SERVICE! Joyful, whole-bearted service!
C ILLING, DEVOTED SERVICE to Christ my King was now
L_ the set purpose of my life!
It did not occur to me to go anywhere else first but back home to the Ingersoll farmhouse. I was like a racehorse returning to the starting line. Having gone forth originally from the farm, I knew that from there I should set forth again!
I told my parents of my call, They smoothed my path by offering to care for the children awhile.
The next day I took a train to a city about one hundred miles distant where an evangelist was conducting revival serv ices. Robert and I had conducted meetings in the city before the war when it was called Berlin. Its new name was Kitchener.
Old friends in Kitchener greeted me warmly. They insisted I should go right to the platform of the big tent, that first afternoon.
“No,” I replied, “I'll sit in the audience for this time, thank you.”
I felt cold, out of the center of sunshine of the open heavens; not quite worthy
The evangelist was one I had never heard. He undoubtedly preached a wonderful sermon but (apologies to him, a good iend of mine now) I do not recall what he said. I doubt if I knew very clearly then, for but one thought occupied me—to get down to the altar, to the seat of mercy
When he gave the call for sinners and for those Christians
who wished to renew their covenant with the Lord, 1 was the first down the aisle! As I knelt at the altar, I felt utterly unworthy to touch even the rough planks which formed its floor.
Having always understood that it was so difficult for a backslider or one who had broken his vows to get back to God, I settled down, so to speak, for a long siege, thinking I should have to pray for hours to be forgiven.
Facing the task desperately, I began:
“Oh, Lord, please for—”
I was going to say “forgive”. But before the word was uttered it seemed as though a hand was cupped over my lips and the Lord spoke to my heart:
“There, child; it is all forgiven!”
A sweet peace settled over my troubled soul, quieting me momentarily,
“What is this?” I asked myself, “a lethargy of spirit to keep me from praying through?”
T started again:
"Dear Lord, please for—"
And again I was checked by the reassuring witness:
“All right, my child, say no more. You have suffered enough.”
Then, like the bursting of a dam, my heart broke and melted with a floodtide of love and gratitude! This reception bound me to the Lord more than any whipping could ever have done!
The next thing I knew the Spirit was speaking in tongues through me, and giving me the interpretation! A brother in the Lord who was some distance away from where I knelt also spoke in tongues and the Spirit gave me the interpretation of that. I was laughing, weeping and shaking all at the same time! A group gathered around me to rejoice.
A dear old Mennonite preacher who had been seeking his baptism for years was kneeling at the other end of the platform. The Lord seemed to guide me to this brother now, and walking on my knees, with my hands outstretched before me, I cried:
“In the name of Jesus Christ, receive ye the Holy Ghost!”
Immediately he fell to the ground and began to speak in tongues, After his years of waiting, the Comforter had come in like a flash of glory to abide forever!
When the meeting was over I approached the evangelist: “What can I do to help in these services?” I asked.
Never having seen me before, he looked rather surprised and replied:
“Why, I don’t know; thank you very much, though.”
Outside I met a lady who had an official appearance and broached my desire a second time
“Isn't there something I can do, please, to help
“Right for the moment I don’t think of anything, went away sort of puzzled-like.
Down the long rows of sleeping tents I went—this was a big old-fashioned camp meeting—eagerly searching the faces of those sauntering about in the fast receding rays of the warm afternoon sun.
y one?” and she
At the end of the avenue was a worker tightening guy ropes ‘on a tent, I queried
“Pardon me, shall I help you?”
Another surprised, good-natured negative rewarded me, so I wandered on, not a whit discouraged in my hope of finding something that needed doing.
At length there yawned before me the cavern of a big kitchen and dining tent. A worried-looking man strode out as I approached.
“Excuse me,” I said timidly, “is there something I can do here?”
He stopped, looking dubiously at my silk dress, frowningly at the kitchen, and then asked a little doubtfully:
“Can you wash dishes?”
At the same time he parted the canvas sides of the tent and motioned for me to look within.
That couldn't be a stack of soiled dishes! Not that high!
But it was! A mammoth pile in cold water, filmed with grease. And washing dishes was my pet aversion! But I was looking for something to do and here was plenty of it.
Soon, sleeves rolled up and a towel pinned about me in liew of an apron, I plunged elbow deep in fresh, sudsy warm water. As I washed I sang:
Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine shall have My life, my love, my all!”
The mountain of dirty dishes at my left dwindled as I sang and washed and wiped; and the shining pile of china at my tight grew and grew!
Oh, it was so good to be back!
What matter how lowly, how humble the task, I was serving Him Whom I adored.
My song changed to a whistle:
“Sunlight, sunlight in my soul today.”
Happiness just bubbled up and flowed like a singing fountain; arising not from external circumstances but from the source of all true happiness—from within—the heart.
During lulls in the rattling of dishes I heard oven doors opening and slamming behind an adjoining canvas partition.
“Who's dat awhistling out dar?” came a deep voice finally from the other side of the partition, and a tall, spare, pleasantlooking colored man, white cap set jauntily on the back of his head, spotless white apron hanging over one arm, appeared, emphasizing his remark with the waving of a saucepan. "Who's dat awhistling, ah want to know; don’ yo’ all know that whistlin’ gals and crowing hens always come to some bad end?”
The gentle rebuke in his tone was offset by his smiling eyes. I replied:
“Oh, you have that wrong; it's ‘whistling girls and hens that crow will take care of themselves wherever they go.'”
That was rewarded with a feigned frown of annoyance for a moment, and then recognition dawned on his shining face. “It ain't—laws alive—it ain't—sho’ nuff—it ain't Sistah Semle?”
“That's what you used to call me, ‘Daddy’ Seymore, back in Chicago before I went to China, What are you doing way over here in Canada?”
And we fell eagerly to talking of meetings, evangelists, old times and old friends, to the accompaniment of swishing suds.
“There!” I exclaimed triumphantly, putting down the last dish. “That's done!”
Laying aside my towel-apron, I flicked the soapy water from my hands and rinsed them in the clear stream which flowed from a tin dipper held by “Daddy” Seymore.
Hanging up the dipper, he suddenly turned a startled glance on me.
“Laws, chile, it am time fo’ dat dinner gong to sound!”
“Can I help you any?” I asked.
“Why,” he replied, his brow wrinkling, “help me? Land sakes, no! You shouldn't be doin’ this a-tall!””
“Oh, yes, I should; if you only knew how happy I am to be back, to be in the service; what matter whether I sit on the platform or do K.P, duty in the galley?
“Well,” he shook his head, “all right. There's tables to set.”
Tables there were to set, and trays to fetch!
How those preachers and workers could eat!
I was initiated into the mysteries of how to stack many dishes on a tray, the niceties of balancing, and so forth
Dinner over, I found a woman who was willing to accept some help setting the dormitory and sleeping tents to rights. I had asked again, “What can I do?” and had been given the job; and I've never been out of a job serving the Lord since!
I repaired to my own little tent, dressed hastily, smiled back at the shiny-eyed, rosy-cheeked reflection in the little mirror which hung on a tent pole—what a difference a few hours back in the service of the King had made—and hurried over to the meeting to ask, again:
“Is there something I can do?”
“Can you play the piano?” was the counter-question
"Yes, ma'am,” was the reply.
I believe I hit every key from top to bottom that night! What glorious inward joy manifested itself in the tips of my fingers as they fairly flew over the piano keyboard!
I had taken the road back from Tarshish to where the Word of the Lord had first come to me, as had Jonah, and now I was well on my way to Nineveh and the future ministry that God had in store for me, with the “seaweed” of humility still in my hair!
The next day and the next were as the first, and from there on there was no shortage of “jobs”!
I made myself so useful in the Kitchener camp meeting that the evangelist’s wife invited me to assist in the coming campaign in London, Ontario.
London was twenty miles from our Canadian farm home.
“Have you anything I can do to help in the few days between meetings?” I asked the evangelistic party before leaving
Kitchener to return home for a brief stay with my loved ones. “We need a banner—a great twenty-five-foot banner to hang across the street in London, announcing the dates and location of the campaign. Can't paint a banner, can you?”
“Why, certainly,” I replied, “I would be glad to paint it for you.”
“Did you ever paint a banner before?” he asked, somewhat taken aback.
“No, but I will now. Everyone must learn some time, mustn't he?”
It seemed to be very difficult to convince the evangelist that I could paint the sign, He appeared reluctant to risk so much valuable material on a novice.
The matter was finally concluded by my going home with the canvas, the paint and the brushes, even though I did pay for them myself.
After rocking the babies to sleep that night, I unfolded the canvas, laid it across the table (and across the backs of all the available chairs). My father with carpenter pencil, square and compass assisted me in blocking out and spacing the letters, and then I set to work.
“COME TO THE GREAT CAMP MEETING...”
I painted the letters in black, outlined them in red, and shaded them with peacock blue!
The banner was proudly hung over the main street intersection in London.
One day toward the end of the campaign a lady came to me and said:
“Sister, please come to Mount Forest and hold meetings. I have a little hall called "The Victory Mission’ and the Lord has laid it on my heart to get you to come home with me.”
Such were the simple stepping stones to sacred service!
I set out for Mount Forest, Ontario, a few miles distant, to conduct my very first meeting! And of all the campaigns that followed, that first one stands out in my memory as being unique in many ways, and as a criterion of those which were to come.