The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 12)

Sometimes hecklers came to give us a hard time, but I welcomed them because I saw them as a challenge. We were the target of abuse and stones many times, but none of it seemed to matter. God was using us, we were doing the work of an evangelist, souls were being saved and bodies healed, so what more could we ask for? I felt that we were successful in God and I liked the feeling very much indeed.

So you can imagine my surprise when God told me to end the tent mission. "I'm doing a good job here, Lord," I told Him, "and I must go on preaching."

So go on preaching I did. I ignored what God was saying to me and I told the team we were moving to another village in the South to hold some meetings. We arrived and started putting up the tent. The others were out giving leaflets to the villagers and I was tackling the awesome task on my own. An old man was sitting on a nearby bench watching me. He stayed there all morning, puffing away on his pipe and eyeing me up and down as I chased from one end of the tent to the other. He went away for his lunch and came back to watch my antics during the afternoon.

I eventually finished round about tea time and the old man tottered over to me and said; "If I was you I would take that tent of yours down. If you don't do it, the wind that'll blow round this place tonight will do it for you." It was a calm day, not a cloud in the sky. I was sure this was the enemy talking.

"That tent will never blow down," I assured the old gentleman, "because God has called me to preach His Gospel, so He's looking after both me and my tent. I can also assure you that I'll be here to preach tomorrow night, tent or no tent."

The old man went on his way and I went on mine. I got back to the caravan, had my evening meal and went to bed early, ready for a full day's evangelism the following day. At about four in the morning I was woken by the rocking movement of the caravan. I could hear the wind howling and in an instant I was wide awake. The tent! I bolted out of bed, pulled on my clothes and jumped into my car, giving Barbara a garbled explanation of my actions.

Our caravan was about three miles from the tent. Dawn was breaking over the deserted country roads and in the silence of the early morning I could only hear one thing: the words of the old man. I reached the village, and there, on the village green, were the remains of my beloved tent. The wind had done its work. The poles were broken, the canvas was ripped, the chairs were strewn all over the place.

I started clearing up the mess in the half-light of the new day. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. The wind had started to drop and it was raining. I felt thoroughly miserable and kept tripping over the ropes and tattered canvas.

The only relief came that day from a sympathetic policeman's wife who brought me one of her delightful cornish pasties and a lot of sympathy. I needed both. God had let me down and humiliated me in this village. The old man with his pipe, was back, silent but with a twinkle in his eye and "I told you so" written all over his face. Several times that day I asked God why He had let this happen.

Other Christians came by with advice.
"Perhaps God hasn't called you."
"There might be sin in your camp."
"It was a test."

But I knew the real reason: God had said, "Move on Peter, new fields lie ahead."

That night, standing in the pouring rain with a piece of the remaining canvas wrapped around me, I preached the good news. My text was "He will have His way in the whirlwinds and the storm."

It's hard to give up something which God is blessing. For two years we'd seen miracles and I'd been slow to hear God pronounce His benediction on the work. The truth of the matter is that it had become my tent and my ministry and I had wanted to keep it. But I finally had to bow the knee to God. All right, I told Him, my tent days are over. But what next? I went to Kit Hill to pray and fast and find out what was to be our next step.