Opal Hanlin

Through my growing-up years, prayer was one of the cornerstones of our home. Often when coming in from school, I would hear my mother in her room communing with God. Many times I listened to Dad praying in his study as I drifted off to sleep. The effectiveness of prayer was clearly demonstrated in our lives many times.

The first I can remember telling Jesus how much I loved Him was while playing church in my parents’ bedroom. I lined up my dolls and two teddy bears and whispered in their ears, “You must be good and quiet now in church.” Then I sat down across from them in my little chair. I straightened up, folded my hands in my lap, and began the song service with the words I could remember from my favorite hymns, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” and “Oh, How I Love Jesus.” Next, I stood up and pretended to testify. When it came time for the prayer service in my little meeting, all of the pretense and play was forgotten; I began to tell Jesus how much I loved Him and His presence came down into that bedroom. The more I said, ‘I love You, Jesus,’ the more I really did love Him. Oh, what a joy filled my young heart! Suddenly I knew that Jesus had saved me. Jumping up from my knees, I ran downstairs to find my mother and tell her that Jesus had come into my heart. That was my first real testimony.

That day, God gave me a witness of His sweet Spirit in my heart. I was just five years old, but that memory has never faded away like so many other things of my childhood. That event was a landmark in my life.

About two years later, my brother and his friend joined me for another session of playing church, this time in our living room. As we worshipped the Lord, His Spirit touched my heart. I left the other two and ran to the bedroom where I finished my prayer meeting. It was then that Jesus sanctified me. It was a wonderfully real and definite experience in my life. I felt so clean and pure!

At the age of eleven, at our Sixth and Burnside church in Portland, Oregon, the Lord met me on Sunday night near midnight. The service was long over, and nearly everyone was gone, but six very dear people were praying with me. Knowing that power for service was promised to those who were wholly sanctified, I wanted to receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit and was praying and hungering for that experience in childish fervor. Suddenly, Jesus showed Himself to me. His head was bowed and His hands folded. At once I realized He was praying for me! Faith leaped into my heart. If Jesus wanted me to receive the Holy Spirit, I surely could. With even more intense desire and praise, I reached out and His Spirit filled me with joy overflowing. As a witness, words came through my lips in a language I had never learned. The Holy Spirit had come into my heart. Just then Jesus showed Himself again to me. His head was lifted and He was smiling down at me. I will never forget that experience in prayer!

The Lord blessed me with opportunities to have a part in His service. When I was just fourteen, I was asked to sing in the church choir and play my violin in the orchestra. At age seventeen, I began teaching my first Sunday school class. Those were wonderful days in my young life.

At eighteen, the enemy of my soul began to war, in subtle ways, against the work God had done in my life. It started with a little pride. Then I became busy and neglected to read my Bible and pray every day as I had been taught. A love for the things of the world crept into my heart. I began to look at others outside my circle of church friends and thought perhaps I was missing some by my sheltered life. Bits of criticism crept in. I found fault with the guidelines and standards of the church wanting them to be altered to fit my increasingly carnal outlook. I began living my life in bitterness toward those who loved me.

I found no pleasure in sin; the self-will and pride that filled my heart brought many disappointments and remorse, and I was disillusioned at every turn. Alone in my room, God would deal with me, but I rationalized in my own mind that things were not really my fault, so when my spirit was troubled, I would wonder why things were going wrong.

My parents were deeply concerned at the changes they saw taking place in me. Mother would say to me, “Opal, pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall,” but I went on in my own way with each little step away from God bringing more leanness to my soul and weakening my faith. My spiritual armor did not fit anymore, and soon each counsel and reproof brought bitterness.

I knew that as long as I lived under my father’s roof I could not do the things that my heart longed after. Also, I had condemnation in my life, so it wasn’t long before I decided I wanted to leave that Christian home. I packed up my things and moved to a large city about 500 miles away. I reasoned that I would just have a good time on my own, not doing anything so wrong, just leading my life without so many restrictions. I had changed masters, though, and I started to slide downhill fast.

My new friends and the people I worked with knew much more about the ways of sin than I did, so they taught me. Soon, I was doing things I had never dreamed I would do. I found that instead of my life getting better, it was becoming more and more confused.

God had mercy and protected me in one vulnerable situation after another. When trouble really did come my way, I prayed. They weren’t repentant prayers, though. They were just, “God help me!” He did help, but life just seemed to come to a dead end. My health was failing and my heart was troubled. I kept receiving letters from home telling me my parents were praying for me, and conviction never left me. I knew I had turned away from God, and many times I would waken out of a sound sleep trembling with fear, but too stubborn to yield to God.  

Then one day in my room, I heard God’s convicting Spirit in my heart say, “Opal, why don’t you do what you know you ought to do?” I answered Him right out loud, “All right, I will go.” God knew what I meant.

I do not know how the Blood of Jesus, shed almost 2000 years ago, could avail for my sin, but I do know that His precious Blood washed my sins away. Peace flooded my soul like a river. Tears of repentance turned to tears of joy. Those praying with me began sing “Peace, Peace, Wonderful Peace.” When I finally stood to my feet I knew a new day had begun in my heart.

I worked the graveyard shift in the blueprint room of a shipyard. This was during World War II so during our shift, we were locked in our offices for security reasons. On some days, we were unable to work due to paper shortages. We still reported and were locked in our offices.

One night on my way to work, I thought that if there was no paper to print with that night, I would write a letter to my dad. God planned it so that when I arrived at work I was told that there was nothing we could do that night. As the other girls covered themselves with their coats and stretched out to sleep on the long folding tables, I started to write my letter.      

As I wrote, the tears rolled down my cheeks and before long prayers were intermingled with them. I kept writing, and a wonderful thing happened. As I told Dad that I was sorry about the things I had said, the coil of bitterness that had fastened around my heart just began to unwind. I felt so good! I even forgot where I was for a short time, and then I wondered if the other girls were listening. I turned to look at them, but they were all sleeping soundly. I realized that God had put a deep sleep on all of them just so I could write that letter. How good I felt in my heart as a finished that letter— at five in the morning!

While the Lord had been dealing with me, He had also been moving my dad’s heart. One night, my dad felt an urge to pray. He went to his study and prayed until about midnight. He could not get relief; he did not feel that he had ‘prayed through,’ so he went out to the garage to pray. Still, he felt such a burden, so he got into his car and drove to the church. He prayed and prayed for his wayward girl. Around five in the morning, he felt released from that awful burden. He began to praise God for answered prayer from that moment on. That was the very night that I wrote the letter.

A few weeks later, I began making plans to go home. Every step I took, God was just ahead of me. I knew that this was more than just nostalgia or going home to make my peace with Mom and Dad; I was going home to God. More than anything else in the world, I wanted the peace I had once known.

The first church service I was in after returning, I cried out to God for that peace. As I bent my knees before Him, I bent my will to Him also. As I prayed, though, I wondered if God would hear me after I had run from Him. I wondered if He would forgive me. But God looked into my heart and saw my honest plea for mercy. I promised to give Him my heart, my soul, and my life if He would give me peace. I was sick of sin. I wanted God in my life again, and He knew it.

I do not know how the Blood of Jesus, shed almost 2000 years ago, could avail for my sin, but I do know that His precious Blood washed my sins away. Peace flooded my soul like a river. Tears of repentance turned to tears of joy. Those praying with me began sing “Peace, Peace, Wonderful Peace.” When I finally stood to my feet I knew a new day had begun in my heart.

I asked the Lord to make the experience of sanctification so real to me that I would never question it, never doubt it. I wanted an answer to give to those who might ask me about it. I didn’t want to be the least bit vague. The Lord answered that prayer. I felt that cleansing wave go through me from my head to my toes. It went right through my soul.  The Blood of Jesus had availed for me a second time. It worked. And I knew Jesus was true and faithful to anyone who hungered for Him, and wanted to do His will.

The hunger was even greater for the baptism of the Holy Ghost. It was so sweet just to trust God and believe Him. He had blessed me many times, but that night when He poured out the Holy Spirit on me, I spoke in another language as a witness to it. I didn’t know what language it was, but someone told me later I had talked fluently in an Indian language. It was wonderful! I praise God that the witness was so sweet and clear to my soul.

That was thirty-nine years ago this past September—more than long enough to prove that it pays to serve the Lord! The Lord gave me a Christian husband and my own Christian home. He has drawn consecrations from me during these years, but He has richly repaid me for every one of them.

When my husband was asked to be pastor of the church in Grants Pass, Oregon, I was taken aback sharply. I had been a pastor’s daughter, so I knew what that meant! My husband had a good job, we had a little girl, we were buying our own home, I was a Sunday school teacher—this was my little world and I was all wrapped up in it. I was crying a helpless, selfish cry when the Lord spoke to my heart, “Opal, didn’t you tell Me that you would do what I wanted you to do?” Suddenly I realized it was not for me to seek my own. I had tried that before. I wanted to live to please the Lord and serve Him in whatever way He would show me.

I have never been sorry for that decision. He has provided a wonderful life for our family. We had the privilege of pastoring four churches while our daughter and son were with us, and since then, we have pastored one more. Many times we had to pray to the Lord for guidance, but we found that He always carries the heavy end of every burden. That early training of prayer and trust in God has brought the joy of many answered prayers and holds me steady even now.

The glory and beauty of the Gospel grow sweeter as time passes. The hope of my life here is magnified in Jesus, for He is the fulfillment of my hope hereafter.