The Emancipation of Robert Sadler (26 page)

When I arrived home Jackie told me Wilfred had taken a turn for the worse.

That night the Lord awoke me from my sleep and told me Wilfred was going to die. I jumped out of bed and pleaded with the Lord. “Lord, don't take him yet! Please don't take him yet.” I knew Wilfred's soul wasn't ready. I began to fast and pray for him.

After six days of fasting and prayer for Wilfred, I realized he'd have to be put in the hospital. “Give me a sign, Lord, that he has opened his heart to you and that he's going to heaven. Please, Lord,” I prayed.

On the day he was to go to the hospital, the doctor came prepared to drug him in order to get him out of the house. Wilfred hated hospitals and thought all doctors were after him and trying to kill him. I refused to let them drug him. “Don't you put a needle to him,” I insisted. “He's going to go to the hospital nice, and he's going to behave himself.” I dressed Wilfred and prayed for a miracle. To everyone's amazement Wilfred went to the hospital without a single protest. Usually, if he had to leave the house, he would scream and kick and act crazy, breaking things and terrifying everybody. This time he was like a lamb. I knew the Lord had touched him.

When Wilfred died two weeks later, I had peace in my heart that when I got to heaven, Wilfred would be there, too.

The Pickings family asked us to remain on in the big house that had been his.

We missed Wilfred, though. We had gotten very attached to him, and it was lonely and quiet without him.

We started a little church right there in the house. We called our ministry Faith Mission, and we had meetings on Sunday and prayer meetings every morning of the week.

One morning Jackie and I felt especially impressed to pray for someone who felt lost and hopeless. The burden was so heavy upon us we continued long after our usual hour of prayer was over. We were praying for someone in particular, someone we didn't know. Around noon I went outside to trim a little peach tree I had planted in the backyard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bum stagger by on the sidewalk.

The Lord spoke to me and said, “I'm going to save that man.”

“Praise you, Lord,” I said.

A few minutes later Jackie called me from the porch. “Robert! There's a man here and he's asking for prayer!” The bum I had seen on the sidewalk was sitting on the couch.

“I don't know why I'm in this place,” he said.

“I know why you're here,” Jackie said. “You're here because we been praying for you.”

“Hunh?”

“All morning long we been praying for you without knowing your name or who you are, and the Lord sent you to us.”

The man's name was Don. We prayed over him, and he asked Jesus into his heart. He had never felt the power of God before. I took him to the place he was living and he cleaned up and came back with me that night for a fellowship meeting. He became faithful attending every meeting, and the change in him was nothing short of miraculous. His days of bumming were long gone.

———

That winter I felt the Lord leading me to a large convention in Minnesota. Christians were coming from all over the country to it. Jackie couldn't come with me because she was working and couldn't get time off. I packed my grip, kissed her good-bye, and left for St. Paul, Minnesota.

I noticed a rattle in the engine of the car, but I didn't pay much attention to it. The meetings in St. Paul were wonderful, and I experienced beautiful fellowship and a great move of God. When I was leaving, I heard a man telling someone, “I hitchhiked to this convention. I don't know how I'll get home.”

I said, “I'll be glad to drive you home.”

“Are you sure? I live over two hundred miles from here!”

“That don't matter. I'll drive you home.”

The man's name was Joe, and he was happy with my offer. We climbed into my car, along with a blind brother who also wanted to ride with me, and started on our way. As we drove along it started to snow and the car began to pop and backfire. I had to stop every few miles to pour gas into the gas tank because it was leaking. It began snowing really hard, and we just laughed and praised the Lord.

The snow came down harder and harder and the winds were blowing stronger every minute. It was turning into a blizzard, and the temperatures had plunged to 45 degrees below zero. After we had gone about 150 miles, the clutch gave out. I knew the transmission was gone, but the car kept moving so I didn't stop. We drove until we saw a gas station, and I headed for it and pulled in. The man in the station said, “I'm afraid your transmission is gone.”

Not knowing what else to say, I said simply, “Well, fill it up with oil.” He filled it up; I started the car up, and away we went.

The snow was deep, and the roads were very bad. The snowplows hadn't come out yet. I was a little concerned about getting stuck.

We made it to Bemidji, Minnesota, but I made a wrong turn. I tried backing up to turn around, but the car wouldn't move. I tried again and again. It was useless. We were hopelessly stuck in the snow.

I looked at the face of the blind brother. He was calm and happy and trusting God. It was getting dark out, the heat in the car was poor, the storm was raging, and the sub-zero temperature was already numbing our bodies. What were we to do? Quietly, we began to pray.

The three of us were staring at the storm when we felt the car moving. I sat behind the wheel with my hands on my lap, my feet on the floor. The car was turning around!

The car made a complete turnaround, then rolled up onto the road again and faced the direction we had come. It was so incredible we began to shout and weep in amazement. God had worked a miracle!

When I started the car up, it ran perfectly, and I drove on to Joe's house in Bemidji.

I left Bemidji with the blind brother and the snow flying and the temperature 40 degrees below zero. The car sputtered and popped, but we were trusting the Lord to get us back to Bucyrus. I stopped at the same gas station where we had stopped on our way to Bemidji, and I told the attendant the miracles the Lord had worked. He drained the oil out of the car, and the pieces of gears began to fall out. “Oh, don't throw those away,” I told him. “I want to keep them as souvenirs.”

I drove that car all the way back to Bucyrus. Then I was home for just a couple of days when my sister Margie called to tell me that Corrie Moore was real sick, and I'd better come down to Anderson. The car still wasn't fixed, but we left the blind brother staying in the house, and Jackie and I drove all the way to Anderson, South Carolina, without one single incident.

Corrie was in the hospital when we arrived. “How is she?” we asked Buck. With a flicker of agony, he said, “She just had both legs taken off.”

We went to her room and waited until she gained consciousness. She saw me and said with a smile, “I done come a long way—to this, Robert.”

“Jesus know, Corrie, Jesus know.”

“Robert . . . sing for me.” And I sang:

I say amen to Jesus

Amen all the time . . .

Margie came to me for a favor that week. She was shy about asking me at first, but then she came out with it. “Robert, can you do something for my pastor? He just has to get to Pompano, Florida, for a funeral and has no way to get there. Will you drive him?”

“Margie, my car's transmission is out.”

“Please, Robert?”

“But, Sister, the car need repair. The transmission doesn't work.”

“Won't you please do it, Robert? Please?”

Finally I agreed. I had already driven the car almost 2,000 miles with the transmission gone. How much more grace was the Lord going to extend to me?

The car made it another 1400 miles without that transmission. Margie's pastor marveled. “I reckon there's a whole lot I don't know about the Lord. But, brother, now I aim to get right and find out!”

Back in Anderson, Jackie and I prayed about getting home to Bucyrus. We didn't have any money to have the car fixed. The Lord blessed us again and allowed the car to go another 800 miles back to Bucyrus. I still have the pieces of those gears as a remembrance of the miracle the Lord did with that car.

———

In 1960 I was in Leesville, Virginia, in the mountains driving another old used car, a station wagon. It was a warm Sunday morning, and the air was thick with the sweet smell of the forest surrounding the highway. I was looking for a church to attend. I stopped at a gas station to get some gas, and as I waited for the attendant, I saw about twelve men standing around there. I didn't pay much attention because I was so intent on getting to church. I went on a ways, and the Lord spoke to me.

“Where are you going, Robert?”

“Why, I'm going to
church,
Lord.”

“Did I tell you to go to church?”

“Well, I—”

“Did you see those men back there?”

“Men?”

“Those men back there at the gas station aren't going to church. Nobody will be preaching to them this morning, Robert.”

“Lord, forgive me,” I said, and I turned around and went back to the gas station.

“I'm a minister,” I told the owner. “Do you mind if I minister here this morning?”

“Why, go right ahead.”

Right there in the gas station we had a church service. I brought in my pump organ, and we sang and I preached. My congregation was those twelve men. Every one of them gave their lives to Jesus that morning. It was one of the best experiences of my life as a minister.

I stayed there for three days and nights, holding meetings every night. Word got around the mountains about the meetings, and the gas station was packed at night. Men and women stood outside to hear because there was no room inside, so we held the last meeting outside. The owner didn't even try to wait on customers. The presence of the Lord was so powerful, he didn't care about gasoline or oil or washing windshields. There was nobody who went away from those gas station meetings untouched by almighty God.

I laid hands on a rebellious young man who had been running away from God all his life. He began to quiver and shake when I touched him. Then he fell to the floor sobbing and asking God to forgive him of his sins and save him. Another man, who had been an alcoholic for almost thirty years, came forward crying and asking for prayer. I laid hands on him and began to pray for him. He fell on his knees and asked Jesus to come into his heart and save him. I believe God also delivered him from alcoholism that day.

If you're wondering what I mean by “laying hands” it's something you do when you pray for a person. You place your hand lightly on their head or their shoulder or arm and then you pray. You don't always touch the person you pray for, but when a person comes up to you when you're ministering at a meeting and they want you to pray for them, usually they expect you to impart a touch.

The Lord surely touched the folks at that Leesville gas station, a place I almost missed entirely. How very important it is to listen to the voice of the Lord. I can't thank Him enough for turning me around that day.

I've had a lot of experience with car trouble—especially in the mountains, where my old cars would often break down. One time in particular, I was coming from Roanoke, Virginia, where I had held some meetings, and I was driving up a big mountain early in the morning. I got a few miles up the mountain and the car, the station wagon, stopped dead. I got out and said, “Lord, I'm not flagging anybody down. Thank you, Jesus. You know I'm here halfway up this mountain, and you know the car has stopped dead. Now I'm on a mission for you, so I'm counting on you to help me.”

With that, I pushed the car to the side of the road and pulled up the hood. Then I took out my organ and began to play at the side of the road.

The hours went by. I thought some cars that passed would drive right off the mountain, they were so busy staring at me. I couldn't blame them.

By noon I was hot and thirsty, and there was no sign of help. I just kept praising the Lord, though, repeating over and over again to myself, “In everything give thanks.”

My faith grew by the hour, but my body grew more hot and weary. Shortly after 2:00 in the afternoon a car pulled up in front of my car and a white man in a shirt and tie got out. He said he'd help me.

He said I looked awful tired and hungry, and he insisted I get in his car and go with him to get something to eat. I got in his car and we went to a restaurant down the mountain. I didn't want to eat, but I drank a large glass of water and some soda. The man told me I'd have to have a mechanic go up and fix my car.

“Oh no, I can't do that,” I told him. “I don't have money to pay a mechanic.”

“Well, if you're going to get the car fixed, you'll need a mechanic.”

The man took me back to my car and then was gone, and I never saw him again. I didn't even find out his name. In about a half an hour two mechanics pulled up in a service truck. They didn't even say hello to me; they just began to work on the car. I thought to myself, “Lord, I can't afford to pay
one
mechanic—and you send two!” They towed the car over the mountain to the station to get parts. Then another mechanic came and helped them. They put in a new fuel pump. When I saw those three men working on the car, I grew even more nervous. “Now you've sent another one, Lord!”

Finally, twelve hours after the car broke down, it was in working condition again. Gulping and trying to act casual, I asked the men how much I owed them. They thought for a moment, and then one of them said, “Give us two dollars.”

Two dollars!

The Lord is my stronghold in time of need . . .

It was in June of 1963, and I had just turned fifty-two years old. I was holding some meetings in Vicksburg, Michigan. I overheard a woman telling another woman that her son was coming from Vietnam with his fiancée, and she wished she could paint her upstairs but just couldn't do it.