About Havis Crawford - Holiness Preacher
I, Havis Allen Crawford, was born July 7, 1930 near the little town of Bradley, Oklahoma, the 4th of seven children of Earl G. and Narcissus Leah Corley Crawford.
Soon after I learned to talk, I developed a handicap, an impediment of speech. As I grew older an embarrassment also developed, and it grew into an inferiority complex. Each development accelerated the impediment of speech until speaking was almost impossible.
The summer that I was six years old, my mother and I were walking down the road to see a friend of hers. As we came near the top of a hill, the Sun began to shine brighter to me, or for me, or on me and in me than it ever had, and I began to run and jump, and leap, back and forth ahead of Mother, and back to her, and back and forth, and back and forth, until Mother stopped me and asked, “Havis what’s wrong with you?” It was always easier for me to talk to my mother than to anyone else, so I managed to say, “It’s the Sun, Mama, see how bright it is?” She said, “It doesn’t seem any brighter to me, so what is it?” I said, “Mama, theSunshine has shone into me, and I’m so full of Sunshine that I just have to run and jump, I can’t contain it all.” After telling my mother this, I found that I could walk beside her calm and comfortable, but still full of Sunshine.
So, at our neighbor’s house I was sitting in an old cane-bottomed chair a little ways from my mother and the neighbor, thinking of the Sunshine in me, and why, not paying them any attention at all, until from a distance I heard our neighbor’s voice:
“Mrs. Crawford, at town the other day I heard your son here, trying to talk. Frankly, Mrs. Crawford, I was terrified by the faces he made, and the sounds he made trying to talk, until I couldn’t sleep that night. I just heard him, and saw him, all night long. I’ll admit that I got better the next day but what I saw and heard still bothers me at times. I would not tell you this in his presence, but I am sure that he doesn’t hear what I’m saying.” My mother said “Yes, he hears every thing you are saying.” The neighbor said, “He couldn’t possibly know.” She went on and on describing how mentally retarded I was. Before she got through the Sunshine all went out in me and left me. Mother soon excused herself and me, and we left.
Going home, which was a half or three quarters of a mile, I lagged behind. I didn’t have courage to walk - my Sunshine was gone. When we were out of sight of our neighbor’s house, Mother stopped by the side of the road, got down on her knees, kinda sitting on her feet motioning me to her. She looked me straight in the eye and asked “Havis, what’s wrong?” Looking straight at her with tears streaming down my cheeks, I said, “Mama, my Sunshine is gone.” She said, “ Havis, don’t you let what Mrs. _____ ( yes, I still remember her name, but for respect I dare not mention it) said bother you; YOU ARE NOT ANY OF THOSE THINGS SHE SAID. She didn’t know what she was saying.” My mother did all that she could for me, but that day was the beginning of my inferiority complex. In just a few months, when this neighbor left her husband and two children and ran off with a stranger, I, although only six years old, could see that she not only didn’t know what she was saying, but what she was doing either.
After Christmas and the New Year had passed one warm January day, I was playing on the south side of the house in the sunshine, with my new rubber truck I had gotten for Christmas. In my imagination, I was taking truckloads of fat hogs to the market, selling them and buying truckloads of poor hogs, bringing them home fattening them, and doing this until I was rich. About this time, a thought HIT me, “When we die, what then? Will we live again? Will there be anything else?” I jumped up and ran into our house to talk to my only source of information my mother. She was ironing with the old smoothing irons on the ironing board, and she answered my question.
“Yes, Havis there will be a resurrection.” (I seemed to know what the word meant)
“Then what, Mama, then what?”
“We will all go to the judgment.”
“What then, Mama, what then?”
“And the Lord will divide the saints from the sinners.”
“What then, Mama, what then?”
“He will say to the saints, ‘Come ye blessed ofmy Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you.’ And he will say to the sinners, ‘Depart from me ye sinners into everlasting fire.’”
I thought awhile, I didn’t feel uneasy for myself, I thought “Children are covered.” I felt uneasy for mother. So, I said, “Mama, which are you, a saint or a sinner?” “I’m a sinner,” she said, “But let’s not talk anymore about it now.” I knew the conversation was over so I went back outside to play, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I prayed my first prayer ever, not for myself but for my mother.
When school was out in 1937, we moved to southeast Oklahoma to a small community, America. About 2 miles west was Moon, and there was a country store. I walked there often for Mother. One day at the store I met an older woman and found out that she lived about half a mile on beyond us, so I walked home in her company. Her personality was so impressive that later, while telling my mother about her, I called her “The Good Woman.” We didn’t know her name so I just called her “The Good Woman.” One day she had one of her fingers wrapped up and told me she had a bone felon in it and it was hurting badly, and before we got to my house she was crying. I told Mother and we went to “The Good Woman’s” house and Mother prepared some home remedy that gave her immediate but only temporary relief.
A few nights later they were having a brush arbor meeting at Moon across the road from the store. My family had never attended church services but we went to this meeting. Mother taught us children, if you go to church always go straight in, don’t stop on the outside, and when you leave go straight home. Sometimes there was trouble on the outside of any public gathering. We all got out of the truck and Mother and the older children started for the arbor, and I saw Daddy staying by the truck, like he wasn’t going in. I asked Mother if I could stay with Daddy and she said, “No.” I set up a howl to stay with him, and Daddy said “Oh let him stay.” Momma consented and I stayed. We sat down on the ground and they began to sing under the arbor; it sounded good to me. When the singing was finished, a woman stepped into in the aisle and walked to the front and spoke to the preacher, “I have a bone felon in my finger and I wish you all would pray for me.” It was “The Good Woman.” As they prayed for her, I bowed my head and closed my eyes and a sweet little voice spoke to my heart, not to my ears, and said, “I will heal her; she is my child.” I was so moved, I looked up at my Daddy and it came again, “I probably wouldn’t heal him; he doesn’t serve me.” Disturbed worse, I turned my attention back to myself, and it came again, “And you, I might not heal you either, since you haven’t done enough about the Sunshine.”
The next day I was in the local store across the road with two of my cousins and a friend of theirs, (Four of us boys.) I had just bought me a NE-HI orange pop, 5 cents. and was opening it when, The Good Woman walked in, and I just knew something big, good and important was about to happen, and I might not be able to see and hear and also keep up with my pop, so I fastened my hand around the neck of my pop bottle, and told it to hold on regardless of what happened, or how long. The Good Woman walked straight to the merchant and I was watching her through some shelves of Groceries in the center of the store. The merchant said, “Good morning, madam, how is your finger today? She answered “wonderful, God healed it last night at the meeting, and she held it up for him to see, and I also could see through the Groceries, a perfectly healed finger. And the little voice with in me said, “See there.” And my faith was complete.
Time went on and when I was in the 4th grade, one day the teacher, Mrs. Quattlebaum, asked me to stay in at morning recess. It alarmed me greatly! I thought, “What have I done?” When every one was out she asked me to come up to her desk. I walked up and stood in front of her desk and she said, “Havis, I can tell you always have your lesson and you have the answer, but sometimes you won’t answer my questions for fear of embarrassment. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“You had rather take a bad grade than for the whole class to see you try to talk. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Havis, I’ll make a deal with you. If you will just answer the questions that no one else can answer, I’ll give you strait A’s. Alright?”
“ALRIGHT” I said.
I sat next to the back seat on the teacher’s right. In a few days when she got a question going and the 3 smartest girls in the class failed it, she started on her left calling each student by name. I knew it was coming my way. I looked straight at her, and she smiled. The question was, “Who discovered the Pacific Ocean?” When the boy in front of me couldn’t answer, she said, “Now, Havis has the answer, but it will take him a long time to get it out, so let’s ask the one behind him first and if he can’t answer, we will ask Havis.” He couldn’t, and she said, “Havis stand up and tell us who discovered the Pacific Ocean!”
I stood to my Feet and started, “B-B-B-B.” I got my breath and started again, “BAL-BAL-BAL- Bal-bal-bal.” I got my breath again. “BAL-BAL-BAL-Bal-bal-balbo-balbo.” I stopped again to get my breath, and the teacher said, “Can any one tell what Havis is trying to say?” And the whole class yelled, “BALBOA, BALBOA.”
For the first time in life, I felt courage to live; I was at least somebody.
Every one in the entire class could speak better than I, but I knew at least something that none of them knew. I was not mentally retarded. I was not that much inferior, maybe not that much at all. All of these years I have thanked God for Mrs. Quattlebaum giving me the special opportunity to prove myself.
By invitation of my uncle Roy Crawford we went to church at the Oakhurst Mission, ten miles south of Blanchard, Okla. The last Sunday night of March 1943, Mother and Daddy went to the altar, and Mother was gloriously saved, but Daddy didn’t feel like he made it. Monday morning I was back in school, and Daddy went to town to buy broomcorn seed and starting Tuesday morning, Daddy and I planted broomcorn through Friday, early and late. Come Saturday, Daddy and I were going to town for supplies and Mother always wrote out a grocery list and it always ended with Prince Albert smoking tobacco for Daddy and Days Work chewing tobacco for Mother. When she was nervous, it took more, and many a time when she ran out before Saturday, I was called from the field to walk four miles each way to Alex, Ok. to get her some chewing tobacco. Well, Daddy always checked the list to see that she had everything down and he said, “Mama, you forgot your Days Work.” She stood there a moment and said, “Daddy, I haven’t chewed any all week.” Daddy looked like he had been hit. If salvation was enough to make my mother quit “chewing,” it was real. We went back to church that night and Daddy got saved, just like Mother. We attended church services regularly and when July came they started an open-air revival in the church yard under some trees.
The preacher preached on “And whosoever will, let him come, and take of the water of life freely.” Although it had been five years since I heard the sweet little voice in my heart, it spoke again, “He is calling you.” I came forward to the altar to pray, and after awhile I heard in my heart the sweetest voice I ever heard saying, “Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.” The next day I bought me a New Testament, and when school started I read it through three times, at recesses and noon, that year. I was called to preach before the year was out.
My impediment of speech had grown worse with the years. I read the entire Bible through carefully to find anyone in there with the handicap that I had who was successful preaching. I read of Moses, but he didn’t help me since he had to have his brother go with him to do his talking, and I knew that would never do. The preachers I knew had to work at a job to make a living for their family, much less a brother and his family. I wrestled with this for about a year and a half, and I finally rebelled against the call.
These are the scriptures that hounded me:
1Cor, 9:16: For though I preach the gospel, I have nothing to glory of: for necessity is laid upon me; yea, woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel!
1Cor, 9:17: For if I do this thing willingly, I have a reward: but if against my will, a dispensation of the gospel is committed unto me.
I kept praying until just a few days before I knelt at the same altar where I had prayed so much and said, “Lord, you know that I can’t preach, but if you want me to go stutter for you, I will,” and the Peace of God returned to me. The Spirit of God came upon me and stayed upon me for over thirty days. Day and night, it never left me until I preached my first time.
Here is how it happened: My Brother Eugene (Gene) hadn’t been home from the Army long and Daddy had some time before spring planting, so they decided to go to Oklahoma City to look for work, I had heard there was a church service somewhere in the city every night. I had a great desire to go with them and told them I would do the housework for all three of us if they would just let me go. They finally agreed. We went to Uncle Roy’s house late in the afternoon. I asked Uncle Roy about service that night and the only place he could think of was Paul’s Rescue Mission, near downtown. Daddy and Gene had searched the want ads for employment and planned to pursue employment the next day, so we went on to church and planned to return to Uncle Roy’s after church that night. When we got there, of course we were strangers, but they made us feel welcome, and early in the service announced Bro. Earl Crawford and his two sons. They asked Daddy to testify and he did real good. Then they asked Gene to testify, and his was good also. When they asked me to testify, Daddy stood up and said, “Folks, these are my sons, but this younger one can’t testify because of a speech impediment, but he can sing.” So they said “Have him sing.”
So I took my old guitar, walked to the pulpit and begin to sing:
I’M WORKING A ROAD
-1-
I often think of the days
So swiftly passing away.
The road to heaven seems hard to find.
But I am doing my best,
To reach that home of the blest,
And make it easy for those behind.
-Chorus-
I’m working a road;
Oh yes, I’m working a road;
Helping the weak and blind.
I want to smooth out the road
That leads to heaven’s abode,
And make it easy for those behind.
-2-
The road to heaven is straight,
And Oh, so narrow the gate;
Around us trials of every kind.
I want to move out the snares,
And give to others my prayers,
And make it easy for those behind.
-3-
So I’m still doing my best,
To reach that home of the blest,
While helping the weak and blind.
I want to hear them someday
In glory lovingly say,
You made it easy for those behind.
Before I finished the last chorus the mighty anointing of the Holy Ghost came upon me, settling like an invisible cloud over my upper parts down to below my chest cavity, and the sweet little voice spoke again, “If you can ever preach, Havis, you can do it now, and if you can’t preach now you never can! I BELIEVE I’D TRY IT.” So I took my guitar off and handed it to Gene, and turned back to the pulpit, opened my mouth, and the Spirit gave me utterance. When I began to speak, I became unconscious of all about me - I was lost in the Spirit…. When I came to myself, I was between the altars and the front pews, facing the pulpit, with a faint remembrance that I had been preaching, circling the auditorium and running the aisles. People were looking at me, some weeping for joy, some shouting the high praises of God, others thinking, “What kind of weird circus do we have here?” I stood there a moment for my brain to kick-in, then my heart cried out to the Lord, “Lord thy will be done, but if it could be thy will, preach me some more, and don’t put me plumb out this time, LET ME LISTEN.” He did and I listened and heard such wonderful things from the Word of God that the Spirit had written on the tables of my heart; “The dispensation of the gospel that was committed unto me.” Then it quit just like it started and I went and sat down. The shouting and joyful tears went on for some time. When all was quiet, my Dear Ole Dad stood up and said, “He never has done this before. Sure-enough, folks, he never has done this before!”
By this time it was getting late and they dismissed the service. Paul said to Daddy, “It’s too late for y’all to drive all the way across town to your brother’s. We have a vacant room upstairs. Just stay with us tonight and then go back to your brother’s tomorrow.” So we did. When they had showed us to our room and were gone, and the door shut and locked, Daddy and Gene both began weeping tears of joy. They were looking at me and praising the Lord, then hugging me and praising the Lord, passing me back and forth. We were hugging, crying, rejoicing, praising the Lord, and glorifying God. When we finely got in bed it was 3:00 A.M. Although I was quiet, I couldn’t go to sleep, I meditated on these things and gave myself wholly to them. At about 6:00 A.M. I heard Gene quietly say, “Daddy, are you asleep?” Daddy answered, “No Gene, what?” Gene said,
“Daddy, we’re not doing this right.”
“Yeah, what should we do, Gene?”
“We all know the many prayers Mama has prayed for Havis, and his impediment, and his calling, and all. We need to forget about looking for a job and go home right now and tell Mama.”
Daddy agreed and we got up, dressed and were on the road by something after 6:30 A.M. We were home by good daylight.
Our house was a quite a ways off Hwy 39 through pasture, then a crooked road through woods, then back out in a clearing. When we came in sight of the house, Mama was standing on the back porch. Gene was driving his little A-Model Ford Coupe, I was sitting in the middle, and Daddy by the door. When Gene got the car stopped, he jumped out and YELLED at Mama, “He Done It. He Done It. HE DONE IT.” Mama answered, “Who done what?” Gene said, “Havis preached,” and Mama went to shouting!