Cloying, treacherous, relentless quicksand!
The soul-destroying quicksand of unbelief!
“Tell me,” I pleaded, “which is right; my schoolbook or my Bible?”
“Little girl,” the high school teacher answered as he looked down from his superior height, “your Bible is a wonderful classic of English literature it has no rival, but—"
“Yes,” I was all eagerness, “tell me.”
“But as for Genesis, the story of creation, and like passages, I’m sorry to say they are not only untrue but ridiculous.”
“The story—of creation—not true?”
“It is merely a myth. Other religions had their fables; the world held on the back of a turtle; held on the shoulders of a giant and so forth.”
“But the Bible—" I interrupted.
“The Israelites,” he continued, “had a myth like this: They thought that God created the sun, moon, stars and earth out of nothing and hurled them into space.”
The foundation of my life was dropping from under me and I was sinking, sinking into the smothering quagmire of doubt and unbelief. I would not let him go. I must know more. What books could I read? Darwin? Tom Paine? Voltaire? Ingersoll? Yes, I would read them all.
He left a desolate little girl standing in the center of the room, looking bewilderingly at clusters of chemistry test tubes, batteries, weird lights and blackboards covered with strange formulae.
My little world of faith had crashed about my ears and for me the light of the day was gone.
Ever since I could remember I had been rocked to sleep with Bible stories and sacred hymns of trust. I had talked about God as easily and as readily and trustingly as I did about my earthly father.
The foundation stones of my faith, almost my very life, then, depended upon the divine inspiration and infallibility of the immutable Word of God; the Holy Bible.
It never dawned upon me to put the Bible through a sieve, picking out the “false” and the “true”. It was all or nothing for me then. And it is to this day.
I stood for some time in that chemistry room, deep in thought.
Man? A process of evolution?
Why, then, God had not created him at all, as the Bible said He did.
If God had not created the earth, if God had not created man, if man had come by evolution to his present state, then there was no God.
And if there was no God, in all likelihood there was no life beyond. All churches and church workers were wasting their time and man was as dumb as driven cattle; he ate, he slept, he died, and was no more!
At the library Darwin, Voltaire, Paine and Ingersoll, in no uncertain terms, spoke their pieces, did their work and did it well while the churning sands of the quagmire of unbelief eddied about my neck and scemed to sweep me under and away.
Full to overflowing with “nebular hypothesis,” wild, unproven theories and “it-may-well-have-been supposed’s” my foolish unguarded heart proved a fertile soil for those noxious weeds of eternal destruction.
I could think of nothing else as I handled the reins of old Flossie during the drive or sat staring engrossed from a train window at familiar landscapes.
A lacy willow whose drooping foliage I had so much admired, would come into view; then the tall poplar—eternally pointing its finger heavenward—God had had nothing to do with the fashioning of either of them, then? They just prew?
That great tree where at least a thousand blackbirds congregated each Sunday morning; blackbirds who would swing aloft in a shining cloud as we passed under their beech loft— God had no part in their being?
That poor little sparrow I had picked up in the field, its wing drooping, broken; He had not marked its fall? There was no heavenly Father to see or know?
At last, driven by desperation to that childhood court of last appeal—home and parents—I burst through the door one day and cried:
“How do you know there is a God?”
A stillness of stupefaction reigned for a minute, gave way to amazement and then soothed down to startled protests.
“Why, Aimee, who made the world? Who made the sun, moon and stars?”
I echoed glibly my new logic: “Why, it was all a molten mass of lava, the heat of which caused it to acquire a whirling motion. The moon flew off, the stars flew off, the sun flew off, the earth flew off and—”
“But, my dear, who made man?”
“Man? Oh, as the earth cooled and contracted the oceans formed in its pockets. Then came fungus growth, then cell life and then life divided into three divisions—the fish in the sea, the birds in the air and the creatures on the earth. From this latter division came man, springing from the same line as the monkey, only man sprang farther. They are now looking for the missing link.”
My next attempt was made upon the minister when he came to our house for tea and fellowship.
“If I am to believe the Bible in its account of creation, what about other matters—does the Lord ever perform any miracles today to prove His existence?" I inquired.
“Why, no child, the day of miracles is over,” was his surprised reply. "People are expected to use the intelligence and wisdom the Lord has given them along medical and surgical lines—these are really miraculous, you know.”
“Oh, but doesn't it state over in James 5:14, if any are 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 will raise him up'? And is there not a scripture that says, ‘Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and today, and forever’? and ‘He
_ that believeth on Me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do, because I go unto My Father’? If there is a God, how then do you reconcile the fact that the Lord no longer does such things, with these scriptures that claim He will do them? And if there really is a God, wouldn't He continue to prove Himself with miracles today, as the Bible claims He did in past years?”
There was no dissuading me now!
Delving deeper into the subject I read all the books I could find. Finally I wrote an article, signing it “a perplexed school girl” and sent it to the Family Herald and Weekly Star, published in Montreal, then Canada’s leading paper. My inquiries were even answered by Archbishops. Arguments both for and against the Book and its teachings were brought out. Among the letters that poured in for months from England, New Zealand, Australia and all parts of America, each containing a different explanation, not one said:
“Child, the Bible is true. Take the simple Word of God and believe it just as it reads.”
Alarmed over my attitude and questions, Mother asked me to join some church. When I made excuses she offered to take me around to all the various denominations, so that I could study the teachings and creeds of each and then join the one I liked most. Replying that I felt I was doing enough church work now, with the entertainments and concerts, I added, in a self-righteous way, that I considered myself just as good as any of the others who were members; I didn't see any particular difference between my life and theirs!
The insistence that I attend some other services for a change became so marked, that one night I attended a special revival meeting with my parents.
As I stood in the back of the hall the evangelist’s daughter asked me to give my heart to Jesus.
“Do you still believe in that sort of thing?” I asked. “Don't you go to school?
In an effort to win me over, she seemed to get into unfamiliar waters. Finally she went for her mother who, after talking with me awhile, said, "You poor girl; you wait here wotil I bring my husband.” The preacher was very logical and deliberate in giving a reason for the hope that was in him, and met argument with argument, until all I could say was: “Reverend, if the Bible is true, why do taxpayers spend their hard-earned money to have their children taught every day in public schools that it is not? Why is it that on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday we are told to believe one thing, and then on Sunday we are taught something decidedly the opposite?”
Going home, later, I knew I had terribly offended my loved ones, and the faith instilled in me from my early training. Conscience-stricken, and shamed before my mother’s evident grief, I fled to my room, to think things over. Not pausing to light the lamp, I went to the bedroom window, threw it open, and sat down on the floor. With my elbows on the window-sill and my chin propped on my hands, I gazed reflectively up at the starry heavens and the silvery moon sailing majestically across the dark sky—how big it looked! Surely there must be someone up there back of those millions of stars and that huge full moon. I recalled how, in school, we had studied the planets. We had been told that each rotated and revolved upon its own axis and in its own orbit without friction or confusion, It seemed all so magnificent, so high, so above the reach and ken of mortal man—surely a DIVINE hand must hold and control this wonderful solar system—
Why! how near God seemed—right now!
Suddenly, without stopping to think, I threw both arms impulsively out toward heaven, and ctied:
“Oh God!—If there be a God—reveal Yourself to me!’”
The words, though softly spoken, winged their way through the stars and reached the throne of God, and He Who stands ever ready to answer the plea of an honest seeker, heard my prayer that night. Within forty-eight hours the answer came.
The following day my father and I were riding down the main street of the little town in a cutter, on our way home from school, when I saw a sign over the door of a big store which announced that “Full Gospel Revival Services” were held nightly within.
"Oh, father,” I exclaimed, “let's go in there some night and hear them. They shout ‘Hallelujah’ and ‘Amen’ and do strange things. The whole town is talking about their enthusiasm.””
“Why not go tomorrow night,” he suggested, “before you go to your rehearsal in the town hall?”
I had been rehearsing for some time on a big Christmas program which included a short play I had written and some of my original recitations, for I was much interested in elocution and the stage.
The next evening, my father and I were seated in the next to the last row of the little Full Gospel meeting. I looked on with critical and curious eyes; I even smiled. But the smile soon wore off my face when the evangelist entered.
He was straight and tall, well over six feet, broad shouldered, and carried a Bible under his arm, He turned, and I saw an earnest, strong face, a pair of level, sincere, blue eyes. He spoke in a deep ringing voice. When he started to preach he held the complete attention of that entire audience. What he said sank into my heart like a swift flung arrow. It was a shaft of conviction from the bow of the Lord.