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    BOOK 4: The Evangelist and His Acclamation
    BOOK 4: The Evangelist and His Acclamation
    BOOK 4: The Evangelist and His Acclamation
    Ebook248 pages4 hours

    BOOK 4: The Evangelist and His Acclamation

    By Owen Jorgensen

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    William Branham is a paradox in modern history. Beginning in 1946 his ministry leaped from obscurity to gain national attention in less than six months, and in the process it sparked a worldwide faith-healing revival. He accomplished this feat with the help of a unique gift-a supernatural sign that startled people into taking no

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSupernatural Christian Books LLC
    Release dateApr 1, 2021
    ISBN9781955401197
    BOOK 4: The Evangelist and His Acclamation

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      BOOK 4 - Owen Jorgensen

      CHAPTER 54

      LOOKING BACK

      1951

      ON A WARM June morning in 1951, William Branham arrived home in Jeffersonville, Indiana, hoping to get some rest before tackling his next series of faith-healing campaigns. In July he was scheduled for two straight weeks of meetings—first a week in Toledo, Ohio; then two nights in Zion, Illinois; then four nights in Erie, Pennsylvania. He knew it would be strenuous. Since he was already exhausted from his last campaign, taking a break now was important to preserve his health.

      Finding time to relax and unwind was not easy for him, not even at home. As soon as people found out he was back in town, visitors would start ringing his doorbell, and by noon his living room would be crowded with strangers wanting personal interviews and prayer. It had been this way ever since God had given him his commission in 1946. Usually Bill did not mind this constant intrusion into his privacy. He loved people and wanted to help them. But right now he was too tired to help anyone. If he gave personal interviews today, the visions (and there were always visions during the interviews) would tear him apart.

      Meda said, Bill, before the crowds gather in, let me take you somewhere.

      They drove out to the Tunnel Mill area, 15 miles northeast of Jeffersonville. Into these woodlands he had often retreated during times of trouble, finding peace in this quiet, green wilderness. Hidden among these hills lay a cave where he sometimes went to rest and pray. But today that was not his destination. It was a strenuous hike to his secret cave. Bill had taken Meda there once, shortly after their marriage in 1941. Once had been enough for her.

      On their way back to Jeffersonville, Bill felt an urge to stop at the spot where he had gone to school as a boy. He turned the car into a meadow and parked. Rebekah ran off to gather wild flowers. Meda wandered after her. Bill strolled over to the old well pump and, working the handle up and down, pumped himself a drink of water. The one-room schoolhouse used to sit not far from the well. Nothing was left of the schoolhouse now, not even a stone to mark its foundation. Leaning against a wooden fence, Bill gazed across the valley to the place where he had grown up. Then it had been sparsely populated; now well-built homes covered the hillside. How different they looked from the two-room log cabin he had lived in as a boy. How drastically the world had changed in 30 years.

      Bill remembered how big the logs of his cabin had looked to him when he was a small boy. Behind the cabin stood a giant apple tree that he once thought would live forever. Now it was gone. He remembered the wash bench his father built under that apple tree, and the broken mirror tacked to its trunk. How many times had he watched his father shaving under that tree? Charles Branham had been a short, wiry man with powerful muscles. When he took off his shirt to wash and shave, those muscles seemed to ripple under his skin. Bill remembered thinking, My! Look how strong my daddy is. He’s going to live 100 years! But he didn’t. He died in 1936 at the age of 52, having destroyed himself by drinking too much whiskey.

      There used to be a spring in front of the cabin. Bill thought about how many times he had lugged a heavy cedar bucket down to that spring for water. It had been hard being the oldest of ten children. His parents had expected so much of him. He used to get his brother Edward to do chores for him in exchange for candy. Now the spring was gone, no doubt filled in by a bulldozer. Edward was gone too.

      Bill choked back tears at the thought of Edward. Although Edward was a year younger than he was, they had started school together. Those were difficult years. His family was so poor that neither he nor Edward had enough clothes. That fall of 1917 Bill had gone to school without a shirt. When it snowed, a neighbor lady felt sorry for him and gave him a coat. All that winter Bill wore his coat every minute he sat in school so the other children wouldn’t know he wasn’t wearing a shirt. During recess the other children went sledding with their store-bought sleds. Bill and Edward salvaged an old dishpan from the dump and used it as a sled until the rusty bottom wore out. At noon he and Edward would go down by the Ohio River to eat their meager lunch. They owned just one lunch bucket. Setting it on a log between them, they carefully divided their beans and cornbread into equal portions. Bill remembered the time his mother had packed them a treat of popcorn. Bill had slipped out of class early to sneak more than his share. Oh, how he regretted cheating on his brother!

      That happened in 1917, during the First World War. The morning ritual never varied. After ringing the school bell, Mrs. Temple would round up her students in the schoolyard, forming them into a single line, using a willow switch to keep order. After pledging allegiance to the flag, they would turn to face the schoolhouse, put one arm on the shoulder of the pupil in front of them, and march inside. Each student had their assigned place in that line. Bill could still remember the order. First there was Roland Hollaway, redheaded and fierce-tempered. Roland shot a man in a dice game and died in prison. Next came Wilmer. He got into a knife fight and died with his throat slashed. And Willis Paul? He died from a disease that stripped his body. Howard Higgins died when the Colgate factory blew up. Ralph Fields and Willie Hinkle? —they were gone too. After Willie came Edward, Bill’s younger brother. Edward always stood behind Bill in line, with his hand on Bill’s shoulder as they marched into school. (Suddenly Bill’s bittersweet nostalgia turned more bitter than sweet. In 1928 Edward Branham had died in Jeffersonville while Bill was punching cows in Arizona. That was before Bill was a Christian. Even so, when Edward was dying he said, Tell Billy I’ll see him someday in heaven.)

      Oh, God, Bill thought, here I am alone left among them. Who am I to still be alive? How true is Your Word: For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come."¹⁰³ Oh, Lord, I’d give the rest of my mortal life if You’d let me take some popcorn, walk up to them doors and say, ‘Edward, buddy, here’s that handful of popcorn I cheated you out of when we were boys.’ Suddenly Bill cried out loud, Oh, God, let the angels come get my poor, tired soul and pack me away from here! This world is not my home any

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