25172.epub

[]{#cover.xml} []{#title.html} BILL DROST {#bill-drost.h1a} ========== THE PENTECOST {#the-pentecost.h1b} ============= []{#copyright.html} **[]{#copyright.html#page_2}Bill Drost** **The Pentecost** by Bill Drost with Mike and Lorna Wieteska Originally published in two volumes as *Man with a Destiny* and *A Destiny Beyond Death* © 1983, 1985 by Ruth Drost Original *Man with a Destiny* *A Destiny Beyond Death* Revised edition ©2000 by Word Aflame Press Hazelwood, MO 63042-2299 ISBN 1-56722-245-5 All Scripture quotations in this book are from the King James Version of the Bible unless otherwise identified. All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in an electronic system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Word Aflame Press. Brief quotations may be used in literary reviews. Printed in United States of America Printed by ![](images/3.jpg) **Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data** Drost, Bill, d. 1979. Bill Drost, the Pentecost / Bill Drost, with Mike Wieteska and Lorna Wieteska. p. cm. ISBN 1-56722-245-5 1\. Drost, Bill, d. 1979. 2. Pentecostals---Biography. 3. Missionaries---Biography. I. Wieteska, Mike. II. Wieteska, Lorna. III. Title. BV3705.D76 A3 2000 289.9'4'092---dc21 \[B\] 00-026802 []{#dedication.html} *[]{#dedication.html#page_3}To my beloved wife, Ruth, who gave so much and received so little.* *And to four sons--- Gerald, Wynn, Wayne, and Verner--- who were so dearly loved by their father and who have been such a comfort and strength to their mother since she has been alone.* []{#abouttheauther.html} *[]{#abouttheauther.html#page_4}The authors are greatly indebted to* *Mrs. Ruth Drost* *for her vast amount of help in preparing this work from tapes made by her husband shortly before his death on March 5, 1979.* *---Mike and Lorna Wieteska* []{#contents.html} []{#contents.html#page_5}Contents {#contents.h2} --------------------------------- []{#contents.html#for}[Foreword](#foreword.html#for) []{#contents.html#pre}[Preface](#preface.html#pre) []{#contents.html#ch01} [1. Northern Europe, 1944-45](#chapter01.html#ch01) []{#contents.html#ch02} [2 Devil, Don't Get Me!](#chapter02.html#ch02) []{#contents.html#ch03} [3. G49155 Drost](#chapter03.html#ch03) []{#contents.html#ch04} [4. Advanced Training](#chapter04.html#ch04) []{#contents.html#ch05} [5. Rendezvous with Ruth](#chapter05.html#ch05) []{#contents.html#ch06} [6. Red-hot Movies](#chapter06.html#ch06) []{#contents.html#ch07} [7. So Who Was Cain's Cutie?](#chapter07.html#ch07) []{#contents.html#ch08} [8. War](#chapter08.html#ch08) []{#contents.html#ch09} [9. A Plumber Predicts](#chapter09.html#ch09) []{#contents.html#ch10}[10. Bill Drost the Pentecost](#chapter10.html#ch10) []{#contents.html#ch11}[11. Discouragement](#chapter11.html#ch11) []{#contents.html#ch12}[12. Call to Cali](#chapter12.html#ch12) []{#contents.html#ch13}[13. The Break](#chapter13.html#ch13) []{#contents.html#ch14}[14. Enter Eucaris, Submit Saul](#chapter14.html#ch14) []{#contents.html#ch15}[15. La Morena: First Love](#chapter15.html#ch15) []{#contents.html#ch16}[16. Close Encounters of the Clink Kind](#chapter16.html#ch16) []{#contents.html#ch17}[17. First Convention---First Martyrs](#chapter17.html#ch17) []{#contents.html#ch18}[18. Tree Tease on Doctrine](#chapter18.html#ch18) []{#contents.html#ch19}[19. Opening in Ecuador](#chapter19.html#ch19) []{#contents.html#ch20}[20. El Terrible](#chapter20.html#ch20) []{#contents.html#ch21}[21. A Tunnel Out of Time](#chapter21.html#ch21) []{#contents.html#ch22}[22. Wrong Time in the Time Tunnel](#chapter22.html#ch22) []{#contents.html#ch23}[23. The Serpents of Cholomando](#chapter23.html#ch23) []{#contents.html#ch24}[24. Where Wise Men Say Farewell](#chapter24.html#ch24) []{#contents.html#ch25}[25. Another Battle on the Plate River](#chapter25.html#ch25) []{#contents.html#ch26}[26. It Has Got You!](#chapter26.html#ch26) []{#contents.html#ch27}[]{#contents.html#page_6}[27. Goodbye to All That](#chapter27.html#ch27) []{#contents.html#ch28}[28. All That Heaven Allows](#chapter28.html#ch28) []{#contents.html#ch29}[29. A Leading to Lima](#chapter29.html#ch29) []{#contents.html#ch30}[30. The Peruvian Pot](#chapter30.html#ch30) []{#contents.html#ch31}[31. Cloudburst](#chapter31.html#ch31) []{#contents.html#ch32}[32. Thanks for the Memory](#chapter32.html#ch32) []{#contents.html#ch33}[33. Hallelujah Andalucia!](#chapter33.html#ch33) []{#contents.html#epi}[Epilogue by T. Wynn Drost](#epilogue.html#epi) []{#foreword.html} []{#foreword.html#page_7}[]{#foreword.html#for}[Foreword](#contents.html#for) {#foreword.h2a} ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bill Drost---that name is still alive in the hearts of thousands and will continue to live in their minds and lives for many generations to come, should Jesus tarry. When I first met Bill Drost on the old Newcastle Bridge Campgrounds, New Brunswick, Canada, in the summer of 1931, he had been saved for about a year. He was a freckle-faced boy of sixteen with a brush cut who told me he wanted to go to South America as a missionary. My first reaction was, "It's all right if he does, and it's all right if he doesn't." Bill made no attempt to push himself; I do not recall seeing him on a church platform until after he returned from World War II, some fifteen years later. But Bill went to work, both manually and spiritually. On weekends he would often drive for miles to talk with one or more boys and introduce them to eternal life in Jesus Christ the Lord. He would also bring them to church, and in those days he taught a Sunday school class. Many of the boys he taught became his faithful supporters until the Master called him to rest on March 5, 1979. The zeal and fire that burned in his breast to the end is today burning in the hearts of many---young and old. They have caught the torch and are carrying it high, with love and integrity. It was my esteemed privilege to be Bill's secretary and coworker from the day his missionary career began until the day it ended on this earth. I was often in touch with him several times a month and, during the last ten or twelve years, weekly. Each Sunday night---after his day's work was through---while others slept, he would write me []{#foreword.html#page_8}telling of the blessings of the day and of how the Spirit of God moved in his soul to anoint the Word. You will be inspired and blessed as you read the pages of this book. It will let you know what God can and will do through a yielded, unselfish vessel who did not care who got the credit as long as God got the glory, who helped searching hearts find rest for their souls. Bill was no pros- elytizer---he dug his converts from virgin soil. He would much rather go where no one else had been and there witness for the gospel of Jesus Christ. When I got in his way, he had a way of "shaking" me so he would have a free hand to obey the Spirit as God led; it worked, and souls were saved indeed. Someone has said that Bill Drost won more souls by accident than most of us do on purpose. I believe that. Bill Drost did not ask for money---yet he was always giving money away. He did not ask for guarantees from anyone---he only asked for continuous prayer. He had one goal---to win souls and glorify God. One time while I was travelling with him, I heard him in the bathroom early in the morning reading the Bible aloud. When I asked him the reason for reading aloud, he replied, "I wanted the devil to hear it." Rest on, Brother Bill. You are missed. Your seat is empty because no one can fill it. We promise you we will labor on until the day breaks and the shadows flee away---then we will sit down together and talk it over. Bill Drost had some faults as we all have, yet he was of unlimited value. Thousands will meet him in the kingdom and say, "It was you who invited me here!" ---Wynn T. Stairs []{#preface.html} []{#preface.html#page_9}[]{#preface.html#pre}[Preface](#contents.html#pre) {#preface.h2a} -------------------------------------------------------------------------- For some time now I have been impressed by the Spirit of the Lord to write something about Bill Drost's life. I would like to have the joy of sharing these nuggets of gold with the many who will read this book. I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to walk life's pathway with him for thirty-four years. My appreciation of him grew as I watched him obey the call of God under trying and seemingly impossible conditions. I learned, very soon after we were married, that it was worthless to try to change his mind when he had heard from God about any major moves that we needed to make. No sacrifice was too great, no barrier too big, when it came to bringing souls to Jesus, for he had caught the vision of the worth of a soul, and his main desire in life was to win many for the Lord. His experiences in the army; being jailed for the sake of the gospel and escaping for his life; the long, exhausting trips on jungle trails; the times when his body was wracked with pain and fever---all helped to urge him on to greater victories. Bill's love for his four sons was obvious, and even though his duties took him often on long trips, he could hardly wait to get home to be with his family, to romp and play with the boys and be their companion. The boys followed in their dad's footsteps, not because he tried to insist that they be missionaries, but because he lived such a fulfilled life before them. They felt his heart pulse as they watched him labor with eternal values in view, and they caught his vision of the worth of a soul. I have had the joy of seeing the work of God grow in []{#preface.html#page_10}Spain, where Bill last pioneered and toiled on virgin soil. Several of the national pastors are men whom he baptized and nurtured in the Lord. His grave stands as a monument to a man who dearly loved the Spanish people and whose untiring labors of love still live on as others have hearkened to the call to go. Many times since his passing, even though I have had to fight loneliness and fear, I have been impelled by the love of Jesus to fill my role---to encourage, lift, and strengthen these pastors and my sons---because of the courageous example that Bill set before me. Where are the young men who will say yes to the call of the Master today? There is such a shortage of laborers, and the fields are white already to harvest. Opportunities are presented everywhere. You could never fill Bill Drost's place; that is not required of you. But there is a place that only you can fill, and the voice of God is pleading with you just now as you read these words. Give Him a chance---be a soulwinner for Jesus. ---Ruth Drost []{#chapter01.html} ### []{#chapter01.html#page_11}[]{#chapter01.html#ch01}[C[HAPTER]{.smallcaps} One](#contents.html#ch01) {#chapter-one.h3} ### [Northern Europe, 1944-45](#contents.html#ch01) {#northern-europe-1944-45.h3a} [O]{.dropcap}n December 10, 1944, President Roosevelt, in a long letter of reply to Winston Churchill concerning the course of the war, wrote that "even the Almighty was helping." The Almighty was helping in another place too: He was helping an obscure Canadian private who was destined to fight on in another type of warfare on another battleground. But Bill Drost at that moment did not know he had a destiny. In fact, his future seemed singularly short. By D-Day, Caen had been liberated, and thirty Allied divisions---half American and half British and Canadian---were lodged on the Normandy bridgehead anticipating the thrust into Germany. The Canadian First Army, an all-volunteer body under General Crerar, was fighting with the British Second Army under the overall control of Field Marshal Montgomery. The first task of the Canadians had been to drive []{#chapter01.html#page_12}south towards Falaise, holding the concentrated strength of the enemy's four Panzer divisions, while the U.S. First Army under General Bradley swept through on the west to clear the Cherbourg Peninsula. After taking Falaise in August they had been assigned to clear the Allied western flank, pressing along the coast from Le Havre to the shores of the Scheldt below Antwerp. The port of Antwerp, left almost intact by the Germans due to the speed of the Allied advance, was of great strategic importance. However, the enemy still controlled both sides of the river approaches, denying safe passage. Much bitter fighting was necessary to clear the Scheldt estuary, while the island of Walcheren would not succumb until a fierce air and sea bombardment, followed by a commando assault. The fierce fighting of this single battle would later be made famous by Saunders in his book *The Green Beret.* Pushing through dreadful November rains towards southern Holland, the Canadians found themselves by February in the Nijmegen salient, between the rivers Meuse and Rhine, just south of ill-fated Arnhem. From here, as part of the Twenty-first Army Group, they were to thrust southeastward to Wesel, and make a bridgehead over the Rhine. Simultaneously, further south, Bradley's Twelfth Army Group would drive the enemy across the Rhine on a massive front between Dusseldorf and Koblenz. The Allied plan was to skirt the north of the Ruhr, Germany's industrial heartland, and advance across the north German plain towards Hamburg and the Baltic. At the same time a second thrust would race eastward toward Kassel, leaving the Ruhr to be subdued later. Facing the []{#chapter01.html#page_13}First Canadian Army were eleven strongly entrenched German divisions whose morale was high; these factors, added to the difficulties caused by waterlogged ground, slowed the advance. To the south of the Canadian position the U.S. First Army captured the upstream dams of the Roer, enabling the U.S. Ninth, fighting further downstream, to cross this river safely. Striking west and north, the Americans reached the environs of Dusseldorf by early March, and the Canadians, now able to renew their attack, pressed to Xanten. The two armies met, forcing the enemy to abandon the Wesel bridgehead, and by March 10 eighteen German divisions had retreated across the Rhine. From the ravaged west bank the Allies now looked out a quarter mile eastward to the river's far shore. An air strike eclipsed only by that of D-Day was mounted for the Rhine crossing: wave after wave of bombers from as far as Britain and Italy swept deep into Germany. In one-half hour, a paratroop assault with two thousand aircraft roared over the Rhine. By the early hours of that morning the British Second and U.S. Ninth Armies, under Montgomery, had made bridgeheads north and south of Wesel, leaving the Canadians to protect their left flank. The Canadians then crossed the river, driving northward to Emmerich. Here again, because of powerful defense structures, the heaviest resistance was met, and forward troops were forced into a bottleneck impossible to bypass. The Germans had placed an obstacle in front of this bottleneck, at the same time concentrating massive firepower on the area. It was a trap, but the obstacle had to be cleared, so the engineers were called forward to try to blast a way through. []{#chapter01.html#page_14}A squad of them huddled behind cover, waiting apprehensively for the order to go in. Then an officer detailed one of them to take a charge of dynamite over the obstacle. Immediately as he stepped forward a hail of bullets pummeled him, killing him instantly. A second man was detailed and made a dash. Three yards forward, bullets ripped into his shoulder and he too fell, twisting and writhing in agony on the open ground. "OK, Drost, you go in," ordered the officer. War has many facets. In a way it was a paradox that Bill Drost was in the army at all. Had he not joined a volunteer army, yet determined never to carry a rifle? But the reason he was here today went back a long time... back to before he was ten years old. ::: {.pagebreak} ::: {.image1} ::: ::: []{#chapter02.html} ### []{#chapter02.html#page_15}[]{#chapter02.html#ch02}[C[HAPTER]{.smallcaps} Two](#contents.html#ch02) {#chapter-two.h3} ### [Devil, Don't Get Me!](#contents.html#ch02) {#devil-dont-get-me.h3a} [N]{.dropcap}othing could have been further removed from the hell of Europe at war---with its narrow, sniper-ridden streets; its shellfire-racked, foreshortened fields; its compartmentalized countryside with towns encroaching on villages---than the farm on the rolling hills of New Brunswick where Bill Drost was born on May Day, 1915. From the old farmhouse, a large, rambling building set on a hill, you could look around in all directions and see only one other homestead. The neighbors, good, plain, down-to-earth folk who knew just how a little boy should be treated, gave Bill delicious homemade cookies whenever he visited them. Bill charmed delicacies from other neighborhood women by keeping them supplied with patterns for hand-knit mats, in vogue at the time. He had a natural flair for art and at one point considered becoming an artist. But it was not all idyllic. For one thing, there had been a sort of transformation in his parents' way of life: []{#chapter02.html#page_16}They had come under the influence of a sect called "Go Preachers" and had named Bill after the leading "Go Preacher" in the community. Mama hoped Bill would live up to his name and had called him "the Go Preacher" from the time he was small, but Bill found them a dull group. One of their main platforms was to vehemently condemn church buildings and insist on meeting only in homes. Belonging to the sect also caused him to feel isolated at school, because the children who went to Sunday school ridiculed and harassed the "Go kids," who didn't. Still, he swelled with pride when at house meetings the people pointed to him and said, "There's little Willie the preacher!" He wondered many times, though, what he would have to preach about. Preachers certainly inspired his awe. One night in a meeting he drew the evangelist delivering his sermon. Somebody took the sketch from him and handed it to the evangelist, and Bill sat in terror waiting to be condemned to the pit for such impiety! But the man had a Christian attitude and only commented favorably on his drawing. He forever loved Brother Coseman after that. Just before he was ten, his older sisters went to a revival meeting in a skating rink about fifty miles away. A lady called Mattie Crawford was conducting it; many had repented, and a great stir was made throughout the area. When his parents heard about the meeting they were concerned---especially his mother. He overheard them talking in their bedroom: "Well, John, we have brought up our children, and hopefully they will not be led away with the error of the devil," Mother commented. "We can't say it is of the devil or not," Father replied. []{#chapter02.html#page_17}"Anything that is not truth as we have learned it, through the knowledge of the Word of God, cannot be of God!" Mama responded vehemently. Bill turned over in his cold bed, a thousand fearful thoughts running through his mind. Finally he dropped off into a fitful sleep, anxiously hoping that he would never run up against anybody who was of the devil! The Go sect had selected a small mountain knoll on their farm for a cemetery. There a number of Bill's best- loved friends of youth would be buried. There too, before he was eleven years old, they buried his father, forcing Bill to become the breadwinner for the household. He took his father's death hard. Something within him said he would never see his father again. Many times he would sit on the grave that held its prisoner, looking up to heaven where Mum said his dad was, to ask the Lord God why could he not speak to his father anymore, and wondering: Why, why should these things be? Soon afterwards he was out picking potatoes to help things along. Here he heard about Pentecostal people but shunned asking questions concerning them. He remembered the earlier conversation of his parents that branded these people as being "of the devil." A few years later, when he was fifteen, he went out working on the public highway. Some of the road workers were very kind to him, and this set him thinking. How can these people be kind when they are not believers like my mother? he wondered. "You ought to be very proud of your mother; she is a wonderful, good Christian woman," the boss said one day. Bill thought so too: many mornings he would awaken to the voice of his mother praying for her little fatherless family. []{#chapter02.html#page_18}Then another stir came, similar to the one five years earlier. A group of people were preaching the gospel and holding what they called Bible meetings, speaking a lot about the Holy Ghost. Strangely, an older friend of his, Bless, joined them. A tall, powerful man, Bless was the champion boxer of all around. Bill often went to his house to hear the stories he told, for they ran the gamut from sex to hunting---all things a young man finds interesting. It never bothered him too much that Bless had a sinister side, and when once in a while he got drunk and seemed unhappy, well, Bill had thought it only natural that a man should have some problems. But one day people said Bless had gone to the altar and was changed. Gone to the altar? Not knowing what that meant, Bill listened to the comments of folk around. Bless was changed all right, they affirmed. Bill was intrigued, wondering what this change was. Would he not recognize Bless anymore? Curiosity got the better of him, so he went around to his house. What a surprise when he found Bless on his knees praying with his wife and two little girls! That too made Bill think---still, no matter what Bless got, *he* was not going to get it... he was not going to have any truck with these people... these devils! Yet he could not get Bless off his mind. There he had stood, tall and serene with a glow that seemed to give off rays---almost as if he had an inward halo. Bill's mother was furious when she learned he had been around there. "Never talk to him again," she warned, after cagily questioning him and confiding that the "Go" people once had hopes for Bless to join them. Going to the post office on his bicycle one night, he was surprised to see a large crowd gathered about the []{#chapter02.html#page_19}place where the Bible meeting was being held. People were even standing on top of their cars to look in through the windows. It all seemed so strange that Bill went right on up to the front door. "Don't go in there; they'll get you!" called out some of the boys he knew who had also gathered outside. Thinking they were mocking him, Bill pressed on into the meeting hall. To his further surprise he saw seven different ministers, male and female, on the platform. The meeting progressed. He marveled at the testimonies the people gave, and although their singing was different, he liked it. People shouted things spontaneously like, "Glory to God! Praise the Lord! Hallelujah!" The devil didn't seem to have any show in the meeting at all! Well, this is something Mum doesn't know about, because I never once heard them mention the devil, Bill thought. But the tapping of feet and clapping of hands seemed out of order to him. He told his mother he had been to the meeting. She was stunned. Had he slapped her across the face with a cold, clammy cod she could not have been more surprised or upset. "Oh, Willie! Surely you didn't go in there!" she exclaimed. "Yes, but Mum! I don't think you understand---there was nothing said about the devil at all. All I heard was just how they were praising the Lord, and it was all very nice!" She was unmoved by his reply and, looking at him determinedly, said: "If you ever go back there it will be over my dead body! I now forbid you to go, and I never want to hear you mention those Holy Rollers again! You know they are of the devil---they have deceived you." []{#chapter02.html#page_20}He was surprised by what his mother said and the intensity with which she said it, and went up to bed perplexed. Crawling slowly under the covers, he tried to be honest before himself and God. Well, maybe I did get deceived, he thought. I haven't heard all those things before, so perhaps there was something that was not right. Putting his Bible on his bed, with tears streaming down his eyes he prayed, "O God, show me what to do. If these people are of the devil, they should be told. Lord, whatever Scripture you give me it will help me, and I am going to put my hand on a Scripture." He dropped his finger on the open Bible. When his eyes had cleared enough he read the verse above his finger. It was Psalm 47: "O clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto God with the voice of triumph." He'd never known that verse was in the Bible before! "O God, that's just what those people were doing---at least they clapped their hands," he said. Bill was as stunned as a whipped dog. He didn't really know what it all meant and tried to balance everything in his mind. Eventually he became too tired and confused to think and went fast asleep. But he was soon awakened by a very vivid dream. He saw Jesus come out of glory in a sky ablaze with beautiful light. Everywhere seemed to be charged with wonder. As he looked up he saw faces of people he recognized. They were going up, one by one, to meet Jesus in the air---and they were the people he had seen in the service the night before! As they rose from the ground, their expressions were filled with the greatest joy and satisfaction.... "O God, take me. *Take me!"* he cried at the top of his voice. Instantly he was awake and jumped out from his []{#chapter02.html#page_21}bed. Hearing a movement in the kitchen, he quickly made his way downstairs. "Mum, I want to talk to you!" he said excitedly. "Do you believe Jesus Christ is going to come in the clouds from heaven?" His mother looked at him earnestly. "My dear son, the coming of the Lord is only when death comes and takes us---that is what His coming is." Bill wasn't satisfied. "Well, tell me about it... please tell me more about it. I've had a dream... I think." Mother put her arms around him while the tears streamed from his eyes, dropping upon her hands. "Poor Willie, you've been deceived. This is just the devil. Try to forget about it," she said tenderly. "Now please go back to bed and try to get some sleep." Completely baffled, Bill returned to bed, where he lay thinking about all the conflicting messages. In the morning, before going out to work, his mother warned him again not to talk to those "Holy Roller" people who were working around him. "Don't worry, Mum," he replied. "I won't say anything to them." That day one of the fellows, a thin, mean man, came up to him. Spitting out his tobacco he laughed, saying he guessed Bill had been at the meeting last night. "Oh, just for a few minutes." "Do you know something? When I went home last night my wife was lying on the floor with her hands up towards heaven. She was speaking in tongues." "What? What's that?" Bill asked, puzzled. "That is what *they* call the power, the---the baptism of the Holy Ghost," he said, still laughing. Bill remembered []{#chapter02.html#page_22}them talking about the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and now he could hardly work, not knowing what to think of the week's events. He was torn between two opinions: doubts and disillusionment were growing over his mother's position, but he was unable to make up his mind against it. Sunday came and he decided to go to church again but told his mother he was going to see his sister. Taking his bicycle, he rode seventeen miles through the countryside to the Sunday afternoon meeting. Crowds of people were there, some standing for lack of seats. While the people stood up to sing, he squeezed his way forward to get a better view. He was captivated when the preacher wound up to his message, not only hearing but also feeling what the man was saying. Finally the preacher concluded, and while he invited people to come forward if they wanted the Lord, the congregation sang: Hear the blessed Savior, calling the oppressed, "O, ye the heavy laden, come to Me and rest. Come, no longer tarry; I your load will bear. Bring Me every burden, bring Me every care." Waves of emotion swept the audience. He saw people go forward and kneel at the altar, some with tears streaming down their faces. Bill didn't really understand it all, but he did know what he felt. He knew that he needed to do something... he needed to come to Jesus. He felt himself going forward, and he knelt in a little place between other people at the altar. Then he prayed fervently: "Lord, Lord, if You save me I don't care what happens. I want to be ready for Your coming, and whatever []{#chapter02.html#page_23}You want me to do I will do it, Lord." Having said this, he noticed that people around him were praying differently from him. They were praising the Lord. He didn't know how to praise the Lord---in fact, he did not know what else he was now supposed to say. Then a lady he knew, who had been in the Salvation Army, came over and put her hand on his head. "Lord," she prayed, "help this boy to believe what You have done for him on Calvary." At that moment something gripped him, an inner realization of the things the woman had said. His faith reached out and took the words, pulling them into his experience, clinging to them, savoring the reality of them. Immediately he felt a lightening, a freedom, a liberation from the heaviness and confusion and conviction that had been pressing on him and that had reached a climax during the preacher's sermon. The words "what You have done" kept coming to him, and he kept savoring them while it seemed that layer after layer of anxiety drained away. Very simply, when all these things had settled within him, and he felt completely changed, he thanked Jesus for what He had done. Bill rose to go out into the sunlit afternoon. As he was going, one of the boys called to him, asking him to come back to the evening meeting. "Oh, I can't; my mother won't let me!" he shouted back. "Don't worry about your mother---don't you know you'll get the Holy Ghost and speak in tongues and scare your mother half to death!" the boy replied. Looking intently at the boy he thought, How terrible that would be to have something you scared people half []{#chapter02.html#page_24}to death with! However, he went home and didn't say a word to his mother, going to bed very early to avoid her scrutiny. Coming back from work the following day, he tried to be as cheerful and natural as possible. Mum looked sad. "Did you go to the meeting yesterday afternoon?" she asked. "Yes, I did," he said, low-key and matter-of-factly. He wasn't prepared for the next move. Swift as a cat, she grabbed the broomstick and started flaying him with a passion, as if she were trying to beat the devil out of him and knew it was the last opportunity. He tried to protect himself as best as he could, burying his head in his arms. She went on thrashing him, beating him around the floor to which he had now fallen. "Stop it, Mum!" his sister screamed, having come into the room to see the commotion. "You're going to kill him!" "I'd rather him be dead than with those Holy Rollers!" his mother screamed back. But finally she did stop beating him. Smarting and sore, he went up to bed. From that night on, his mother kept him from reading the Bible, so he took it to bed and read it under the cover by flashlight. October came, then November, then December. He had read through the New Testament seventeen times, and each time he saw something new. It seemed to become better each time he read it, and he grew to love it more and more. It was alive to him. When he read it the verses jumped out, toppled over and over in his mind, knit themselves together, grew into beautiful ideas, grew in form and meaning until the words became to him the []{#chapter02.html#page_25}Word. It was a narcotic, and he was addicted. By now it was the end of December. A neighborhood Pentecostal woman smuggled a few notes in to him, telling how the Holy Ghost was being poured out and what wonderful things were happening. She didn't mention a word about tongues---had she done so, he would have torn up the note. Bill had been praying to the Lord to fill him with the Holy Ghost---but not let him speak in tongues. While he was praying under the pine trees in the cold snow, a voice said to him: "Go to the meeting tonight." He was surprised, because it was New Year's Eve and he did not know there was a meeting. He went inside to tell his mother of his intention. "Over my dead body!" she threatened. Grabbing his coat, he dashed out of the house, jumped over the garden gate, and ran. His mother kept calling after him until neighbors told her to leave him alone, saying he wouldn't come to any harm. When out of sight, Bill slowed his pace and then walked on through the beautiful snow-covered landscape to the service, kept warm by the excitement of previous events and anticipation of what the meeting would have in store. He listened carefully to every word the preacher said. The preacher didn't say anything new, but what he did say Bill saw in a new light. His text was, "Behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem until ye be endued with power from on high." He then concluded by asking those people who "wanted the promise of the Father" to come to the front. Bill went forward with others, and many people gathered around the seekers. Prayer began, but he was uncomfortable. The people around him seemed to want to touch []{#chapter02.html#page_26}him somewhere: they prayed over him; they messed his hair; they put their hands on his head, on his shoulder, on his back; they patted him and tapped him until he was absolutely exhausted and angry. He stood up and looked round at the people. "Mum said you lot were crazy, and now I know that you are crazy! I don't want any more of this---I'm going!" he said. Taking his coat he made his way to the back, but the pastor stopped him at the door. "Son, where are you going?" he asked. "I'm going back home and I won't be here again!" Bill replied. "But don't you want the Holy Ghost?" "Well,... yes!" "Those people were only trying to help you...." "Help me? They were tearing me to pieces!" he cut in. "Don't you know what they just did? They pushed me. They spit on me. They stood over me and hollered! I told them they were crazy---and I don't want any of it any more!" "But you know they were only trying to help you," the pastor continued. "You should appreciate that. If you go back and pray I will not let any of them near you." Waiting for the boy to respond, the pastor prayed within. Bill softened. Eventually he said, "All right, but don't let any of them touch me!" He went back and knelt in prayer, bringing his thoughts again to the words, "Behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you." The words became more meaningful to him, bigger, brighter.... He began to feel a cloud of love and power come upon him... envelop []{#chapter02.html#page_27}him... enter into him. He became suffused with it---one with it. The warmth, the intoxicating joy, the Presence, welled up within him, taking charge of him and freeing him at the same time. Higher and higher it came---now from deep within his being---into his belly, his throat, his head, his tongue! And from the tongue flowed a beautiful river of phrases he had never voiced before. Words rejoicing, words powerful, words victorious---they bubbled, they flowed, they gushed forth in torrents he could not stop---and wouldn't want to. Though he did not know the meaning of the words, he knew the feeling of them: they felt like primeval words, words of creation, God's words! And they were wonderful. But for him they were too precious, too hallowed, to be shouted. If he could not control the flow, he could the volume. He whispered in tongues. Caught away in the Presence, lost in eternity, he whispered the words on and on. Coming back into time, he was amazed to find it was four [A.M.]{.smallcaps} Still there were people, some of the same people he had called crazy, praying beside him. Now he knew what they felt and what they had been so anxious for him to have, and he loved them. But he had to go. He found his way home almost by instinct, still light with the Spirit's intoxication. As he went up the hill, he expected his mother would be in bed and was surprised to see a light burning in the kitchen. Peeping in through the frost-stained window, he saw his mother sitting there, knitting, with a resolute look on her face. What shall I say to her? he thought. Walking into the room he tried to be nonchalant. "Where have you been till this hour of the morning?" she demanded coldly. []{#chapter02.html#page_28}He began to feel the Presence well up again within him and realized it had come to abide. "Mum, I was at the meeting." His mother paled a bit but quickly regained her poise. "And what went on there that would bring a boy of your age home at an hour like this?" she said with more considered coldness. "Mum, it was wonderful!" Bill responded boldly. "What was wonderful?" she asked still coldly, but emphasizing the "what" and fighting to control her growing unease. If she was going to say something else she never got the chance. Bill felt the glory of God welling within him. He lifted his hands to heaven... and began to speak in tongues! His mother's eyes widened, her mouth opened and dropped at the same time, while her arms fell to her sides. She stared at him in bewilderment, scared half to death and unable to speak---just as the boy had said! Later she recovered her posture, chiding and insulting him and rehearsing all the faults of the Pentecostal people around, but never again, even when Brother Steeves took him down to the river at Newcastle Bridge and baptized him in Jesus' name, did she try to stand in his way. He began to learn that you just can't hide it when the Spirit is working within you. Best of all, he knew assuredly that the devil had not got him! ::: {.group} ::: {.pagebreak} ::: {.image1} ![Bill when his father died. He was 10 then.](images/30.jpg) ::: ::: {.caption} []{#chapter02.html#page_29}Bill when his father died. ::: ::: {.captiona} He was 10 then. ::: ::: ::: ::: {.group} ::: {.pagebreak} ::: {.image1} Bill, age 15, with his sisters. ::: ::: {.caption} Bill, age 15, with his sisters. ::: ::: ::: []{#chapter02.html#page_30} []{#chapter03.html} ### []{#chapter03.html#page_31}[]{#chapter03.html#ch03}[C[HAPTER]{.smallcaps} Three](#contents.html#ch03) {#chapter-three.h3} ### [G49155 Drost](#contents.html#ch03) {#g49155-drost.h3a} [L]{.dropcap}ike many who have recently "seen the light," Bill became fired with the spirit of evangelism, and like many who have become fired with the spirit of evangelism, Bill soon found that not everybody wanted to listen when he tried to share the light. But undaunted by stern rebukes and rebuffs he persevered, anxious for people to come to know Jesus. He wore a path through the pine trees to a little place where he would pray. There he felt God very near and very real. At church he sat on the front pew so that nothing would distract him. With a piece of chalk he wrote on trees and in public places something about the love of God or the text "Ye must be born again," which was his favorite. Shortly after Bill was baptized with the Holy Spirit, the people started a Sunday school. At fifteen years of age he was thrilled that, at last, he could go to a regular Sunday school. A meeting was called to choose teachers, and a slight, gray-haired old lady called Mother Clark []{#chapter03.html#page_32}impressed them all when she said the ones praying hardest for teachers should probably be the teachers themselves. Soon each group had a teacher, except the boys of the eleven-to-fourteen age group. This outstanding need was mentioned to Mother Clark. Spryly she stood to her feet, turned, pointed a thin finger towards Bill, and said with an air of final authority, "If I am not mistaken, this freckle-faced young man is the one. I have noticed the way he talks to young men and tries to get them interested." Bill shivered like a fiddler's elbow---he had never even *been* to a Sunday school, let alone teach one. But it was decided that he should indeed teach the boys' class. The following Sunday he assembled the seven boys, none of them knowing what to do. Finally, Bill said to the boys, "I promise that every morning I will pray for each of you, and in that way God will meet with us, and we'll receive something from Him." The work began to grow, and it wasn't long until they opened another Sunday school in Newcastle Bridge. There he met a big challenge: Tommy, a young tough, had been forced to go to Sunday school by his parents and bitterly resented it. If Tom could not countermand his parents, he could at least show his disgust. He kept his sullen face below a cap, which he adamantly refused to remove. He made it plain that he was completely fed up and would cooperate in no way whatsoever. After much prayerful thought, Bill decided he would take Tommy out one Saturday for a canoe ride and an ice cream---an expensive treat in those days. Tom accepted the offer, and they had a hilarious time when they discovered, trying to get back upstream, that neither of []{#chapter03.html#page_33}them had been canoeing before. Then Bill was surprised to find more money in his pocket than he expected, and they were able to have hamburgers as well as ice cream. Before leaving, he asked Tommy if he would be at church tomorrow. (Sometimes he slipped away, notwithstanding his parents' protests.) "Sure, I'll be there," Tom replied. The next morning in walked Tom, who took off his cap to reveal a bright and open face. Shortly afterwards he repented and began to serve the Lord. With some people a little kindness went a long way, Bill found. Kindness was second nature to him, and in the cover of his Bible he would later write: I have wept in the night For the shortness of sight That to others' needs makes me blind. But I have never yet Learned time to regret For being a little too kind. Like other revival movements before them, the Pentecostal churches continued to expand, strengthen, and organize. Bill became young people's leader in the Maritimes and later in Ontario. Much of the time he worked in mines, devoting his free time to the church, which was his joy. One day he was overwhelmed by the conviction that he should be a missionary to Colombia. He went and spoke to Brother Stairs, a preacher fifteen years his senior who was destined to become Bill's closest friend. Brother Stairs looked at the freckle-faced boy in front of him, hair close cropped, trousers half-mast. []{#chapter03.html#page_34}The lad didn't look much of a missionary, but his earnestness made an indelible impression on his mind. Only when Bill joined the army did Brother Stairs doubt the calling---for he doubted Bill would return alive. In the summer of 1937 Bill learned a bitter lesson. While working at the mines at Coal Creek he lived at a boardinghouse in Chipman, run by Mrs. Darrah. A young fellow who worked in the bank, Bill Jones, also stayed there. Bill spoke to him many times about the Lord, and one night the young man surprised him by saying he would like to go with him to church. Bill thought for a moment: it was a weeknight service, the crowd would be thin, and the speaker was not eloquent. Maybe he would not only be unimpressed but also put off from returning. "Well, I'd like to take you tonight, but the service will be so much better on Sunday. What about if I call by and pick you up then, OK?" he asked. It was, and Bill made a mental note to be back (he was going home that weekend) early enough to collect him. As he approached the boardinghouse on Sunday afternoon, it seemed quiet and strange. Unable to find the other boarder, he knocked on Mrs. Darrah's door, asking her his whereabouts. She looked sad. "Haven't you heard? Bill went out in a canoe since you were here, with Len White, and somehow the canoe toppled, and Bill was drowned." Bill broke down weeping. "Oh no! O God forgive me! I should have taken him to church with me when he wanted to go!... Now it's too late. O God forgive me!" After that, he resolved never to miss an opportunity to speak about Jesus to everybody he came in contact with. By the beginning of the Second World War, Bill had []{#chapter03.html#page_35}moved to the city of St. John to help with the church, at the same time working in the dry dock. Men in uniform began to be a common sight, and somehow Bill felt especially drawn to them. He would often give them literature and try to talk with them. As he rattled along one day on one of the noisy but powerless old trams, his attention was arrested by two soldiers. Bill went to give them a tract. One of them looked at Bill carefully. "It's all right for you; you're a civilian. You ought to come in the army, if you want to prove yourself to be a Christian!" he said stoutly. The words struck a chord, and Bill couldn't get them off his mind. Perhaps it is true that if I went in the army I would have contact with a lot of boys, he thought. Before the tram had got him to his destination, he had decided to enlist. At the home of Brother and Sister Morrow, where he was staying, he announced his intention of joining the army. The Morrows were a prayerful and saintly old couple, and on hearing this news they retired from the table immediately to pray. After a time they came from their room. "Son, if you want to please God and go in the army, well, that will be fine," they pronounced. The following morning Bill took the train to Fredericton, went to the army depot, and signed on as a Canadian soldier. He was given a uniform and left to himself, so he donned it as best he could, laughing when he got in a tangle with the gear. Eventually he resembled the boys he had seen and went for a stroll downtown. A general could not have felt more important. Bill walked down the street with eyes left, looking in the storefront []{#chapter03.html#page_36}windows---not at the merchandise, but at the reflection of the dapper young soldier strutting down the street. So engrossed in the reflection was he that he bumped into somebody. "Excuse me!" said Bill, startled. "Just a minute, young fellow!" said the stranger, who was wearing a uniform. "Oh, I'm sorry; what have I done?" asked Bill. "Are you a soldier?" "Yes," replied Bill. "Well, don't you know that I am senior officer, and that you should salute a senior officer if you are a soldier? How long have you been a soldier?" "About five hours, I guess," said Bill. The senior officer gave the young fellow a crash course in military etiquette. "Well, you ought to salute like this," he said, showing Bill how. Bill copied him and, pleased to be instructed, said sincerely, "Thanks for showing me!" "You should say, 'Thank you, sir!'" added the officer. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll try to remember that next time!" said Bill. The senior officer thought about adding "sir" for him but on reflection decided not to bother. He had given enough private tutoring and would in future leave it to the sergeants. About five hundred raw recruits gathered in class each day. Inevitably the instructor got onto the subject of killing the enemy. This aspect of army life had not really crossed Bill's mind before, and his thoughts drifted from the drone of the officer's voice. He found himself thinking: Kill a man---how could I kill a man? The Spirit of God []{#chapter03.html#page_37}came on him, and like Sarah of old he began to laugh at the news he had received. Suddenly things seemed to fall more quiet around the lecture hall; he became conscious of his surroundings and of his own laughter, which spluttered to a halt with the increasing awareness. An awesome silence now hung over the lecture hall. The instructor, angry and red faced, was looking in his direction. Bill didn't know it, but so was everybody else. "You down there, do you think I'm a fool?" barked the officer. Bill was not sure whether he or somebody else was being addressed. He gave himself the benefit of the doubt. "Stand up!" the officer bellowed, glowering at him. Bill concluded that he indeed was the person being addressed. He stood up. "Go and run around this building seven times, and when you come back maybe you can tell us what you were laughing at." Out he went and trotted seven times around the building. Then, puffing and panting, he came and resumed his seat. "Stand up!" barked the instructor at him again. Again, he stood up. "Now, what did you find so amusing?" queried the officer. "I want to tell you that God spoke to me," Bill began. If any of the fellows were not following the proceedings before, they were now. Five hundred heads were turned to see the screwball who claimed God spoke to him! "God told me that I would never kill a man," Bill went on, "and it was so good and so real to me that it caused my innermost soul to rejoice and laugh. I beg your pardon, sir, but []{#chapter03.html#page_38}I believe that God will never lead me to a position where I have to come face to face and kill a man!" The instructing officer prided himself in his knowledge of men and his ability as a disciplinarian. He thought that he had met just about every overt and covert challenge to his authority and that he knew how to handle just about any situation. But he was shaken by this reply---the man seemed so sincere. These men were all volunteers, though, so why should he be saddled with any religious nuts? Maybe he was an actor. Hostile at the reply and angered by his inability to quite comprehend the situation, he demanded Bill's name and number. "G49155 Drost, W. F." Bill answered. "Report for duty tonight after 6 [P.M.]{.smallcaps}" That's a bit tough, thought Bill. He had been planning to go to church. Reporting for duty that night, he was given two pails of water and told to scrub out the dining room and the huts. After four hours of sweating on his knees, he had finished it all. An officer came to inspect the work. "You call this clean?" said the officer, giving it a cursory glance. "Yes, sir, that is about as clean as anybody can get it!" replied Bill brightly. The captain, with slow and deliberate movements, kicked the two pails of dirty water over the clean floor. "Clean this building!" he bellowed. "You're in here to work, not to fool around!" Bill shrugged his shoulders. There was no point in refusing. There was nothing for him to do but to refill the pails and start all over again. Around midnight he had given it all a second going over and dropped exhausted onto his bed to sleep. []{#chapter03.html#page_39}In the morning he received a lecture and was told that he had been chastened and disciplined for making fun of army rules. This was not true, but Bill knew that there was no point protesting. Just to make their point clear, the authorities confined him to camp for a couple of weeks. When he was allowed out again, he headed for church as joyfully as a sailor on shore leave heads for the bright lights. During the service an announcement was made: Special revival meetings were going to be held every night, and a special preacher was going to come to preach. After the service, the pastor, Brother Jacques, came down to speak to Bill. "Praise the Lord, Bill! Listen, I want you to be here every night and help in every way you can." "Thanks," replied Bill. "I'll be here every night faithfully." He hoped that nothing would occur to confine him to camp again. He didn't want to be scrubbing floors when, with the angels, he could be in church rejoicing over "a sinner that repenteth." At noon the following day, eating in the dining hut, he went to swallow when a sharp pain jabbed in his throat. He had difficulty breathing; his face went white; and, unable to sit up, he lay down on the table. Some of the men picked Bill up and carried him to the medical officer's room nearby. The doctor examined him. "There's some obstruction in your throat. We'll have to put you into the hospital," he said in the matter-of-fact way that military doctors have. The "hospital" turned out to be a private home that the army was using for this purpose. The men carried him to the third floor and put him into bed. The room was []{#chapter03.html#page_40}quite small, and he was the only one in it. After further examination, the doctor found that he had swallowed a chicken bone and told him he would be confined to the hospital for ten days at least. Bill was disappointed---it looked as if he would not get to the meetings after all---but remembering that the Bible says to give thanks for everything, he just praised the Lord. On one side of the room was a window overlooking the street. Bill thought wistfully about the people going to church that night and about his promise to Brother Jacques to be there faithfully. Then, after a while, he noticed that his throat felt clear. He called to the nurse. "Hey, nurse! My throat seems to be OK now. Do you think I can go?" "Not for ten days you can't," she said jauntily without bothering to examine him. "But I'll tell the doctor, and he can look at you in the morning." She went out, closing the door behind her. There was another door on the far side of the room. Bill thought he would see where it led, so he got out of bed and went over to it. He found a small room filled with his clothes and belongings. There was a window, and looking out he saw that it led onto a fire escape, which went to the street below. The thought struck him that he could escape to the meeting through there. But what if somebody looked in and found him gone? He resolved to go out, and he made up the bed as though somebody were sleeping in it. If they just glanced through the door, there was a chance that he would not be caught. A few minutes before seven he got dressed and slipped through the little room and down the fire escape, onto the street. At 7:30 he was in church. Getting into the spirit []{#chapter03.html#page_41}of the meeting, he soon stopped worrying about what would happen should he be detected. Had Bill been on regular army routine he should have been back by 10:30, but being out as he was it didn't matter if he were out till dawn, so he stayed to the end. By the time he crawled back up the fire escape it was near midnight. Examining the room and bed he found that nobody seemed to have been in there, and he slept soundly all night. The next day he was called to be examined. "Well, Drost," the medical officer said after examining him, "I don't find anything in your throat now, but just the same you won't mind staying in here and not returning to camp for ten days, will you? The food is better here anyway!" "No, sir!" said Bill smiling. He thanked the doctor, saluted, and went back to his room. There he enjoyed himself reading the Bible. At seven he was dressed and again slid down onto the street in time to go to church. Thus he was able to get to the ten nights of meetings and stay until it was time to go. Some time after getting out of the hospital Bill was on his way to a meeting one night when a man called over to him and said, "Brother Drost, my brother is in hospital. Can you come and see him?" Bill knew the man's brother, having once worked for him. The man in question had not been too kind to him merely because he was a Pentecostal. Nevertheless he agreed to go. In the hospital room the smell of disinfectant and antiseptic could not quite disguise the sweet and sickly smell of decay. The patient lay drawn and hollow-cheeked, and in a rubber sack beside his bed were part of his intestines. The doctor had given him about six weeks to live. It was a pitiful sight. []{#chapter03.html#page_42}"Bill, I'm glad you've come," said the man weakly and went on to recall how he had been very mean to him. Very sincerely he said that he was sorry and asked Bill to pray for him. Bill did not quite know what to say. Under his breath he said a quick prayer. Then he felt emphatically to read a portion of Scripture: "Let not your heart be troubled...." As he read it, the presence of the Holy Spirit in the room was very real. The man gave a groan and cried in anguish, "Pray to God that He gives me time to repent and get baptized, Bill!" Feeling that God was working real repentance, Bill prayed. A day or so after praying for the man, Bill and the other troops were sent to Petawawa, Ontario, for further training. Bill learned later that within two months the man died, but within two months he had also been filled with the Holy Spirit and spoken in tongues. Then, as he desired to be baptized, others had carried him to the river and baptized him in the name of the Lord Jesus. []{#chapter04.html} ### []{#chapter04.html#page_43}[]{#chapter04.html#ch04}[C[HAPTER]{.smallcaps} Four](#contents.html#ch04) {#chapter-four.h3} ### [Advanced Training](#contents.html#ch04) {#advanced-training.h3a} [O]{.dropcap}n learning that his unit was to be sent to Petawawa, Bill felt an apprehension come over him when he began to think about leaving behind the fellowship of his friends in the Fredericton church. It was one of those apprehensions that migrants get as they are about to embark---when the realization of what they are doing really hits them, and memories of all the good times in the land they are leaving come flooding in. Lying in his bed, he began to take stock of the months that had passed by, and the thought came to him: Yes, you have been with some good people, but you have had some pretty rough times from people who were not Christians. You didn't hide your light---you let it shine---but has it been of any value just to stand up and tell people that they need to get saved? When you were asked to join in the gambling or the drinking you instantly said, "Oh no! That's not my line: I know Jesus Christ." Sometimes they sneered or laughed, or called you "Deacon" or "Preacher" []{#chapter04.html#page_44}or other things not so nice. Was it the right approach you used? Could you have gone about it differently? After thinking it over for a long time, Bill decided to try a new approach in the next camp, provided he was billeted with people who did not know him. He was still thinking along the same lines as the train bumped its way deeper into Ontario the following morning. The guys around him were telling their usual stories with their usual expletives, and Bill just sat there quietly, meditating. One of the boys turned to him: "Well, Drost, do you think you're going to be as happy as you've claimed to be?" "Oh, yes, I will be happy; there is no doubt about that. I know what Jesus has done in my life," replied Bill. He didn't feel very happy at that moment, though, but by faith knew everything would be fine. On and on the train rattled, past small towns and sleepy hamlets tranquil in their isolation, taking him where he had never been before. As they reached Petawawa, the sun's long rays turned the distant eastern hills purple, and a certain peacefulness filled the evening air. But there was to be no peace for them that night. It was such a big hustle to get everybody and the equipment into the waiting trucks that deep darkness had fallen by the time they reached camp, only a mile or two down the road. They were put through the "name, rank and religion, if any" routine before being allocated to barracks. Usually Bill replied to the religion question with a testimony about having the Holy Ghost and speaking in tongues, but now he made the low-key response he had decided upon. Yet they were not allowed to go to bed but were given a pep talk about conducting themselves []{#chapter04.html#page_45}"in a manner such as would not cause anybody any problems" and were told the camp rules. "I'm not under law but grace," said Bill to himself after hearing the dreary list of regulations, "but while I'm in the flesh I have to put up with all this!" Finally they were allowed to go to their billets, each having been allocated according to his initial, and he found himself with a top bunk. Most of the men were tired from the trip and were dropping straight off. Bill too was exhausted, feeling almost as fatigued as the day he was beaten with his mother's broom. He hesitated. Normally he would have knelt and prayed before retiring, but he was thinking about his new strategy. There was not a person in the room who knew him, so he decided to pray while lying on his bed. He did not think the Lord would condemn him for so praying, provided he was not ashamed of praying otherwise. Turning on his face he prayed: "Lord, here I am---I am in Your hands. I don't want to be ashamed but do not want to bring on anything to disgrace Your work. Help me serve You in the best way possible." Soon the lights were out, and Bill dropped into sleep thinking about the new faces around him and how he would try to answer their questions when they came. The next thing he knew he was awake and the lights were on. Strangely, he was not in his bed. Slowly it dawned on him... he was walking up and down in the middle of the room with his hands raised, speaking in tongues and shouting things like, "Hallelujah," "Glory to God," and "I'm glad I belong to Jesus!" in front of a bewildered audience of soldiers. Before he could collect himself, some officers came in to see the commotion and called []{#chapter04.html#page_46}him to attention. He felt daft standing to attention half undressed. He felt daft anyway. "What's going on here? Have you had a nightmare?" they queried. "Oh no, sir! Not a nightmare---a Holy Ghost mare!" Bill replied, having realized what had happened. The officers, too, were bewildered. Bill went on to explain as clearly as possible that Jesus had promised the Holy Spirit, which he had received. This made God very real to him and caused him to speak in tongues, which was like rivers of living water coming out of his innermost being. This, he continued, was just God's way of bringing it out into the open. He realized now that he had been wrong and should have spoken about it earlier when asked to state his religion. Somewhat surprisingly, the officer he answered seemed satisfied with his explanation and merely ordered lights out and everybody back to their beds. "Well, you have really made a fool of yourself now!" Bill said to himself in an Oliver Hardy manner and couldn't sleep all night long. Dawn finally came, so he got up and self-consciously got ready for breakfast. It seemed he was the object of the restrained curiosity and polite humoring that people retain for those they suspect (and fear) of being half-mad---the "don't provoke them, they're as strong as ten men" treatment---or perhaps his imagination was playing tricks. Still feeling foolish, he filed in for breakfast, took a half-hearted helping, and not wanting to make anybody feel ill at ease, found himself an empty table. Three fellows came up and asked to sit next to him. "Sure" he replied, and they sat down, one either side and one opposite him. []{#chapter04.html#page_47}"Hey, I like what you did last night; it was great!" said one. Oh no! thought Bill, I wonder what's coming now? He said nothing but braced himself for trouble. The soldier went on, not noticing his reaction. "You know, my mother is Pentecostal, and I'm going to write and tell her I've found a Pentecostal friend!" Bill breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously they were genuine, and he began to feel happy about the night's events. He stretched his arm across the table and shook hands with this enthusiastic, fresh-faced soldier. "Praise the Lord!" Bill said joyfully. "Praise the Lord!" the three said, shaking hands in turn. After a friendly conversation and making arrangements to meet again, the boys told him a way to get to the Pentecostal church in Pembroke. It appeared that once you had visited the camp church on Sunday morning, you were free. To get to Pembroke in time, you had to go to the early morning Catholic service. Bill thanked them, making a note to attend what would be his first Catholic service. It wasn't long before he had new friends and good fellowship in Pembroke. Some of the people he found there would remain friends the rest of his life. One Saturday, after having cleaned up the camp for a coming inspection, they were given time off. All the boys had gone into town, but Bill never did like pounding the streets much. Knowing the shooting range would be deserted, he went there to pray and worship the Lord. While he was praying, the Lord told him to go to the hospital in Pembroke. Bill didn't know there was a hospital in Pembroke, but since it was a big city he was not surprised []{#chapter04.html#page_48}to learn of one being there. Under compulsion from the Spirit he went back to his quarters to change into his dress uniform. Then, just as he stepped out of the door, an officer driving by in a jeep stopped and spoke to him. "I thought all the boys were out." "Yes, sir, I guess most of them are." "Are you going out?" "Well, yes I am." "Jump in then!" Bill jumped in beside the officer. "It's strange to find you here alone at this hour of the day. What have you been doing?" asked the captain. "Oh, I was just back there on the shooting range." "What were you doing back there?" "Well, I wasn't shooting, but you see, sir, I enjoy being alone in prayer to God." "You enjoy *what*?" "I enjoy being alone in prayer to God. While I was praying back there I felt impressed to go to the hospital," he continued, matter-of-factly. "Do you know anybody at the hospital?" asked the officer, intrigued. "No, sir." They had now reached the outside gate. He tapped the captain on the arm, "Excuse me, sir, but since I was not planning to go out I didn't collect a pass." "Don't worry, you're with an officer. Just sit still and be calm." The guards saluted and let them through without a challenge. The captain drove on in reflective silence, right to the hospital front door. "You told me you wanted the hospital. This is it!" he said, nodding towards the door. "Yes, thank you, sir." The jeep pulled away and left him standing at the front entrance. For a few seconds Bill []{#chapter04.html#page_49}lifted up his heart to the Lord with a silent prayer: "Lord, I don't think You are any fool and You don't want to make a fool of me either. I believe the Spirit has taken me here, and so if there is somebody I can help I am happy to do so." Looking straight ahead he then walked to the reception desk. There was a young nurse on duty. She was a pretty redhead, but Bill was too preoccupied to notice. "Yes?" she queried. "I would like to visit," said Bill, a little unsure of himself. "Do you know some people here?" "Well, I would like to visit," he returned, unable to find the proper words. "Well, who would you like to visit?" the nurse persisted, a little amused. "Well, I think I would like to visit... there must be some boys in this hospital... I am a Sunday school teacher and would like to visit the boys," said Bill boldly with a final flash of inspiration. "Well, that will be fine," the nurse responded graciously, feeling a little guilty for having enjoyed his embarrassment. She called over a Miss Johnson, who beckoned him to the elevator. They rode up to the third floor in silence. Miss Johnson led him briskly across the brightly painted corridor into a room full of little boys. Turning to him she announced pertly, "Boys, this man is a soldier and he is a Sunday school teacher. He thought he would like to visit you. I'm sure you will enjoy what he has to say!" After saying goodbye to Bill she walked out. Looking around the room, he saw about fifteen small beds. When he tried to say something, he found himself so tongue-tied that all he could do was back out of the []{#chapter04.html#page_50}room into the corridor. He looked about, wondering, and noticed a door that had a "No Visitors Allowed" notice on it. This seemed to be the place he was drawn towards, and he made his way over. Just before he reached it, a nurse stepped out of the elevator, saw where he was heading, and told him he couldn't go in that room because it was such a serious case. Bill got into the elevator and pressed a button, giving the nurse time to disappear. He returned to the floor and walked quietly over to the door. It was open a fraction, and somebody inside was sobbing heavily. He pushed the door open an inch or two. On the bed, lying very still, was a small body bandaged from head to toe, with only a patch of forehead visible and slits for the eyes. Judging from the size, Bill thought it must be a boy around fourteen. His eyes went down the bed to the sound of the sobbing. Kneeling at the foot was a lady---obviously the boy's mother---who cried convulsively as she made her desperate prayers. The bedclothes at the bottom were knotted from her small, white fists working out her agony on them. He was moved with compassion for her and, pushing open the door, tiptoed over. "Lady, my dear woman, can I help you?" he said tenderly, touching her on the shoulder. She looked up at Bill, startled, then asked, "'Oh, are you Pentecostal?" "Yes, I am." "I have been praying that the Lord would send someone to pray for my boy." She was trying to recover herself. "He has been in a terrible accident.... There is no hope for him.... Will you pray for him?" she pleaded, her faith striving, grasping, and hoping in the presence of this unexpected visitor. []{#chapter04.html#page_51}"Yes, I will pray." Bill went immediately to the head of the bed. Putting his hands on the boy's head he commanded, "Jesus, heal this boy *now*." At that moment the boy opened his eyes and looked at his mother. "Mum, why are you crying?" he asked. "Oh, son! You can speak to me!" the mother exclaimed. "Yes, I'm all right now. Jesus has put His hands on my head. I know I'm all right now." Bill too knew that God had met the boy's need, but he had been unprepared for what had happened so swiftly and now felt like an intruder in the emotion-charged room. He turned unobtrusively, walked out of the room, and left the hospital. Outside he breathed the fresh air deeply, worshiped God for His goodness, and went on his way. About three days later Bill thought it would be nice to see how the boy was getting on, so he went downtown again to the hospital. When he stepped through the door the nurse from the desk went running over to him. "Are you the soldier who came to see the little boy who was run over with a steel roller?" she asked excitedly. "Well, I didn't know he had been run over---but yes, I am." "Wasn't it wonderful?" she went on. "He has been examined and found completely well!" "Yes, it was wonderful. Praise the Lord!" Bill replied. "Can I see him?" "See him? Oh no---you don't understand! He's been sent to Ottawa for tests; nobody could believe it. It is just incredible.... Please wait here a moment; I have to get the doctors to see you." Soon doctors and nurses were buzzing around him, asking questions. They were all very impressed by what []{#chapter04.html#page_52}had occurred, and when the facts came out it was little wonder. The boy had been run over by a steel road roller that had crushed practically everything inside him, and as the mother had said, there was no hope. Astounded by the recovery, the hospital had sent the lad to a larger hospital in Ottawa for extensive tests. Bill was elated and just praised the Lord. They finally let him go, giving him the address of the parents. Later, after the Ottawa hospital found the boy to be completely whole and released him, Bill went to see him at his home in Coburg. The family treated him like a king. Often he reflected on how God had spoken to him on the rifle range and how the Lord was able to wonderfully arrange every event. []{#chapter05.html} ### []{#chapter05.html#page_53}[]{#chapter05.html#ch05}[C[HAPTER]{.smallcaps} Five](#contents.html#ch05) {#chapter-five.h3} ### [Rendezvous with Ruth](#contents.html#ch05) {#rendezvous-with-ruth.h3a} [A]{.dropcap}fter having been apprehensive about coming to the camp, Bill now found himself sad to be leaving it for the trade school in Hamilton, Ontario. He had enjoyed the stay and the new friends. The initial feelings he felt were not always an accurate indicator in the work of God: satanic opposition had made him feel anxious, when all the time the enemy was more anxious than he. The stay in Hamilton was to last eight weeks, and on arriving he set out to find the Pentecostal church there. While walking down a street he saw a poster advertising "Pentecostal Convention Brayside Camp." How wonderful to be able to go! thought Bill. The poster said it began on Friday, and since classes would not start till the Wednesday after that, he asked for permission to attend. It was granted, but having only twenty-five cents in his pocket he set out on the highway hitchhiking. The man who stopped was a Christian who happened to be going to the same convention, so he was driven right onto the []{#chapter05.html#page_54}campground, where things were going in full swing. At the front of the meeting young people were praying to receive the Holy Spirit. He immediately went to help pray with them. When the service finished, Bill found people there he had known from years before. Soon somebody gave him meal tickets, and another a bed in a cabin, while the pastor asked him to speak to the young people the following morning. He was very much at home and each night prayed with those seeking the baptism of the Holy Ghost. One lad was having an especially hard time. "Listen," said Bill to the boy, "I want to tell you that receiving the Holy Ghost is not forcing yourself but surrendering yourself." This made an impression on the boy, who resumed praying with a different attitude. Soon he was speaking in tongues and rejoicing. When he ceased praying he jumped up and said joyfully to Bill, "Will you come with me? I want to tell Mum what has happened!" "Mum" was a countrywoman who had not been able to get to the convention, so they went to the telephone and called her. She was thrilled. The boy's pastor was at the convention and extended an invitation for Bill to come and preach for them. The boy, called Bruce, was at the camp with his two brothers, who all insisted Bill stay with them when he went to the country to preach. The convention having finished, Bill was back on the army base when a letter arrived from the boy's mother, inviting him to stay on the farm with them whenever it was convenient for him to go. Bill looked at the map. It was a hundred miles to Brockville, which meant getting an extended weekend []{#chapter05.html#page_55}pass, so he put in a request. It was granted for Saturday till Tuesday the following fortnight, and he wrote telling the people when to expect him. Then, returning to camp one night, he saw a notice: all leave had been canceled for two weeks. It hit him like a baseball bat in the face. A bunch of the boys had slipped outside one night and stolen basketfuls of ripe grapes from nearby fields. As they brought them back into camp, they had had a great time fighting with them, resulting in their quarters being decorated with squelched purple blobs. Unfortunately an officer had caught them. Canceled leave for all was the sole casualty of the grape war. Lying in bed, Bill thought, That order is not God's order---for shall the just suffer for the unjust? In the morning he approached his officer. "Sir, I would like a word with you." "Yes?" replied the officer, with a trace of weariness in his voice. "I have a pass here, sir, for the weekend, to go to Brockville to see friends, and they're expecting me to come. I didn't steal or eat any grapes, and I don't believe the just should suffer for the unjust...." "Just a moment! Who do you think you are, giving me orders?" the commanding officer cut in irately. Bill respectfully held his ground. "I am not giving orders, sir; I am just making a clear request for a bit of consideration and a favor." "Look here, who do you think you are?" responded the CO, still standing on his dignity. "I don't think, I know who I am, sir. I'm a son of God." "Oh, you're religious, are you?" he said, raising his eyebrows. []{#chapter05.html#page_56}"Yes, sir, if you want to call it that---I am religious." "Well, I too am a son of God." "Have you been born again?" asked Bill. That question came to him naturally when people claimed they were religious. It rattled the officer. "Now look, I don't want any argument or theological information from you---get out of my sight!" Bill stepped back, saluted smartly, about-faced, and walked out of the office, praying silently. Just as he was walking down the corridor the CO called him back. A pang of conscience had gotten to him for treating the boy badly; he also felt bad for losing his posture as an officer. "I sort of like you," he said when Bill reentered the room. "You've got a bit of spunk." "Thank you." "Now tell me about this religion you have." Bill gave his testimony of how he came to be saved and filled with the Holy Ghost. His story impressed the officer and stirred old memories within him. "You know, when I was a boy I went to Sunday school," he confided. "Don't you go now, sir?" "Oh no." "I go every time I get a chance. There's nothing wrong with going to Sunday school---you learn more about the things of God and the Word of God." The conversation drew to a natural conclusion, and the officer had allowed himself to be touched by the Spirit of God. Like many, he was basically a decent type of man who, with the pressures of life and without the power of the Spirit, had just drifted away. He cleared his throat. "Well, thanks for the little talk we had; I didn't want you []{#chapter05.html#page_57}to go out thinking I was a mean old officer." "Thank you very much, sir," said Bill. He saluted and left the room. The following morning the men were all called out on parade. The officers harangued them for leaving camp, destroying the grape vines, and defacing government property. While this was taking place, a corporal marched briskly onto the parade ground with a paper in his hand, saluted the senior officer present, and handed it to him. A silence fell as the officer read the paper. After looking at it he called out: "G49155!" Bill sprang to attention. "Sir!" he shouted as a warm feeling flushed through him. "Step forward, please!" Bill went three paces forward. All eyes were on him, speculating about why he should be singled out like this. "I have in my hand a privilege granted from the officer commanding training. It says you can leave on your weekend visit, but instead of leaving on Saturday morning you can leave on Thursday morning, and you may return to report for duty the following week on Wednesday." The parade gasped audibly. Bill saluted and thanked the officer, feeling weak in the knees over all that had passed in front of the parade. They were dismissed immediately afterwards. The soldiers around him asked how he should get such privileges when the rest were confined to camp. "Boys," said Bill, "it's because I'm a son of God!" The days passed quickly, and he was on the train to the little town of Glencoe for his preaching appointment. As the train pulled into the station he saw the smiling face of the small boy who had received the Holy Ghost, []{#chapter05.html#page_58}together with his two brothers, on the platform. With them was a tall, dignified-looking man with gray hair. The boys ran up to Bill and introduced him to the gray- haired man, their father. Then they grabbed his gear and bundled him into a small car, which bounced its way over the rough country roads to the farm. The farmhouse was a large, well-cared-for building in such beautiful surroundings that he thought he could stay there forever. The father unloaded the car, and Bill, always a boy among boys, took to amusing and being amused by them. After a time their mother came out to announce that dinner was ready. From the aroma, he knew it was going to be something better than he got in the army. A long, heavy table was the centerpiece of the kitchen, and Bill was placed at its head. He noticed that, apart from his, six places were set. While he was looking at the table, one of the boys said in a condescending and long-suffering manner, "Here comes my sister." Bill was surprised. "You have a sister? How old is she?" he added, with the spontaneous curiosity of a young bachelor. "Oh, seventeen." "Great!" "She's going to Bible school in Toronto," dropped the oldest boy. "That *is* interesting." Hearing steps, he turned towards the door. His heart jumped so hard it hurt his ribs when he recognized the shy and graceful girl who was briefly framed by the entrance before slipping into the room. But she barely noticed him, and her eyes looked away to everywhere but []{#chapter05.html#page_59}him. Did she recognize him? The previous year when he had first seen her seemed like yesterday again, and he remembered the conversation he had with Larry Price at that camp meeting: "Who's that little girl there who was singing and playing the guitar?" he had asked Larry, pointing a discreet finger towards his quarry. "Little girl?" Larry had returned as if the epithet didn't quite fit. "Yes." "My Bill, she is untouchable! And she belongs to London or Chatham or somebody. But anyway she's not for you; she's too serious and legalistic!" "I want to meet her; will you fix it up?" he had persisted, undeterred. "Well... OK... I'll try tonight after the young people's meeting and see what I can do for you." Bill's heart had been aflutter with expectation. Something had snapped when he had seen that girl. He had drifted towards the back of the church, lost in happy speculation, when he was stopped by Brother and Sister McKay. "Hey, Bill, we've been looking for you. Here's a telegram. It says you must leave immediately and return to camp." Quickly he had gathered his belongings together and gotten into the car that Brother and Sister McKay had waiting. As they drove away, he had caught a glimpse of the girl with the guitar. "Goodbye, blind date," he had said to himself wistfully as the car sped away. And he had thought that was the end of that. Yet here she was, sitting at the other end of the table---the long table. But what did she think of him? Each time []{#chapter05.html#page_60}his eyes lifted towards her, she would drop hers. Not one smile of encouragement did she let slip. It would be a rough overture if the symphony was going to play. Dinner seemed to end almost before it had begun. Before retiring, the boys began teasing him a lot about their sister, and he wondered whether he had made a fool of himself. Then talk turned to the coming service on Sunday. They would drive to church in the little car, and Bill anticipated sitting next to her and getting friendlier on the way. Sunday morning came. Beaming and spruced up, he tactically hung back so he could sit in the front beside her. Not a bit of it. "Bill can sit in the back with the boys," she said. She *was* legalistic. Soldiers were no temptation to her at all. Cast down---but was he forsaken? The service was uplifting anyway, and he felt inspired in preaching. All too soon the day came to return to camp, and not knowing whether he had gained ground or lost, he climbed aboard the train. A wise old Christian once told him, "Bill, there are three B's in music. Always be natural, or you'll be too flat or be too sharp!" In playing the natural had he fallen flat? But hope elevates easily in the heart of those in love. He gave himself an A plus, and the little poem, "My Ever- Present Temptation" came to his mind: I have tried to love you lightly, but without success, To love you very little and never to excess. I have sought to love you wisely, but this I cannot do. All my vows are shattered, each time I look at you. Before the train arrived back he had conceived []{#chapter05.html#page_61}another plan. Immediately he wrote to the boys asking them to come down to Hamilton and stay a few weeks, where dear old Sister Barton would be willing to put them up. Having got the boys down, he would use their presence as an excuse to take them on a visit to Toronto to see their sister. Later, when the opportunity came, the boys were billeted in Hamilton, and they were all able to get a ride to Toronto. But only frustration waited at the end of that long journey. Ruth had gone out to play her guitar at some special meetings and would not be back before they had to leave. Fate seemed to have knocked on the door, but the second movement sounded like the retreat from Moscow. If there was no melody, he could still try lyrics. Happily, his letters met with some restrained response. It was all he needed to become a novelist, and he slowly edged his way towards Ruth's heart. By the time he was posted overseas, they had an understanding between them: an engagement to get engaged, if all worked out. []{#chapter05.html#page_62} []{#chapter06.html} ### []{#chapter06.html#page_63}[]{#chapter06.html#ch06}[C[HAPTER]{.smallcaps} Six](#contents.html#ch06) {#chapter-six.h3} ### [Red-hot Movies](#contents.html#ch06) {#red-hot-movies.h3a} [D]{.dropcap}eBert, Nova Scotia, and the boys were bored. After all the training, the transit camp that housed them while they waited to be shipped to England was anticlimactic. It was too far (and against rules anyway) to get leave passes for a visit home, and now they wanted to get on with it and go to Europe. For most of the men it would be their first visit overseas, and many were anticipating it with considerable interest. Some were even eager to get into battle. To keep the men occupied, the authorities showed them educational films. At nine every morning they were marched onto the parade ground and then off to the theater, but the days of their confinement dragged on until the store of educational films was depleted. Soon they were faced with films that were educational in another way. Bill found them evil and devilish, for those days were days of tender conscience, before television piped its smut into every home to lower the threshold of shock. []{#chapter06.html#page_64}Sitting in the cinema, he felt anger and condemnation over both what he saw on the screen and what emotions were stirred within him. The boys around laughed and nudged him. "You're going to learn a few things today, Bill!" they said gleefully. For the moment he was at a loss for words, but he determined on a course of action. The next morning he dropped out of the parade and asked permission to speak to the officer. "Sir," Bill said, "I don't care to go to the movie the boys call the late show---I don't like that sort of thing." The officer was annoyed. "Who do you think is running this camp?" he asked. "Well, sir, you are. That is why I am talking to you. You are in charge." "And so you don't care to go in?" the officer said slowly, rolling the words with a touch of irony. "Sir, I believe that I have something in my heart that I should protect, and God lives within me. I don't feel that God would have me go in there at all!" Bill said, ignoring the irony. "You will go in there and like it!" the officer retorted unimpressed. "I may go in there, but I won't like it." "If you don't like it, you'll lump it. I tell you to go in." He dismissed Bill, who fell into the line. Soon he was inside and found a seat about halfway down. He said to God, "Well, Lord, I don't like it, so You'll have to get me out of it." Then, instead of sitting and facing the film, he knelt down with his back to the screen, praying silently. He knew in this situation not to pray out loud and make a fool of himself and the church. Praying []{#chapter06.html#page_65}like this he was disturbing nobody. The boys around him saw him praying and passed the amused message to their buddies. Laughing little "Hallelujahs!" and "Amens!" floated by for a while until they forgot about him. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" somebody suddenly started shouting. Bill opened his eyes, got up, and looked around. Sure enough, smoke was filling the theater, and men were scrambling over seats towards the exits. He waited until nearly everybody had cleared the room, now filled with smoke, and made his way, coughing and spluttering, to the door. Who should be standing there but the officer who told Bill that he would like it or lump it! Bill saluted him, restraining, with difficulty, a smile. Word soon spread around to all the men that Bill had been praying in the movie house, hence the fire. He was a kind of mini-Elijah! On parade the following morning they learned that only the film had caught fire, and the cinema was still operational. The men were marched down there again. Bill thought, Well, I still have my knees, and I know what to do with them! While he thought along these lines his number was called out. He fell out of line, went over, and saluted the officer who had called his name. The captain told him he must report to the commanding officer. Off he marched to the CO's office, announced himself to the corporal in the anteroom, and was allowed to proceed in. The CO sat with both arms on his desk, twirling a pencil between his fingers; an open file was on his desk. He looked steadfastly at Bill and then said, "I understand that you have conviction." "Yes, sir, I have some convictions," Bill said courteously. "Would you mind telling me first of all if you got down []{#chapter06.html#page_66}and prayed when you went into the movie house." "Yes, sir." "Why should you do that?" he asked, still twirling the pencil. "Well, the Bible says that everything must be done through prayer and supplication. I knew that God would deliver me," Bill added. The CO dug his pencil into the blotting pad, looking down at it. "Now I am going to ask you a question. If I lift you from the obligation of going to that movie house, what could you do with the time?" Bill thought just for a second. "The chapel was built for people to pray and seek God, and it is only used for an hour on Sunday. There are plenty of books there. I could read and pray. I would be happy to go there and to report back as soon as the movie is finished." "Listen," said the CO, raising his head and pointing his pencil at Bill, "I'm going to do you a favor. You don't have to report on any of these days at all. You can go to town if you want to---you can go anywhere, but just don't say too much to the others. It might cause confusion. You are dismissed." "Thank you, sir!" said Bill happily. Yet again in a CO's office, he saluted, about-faced, and left the room with the warm feeling that God had vindicated him. After praying in the chapel each morning, Bill grabbed a bus and went into town to have lunch with the local Pentecostal pastor and his wife. It was an enjoyable three weeks he had before they sailed eastward one night. For many of the boys, the dim lights of Nova Scotia would be their last look at Canada: they were destined to be in some of the worst fighting of the Western front. []{#chapter07.html} ### []{#chapter07.html#page_67}[]{#chapter07.html#ch07}[C[HAPTER]{.smallcaps} Seven](#contents.html#ch07) {#chapter-seven.h3} ### [So Who Was Cain's Cutie?](#contents.html#ch07) {#so-who-was-cains-cutie.h3a} [T]{.dropcap}hough the crossing was relatively tranquil---the weather being kind and U-boats failing to find them---Bill had a terrible trip. He spent a lot of it lying on his back trying to keep down pills. He got seasick walking on wet grass. Liverpool is not the loveliest port of entry into the United Kingdom, even on a lovely day, but after days at sea on a crowded troop ship it took on a more attractive air. The terraced streets, the funny accents, and the quaint old English ways all kept the boys amused. Shortly after arriving they were assigned, inevitably, to Aldershot. As they caught glimpses of the lush countryside, full of its spring and promise, the war seemed as remote as it had in Canada. At Aldershot, Bill met quite a few Pentecostals he'd known from back home. They were always actively witnessing to the boys around them and formed a group to hold services. While Bill was giving out a tract one time, []{#chapter07.html#page_68}a soldier said to him, "Billy, don't you remember me?" Bill looked at him closely and was astonished. The face was very familiar, but he could not put a name on it. And although he knew the face well, it seemed to have changed in the most intangible way. Then it struck Bill---the face had lost the radiance he had known in it. There was disquietude in it now. "Yes, I know you, but I can't remember your name," he confessed. The boy smiled, "I'm Morris. You used to teach in Dad's church back home." "Oh yes, I remember now!" said Bill. After a brief conversation he asked, "Will you be coming to the church tonight?" "Billy," said Morris sadly, "I don't think I'm in victory." Bill looked at the lad, feeling compassion for him. Morris was a respected pastor's son and had once been full of joy and enthusiasm for the work. "That's just the place you need to go, then!" said Bill encouragingly, putting his arm around his shoulder. "I'll be seeing you tonight, then?" Morris relaxed. "Sure, Billy," he grinned. True to his word, Morris came to the meeting that night. At the end of the meeting he came forward and rededicated his life to God. The radiance returned to his face, and he had a wonderful time in the Spirit, speaking in tongues and worshiping God. The following day Bill and Morris met for a talk, and Morris asked Bill to write to his father and tell him all was well with his soul. With tears dripping from his eyes, Bill wrote to New Brunswick, recalling to the father how he had taught Morris in Sunday school and telling how good God had been in arranging for them to meet in England so unexpectedly. []{#chapter07.html#page_69}Then the best news of all: Bill told in detail how wonderfully Morris had come and been refilled with the Spirit after rededicating his life to God. Shortly afterwards that pastor received a telegram saying that Morris had been killed in an accident. The same day he received Bill's letter, which was read at the memorial service. It was a great comfort. Bill was then posted to Whitney in Yorkshire for a medical course. The chapel there was always open, so he went early each morning to pray and worship God. One morning while praying, he heard the door squeak open, which was very unusual. He continued praying, however, and when finished he walked past the other soldier at the back of the chapel. The man opened his eyes and said to him as he went by, "Praise the Lord!" "Praise the Lord!" Bill replied. "I am Jack West, and you are Bill Drost. I knew you had been moved down here because I inquired since coming to England. I heard about you in Nova Scotia, and I have anticipated and looked forward to meeting you." Bill was a bit taken aback but instinctively felt a great warmth towards this man. He was obviously full of the Spirit and enthusiasm for winning people to Christ. He put out his hand. "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you." "What do you think of this camp?" asked Jack. "They need God," Bill responded. "That's just what I was thinking." "What do you think then, Jack---what shall we do?" "Couldn't we use this chapel to have some meeting?" "Not without permission." "Well, that is just what we will get," Jack said, undaunted. []{#chapter07.html#page_70}Since it was still before breakfast, they went down to see the padre. He was shaving when they approached him. "Hello, boys, what can I do for you at this early hour of the morning?" he asked cheerfully. "We have come to ask a request," said Bill. "If I can do it I will be happy to." "We are Christians, born again, and have noticed that there is a sort of lackadaisical spirit among the men here. There is not much activity for them to do either, and we thought it would be a good idea if we could hold some gospel meetings every night." "Oh, I see what you mean," he said thoughtfully, slowly slicing the foam from his face. "You know, I am looking after the spiritual welfare of these boys." "Yes, we understand that. But with all due respect, sir, we feel that, by the grace and Spirit of God, we could add our testimony." "Hmmm... I suppose you are the kind of boys that believe in the Holy Spirit." "Yes indeed, sir!" they chimed together. "I understand---but you know, boys, I just take the meat and leave the bones." Jack looked at him. "Sir, when it comes to the Bible and its truths, there isn't a bone in it!" The padre returned Jack's look, knowing they would not be satisfied until they had their way. "Well, I suppose boys you could have use of the chapel for an hour each night." "Thank you very much, sir! Would you please put that in Part Two standing orders? Then it will be legal," said Bill. "For tomorrow?" "No, sir, if you just do it now, I'll take it over to the []{#chapter07.html#page_71}printing office immediately," said Jack. The padre complied. On their way to breakfast Jack slapped Bill cheerfully on the back, "That wasn't so difficult after all!" Being in different companies, they parted into separate mess halls for breakfast. As the men were sitting down, Bill remained standing, taking his spoon and banging it against a tin plate to command attention. It was against the rules to do anything like this, but he had an announcement to make. "Listen, boys," Bill said eagerly. "I've got a special message! Tonight we're going to have a gospel evangelistic service in the chapel, and the Reverend Jack West, a man whom you will like to know, will be speaking!" With that he sat down and ate. Unknown to Bill, Jack had done the same thing next door, announcing Bill as the speaker. Getting together, they decided that Jack should speak and lead the singing, while Bill, if need be, would give the altar call. A number of men came along, some out of sheer curiosity, and Jack preached about getting into the boat of salvation. During the course of the meeting the padre walked in, taking his place as inconspicuously as possible among the men. Jack finished and handed the service to Bill to make the appeal. While Bill was in the Spirit, Jack made his way down the aisle towards the padre, who was looking a bit uncomfortable. "Padre," Jack said boldly but sincerely, "why don't you be the first to give your heart to Jesus Christ and set a good example to the boys here tonight!" The padre never did go back to their meeting, though during the weeks a number of boys repented and were []{#chapter07.html#page_72}filled with the Holy Ghost. But it was not without a battle. Some feedback had gotten to the commanding officer, who called them into his office. They stood at attention before his desk. A big man from New Brunswick, he lounged back in his chair but looked agitated. "Look here, you men, I've heard about these meetings you're having. Now religion is one thing, but I don't want any of this whooping and hollering and screaming and Holy Roller st

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