3. What You Should Not Imitate
CHAPTER THREE
WHAT YOU SHOULD NOT IMITATE
THE NEXT THING I KNEW, it was morning and the golden sunshine of a December day in Vancouver was pouring into my bedroom. I lay there drowsily enjoying it when suddenly a thought startled me into full consciousness. I had been sleeping like a baby—how did it happen? Such deep relaxed slumber had not touched my pillow for many a long day. What had brought it? Thought traced itself back to the experience of the night before. I had made a bargain with God. I had asked Him for peace and—peace had come. Oh yes, answered Reason; but that was easily explainable apart from God. That was no proof that God existed. It was just the effect of mind over matter. I had committed my troubles to an imaginary being and that was why body and mind quietened down.
Restlessly I threw off the bedclothes and sat on the edge of my bed. I was not going to use religion as an opiate. I was going to be realistic or nothing—as a matter of fact, I believe I was born with “a flair for reality.” But as I pondered, the thought persisted: “You made a bargain last night. The Other Side kept His part. There was no stipulation as to how peace should come, and it came. Nobody knows about it and nobody will know, if this should prove to be foolishness. Why not continue your part of the agreement and see?”
But what was my part? To yield my whole life if He proved Himself. And in the meantime, why not try to seek Him?
Seek God? Where?
Can a man by searching find out God? Zophar had questioned Job, obviously not believing it possible. Job had tried to answer by pointing to God in His creative works. But the twentieth century had another theory for the origin of the earth.
Where does one go to search for God? Even as I asked myself that question, a picture from memory floated before me. It was at the Guelph conference of 1921 when the Student Christian Movement was formed. A young man was on his feet giving his testimony. “While I was interned in Germany as a prisoner of war,” he said, “I got hold of a Bible and started to read it. I found God through reading His Word.”
I had been a university delegate for the Y.W.C.A. to that convention, but had apparently been unaffected by it. I knew there was a conflict between the modernist students and the fundamentalists—this young ex-soldier was earnest for the old beliefs. I was still an agnostic and weary of religious arguments. I let them talk and did not let it enter my heart. But this young fellow was aglow with something real: he was the outstanding memory of that conference to me, yet I did not even know his name. Now in my own hour of need I could see him standing there, radiant, affirming he had found God. And he had found Him through the Christ of the New Testament.
Well, I had a Bible. There it was on my bookshelf, unused, a bit dusty, but beautiful and new—a gift from my father when I graduated from high school. I pulled it down and looked at it. Modernists said the Pentateuch was not written by Moses; this was questioned, that was questioned. Was there anything that wasn’t questioned? Yes—the historicity of Jesus Christ is beyond doubt. And the four Gospels are accepted as a more or less authentic record of His teachings, as authoritative as Plato’s were of Socrates, at least.
So I decided to search for God through Jesus Christ, to read the Gospels only, to underline everything and anything that Jesus said to do and try honestly to do them. Jesus prayed, so I would begin to try praying again—cautiously, of course, and not really assuming that it went any higher than the ceiling. With that decided, I arose and dressed for another day’s study at the University of British Columbia.
And now began a life at two levels: an outer level of study, worldly gaiety and pride, and an inner level of watching, seeking after God—if there was a God (always I added that).
God is not a puppet. Man may not pull strings and expect Him to perform—not even doctrinally correct strings, such as Balaam tried to pull. God is not man’s servant, that a puny atheist may shout a challenge and He is bound to respond. Neither is God a genie, that if man is lucky enough to find the right combination of words, He will suddenly pop out and reveal Himself. God is our Creator, all powerful and dwelling in light unapproachable. He demands reverence. But He is also willing to be Father to such as come to Him by His ordained road, Jesus Christ, and as a Father He tenderly stoops to the immaturity of the babe in Christ. This is the only explanation I have to offer for the following facts. God answered prayers which were unworthy even to have been brought before His presence. If I prayed those same prayers today He would not answer them. He responded then, ignoring the selfish vanity of the request, simply because of the honest seeking at the base. He knew I meant it when I said I would give Him my whole life. The Father seeketh such to worship Him—in spirit and in truth.
For some three months after my “bargain” I experienced nothing convincing. I read the Gospels and prayed in private, but did not go to church or show any outward interest in religion. Then one day I was invited to a private dance at the home of a girl friend, Jill. Jill had moved away to a different part of town and probably did not know that I had broken with Ben, but as she did not inquire as to whether or not I wanted him to be my partner, I had no opportunity to tell her. She usually gave a dance once a season and invited Ben only because he went with me, her friend. She usually just invited him and left it to him to arrange for my escort to and from her house. So as I prepared to go, I wondered if he would be there.
But on my arrival he wasn’t there, and I prepared to enjoy the evening thoroughly, for it was a small home dance with just our crowd, and I loved my friends dearly. Jill’s new house was center-halled, so that for dancing we had three spaces—parlor, hall, and dining room. I was dancing with Les (Cora’s friend and long since her dear husband) when it happened. We had circled out into the hall when the doorbell rang. Jill opened the door and I beheld Ben, Reba with him, and he was ushering her into the house! I could hardly believe my eyes that he would have dared to do such a thing—it was like slapping my face publicly. And the dance was so small that there was no avoiding constant contact. I became completely unnerved. Trembling from head to foot, I began to walk all over Les’s feet. Long hours of study, late hours of dancing, unhappy broken sleep had wrecked my nerves. I was undone—there was simply no escape from the humiliating fact. Les’s look of respectful compassion did not help my chagrin. I could not fool Les about the cause of my agony and the knowledge was too much for my pride.
“Les, I don’t feel well—will you please excuse me?” I said, and, stopping at the foot of the hall staircase, I fled up to the bedroom assigned as our dressing room. Up and down the floor I paced in a rage at myself, trying to use pride to whip my trembling body into control. It was perfectly useless—I shook like an aspen leaf.
Suddenly I remembered I was trying to prove if there was a God. With almost a sneer at such a ridiculous thing, I nevertheless prayed, “O God, if You are, please give me p—” but I did not have time to finish the sentence. Something like an electric current struck me, shot me through and I tingled all over. It had come from above, and from outside myself. But it left me completely poised and quiet. Incredulous, I stretched out my hand—it was steady and firm. Without stopping to say “Thank You,” and marveling inwardly, I turned and ran down the stairs. That same dance number was still on and Les was still standing at the foot of the staircase where I had left him.
“I’m all right now, Les,” I said gaily. “Let’s finish.” Which we did. A wonderful exultation, a feeling as if I had new life pulsed through me and continued all evening. Ben asked for a dance and made no effort to conceal his admiration. “You are beautiful tonight,” he whispered, but I gave an evasive answer. Our ideals were too different: I must not let my affections get involved again.
The evening was a triumph of gratified pride and vanity for me. But when I was alone in my bedroom, emotional reaction set in. Ben was a superb dancer, and my longing to float through life in perfect rhythm together with him would not be challenged by common sense. Sleep again departed from me and I tossed in agony until morning.
But the one fact stood out. I had cried to God for help, my lips twisted in sardonic unbelief that He even existed, but He had answered swiftly. This was no instance of mind acting upon matter, for the mind had held no faith at all. But help had come from the outside entirely. I was now convinced that some Force outside me, intelligent, loving, and powerful, was Up There trying to get in touch with me. Never again did I pray if Thou art. And now I wanted to know—how much could I ask of Him? Did He always answer prayer in Jesus’ name? Morning and night I now prayed in faith. Those prayers were still all selfish and this is the part of my story where I do not want any young readers to try to imitate me.
Follow me in my pursuit of God—yes.
Like me, come to Him by way of the Christ of Calvary—yes.
Seek for the revelation of that Christ in the Bible—yes. But don’t imitate my flounderings. I was pigheaded now in the matter of refusing all human advice, and my own level of living was so low that God could not meet me on a higher one.
I wondered if God could answer seemingly impossible requests: for instance—would He get me invitations to certain balls and dances? It was our senior year and almost all our “gang” were paired off now, either engaged or going steady. There was no one within the circle of my close acquaintances who would be free to invite me unless I hinted—which I did not intend to do, ever. God had answered prayer wonderfully, causing my incredulity to marvel at His power to do it. I will tell of one instance.
A neighboring university had sent their football team to play ours and a thé dansant was to be given to the two teams after the match. It was purposely a small affair in honor of the teams, just the players and their girl friends and such team officers as the coach and manager. Now Ben was one of the star players and I wanted to go. He had barged in on my party, and now I wanted to go to this affair held in his honor to show that I was not dependent on him for a good time. Not only was I moved by a thoroughly low and fleshly reason, but also it was hopeless to expect an invitation to such an exclusive party. Could God do it? I challenged Him.
At last the day before the match arrived. No one would ask me now—it would be an insult for any man to ask a girl at such a late hour, sure proof that she was only second or third choice.
That last afternoon a fellow student and I had arranged a rehearsal of a theatrical scene in which he and I were to act alone. George was a good friend of mine and engaged to a girl called Martha. He also happened to be on the manager’s staff of the football team, but this I did not know then. He had come to my house for the rehearsal and after it was over and he reached for his hat to leave, he said, “Well, Isobel, see you at the thé dansant tomorrow afternoon after the match.” Then I saw he did not know I had broken with Ben.
“No, I don’t think you will, George,” I said slowly.
He whirled around and shot me a keen look. Then, gentleman that he was, he drew himself up and said with fine courtesy, “Isobel, last night Martha was called out of town unexpectedly. I thought I was going to have to ‘go stag’ to thé dansant. May I have the pleasure of your company? I’ll explain to Martha—I’m sure she won’t mind.”
It was just as simple as that. I was almost intoxicated with the wonder of it, and again the afternoon was a great triumph for me. I had more partners seeking me than there were dances, while Reba was more than once a wallflower. In fact, while dancing with me, Ben had to excuse himself to go and find her a partner!
Now, do I really believe that God was responsible for that? I am sure God gave it to me. Moreover, by piling on the triumphs He taught me a lesson I never forgot. I learned that pride and gratified vanity could never bring me peace or happiness. Underneath the gay triumphant surface I was miserable. My heart was often like lead even while my lips were chattering merry nonsense. This kind of life would never satisfy me. I grew more and more unhappy and disillusioned. And that was what God wanted. It was as if He said, “If this is what you think you want, dear, have some more!” And He stuffed the froth of life down me. Yet every time He got me an invitation when humanly speaking it seemed impossible, He proved to me again that there was nothing He could not do for me.
All during this time, my parents knew nothing of my inward seekings. They sensed a change was going on, but I still refused to go to church with them and usually spent Sunday trying to catch up on the sleep I had lost at dances during the week! But there may have been a softening visible, for Mother began again to try to help me.
“Isobel, I want you to come with me to hear Professor Ellis. The meeting is just a Bible class, not held in a church, but in a classroom of the Vancouver Bible School. Just to please your mother. Won’t you do a little thing like this to please me? I don’t want to go alone.”
And so I went.
I did not know that anyone else in that room knew me. In fact, I did not look at the audience, for I had ceased to be interested in human beings. But the speaker held my attention. Professor Ellis was a cultured, educated Christian gentleman. I liked his quiet, refined manner of speech. He was speaking that day on the Temptation of Christ, and as he went On to give bis message, he also very frankly pointed out the liberal interpretation of that passage. Without any belligerent dogmatism, he courteously but deftly refuted their arguments. I saw clearly that here was a scholar who knew both sides of the argument. Here was a real gentleman who would never stoop to nasty remarks about an opponent. And, watching the quiet radiance of his face, I instinctively knew that here was a man who had personal experience with God I decided that this was the preacher for me—I would come again.
Seated behind me was another Christian gentleman. White-headed, shy and reserved, he was known to me only as Mr. Wright, a friend of my father’s. I forget if it was that first time I went to Professor Ellis’ Bible class, or on a succeeding occasion, but at the close of the meeting he leaned forward and spoke to me.
“Isobel, I’m glad to see you here,” he said, his eyes flooded with tears. “I’ve been praying for you for some seven years.”
I was stunned. It was about seven years since I had decided to dance and go in for worldly things against my father’s pleadings. The yearning in Christ which lit up Mr. Wright’s face stirred me to the depths, for my soul still knew periods of agony. With eyes as flooded as his own, I tried to murmur “Thank you,” then escaped quickly from the building.
But every Sunday saw me back in that afternoon service, and weekly I was fed and nourished in the truth of God’s Word. Professor Ellis’ scholarship and his expository preaching combined with his gentle culture had won my full confidence and I was willing to learn from him.
And so, though my head was still befogged by the Mists of The Flats, my feet were once more planted on the High Way, prepared to climb, and my face steadfastly turned Godward.