Eli and Rebecca Kasper

In May of 1923, Clarence Frost, who was always looking for an open door to proclaim the Gospel, led a team of Gospel workers from Medford, Oregon, over the Green Springs Mountain and into Klamath Falls. Back then, the road over the mountain was a muddy trail and not the highway it is today, so it seemed that the workers pushed the car as much as they drove it.

The men wore coveralls and rain gear over their suits, and had hip boots handy. After a long trip, they arrived in town and entered a restaurant where they caused quite a stir by their appearance. The people wanted to know who they were, why they were in town, and why they were dressed so strangely.

They said they were Christian missionaries and asked if anyone knew of someone who needed God’s help. The reply was, “Sure do,” and they were immediately pointed to Mom and Dad’s front door.

My parents had experienced heavy trials in their early married life. Their first child died at three months old; my dad had injured his back and was unable to work, leaving the family nearly destitute; and now their five-year-old son was dying of tubercular meningitis.

The workers knocked on the door and my dad answered. When they explained who they were and why they were there, he flung the door open wide and said, “Come right in!”

The team held a cottage meeting right then with testimonies, singing of hymns, and a sermon about Jesus and salvation. Afterward, Dad got down on his knees at a kitchen chair and prayed through to salvation. Then, he got up and sat on the chair while the workers anointed him with oil and prayed for his back. The Lord healed him instantly.

My mother was skeptical. She had witnessed my dad have good intentions before without following through. She decided to wait and see if there was a lasting change. After observing for a few days that his disposition was different—the scowl was gone from his voice—she said, “He could not have lasted this long in his own strength,” and she prayed and was saved.

In September, their young son died, but the Lord was with them and comforted them. This was during the Great Depression and times were hard. Many times the mills where my dad worked would close. When this happened, he would pick up his heavy tool box containing various tools and go out looking for work. For he took great note of the words in 1 Timothy 5:8, “But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.” He would go through the neighborhoods offering to repair such things as loose shingles or tiles and picket fences. Often the residents had no money to pay him, but he made the repairs anyway. Sometimes, he was paid in vegetables from a garden or eggs from a hen house. After a long day of hard work, he would take these things home and Mom would add them to whatever she had in the cupboard and in her own garden. I doubt if anyone in town ate better than we did, because Mom and Dad “provided for their own house.”

Mom did more than cook. Her theme was “May the Circle be Unbroken.” She read the Bible and prayed with us each day. I remember well how she would corner me up and remind me, “Floyd, you need to get right with God.” It took a while, but at the age of nineteen I did get right with God. Now of the total ten members of our family I am the only one living and I intend to keep “the circle unbroken.”

This testimony was written by their son, Floyd.