Ed Chastain

Mother and Father were Christians. They were saved when they were just young people, so I had the privilege and blessing of being raised in a Christian home. However, I didn’t give my heart to God. One time, some people stopped in Oklahoma, at the little town of Kelso, and held meetings for a while. I attended those meetings and saw the change God made in people’s lives. I too went to the altar, but I failed to pray through and receive salvation. I didn’t hear the real Gospel again until I came into contact with the Apostolic Faith Church people.

The first testimony I ever heard was from a man that I had worked with for years in various sawmills. He was one of the last men I expected to get saved. I was walking along the roadside in Wilderville, Oregon when he came by in an old buggy. He stopped, gave the reins of the horses to another man, and got down to talk to me. When I saw him, I thought, “Another lumber contract.” We had piled lumber under different contracts, but he didn’t talk about lumber. He began to tell me of the change God had made in his life; how God had saved him and given him peace and joy. It condemned me to hear him speak about being saved because I knew I was the same old sinner as when we had worked together. As soon as he was gone I said to myself, “Well, he won’t stay with it very long.”

Eight years later, he came to Selma, Oregon and began to hold meetings and preach the Gospel. One of the men from the Gospel meetings stopped at the sawmill where I was working and handed out papers and tracts. God spoke to my heart as I read some of those papers and they condemned me. One Sunday morning, as I was working out in the field at my home, some Gospel workers came by on their way to a meeting. I looked up and saw them and knew who they were, but I didn’t look again because it so condemned me; they were going to meeting and I was still the same old sinner.

I went to the house thinking about my Bible. I had a Bible that Mother had given us when we were married. I went up in the loft and took it down, wiped the cobwebs and dust off it, and laid it on the stand in the front room. If Brother Frost or Brother Rhoads stopped at my place, I would show them I had a Bible, too. It wasn’t very long until Brother Rhoads and his wife stopped at our place and stayed overnight and told us about my mother praying through at the meetings. (She had not been in meetings for quite a while and thought, no doubt, she had lost out.) He told us other things about the meetings that interested me, so I decided to go.

I said to my wife, “Let’s go to the meetings,” but she didn’t see it that way. She told me to go, but for her part she would have nothing to do with it. I saddled one of our ponies and rode over to the meeting and listened to the testimonies and to Brother Frost preach the Word of God. I saw what I had been missing and thought I would attend the meetings after that, but that night the meetings closed. I went to Grants Pass, Oregon, at different times and listened to them hold meetings on the street and down at the hall. I would usually stand just around the corner from where they held the street meetings. I didn’t want to be seen by the sawmill boys that I worked with, but I wanted to hear the testimonies. Then I would walk in another direction, go around a few blocks, and wind up down at the hall where they were holding services.

One Sunday, my brother and his wife were going to a service in Medford, Oregon and asked me to go along. I sat in the back seat of the hall and listened to the story once more. Tears ran down my face; I knew I needed what they were talking about. At the close of the meeting, Brother Otto Guddat stepped over and asked me if I wanted to go pray. I told him I did, so I went to the altar and wept and cried like a little child, but I didn’t get saved.

Tears ran down my face; I knew I needed what they were talking about.

We went back to Grants Pass for another meeting. I went to the altar there, but still didn’t receive salvation. While traveling home from the meeting in Grants Pass, I promised God I would go home, take down my Bible, read a chapter, and pray before I went to bed. I didn’t know just what it would mean for me to read and have prayer, because my wife had told me she would have nothing to do with the Gospel. I began to hope my wife would be in bed, so I wouldn’t have to go through with the confrontation that night. When I got near the house, I saw the light shining from the window and I knew if I didn’t do what I promised God I would do, God wouldn’t do anything for me. Instead of going in the house, I went down by a little creek that ran behind the house, got down on my knees, and asked God just to help me do the thing I promised. Finally I went into the house. I began to tell my wife about the testimonies I had heard. I was a little surprised that she was so content to listen. Finally I told her how I had promised God I was going to read a chapter and have prayer before I went to bed. I got the Bible, read part of a chapter, and got down to pray the best I knew how.

I hadn’t been praying very long when I heard my wife and some of the children crying. They didn’t know what to think because they had never seen me pray. I prayed for a while, and then went to my bedroom, knelt by the bed, and prayed again. Finally I got in bed and was still enough to hear the Lord talk to me. The Lord said, “You have come home, read, prayed, and have done all you said you were going to do, but what are you going to do now?” I said, “Lord, I am lost; I have done all I know to do and I am lost except You have mercy and save me.” That very minute Jesus spoke peace to my soul. That old burden of sin rolled off and I knew I was saved; I knew I had the thing these people had been telling me about. Four days later, the meetings started up the second time at Selma. My wife went with me to the meetings and God saved her, too.

We had only been saved a few days when we came down with the flu and our little girl became very sick. We sent word to the Apostolic Faith people to pray. We thought they would pray where they were holding meetings, but Sister Frost and Sister Barnum came over and prayed in person for that little child. As soon as they left, she slid off her mother’s lap and played as if she had never been sick. It was surprising how quickly God made the change in that child.

After we were saved, I felt I had to be in the meetings. I had a good job at the sawmill and had a lease on the place where I was living, but I made up my mind to move to Medford where I could be in the services. I went to the boss and told him that I was going to quit. He said, “Now, what’s the matter? You complained about the sawdust being set afire by the burner, but I will fix that by tomorrow.” I told him that wasn’t it. He said, “You can have any job in the mill that you think you can handle.” I told him I was satisfied with the job I had. Then I told him about how I had prayed and God had saved me. As I was testifying, he got still and seemed as if he wasn’t paying any attention to me, so I quit talking. Then he began to weep; tears ran out of his eyes and he said, “Ed, my mother was a praying Methodist,” and then I knew it was his mother’s prayers working on him more than what I was saying.

He said, “All right, I will get a man in your place, but I want you to stay a few days until he catches on to marking the boards.” I was marking the grade on the boards as they came out of the mill. I thought a lot of my boss, Charlie Welter. I said, “Charlie, I will work a week for you for nothing and you can pay the man who is learning,” but he said, “No, you will be paid as long as you stay.” I stayed three days and marked boards as the man watched me. During those three days, word got around the sawmill that I was leaving. I had cows, wagon and team, and farm implements to dispose of, but I hardly had a chance to offer any of those things for sale. The boys in the mill and the neighbors came asking, “What would you take for this? And for that?” Soon, they bought everything I had. In three days, I believe, I was sold out. I hired Curlis Gilman to move me into Medford with his truck. When the truck got loaded, my boss came over and said, “Ed, when you want to go to work again, don’t write and ask for a job, just come back and there will be a job ready for you.”

I came to Medford and went to work for a little less than I was getting at the mill. We made five different moves for different reasons. When most of our money was gone, and I didn’t have a steady job, my wife said, “We are right down to our last dollar.” We had five children to look after at the time. I said I would have a talk with Brother Frost that night and if he thought I should go back to the mill, I would. I thought it would be a reproach to the Gospel if I went back because I had told the boys I was leaving to be in the Gospel.

While I was waiting to see Brother Frost that night, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door, and Bill Spaulding, another sawmill man that I had worked for, was standing at the door. He said, “Do you want to go to work?” He had a sawmill about a mile and a half from my old mill and I knew I didn’t want to go there, so I hesitated a moment. I asked him, “Where?” He said, “Right here in town. I have a lot of lumber in the south end of town that I have sold, but I have agreed to load it on the cars and I want you to help me.” I said, “When do we start?” He said, “Tomorrow morning.” I went to work for him and I wasn’t out of a job again until time for the camp meeting in Portland, Oregon. By then I had enough money to attend part of the camp meeting. I think the Lord had a hand in these things and I certainly thank God for it.