The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 12)

I could hardly think straight the following day. We didn't hear a thing about how the little boy was and I was too terrified to go to the house and ask. Half an hour before the meeting was due to start I asked Arthur, one of the team, if he wouldn't mind just popping over to the house to see how the boy was. Arthur, fearless as ever, left at once, only to return again within seconds. "Peter," he shouted, "there's about thirty people heading this way. I think they're coming to the meeting." Yes, I thought to myself, to lynch us all.

They all filed into the tent and sat, hands folded on laps, waiting for us to begin. I still didn't know the fate of the boy, but I had something else to worry about: how was I going to get through to all these solemn looking people?

"For goodness' sake, Arthur, play something," I whispered dramatically. Off he went to the piano and started to belt out a couple of choruses. Now these people had never been in a meeting in their lives before. One look at them was enough to tell you that. They just sat there wondering what was going on.

I couldn't bear to watch so I ducked out of the tent for a few words with the Almighty. "God," I said as soon as I got outside the tent flaps. "I don't know what to do or say. Please help me."

In seconds the Spirit shared His thoughts with me. "See that branch over there?" He said. I turned my head and saw a branch which some kids had broken off a beech tree. "I want you to take that into the meeting and preach on `I am the Vine'".

So I grabbed the six-foot-long branch and crawled under the tent flap dragging it behind me. If the congregation had been surprised by Arthur's choruses, they were even more surprised by my entrance. Come to think of it, Arthur seemed a bit stunned too.

I plonked the branch in the ground at the front and read the story of the vine from St John's Gospel. Then I snapped off some twigs, threw them down and said: "That's you: dead; no life, no sap, no nothing; you're without God." As I continued, one by one they fell to their knees crying, putting their lives right with God.

That was the beginning of the revival. It turned out that the little boy had been miraculously healed. Word spread like wildfire round the village. People came to the meetings from miles around and every night the Spirit of God was poured out on to dry and thirsty land. We just stood back and watched God have His way.

Since then God has often used me for healing, but sometimes He has kept me on tenterhooks. I remember praying for a woman in Plymouth who had a withered hand. After I'd said the prayer of faith, she looked down at her hand, exclaimed that it hadn't been healed, waved it in the air for all to see and stormed out. I prayed fervently that she wouldn't come back to any of the meetings because she was bad for my faith. I also told the Lord that I was upset by the affair. I was very relieved when she didn't show up the following night, but my heart sank as she walked into the tent on the third night. I knew that she thought I was a fake, and when they saw her unhealed hand others would doubtlessly agree with her.

I kept looking at her out of the corner of my eye during the meeting and I held my breath as I made the appeal. Sure enough, she got out of her seat and I was sure that she was going to make a scene. I called a local pastor over and asked him to take her to one side if she started to cause any trouble. Imagine my surprise when she ran down to the front full of the joys of spring. She was praising the Lord and waving her hand in the air; a hand which had been made perfectly whole. She told us that she had gone to the meeting that night to expose us as frauds, but as she was singing choruses her hand had been healed.

We saw many wonderful miracles during those times: God moved mightily and set many people free. I was thrilled to be in the Lord's service and my enthusiasm knew no bounds. I used every means I could to preach the gospel. In small towns and car parks I used to hide under the back seat of my big old Wolsley car and play Pat Boone records over a loudspeaker attached to a record player. People used to throng around to see what was going on, and then I would preach. I was often told I was a public nuisance. And I'm sure I was.

We made a habit of holding open-air meetings during the afternoons, much to the annoyance of the general public. One afternoon a man threw up his window and told us to push off. He was very angry and swore at us quite a lot, but we continued preaching the gospel. "You're disturbing my Sunday peace," he hollered over at us. "Sir," I said, turning towards his open window, "there is no peace for the wicked."

I thought he was going to have a heart attack, such was the colour of his face. But I carried on preaching, feeling sure that someone was going to get saved that afternoon.
Out of the corner of my eye I spied another man watching from his window. The Spirit told me to preach to the irate man, but said that the other man would get saved. Sure enough, down came the second man, crying to God, and God, as always, answered his cry and the man found peace.

Seeing God move more than made up for the discomfort and inconvenience of the travelling life. Barbara didn't complain once during those months, although her life was far from easy. She not only looked after her family and the team, but she also had to listen to my complaints when things weren't going right.