A BREEZ! A picturesque blufft An irresistible view!
Far below, the sparkling radiance of Narragansett Bay.
| HESE WERE THE ATTRACTIONS that caused me to decide on the site for the camp-grounds for my second revival meeting, which was held in Providence, Rhode Island.
Having carefully saved all the offerings above traveling expenses, I ordered a new tent, 40 x 80. Again and again I climbed the narrow staii the tentmaker's kingdom and became quite initiated into the details of tents; ten-ounce top and eight-ounce sides; center poles; ridge poles; block and tackle; guy sopes; wooden stakes; iron stakes; nails and sledgehammers,
But while waiting for the new tent I was glad to use the old one, for I have always worked on the premise that life is short and eternity long and there is no time to waste. The missionary fields are white and perishing for want of the preached Word
The first thing to do, of course, was to find a piece of land in Providence suitable for my tent. I walked and rode street cars until at last I decided upon that splendid hill top site overlooking the beauties of Narragansett Bay.
My decision was made entirely from the artistic standpoint. It was summer time and here it would be cool, the view unparalleled and the location most appealing and attractive. I did not reckon on the winds and storms for I had not learned the cer
- 100 lesson that they who live in tents must always have their eyes cast toward the clouds!
Finally the tent was erected, the lumber purchased and the seats constructed. The lights were wired, the piano rented, and the meetings got under way.
Tt was to be a ten-day revival, and for two days all went
_ Well. But on the third night the flaps of my little sleeping tent, which stood guard beside the bigger one like a small ‘waterboy beside an elephant, blew so violently that it was difficult to compose myself to slumber. At last I drifted into peaceful sleep, in the midst of which I sprang to my feet with a terrified:
“What is it? Oh! What is it?”
My knees trembling under me, I parted the curtains of my sleeping tent and looked out to the place where the tabernacle tent had been.
‘What a sight! There it lay, torn and disheveled upon the ground!
For a moment my face quivered, and I thought I should cry; but suddenly I began to laugh instead! ‘The old tent did look so funny, with a pole sticking up here, the piano bobbing up there, and the pulpit rearing its head over yonder, the chairs and seats making queer little peaks everywhere!
Several terrific rents had been torn in the canvas from ridge pole to border!
The storm subsided. I dressed and went out to look at the ruins. The moon was shining fitfully through scurrying clouds and waters were booming upon the rocks at the bottom of the precipice below.
In the morning the neighbors came around and volunteered their help and advice, as I sat forlornly in the midst of the torn canvas and tried to draw the rents together with my tiny needle and thread.
“Lady, you can't sew heavy canvas with that sort of a needle. You need a tentmaker's three-cornered needle and strong waxed thread. Your stitches won't hold any longer than it takes you to put them in, when the next blow comes.”
“Why in the world did you ever pitch a tent on this bluff anyway? It’s one of the most windy locations in the city.”
“W-why,” I replied, “I thought we would have such a wonderful breeze, and...”
“Well, you had a breeze all right; There's no use denying that! But now, let's see what can be done. What time is the next meeting?”
“Two-thirty, and we cannot make it. But w have it ready for the evening service.”
So, for hours we stitched, and when several of my helpers had to leave for their work, the folk who came for the afternoon service pitched in and the job of repairing continued unabated. At last the work was completed and the tent erected.
We had a glorious meeting that night and the next afternoon also many were at the altar seeking salvation. I sank into a tired but happy sleep that night.
During the night came another terrific blow!
Boom! Crash! Rip! Smash!
Deeply distressed, I threw my coat about me and went out through the gales of driving rain. I knew what had happened. The tent was down and torn worse than ever!
The next morning I assured the poor old tent that its days were not over and I sewed it up again and somehow put it back in standing posture! That night we conducted another glorious service without incident.
When, however, the tent went down for the third time a day later, it was torn beyond hope and breathed its last expiring sigh. It was truly mourned by its sad owner and some very real tears were shed on its old battle-scarred sides!
I walked around and around and surveyed the fallen giant from all angles. A little lad about twelve years of age who had stayed around the tent a good deal, stalked after me, Indian fashion. When I would shake my head dolefully, he would shake his, too, and we commiserated together. There just wasn't a place to get a hand-hold on the old piece of canvas, and what to do with it was the question.
That night the meeting must go on as scheduled; the crowds would be coming, not knowing about the tent having fallen. Our work was not then important enough to be headlined in the newspapers so folks would know in advance of our mishap.
It did not occur to me to quit. From childhood days I had been taught when once convinced a thing was right, to never stop nor turn backward. Often I have thanked God for the Canadian grit and courage which was my inheritance! The will surely words “can’t” and “give up” simply must not exist in the vocabulary of a successful missionary or evangelist!
I dropped into a chair, and, with chin cupped in hand, began to think the thing out. The little lad sat down beside me and did the same. Suddenly I startled him by jumping up with alittle cry of joy:
“I've got it, Buddy, I've got it!”
He jumped up, too.
"Got what? Where is it?”
“You know those ten little sleeping-tents—the little tents that we expected to erect for campers if it became necessary? Let's get them; put them in a row, lash them end to end and make a long narrow tent. Let's crawl under the big tent and pull out the benches and put them in it. We will beat this storm yet!”
What a day that was!
Hot, dusty, weary, we crept under the torn canvas of the main tabernacle tent again and again; dragging out the wooden benches, carrying them one by one—the boy bearing one end and I the other—to our new “edifice”. Trip after trip we made, rooting around like gophers under the big canvas for lights, song books, pulpit, decorations and whatnot; until, trembling with fatigue, we had almost everything ready for the evening meeting, But how could we move the piano?
On our hands and knees, on the platform under the heavy canvas, we seriously debated the question. Could planks be laid down from the platform to afford a runway, and could we ever pet the piano stopped if once we got it started?
“What—what's this?” boomed a big voice from outside at that moment. "Who's under that canvas? Come out here till 1 have a look at you!”
Tired and disheveled, with dirty hands and many smudges across our faces, we came forth, exhausted but triumphant.
“See our new tabernacle!” I cried cheerfully, for it was one of the gentlemen who had been serving as ushers in the services. He had returned from work and come early to the grounds to see if there was anything he could do before meeting-time.
“The wind cannot take that down,” I continued, “and I think everyone will agree it is unique and original. Consider its dimensions; it is exactly ten feet wide, and one hundred and twenty feet long, Mostly long Plano in, now:
isn’t it? If we could get this
“Why, Sister, you should never have attempted such a thing! You will kill yourself or else become awfully sick! Why didn’t you wait for the menfolk to get home from their work, and let us do it for you?”
‘Why, because, Brother, it is almost meeting-time now, and the work of God must go on. There arte so many souls being saved, Wasn't that a wonderful altar call last night?”
for he was but a recent, you run along and prepare for
“Yes, indeed,” he replied fervently, convert himself, “Now, Siste:
the service, Here comes another worker, and together we will move t piano for you
A splendid meeting crowned our labors that night. I toc for my text 2 Kings 6:6, “And the axe did swim.”
The audience sang and clapped and testified, and we preached "Christ and Him crucified” to the salvation of many souls!
The campaign continued to a successful close without an other mishap. Being low to the ground, the wind could not tear it from its moorings, and this fact was a constant object lesson on humility and a lowly, contrite heart. We will never be overthrown by the winds of trial and hardship if we will remain humble before God!
Surely God has proven, not only during the episode at Narragansett Bay, but in many a difficult place since, that “where a will—His will—there’s a way—His way! * The new tent for which I had waited so long was pitched for the first time on the Holiness Camp Ground, Cape Cod, Onsett Bay
It was while conducting these meetings that God called me to Corona, Long Island.
Often, while in prayer, the word “Corona” kept coming to my mind. I had been asking the Lord for a typewriter, as I was a contributor to various religious magazines and needed one badly, Consequently, I thought this was the reason,
However, in a few days I received a letter which read, briefly: “DEAR SisTER McPHERSON:
“Come at once to Corona, Long Island. Revival clouds are ready to burst upon our heads. The Lord hath need of thee!”
The signature on the letter was that of a lady with whom I was not acquainted, but as I prayed over the matter I felt strongly and deeply impressed that I should answer the call and go to Corona.