I had an opportunity to preach in a little schoolhouse two miles from my first pastorate— an afternoon meeting. After the morning church service, the rain was pouring in torrents. It seemed useless to go two miles through such a storm, for who would venture out in such weather? But a young woman had come for me in her buggy, and I went with her rather reluctantly.

There were seven men present; the young woman went home to get out of the rain. My first impression was that it was hardly worthwhile to preach a sermon to so small an audience, but I repented of that and gave them the best I had. The dew of heaven was upon us: we were conscious of God’s presence, and two of the seven men, who were not Christians, expressed a desire to be saved.

An old farmer arose and said: “My young brother, God is working in our midst. Will you not preach tonight? The clouds are clearing away, and we will go out and tell the people about the meeting.” I consented, though it rather upset my plans for the following day. That night about twenty-five persons came, and there were six or seven inquirers and two or three decisions for Christ.

The meetings went on from day to day for two weeks. There were over seventy conversions, and on Sunday morning I baptized forty new members of my church. I could not explain it; no one seemed to be expecting a revival, or praying for it. It seemed like a case of God’s sovereignty in giving His breath-touch without demanding that anyone should pray for it.

The last day of the meetings solved the mystery. At the close of the service a plainly dressed, gray-haired, motherly woman grasped my hand and said: “This is my home, though I spend most of my time teaching school sixty miles from here. When my niece wrote that you were preaching at three in the afternoon and at seven-thirty in the evening, I dismissed my school a half hour earlier than usual, that I might spend in prayer every minute that you preached. And, sir, I have come to see what God has been doing. Those you baptized this morning were all my neighbors and friends, and among them my brother, nephew, and niece.”

Neither my preaching or praying brought that revival. It was the good woman sixty miles away, whose prayers brought the breath-touch of God upon dead souls of that community.

Let no day pass without a prayer to God for His breath-touch upon the spiritual dry bones of your community.

Breathe on me, Breath of God Till I am wholly Thine, Till all this earthly part of me Glows with Thy fire Divine.

In Wales during the great revival, there was no accounting for the way the Spirit worked. It was all “a-bend to God.”