Walking Together Through Life: A Livingston Family Memoirs

By G. Herbert Livingston

I am ninety- four years of age, and I have begun looking back over seventy-four years of being an ordained minister. I decided I should write a testimony of what God has done in the combined lives of my wife Maria and myself. We were married for almost seventy-two years when she died in 2009. This volume has the history of a long successful marriage.
At the beginning if the Great Depression, both of our parents lost control of their farms and had to depend on the government for income. Both of us were penniless farm teenagers. Taking a clue from the Scriptures that often refers to the experiences of life as a walk; we have used that term for our life together. We started lives in the valley of poverty and moved uphill from one achievement to another. This book is the story of that journey.
The main part of this book is a record of being a minister, a professor and over two decades of retirement. Without the expert assistance and encouragement of Maria, this goal would not have happened.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463412821

G. Herbert Livingston

AUTHOR BIO George Herbert Livingston was born in Iowa and grew up in Wisconsin. He graduated from college and married Maria Saarloos in 1937. Two weeks after the wedding he became pastor for the next eight years in churches in both Wisconsin and Iowa. Because of tuition grants, he took his family to Kentucky for studies at Asbury Theological Seminary for three years. For the next three years he pastored churches in the state of New York, and completed graduate studies for his doctors degree at Drew University in New Jersey. For two years he was Dean of Wessington Springs Junior College in South Dakota, and for thirty-four years was Professor of Old Testament at Asbury Theological Seminary. He was a co-founder of the institution now known as the Jerusalem University College. Maria and he spent seven months on a world mission trip. He helped produce three major English translations of the Bible and has written a number of books and articles on Old Testament themes. He was a husband, and minister for over seventy years; a pastor for fourteen years, a professor for thirty-six years and has been in retirement for over twenty years. He has been the father to three children, eight grandchildren and ten great-grandchildren.

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

FORWARD

CHAPTER 1

THE BIG EVENT

CHAPTER 2

GROWING UP

CHAPTER 3

COLLEGE DAYS

CHAPTER 4

MARRIAGE AND EARLY MINISTRY

CHAPTER 5

BACK TO SCHOOL AGAIN

CHAPTER 6

AS DEAN AND AS PROFESSOR

CHAPTER 7

ISRAEL/AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF BIBLE STUDIES

CHAPTER 8

WILMORE AND A TRIP TO MISSION FIELDS

CHAPTER 9

FAMILY DATA

CHAPTER 10

HEALTH ENEMIES—CANCER AND DIABETES

CHAPTER 11

MARIA’S PAIN FILLED YEARS

APPENDIX A

ARCHAEOLOGICAL PROJECTS

KIBBUTZ RAMAT RAHEL 1959

Et-TEL—Ai 1966

Et-TEL—Ai 1968

TEL QASILEH, 1972

BETHEL ACADEMY, WILMORE, KY

CHAUMIERE du PRAIRIE, JESSAMINE COUNTY, KY

APPENDIX B

LISTING OF WRITINGS

APPENDIX C

THE NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION

THE NEW KING JAMES VERSION

THE NEW LIVING TRANSLATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my daughter Nellie and her husband Ralph Kester, and my granddaughter Karen Crites who edited this volume, and to others who advised and encouraged me concerning this project, many thanks. Even through these efforts I know there will be still some errors. I take sole responsibility for all the writing.

FORWARD

I am ninety-four years of age, and I have begun looking back over seventy-four years of being an ordained minister. I decided I should write a testimony of what God has done in the combined lives of my wife Maria and myself. We were married for almost seventy-two years when she died in 2009. This volume has the history of a long successful marriage.

At the beginning of the Great Depression, both of our parents lost control of their farms and had to depend on the government for income. Both of us were penniless farm teenagers. Taking a clue from the Scriptures that often refers to the experiences of life as a walk; we have used that term for our life together. We started lives in the valley of poverty and moved uphill from one achievement to another. This book is the story of that journey.

The main part of this book is a record of being a minister, a professor and over two decades of retirement. Without the expert assistance and encouragement of Maria, this goal would not have happened.

CHAPTER 1

THE BIG EVENT

June 6, 1955 was a balmy day on the beautiful campus of Drew University, Madison, New Jersey. Tall hardwood trees shaded the ground. The occasion was the annual commencement service for the graduates of the University, one of the most famous institutions of the United Methodist Church. That afternoon over one thousand people were seated on folding chairs lined up row on row behind the graduates and facing the long pillared porch at the rear of Meade Hall. Administrative officers and other dignitaries were seated on the porch.

I was seated with my wife and three children in one of the rows reserved for the graduates. I wore a long black robe trimmed with blue velvet with three blue stripes on each sleeve. At the very end of the ceremony of presenting diplomas to the college and seminary graduates, President Fred G. Hollaway turned to Dr. John Paterson and requested him to bring George Herbert Livingston to the platform. Within a few moments, Dr. Paterson was escorting me to the platform, presenting me to the President and Dean Stanley R. Hopper. Dr. Hopper announced to the audience that I had successfully completed and defended before a committee of three faculty members a dissertation entitled, The Hebrew Prophetic Consciousness, thus earning the right to possess the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. The two men then lifted a hood bearing the colors of Drew University over my head and on my shoulders. Next, they placed a black, flat academic hat with a shiny golden tassel on my head. The Dean announced I was henceforth Doctor George Herbert Livingston. Dr. Paterson then took my arm and escorted me from the porch to my seat.

I embraced and kissed my lovely, loyal wife, Maria, and hugged our three children while the audience clapped and clapped. It was a climactic moment in my life and the life of my family, for this event was the completion of years of pastoral ministry and tedious academic study.

After the commencement service, friends celebrated with us for a brief time the accomplishment of earning a doctoral degree. We then drove about a hundred miles north to Callicoon, NY to visit friends related to a four church United Methodist charge I had served as pastor from June 1948 to May 1951. A celebration party was held for us and we rejoiced together. Several days later we returned by car to our home at 511 North Lexington Ave., Wilmore, KY. Close friends hosted another celebration party. It was a thrilling time, but soon we had to return to our academic duties at Asbury Theological Seminary where I had already served as Professor of Old Testament for two years.

CHAPTER 2

GROWING UP

Maria and I now had a few moments to search our memories and wonder: How was it that both of us had arisen from the poverty of the depression years to the positions of responsibility we both held? How had the Lord Jesus Christ been our Savior, Helper and Guide through those difficult years? What had been the steps of personal growth and professional service that marked our journey through life? What did the future hold? Answers to these questions may be found in the following narrative.

I was born July 27, 1916 on a small farm near Russell, Lucas Co. Iowa, son of George Wendell Livingston and Clara Lutheria Baker, grandson of Thomas M. Livingston and Aurilla Johnson and Joseph Baker and Miranda Andrews.

In 1918, my family moved to a hundred and eight acre farm five miles east of Cameron, Barron County, Wisconsin. My parents had heard about the availability of cheap land, which lumber companies were selling after cutting down huge white pine trees and supplying rapidly growing Chicago, Illinois, Milwaukee and Madison, Wisconsin, as well as the twin cities of Minnesota, St. Paul and Minneapolis, with lumber for houses.

Our farm had two buildings: One was a shack with two rooms, unfit for a family to live in, and, the other a poorly constructed barn that could house two horses and a few cows. Much of the land still had large white pine stumps that Dad had to remove. I was too young to remember this momentous move. As a boy, I learned that the family had lived in a rented house in Cameron during the fall of 1918 and the winter of 1919. Uncle Frank came to help my Dad and my brothers construct a 26 ft by 28 ft house made of cement blocks and lumber. The house had a full basement, with a dirt floor, and four rooms on the main floor. The family of nine somehow squeezed into these limited quarters. The situation was relieved somewhat when the older boys found places where they could work for board and room while attending Cameron High School.

During the winter months, when temperatures often plummeted well below zero, the wood-burning kitchen stove and the large, pot-bellied heating stove in the combined living room/bedroom were strained to the limit to keep the house warm. Neither the walls nor the ceiling had insulation, and the windows had no storm windows. The kind of insulation used in modern times was unknown. We wore plenty of warm, woolen clothes, even in the house.

My sister Vera, who was entering her teens, was assigned the task of looking after her baby brother. She watched over me with tender care. As I became four and five years of age, she enjoyed teaching me the ABC’s, colors and simple math. I soon could read simple sentences and write the name the family favored, Herbie. My mother later told me she wanted to name me Herbert Everett when I was born, but my older brothers soon put the three initials together and called me their little hel. That sounded like hell, so mother quickly dropped Everett and proposed George Herbert. That stopped a lot of fun. I have been Herbert ever since.

On the morning of November 24, 1921, there was excitement and unusual activity around the house. At sunrise, Dad quickly fed us breakfast and explained that mother was ill. He said we three boys needed to go to the barn with him while he milked the cows and fed all the animals. Vera kept us busy in the barn with games and by reading stories. When Dad disappeared with the milk and took some time returning to the barn, we paid no attention. When he disappeared repeatedly, we began to ask questions but Vera did not explain. She increased her efforts to keep us busy with games.

About noon Dad returned from the house and told us to put on our warm clothes and come with him, for he had a surprise. As we crowded into the house, we heard strange noises and began to ask questions. We were soon ushered into our parents’ bedroom, and in our mother’s arms was the cause of the crying, a little baby. We soon learned the baby was a girl and her name was Dorothy Louise.

We were excited and we boys began to ask, Where did she come from? How did she get here? How long would she stay? Dad simply said, A doctor came from Cameron and delivered the baby. Our united response was, Where did he get the baby? How did he bring her safely in the cold? How much did he charge for her? Dad didn’t bother to explain the situation, and managed to interest us in how pretty the baby was and that she would grow up to be a wonderful playmate for us. Nothing was said about a stork.

At age six I entered the first grade at Sumner elementary (aka grade school) in a small community of six families. The wood framed building had one large main room where classes were held. Three small rooms were side by side along the back of a large room. One was a kitchenette, one the teacher’s room and one was equipped for hanging clothes and storing lunch boxes. The building had a full basement with a concrete floor. Back of a large room, there was a room large enough for a big wood-burning furnace and a storage area for blocks of wood. During the winter, the large room was used for recreation and games during recess and time for lunch.

Children in grades one through eight were seated in rows of old style school desks in the large upper room. In a radius of two miles of the school there were a number of large farm families, so the enrollment usually numbered more than thirty students. One lady teacher was in charge of the school and keeping classes running smoothly, and keeping some fun-loving boys under control was a constant challenge.

The school was a mile from our home and my brothers and I always walked to school and back home each day. This walk became rather frightening when the winter winds blew snow blizzards out of the northwest. The snow often came down so heavily it was difficult to follow the pathway, and the strong wind was so cold it often chilled us through and through.

When I entered first grade, I quickly found that my sister Vera had given me a head start that the other first graders lacked. I often spent my spare time listening to students in the other grades recite their lessons to the teacher in segments of fifteen minutes. I learned a lot just listening, but Vera, on weekends, enjoyed giving me more instruction. She wanted to become a teacher, and after completing the necessary training, she taught in a school with only one room for several years before she married in February of 1929.

As a result of Vera’s help, I was always ahead of my grade level, so in the middle of the fourth grade year, my teacher announced she was advancing me to the fifth grade level. I found my classes more of a challenge, but Vera was at home from high school on weekends to help me.

I remember when I was in sixth grade; Vera was in the Rice Lake Normal School for teachers twelve miles from home. She would bring her textbooks home on weekends. I was attracted immediately to a rather thick book entitled World History. During the time she took that course, I read the book from cover to cover.

I enjoyed school and because I had been advanced a full grade. I was a year younger that others when I graduated from grade school and entered Cameron High School five miles from home. There were no school buses, so walking continued to be the necessary mode of travel. My brother Ralph was also attending Cameron High School so we would often test each other’s walking speed. Now and then a neighbor would pick us up and take us to town, or in the afternoon, as far as they could toward our home. Several of the winters I was able to work for my board and room at a farm close to Cameron. I graduated from the high school in May 1933, two months before my seventeenth birthday.

To this point I have described the educational influences that helped shape my childhood. There was another factor in my growing up that cannot be ignored. That factor was the impact of the religious convictions and the disciplined, gentle nurture that my mother bestowed upon her children. Mother was raised in a Christian home related to the small Methodist Episcopal (aka M. E.) church in Russell, Iowa. Faithful attendance at Sunday school and worship services marked the religious devotion of her parents and all their children. Revival services were frequent and at one of these services mother yielded her life to Jesus Christ.

Mother received her education at the village elementary school and during those years she became acquainted with my Dad. There was no high school in Russell, so the education of both Dad and Mom ended with the eighth grade. Since both families had limited financial resources, Mom and Dad, not yet married, began immediately earning what money they could to meet their needs.

Dad’s father had a Quaker and Methodist background, and his mother’s father had been a Methodist lay preacher, besides being a wheelwright (a carpenter who made wagon wheels). Because of his parent’s upbringing, they insisted their children go to the Methodist Sunday school, though they rarely went to worship services. As a result, Dad had some religious training but no serious interest in living a Christian life. Yet, he was a hard worker, had a pleasant personality and fairly high ethical standards.

On the farm in Wisconsin, mother felt very isolated. Several other families had moved from Russell, Iowa to Barron County also, but they were too far away for frequent visits. The farm neighbors to the west were all recent immigrants from Norway and though friendly were not very religious Lutherans. Our neighbors to the east of us were more than a mile away and in those days a mile was a long way for a busy mother.

During the summer months, when it wasn’t raining on Sunday, Dad would hitch the team to the wagon so the entire family could attend the morning service of the M. E. Church in the small village of Canton, three miles to the north. In the winter months, occasionally the weather was mild enough so we could attend the Christmas Sunday service and in the spring the Easter service. This situation meant we children grew up unable to attend very many Sunday school sessions.

The lack of Sunday school instruction for her children was a heavy burden for mother, so she tried to instruct us by reading from a tattered Bible Story book and a half dozen or so other religious books, in the limited family library. Early on, she taught us how to read the King James Bible. When I was eight, she gave me a new Bible that she urged me to read. I still have this Bible that has lost its back cover and some its leaves. I read many pages of this Bible at an early age.

Mother had a set of ethical rules that she repeatedly set before us and tried her best to enforce, though Dad thought she was too strict. We must not swear or use bad words of any kind. We must treat all girls and women with respect. We could not call any female neighbor a woman. She was a lady. We could not smoke, chew tobacco, or drink any alcoholic beverage. She even forbade Root Beer, because the word beer was in its name. We could not be mean to each other and Sunday was definitely a day when work, except feeding and milking the cows, could not be done or athletic games played. She wanted to have family prayers, but Dad objected. He did not favor being too religious, though he did not object to her moral standards

Four events that made a religious impact on me while young are still vivid in my memory. One event happened when I was six years old, the second just before my twelfth birthday, the third when I had just turned fourteen, and the fourth just before my seventeenth birthday.

In the first instance, everyone was in the fields except mother, baby Dorothy and myself. It was a pleasant, sunny morning in August. I was sitting in a sand pile near the house playing. I could sense that mother was under a good deal of stress. She was trying to care for a very fussy baby and do the family washing only a few yards from where I was playing.

The washing machine was different from modern types. Basically, it was a wooden tub that could hold about fifteen gallons of water and had beneath it four sturdy wooden legs and several steel, cogged wheels which were moved by an upright wooden handle about eighteen inches long. By moving the handle back and forth, mother could cause a spindle, with fan shaped projections, to rotate back and forth inside the tub to cleanse the clothes placed in it. On the upper edge of the tub was a wringer with a crank. This gadget squeezed water out of the clothes.

The entire process was hard work, and on that morning mother had to care for a sick baby too. I could see the stress and pain on her face. While this was happening, I noticed a man dressed in black clothes, walking from the south on the graveled road that passed our house. In a few moments he appeared in the yard and quickly sized up the situation.

He introduced himself as Rev. F. F. Wolfe, pastor of the Free Methodist Church in Chetek, six miles to the south. He asked whether he could hold the baby. Mother readily agreed. While walking back and forth, Rev. Wolfe explained how the Free Methodist Church was different from the M. E. Church. He also asked about the possibility of starting Sunday afternoon services in the Sumner schoolhouse. Mother expressed interest and suggested she and her family probably would be interested in attending such services.

Dorothy soon fell asleep in the pastor’s arms and was laid in a nearby crib. He asked whether he could pray with mother and for her family. She quickly gave her assent and thanked him profusely as he left the yard.

As she looked at the departing figure, she murmured under her breath. There goes a man of God. I took in every move and word of the event and have never forgotten it. This was the first contact of the family with the Free Methodist Church, a church that has played a major role in my religious life.

The second event happened six years later in the summer of 1928. My father, mother and seven children had driven seven miles to visit a Johnson family that my parents had known in Iowa. Returning home that Sunday evening, our route took us through Canton where earlier in the day my mother had noticed a sign. It advertised that the Free Methodists in the area were holding a camp meeting in a grove of trees beside the road. On the way home, Mother insisted we stop for the evening service, held under a large tent. The tent was almost full of people, but our family found seats on a front row.

Typical of the Free Methodists at that time, no instruments were used during the congregational singing. After prayer, the preacher of the evening was introduced. I don’t remember his name but his figure and his voice are still quite vivid in my memory. He was tall and awkward in his actions but his voice was clear and strong. He used no notes and he was almost constantly moving about the wooden, plank platform. His sermon was based on the life and death of Samson preserved in the book of Judges of the Old Testament. He dramatically acted out the crucial events of Samson’s life, using backwoods English. Nevertheless, the entire congregation, including myself, listened spellbound. I had heard about Samson before, but this presentation impressed me deeply.

The Free Methodists always concluded their services with an altar call for sinners to come to a plank altar and pray for salvation from their sins. A few people knelt at the altar to pray , but none of my family did. On the way home my mother remarked how much the service was like the revival meetings held in the Methodist Church in Russell, Iowa, which she attended as a girl. She was very impressed.

The next morning was a beautiful, sunny day. My mother often asked me to help about the house, since Vera was not at home and Dorothy was not old enough to help very much. My older brothers helped Dad in the fields. Early in the forenoon, mother asked me to take a small bucket to a growth of choke cherry trees about seven hundred feet from the house. Choke cherries were a dark purple berry about the size of small garden peas. They grew in abundance along the twigs and small branches of the tree. They were sour to the taste but when the juice was mixed with fruits like strawberries, raspberries or blackberries, which grew wild and in abundance on the farm, the result was a wonderfully tasteful jam or jelly.

I climbed the tree, which was about twenty feet high, and stretched out on limb after limb stripping the small cherries from their stems and dumping them into my pail. As I was doing so, my mind began to replay the sermon I had heard the night before. I saw a comparison between Samson’s early training and mine, especially the religious sensitivity of the mother, and the corrupting influence of the people around him and in our community.

I realized that in spite of my mother’s ban on swearing, I had picked up many swear words from my older brothers and from my school pals. Away from my mother’s presence, my quick temper and swear words mixed together all too often. I also picked up dirty words. I knew what they meant and used them in jokes frequently. Lying and cheating were also part of my behavior. For the first time, a sense of shame and guilt began to trouble my conscience. Then fear began to grip me as I thought about how Samson’s sins brought violence, betrayal and death into his life.

As conflicting thoughts and emotions boiled within me, I became aware of words coming into my mind, Herbie, I want you to be a preacher. Those words have never left my memory. My immediate reaction was shock and disbelief. Why should I think of such a thing? Then I thought, Someone is close by and trying to make fun of me. I looked around carefully and called out several names of my pals, but no response. I asked myself, Who would use ‘I want’ in such a sentence. Then it came to me, God had spoken directly to Samson’s mother and father. Could it be that God had just spoken to me? Fear really gripped my heart then. I grabbed my nearly full bucket and ran back to the house, I put the bucket on the table and dashed outside and found a hiding place in the barn.

Confusion gripped my mind and emotions. I could see no way I could ever be a preacher. It just wasn’t possible. I concluded my imagination had gotten the better of me and that I should never tell anyone, even mother, about the incident, and for years I never did. Nevertheless, several changes came into my life. I swore less often and when I did, I felt a sense of guilt. The same guilt was associated with lying, and cheating and stealing. I didn’t do these things as often, but shame followed each act.

The third incident of religious significance to me happened in the summer of 1930. Several years before, Dad had purchased a fairly reliable, used car and we were able to attend the M. E. church services more often in the summer months. Mother was excited, for the new pastor, Rev. Lockhart, was more evangelical and revival oriented than many of the other pastors who had preceded him. She felt spiritually challenged by his preaching. It was the kind of preaching she remembered from her girlhood days.

Rev. Lockhart had announced that during August an evangelist from Milwaukee, Wisconsin would hold a revival meeting for ten days at the Canton church. Mother was determined to attend with the family as many evening services as possible. I found it difficult to enjoy the evangelist’s messages, because when he talked about the consequences of sin and how Jesus could save a person and deliver from guilt, I felt very uncomfortable. The evangelist wanted people to come to the altar and pray and I felt I could never do such a thing in public.

I remember it was the last Sunday evening service of the revival and Dad and Mom, Dorothy and I were sitting in a church pew. The church was packed with people and the singing was lively. I don’t remember anything about the sermon, but when the altar call began, almost immediately Mother rose from her seat and walked to the altar to pray. I was amazed. Why would my wonderful mother do such a thing? She couldn’t be a sinner.

After a few minutes, she came back to the pew and insisted that Dad, Dorothy and I come to the altar also. Reluctantly, we did so, and I remember wondering how I could possibly be saved from my sins. Soon a minister was kneeling in front of me asking whether I believed in Jesus Christ, I replied I did. He asked whether I wanted to be forgiven of my sins and I said I did. He asked me to repeat after him, Lord, be merciful to me a sinner and somehow I mumbled the words. He then declared I was saved from my sins.

The thing I especially remember about that evening was how radiant, how happy my mother was. Dad didn’t say much. In the days to come that radiance remained in my mother’s face and expressions. I knew I did not experience such happiness and sense of freedom. I was puzzled but said little about it. Mostly, I was overwhelmed by the change that had taken place in my mother’s life.

Looking back and evaluating the incident, I have concluded I was not yet converted to Christ; rather spiritual sensitivities had been awakened to my need for conversion so I could truly obey Christ in all I did. In particular, I had a renewed realization that God was calling me to his ministry. I did not say a No to this kind of future for my life; neither did I say Yes to the possibility. I sensed I was not ready to obey the Lord in this matter. I could see no way I was qualified for ministry.

I had always found it difficult to recite or give oral reports in class and I knew speaking in public was an essential aspect of ministry. I began to read in earnest the Bible, Mother had given me, and I studied Sunday school lessons carefully. The person in charge of the Sunday school held at the Sumner grade school by the Free Methodists asked me to teach a half dozen young boys and girls. Very reluctantly, I agreed to do so and I found the task enjoyable and challenging.

The Great Depression had swept into northwestern Wisconsin and farm income plummeted so low that farmers, including Dad, found it almost impossible to make ends meet. Dad found he could not meet the annual payments to one of my uncles who held the mortgage. At the same time, an injury to the back of the head, which happened when he fell on ice as a young man, was increasingly causing severe headaches. He was also feeling a loss of energy. Several years later, a doctor discovered Dad had diabetes and needed insulin shots. My brother Ralph had to quit high school in his sophomore year to work full time on the farm. My parents did their best to keep me in high school and fortunately, I was able to graduate in May 1933.

There were other events taking place. My oldest brother married in 1927 and found a job in a neighboring city. My oldest sister Vera married, and moved to Eau Claire, Wisconsin where her husband Clel got a job in a dairy that processed milk and sold it in bottles from house to house. Brother Ray got a job at the same dairy and finished high school in Eau Claire.

Brother Floyd, in his late twenties, quit a job at a dairy farm in central Illinois. He arranged with Uncle Percy to take responsibility for the mortgage and become the operator of the home farm. Soon he was living in our home taking charge of the farm, much to the displeasure of my father.

The family atmosphere was tense and I was tense inside. The future looked bleak. Where in Wisconsin or elsewhere could I ever find a job and a future? Going to college seemed out of the question. There was no money to pay tuition. When not working for my board and room at a small farm near Cameron during the school year, I would milk three cows in the morning and in the evening, help keep the barn clean and work in the fields. Floyd needed our help but could not pay Ralph or myself wages, except for board and room.

During those three years, I was trying to work through my personal problems about which I told no one. In the school curriculum, I found a class on public speaking and enrolled. Secretly, I thought I would need this training some time. I tried to live a decent life but I discovered I still had a quick, hot temper and quite capable of spilling out a string of curse words. Remorse and depression would seize me and I would suffer in silence. The summer of 1933 arrived and I was fresh out of Cameron High School. I faced what seemed to me was a very bleak future.

Early in July, word got out that the Free Methodists were going to have a revival meeting in Sumner. Several nearby pastors, led by a Rev. Carl Olsen, had arranged for a young evangelist named Walter Kendall to come as the preacher. This event was the setting for the fourth and climatic spiritual incident of my life.

A tent capable of holding forty to fifty people was set up on the grounds of the Sumner elementary school. The thought crossed my mind that this could be an opportunity for me to get my spiritual problems cleared up. Perhaps I could go to the plank altar and ask Jesus to save me from my sins and help me settle this call to ministry business, but the thought of doing this in public terrified me.

While working in the fields, I would try praying: repenting of my sins and begging for forgiveness, but I was evading saying yes to a future in the ministry. Why say yes to a future that was impossible? Why couldn’t these matters be settled in private before the Lord, instead of having to do it publicly?

Ten days slipped by. Floyd and Ralph refused to go to the meetings so only Dorothy and I went with Dad and Mom almost every night. The evangelist was a good preacher and conviction rested heavily upon me. There was good attendance at each service but no one responded to the altar