“REPENT!” "REPENT!” “REPENT!”
| HE FLAMING TWO-EDGED sworD of the Word flashed in the upraised hand of the evangelist.
“Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost!”
“Repent and be converted that your sins may be blotted out!”
"God now commandeth all men everywhere to—
““REPENT!’"
Over and over, like the insistent beating of a sun-down gong, his vibrant voice flung that amazing and arresting word against the faulty ramparts of my unbelief.
Startled into petrified attention, I sat staring into the eloquent face of the preacher.
‘That man certainly believed and meant what he said.
Tt was as though he drew a straight line down the center of the universe, placing God on one side and the devil on the other, lining everybody up—sinners on the one side and saints on the other.
That man made a real difference between a sinner and a saint—between a worldling and a Christian.
I had never noticed much difference. The people who went to our church smoked the same cigarettes, played the same game of cards, danced the same dances and told the same stories as did the people who did not attend church. The only difference was that one had his name on the church books and the other did not.
For a few moments I was under the impression that someone had informed the evangelist of my spiritual condition, so vividly did he picture my own life attitude.
When he had finished explaining God’s plan of salvation, and what true repentance and acceptance really constituted, the speaker began to expound the doctrine of the Holy Ghost baptism, declaring that these two messages should be preached side by side, He remarked that for a Christian to live without benefit of the indwelling Holy Spirit of God was to live in an abnormal condition, not in accordance with God's wishes. How wonderfully he painted the scene of the day of Pentecost, and how the recipients of the Spirit had spoken in “other tongues” —languages they had never studied nor learned—as the Spirit gave them utterance! This was the Bible evidence today, as well as back in Bible days, he affirmed emphatically!
“Tongues?” I said to myself—“Tongues?—Why, I wonder what he means?” Certainly I knew I had heard nothing like that preached from the pulpit before!
While musing on this, I was startled even more when the speaker himself suddenly broke out in a loud voice, in a language I did not understand. His eyes were closed, and his arms were outstretched in my direction! To me it was the voice of God thundering into my soul terrible words of conviction and condemnation—“You are a poor, lost, miserable, hell-deserving sinner!”
‘There is a verse in the fourteenth chapter of first Corinthians which states that speaking in tongues is a sign to the unbeliever—this was certainly true in my case, for I knew that God was speaking through lips of clay, by His Spirit, to my soul! From that day to this I have never doubted the existence of God, and that He still has a hand in the affairs of mankind.
I became restless and said to father:
“Come on, Daddy, let's go.”
I do not remember how I got through the rehearsal that night, but I do know that for three days I battled the most awful and real conviction of sin and of my need of God. I had
34 - THE STORY OF MY LITE never done anything really bad; just lived the life of the average school girl; yet for three days this overwhelming, inescapable conviction persisted.
1 endeavored to rid myself of it one night by going to a fancy-dress carnival at the skating rink. But though I was a good skater (as most Canadian girls are), in the first preliminary circle around the glistening, frozen floor I slipped, sprained my ankle and had to be carried off the ice.
The third day, while driving home from school in the cutter alone, the conviction became more than I could bear. It seemed that the heavens were brass and would fall upon me and I would be lost if I did not immediately repent of my unbelief and Christ rejection.
Again I lifted my hands to heaven, this time with a far different prayer than I had uttered at my bedroom window four nights previous.
“God, be merciful to me, a sinner,” I cried. “God, be merciful to me!”
Instantly the light streamed over my soul. I had a peculiar sensation of something warm, cleansing and healing flowing over me from head to foot, and the great peace, the "Peace that passeth understanding,” flooded my heart. My fear was gone and in its place there was a blessed rest and sense of security. Something moist and warm splashed down upon my ungloved hand. I discovered it was my tears. Soon I found myself singing
“Take my life and let it be Consecrated, Lord, to Thee.’”
Singing with such fervor, abandon and depth of meaning as I had never known before
“Take my moments and my days, Let them flow in endless praise.””
I consecrated my life to Christ then and there.
I have never done anything half-heartedly, From the time I was a tiny child whatever I did, I did with my whole heart. And as I sang those words, it seemed that nothing short of a life of whole-hearted consecration would suffice.
“Take my hands and let them move At the impulse of Thy love—"
I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt there would be no more selfish grasping after the fleeting happiness of this world, but a giving out, with the hands of consecration, and a pointing to the “Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the world!”
“Take my feet and let them be Swift and beautiful for Thee—"
This did not mean whirling in purposeless circles on the dance floor.
As the flaming gates of sunset closed in the sky, it seemed that all my frivolities and foolish questionings were consumed in its fiery glow, and that the old life was shut out forever.
The portals of dawn were opening in my soul—opening upon a new day, a new world, a new life in Christ.