Not This Time!

Not This Time!
Major Betzann Carroll

I would often complain about the careless way the War Cry, a Salvation Army publication, was handled. After folks read it they would leave it here and there for someone else to pick-up. I would often complain,
But, not this time!

The War Cry cost money. It was poor stewardship to leave it lying around. I must admit I did not read each issue from cover to cover, but I would always find valuable reading within its pages. Why waste it, I would often complain,
But, not this time!
There are times in our life when going without the familiar helps us to realize its value. Our attitudes change. Such was my experience.

I was waiting for a bus or a “blue van” which it actually was, on the busy Daytona Beach Street. The hot sun was beating down and there was nothing cool about the breeze, which tossed litter from corner to corner. Often there was an afternoon thunderstorm, which would bring relief. Relief, which only lasted long enough to realize how very hot it, was. It was not the tropical paradise I had envisioned when I decided to leave New England and move to Daytona Beach. The dust filled the air and clung to whatever was moist enough to hold its residue.

While I waited, I realized that it could be a very long wait. Often the bus would pass without stopping. There was only seating capacity for eight at the most. I was thankful for the wooden bench provided to rest on. As I reached down to adjust my sandal so it would not rub against my blister, I noticed a pamphlet lodged between the sidewalk and the leg of the bench. It was the War Cry. Yes, who would have ever thought a War Cry would be stuck there. Since my time in Florida I had not seen a War Cry. Now, it was in my hands. I would have complained that the War Cry cost money and should not be left to blow in the breeze, but not this time! I said thank you.

I read every word and then searched for familiar faces. I had recently resigned my commission as a Lieutenant to marry. Somehow I confused affection for love and had decided to marry someone, the wrong one! He did not love Christ as he said. He had changed after I arrived. Now, with the reality of my situation, I knew I was really not in love. There would be no marriage. I was in danger of leaving all God had for me. God had not called me to the ministry and then changed His mind. I was empty, worn-out and alone. As I closed the War Cry, I looked at the back cover. Printed on a beautiful scene were the words of Albert Osborn’s song, From A Fount I Know.

“Wash from my hands, the dust of earthly striving.
Take from my mind the stress of secret fear.
Cleanse Thou the wounds, from all but Thee far hidden,
And when the waters come, let my healing appear.”


The bus finally came. The sun continued to beat. The breeze continued to push litter about. I was refreshed. I was washed. The words of the song had encouraged my heart. God had spoken to me through the War Cry. I took it with me. I had never realized how much I appreciated the written word, the War Cry,

But, I did that time!