The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 11)

"Nowhere," I replied, "and that wasn't me speaking. It was the Lord Jesus. He's the one who's been speaking to those people." The officer looked at me blankly, then said good morning and went on his way. I carried on walking, thrilled that the Lord had been pleased to use me in such a way.

We stayed at the commune for several months before moving to a small evangelistic mission in Bristol. We moved into a two-bedroomed terraced house which always seemed to be full of people. We'd lived with others and now it was our turn to be the hosts. During the day I'd preach in the streets and visit the law courts to gather in the outcasts who had fallen by the wayside. I felt very fulfilled because instead of digging drains, I was doing the true work of an evangelist.

We both felt that God was using us to bring others to Himself. Every morning we had a prayer meeting in the little mission hall. All sorts of people flocked to it, and as the weeks went by we started seeking God on behalf of others. What's more, we saw God answering our prayers for both converts and more helpers.

A lot of people used to come to me for counselling too, and God started to teach me about the gifts of revelation and knowledge. At the beginning of each day He would show me just who was going to turn up on the doorstep for help and what their problems were going to be. Now the problems they told me about were often different from the ones God had shown me: people like to keep the unsavoury things about themselves hidden from view; but as I shared with them what God had already revealed, they would open up and admit their real problems. God was then free to help them and put them straight.

One day a man turned up at our morning prayer meeting in a particularly bad mood. He often used to pop in to see us although he wasn't a Christian. I suspect he liked the cup of tea and biscuit we gave him afterwards. Anyway, in he walked and announced:"I'm fed up with you." "Oh," I said, "are you? Tell me why."

"Well, you're always saying that God answers prayers, but He doesn't answer mine."

"What have you been asking Him to do for you?" I asked curiously.

"I want a job," he replied. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. I knew that a job was one thing he didn't really want. He'd been living off social security for years and was well known in the area for being a waster. I thought that if I took him to a job, carried him there and did half his work for him, he'd still complain at the end of the day. Nevertheless, the challenge was there. He wanted a job so we were going to pray one in for him.

"Let's bow our heads," I said. "Father, you heard all that Jock has said about wanting a job. He wants one today. Will you find one for him, please?"

Jock hung around the mission hall until lunchtime. I gave him some money to buy some lunch and told him he ought to get himself down to the labour exchange to see if there were any jobs going. He took the money, muttered something under his breath about not expecting miracles and then closed the door behind him.

"Father," I said quietly, "it's up to you. I can't do anything."

That evening, as I was opening the doors for the meeting, Jock pushed his way in. It was bucketing down with rain outside and he was soaking wet and very angry.

"What's the matter with you, Jock?" I said, half expecting the worst.
"I'll tell you what's the matter with me," he snarled back. "I've got a job, that's what." I could hardly contain myself. God had answered our prayers. "Well, praise the Lord; that's wonderful, Jock," I said.
"Wonderful, is it?" he said ungratefully. "Well, I may have a job but I can't go to it. I was on my way to the Labour Exchange when I stood on a pile of rubbish to look over on to this building site. The gaffer thought I was up to no good, but when I told him I was looking for work he offered me a job there and then. Said they were short-handed and that I could start tomorrow morning. I told him I could, but I can't. How can I work on a building site with only a pair of plimsolls on my feet? I ask you: it's impossible, and they're all I've got!"
"That's no problem at all," I said, "you can have my shoes." In those days I had two pairs to my name. One pair let the water in so I used them in the mission hall and I kept my best ones for outdoor work. I gave Jock the waterproof ones. He only kept the job for a week and I never saw the shoes again, but at least he couldn't say that God didn't answer prayer.

When I got home after the meeting that night my feet were soaking wet. Barbara asked where my best shoes were and when I told her that I'd given them away she wasn't too pleased.

"Peter," she said with a hint of despair in her voice, "you know we're going to a wedding this weekend and we can't afford to buy you another pair of shoes. And you certainly can't go in those old things," she said, pointing to the soaking wet ones on my feet.
"Well, I've done it now, dear," I replied. "It's no use worrying about it," and off I went into another room out of the way. "Father," I said as I started into the fire, "You heard what the missus said." He told me not to worry because a pair were on the way. Even as He told me, there was a knock on the door. Barbara answered it and ushered in a man. He had a parcel under his arm.

"Have you got my shoes in there, then?" I asked, not daring to look at Barbara's face.
"How on earth did you know that there are shoes in the bag?" he asked incredulously. "As a matter of fact I have brought them for you. I was having a clear-out and decided I had too many and I felt I should bring them round to this house. I hope they fit you all right."

"Oh, they'll fit all right," I said, "God knows what size feet I've got." Needless to say, they fitted.

One evening the phone rang and the duty officer at the medical mission in Bristol asked me to go down because they were having difficulty with a drunk. When I got there I found an Irishman who was loudly demanding money and making a general nuisance of himself. He said he needed cash to travel back to his home in Ireland, but I felt he just wanted to go back to the pub. He gave me his sob story, obviously hoping to con me, not knowing that I wasn't going to be conned and that anyway I was broke too.

I let him ramble on at length before putting my cards on the table. I was in the middle of telling him that there was no way he was going to get any cash that night when God spoke to me to go upstairs to the nurses' flat and borrow some money until the following day. I was to give the money to this man. I excused myself and went upstairs.
I was a complete stranger to the nurse who answered the door but when I told her who I was a flicker of recognition crossed her face. "Oh, so you're Peter Newman," she said, leading me into her sitting room. I told her about the man downstairs and asked if she could loan me some money until the following day.

There was a gleam of triumph in Paddy's eyes as I handed him the cash. I explained to him that God had told me to get the money for him and that God had promised to repay it the following day. I then told him that he was handling God's money but that God left him free to do what he liked with it.

"So you can either go to the pub or go home on it and thank God for caring enough about you to give it to you."

I never met that man again. The following day someone gave me some money and it was the exact amount I'd borrowed from the nurse. A few weeks later I met some Christians from Paddy's home town and they said he had started his journey home that night and had started a new life too. He gave them a message for me: they had to tell me that he was grateful for the money and that he had found God.

God's ways definitely are higher than our ways. And once again God has shown me that obedience was the key to blessing.

Life in Bristol was hectic. For several weeks we held a crusade on a bomb site opposite one of the roughest secondary schools in the area. People told us to hold it anywhere but in that particular spot. However, we felt God had picked it especially for our work. We had a word with the headmaster and he agreed that some of his pupils could come across for some of our afternoon sessions. Honestly, those kids terrified me! They would swagger in, sit at the back and snigger at the singing. We had "No Smoking" signs up all over the place but they insisted on lighting up.

One afternoon their ring-leader was being particularly obnoxious and I decided that it was time something should be done. So, with shaking knees, I handed the meeting over to my friend Arthur, walked over to this cheeky-faced youth, plucked the cigarette from his mouth, nipped it and pushed the remainder behind his ear. All the other teenagers were watching him to see what his reaction was going to be. I think he was too shocked to do anything, and from that time onwards we developed a new relationship with our school party.

God used to move in those meetings and many people from the neighbourhood got saved. But our crusade was only scheduled to last a couple of weeks and sadly we packed up. None of the churches in the area would co-operate with us because we were the "odd lot" who had a lot of singing and dancing in their meetings. And the established churches were suspicious of the baptism in the Holy Spirit. So when we left, the new converts had nowhere to go to, which really upset me. Jesus tells us to make disciples of all men. It's no good leading people to the cross and then leaving them there. New converts have to be fed and nourished just like little babies. All I could do was to pray that God would keep His hand on their lives and that the fruit would remain.

It was at this time that our second daughter, Sharon, was born at Tavistock, Devon. Her birth coincided with a tent crusade that I was conducting with two other brothers. We were there for ten days, and we preached in the streets, knocked on the doors, prayed and sang and shared in the tent at night. Nothing moved; the heavens were like brass. I was concerned in my heart that we had made a mistake. Should I have been near my wife at this time? Nine days and one more to go: no sign of anyone being stirred about the things of God, and no sign of the new baby. My heart was heavy; only one more day and I could be with Barbara. I felt as though we had fished all night and caught nothing. We continued to fast and pray, and the last day was spent in silence and prayer, each one with his own thoughts.

The final meeting started with a few more visitors than previous nights. There was an atmosphere like there often is before a storm. As the singing didn't seem to be going too well we decided to cut it short and preach the word. I began to open my Bible and was only saying what the Bible says, when pandemonium broke out among the people. Chairs went flying in all directions while one person ran out of the tent screaming. I shouted to a pastor, "Catch him and bring him back!" But, wonderfully, others were running to the front of the tent. The battle in the heavens had been won and people were born again.
What a night for Barbara too, as in Devon there was another struggle going on and our second daughter was finally born.