We used to have an old ‘53 Chevy that we kept for going back and forth over bad roads. I had to do a lot of fixing on it but the Indian people didn’t know that. They saw it going and thought it was so tough it could never break down. As a result, everybody wanted to buy it. Guys were constantly coming to the house wanting to trade saddles for it or anything else they thought I might want.

One early spring morning we started to town for propane. We left Vince and Randy at school and arranged for the neighbors to keep them after school until we got back. We hadn’t been gone long when it started to snow on top of the mud. It was almost impossible to travel. We got into one stretch where there were big, long ruts. I took a run for it and got half way through when we were hung up on a high center. The wheels were turning but we weren’t going anywhere.

·       I dug holes behind the bumper, had Cathy drive and I lifted on the rear end, easing the car ahead, inch by inch. I must have come close to giving myself a hernia, lifting the way I had to. But I managed to get the car moving by giving it everything I had. Then I Jumped in the trunk and Cathy took off. For about five miles we were lurching back and forth over the road.  “We’re almost out!” Roger shouted to me through the open window.

“Keep going!” I yelled.

I knew if we stopped again I’d never be able to get it going.

Finally we got to Gift Lake, and from there on the road was a little better. I must have had an inch of mud all over me. Cathy looked at me and laughed.

“All I can see is the whites of your eyes!” I found a slough along the road and washed off as much of the mud as I could before driving to town. We went to the Losey’s, the Baptist preacher’s house, where I took off my clothes and Cathy washed them.

Then we did our shopping and had to start back through that road again. By then we had nine inches of snow on the ground and it was still falling.

For the last ten or fifteen miles I didn’t get the car out of second gear. I’d go from low to second and back to low again. Finally we were stuck so bad I knew there was no use in even trying to get out. So I walked three miles to our neighbour’s and got him to take me back to the car on our tractor. He towed the car the rest of the way home.

But that wasn’t the only time we had trouble getting over the roads. There were times when traveling in the summer was as bad as spring and winter. Sometimes we would be all night in the ditch, clawing and digging around and fighting clouds of mosquitoes, trying to get out. One summer I wore out three sets of heavy duty chains on that truck, chewing through the mud.

It wasn’t only the weather and poor roads and isolation that troubled us at Atikameg. There was demon activity. At first we didn’t even know what it was. In those days we didn’t have any sort of training for new missionaries so we had to learn about such activities on our own.

The kids would be restless at night and sometimes very frightened.

“Somebody was here by the bed holding my hand’” one would say.

They weren’t old enough to try those things on each other or even to make them up. I don’t mind telling you it was a hairy experience.  Then Phil Howard, a veteran missionary, came through and stayed with us. When we told him what was happening he said, “You don’t have to put up with that. Resist the devil. Take a stand against him. “ We didn’t know all the answers. I would have to say that we still don’t, but we went into the room when the kids became restless at night. We knelt on the floor beside them and started praying quietly. It was amazing to see how peaceful they became. It had to be the Lord moving in on them. We would go to every room of the house and resist the devil, pleading the blood of Christ over it.

Some of the natives told us of the things they saw and the fear they faced. We could relate to their encounters and point them to Christ.  One day, I was home alone and walked down the stairs. A coil of electrical cable had hung on the wall for a couple of years. The cable uncoiled and pointed right at me. It should have fallen down, but it didn’t.  Our Indian friends would come to our house and say, “Man, it’s peaceful. There are no spirits here.” For some reason, probably because of their hundreds of years of animism, they were far more aware of the spirits than we were.

I remember one time shortly after we joined the Mission, when we were in Montreal Lake, there were queer things going on. We were staying in a large room and I was on my knees praying when I felt someone breathing on the back of my neck. I knew I had a problem with fear but you don’t have sensations like that. It was the sort of thing Cathy might do, but not when I was praying.

I said, “Cathy,” but when I turned around she was on the other side of the room so it couldn’t have been her. I really believe it was the devil trying to scare me.  One night Cathy woke up and there was a guy standing there beside the bed. She couldn’t holler.  She couldn’t do anything. Eventually, she was able to resist the devil and claim the blood of Christ. Then the figure disappeared. When she was able to wake me, she was shaking like a leaf.

At Atikameg I’ve dealt with guys whose entire being would disfigure right in front of me. One time the daughter of a medicine man was saved and went to Bible school.

“I’m gain’ to get you!” He snarled. His girl was scared to death of what he might do.  Bill Jackson was at our place at the time and when we found out what had taken place we went over to see him. The medicine man was a wizened old guy I could have thrown out the window with one hand. We figured we’d talk to him and tell him we knew what 212 was going on.

We walked into the house and as soon as he saw us he came out, rage twisting his features. He stormed around the little room, talking to the devil.  “I’m going to kill you both!”

Bill and I had never thought what we would do if we met up with that sort of reaction. Almost at the same time we both said, “We stand here in Jesus name!”

WHAM! the guy went right over backward the instant we spoke. He lay on the floor writhing like I had never seen before. He was completely helpless, sweat running down his distorted features.  Another time I had a guy attack me. He came rushing at me as though he was going to tear me apart. I’ve done a lot of wrestling and fighting in my time and I knew when a guy came charging that way he couldn’t stop on a dime. He was going to run into something.

He did, but it wasn’t me. He charged at me full tilt but stopped a foot from me as though he had run into a wall. He was shouting and spitting at me but he couldn’t touch me. It was a weird experience. At the time, I sensed the presence of God.

* * *

We had another strange experience with the man who tried to shoot me. He and his wife were sitting at home and the kids were outside. For once he wasn’t drinking. He turned to his wife.  “Who are these guys here?”

“There’s nobody here but you and me.” “Yes, there is. There’s people here!” He started to get even more excited. “Go get Mr. Hill!” That wasn’t the first time that he had come 213 hollering for us when he needed help.  His wife jumped to her feet and ran outside. The instant she was out the door he turned into a raving maniac. He roared unintelligibly and charged after her. By this time she was across the field like a deer. As soon as she disappeared, he turned around as though he was going to leave but he didn’t go far.

He came back our direction and I thought, “Oh, no! Here~we go again! “ - ~ All we could hear was a terrible roaring noise.  Cathy was talking with his wife and I went into the other room and knelt to pray.

“Lord, I don’t want to go there, but I’ve got to. I know it’s getting late and he’s going to come over here after her sooner or later.” - i As I prayed I got up nerve to go over there. By this time he was making circles around his house. I didn’t run but when he was around back I hurried so I’d meet him and he wouldn’t see me coming from a long distance.We met at the corner of the house.

. ,

“Go inside!” He said in Cree.

I said, “It’s your house. Go in first.” ~ - He stormed up to the door and kicked it open, Kaboom’ I went into his little one room log house. The window was on the other side, the bed was at the back and the stove was to my left. He was standing right in the doorway.

He was rugged, but he was no match for me if he was normal.

Only he wasn’t normal. He glared at me, grinding his teeth in a manner that made the hair on the back of my neck rise. I prayed and a verse 214 came to me.

“Fear thou not, neither be thou dismayed for the Lord thy God is with thee.”

It was as though God was standing right there.  A calm came over me as he said, “I’m going to kill you!”

I looked him in the eye and said, “I’m not afraid of you nor the devil, nor the demons of hell. I’m going to pray the devil right out of this place.” I turned around with my back to him, a move you don’t make if you’re fighting. But I turned with my back to him and knelt and prayed. It was as though he wasn’t there. I don’t know how I could forget he was there, but I did. It was as though I was talking to the Lord alone.

Then I heard this crying in the distance. All of a sudden it started getting closer and I realized there was someone there, after all. He was right down by the bed, bawling his eyes out. I said, “It’s O.K.” and put my arm around him. He came unglued.  Finally he got up and started apologizing. “I’ve got to go over and apologize to Cathy, too. I’ve been over there hassling her. “

We talked for a bit and he said, “I don’t know what happened, but I wanted to kill you. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“I understand,” I told him. “It was the devil.” That shook the guy up so bad that he didn’t drink for quite awhile. But, like so many who are addicted to alcohol, he started in again. Not long after he went back to drinking, his wife sent the kids over to get me and she stayed with him.  “Dad’s choking in his beer!” They cried.

I rushed over and by that time he was sitting on the chair beside the stove, his head hanging down. I started talking to him but I don’t mind telling you my faith in him trusting the Lord at that moment was pretty small.

I had talked with him and preached to him and shared with him and had done everything I could to get him to put his trust in Christ, but I couldn’t get anywhere.

“You know what you have to do,” I told him.

“Yeah. “

I honestly don’t think it registered with him, but something happened. He almost rolled off his chair as he got down on his knees and started mumbling under his breath. I prayed. Then he was talking and trying to pray at the same time.  When he got to his feet he was as sober as I am right now.

He stopped drinking for awhile, but eventually he went back to it and was as bad as he ever had been.

Another time he came to the house as mad as I’ve seen him. I was in the bedroom and Cathy was alone in the living room. She started talking to him and seemed to be getting along all right so I stayed where I was.

I knew if I went out there he’d have been even madder than he was and would have gotten violent.  He verbally tore into Cathy something fierce, but she stood up to him.

“Do you know what your problem is?” She asked him. “You’re going to Hell.”

“There ain’t no Hell,” he muttered. “When you die, you die like a dog.”

“You know you don’t believe that. You know better than that.” Before long he began to melt and 216 to weep. “I know I should have accepted the Lord at Bible camp, but something held me back.” Cathy had spunk enough to stand up to him while I-was in the bedroom praying.  It was tough dealing with someone like that but he finally came around. He’s a Christian now and, as far as I know he’s living for the Lord.

* * *

Cathy had some difficult times when we lived at Atikameg. On one occasion when I was gone, a drunken man came staggering toward the house.  He was so drunk he couldn’t even walk straight and when he got to the house he stumbled up on the porch and couldn’t find the door.

Eventually he located the door and started knocking. She was standing on the inside looking out through the glass at him and he was looking at her.

“Mrs. Hill!” He kept saying, “let me in! Mr. Hill won’t mind.” He kept winking at her.  “You can’t come in now. You wait and come back when Mr. Hill is home!”

Finally he staggered off.

Actually, Cathy says that she never really felt threatened by any of the native men in the eight and a half years we lived there. They all had real respect for her.

Another occasion was embarrassing for her, but I’ll let her tell it. i;

“I have to start the story by telling about my expertise with a pellet gun. Carroll had given me the gun one year for Mothers’ Day. The Hudson’s Bay manager was a macho single guy who was sure he could out-fish or out-shoot any woman anywhere.

“He came over one day to do some target practice and Carroll and I went over to the Bible camp grounds together with him. I took my pellet gun.

“He was going to be very courteous. ‘You can go first,’ he said, setting up a milk carton. ‘What part of it do you want to hit?’

“I know he was thinking I’d do well to even come close to the carton. ‘The dot on it.’

“I carefully aimed the gun, pulled the trigger and hit the dot, right on. ‘Try again,’ he said. He thought the shot was a fluke.

“I shot two or three more times and kept making the hole bigger. He packed the guns away without taking a shot.

“One of the things that annoyed me the most while we were at Atikameg, was the number of dogs running loose. They were a mangy lot that used our yard as a toilet and were always fighting.  Once a pack of hungry dogs killed and ate one of their own right in our yard.

“Anyway, I sometimes shot at the dogs with the pellet gun to scare them off the yard. I didn’t hurt them. I just stung them good.

“I was pregnant at the time and was big as a horse. I saw this dog running back of the house so I went out and started sneaking up on him to teach him to stay out of our yard. I was about ready to pull the trigger when one of the nicest men in the village came around the corner. It was his dog I was about to shoot.

“I put the gun behind me as quick as I could and thought he hadn’t seen it but when Carroll invited him in he said, ‘I guess I nearly got shot.’ It was one of my most embarrassing moments. “

* * *

There’s a lot of talk now about encouraging the Indian people to go back to their old culture.  Those who talk that way don’t seem to realize that they have already changed their culture. A lot of well meaning people believe they should go back to their old ways, but they don’t know what that means. I would say that a majority of the Indian people see that as going back to their old religion, to worshiping the sun, the earth, animals and plants and to have to deal with the spirit world.  Some of the schools of northern Canada are bringing in the burning of sweet grass, the sweat lodge, dreams and other symbols of animism.  Many pow wows are now going back to the old sun dance that used to be outlawed and medicine men are regaining their former position of prominence within the tribes. While some herbs are very useful in treating the sick, we could see a turning away from modern medicine on some of the reserves.

Most of the native Christians who are close to the Lord advise everyone to stay clear of medicine men and animism. At the same time you will occasionally see Christians who dabble around with them.

* * *

One of the biggest problems facing us when our kids were small, and all the missionary families in remote areas, was that of injuries and illness. We always kept a stock of aspirin and antibiotics and when the government nurse was gone, people from the reserve were continually coming to us.

I’ve sewed up two of our own boys with a needle and thread. They cut themselves badly and we were a long way from town, so I cleaned out the gashes and sewed them up. I guess I came by that pretty naturally from my parents.  If we were out in the bush ourselves I would 219 take fir or balsam pitch and put that in a cut. We could wrap it and forget about any serious danger of infection. The pitch took care of keeping the wound clean.

We’ve also had to take care of infection with the native people when the nurse was gone. More than once I’ve boiled my hunting knife and cleaned out a terrible, putrid sore, cutting down to the quick.

* * *

I grew up in the woods and enjoyed being out with the Indian men, but that wasn’t the only reason I did quite a few things with them. I wanted to make friends with them. That was how I came to get in on their wild horse roundups.  Guys from around Atikameg would go up to the lake where there were many wild horses.  I think there are still wild horses in the area, but I know there were during the time we were in northern Alberta. The horses lived along the lakes, grubbing for their own food during the winter. They would run in small herds. One batch we were working was made up of twelve or fifteen mares and a stallion. The colts were born in the wild. On one occasion when we were up there we chased a small herd with a big blue stallion leading them. He was as beautiful as any animal I’ve ever seen.

We went wild horse hunting in the spring when the snow was deep along the lake. We’d chase them on horseback and they’d charge off the ice and into the bush, going single file. Then they would circle and come back on the lake again.  We’d switch saddle horses so we had fresh mounts and chase them until we got close enough to rope them.

When we got a rope on one the fun would begin. Their eyeballs rolled and they gnashed at us with those ugly yellowed teeth. If they’d gotten 220 hold of us they’d have killed us.

We’d snub the rope until the horse was about to strangle himself. Then we’d pull it loose and they were ready to fight again. It was exciting to break them, too, but once they were broke they made good horses. I rode hundreds of miles on visitation and to services by saddle horse when the roads were bad. Our kids had their own horse when they could climb a fence post to get on.

* *

Living by the River

Are you living by the river
With your roots in fertile land?
Or are you living on the desert
With its dry and burning sand?
Life can be just like the desert
With its dry and and burning sand
If indeed a soul is trusting
In the fleshly arm of man.
But the life in Christ is living
By the river, cool and deep,
Feasting on the living waters,
His power into your roots will seep.

No Other Gospel

No other gospel can I preach,
Than that He’s given me;
The power of God to save a soul
and set the captive free.

Oh, will you taste the grace of God
That saved a worthless man?
No other love than that of God
Could bridge so great a span.

Our family at Atikameg in 1969.	My ordination.

Our first year at Twin Lakes Bible Camp.