Soldier, Kentucky (1920 - 1923)
Harry Bolender
At the district assembly of 1921, held in Covington, Kentucky, we were appointed to a circuit of four churches in Carter County: Olive Hill, Soldier, Smoky Valley, and Globe. The understanding was that we would live at Soldier. It is in the mountains and we would have some adjustments to make which we did without any difficulty. We were directed to the Stewart Vincent home. There we received a warm welcome and were assigned a room in their lovely two-story house. We stayed there until we could find a place to live. Mr. Vincent was a tall, dignified gentleman one of the outstanding men of the little town. He had been a member of a church and lived a moral life, but we soon learned he was not a truly converted Christian. His wife and oldest daughter Jenny had been gloriously saved and sanctified.
Different preachers had come to conduct revivals and souls sought God. A church was organized. They worshipped in one of the town lodge halls. Brother Bolender began organizing the services for his four congregations. A business meeting was called at Olive Hill. We had learned that some of the congregation were not in favor of a new pastor. Two local men had been pastoring: Bro Andrew and Bro. Elwood Qualls. A vote was taken. Brother Bolender was relieved of the Olive Hill Church. He assured them that he was satisfied with the decision since he felt the other three were about all we needed. We had services every Sunday morning and night at Soldier. We divided time between the two other churches. He was the pastor, but both of us preached somewhere, every Sunday.
We had experiences that we could never forget. Soon after our arrival we went to cottage prayer meeting. The house was packed. As we entered, all coats and hats were put on a bed. Mother Bolender had given my husband a very nice Stetson hat for his birthday. Naturally, it was laid on the bed also. We had a good meeting and were introduced to a lot of new people. We were among the last to leave. The preacher’s hat was gone. We never did see it again.
We soon moved into a new little house about a half mile from town. We were responsible for the rent. Plans were being made to build a church and Mr. Vincent donated land on which to build it. He also drew up plans and loaned the money needed for the materials. Much of the labor was volunteered. In an amazingly short time, we held our first service in the new church. When one payment was due, Mr. Vincent and Jenny Vincent wrote out a petition asking for donations. Mr. Vincent gave Brother Bolender a list of wholesale houses and influential men in Ashland, Kentucky. Bro. John Fleming, the pastor of the Ashland Heights church, gave some additional names. Brother Bolender returned with more than what was needed to meet the payment.
Many of the mountain people felt it was wrong for a preacher to be paid. The gospel was free. Preachers should work like everybody else and preach on Sunday. One Sunday night Bro. Bolender was at one of the other churches for the weekend. That meant I had to lead the service at Soldier. When I announced that the evening offering would be taken a woman stood to her feet and said, “If I had a nickel to give, I’d give it to some poor widow woman.” I calmly replied, "Sister Madden, when the Lord tells you to give a widow a nickel, you be sure to do it.” Many times the offerings were very slim and sometimes wads of chewing tobacco would be thrown into the hats that were used before offering plates were purchased.
Whiskey was plentiful in those mountains. We have seen half of the men in the church on Sunday night drunk. Thank God few women drank intoxicating liquor in those days. Most young men carried a gun. We became accustomed to hearing guns fired just ahead of us while walking the railroad to our home after a service. Then immediately, someone behind us would answer with a volley of shots.
Brother Bolender never begged for money. He tried to preach God’s method of supporting his work by bringing in tithes and offerings. We tried to do our best in the services and believed God to supply our needs. I think the nearest we ever came to real want was on this charge. I only had some home-cured side meat and meal to fry corn cakes. I fried the side meat good and brown, made the corn cakes, and poured water into glasses. We sat down to give thanks for our dinner. Soon we heard the sound of horses' hoofs and the grinding of wagon wheels which stopped right in front of our door. Our dear church people, friends, and I am sure the two merchants in town, contributed to a wagon load of food and supplies. We tried our best to express our thanks to the Lord and to His people.
Rev. William Bearns was our district superintendent at that time. We asked him to hold a revival at Soldier, the first revival in the only church the town had ever had. Crowds came, both young and old. God mightily used His servants as Mr. Bearns preached the Word in both morning and night services. Saints were blest and edified. Souls were saved and sanctified and shouts of victory ascended to Heaven. God truly visited His people. Bro. Bearns was called for another revival a few months later. The church was growing and was in good condition. Several were on our definite prayer lists. Among these was the Vincents' son-in-law, a backslider. Night after night as others made their way to the altar, he would leave the church. We held on in prayer. One night, we could tell he was under deep conviction, but he went home. The power of the Holy Spirit so pierced his soul with conviction that he ran back to the church and fell at the altar. After praying awhile, he raised his head and asked a question. I had never heard it before. “If a backslider comes back to God do all the sins they had committed before they were first saved stand against them?” he asked. Bro. Bearns replied, “No, God says when He forgives our sins, He puts them in the sea of forgetfulness, to remember them no more.” Pierce began to pray earnestly and soon came through with victory. This has been over 60 years ago and neither of us can remember if it was the first or second of the revivals in which we had counted 40 people who had been either saved or sanctified.
I will now turn my account to the other two churches. Globe was near enough to Soldier that we usually rode one of Mr. Vincent's horses. I can remember riding horseback through the woods during a snowstorm to preach. Mr. Tom Bond, who lived in the neighborhood, had been holding services. He was very cooperative. We were entertained in his home many times. The building was very small and was built of rough, unfinished planks. We were well treated by the small group who came to the services, but nothing would move them. We called Rev. H. B. Lucas who was pastoring the Rush church. Bro. Lucas was a rough, sinful, and uneducated man from the mountains who had been marvelously saved and sanctified, and called to preach. He rode quite a distance on horseback and carried a lantern. He preached from night to night, but we could see and feel that something was hindering the revival. On Sunday morning after Brother Lucas had brought forth a searching message, a man came to the altar. The seeker was a professing Christian. Some gathered to pray. Soon our seeker recognized that his neighbor, another professing Christian, was among those gathered for prayer. He looked his neighbor in the face, accused him of doing wrong, and brought to light that these two professing Christians were quarreling over property boundaries. No reconciliations were made. The revival efforts closed. We continued filling our appointments but were never able to see God's Kingdom progress. Oh, that professing Christians would live Christ-like, unselfish lives!
Next, we went to Smoky Valley. To reach this church, we took the train to Olive Hill where we met Mr. Coleman. He owned a store in this valley and hauled his supplies in a two-horse wagon. As far as we knew, Mr. Coleman was not a Christian, but he was an accommodating gentleman. We were entertained at the home of one of the members of the church; a very nice lady and they had one of the nicest homes in the community. He was the only child of a deceased M.D. He had a good education and was well mannered, but he was an alcoholic.
The church was an old building. We did not get much information about what denomination had built it, but we did hear of mighty revivals of the past. In fact, Edward C. Oney, a schoolmate of ours at God's Bible School, had been saved in one of those revivals. Ed was a rounder[1] and many people had feared him. He often testified to what God had saved him from. One thing I remember he said was that he and some other rough boys used to go to night services. They would slip to windows and shoot lights on the opposite wall. There were some real Christians in those mountains who prayed for Ed Oney. The blessed Holy Spirit finally brought him under such conviction for sin that he went to church on Sunday morning. Many were frightened, but Ed had not come to make trouble. At the close of the service, he made is way to the altar of prayer. He prayed and many others prayed with him. People began leaving. Finally, all but one older saint had gone home for dinner. Ed prayed on until in the late afternoon. He, by faith, took hold of the nail-scared hand and became a new creature in Christ Jesus. He was a bright and shining light and spent time in Japan as a missionary. He pastored and evangelized, then served as district superintendent of the Nazarene Church in West Virginia for years. Two or three years ago, he passed on to his reward.
Brother Bill Jessie, a very faithful servant of God and local preacher, had been keeping Sunday School and services. He welcomed the new pastor, and a revival was scheduled. Bro. Bolender went on Saturday, leaving me with the Soldier services. I was to follow on Monday, when I arrived. I had time to meet our hostess. My husband thought I should be informed of conditions. Dock had been drunk over the weekend and came in his bedroom. Dock awakened him and begged him to pray. Dock thought he was going to drop into Hell. No man that drunk is in any condition to seek God. Bro. Bolender thought it was best for him to get on his knees and pray for himself. He continued to deal with Dock until he got him worn down enough to persuade him to lie down. He was soon asleep, so the weary preacher laid down on the other side and went to sleep also. By the time I got there on Monday, Dock was fully sober. I was rather disturbed, and would have been glad if we could have stayed somewhere else. Dock remained sober and went to most of the services. We had crowds. People came from miles around. There were lots of mountaineer “hard-shelled” Baptists. They fought Holiness and one had even threatened Bro. Jessie’s life. They taught that some are born to be saved, and some to be lost.
Night after night, God helped Bro. Bolender preach, but no response to the invitation. Finally, five came and prayed earnestly. No one got through. This continued for four nights. We were puzzled, but kept right on. On the fifth night, one got saved and jumped to her feet, shouting and praising God. At that instant, rocks began to pelt the back of the church. That did not disturb the service. As another got through, more rocks hit the church. All five prayed through. The saints rejoiced that daughters were saved that night. Iva, the older of the two, was truly filled with holy Iaughter. When the service was over, all of us started home. The Jessies mounted their horses, while some of us stood and listened to Iva's laughter. They rode off into the distance while we watched. The next morning, Mrs. Jessie sent Iva to the store. Iva thought, “I must not start laughing while I’m there.” She tied her horse to a hitching post, and entered the store. Some men were sitting on nail kegs, talking and chewing tobacco. Mr. Coleman stepped up to Iva and said, “What can I do for you?” Just then, that spirit-filled laughter spilled forth. After God had used her in His own way as a witness to those men, she was able to have her mother’s order filled, and returned home.
The whole community was stirred. Things happened that makes me think of happenings in Peter Cartwright's revivals. One woman was seized with deep conviction, but she did not go to the altar. God continued to speak. She trembled and shook for three days. The pans and skillets on her stove rattled when she prepared meals. She still resisted God. I have wondered if some people got their last call in that meeting.
Money was scarce in those mountains. Our offering was small. The folks decided to give the preacher a gift. On Friday night they came to church with sacks of food. After church, we had all our arms and hands loaded. We saw that Dock was drunk. We crossed the road in front of the church, went over a style, which was steps built on both sides of a tall wire farm fence. It had rained and the ground was muddy. All of us had on overshoes. Brother Bolender tried to help Dock cross the style, but in spite of all he could do, poor Dock fell into the mud. Patiently, the good man of God recrossed the style and gathered his packages. We started our trip down the muddy path. Several times, Dock would say to his good wife, "Tiley, this is an outrage, disgrace, and scandal. Will you ever forgive me?" Each time, it added to the dear woman's embarrassment. One of my overshoes came off. There was nothing to do but to put my packages down in order to put the overshoe back on. A sack containing rice got wet, and our precious rice began to spill. I managed to turn the bag and save most of it. Finally, we reached a narrow foot bridge stretching across a small stream near their home. We crossed safely with all our cargo, but Dock fell into the creek. This somewhat sobered him. We noticed that he removed a bottle from his hip pocket and hid it behind a log before going into the house. Well, we did no singing or shouting on our way home that night, but we were thankful that his good wife succeeded in getting him quietly into bed.
That Saturday, a county officer from town came out and insisted that Bro. Bolender close the revival. He said, “If you don’t, there is going to be one of the worst killings this valley has ever known. Bro. Bolender talked calmly with him, showing no fear or anxiety. He asked the officer to come out and keep order; this the officer consented to do. The church was filled. Many stayed outside. We heard later that the first man the officer met was his own uncle. He had come with five gallons of moonshine whiskey to sell or give away to the gang who had planned to break up the meeting. The officer advised his uncle to take his whiskey and go home. He did. Our revival closed in victory with no further disturbance.
We had a good year at Smoky Valley. The two Jessie girls are still living. Both are retired school teachers. Their father, who had stood for God and holiness for so many years, had long since gone to his reward. Just recently, we had the privilege of attending the memorial service at our 1983 conference, though I was in a wheelchair. Among the many dear friends who greeted us, were Iva Jessie and Jennie Vincent. Both are standing firm to the standards of Godliness taught in the Word.
When we lived at Soldier, most of our activities were centered there. One morning at Sunday school, Sister Jenny Vincent announced that a family was sick and in need. The 1922 epidemic of influenza was raging. The church ladies got together supplies that they felt would be needed. I accompanied Jenny and Sr. Vincent. We were not prepared for what we saw at the mountain cabin. The mother lay on one bed with a three-year-old boy tugging at her breast. Across the room in another bed, lay the father and a 17-year-old son. They had returned from the clay mines too sick to remove their clothes or shoes. In another room, lay two girls on old coats and dirty scraps of bed quilts and rags. I can't remember who took the baby from his dying mother's body. We soon saw that she was gone. The baby was taken to someone who would care for him. I was left to begin the preparation of the body for burial. First, I had to search for scissors or a knife sharp enough to cut the three dresses off her body. One dress was as dirty as the others. I found a basin, water, and a wash cloth, and a towel among other things we had brought with us. I needed more supplies, but with soap, I did the best I could to prepare the body for burial. I was glad when someone came with clean, if not new, clothes to put on her and to help to change the bed. We waited for the arrival of a coffin. I cannot remember if a cheap one was bought at Olive Hill, or if the neighbors made one. Under conditions, it was necessary to proceed with the burial when the grave was ready. A horse-drawn wagon conveyed the body to the little mountain graveyard. A song, scripture reading and prayer with the committal concluded the graveside service.
I arrived home a sick woman with the flu. The father of the sick family died that night and was buried by his wife. After the committal, Brother Bolender came home very sick. During the night, he got up and unlocked the door. He feared by morning, neither of us would be able to do so. When no one had seen us for a day or so, one of the church folk came and did what they could, but many were sick. The family of orphans had to be cared for, and everybody was frightened of the flu. One morning, the door opened after a light knock. In walked a young lady. She greeted us cheerfully, and took charge. She was a niece of Brother or Sister Adams who had learned of our condition. She was not a Christian, but she was an angel of mercy. She bathed our fevered foreheads, gave us medicine, and prepared food at her home for us. She would go home to cook for her husband, and then return to care for us. She faithfully continued this until Herbert, my husband's brother, arrived from Ohio. By that time, the Lord and our friend had us on the way to recovery. Hundreds of times we have thought of that young lady and given thanks to God, but down through the many years, her name has slipped our minds.
About 50 years later we received a letter with a return address and name. It was from our long-lost nurse. She had gotten our address, I suppose, from Jenny Vincent. She had become a nurse after she had left Soldier. Her husband had died, leaving her with a daughter. The long-lost nurse was losing her eyesight. It was a joy to answer that letter to express our appreciation for all she had done for us. We never heard from her again though. I must say all those children pulled through the flu. The oldest son shifted for himself. The younger children were sent to our church orphanage at Kingswood, Kentucky.
As soon as we were able to travel, Herbert took us home. We returned to our charge, but Brother Bolender’s health could not take the strain. He felt he must resign and take further rest.
The work there continued to move on. Several years later, a friend preacher of ours told us of his holding a meeting at Soldier. One night, a drunk came in, sat down by some young girls, and began disturbing in a very embarrassing way. Some men walked over and grabbed him. One grabbed his arms and the other grabbed his body. Another grabbed around his legs. They then carried him to a vacant seat and called, "Cut the bell rope!” They proceeded to tie him to the pew, then turned, and said, “Brother Delaney, go on and preach.” You may feel as he did (How can a man preach after that?) but somehow the service was finished.
I feel impressed to relate one more experience related to the Soldier Church. Years rolled by and our good friend Stewart Vincent never seemed to realize that baptism, church membership, and a good moral life are not sufficient to prepare us for heaven. His wife and Jenny kept on praying. One day ________[2] remarked to a friend, "Jenny might as well quit praying. That old man will never be saved.” But thank God, when he was past 80, he acknowledged his need and received the witness of the new birth.
That first church that we saw built in 1922 served over 50 years. Bro. F. Greene, after serving as pastor for several years, was able to see a nice new church built in a much better location. What a thrill it was when our grandson, Joel, took us back to Soldier for the dedication of the new church in 1982.
In the autumn of 1923, the district assembly was held at Soldier, Kentucky. That was soon after we moved to Ashland. I was unable to go so I missed witnessing a very important event in our lives. Bro. Bolender was ordained as a minister of the Gospel.
[1] An expert card player who travels around to seek out high-stakes games
[2] Missing word or words.
Different preachers had come to conduct revivals and souls sought God. A church was organized. They worshipped in one of the town lodge halls. Brother Bolender began organizing the services for his four congregations. A business meeting was called at Olive Hill. We had learned that some of the congregation were not in favor of a new pastor. Two local men had been pastoring: Bro Andrew and Bro. Elwood Qualls. A vote was taken. Brother Bolender was relieved of the Olive Hill Church. He assured them that he was satisfied with the decision since he felt the other three were about all we needed. We had services every Sunday morning and night at Soldier. We divided time between the two other churches. He was the pastor, but both of us preached somewhere, every Sunday.
We had experiences that we could never forget. Soon after our arrival we went to cottage prayer meeting. The house was packed. As we entered, all coats and hats were put on a bed. Mother Bolender had given my husband a very nice Stetson hat for his birthday. Naturally, it was laid on the bed also. We had a good meeting and were introduced to a lot of new people. We were among the last to leave. The preacher’s hat was gone. We never did see it again.
We soon moved into a new little house about a half mile from town. We were responsible for the rent. Plans were being made to build a church and Mr. Vincent donated land on which to build it. He also drew up plans and loaned the money needed for the materials. Much of the labor was volunteered. In an amazingly short time, we held our first service in the new church. When one payment was due, Mr. Vincent and Jenny Vincent wrote out a petition asking for donations. Mr. Vincent gave Brother Bolender a list of wholesale houses and influential men in Ashland, Kentucky. Bro. John Fleming, the pastor of the Ashland Heights church, gave some additional names. Brother Bolender returned with more than what was needed to meet the payment.
Many of the mountain people felt it was wrong for a preacher to be paid. The gospel was free. Preachers should work like everybody else and preach on Sunday. One Sunday night Bro. Bolender was at one of the other churches for the weekend. That meant I had to lead the service at Soldier. When I announced that the evening offering would be taken a woman stood to her feet and said, “If I had a nickel to give, I’d give it to some poor widow woman.” I calmly replied, "Sister Madden, when the Lord tells you to give a widow a nickel, you be sure to do it.” Many times the offerings were very slim and sometimes wads of chewing tobacco would be thrown into the hats that were used before offering plates were purchased.
Whiskey was plentiful in those mountains. We have seen half of the men in the church on Sunday night drunk. Thank God few women drank intoxicating liquor in those days. Most young men carried a gun. We became accustomed to hearing guns fired just ahead of us while walking the railroad to our home after a service. Then immediately, someone behind us would answer with a volley of shots.
Brother Bolender never begged for money. He tried to preach God’s method of supporting his work by bringing in tithes and offerings. We tried to do our best in the services and believed God to supply our needs. I think the nearest we ever came to real want was on this charge. I only had some home-cured side meat and meal to fry corn cakes. I fried the side meat good and brown, made the corn cakes, and poured water into glasses. We sat down to give thanks for our dinner. Soon we heard the sound of horses' hoofs and the grinding of wagon wheels which stopped right in front of our door. Our dear church people, friends, and I am sure the two merchants in town, contributed to a wagon load of food and supplies. We tried our best to express our thanks to the Lord and to His people.
Rev. William Bearns was our district superintendent at that time. We asked him to hold a revival at Soldier, the first revival in the only church the town had ever had. Crowds came, both young and old. God mightily used His servants as Mr. Bearns preached the Word in both morning and night services. Saints were blest and edified. Souls were saved and sanctified and shouts of victory ascended to Heaven. God truly visited His people. Bro. Bearns was called for another revival a few months later. The church was growing and was in good condition. Several were on our definite prayer lists. Among these was the Vincents' son-in-law, a backslider. Night after night as others made their way to the altar, he would leave the church. We held on in prayer. One night, we could tell he was under deep conviction, but he went home. The power of the Holy Spirit so pierced his soul with conviction that he ran back to the church and fell at the altar. After praying awhile, he raised his head and asked a question. I had never heard it before. “If a backslider comes back to God do all the sins they had committed before they were first saved stand against them?” he asked. Bro. Bearns replied, “No, God says when He forgives our sins, He puts them in the sea of forgetfulness, to remember them no more.” Pierce began to pray earnestly and soon came through with victory. This has been over 60 years ago and neither of us can remember if it was the first or second of the revivals in which we had counted 40 people who had been either saved or sanctified.
I will now turn my account to the other two churches. Globe was near enough to Soldier that we usually rode one of Mr. Vincent's horses. I can remember riding horseback through the woods during a snowstorm to preach. Mr. Tom Bond, who lived in the neighborhood, had been holding services. He was very cooperative. We were entertained in his home many times. The building was very small and was built of rough, unfinished planks. We were well treated by the small group who came to the services, but nothing would move them. We called Rev. H. B. Lucas who was pastoring the Rush church. Bro. Lucas was a rough, sinful, and uneducated man from the mountains who had been marvelously saved and sanctified, and called to preach. He rode quite a distance on horseback and carried a lantern. He preached from night to night, but we could see and feel that something was hindering the revival. On Sunday morning after Brother Lucas had brought forth a searching message, a man came to the altar. The seeker was a professing Christian. Some gathered to pray. Soon our seeker recognized that his neighbor, another professing Christian, was among those gathered for prayer. He looked his neighbor in the face, accused him of doing wrong, and brought to light that these two professing Christians were quarreling over property boundaries. No reconciliations were made. The revival efforts closed. We continued filling our appointments but were never able to see God's Kingdom progress. Oh, that professing Christians would live Christ-like, unselfish lives!
Next, we went to Smoky Valley. To reach this church, we took the train to Olive Hill where we met Mr. Coleman. He owned a store in this valley and hauled his supplies in a two-horse wagon. As far as we knew, Mr. Coleman was not a Christian, but he was an accommodating gentleman. We were entertained at the home of one of the members of the church; a very nice lady and they had one of the nicest homes in the community. He was the only child of a deceased M.D. He had a good education and was well mannered, but he was an alcoholic.
The church was an old building. We did not get much information about what denomination had built it, but we did hear of mighty revivals of the past. In fact, Edward C. Oney, a schoolmate of ours at God's Bible School, had been saved in one of those revivals. Ed was a rounder[1] and many people had feared him. He often testified to what God had saved him from. One thing I remember he said was that he and some other rough boys used to go to night services. They would slip to windows and shoot lights on the opposite wall. There were some real Christians in those mountains who prayed for Ed Oney. The blessed Holy Spirit finally brought him under such conviction for sin that he went to church on Sunday morning. Many were frightened, but Ed had not come to make trouble. At the close of the service, he made is way to the altar of prayer. He prayed and many others prayed with him. People began leaving. Finally, all but one older saint had gone home for dinner. Ed prayed on until in the late afternoon. He, by faith, took hold of the nail-scared hand and became a new creature in Christ Jesus. He was a bright and shining light and spent time in Japan as a missionary. He pastored and evangelized, then served as district superintendent of the Nazarene Church in West Virginia for years. Two or three years ago, he passed on to his reward.
Brother Bill Jessie, a very faithful servant of God and local preacher, had been keeping Sunday School and services. He welcomed the new pastor, and a revival was scheduled. Bro. Bolender went on Saturday, leaving me with the Soldier services. I was to follow on Monday, when I arrived. I had time to meet our hostess. My husband thought I should be informed of conditions. Dock had been drunk over the weekend and came in his bedroom. Dock awakened him and begged him to pray. Dock thought he was going to drop into Hell. No man that drunk is in any condition to seek God. Bro. Bolender thought it was best for him to get on his knees and pray for himself. He continued to deal with Dock until he got him worn down enough to persuade him to lie down. He was soon asleep, so the weary preacher laid down on the other side and went to sleep also. By the time I got there on Monday, Dock was fully sober. I was rather disturbed, and would have been glad if we could have stayed somewhere else. Dock remained sober and went to most of the services. We had crowds. People came from miles around. There were lots of mountaineer “hard-shelled” Baptists. They fought Holiness and one had even threatened Bro. Jessie’s life. They taught that some are born to be saved, and some to be lost.
Night after night, God helped Bro. Bolender preach, but no response to the invitation. Finally, five came and prayed earnestly. No one got through. This continued for four nights. We were puzzled, but kept right on. On the fifth night, one got saved and jumped to her feet, shouting and praising God. At that instant, rocks began to pelt the back of the church. That did not disturb the service. As another got through, more rocks hit the church. All five prayed through. The saints rejoiced that daughters were saved that night. Iva, the older of the two, was truly filled with holy Iaughter. When the service was over, all of us started home. The Jessies mounted their horses, while some of us stood and listened to Iva's laughter. They rode off into the distance while we watched. The next morning, Mrs. Jessie sent Iva to the store. Iva thought, “I must not start laughing while I’m there.” She tied her horse to a hitching post, and entered the store. Some men were sitting on nail kegs, talking and chewing tobacco. Mr. Coleman stepped up to Iva and said, “What can I do for you?” Just then, that spirit-filled laughter spilled forth. After God had used her in His own way as a witness to those men, she was able to have her mother’s order filled, and returned home.
The whole community was stirred. Things happened that makes me think of happenings in Peter Cartwright's revivals. One woman was seized with deep conviction, but she did not go to the altar. God continued to speak. She trembled and shook for three days. The pans and skillets on her stove rattled when she prepared meals. She still resisted God. I have wondered if some people got their last call in that meeting.
Money was scarce in those mountains. Our offering was small. The folks decided to give the preacher a gift. On Friday night they came to church with sacks of food. After church, we had all our arms and hands loaded. We saw that Dock was drunk. We crossed the road in front of the church, went over a style, which was steps built on both sides of a tall wire farm fence. It had rained and the ground was muddy. All of us had on overshoes. Brother Bolender tried to help Dock cross the style, but in spite of all he could do, poor Dock fell into the mud. Patiently, the good man of God recrossed the style and gathered his packages. We started our trip down the muddy path. Several times, Dock would say to his good wife, "Tiley, this is an outrage, disgrace, and scandal. Will you ever forgive me?" Each time, it added to the dear woman's embarrassment. One of my overshoes came off. There was nothing to do but to put my packages down in order to put the overshoe back on. A sack containing rice got wet, and our precious rice began to spill. I managed to turn the bag and save most of it. Finally, we reached a narrow foot bridge stretching across a small stream near their home. We crossed safely with all our cargo, but Dock fell into the creek. This somewhat sobered him. We noticed that he removed a bottle from his hip pocket and hid it behind a log before going into the house. Well, we did no singing or shouting on our way home that night, but we were thankful that his good wife succeeded in getting him quietly into bed.
That Saturday, a county officer from town came out and insisted that Bro. Bolender close the revival. He said, “If you don’t, there is going to be one of the worst killings this valley has ever known. Bro. Bolender talked calmly with him, showing no fear or anxiety. He asked the officer to come out and keep order; this the officer consented to do. The church was filled. Many stayed outside. We heard later that the first man the officer met was his own uncle. He had come with five gallons of moonshine whiskey to sell or give away to the gang who had planned to break up the meeting. The officer advised his uncle to take his whiskey and go home. He did. Our revival closed in victory with no further disturbance.
We had a good year at Smoky Valley. The two Jessie girls are still living. Both are retired school teachers. Their father, who had stood for God and holiness for so many years, had long since gone to his reward. Just recently, we had the privilege of attending the memorial service at our 1983 conference, though I was in a wheelchair. Among the many dear friends who greeted us, were Iva Jessie and Jennie Vincent. Both are standing firm to the standards of Godliness taught in the Word.
When we lived at Soldier, most of our activities were centered there. One morning at Sunday school, Sister Jenny Vincent announced that a family was sick and in need. The 1922 epidemic of influenza was raging. The church ladies got together supplies that they felt would be needed. I accompanied Jenny and Sr. Vincent. We were not prepared for what we saw at the mountain cabin. The mother lay on one bed with a three-year-old boy tugging at her breast. Across the room in another bed, lay the father and a 17-year-old son. They had returned from the clay mines too sick to remove their clothes or shoes. In another room, lay two girls on old coats and dirty scraps of bed quilts and rags. I can't remember who took the baby from his dying mother's body. We soon saw that she was gone. The baby was taken to someone who would care for him. I was left to begin the preparation of the body for burial. First, I had to search for scissors or a knife sharp enough to cut the three dresses off her body. One dress was as dirty as the others. I found a basin, water, and a wash cloth, and a towel among other things we had brought with us. I needed more supplies, but with soap, I did the best I could to prepare the body for burial. I was glad when someone came with clean, if not new, clothes to put on her and to help to change the bed. We waited for the arrival of a coffin. I cannot remember if a cheap one was bought at Olive Hill, or if the neighbors made one. Under conditions, it was necessary to proceed with the burial when the grave was ready. A horse-drawn wagon conveyed the body to the little mountain graveyard. A song, scripture reading and prayer with the committal concluded the graveside service.
I arrived home a sick woman with the flu. The father of the sick family died that night and was buried by his wife. After the committal, Brother Bolender came home very sick. During the night, he got up and unlocked the door. He feared by morning, neither of us would be able to do so. When no one had seen us for a day or so, one of the church folk came and did what they could, but many were sick. The family of orphans had to be cared for, and everybody was frightened of the flu. One morning, the door opened after a light knock. In walked a young lady. She greeted us cheerfully, and took charge. She was a niece of Brother or Sister Adams who had learned of our condition. She was not a Christian, but she was an angel of mercy. She bathed our fevered foreheads, gave us medicine, and prepared food at her home for us. She would go home to cook for her husband, and then return to care for us. She faithfully continued this until Herbert, my husband's brother, arrived from Ohio. By that time, the Lord and our friend had us on the way to recovery. Hundreds of times we have thought of that young lady and given thanks to God, but down through the many years, her name has slipped our minds.
About 50 years later we received a letter with a return address and name. It was from our long-lost nurse. She had gotten our address, I suppose, from Jenny Vincent. She had become a nurse after she had left Soldier. Her husband had died, leaving her with a daughter. The long-lost nurse was losing her eyesight. It was a joy to answer that letter to express our appreciation for all she had done for us. We never heard from her again though. I must say all those children pulled through the flu. The oldest son shifted for himself. The younger children were sent to our church orphanage at Kingswood, Kentucky.
As soon as we were able to travel, Herbert took us home. We returned to our charge, but Brother Bolender’s health could not take the strain. He felt he must resign and take further rest.
The work there continued to move on. Several years later, a friend preacher of ours told us of his holding a meeting at Soldier. One night, a drunk came in, sat down by some young girls, and began disturbing in a very embarrassing way. Some men walked over and grabbed him. One grabbed his arms and the other grabbed his body. Another grabbed around his legs. They then carried him to a vacant seat and called, "Cut the bell rope!” They proceeded to tie him to the pew, then turned, and said, “Brother Delaney, go on and preach.” You may feel as he did (How can a man preach after that?) but somehow the service was finished.
I feel impressed to relate one more experience related to the Soldier Church. Years rolled by and our good friend Stewart Vincent never seemed to realize that baptism, church membership, and a good moral life are not sufficient to prepare us for heaven. His wife and Jenny kept on praying. One day ________[2] remarked to a friend, "Jenny might as well quit praying. That old man will never be saved.” But thank God, when he was past 80, he acknowledged his need and received the witness of the new birth.
That first church that we saw built in 1922 served over 50 years. Bro. F. Greene, after serving as pastor for several years, was able to see a nice new church built in a much better location. What a thrill it was when our grandson, Joel, took us back to Soldier for the dedication of the new church in 1982.
In the autumn of 1923, the district assembly was held at Soldier, Kentucky. That was soon after we moved to Ashland. I was unable to go so I missed witnessing a very important event in our lives. Bro. Bolender was ordained as a minister of the Gospel.
[1] An expert card player who travels around to seek out high-stakes games
[2] Missing word or words.
