The Farm Fails

OH, GOD, please, please save my life! My knee! My leg! I thank Thee I have received." *
The anguished cry, uttered in a hoarse whisper, broke the quiet of the darkened house. Only a small light burned by the sofa where the sufferer lay. The ticking of a large mantel clock gave the room a lonesome sound. To Joe Ashkenaz, the night seemed an eternity. The fate of the swollen knee, was the all consuming object of his prayers-almost, that is. Questions loomed up in his mind, begging for answers. And yet Joe felt a quiet assurance that God still loved and cared for him, though the last few years had brought anything but an outward evidence.
Again he prayed. "The devil is wrong. He has tried to make me believe You forsook me in the matter of the turkeys, and the chickens, and ." Joe lay back on his pillow and reviewed the past.
The problems really began in the thirties, during the depression. First, he lost his job. The problem this misfortune posed, that of caring for a large family, did not affect his spiritual life. He determined to remain firm at all costs.
Finding a farm available in the area, he leased it for three years, at $300 a year, and began farming. Four sturdy work horses, several husky sons, and a will to work, completed Joe's resources. They began with a large flock of turkeys, and Joe's wife faithfully cared for them.
But things were tight and the market was poor. Joe searched for some time endeavoring to find a way to sell the turkeys. One day, Joe sat at the counter in the main restaurant in town. Soon the problem was being related to the friendly proprietor.
"Tell you what I'll do," he said. "I'll dress your turkeys and sell them for you at a commission."
Joe leaned forward eagerly. "You will?" he asked. The arrangements were quickly completed to have the turkeys brought to town.
"Let's see," mused Joe, when the last turkey had been safely corralled inside the truck. "That should bring about $300, if I figure rightly. More than enough to pay for the feed and a good profit for our work." A satisfied smile played across his face.
Harvest time kept Joe and his boys busy from early morning until late at night. Days sped by and Joe barely had time to read the card which arrived in the mail one day. It bore the signature of the restaurant owner.
"The turkeys have been dressed and sold," he wrote. "I have deposited $315 in the bank in my name until you can come in to pick it up."
More than a week elapsed before Joe found time to make a trip to town. When he did, he found the owner of the restaurant very ill. He had suffered a stroke of apoplexy, and after lingering for several days, he died, without ever being able to give Joe the money which rightfully belonged to him. When the estate was settled, Joe received a letter in the mail, a letter containing the returns from the turkey deal.
"$16.50!! Is that all?" Joe didn't know whether he could even believe his eyes. Surely there must be some mistake, but no mistake had been made. The turkeys were a loss.
Contented little murmers came from the tiny chicks huddled under the brooders. "Do you think they'll be alright in this cold weather?" asked Martha.
"I believe so," Joe replied. "Everything is working fine. We should see some good returns from this fine flock of a thousand."
And the prospects looked better every day. The chicks were a very healthy batch, and barring an unheard of situation like the one which took the turkey profit, surely this time they would be able to see a little cash for their labors.
"How about you and the boys singing for us tonight at the meeting?" a neighbor asked one day several months later. "We do enjoy that quartette you have going. Nothing can beat family harmony!"
"It is a real pleasure for us to sing for the Lord," Joe replied. "I think we can arrange to be there."
"We'll count on you then. Bye now."
The hour was late when the family arrived home that night. Everyone hurried off to bed, after a glance at the clock. A farmer's day begins early. The next morning Joe stood at the kitchen window, where a movement caught his attention.
"Chickens, running around in the yard," he muttered half to himself. "Breakfast will have to wait a bit, Martha." he said. "Harold, come out and help a bit, will you? Some chickens got out in the night."
"Wonder how that happened. Say, look Dad. The door to the chicken yard is open! What in the world!"
Harold walked past the wandering chickens, intent on solving the mystery of the stray chickens. Joe walked warily behind him, almost afraid to look in the chicken house. A strange foreboding told him all was not well. "Dad! They're all gone! The only chickens left are those few in the yard!" Harold's face showed dismay and alarm.
"Appears like we had company in the night," Joe added. "Look here. See the marks of the truck tires. Someone figured it would be a good time to steal our flock while We Were all gone to the meeting."
Father and son strode thoughtfully back to the house. The turkeys! And now, the chickens! Would the troubles ever cease?
"Dolly is just getting too smart." Joe closed the corral gate behind the mare. "She's been getting out of that gate too many times to suit me!"
"Here, let me fix it, Dad." Harold tinkered with the latch a bit, disappeared into the barn and returned with more tools. "She must have more than horse sense," he grunted while he struggled to make the latch horse-proof. "There, that should do it!"
Joe nodded approvingly. "Looks like it should. Come. Mother has supper' ready."
Harold rubbed the ears of the lovely saddle horse who put her nose inquiringly on his neck. "Yes, Dolly, you're a beautiful thing. But you must stay put."
The next morning, Joe and his son walked thoughtfully about the barnyard. They didn't bother to look up when the screen door slammed shut. "Say, what in the world is going on?" The usually boisterous Paul slowed to a halt and stood as if struck dumb. He looked from his father to his brother, and back to the four objects so still on the ground.
"Poison grain," Joe stated, pointing to the ripped bag of feed. "I begged the landlord to not leave it around here at all. I was always afraid one of the children would get into it."
"But how did they get at it?" Paul asked.
"Dolly and her lock picking, I suspect," Harold answered. "I had hoped my repair would hold her."
"What ever will we do with three of our work horses dead?" Paul looked at the three husky draft horses lying not far from Dolly.
"Well, we still have one left. Old Rex didn't play follow-the-leader with the rest. We'll have to get along with him as best we can." Joe walked with stooped shoulders toward the house. He felt sorely tempted to sit in a pile of ashes, clothed in sackcloth, for his trials were becoming increasingly like those of Job.
The task of burying the horses done, Joe and his boys struggled to carry on the farmwork with just one horse instead of four.
One day, dark clouds boiled across the sky, sending the farmers scurrying for the house. A gust of wind slammed the door behind them as Joe and his sons rushed into the kitchen, just as big drops of rain began to fall.
"The rain wouldn't hurt us any," Joe told his sons, as they warmed their hands by the kitchen fire. "But a thunderstorm is no time to hang around out in the open."
A brilliant flash of lightning punctuated his sentence. "Whew! That must have hit close!" he added.
The clap of thunder which followed burst over their heads and seemed to envelop the little farmhouse. Windows rattled and the floor beneath their feet shook with the vibrations. Rain fell in torrents, filling the gutters, and drenching the yard faster than it could run off. After a few minutes the drops were smaller, and the shower began to subside. Suddenly, the sun burst forth, and the storm had ended as quickly as it began. Joe and th~ boys walked out onto the back porch to look at the dripping, freshly washed world.
"Say, Paul. See that white spot up on the hillside? Run up and see what it is, will you?" Joe pointed out a white blob which no one could remember noticing there before.
The rest of them waited while Paul took off running for the pasture. He paused only a minute when he reached it, turned and came back to his waiting family.
"It's Rex," he said. "He's dead."
"Just as I feared," replied Joe. "He must have caught the lightning."
The news of the death of the last work horse, traveled quickly allover the community. When the story reached the landlord from whom Joe was leasing the farm, he drove over without delay.
"I hear your last horse caught a bolt of lightning!" the owner stated, hands on his hips. "What do you have left to work the place?" he queried.
"I don't rightly know," Joe answered. "But somehow well farm it. Just give us a chance."
"I SEE NO way you can make a go of it now," the owner shook his head. "I think you had better find another place to live so I can get someone in here who can pay when the time comes."
"But it isn't time for a payment yet," Joe pleaded. "Surely you can give us time and let us at least try."
"Sorry. Better start looking for another house. The risk is too great. I need my money when it is due."
"I will give you a couple of weeks to find a place," he added as he climbed into his car.
Joe watched the dust rising after the rapidly receding car, and shook his head in disbelief. The whole thing just wasn't reasonable!
The story of Joe's misfortune traveled from home to home. Joe's Baptist friends, where he formerly worshipped as a member, heard the story. A couple of evenings later, two of the deacons came to call on him.
"We've come to make a proposition to you," one said. "We know you believe a little differently now than you used to. But it doesn't matter that you are a Seventh-day Adventist. We would be happy to have you folk in our parsonage, and pleased to have you serve as our pastor."
Joe looked up in surprise. "I can't do that," he said. "You are very kind, but it would be impossible for me to accept your offer."
"But, Joe, think it over carefully. We need you, and you need us. Consider the needs of your family. The parsonage is large and well built. How about it?"
Pastor Ashkenaz' clear blue eyes gazed unseeingly past the two Baptist deacons before him. Thoughts churned in his mind. And through it all, his heart stretched up to God in inaudible prayer. "Help me, Lord, to make the right decision."
Clearly he could see that he could not become a Baptist pastor, receiving money for his services. How could he maintain his own integrity? The truths of the Word of God, as he believed them, were contrary to the beliefs of the Baptist people. If he should accept money, they would rightly expect him to say what they wanted him to say. No, he must remain free. But the matter of the house--.
"Tell you what I'll do," he said suddenly. "I cannot be your pastor. But I believe God has led you here to provide for our needs just now. And He knows we need a house. We accept your offer of a house, but I cannot accept any pay. I will preach for you on Sundays and help you in any way I can in Sunday School."
The two deacons smiled at one another, then at Joe. "Agreed," they said together.
The next five years passed uneventfully. During the week, Pastor Joe worked at the building trade, his income supplemented only by milk from a kind Baptist neighbor, and vegetables from their own garden. On Sundays he preached in the little Baptist church. It was a little church. too-at first, that is. The Sunday School Roster boasted of fifty people who gathered from week to week. Gradually it began to grow. Pastor Joe became well loved, for he never entered into controversy with the brethren, and always respected their interpretation of the Scriptures. Oftentimes he had occasion to visit in the homes of the members. When asked about his Sabbath belief, he kindly presented the doctrines of God's Word.
One day, one of the elders in the church came to visit Joe.
"Ten me,' will you, why you observe the seventh day as the Sabbath?" he queried.
"I'll be happy to do so," Joe replied. "Sit down, and I will get a couple of Bibles." The next hour, Joe showed the Baptist elder some of the basic texts and reasons for Sabbath observance.
"Wonderful!" the elder exclaimed. "It all sounds very reasonable to me, and right from the Bible." , "There is more," Joe replied.
"I'll be back next week," the elder promised. He came back three more times. After the fourth study, he looked at Joe for a long minute. "I'm both happy and sad," he said. "I believe what you have shown me. I cannot be your elder any longer in the Baptist church. I must join with you in the Adventist church." Joe warmly shook the hand of his new fellow believer.
At the end of five years, the roster of the Baptist church stood at three hundred and fifty. The church continued to prosper under Joe's able ministry.
One day one of the leading officials in the Baptist denomination came to see Joe.
"I'd like to have you attend our convention next week," he began. "I think you would enjoy it."
"I would be happy to go," Joe replied.
But a surprise awaited Joe at the assembly. Motions were being made, and business carried forward, when this same leader stood to his feet.
"Mr. Chairman, I would like to make a motion that we grant a ministerial license to our brother, Joe Ashkenaz."
"I second the motion," came from another portion of the room, without hesitation.
After the meeting, another surprise came to Joe. A ministerial official walked up to him and engaged him in conversation.
"I understand you are a very able speaker," he began. "I think you should hold some meetings. We have a tent you may use. The denomination is ready to stand behind you with $10,000 to finance the meetings. What do you say?"
"You folk don't have as much money as I would need," Joe answered.
"How much money do you need?" the minister wanted to know.
"Oh, you don't have that much money. So there is no use talking about it."
"But how much is it?" he insisted.
"It would take $50,000 for what I would need. And you folk don't have that kind of money." Joe felt sure the matter would be settled completely with the announcement of this grand sum.
For a moment the Baptist official didn't say anything, only fumbled in his coat pockets. Presently he drew out a roll of Kodak stocks and bonds, worth $50,000! How Joe would have loved to have used that money to preach the truth of God as he understood it. But he shook his head, as he said, "I'm sorry, friend. I cannot conscientiously take your money to preach for your church." And there the matter ended.
One cold, windy day several months later, Joe offered to ride in the back of a truck which he and his son and brother-in-law had just loaded with household belongings of his son. He felt it should be steadied, so he jumped up into the back to watch things. But he forgot about a screw protruding from the back of a dresser. It stuck out ll1 just the right place to plunge clear to the bone in Joe's knee as he leaped against it.
That night he went to bed with a very painful knee wrapped in an automatic heating pad. By morning he was . very ill and the doctor was called.
All day the doctor and Joe's wife treated the knee with iodine compresses and good nursing care. By evening the knee had swollen to large proportions-ten inches above, and ten inches below the knee. After inspecting the knee in the evening, his doctor called a specialist.
The specialist who came, happened to be a good friend of Joe's. Not only that, but he loved the Lord, and showed it by his life.
Carefully this Godly man looked at the offending knee. "I'm sorry, Joe, you are going to have to be operated on. There is no way out of it."
But Joe would not give up that easily. "First, Brother, would you do me a favor?" Pointing to the puffy leg before him, Joe said, "Would you drain that all out of there?"
The surgeon gladly complied with his request. Without benefit of anesthesia, he lanced the knee on either side and drained out a copious amount of pus. After this was done, he discovered the seriousness of the situation even more.
"Look here," began the surgeon, the joint water is all gone. The joint is completely eaten away. The ligament is no larger than a match stick."
Even this information did not discourage Joe. Turning to the doctor, he made a request strange to the ears of the doctor. "Brother George, will you do me a favor?
Will you join with me in prayer tonight?"
Surprised, the doctor answered, "I'm a surgeon." "Yes, I know, and you are a good Christian, too, Brother George. And you can't turn me down. Before you go to bed tonight, will you and your wife kneel down and pray that God will heal me? And if you wake up in the night, think of me and pray for me again."
Think of that! Asking his surgeon to unite with him in prayer.
"I'll do that," he promised. Then asked, "And in the morning, do you want me to still pray?"
"Yes, but change your prayer. When you get up in the morning just thank God that He did it. "
"You believe that?" asked the doctor incredulously. "Yes. 1 have confidence that God will heal me."
There you have it. Exactly what we are teaching. Joe had confidence enough to ask, to believe, and to claim the promise, by returning thanks for the healing, even before the visible proof. The godly surgeon did the same.
This happened years ago, before we began gathering the material and teaching these classes on the ABC's of prayer. The principle has been existent all the time. God loves to hear that kind of prayer. It is true that in praying for the sick we offer a petition of commitment, because we do not know to what extent the sufferer has set his face in the direction of conformity to the conditions set down in the Word of God. On the other hand, there are times when the Holy Spirit seems to speak clearly, "I will heal him" (Isa. 57:19). This was one of those times.