May it be a warning to all that God can take us away any minute without any previous warning. Oh, how we need to be ready at all times to meet God. Take heed, dear friend! Don't put off salvation until it's eternally too late.

On a table in my sister's home was the mail she had gotten that day. On the top of the mail was found this poem copied in her handwriting. Why was it there? Did she have a premonition that death was near? Or was it the providence of God? Only God knows.

Here's the Poem:

Miss me – but let me go,

When I come to the end of the road

And the sun has set for me,

I want no rites in gloom-filled room.

Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me – little, but not too long,

And not with your head bowed low,

Remember the love that we once shared,

Miss me – but let me go.

For this is a journey that we all

Must take and each must go alone.

It's all a part of the Master's Plan

A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick at heart

Go to the friends we know and bury

Your sorrow in doing good deeds.

Miss me \-- but let me go.

Georgia McCain

Little Things Used of God

He was just nineteen, but his life had been rough,

He smoked and drank, pretended to be tough;

He cursed, cheated and lied as well.

He was wretched and miserable, bound for hell.

He longed to be different, he wanted to change,

He was not at all happy, he was tired of the game.

He longed for afriend but none could be found,

So Johnny kept going down, down, down.

He had reached the bottom in utter despair,

And it seemed everybody would leave him there.

But a little old woman, her hair turning gray,

Met Johnny as she was on her way home one day.

He looked so dejected, so fearful and lone,

She wanted to say something that would help him along.

"Good-morning, Son, don't believe we've met,

Folks call me 'Granny', don't know your name yet."

"Aw, go on, "said Johnny, "You know about me,

Johnny, the drunkard, the bum, You see

I'm no good, so let no one see

You standing-here talking to me. "

"Tut, tut, "said Granny, "Such things you say.

Come, Johnny! Come home with me today."

'Come home!' This never before had Johnny heard,

And his heart was touched by such kind - words.

So Johnny went home with Granny that day

And she told him about Jesus along the way.

How He died for the drunkard, the gamblers, as well,

How He gave His life's blood to redeem us from hell.

How He maketh intercession for all that will come

Confessing his sins, in the Name of the Son.

They reached Granny's house and after a good meal,

She read him the Bible and together they kneeled,

In humble contrition Johnny opened his heart,

Confessed all his sins and Jesus did His part.

He forgave all his sins and filled his soul

With peace and love and blessings untold.

Determined to help others who were outcasts like he,

Johnny arose from his knees, thrilled to be free.

He labored for Jesus and everybody heard

How Johnny was won by just a kind word.

Yes, just a kind word to one so in need

Served its purpose in sowing a seed

In a poor sinner's heart black with dispair.

Jesus knew what was needed so He sent Granny there .

So, Friends, speak kind words whenever you can

And you will receive your reward in another land.

*********

She was in a hospital in a room all alone,

And for days she had wished that she might go home,

But some bones had been broken in a wreck she was in

And she had to be laid up until they could mend.

She had many friends, they would come and go,

And, oh, Mary seemed to enjoy them so.

But when darkness closed in and all had gone,

Mary and her thoughts were all alone.

She thought of her childhood and then later years,

How her life had been wasted, she shed bitter tears.

Because of the past that she couldn't make right,

And she resolved to do better night after night.

Of all Mary's friends, not a Christian she knew

Who could tell her of Jesus and help her to do

The things that she should, read her Bible and pray,

So Mary grew more bitter with each passing day.

'Twas on Monday morn, when a nurse came in

With a card in her hand that someone had sent.

She handed it to Mary as she stood by the bed.

Mary looked at the signature and then she read,

"Dear Mary, it is impossible for me to go

To a hospital to visit but I want you to know

That the Lord whom I serve is with you each day

And He will save you just now if you will only pray

For forgiveness of sins, confessing them all.

Jesus is waiting just now if on Him you will call.

I love you, dear Mary, and want you to share

The assurance I have that Jesus is near,"

Mary laid down the card and blinked back the tears

As again her mind wondered back over the years.

'Twas the first time either by word or by letter

That anyone had ever cared for her to be better.

Conviction seized upon her, soul that day

And for the first time in life, Mary started to pray.

She prayed best she could with the card as a guide

And nothing from Jesus did she attempt to hide.

She confessed all her sins, the great and the small,

And Jesus, Bless His name, forgave her of all.

Then she told all her friends day after day

How the simple little card had pointed the way.

Yes, it was just a card mailed with a prayers

That one of God's servants had sent there,

God knew the heart of this girl so sweet,

Knew what was needed to make life complete.

A little convalescent card with a message so tender

Melted Mary's heart and caused her to surrender,

So, dear friends, send your cards to those not well,

For by these little cards, one never can tell

What good can be accomplished for our great God

Until our last step on the earth we have trod.

**********

He was just a farmer, his ways were plain.

He lived on his crops, his vegetables and grain.

He was neighbors to no one, he lived to himself,

So it was no wonder that he had hardly a friend left.

But there was a Mr. Smith who lived next door

Who wanted to be neighbors and what was more

He wanted to win the disgruntled one to Jesus the King,

So he waited for an opportunity in which to bring,

The message of salvation to the simple old one,

But the weeks passed by and the opportunity did not come.

But Mr. Smith prayed on in Jesus' name,

Believing God to move when the right time came.

Now, Brown had on his farm a mean old cow

Who jumped the fence and did devour,

All the beans from our Christian friend's garden,

And Brown decided he had better go and beg pardon

For fear Mr. Smith would be very mean

To his old cow that ate up the beans.

"Think nothing of it," said Smith with a smile,

"I'll help you fix your fence and after awhile

I'll plant some more beans right over here,

For I don't think it's too late in the year."

"Don't need to bother," said Brown with a yelp,"

"I'll fix my own fence, I don't need your help."

So Brown turned and left, feeling very smart,

While Smith prayed that God would speak to his heart.

Two weeks passed by, then Smith's big hog

Broke into Brown's yard and rooted up the sod.

Brown was so mad, he reached for his gun

And shot Smith's hog as she started to run.

He went to his neighbor prepared for a fight,

But Smith said it was perfectly all right.

"I suppose it is upsetting to have your yard

Ruined by a hog rooting up the sod.

I'll pay for the damage and fill in the holes."

And as he was speaking, he prayed for Brown's soul.

Brown calmed down and laid down his gun.

He felt so mean and low that he wanted to run.

"What kind of man are you?" He asked with a sigh.

A lump came to his throat, he wanted to cry.

"I've bemeaned you, I've cussed you, and what's more

I came to get you at your own door.

But you've always been gentle, kind and good.

What makes you like this? Tell me if you would."

Smith's prayers were answered, the opportunity had come

To tell Brown of Jesus, the crucified One,

Who could save him from sin and wash him so clean,

That he would never again want to be mean.

Smith testified freely of God's wonderful grace,

And as he did, there was a shine on his face.

By now Brown was weeping, he was hungry for God,

But he looked across the fence at the broken sod,

At the big hog laying dead on his back,

And he felt that his sins were much too black

To be forgiven by God to be remembered no more,

So he looked helplessly at Smith who stood in the door.

"Come inside," invited Smith, seemingly reading his mind,

And he picked up the Bible and read him a line,

"Though your sins be as scarlet, I will make them like snow,"

He read as Brown sat with his head bent low.

Then together they kneeled and Smith helped him to pray

That Jesus would come and wash all his sins away.

The blessing fell as they prayed clear through

And Brown shouted and cried and testified, too,

How God had taken the burden of sin

And gave him such joy and peace within.

He went to his neighbors that he hadn't seen in years

And shook their hands and told them with tears

How he had been won by just a kind act,

And as they looked at his face, none doubted the fact.

Yes, just a kind act, a kind word or a card

May help to bring some soul to the Lord.

So be kind, my friends, though trials may be great

And we may meet some at Heaven's gate

Who were won by kind words, a card or a deed.

We never can tell what will sow a seed

If we surrender our lives to be used of the Lord,

And some day, thank God, we will receive our reward.

By Georgia D. McCain

Look To The Saviour

Have you friends whom you love and you thought they loved you,

Who have turned their backs upon you and proved untrue?

Are you being criticized because of your stand?

Then look to the Saviour, He understands.

Is your heart heavy for the indifferent and unconcerned?

For the backslider and sinner, does your heart ever yearn?

Is your burden so heavy 'til it seems you will die?

Then look to the Saviour, He will answer by and by.

Are you weary and tired with the toils of the years?

Do you long for sweet rest and shed bitter tears,

As you think of the work that yet must be done?

Then look to the Saviour, He will soon come.

Is your body afflicted and you suffer much pain,

And it seems you will never be well again?

You can't understand why you are in this condition,

Then look to the Saviour, He's the great physician.

The persecutions, afflictions, and toils of the day,

The burden and heartaches, will soon pass away.

The Lord is taking notice from His home in the sky.

So look to the Saviour, your redemption draweth nigh.

By Georgia McCain

The Forbidden Romance

(The Church Walking with the World)

"Whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world  
is the enemy of God." James 4:4

The Church and the World walked far apart,

On the changing shores of time;

The world was singing a giddy song,

And the Church a hymn sublime.

"Give me your hand, " cried the merry world,

"And walk with me this way; "

But the good Church hid her snowy hand,

And solemnly answered, "Nay,

I will not give you my hand at all,

And I will not walk with you;

Your way is the way of endless death;

Your words are all untrue. "

"Nay, walk with me but a little space, "

Said the World with a kindly air;

"The road I walk is a pleasant road,

And the sun shines always there.

Your path is thorny and rough and rude,

And mine is broad and plain;

My road is paved with flowers and gems,

And yours with tears and pain.

The sky above me is always blue;

No want, no toil, I know;

The sky above you is always dark;

Your lot is a lot of woe.

My path, you see, is a broad, fair path

And my gate is high and wide

There is room enough for you and for me

To travel side by side. "

Half shyly the Church approached the World

Gave him her hand of snow:

The old world grasped it, and walking along

Saying, in accent low-

"Your dress is too simple to please my taste:

I will give you pearls to wear,

Rich velvet and silks for your graceful form,

And diamonds to deck your hair. "

The Church looked down at her plain white robes

And then at the dazzling World,

And blushed as she saw his handsome lip

With a smile contemptuous curled.

"I will change my dress for a costlier one, "

Said the Church with a smile of grace;

Then her pure white garments drifted away,

And the world gave, in their place,

Beautiful satins, and shining silks,

And roses and gems and pearls;

And over her forehead her bright hair fell

Crisped in a thousand curls.

"Your house is too plain, " said the proud old World,

I'll build you one like mine: -

Carpets of Brussels, and curtains of lace,

And furniture ever so fine, "

So he built her a costly and beautiful house-

Splendid it was to behold;

Her sons and beautiful daughters dwelt there

Gleaming in purple and gold;

And fairs and shows in halls were held,

And the World and his children were there;

And laughter and music and feasts were heard

In the place that was meant for prayer.

She had cushioned pews for the rich and great

To sit in their pomp and pride.

While the poor folks clad in their shabby suits,

Sat meekly down outside.

The angel of mercy flew over the Church,

And whispered,- "I know thy sin. "

The Church looked back with a sigh, and longed

To gather her children in.

But some were off in the midnight ball,

And some were off at the play.

And some were drinking in gay saloons;

So she quietly went her way .

The sly World gallantly said to her,

"Your children mean no harm -

Merely indulging in innocent sports. "

So she leaned on his proffered arm,

And smiled, and chatted, and gathered flowers,

As she walked along with the World;

While millions and millions of deathless souls

To the horrible pit were hurled.

"Your preachers are all too old and plain, "

Said the gay old World with a sneer;

"They frighten your children earth dreadful tales

Which they should never hear:

They talk of brimstone and fire and pain,

And the horrors of endless night:

They talk of a place that should not be

Mentioned to ears polite.

I will send you some of the better stamp,

Brilliant and gay and fast,

Who will tell them all to live as they list,

And go to Heaven at last.

The Father is merciful and great and good,

Tender and true and kind:

Do you think He should take one child to Heaven

And leave the rest behind? "

So he filled her house with gay divines,

Gifted and great and learned;

And the plain old men that preached the cross

Were out of the pulpit turned.

"You give too much to the poor, " said the World,

"Far more than you ought to do;

If the poor need shelter and food and clothes,

Why need it trouble you?

Go take your money and buy rich robes,

(And cars and yachts so fine;)

And pearls and jewels and dainty food,

And the rarest and costliest wine.

My children, they dote on all such things,

And if you their love would win,

You must do as they do, and walk in the ways

That they are walking in. "

The Church held tightly the strings of her purse

And gracefully lowered her head,

And simpered, "I've given too much away;

I'll do, sir, as you have said. "

So the poor were turned from her door with scorn,

And she heard not the orphan's cry;

And she drew her beautiful robes aside,

As the widows went weeping by.

The sons of the World and the sons of the Church,

Walked closely hand and heart,

And only the Master who knoweth all,

Could tell the two apart.

Then the Church sat down at her ease and said,

"I am rich, and in goods increased;

] have need of nothing, and naught to do

But to laugh and dance and feast. "

The sly World heard her, and laughed in his sleeve,

And mockingly said aside

"The Church is fallen- the beautiful Church-

And her shame is her boast and pride!"

The angel drew near to the mercy seat,

And whispered in sighs, her name;

And the saints their anthems of rapture hushed,

And covered their heads with shame.

And a voice came down, through the hush of Heaven,

From Him who sat on the throne,

I know thy works, and how thou hast said,

'I am rich;' and hast not known

That thou art naked and poor and blind

And wretched before My face;

Therefore, from My presence I cast thee out

And blot thy name from its place!"

Matilda C. Edwards (From a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, Inc., Randleman, N. C. Used by permission.)

"Be Thou Faithful Unto Death, and

I Will Give Thee A Crown of Life "

In concluding this book, I would like to admonish all who have read it to keep on keeping on. I feel the battle is almost over, that Jesus is about to make His appearance, and He is coming for the faithful, for those who have followed Him all the way in righteousness and true holiness, walking in every ray of light He has shined across their path. I know many who have grown discouraged and have turned back to the ways of sin, many have compromised and now have a form of Godliness but deny the power thereof. But thank God, He still has a remnant who will be caught up in the Rapture when He returns. Are you one of these? Do you have a clear witness that you are one with Christ, born again of the Spirit – washed in the precious blood – and ready if He should call? If not, today is the day of salvation. Tomorrow may be forever too late.

The writer has gone through many severe trials in the last few years. God has allowed things to come my way which I would not have chosen, had I had a choice. He has given me a responsibility in His work, which I feel I'm inadequate for. I feel I'm not accomplishing anything, and to be honest there have been times when I have grown weary and felt as if I was about to faint. On three occasions, I have been strongly tempted to throw in the towel (so to speak) and quit. But each time, God encouraged me to hold on, not give up but keep on trusting and leave the results to Him. The first time, I sought God as to what to do, He simply said, "Just keep on keeping on." In my frustration, I wrote a preacher friend telling him of my discouragement but not mentioning what God had said. He wrote back, "About all I can tell you is to just keep on keeping on" -- Just as God had told me. That was good enough for me. When my faith and courage were weak, even after God had definitely spoken, He didn't beat me over the head as He could have done, but realizing we're just weak forms of the dust, He allowed the words spoken to my heart to come the second time to strengthen then my weak faith. So on and on, I continued in the work laid out for me, until once again, seeing no results and very little encouragement along the way, I again approached the throne asking God if I should continue, or allow the door to be closed in the work I was attempting to do. This time God said, "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give you a crown of life." He assured me I was in the line of duty and encouraged me to be faithful, so once again I buckled on the armor, and determined to obey God.

A few months ago, I was at our little church praying. I was alone and felt heavily burdened about the work. I said, "Lord, what shall I do? I see no results. In fact, sometimes things seem to be going in reverse." Once again my loving Heavenly Father spoke these words to my heart, "Let us not be weary in well doing for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not." So I'm still where He placed me, doing the best I can until He sends someone to take my place, or lets me feel clear to give it up. Only God, Himself, knows the results of the work He has asked me to do. I may never see any results at all, or it may turn out, "exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think." "Who knows but God alone? My part is to be faithful, and by God's grace, that's my goal. And if I never see anything accomplished, oh, how I trust that some day I can hear Him say, "Well done, good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things --- enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."

The story is told of a man who gave out tracts for years on a certain street comer. Because he saw no results, he gave it up. Returning to the same corner two years later, he saw a man giving out tracts on the same spot. Sticking up a conversation, he learned that the man had become a Christian through a tract given out there two years previous. He added, "Many a time I've come back here to find the man to thank him, but he never came back. So I decided he must have died and gone to his reward. That's why I have taken his place."

Another story is told about a dying soldier who asked his chaplain to send a message to his Sunday school teacher. "Tell her I die a Christian and that I have never forgotten her teaching." A few weeks after he sent this message, the chaplain received this reply from the Sunday school teacher: "May God have mercy on me! Only last month I resigned my Sunday school class for I felt my teaching had done no good through the years. I am going back to my pastor at once to tell him that I will try again in Christ's name and that I will be steadfast to the end."

And one more story:

The least promising lad in a lady's class was a raggedly dressed boy named Bob. The superintendent secured a new suit of clothes for him. After three Sundays, Bob was missing. The teacher visited him to discover that his new clothes were tom and dirty. The superintendent gave him a second new suit. He returned to Sunday School. After attending twice, his place was empty again. Once more the teacher learned that the second suit had gone the way of the first. Utterly discouraged, she told the superintendent she must give him up. "Please don't do that," urged the superintendent, "I'll give him a third suit if he'll promise to attend regularly." Bob did promise. He did attend regularly. He became an earnest Christian, joined the church, became a teacher, studied for the ministry. He became the Dr. Robert Morrison, honored missionary to China, who translated the Bible into the Chinese language and opened the gate to teeming millions in that country.

These stories in tract from Gospel Tract Society, Independence, Missouri. Used by permission.

Look up, weary Pilgrim! Our redemption draweth nigh! Let us be faithful unto the end! Listen to His voice, obey His every command, go where He bids us or stay where He has placed us. How much depends on our faithfulness and obedience to God, eternity, alone, will reveal.

Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy. To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and forever, Amen. Jude:24-25.

About The Author

### Georgia Davenport McCain

Mrs. McCain died from injuries sustained in an automobile accident at age 87 on December 9, 2013. She maintained her Christian commitment and ministry, as well as her writing skills, until the time of her unfortunate death.

At the time of her death, many of her books were out of print. To preserve the books and allow many new readers to enjoy, the books are being converted to e-books by her family. To increase relevancy and impact to a more contemporary and international audience, minor edits to the original text have been made to some of the books.

The following article was published in the Cenla Focus in October 2012 prior to Mrs. McCain's death, and provides a synopsis of Mrs. McCain's life as an author. It was authored by Holly Jo Linzay

Georgia McCain, an author of 10 published books, recalls the day she felt the Lord Jesus lead her to start writing. "I was standing in the kitchen, and God asked me, 'What is that in your hand?" McCain remembers, and answered, "'Only a pen, Lord.' Then He asked me if I would use the pen for his honor and glory, and I said, 'Yes, Lord, as you direct me, I will write for the glory and honor of God."

That very night, her first short novel unfolded completely from beginning to end. "The Lord gave me the name of the book and just opened up the story for me from the first page to the last," notes McCain about her first book, _Through Troubled Waters_ , which was published more than 40 years ago. Her first book is a work of fiction interwoven with Biblical truths. McCain has sold thousands of copies, and has received letters from people all over the world expressing how the book touched their hearts. "I never dreamed about writing a book, let alone getting one published,' McCain notes.

As a child, McCain wrote poems and made up short stories. In the ninth grade, as her teacher was passing out Christmas gifts to the class, she called McCain to the front of the classroom. She told the class that Georgia had a gift for all her classmates. Stunned, McCain realized her teacher had made copies of a story she had written and shared it with the class. From time to time, she would write another short story. Later, she was asked by a preacher to write a story that would continue and develop in a religious paper. 'I told him that I couldn't just sit down and write a story. God had to give me the thoughts: McCain recalls, remembering it was later that night that she heard God question her about writing. When her son, Danny, came home from college, he read her story, _Through Troubled Waters,_ and encouraged McCain to get it published. "Everything I write, I want it to honor God,' McCain says with conviction.

The 84-year-old author is a woman of prayer, and has lived a life in pursuit of holiness. Growing up as one of 14 children In the rural community of Rigolette, McCain graduated from Tioga High School. At 19 years old, she met and started dating a young man named Carl McCain. He worked as a lineman for South Central Bell and she was working as a telephone operator. After a whirlwind courtship, the two were married on July 1, 1946.

The young couple made their home in Rigolette and raised their seven children--Ronald, Danny, Kenny, Randy, Barry, Donna and Jackie. The family attended Tioga Wesleyan Methodist Church, where Georgia and Carl served in every ministry they could. They have 19 grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. The two were married for 62 years before Carl passed away. Her home is a testament to a close-knit family with photographs vying for space on shelves stocked full with mementoes from the grandchildren. A legacy of love is showcased with framed drawings from the kids alongside epic poems written by McCain about her family.

In between her serving at her church and raising seven children, McCain found time to write more books. Her second book, _Trials and Triumphs,_ is non-fiction and retates many of her personal experiences, including the loss of her four-month-old grandson, Nathaniel, to meningitis. Her third book, a fictional novel, _Shattered Shackles,_ deals with alcoholism and its affect on a family. "My daddy was an alcoholic, who would say he was tapering off when he was trying to quit. Later, he did sober up," McCain says, adding that her real-life experience probably played a role in the book.

Another of her books, _God's Little Lambs,_ is a compilation of stories written for children that can be read as bedtime stories or for family devotions. At one time, McCain says she felt impressed to write a novel about some twins. _In Straight Paths,_ the story of fiery-tempered "Connie Slocum" unwinds as she struggles with heartaches, persecution, separation and loneliness. In the book's sequel, _Plucked Out of the Net,_ Connie's twin brother, "Donnie Slocum," is featured in a story of redemption.

Three of McCain's books have dealt with prayer and answers to "prevailing" prayer. "It is absolutely amazing that God has spoken to me over and over, and keeps giving me books to write. He has faithfully led me all the way," notes McCain. In all, she has written 10 books, and family and friends are after her to write a book of poems. She has written long poems with clever rhymes marking nearly every milestone in her and her family's life.

It does not take long to get caught up reading one of McCain's books, and believing the incredible stories of faith in the non-fiction books. Written In such honest prose, her words flow from her heart and from a life seeking after holiness. If her books inspire and encourage or cause someone to "seek the Lord," then McCain says the books have served their purpose. "God deserves all the glory for anything accomplished through the writing or reading of these books," she emphasizes.

A woman of faith, McCain has taught Sunday School and Bible studies in just about every ministry at her church. In addition, for the last 34 years, she has taught three different Bible study groups at three different nursing homes. McCain has been honored and received numerous awards for her volunteer service from Ball Senior Citizens Center and various nursing homes. In 2001, she was named the Volunteer of the Year of Tioga Manor and named "Most Faithful" volunteer at two other nursing homes.

When her husband Carl served for a number of years on the Rapides Parish Police Jury, McCain supported him by participating in a variety of ways in the community. Known as a great cook by her family and friends, her daughter, Donna, presented her with a cookbook of the family recipes on her 50th wedding anniversary. Besides serving the Lord, McCain says her most important role in life has been as a wife and mother. She said all her children are "successful and love the Lord," and that they never gave her a "lick of trouble" because she kept them in church and a "switch on their behinds", if needed. Her son, Danny, who is a missionary in Nigeria, even calls her every day.

McCain says she is "blessed beyond measure by the Lord" with family and friends. Some have called her a "prayer warrior," in seeking God's will in her life. One piece of advice she freely gives out to all who will listen is the same encouragement she offers in her last book, _Walking with God for Over 50 Years,_ "Sometimes when we can't seem to pray our way through, we can often times praise our way through to God. Try it."

Books by Georgia McCain

Trials and Triumphs

Shattered Shackles

In Straight Paths

Plucked Out of the Net

Through Troubled Waters

Remarkable Incidents & Answers to Prayers

Amazing Answers to Prevailing Prayers

God's Little Lambs

Walking With God for Over 50 Years

Celebration of Life, Family, and Faith – Collection of Poems, Tributes, and Stories

In addition, many of her family recipes are provided in the following book, compiled by her daughter, Donna McCain Wilson, on the occasion of her 60th wedding anniversary:

Still Cooking After Sixty Years

Plans are to make all available via ebooks. Stay tuned.

Letters from Readers of Georgia McCain Books

The following are excerpts from some of the many letters I have received from my readers from different parts of the country from as far away as Alaska. Also, God has seen fit to place my books in several foreign countries, namely Haiti, the Bahamas, Republic of South Africa, New Guinea, Nigeria, Ghana, Taiwan, England, and South America. I have been encouraged time and again upon receiving letters from people relating how God used one of my books to help them spiritually. Some have been saved, some sanctified, some edified, strengthened, and encouraged. Again, I say, "all glory to Jesus!" He, it is that gives me a nudge when it's time to write another book. And though I'm a very busy person in the work of the Lord, plus all my other duties as a housewife, when I feel God leading, I let many things go undone and busy myself with my writing, which I enjoy as God helps. I've often thought that if only one person would walk up to me in Heaven and say "It was your book that helped me to turn to Jesus and helped to enlighten my way to Heaven," it would be worth all the time and effort put forth in writing them. One soul is worth everything.

I have a son who is a missionary to Africa. A few years back, he visited a man in jail named Olusegun Obasanjo, and gave him one of my books entitled, _Amazing Answers to Prevailing Prayer_. Later Mr. Obasanjo got saved, straightened out his life, and ran for president of Nigeria and was elected. Whether or not my book had anything at all to do with Mr. Obasanjo's salvation, I know not, but later after he became president, my son visited him, and he told my son that his mother's book was very inspirational. Later, the president wrote a book entitled _Women of Virtue: Stories of Outstanding Women_ in the Bible, and my son brought me a copy on one of his trips home. So one never knows how far their works for Christ will reach when we put it in God's hands and take our hands off. It will take eternity to tell any good my writing for God's Glory alone has accomplished.

Trust you enjoy the following letters from my readers:

I have just become a Christian and your books have helped me so much. I have four and am wondering if you have written anymore. I really like _In Straight Paths_ and _Through Troubled Waters._ Will you pray for me? I need more help spiritually.

Your six books arrived for the Stephen D. Herron Memorial Library, and we feel honored to place them in the memorial room. I trust that the people who use the room for study and prayer will profit greatly from reading them. You have always been a great blessing to each of us.

I cried most of the time while reading your book _Shattered Shackles_ because many happenings had been a reality in my life. I've had lots of heartaches.

I am a young person who likes to read but am quite selective in what I read. So many of these so-called Christian novels are so aimless and mushy, it's disgusting, but I would recommend your books to anyone. The explanation of holiness is very good.

I am so happy to know we have dedicated writers such as you who are willing to do the hard work of hammering out a good clean book for people to read. May God bless you as you use your talent for Him. We may never write best sellers but as long as we keep His smile upon our work, it is a best seller. Keep up the good work. (From another writer)

A note to say thanks for the books. Couldn't put them down. Now that's what I call talent. They were really enlightening. Thanks a million.

I read your book, which was a great inspiration to me. I never dreamed anyone could even imagine or dream up so much adversity and heartache as I have been through. Your book lifted my spirits in a very dark and lonely period of my life.

I've read two of your books in two days, as I couldn't lay them down after I started. I will pass them around and I'm sure others will enjoy them, too.

I was happy when I came across your book entitled _Through Troubled Waters._ I read part of it, but the owner took it away before I finished it. My troubles are so great that at times I feel it may be I have sinned. I do not know what to do. The portion of your book I read inspired me greatly. Could you send me a copy and any other that will help me solve my problems. _(This came from Ghana, West Africa, and I sent him a copy)_

I just finished reading your book, _Trials and Triumphs._ and felt real impressed to write and tell you how much it encouraged me. I have been asking the Lord to give me more faith and this book helped me so much. Thank you so much for writing it,

A dear sister gave me two of your books, and I really enjoyed both of them. I feel they have helped me spiritually. I really crave good reading that will draw me closer to God.

Just finished your book, _In Straight Paths,_ and it was such an inspiration to me. I was encouraged and excited when I finished reading it. I received your book at church as a Mother's Day gift for being the youngest mother. It's a real life book where I really feel like I can see me at times. It is indeed wonderful and makes me feel that God will help me, as I need it. Pray for me! God bless you.

Your book answers a need out in the public for explaining what real heart holiness is. There is much confusion at this point.

Have read your book, _Through Troubled Waters,_ over and over. Very good.

I believe your book, _Through Troubled Waters,_ is the best book I've ever read and the most spiritual for religious fiction. Keep writing books as they help many people.

Thank God for the old-fashioned way of salvation and holiness and for people like you who can write beautiful stories that holds high its banner. May God richly bless you.

Thanks so very much for your books. I read _In Straight Paths_ once again and am now reading the sequel, _Plucked out of the Net._ I enjoy them so much. Praise God for blessing you with this gift! I pray it will always glorify Him.

I am writing to you in regards to your books I purchased in Findley, Ohio. I gave one to a lady who wasn't saved. I later sent the other book, _Shattered Shackles,_ to her. She has read them, and they have been a help to her. She has gotten saved and doing her best to walk in the light.

Hope you will write more books. I really appreciate how the Lord has helped you to entwine the gospel in your stories.

Enclosed is a money order for your book, _Plucked out of the Net._ Sure appreciate your writings. So good and stay close to holiness emphasis. So much today that is called Christian fiction isn't Christian at all. May the Lord bless you is our prayer.

I'm happy to have the opportunity to receive another book of yours. They have all been excellent and wife and I have read and reread them during the long winter evenings.

I've enjoyed your books much and have shared them with others. In fact, they are all out now. I would like to order your latest one. We need more good Christian books for our young people. Also, us older ones enjoy them.

A friend of mine loaned me two of your books. I enjoyed them so much that I would like to send them to my brother who is in jail in North Carolina. One of the books reminds me of him.

I am so happy to have your books where interested and hungry souls can get them. I'm sure your writings are blessing many. The book _Through Troubled Waters_ has been mentioned several times at church illustrating truths of the message given.

I thought you might like to hear of one incident where a young man was kept home from church because of illness in his family. Someone had loaned him your book, _Through Troubled Waters,_ and he read it. The next week he testified how God had mightily dealt with his heart. The church prayed for him until he felt a clear witness.

I'm writing to see if you have written another book. I just read one and think it is wonderful. It has been a real blessing to me. I praise God for people like you that can write such a book, especially the teaching on holiness. If you have written another book, let me know.

The book, _Through Troubled Waters,_ has been such a help to me in many ways. I wish I had what the nurse in the story had. I would gladly give all I had. She is so pure and good. Would that this old world had more like her. Wish I could talk to someone like the nurse but I'm afraid it's too late. I'm not young anymore. I'm 37 and 1/2. _(Thank God, there's help for anyone who truly wants God in their life. I contacted the lady and did my best to help her. Author.)_

Your book came yesterday. I read the inside information but haven't read the contents yet, but will and also, will let others read it. Your talent came from your sixth grade teacher. ha!ha! _(He was my sixth grade teacher.)_ I'm sending a contribution to help with your good work. Keep in touch!

God sure did inspire you as you wrote the book, _Through Troubled Waters._ Everything that you tucked away here and there as you wrote was amazing. How anyone could think of so much to fit into a story!! I was very much pleased with the way God helped you to use the Scriptures to teach sanctification. There are many who will read it in your book that never would study along that line any other way. I feel that this was the main reason God helped you to get this needful book out. I feel that souls will make it to Heaven because of it--souls that you would never have come into contact with, otherwise.

It usually takes me a week or ten days before I finish a book but finished yours in three evenings. The clear guidance into sanctification is the best I've ever read and helped me a lot. The story is so true to life. It holds you completely in suspense all the time. Thank you very much for the book.

We never dreamed we would get to see the author of that wonderful book, _Through Troubled Waters._ I have wanted to get a copy to send to a real good friend in South America and now I have it. So your good book will perhaps go around the globe.

My family and I have really enjoyed your first four books.

Your book, _Shattered Shackles,_ is so touching. After reading some in your book this morning, I was so moved on by the Spirit to pray for those that are so shackled by drink or drugs. God can surely move on their heart to bring them to Christ.

I am fifteen years old and am writing to compliment you on your book, _Through Troubled Waters._ I am reading it the second time. I'm going to write a book report on it for school. I'm sure your book has helped many people.

I think you are brave to address the divorce and remarriage issue in your book, _Plucked out of the Net_. Our young people need that. Lots of people are getting awfully lenient about it. My husband and daughter read the book and really liked it. I think we all agree that it is the best yet. The message is real good.

We wanted to thank you for the privilege of reading your lovely little book. Our youngest daughter in California has just read hers and found it very profitable reading. We did, too. Of course, unless you truly loved the Saviour, you couldn't have done such a book.

I praise the Lord for giving you such a beautiful gift of writing and for your willingness to share it.

I sat right down and read your book and I truly enjoyed it. We all have our problems and I am no exception. Your book came to me at a time when I was depressed and so unhappy. I received a real blessing from it. You have a wonderful talent in telling of God's love through stories of life as we live it every day. Thanks!

I would like to tell the world what God and your book has done for me. Praise the Lord! It made me stop and realize there is a God and He truly loves me, regardless of the sins I had committed and the wrong I had done. God was calling me for one of His children. Before I read the book, I had so much hatred and bitterness in my heart. At times I even hated myself. Just as I put the book down, I had a strong urge to fall on my knees and ask the Lord to forgive my sins and to take the hatred and bitterness out of my heart. Praise the Lord! He immediately answered my prayer.

Believe the Lord has ordained the writing of this book for his people who are in troubled waters.

Enjoyed your book thoroughly. I want five more copies.

We all have our problems and I am no exception. Your book came to me at a time when I was so depressed and so unhappy. I received a real blessing from it.

Surprised and happy to receive your book. The Lord certainly used you in writing it. It is interesting, emotional and evangelistic, very well written, and I'm sure it is a blessing to all who read it. I am interested in ordering some more copies. _(This one from Alaska)._

We agreed to use your book for a part of our yearly youth Reading Course. Each year we recommend four or five books for the spiritual edification of our youth and sell them as a package to each youth society. I am heartily recommending it to our youth for two reasons, one is the danger of not obtaining holiness of heart and the other is the need of more personal workers on a one-to-one basis. The book is well written and I'm sure will continue to bless many lives.

Finished reading your fine book. It has an evangelistic message that is up to date and practical. Its message is desperately needed by thousands today.

The story is so true to life. It holds you in suspense all the time. I really enjoyed reading it. The clear guidance into sanctification is the best I've ever read and helped me a lot. My copy will be passed on to others as the Lord guides, and pray with me that many will be brought to a better understanding and to the blessing of sanctification.

I read your beautiful book and was truly blessed by it.

Magnificent! It really inspired my mind as well as my heart.Thank you! I will pass this wonderful book on, for truly it's a soul winner.

If possible, we sure could use more books in this place.

A wonderful message for both young and old. Sure it will be a blessing to many people.

My grandmother taught me you could live above sin in this life. Your book has enlightened me in this matter

Have read your book and found it very enlightening.

May God continue to bless you. _(This letter is from the Louisiana State Prison at Angola. I sent more books.)_

May God bless those who have taken time to write to me over the years concerning my books. I deeply appreciate it. There are more, but we will sign off for this time. (Author)

