But, in the meantime, something had happened that had lifted this whole
question with me from the realm of speculation to that of experience.
The Pilot's response to my signal might, for the time, be ignored, but
it could not be forgotten.
But, by deliberately putting aside my convictions of God, prayer and
deliverance, treating them as if they had no existence in fact, I had
introduced an element of distrust of my own mental processes. The will
had taken the place of judgment, and the result was confusion; I was in
the fog. I never attended prayer meeting, but one Sunday night I was
passing the chapel where such a meeting was being held. I had been there
with my mother, as a boy, and while the meetings were "slow," they were
pervaded with a true devotional spirit and a something real, though to
me intangible and difficult to describe.
Whether I was influenced by the memory of these boyhood glimpses into
the spiritual world, or by the spirit of the scoffer and the cynic
possessing me at that time, or by the still small voice that had pointed
the way to safety only a few months before, I never fully knew, but I
went in.
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