The preacher, striding down the slopes of California Gulch, was a stalwart specimen of manhood. Tall, broad of shoulder, erect, he presented a striking figure…. This preacher was a ‘man’s man.’ If doubted, evidence was shortly forthcoming. He could handle axe and pick as well as the next one. Hands that were large, with fingers widespread, bespoke strength. The preacher asked no quarter for any man; none was needed…. He was not pugnacious, but neither would he back down from an aggressor who was foolish enough to threaten him. Earnestness, conviction, masculinity made him readily acceptable to the miners, and no matter whether preaching the Gospel in a saloon, or on the trail, or in a rousing mining camp, he and his message were accorded respect….
The preacher, unmindful of the cold, slowed his pace during the last hour; there were moments when he stood stock-still in the presence of the ever-changing wonder, only moving his head from west to east, and east to west, seeking to capture each shifting scene. It was miracle to him; it was God at work in His world!
The preacher pulled the brim on his hat lower and used his hand to shield his eyes from the lashing, sticking flakes…. The climber could see scarcely ten feet in any direction–all landmarks obliterated–all sense of direction befuddled. Now there was snow two and three feet deep in places. It was two, three steps, then sink waist-deep; stop–regain breath; pull one leg out atop the snow; stagger two, three more steps and down waist-deep again. Such struggling was strength-consuming, exhausting…. He would build a fire and await storm’s end. One after another his matches failed to light; the box was emptied. Wet snow had dampened his clothes. He must reach the toll-house before the coldness of night descended and his clothes froze stiff. The temptation was strong to lie down a few minutes and rest–the old, old deceitfulness of mountain storm; to lie down now would be to sleep forever. He had to keep moving for heat and survival, hoping he was moving in the right direction.” (Mark Feister)
Thus was one day in the life of a Methodist circuit-riding preacher in Colorado. One day in the life of John Lewis Dyer. There were times on this trip to his next little community in which he was to preach that he could quit and just sleep forever, but he kept moving. Survival and duty demanded that he continued. He hoped that he was on the right trail.
The moral of the story is–never quit. When God calls you keep going until He finally takes you home. Move one step in front of the other and depend upon the Holy Spirit for direction. Use your brains and your skills for sure, but gain strength from the Lord. Life can be consuming and exhausting, but there is one step to be taken; one more conversation to be held. Don’t let exhaustion overtake you–move toward the mark.
“You will be hated by all because of My name, but the one who endures to the end, he will be saved.”
–Mark 13:13 (NASB)