On one occasion a payment of $245.00 had to be made on the contracts on our home—to save the contract from lapsing. I did not have the money. I tried every possible way to borrow it from different banks, and failing that, I tried to get it from some of the brethren. The last one I approached surely capped the climax. He assured me that he had the money and could loan it to me, but he said that he might just as well throw the money on the manure pile, for, he said, "You can never pay for the place anyhow, and the quicker you leave it the better."
I went home, and after praying for three days the Lord said the name "Torp" to me. The only one I knew of that name was a banker in Willmer, our county seat, whom I had met once—he hardly knew me nor I him. Anyway, I went to him and told him my trouble, to which he responded by saying that he could not loan me any money; that I was out of the district for him to loan on chattel mortgages; that I would either have to get it at Paynesville, Atwater or New London. I told him that I had already applied at those places but could not obtain the loan. Then Mr. Torp asked me what security I was able to give, to which I replied that the security I had would not be worth fifty dollars, but that I had a strong back and two strong arms and a good will and that we would like to stay on the hill a little longer if it were at all possible. He said, "Such things will go a long way." He sat there silent for a minute or two, then he said, "I'll think the matter over and you come back after dinner." A lump got into my throat so that I could not even say, "Thank you."
I walked down into the railroad yards, found a place between two box cars and prayed for nearly an hour and a half-back and forth I went praying that the Lord would "speak to the dear man and make his heart tender toward this poor man and his family." I went back to the bank and the good man met me. He invited me into his office, and when we were seated he said, "I have thought the matter over and I am going to loan you the money; now what security have you to offer?" I said, "I have a bay colt, a couple of calves, an old wagon I paid seven dollars for, and some other little trinkets." "Well," he said, "the colt as it grows will increase in price—good horses at that time were only worth about fifty dollars—and the calves also will increase in value. How long a time do you want?" I told him I thought eight months. Then he told me that their charge for such loans was 12%, but that he would let me have it for 8%.
Three weeks before the note came due I went to see him. My purpose in going was in regard to the loan. "Well," he said, "it is not due yet; we have not sent you a notice." I told him that I was wanting to know whether he would extend the time on the note. He asked me whether I had anything at all to pay on it. I told him I had only $50.00 and the interest. To which he replied, "That's fine." It took me two years instead of eight months to pay off the loan; but I was always on hand ahead of time to get the extension. When I made the last payment he gave me one dollar.
I went to see this banker some years later, and I asked him what it was that had made him so kind to me. Tears came into his eyes, but he did not answer—and my eyes were moist as well. He turned and from a drawer took out a small tract in which was an account of his boyhood life and experiences. His father died when he was eleven years old. He took a job as ship boy on board a ship and went through untold hardships to help support his mother and his six brothers and sisters. When he was about seventeen he came to America and located in Wisconsin.
When the Civil War was on a certain rich man came to him with an offer of several hundred dollars if he would act as substitute for his son in the army—which offer, however, he refused. Some time later he became acquainted with a family in which were seven children who were very good to him. One day word came that the father, who was a soldier, was killed in action and that the oldest boy was to be taken to fill his father's place. Whereupon young Torp stepped up to the boy and said, "You go home and take care of your mother and the family and I will go in your place—free of charge." The Lord was good to him and protected him; very soon he was promoted to the rank of an officer—and so the booklet continued, telling of his life's experiences.
These two incidents remind me, by way of contrast, of the story of another banker and of the way he dealt with a poor man who was in debt to him. When not prepared to meet the payments on his note the poor man would ask for an extension of time. Finally the banker became impatient and refused to grant any further time extension. The poor man begged for mercy—that he would allow him more time. "All right," said the banker, "I have a glass eye; it is such a good one that people cannot tell which one it is; if you can tell which one, I will extend the loan." Looking carefully at the eyes the man said, "It is the left one." "Yes," said the other, "how could you tell?" The man said, "I could tell that eye was more sympathetic than the good one." It is said of Jesus that he "learned obedience through the things that he suffered"—and so with us, we learn how to have sympathy according to how we suffer.
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My first experience of being healed of cancer of the stomach was while I was in Grand Forks in 1922 after that Doctor Weatherstein had examined me and said there was nothing that could be done for me. I was taken to the Werstlein's home where I was staying, and Brother Shave, Sister Gaulke and Sister Johnstone were sent for. They came, and when they saw me as I lay on the lounge, they fell on their knees weeping and calling on God. All at once they arose, and with Sister Werstlein, laid their hands on me and rebuked the devil and the cancer, and I was instantly healed!
In the fall of 1936 I had a number of calls to go to the West Coast, but I did not feel that I could leave unless wife had someone to stay with her. However, she insisted that I should go, saying she was able to take care of herself, but I hesitated about going so far away and applied for a job as an automobile adjuster paying $50 a week and commission. I had everything signed up on Friday, and I was to go to work the following Tuesday. On Sunday the cancer returned again for the third time—the blood running from me and I was very sick. Wife said—not in an unkind way—"Good enough for you." I said, "I know what you are going to say." "Yes," she went on, "but I will check up on you. Do you remember what Brother Dorrity said to you when you were ordained? 'This is not for a day, nor for a week, nor for a month or a year, but for your lifetime,' and you are not dead yet!" To which I replied, suffering and weeping, "All right, you come and pray for me." She came and prayed and I was instantly healed. Needless to say, I did not take the job.