AN ANGEL CALLED US ON THE PHONE AND WARNED US

By Shirley Harvey

My Version

 

I am not going to begin with some flowery words about the weather or the scenery. I am going to tell you a true story. Due to the many, many years that have passed, the dialogue, the total situation, the events, and everything but the outcome may not be exactly as it happened, but it is as I remember it. My husband and I remember it a little differently, but it is just as true, no matter if my memory or his is the best. Please be assured that I will attempt to be truthful, accurate to a fault, and vivid in my descriptions. Here is my story.

It had been a long two weeks, but loads of fun. Never taking a vacation encourages the idea of having a good time! Vacations cost a lot of money, and ministers with wife and children don't have spending money for extravagances, let alone time for holidays. The "fun" is just getting away from the routine of the weeks and months, and in being in a different place. The work is always the same--preach and teach, hopefully to more people, and every day or night, rather than two or three times per week. The variety of location and meeting new friends is always stimulating.

A revival meeting, from the minister and his family's perspective, is never boring. The minister is challenged to do a good job as he "works," which means praying, preparing, and preaching. The minister's wife is challenged to be a good helpmeet, whatever that means, and to be an educated mother to her children. After all, she is regarded as a holy woman and had better act that way at all times. She lives in a glass house and everyone is watching what she does, and how she does it. Stones are often thrown at her. She has an interesting life!

This particular revival was in Wilmington, North Carolina. The beach house provided was old and quaint, the climate friendly, the ocean loads of fun for the family when they could visit it, and the food desirable. The church family was warmhearted. It was friendly territory and everything seemed desirable and amicable.

For two weeks we were approached by friendly people. The revival started and ended on a nice note. No conflicts or known criticisms were experienced and our family went back home with smiles and thankfulness.

Home was boring. Same old routine and same people. Same things to do at the same time every week. Seemed like such a waste. As a wife, I began thinking about the past two weeks.

Things could have been better. There was too much pride in the people of the congregation. That is the reason there weren't a lot of contrite hearts praying and crying at the altar. Didn't Dean notice that? Then, there were too few coming to the evening services. Where were the laborers? No one talked about how sparse the congregation was. Whose fault was that? Probably the preacher's, who happened to be my husband. If he had just preached with more illustrations, more emotion, more information, more persistence, he would have gathered the sinners from the highways and byways like the Bible says.

Being a good helpmeet, a wife's job is to help her husband. The only way to really accomplish that was to talk to him about his faults! One does not see his own faults, but they are usually spotted by the one closest to him. He needs to know!

So the conversation that began a few nights after getting home began with a gentle question like, "Did you think we had a good meeting at Wilmington?" "Did you notice how sparse the crowd was?" "Did you get to talk to people who went forward to pray?" "Did you notice the pride that was in their hearts as you talked and prayed with them?" "Were you satisfied with the results of your ministry?" "Were you burdened with remorse at the failure rather than satisfied with victory?" "Do you feel successful?" "Are you proud?" "Pride goes before destruction, you know."

When a wife exercises her right to be a helpmeet, she needs to keep up the dialogue as the husband usually remains silent while he thinks. Everyone knows that. As the blind spots are exposed, the silence thickens! When a response is expected, there is deafening silence. Then the wife begins to talk louder just in case the husband isn't hearing her.

That is what happened to us. When Dean began to answer, his voice was also very loud. He was defending himself rather than admitting his mistakes. What audacity! What pride! It showed its ugly face and consumed my minister husband. He finally yelled that he was going to quit the ministry! He wasn't ever going to preach again! He was going to give up Christianity and God! And that was final.

I yelled back an honest retort. I was going to divorce him and leave him and the children. After all, I couldn't raise four children by myself. I, too, was going to leave God and was never going to church again. I stomped out of the upstairs bedroom where the conversation had taken place, and marched downstairs, determined to march right out the front door.

Just then the phone rang

Not wanting to deceive the caller, and realizing I couldn't be nice even if I wanted to, I answered the phone in my best angry voice. "HELLO, AND WHAT DO YOU WANT?" The female voice on the line was soft and reassuring, unlike mine.

The voice said, "Mrs. Harvey?"

"YES," I answered back.

"Mrs. Harvey, I have a word from the Lord for you."

"YOU DO, DO YOU? WELL, JUST WAIT A MINUTE BECAUSE I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO IS GOING TO LISTEN TO YOU. I HAVE TO CALL MY HUSBAND SO HE CAN LISTEN TOO." I stomped to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up to my husband, "DEAN, PICK UP THE PHONE. THERE IS SOME WOMAN ON IT WHO SAYS SHE HAS A WORD FROM THE LORD FOR ME, AND I AM NOT GOING TO BE THE ONLY ONE WHO LISTENS TO IT."

Then I went back to the dangling phone and put the receiver to my ear. "ARE YOU THERE, DEAN?" Dean said a quiet "Yes," and I told the woman to tell us what God wanted us to hear. There was no humility or meekness in my voice, just a violent response.

But the lady didn't begin to speak. She began to sing. She sang a hymn that well known to anyone who went to church regularly. I have forgotten the song, because it happened almost forty years ago. As the woman played the hymn on her piano and sang, it sounded flunky and fluky to me, but the words began to minister and I began to cry.

As soon as her last chorus was finished, she began to speak. She started by telling us exactly what we had been saying to each other, even describing the attitudes and mannerisms of our voices. She then told us how displeased God was with us and our words. She was very stern and her parting comment was, "If you don't repent from your attitudes and actions, you will turn into a pillar of salt!" With that, she hung up.

As she was speaking, I was trying to figure out how this lady could have been listening to our argument. Yes, the neighbors could possibly have heard us, but none of the neighbors had a voice or diction like this lady used. The lady explained that neither of us knew her, and that we had never met. She didn't know where we lived, and we didn't know where she lived. When she hung up, I just sat there, looked at the phone, hung it up and started up the stairs.

I was really crying-hard. I reached the bedroom, went directly to my husband, put my arms around him, while crying, and asked him to forgive me. He, too, was very contrite of spirit, and we both knelt at the bedside, sobbing and asking God to forgive us, and asking each other for his forgiveness.

The end of the story is the beginning of a lifelong commitmet. We both promised God and each other that we would never again attempt to straighten out the other person, nor give God up, nor be angry at each other to the point of giving up God and their marriage. We thought the whole situation over, and decided that God must have had an angel phone us with His message because He loved us so much. God knew the tremendous possibilities that Dean had to teach and preach to any and all who would listen to him. I had some possibilities of becoming a godly woman and a decent helpmeet. God demonstrated His patience with us, and we determined to follow Him the rest of our lives!

This is how I remember the story. I hope it has ministered to you.

 

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