Agnes Scholz

My first recollection of being in a church was when I was about seven years old. I sat in a pew and waited for my mother to come from the confessional.

My mother lived a high standard in conduct and conversation—I owe this tribute to her memory. She was a woman of few words, but one day she said, “Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.” Another time she said, “God will not hold him guiltless that taketh His name in vain.” I was very young, but I thought that taking God’s name in vain must be the unpardonable sin. This was the extent of my knowledge of God.

One day in January, 1909, I noticed a billboard sign which announced the revival meetings of a famous evangelist. I felt an urge to go. I was given a seat far back in the gallery, and did not catch his message; but when his voice rang out with the grand old hymn, “I can hear my Savior calling” that was enough—my dormant soul was awakened. Words fail me to express the longing that filled my entire being to know this Savior.

I had not realized there was anything lacking in my life. My husband was temperate and industrious; I had a lovely little son and daughter, and life seemed full and pleasant. Now the Holy Spirit had begun His work, and I would never again be without the sense of responsibility to God.

I secured a booklet at the meeting that night which told of Zacchaeus’ “four-fold” restitution. The Holy Spirit brought to my mind a geranium I had plucked up from my neighbor’s yard. The geranium died, but God kept the record. I purchased two, and confessed and restored.

Words fail me to express the longing that filled my entire being to know this Savior.

I obtained a Bible but could understand little I read except some Psalms and Proverbs which I copied and tacked on the wall in the pantry.

I began to pray and plead that the Lord would bring me to the “right people.” If I could know just one person living the life of a Christian, I would be assured it could be done. I came into contact with many different religious people, but their teachings did not agree with the standard which God had placed in my heart.

After searching for six years, one day—a dark day I’ll regret as long as life lasts—I put my Bible away and said, “I will never take it out again.” The Holy Spirit interposed, and I added, “until God shows me the way.”

God lifted His restraining hand from my life and I became so wicked it gives me pain to recollect. I truly believed I was born to be lost.

One Sunday my husband and I were led by the Holy Spirit into a little mission on Market Street, in St. Louis. When the minister ended the message, he asked anyone who wished to escape the wrath of God to raise his hand. My hand went up and I knelt at the altar weeping. I caught the sweetest words I ever heard: “Thou wilt cast all her sins into the sea, never to be remembered against her forever.” The ministers’ wife was talking to God for me.

The next morning as soon as my husband left for work, about 6:45, I climbed the attic steps with the wonderful words I heard the night before at the altar ringing in my heart. I paused at the top and said, “I’ll not go down until something is done,” meaning a new birth, of course. Oh, that holy spot where floods of repentant tears flowed so freely as wave after wave of godly sorrow passed through my entire being! Peace came into my heart, for Jesus now lifted the load of sin from my heart. I felt as if I had been translated into another world, a world of peace and love.

The next meeting night I knelt at the altar and the workers told me about sanctification. The sanctifying fire fell upon my poor offering.

Six months later God baptized me with the Holy Ghost and fire. I thank Him for the knowledge of the truth in Christ Jesus, whose shed Blood applied to the heart is the only passport to Glory.