Salvation Train | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Salvation Train | Previous Challenge Entry
By Debbie Wistrom
10/18/07
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It was 1934 and my grandfather, Dean, broke the law and jumped a train to go after Olive Jarvis, the love of his life who would become his wife and my grandmother. It was the depression and since she was the oldest, it was up to her to go where the work was. Olive left her father and sisters to take a job at the watch factory fifty miles away. Dean missed her enough that he had to pursue her.

As adults, we were shocked to learn this. It was funny that they had “eloped” and that Grandpa did not look at it that way, but it was especially odd to think of Grandpa doing something, although common at that time that was illegal. I guess if we had heard this story as children we might have imagined all sorts of things, but here is what I have imagined as a grown woman with many fond memories of my grandparents.

With just the clothes he was wearing, Dean avoided the yard bull and managed to heave himself into the darkness of the railcar. Dusk had helped cover him for the running jump, but made it impossible to see his travelling companions. He knew he had company because he had apparently thrown himself in the middle of a sermon. Not missing a beat the “pastor” continued, “But you have to believe. You and I have to believe in Jesus to get that ticket. We have to be goooood children of God and obey his commandments and then we will ride the train of salvation to heaven with Jesus and all of his followers. Have ya lost a loved one? Do you just want to see his face?” “Amen Pastor Beardsley” rumbled out from one of the corners of the train car. Amazing Grace from a harmonica seeped like dry ice smoke from a different direction

As his eyes adjusted, he could see the small congregation sitting around a slight man with a trim beard and piercing eyes that would pick up any light from outside the train door. Beardsley insisted that the door stay open all night. He wanted every chance to help rescue the souls jumping into his car. His purpose on theses trips was to share the word of Jesus.

Little did Dean know that he had come aboard at Beardsley’s favorite stop. As long as he had been preachin’ the rail, someone who stowed away on that bend became another soul who began their passage to salvation. As the second song ended, Beardsley shuffled toward him. Dean sensed intensity completely unknown to him. Laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder, he asked “Do ya know the Lord, son?”

“No, but, my mama goes to church evry Sundy,” replied my young grandpa. “Do ya want to see heaven? Do ya want to live in God’s mansion?” Getting in the Spirit, the other members of the dark and smelly band of believers were helping out, “Do ya?” “Yes Lord!” “Amen and Amen!” Catching the Spirit, Dean retorted “Yes!”

Moving that hand from shoulder to the top of his head, the pastor prompted Dean to repeat after him “Lord, I want you to be my Savoir; I give my life to you in exchange for the life you poured out for me. Grant me your peace and be with me always, Amen.”

God’s saving grace happened just in time, the next stop was his. With embraces all around, Dean jumped back off that train with much more than he started with. Yes, with a Bible, but most importantly, a cleansed soul. He could not wait to share this with Olive. He would never forget the comfort he felt that night in the company of strangers. He did not know then that he was beginning a journey much like the man he had just met.

Beardsley knew that even though it did not always smell the best, and that sometimes the rumbling of stomachs competed with the clack of metal against metal, this was his place, his calling. God had humbled him in order to use him to reach out to the men who at times had reached the lowest point of life. He was thankful that God had put Dean on that train so the message of His love could reach more souls. He knew that even though a night or two may pass without companionship, fellowship with God was still possible and would become in the end, imperative.

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