A BEGINNING

It was way back there in my younger days, before I had a wife to instruct me, that I preached my first revival. It was a tent meeting in the town of Mexico, MO. I had no time to prepare for it, as another preacher had plans all made and announced for some time. A few persons were wanting a holiness Church there and the time had come.


One day this older preacher brother approached me with a question. "Bro. Isham, don't you feel that you should hold this meeting?"


"No," I replied, "I don't. I haven't ever preached a revival."


"Well, I think you should hold it." He never did tell me why he wanted out of the deal.


The two weeks meeting covered the last week of June and the first week of July. The year was 1939. It was a time of hot weather. I had not been informed as to my accommodations, the reason being, none had been made. As it turned out, I was shown a shed out in the weed patch. Its one door was like you would find on a wood shed. The one small window was not a frame one with glass, but a wooden one that swung back on hinges. When open, it did admit a little air. The owner of this estate was said to do some upholstering, and to verify this assumption there was a sort of couch that was to be my resting place, if any rest could be found.


I put down my suitcase and surveyed my situation. Although it was not a mansion, it was my domicile, and it would have to do. There was no desk, table or chair. There was no electricity, nor lamp to light. As far as I know, no one envied me of my quarters or wanted to trade places with me. I never at any time felt alone, for there were a number of creepy, crawling, buzzing critters that seemed to have an affinity for that bit of real estate I called home for that two weeks.


The meeting went along pretty well. Not many people knew we were out there, and we were never crowded. I don't know how well I did, for I had no one to critique my sermons. I do still have the record of them, and of the thousands following for seventy years. No one ever came near my abode until one day late in the meeting, and then it was without announcement or invitation.


Somewhere in that hot sweaty weather, I became aware of the fact that a full bath would be a welcome event. A man has to remember not only his own comfort, but also that of his associates. The minimal facilities that I had access to were just not enough. I secured a large wash tub, a No. 10, I think and partly filled it with water and placed it in the sun to heat. Now it's a two man job to carry a wash tub with water in it, but I didn't have any help available. So as the old-timers would say, by main strength and awkwardness, I got it into my domicile.


When I was well into my ablutions and feeling pretty good about things, I had a visitor. It was my host, the owner of the establishment. He didn't knock or come by way of the door. Perched in that small window, he presented me with an offering. With a supply of gravel, he was pelting my bare hide and having a grand time. I neglected to tell you that he never came to the meeting, nor ever went to church. Perhaps this was his only offering to a minister, and it was not very well received. It wouldn't have been so bad, but like the colored brother said, "He found me in an undressed state of disrobement."


I did my best to dodge his missiles, but at close range he had an advantage. I had never seen him smile before, but obviously he was savoring the good times. At length, he left my window. I guessed, and guessed correctly - that gent has gone for more ammunition. I quickly got into a pair of bib overalls, and when he appeared at my window for a repeat performance, I literally leaped out upon him, bore him down in the weeds and taught him the way more perfectly. I've always thought those were smartweeds, or maybe it was just because I hoped it was. Do you know smartweeds? If you get any of the juice in your eyes you won't think or worry about anything else for a long time.


Do you ask, "Were you angry?" My, NO! Far from it! It was the most pleasant exercise I had all week. I fact, it was about the only pleasant or fun thing in my whole tenancy in that shed! I didn't strike or punch or choke. Not a word was spoken by either of us. Conversation was not a necessary part of the engagement. As the saying goes, "Actions speak louder than words," and we had plenty of action.


When I resumed my bath procedure, it was without fear of interruption. My critics, if any, may pass judgment on my reactions to this neighborly visit. Maybe I should have prayed for him while he was in a recumbent position. Sorry! I never thought of it. After all, I was not properly dressed for a ministerial service.


It was in that tent service that a young man named Russell Dothage was converted. He attended Bible College at Overland Park, Kansas, became a preacher and missionary. I have been with him and his wife in ministry in the Virgin Islands. Both have gone on to the Better Country.


And one other thing. There is now in Mexico, MO. a lovely church, parsonage and fellowship hall. Ministry there has been going on since the incident in 1939.


Everybody has to start someplace!