My Spiritual Struggles and Victories

I was reared on one of the hilliest, stumpiest, and stoniest Canadian farms I have ever seen. How vividly there come to my mind my boyhood experiences of chopping cordwood to pay my high school expenses; of stumping, logging, and picking stones until the skin was worn off my fingers and the stones were stained with my blood. I then thought that mine was a very hard life, but I have long since looked back to those boyhood experiences as God’s way of providing me with a physique that has enabled me to serve three years as a missionary in British North America, where the winds were intensely cold and where I was once for twenty-four hours lost in a blizzard at forty-five degrees below zero. In sharp contrast, I have been twenty-eight years in India’s tropical heat. This was a preparation for my lifework and in my judgment is God’s general method with all his people.

When I was a boy of ten summers, a boyhood friend of my father’s visited him. They were taking a walk, and, unnoticed, I followed them. Then I overheard my father’s friend praise my brothers and sisters, but say of me, “Frank will never amount to much.” My father vigorously protested and sang my praises until I made this resolution: “I must not disappoint my father. I will do something worthy of consideration.” That hour I was intellectually awakened.

Parents, let your young people know that you believe in them. About the same time our pastor preached a missionary sermon, at the end of which he circulated a subscription.

When the paper came to me, I said to my father, “May I subscribe?”

He replied, “If you earn and pay your own money, you may.”

I subscribed one dollar. I had it earned long before the collectors came around, and wished either that I had subscribed more or that the collectors might come soon. That subscription was the beginning which ended in my giving myself. Parents, give your children a chance to link themselves definitely with Jesus in saving a lost world.

My Conversion

When I was a boy of about thirteen, my father said to me one evening at the setting of the sun, “Water the stock.” Soon some boys arrived, and, being a real boy, I forgot my work and played.

A little later my father asked, “Have you done what I told you?”

“Yes, Father,” I replied.

He knew I had not, and I even now recall that he said not a word but walked away in the twilight so burdened and bowed because of hearing a falsehood from his own boy that it suddenly gave him the appearance of an old man. The boys left, and I watered the stock. Then, boylike, I forgot, went to bed and slept.

During the next forenoon Mother called me to her and said, “Do you know your father neither went to bed nor slept all last night?”

I replied, “No, Mother, I do not know. Why didn’t he sleep?”

Mother’s answer was, “Your father spent all last night praying for you.”

My saintly mother’s words and tears went through my heart like an arrow and rang like a bell in my ears, and I became powerfully convicted of sin. Just following that a series of revival meetings were held which continued for several weeks. I became a seeker and had no rest until I found it in penitence and a consciousness of pardoned sin. I was the only convert during the meetings, and critics said, “He will backslide in a few weeks. The revival is a failure.” But I am here to tell the story that I am still saved by grace.

I could never reward my father for that night of prevailing prayer, but he lived to see me become a minister, a missionary, and to hold the highest position on the mission field, and then the Lord called him to his eternal reward. My mother entered into rest about two years previous to that time.

It is my hope and prayer that the story of my father’s night of prevailing prayer may encourage other parents to pray as he did. Parents may not always through prayer be able to break the wills of their children and compel them to surrender to Jesus, but I do believe that my father prayed until God sent such conviction through the Holy Spirit that sin became such an unbearable burden that I gladly yielded my will to the will of my God; prayed until my sins were pardoned, the burden removed, and I was genuinely converted. I firmly believe that the same heavenly Father will hear the cry of other parents, and for their encouragement I leave this testimony concerning God’s answer to my father’s fervent prayers.

After my conversion I rejoiced many days in the delight of that precious experience. For months I had a real and precious joy in the consciousness of pardoned sin, but after a time I found that I did not have a continuous, abiding peace and rest. There was a longing for something more than it seemed I now possessed. As a boy I tried very hard to be good, and as I look back I believe that I lived a very correct outward life. I lived among a very godly people, who set a high ideal before me, one to which I felt I could not live. I observed my daily prayers, but suffered many an inward defeat.

My Spiritual Struggles

I cannot now recall that I ever heard a sermon on heart-purity or victory over the power of sin. No person in the congregation where our family attended meetings professed holiness, nor do I remember that the experience was talked about. The people did speak of “having religion” and “more religion.” There were people in the congregation whom I still believe lived holy lives, and the testimony of their lives convicted me, for I knew that they had an abiding joy and peace in their religion that I had not. I therefore became very much dissatisfied with my inner life and was struggling all the time for an experience such as I knew others enjoyed.

The weekly testimony of a man who attended our prayer meetings was, “I have just enough religion to make me miserable.” That is, he had too much religion to get his pleasure out of the world and not enough to get it out of his religion. I always felt that that man told the experience I then had. For three years I endured that exceedingly unsatisfactory religious experience. I then attended a revival and went forward for prayer night after night, but no relief came to my poor burdened heart. As my case became more desperate, I recalled the story of Jacob. He prayed until the morning, and at the rising of the sun the angel appeared and blessed him. I spent several nights in prayer, but found no relief.

Gaining the Victory

On Saturday morning about sunrise I was on a straw stack in the barnyard with a long hay-knife cutting across the stack to loosen the straw to feed the cattle. While thus working and in a despondent, meditative mood, wondering what I could do, there seemed suddenly to float out before me in the air in illuminated letters, “John three sixteen.” I began to read, “God so loved the world.” I reasoned then that God so loved me that “he gave his only begotten Son.” All was clear thus far. Then I came to that all-inclusive word, “whosoever.” I stopped at “whosoever” and recalled the story I heard of Richard Baxter, who said, “I would rather have the word ‘whosoever’ in John three sixteen than have ‘Richard Baxter,’ for then I should at once be tempted to believe it was for some other Richard Baxter.”

I reasoned, “I know that my name is in that ‘whosoever.’ ” I then read on—“believeth on him.” “Do I believe on Him?” This was the next question to be settled. During several years I had, in competition for a Sunday school prize, recited the whole four Gospels. In thought I ran over what the New Testament said about Jesus and cried out, “I believe every word of the gospel; Lord, I do believe.”

Then I read on—“should not perish.” Quick as a flash I saw the weak place in my faith. I had been believing on Jesus, but feeling that I should perish. At that point I sprang to my feet on the straw stack and read it over again—“Should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Then I saw that through doubt I had treated the promise as though it read “should perish and not have everlasting life.” I cried out, “Lord, I will reverse it no longer. I will believe it as it reads.”

Then I seemed to have another inspiration. I had long been troubled about understanding what it meant to believe. I had worked out a theory that if I could for a moment forget everything else in the world and see Jesus on the cross, that would be “exercising saving faith”; and when praying, I would find myself trying to do that. I now asked myself this question: “How do you believe your mother’s promise?” The answer was at once, “I believe because I believe in my mother, the promiser.” The next moment I realized that believing Mother’s promises was not a mental effort and struggle such as I had been going through for years, but a mental rest. I just believed that her promise was true without any effort whatever, not because I felt it, but because Mother made it. Then I cried, “Jesus made this promise, and I believe it.”

Then I waited and looked again into my heart for the feeling, but no feeling came. I then saw clearly for the first time that I was trusting partly in Jesus and partly to my feelings. Presently the Spirit showed me that feeling never saves anyone, that only Jesus saves. I remember that, standing on the straw stack, I cried out, “O Jesus! I put my all on Thy promise, and I will leave all with Thee.” But alas! again I waited for the feeling as a witness, and was sure it would come, but it did not come. I was still trusting partly in Christ and partly to feeling. At last I turned away from looking for feeling and cried aloud: “My Jesus, I stake my all on John three sixteen. If I never have any feeling and if I am lost, I will quote this promise before Thee at the judgment and say, ‘I cast my little all upon it and trusted it, but it failed me. It is not my fault; it is Thine.’ ”

I had finally, after years of struggling, come where I trusted wholly “in the word of the Lord.” Then suddenly I received a definite assurance and great heart-warming peace and joy. At last the witness of the Spirit was mine. Leaping from the straw stack, I ran to my mother, threw my arms around her neck, and shouted, “Mother, I am fully saved! I am fully saved!”

Up to that time I had not had any teaching concerning an experience of sanctification or holiness and had heard no testimonies concerning such an experience, except the testimony of the life of Christians who were living it and professing it under another name. There was in the congregation where I worshiped a sweet-faced, white-haired saint whom we called Mother Robinson. She had prayed a drunkard husband into the kingdom, and my memory even to this day recalls her high type of Christian experience, and I want to bear my strongest possible testimony to the power there is in the testimony of a pure, sweet, and kind life.

Now after years of study and hearing the testimony of many, it is clear to me that during those years as a boy I prayed myself through to the abiding life and what I now believe to be the experience of Scriptural holiness, which, as I understand it, is such a freedom from sin, self-will, and selfishness, and such a passionate love for Jesus, that the heart longs above all things for His approval, companionship, guidance, and blessing, and that gratefully and joyfully gives Jesus “in all things… the preeminence.”* (Colossians 1:18)