who was converted during the Hebrides revival.
The following night I was at church an hour before the service started. There were others, too, there. Oh, the hunger in the hearts of men and women and young people after God! How they hungered! How they longed! The preacher preached an hour every night, and nobody looked at their watches. Nobody looked at the clock. We felt, when he came to the benediction–we felt disappointed that he should stop. Even the benediction spoke to our hearts.
Then off we would go in search of another meeting and another meeting. For three months, I struggled. I saw some wonderful sights. I heard some wonderful prayers, earnest prayers. I met some wonderful people, the people of God. There was no generation gap, none whatsoever. The young people and the old people went together. There was no consciousness of age. How we longed for these old people to tell us more and more!
We used to go visit a saint who was 90 years of age. She used to admonish us and instruct us in the Word of God. We used to visit her and pray with her. There we were in the midst of the people of God, but I had no assurance of salvation–not for myself. I believed that anybody and everybody else could get saved, but there was some kind of something in me whereby I couldn’t get the assurance of salvation.
But one night at the end of my tether, on the 24 of August, 1950, I was sitting as usual in the prayer meeting. The men were praying, one after the other. The minister got up to close in prayer. I prayed in my heart. Do you know what I said? I said, “O God, I love Your people. I can’t explain it, but I love Your people and I want to be in their company. Lord, I want to stay in their company for the rest of my life; and then send me to hell, for that’s what I deserve.”
The conviction of sin, in a season of revival, is too terrible for words. Here was I, brought up in a society that was moral, religious and any immorality would have been frowned upon. Yet I felt such a sinner in the sight of God that I couldn’t see how He could save me. But that night as the minister closed in prayer, he quoted a verse that I have already quoted to you, Isaiah 53:5.
Suddenly it seemed as if I were transported from that prayer meeting to the place called Calvary and I was there alone. “He was wounded for your transgressions. He was bruised for your iniquities. The chastisement of your peace was upon Him. With His stripes, you are healed.” I felt healed.
Nobody needed to tell me. The Spirit of God, through His Word, witnessed with my spirit that–miracle of miracles–I was a child of God. I couldn’t go to bed that night. A crowd of us walked the shore, singing above the noise of the waves: Now none but Christ can satisfy; none other name for me; there’s love and life and lasting joy, Lord Jesus, found in Thee.
The following day at my loom, weaving Harris tweed of which you probably have heard, the loom was rattling away and the shuttle flying and the pattern unfolding. I was conscious that God had a pattern for my life. Calvary was so real. Calvary was so fresh. “Therefore, glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God’s”(1 Corinthians 6:20).
But again the question came, “But who am I?” All these fine young men who were being saved in the revival, they can go to the ends of the earth. They can go into the ministry, and so on. But they closed the service with the psalm, again and again, Psalm 45:10: “Hearken, O daughter, and consider and incline thine ear. Forget thine own people and thy father’s house.” This thundered in my inner consciousness.