Nine Decades with Jesus: My Dyslexic Daddy, Sweet Swiss

By William Alvis Patrick

Nine Decades with Jesus was chosen as the title because I believe, without a doubt, that Jesus has been with me from before my birth and throughout the nine decades of my life. Closer than a brother, Christ was always there to pull me back during my weakest moments. Knowing that Jesus is at the right hand of the Father would mean that Jesus's right hand is free. There are times when I could feel his hand in my left hand. I can't explain it any better than that. His never-failing words are beyond words. I have attempted to write this in a way that all who read my writing will somehow be drawn closer to the Lord and they too might have an enduring walk that would carry them through their own nine decades.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: May 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645593089

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Nine Decades with Jesus

William Alvis Patrick

ISBN 978-1-64559-306-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64559-307-2 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64559-308-9 (Digital)

Copyright © 2020 William Alvis Patrick

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books, Inc.

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Decade 1

Mother

After Life

A Christian Home

Light

Decade 2

Black or White

Shine

Lion in the Pea Patch

Decade 3

Doctrine

Association Separation

Healing

Decade 4

The Great Songs

Love

Unequally Yoked

Bears

Decade 5

Read Your Bible

Secure through Faith

The Changing Church

The Rooster Who Became a Cat

Decade 6

Wreck on the Highway

In Alaska

Evil of Money

Decade 7

Abomination

Prayer

Do Not Conform

An Embarrassing Moment

Decade 8

Forever Love

The Sign on My Car

Unrighteousness Decision

Decade 9

Out of Context

My Church

Testimony for Jesus

Lost and Found

It’s Not Over Yet

My Dyslexic Daddy, Sweet Swiss

About the Author

To all who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Get wisdom, get understanding, forget it not, neither decline from the words of my mouth, forsake her not, and she shall preserve thee: Love her, and she will keep thee, wisdom is the principal thing, therefore get wisdom, and with all thy getting get understanding, exalt her, and she shall promote thee: she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her (Proverbs 4:5–8).

Introduction

This is my story. I am William Alvis Patrick, born June 9, 1929, on the Coy Apple Ranch, in a small pine house in Yucaipa, San Bernardino County, California, and raised in a Christian family of a Pentecost mother and a Southern Baptist dad.

God knew me in my mother’s womb before I was born. I, as all, was created to serve and worship the Lord and to carry his Word to all the world.

I failed the Lord many times and in many ways, for all that he gave me, from the cross to the thousands of promises. How can anyone repay for all of the wonderful gifts given? All that is expected from us in return is to praise and worship him and to carry his Word to all the world.

I know angels have been with me throughout this journey.

When I was buried, who showed Lee where to dig? When I was rejected from that 1939 Buick and it came crushing down on me, I believe it was an angel who placed that railroad tie beside me, protecting this body from being crushed. On the mountain in Alaska in that grizzly bear’s bed, I believe that the bear saw a throng of angels surrounding me. He couldn’t touch me and walked away.

We are allowed to go through things, in life where one shouldn’t go. We are not alone. God is always with us. I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I’ve climbed mountains. I’ve walked through valleys.

I’ve seen light and been in the darkest of darkness, but through it all, I never forgot my Savior.

May my story give you hope, a new outlook on life, and most of all a better life dedicated to Jesus Christ.

God bless you all.

William Alvis Patrick, at the age of ninety, he’s not through with me yet.

Decade 1

Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations (Jeremiah 1:5).

God’s timing for my arrival was not long after the mighty outpouring of the Holy Spirit on Azusa Street in Los Angeles, California. The fire was aflame in churches, throughout our nation, as it was on the day of Pentecost, filling all the houses where people were gathered. Houses of worship were filled to overflowing. I witness many souls baptized with the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in tongues.

And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance (Acts 2:4).

We were mocked daily. We were called holy rollers because some would fall under the Spirit of the Lord. Others would be praising the Lord with raised hands and shouting with a loud voice.

Unbelievers would gather outside our building making catcalls and other vocal slurs. Rocks were hurled against the church walls. More rocks were thrown on the roof, and we could hear them rolling and falling off. Through it all, the Lord continued to move. The church increased in number daily.

And my soul shall be joyful in the Lord: it shall rejoice in His salvation (Psalm 35:9).

Our music might be too loud to some. But it is in praise unto the Lord. There is a time for quite reverence and a time to express your joy in song and dance.

Praise ye the Lord, praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power.

Praise him for his mighty acts: Praise him according to His excellent greatness.

Praise with the sound of the trumpet: Praise him with the psaltery and harp.

Praise him with the timbrel and: Praise him with stringed instruments and organs.

Praise Him upon the loud cymbals: Praise Him upon the high-sounding cymbals.

Let everything that hath breath Praise the Lord, Praise ye the Lord" (Psalm 150:1–6).

The church was growing in numbers. God’s blessing was evident in the homes and welfare of God’s people. Praise Him.

God’s timing, with the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at Azusa Street, for my emergence to this earth not only gave me the best times with God but also in time to experience the Great Depression. In a time of need, thousands turn to God for those needs. Thousands also turned to alcohol, a temporary answer at its best, leading to a life of poverty and sickness and without repentance, a road to hell, here and in eternity.

We all need guidance in good times as well as in the bad times. Its human nature to seek help when you hurt. If you would only realize that if you were serving God full time, the bad times would not be so hurtful. The Lord is walking with you all the time. Through the good and the bad, he is always there. He’s there to help; just ask and believe.

So do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you: I will up hold with my righteous right hand (Isaiah 41:10).

I know from the time of conception God was with me. When I was in the belly of my mother, who was a prayer warrior, he knew me. I believe when Mother prayed, I could hear the sound of the words she spoke. Before I was born, I attended church three times each week, more of the Word at Bible study and again when Mother would read the Word aloud. I believe when she read aloud, it was for me.

My two sisters, who were seven and five years older than me, would play school when they got home in the afternoon. As they baby sit me, I was the student, and they were the teachers. By the time I was two and one-half years old, I could read and write. At the age of three, I was picking up the Bible and reading God’s Word.

Being raised on a truck garden farm, along with some fruit orchards, I had found my favorite place to commune with God. During late spring and throughout the summer, I would go to the cornfield. By the age of four, I would go out and lay between the rows. My face buried in folded arms and pray. When I had finished praying, I’d roll over on my back and look up into the sky, watching and looking for Jesus to return for me. I’d lay what seemed like hours, looking into the sky and listening to the corn grow. The corn growing sounded like Rice Krispies—Snap, crackle, and pop. When the moisture and the sun’s warmth was right, the corn would grow at the rate of about one-quarter inch per hour. It was noisy in the middle of the field.

My mother was a stickler on cleanness. Her house was spotless so were her children. If we came in from playing and we had dirt or dust on our clothes, we had to change into clean wears. Mother knew when I went out to the garden, I was going to visit with the Lord. I would come in with dirty pants and shirt. She didn’t seem to mind. I was not scold, but I had to change into clean clothes.

Now that I am grown, I remember Mother washing clothes on a scrub board in a large tub in the backyard. That’s been over eight decades ago. How hard she worked to keep her house and children clean. Yet she always made time for the Lord.

Living for the Lord Jesus was the most important part of my life, yet I was still the typical little brother. I lived to tease my sisters, especially the older one. One day, four of us were playing Annie, Annie, over. Our two sisters were on one side of the fruit stand, and my brother and I were on the other side. You would call out, Annie, Annie, over, and throw the ball over the roof and one of the two on the other side would try to catch it.

We had been playing a while, tossing the ball back and forth over the building, when a large gopher snake crawled up near me. Being a boy, I picked it up by the tail. Swinging it around and around, I cried, Annie, Annie, over, and sent the snake flying over the roof. Unfortunately for me, it hit my older sister and wrapped around her neck. The next thing I knew I saw my sister come around the corner of the building. I had seen fire in her eyes. I knew I was going to be killed. When you are six years old, you are going to be killed. That’s it!

I begin to pray and run. A six-year-old boy cannot outrun a thirteen-year-old girl. I knew if I was going to live, Jesus would have to intervene on my behalf. And I would be thanking him for as long as I lived. He knew my need. Every time my feet hit the ground, I cried out to Jesus. The next step when my feet hit the ground, I cried out, Thank you, Jesus.

Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right (Proverbs 20:11).

After running through rows and rows of the garden, my sister finely gave up. Thank you, Jesus. It was sometime before I went to the house. Sister was over it.

I always remember the Lord saving me from certain death that day. When we got older, we would laugh about it. I always told her she was the one who taught me how to run. But really, it was Jesus helping me.

I will love thee, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower. I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from mine enemies (Psalms 18:1–3).

In the first decade of my life, we moved from the house on Highway 99 and near the fruit and vegetable stand. We moved to the house on the hill above the bottom land where the garden was. The reason for the move was the floods that occurred every three or four years. The floods were good for the bottom land but created a lot of extra work. The house would have to be cleaned, and Dad would have to hook the horses to the Fresno and remove a lot of silt from the yard and driveway.

I never received a vaccination. Mother and Dad left the decision to each of us as to whether we wanted to accept the vaccine or not. I figured it was not natural. God hadn’t made me for shots. I came down with diphtheria. Diphtheria is an infection in the throat. With the swelling, I got to where I could hardly breathe. Doctor Andrews had me drink some oat hay tea, and then he blew dry Sulphur down my throat. It worked. Here I am almost ninety years later, and the Lord hasn’t called me home.

Is any among you afflicted? Let him pray. Is any merry? Let him sing psalms. Is any sick among you? Let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith shall save the sick and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he has committed sins, they shall be forgiven him. Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed, the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. (James 5:13–16)

Dad must have driven to the doctor’s house when I had come down with diphtheria. We never had a phone in the house. My dad never talked on a phone in his life. Doctor Andrews lived about three miles from our house. He was a deacon in the Methodist church. He lived across the road from the church. He would go and ring the bell every Sunday morning. It could be heard throughout the valley. Doctor Andrews was an old-fashion country doctor. When he treated me for the diphtheria, it would never be done in that manner today. He sent Dad to the barn to fetch a handful of oat hay. Dad left the room, returning in a few minutes with the hay. Doctor went into the kitchen and asked Mother for a sauce pan. He put the hay in the pan, covered it with water, and placed it on the stove. After it had boiled a while, he let it simmer a few minutes and then drained off the water which now had a light-yellow color. When it had cooled a little, he had me drink the oat hay tea. Then he asked Mother for a page from her writing tablet. He took the paper and rolled it into a cone shape. He put the dry Sulphur into the cone, and this he blew into my throat. That was all the treatment I had for the diphtheria; it worked. Doctor Andrews talked to my folks for a while, picked up his bag, and was gone. It only took one treatment. In a couple of days, the swelling was gone. I was back to normal. I give God the praise. I appreciated Doctor Andrews but thanked God for the healing.

Teenage daughters have a way with dads. After we had moved to the house on the hill, my older sister began to ask Dad for the Sunday paper. Knowing that we were never allowed comics didn’t stop sis from begging. Soon, Dad gave in, and we began getting the Sunday paper.

Sister was always a heavy sleeper, or so we thought. Mother had to awaken her time after time to get her up, dressed, and ready for school. It was the same on Sunday mornings to get her up for church. All of a sudden, an unexpected change took place. When the Sunday paper hit the front porch, it would awaken this light sleeper. She was up and out the door, in no time flat. She was just as fast getting back to her bedroom, paper in hand. She lay on her bed and read the comics and the Parade magazine. One day, I overheard mother and my sister talking. She read a story of a girl her age that was being attacked by demons while she was in her bed. The girl would have scratches all over her arms and her face. Sister was frightened. If this could happen to another girl, could it happen to her or someone she knew?

And, behold, a woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, ‘Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.’

Then Jesus answered and said unto her, ‘O woman great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour (Matthew 15:22, 28).

I suggest you read all of chapter 15 of Matthew. Sometimes, I had no resistance when the little brother mode kicked in. I was going to do it. At those times, the teaching of God’s Word seemed to be for others, not me.

The next Sunday morning, I was wide awake, listening for the Sunday paper to land on the porch it hit. I already had gotten dressed. When sister ran for the paper, I slipped from my bed and ran into her room and under her bed.

She returned quickly, flopping on her bed. I could hear the sound of rustling paper. Soon, all became quiet. I knew she was reading. Laying on my back, under her bed, I pushed up on the bed springs, ever so slightly, just enough so she would notice. I could hear her move. Then all became quiet for a few seconds. I presumed that she had thought the movement were her imagination. Once again, I knew she was reading again. I grabbed the bed springs and begin to shake them with all my might. She was frightened. I could hear her fighting for enough breath to scream. All at once, a blood-curdling scream came out. She knew the demon was about to attack. I laid silently, fighting to keep from laughing.

Mother was in the kitchen beginning to fix breakfast for her family. At the sound of her daughter’s scream, I’m sure she stopped and dropped whatever she had in her hands. She ran for sister’s bedroom. Mother, knowing her son, knew the demon was under the bed. A hand came flying under the bed. It locked on my arm. I was laying on the floor at Mother’s feet. All she said was, Go get me a switch.

I knew better than to disobey. Running from the house, I headed for the Santa Rosa plum tree in the front yard. Reaching the tree, I made mistake number two. I broke off a little shoot that was only about three