Ashland, Kentucky (1923 - 1924)
Quiet rest and light work on the farm helped. On March 6, 1923, a curly-headed brown-eyed baby boy came to bless our lives. I said to Mother Bolender, “There is Warren Hill.” We had named him for her father who had died when she was three. A few weeks passed, then a call came to pastor a new growing church at Ashland, Kentucky. For some weeks I wasn’t able to make the move, so he went by train over weekends. As soon as possible, we moved by boat from Chilo, Ohio, to Ashland, Kentucky. It was a pleasant trip up the Ohio River. Mother Bolender accompanied us to help care for our baby and got us set up housekeeping again. God blessed as Bro. Bolender led this glowing, growing group. Here we received our first regular salary of $20 per week. We were responsible for our house rent and utilities, but we received poundings[1] of food. We were happy and liked the work at the Normal Church. Rev. C.C. Brown was called to hold a revival with some visible results.
Early one Monday morning February 18, 1924, Vera Juanita was born.
[1] A pounding was an event where members of the church would give the pastor and family a pound of this and a pound of that.
Early one Monday morning February 18, 1924, Vera Juanita was born.
[1] A pounding was an event where members of the church would give the pastor and family a pound of this and a pound of that.
Warren (2 ½), Bertha, and Juanita (1 ½)
A childless couple in our church who had fallen deeply in love with our little Warren asked our permission to keep him during my confinement. This was a God-send, for the second night after Juanita's birth I got very sick. Each day I grew worse. We had a member of the church hired to do the work. Mother Bolender came and a nurse came on a 24 hour duty. She caught some sleep as Mother Bolender relieved her. I had a terrible infection that Mother Bolender said older people called child-bed fever. This infection brought on pneumonia. Brother Bolender asked for another doctor to come in consultation, but he apparently did not wish to get involved. Telegrams had been sent to God’s Bible School and Kingswood, our church school and headquarters at that time, asking for prayer. The Ashland Heights Church was praying. Their ladies prayer group met each morning to intercede for my life. With all that raging fever, I remained conscious. At times I may have drifted in to a half-conscious state. I remember the 23rd Psalm came very real, "Yea though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no eviI.” A quiet voice came to my soul: “This is not death, just the valley of the shadow.” At another time it seemed I was extended over a deep, deep chasm, but I felt, it seemed as real as if it was my own husband. The everlasting arms of my heavenly father were underneath me. Many gave up hopes of my recovery but Bro. G. C. Bevington who at that time was at Kingswood, had known me since I was 10 years old, went to his knees and prayed for 16 hours. He said he got the assurance I would not die. It seemed I got worse. A close friend of ours, Sr. Nellie Fugeat talked to my husband and said, "Harry, this doctor is going to let Bertha lie there and die. Please get Dr. Smith to see her.” The next morning Dr. Smith came. He took only one look and said, “You are going to the hospital.” I replied, “I will talk to my husband.” His reply was, “I am going to the hospital to order a bed for you. An ambulance will be here for you.”
So it was Mother Bolender who had to care for little Juanita. She had bathed and dressed her each morning and brought her in for me to see. She was the first girl to be born in the family in 34 years. My condition remained serious for four weeks. My feet were not off the bed except twice to be put on a stretcher. Saints kept praying. The doctor and nurses fought for my life. Finally that horrid fever broke and I began to improve. The night before I was released to go home, Dr. Smith came in and tried to tell me what a serious condition I had been in. He then added, “I have never seen one in such a condition improve as you have.” I replied, “Doctor, do you know that there have been about 1,000 people praying for my recovery?" I well remember his response, “That is just like you holy rollers, a doctor works himself to death to save your life, then you say the Lord did it.” Dr. Smith has passed on several years ago. I trust he learned how deeply he needed the help of the Lord.
How wonderful it was to be home, but I was very weak. The head surgeon said, I would never be normal without surgery, but they dared not attempt it at that time. My doctor seemed to think it might be avoided.
I had been too sick to realize my husband was on the verge of a total nervous break. The church was very understanding. Some local preachers had helped out in the services. This proved a problem. One Sunday when Bro. Bolender asked a brother who had preached some, to fill the pulpit, it so happened that the brother and his wife had had a serious disagreement before he left for church. He seemed agitated, but following the preliminaries, he rose, read some scripture and took a text, stumbled through some opening remarks, then to our utter astonishment, he started shouting, “Glory, hallelujah” at the top of his voice. At the same time he grabbed the opera type chairs on either side of him and banged them up and down still shouting “Glory to God.” Now Bro. McNurlin was a godly man and given to outbursts of praise in public services. But we were sure it was his quick wit that prompted his unusual actions. He not only drowned out most of the speaker’s unseasonable story, but also seemed to bring him to his senses for he finished his short sermon quite differently. Bro. McNurlin’s son who was later converted and called to preach, has pastored many years in Kentucky and now retired.[1]
It was not many weeks after my return from the hospital that Bro. Bolender realized that his condition would not permit him to conscientiously continue his work as pastor, so he resigned. A young man by the name of Laurence Williams and his new bride were called. They had just finished school at God’s Bible School. Somehow the news got out that newlyweds were coming. So without our endorsement, the local merchant along with neighbors decided a shivaree was due.[2]
After the evening meal we were gathered in the front room. The bride’s back was to the open window. Just at dusk guns fired not more than five feet behind her. Being surprised and frightened she ran across the room to her husband. For some time we listened to the shooting of fire crackers and beating of pans. We, nor the groom, were prepared to treat. Bro. Williams quietly went to the door, gave a young man money to go to a nearby store to purchase candy. The crowd was treated and quietly left. How relieved we were, for sometimes those affairs got pretty rough. After our nerves settled we had prayer and retired.
[1] The typewriter transcription of this portion has a note to omit it. Obviously there is some logical piece missing in this part of Bertha’s story. I am assuming that it was Bro. McNurlin who began shouting and banging the chairs in order to drown out the inappropriate things that the young preacher was saying.
[2] A shivaree, or charivari, or chivaree is a North American term for a clamorous salutation made to a newlywed couple by an assembled crowd of neighbours and friends.
So it was Mother Bolender who had to care for little Juanita. She had bathed and dressed her each morning and brought her in for me to see. She was the first girl to be born in the family in 34 years. My condition remained serious for four weeks. My feet were not off the bed except twice to be put on a stretcher. Saints kept praying. The doctor and nurses fought for my life. Finally that horrid fever broke and I began to improve. The night before I was released to go home, Dr. Smith came in and tried to tell me what a serious condition I had been in. He then added, “I have never seen one in such a condition improve as you have.” I replied, “Doctor, do you know that there have been about 1,000 people praying for my recovery?" I well remember his response, “That is just like you holy rollers, a doctor works himself to death to save your life, then you say the Lord did it.” Dr. Smith has passed on several years ago. I trust he learned how deeply he needed the help of the Lord.
How wonderful it was to be home, but I was very weak. The head surgeon said, I would never be normal without surgery, but they dared not attempt it at that time. My doctor seemed to think it might be avoided.
I had been too sick to realize my husband was on the verge of a total nervous break. The church was very understanding. Some local preachers had helped out in the services. This proved a problem. One Sunday when Bro. Bolender asked a brother who had preached some, to fill the pulpit, it so happened that the brother and his wife had had a serious disagreement before he left for church. He seemed agitated, but following the preliminaries, he rose, read some scripture and took a text, stumbled through some opening remarks, then to our utter astonishment, he started shouting, “Glory, hallelujah” at the top of his voice. At the same time he grabbed the opera type chairs on either side of him and banged them up and down still shouting “Glory to God.” Now Bro. McNurlin was a godly man and given to outbursts of praise in public services. But we were sure it was his quick wit that prompted his unusual actions. He not only drowned out most of the speaker’s unseasonable story, but also seemed to bring him to his senses for he finished his short sermon quite differently. Bro. McNurlin’s son who was later converted and called to preach, has pastored many years in Kentucky and now retired.[1]
It was not many weeks after my return from the hospital that Bro. Bolender realized that his condition would not permit him to conscientiously continue his work as pastor, so he resigned. A young man by the name of Laurence Williams and his new bride were called. They had just finished school at God’s Bible School. Somehow the news got out that newlyweds were coming. So without our endorsement, the local merchant along with neighbors decided a shivaree was due.[2]
After the evening meal we were gathered in the front room. The bride’s back was to the open window. Just at dusk guns fired not more than five feet behind her. Being surprised and frightened she ran across the room to her husband. For some time we listened to the shooting of fire crackers and beating of pans. We, nor the groom, were prepared to treat. Bro. Williams quietly went to the door, gave a young man money to go to a nearby store to purchase candy. The crowd was treated and quietly left. How relieved we were, for sometimes those affairs got pretty rough. After our nerves settled we had prayer and retired.
[1] The typewriter transcription of this portion has a note to omit it. Obviously there is some logical piece missing in this part of Bertha’s story. I am assuming that it was Bro. McNurlin who began shouting and banging the chairs in order to drown out the inappropriate things that the young preacher was saying.
[2] A shivaree, or charivari, or chivaree is a North American term for a clamorous salutation made to a newlywed couple by an assembled crowd of neighbours and friends.
