Spellbinder Read Free

And they didn’t care, either. But it was consecrated by the people. It was consecrated by the people who came here every Sunday, and knelt down in the sawdust and prayed with my Daddy for their eternal salvation, and life everlasting. It was consecrated by the little people—the ordinary people. They never earned much money, these people. And they never wore fancy clothes, either. Why, I can remember, as a boy, seeing them come in overalls, walking all the way into town from their farms, miles away. And I can remember something else, too. I can remember that, when I was eight years old, I began passing the collection plate. And I remember seeing those people—those simple, wonderful people—digging down in their worn pockets and dropping whatever they could into the collection plate, to help my Daddy do God’s work.”
    Eyes still raised, Holloway pauses, as if to control himself. He drops his eyes to the prayer book he holds in both hands before him. Then, in a low, solemn voice:
    “My Daddy died when I was only nineteen years old. He died under the canvas top the people had bought for him. He was preaching God’s word when he died. He was doing God’s work, just like he’d always done. Healthy or sick, rich or poor, hungry or not, my Daddy was doing what he’d always done. He was praying for sinners, trying to light their way to glory.
    “By that time, I’d already been preaching for eight years, friends. Yes—” Holloway nods out toward his audience, invisible to him as he stands in the glare of the three golden shafts of light. “Yes, friends, I began preaching when I was eleven years old. But it wasn’t until I was nineteen years old that I began my ministry. It wasn’t until my Daddy laid down God’s burden. Because when he laid down his burden and ascended to heaven, I knew that my time had come. The burden was mine. And I accepted it—accepted the challenge to do God’s work, even though I wasn’t truly a man yet.
    “So I started preaching in that old, patched canvas tent of my Daddy’s. But then, just a few years later, the Lord showed me a better way to preach. I was still very young, still very inexperienced. I had a lot to learn, friends. I had a whole lot to learn. But I could feel the Lord’s hand on my shoulder, offering guidance. I could hear His voice in my ear. He was telling me that He wanted me to reach thousands of people with my ministry, not just hundreds. And He showed me how to do it. Yes, the Lord showed me the way. He opened my eyes, friends, to the miracle of radio. He made me understand how the very essence of His work is trying to reach more people—more souls, aching to be made whole, and be led out of the darkness and into the light of Christ’s own salvation. He made me understand that the words of Jesus Christ are like a pebble thrown into a pool—a pool of life everlasting. Rings of ripples spread out from the spot where that pebble hit the water, and those ripples never stop. They didn’t stop with the Apostles, even though they only spoke to a handful of people at a time. They didn’t stop with my Daddy, who could only speak to a few hundred people, under that canvas tent. And, friends, those ripples didn’t stop with me, either.
    “And so, in 1936, I preached my first sermon on radio. And, praise God, more and more people listened, and believed, and prayed with us. They knelt down beside their radios, and we prayed together. The ripples of Christ’s own teaching were spreading wider.
    “And then, of course, there came God’s own ultimate miracle—television. And it was then that God touched my shoulder again. He told me to take my wonderful wife Katherine and my young son Elton, and He told us to come here to Los Angeles, the home of television. He made me understand that if radio could work one miracle in His service, then television could work a thousand miracles. That was twenty-eight years ago, friends—in 1950. And I don’t mind telling you—I