David Guy

I had good Christian parents, but they passed away when I was around the age of seven, leaving me far out in the country, seemingly with no one to care for me. Sin fastened itself upon my young life, and I  roamed this old country in boxcars and in the underworld until every good thing was gone. I searched only for sinful pleasure and found no peace for my aching heart. Burning within me, though, was a longing for God, and the hunger grew more and more.

One hot Saturday afternoon in July of 1917, I took my wife and baby in a wagon across the rough mountains of Kentucky into a little town. There, in a humble home, a woman handed me a paper. A strange and wonderful feeling came over me. There in large letters was “The Apostolic Faith.” God spoke to my heart and said, “This is the same faith as the Apostles had in the early days. This is what you have hungered for.” As I read the testimonies in that paper, I was thrilled beyond words. One was a self-righteous church member who thought he was good enough until God showed him his life. Then he repented and was saved. That was enough for me; I was convicted of my sins. But reading another testimony—that of old “Drunken Charlie” whom God so wonderfully saved from a life of debauchery—made me feel more than ever my need of God.

I took the paper home and my wife and I got out the Bible. We compared every Bible reference in the paper to Scripture. We read that paper all night. The next morning, I told my wife that we were going to Portland, Oregon, to be with these people. We sold our farm in the East and boarded the train for Portland. My soul was burdened by my sins, but when we arrived, I felt a wonderful relief. Although it was three o’clock in the morning, I put my family to bed in a hotel and started out to look for the Apostolic Faith Church. Through the darkness I could see what I was searching for—the old mission that stood at Front and Burnside by the waterfront, with that wonderful sign flashing, “Jesus, the Light of the World.”

The first night in the mission I looked around, and I saw a motto on the wall, “Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin” (1 John 3:9). God began to show me my past life. Awful conviction seized me. My sins came before me mountain high—everything I had done, the awful crimes in my life, the murder I had committed in cold blood when I was just a boy. I didn’t know how I could ever get around that. God showed me that I would have to confess it publicly. I seemed to hear the prison gates closing forever behind me, the chains clanking on the steel floor. The price seemed too great to pay. I said, “I can never do it.”

My sins came before me mountain high—everything I had done, the awful crimes in my life, the murder I had committed in cold blood when I was just a boy.

For days I could think of nothing else. As I became more miserable, I could see that I was the loser. I went to the ministers and told them what I had done. They told me just the same as God—“You will have to confess it to the authorities.” I didn’t have any faith, but went on their word and their prayers. At the close of a meeting, I cried out to God for mercy. I poured out my heart to God, consecrating everything to Him—my wife, my children; I put them all on the altar—and He came into my heart! For the first time in my life, I felt free! My sins were washed away, and I felt clean and pure within. The whole world seemed changed, but the change was in my heart.

I wrote a letter confessing the awful crime I had committed. The ministers wrote too, and prayed. The authorities forgave me, God forgave me; I was a free man.

During the many years I have known the Lord, I have found Him to be a wonderful Physician too, with mighty power to heal the body as well as to save the soul. Not long ago, while painting on a two-story building, the staging suddenly gave way, hurling me backward eight feet where I landed on a porch roof. This fall fractured my left arm and shoulder, and then I slid to the edge of the porch and hit the ground ten feet below, head first, with a terrific impact. My right shoulder caught the brunt of the blow, which crushed my chest and shoulder, puncturing the right lung, breaking two ribs, and causing internal injuries.

As I lay there in that mangled condition, breath seemed gone and death near, but I was conscious of things around me. An ambulance soon came and the attendants managed to lift me onto a stretcher and rush me to a hospital. One thought lingered in my mind—to get word to the Apostolic Faith people. I knew they would pray and God would answer. I gave the nurse the telephone number, and soon the minister came, anointing me with oil according to the Scripture, and praying. God showed me a vision of the saints on their knees praying, and a voice said, “They are praying for you.” At that very moment the power of God came down and healed me instantly. I actually felt those broken bones knit together.

I was bandaged and sent home but did not find it necessary to stay in bed. Further examination two weeks later convinced the doctor that a miracle had been performed. Typed on my hospital record appears the notation, “This man received a wonderful healing of broken bones.” When God heals, He does a thorough work.

My heart is happy and I am rejoicing in this wonderful Gospel.