In the minds of most people, the last two words they would link together are “peace” and “Belfast.” I was born there on June 13, 1941, in the country of Northern Ireland. My parents trusted the Lord when I was nine years of age. But it would be many long years before I would find peace in Belfast.
When I was fourteen, I started work as an apprentice fitter in Mackie’s Foundry. Here I was introduced to the captivating pleasures of this world. I began to smoke, not so much out of enjoyment, but for acceptance with my newfound friends. Soon it was horse races with its attendant gambling, and finally I turned to drink.
At eighteen I was deep in sin, and yet I wanted more. I decided to get away from home. Without my parents’ knowledge, I signed up at the Royal Air Force recruiting office. The following week I was due to board the boat for England, but my girlfriend, Mary, who is now my dear wife, told my parents. They were terribly upset about it and promptly showed the recruiting officer samples of the pills and medicine I was required to take and ruined my plans.
Though foiled, I was determined to get my own way. My parents must not win, so I headed off to the Navy recruiting office. A delay of six weeks, the soonest they could ship me out, was too long for me to wait, so I proceeded to the Army. I was really desperate to get “free” and anxious to enjoy myself in the world as much as possible. The Army Recruiting Officer was delighted to see me.
Within an hour, I had completed an examination, been sworn in, and been detailed about reporting for duty. Everything was just great! I had my way at last. My poor parents, knowing that they could do nothing, accompanied me to the boat. As we parted, my dad said sadly, “We’ve done our best for you, Billy, but if this is the life you want, I wish you all the best.”
Six weeks later I was in Germany, for, bent on pleasure, I had chosen the minimum training course. I was to be there for fifteen months. Often under arrest for brawling, most of my spare time was spent washing dishes, and scrubbing floors, which was certainly not my idea of a good time.
Under all circumstances I wrote to Mary, and one day I asked her to arrange our marriage. I came home on leave from Germany and was married. However, my honeymoon lasted longer than the army had suggested! One night the military police arrested me, under the influence as usual, as I left a pub on Peter’s Hill. Back in Germany, trouble and disappointment were afoot. The Berlin Wall was built and war threatened. I asked my wife to come over and live with me, but the answer from my mother-in-law was firm: “No, if she’s going to die, she’ll die at home!”
That decided it. I would get out of the Army. It was no good to have my wife living in Belfast while I was living in Germany. So I devised a plan to get my own way. I feigned illness and acted the part brilliantly (or so I thought at the time) with the desired result. I was discharged and sent home.
Back in Belfast, it was no success story. I was unemployed for over a year, and was enslaved to sin. Things were very bad. My home was ruined. My wife was sick of me. Yielding to the control of alcohol had been largely responsible for the ruin of my home.
One afternoon, while my two children were playing in an area where old condemned houses were being demolished, they discovered a box full of coins. Not knowing what they were, they brought them into the house where my wife and her sister were having a chat over a cup of tea. Not wanting to be disturbed, Mary sent them outdoors again to play. The children wanted to play in the living room, but mother would have none of this so out they went, the coins with them! Soon a crowd had gathered; the coins disappeared, and when my wife went to investigate, she was shocked to discover that the coins were no less than gold sovereigns. I’ll never forget the local newspaper headlines: GOLD FIND — #10,000 WORTH.
I was ready to choke my wife. The money had actually been in the house and she had thrown them out! The story made national news. My family appeared on television; there were photographs and stories in all the papers. In my despondency, I drank even more. But it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I thank God for my wife’s action then. He knew it would have been disastrous for me, for my ambition was to own a pub. The Lord in His mercy had overruled for my good. Today I would rather have Jesus than all the money this world can offer.
Not long after this, the political violence in Ulster started and I was in the thick of it. Again I’m convinced that the prayers of God’s people were answered, for on a number of occasions I narrowly missed death or serious injury. It was only after I had trusted the Lord Jesus, however, that I realized how near I had often been to eternity.
Toward the end of 1970, although I was still deep in sin, I spoke one night to Mary of the importance of believing on the Lord Jesus so that sinners like ourselves could be saved.
But the Devil had control. “Billy,” he urged, “don’t worry about those things just now; have another good time. Maybe when you’re older you can come to Jesus.” So I forgot about God once more and continued on my empty chase. Seven days a week, morning, noon and night, I lived for alcohol.
On the last day of 1970, God put me on my back in White Abbey Hospital. There I lay, unable to eat food of any kind, my only request being for cigarettes. After only a few days on my back, I began to look up. How ashamed I was that I had been so involved in everything else that I had had no time to pray. My life seemed so senseless. I cried out to God to at least deliver me from the craving for cigarettes. I believe He answered me.
One night, as I lay there, the Lord sent one of His children to see me. It was visiting time and in walked a well-dressed gentleman.
“Hello, Billy,” he said. “How are you?”
I looked up at him in amazement. I had never seen him before.
“I’m Mr. Leckie,” he continued, smiling at my surprise. Then I remembered my sister having spoken of him being in the same local church.
On his frequent visits, he told me of God’s way of salvation. It wasn’t that I didn’t know about that; I just didn’t want to come face to face with God and yield myself to Him.
Many Christians were praying for me, and, as far as my physical recovery was concerned, their prayers were answered. After two weeks, I was out of the hospital but getting ready to throw myself back into the bottle. I knew in my heart that it was sheer madness.
One day, as my wife and I were arriving home, we saw Mr. Leckie knocking on the door. Not one to give up, he gave us an invitation to a testimony meeting in Glenburn Gospel Hall at Castlereagh. Mr. Ben Sutton, the speaker, told us how he had come to know the Lord Jesus Christ as his personal Saviour. He had been delivered from the powerful grip of sin, which included alcohol. As we listened, our hearts were troubled. At the end, everyone rose to leave, but Mr. Leckie asked us if we would like to have a talk with Mr. Sutton. I was about to say, “No, not tonight,”when my wife beat me to it. “Yes, Billy would like to see him!” she replied. On the way to the back of the hall, I whispered in Mary’s ear vehemently, “I don’t want to speak with the preacher.”
Ben Sutton “almost” persuaded me to be a Christian that night, but I wouldn’t accept Christ as my Saviour; I felt I could not give up the pleasures of the world just yet. To my amazement, my wife replied, “I would like to be saved.” There, before my eyes, she put her trust in Christ.
I was happy with Mary in her new life. As to myself, I figured if I could hang on until I was retiring age, I would get saved — yet deep inside me was the awful thought, “What if I were to die in my sins?” I felt I was the most unhappy man in the city of Belfast.
My Saturdays were spent in a bar. One afternoon, an old friend came in and had a drink with us. John, however, was in trouble and very upset. I tried to help him (drunk men do think they can help each other), and, believe it or not, I spoke to him about the importance of knowing Christ as his Saviour. All I got out of him was, “Nobody, nobody can help me.” I thought of Mr. Leckie, that godly man, and said, “John, I know a gentleman who can help you.” It took a bit of persuasion before he said, “Go ahead, phone your friend, but it’s stupid. No one can help.”
Careless of my own condition, I tried to care for someone else. On hearing the problem over the phone, Mr. Leckie said, “Don’t move. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Soon the bar door swung open and in he walked. I spotted him past a swarm of revellers. “Mr. Leckie, here we are.” “Take your time,” he said. “Don’t choke,” as he watched us hurriedly finish our glasses.
He took us to my house and prayed with us before we got out of the car. Had I known where I was going to end up that night, I might not have telephoned Mr. Leckie. But sitting at tea, he asked, “Would you two gentlemen come to a meeting in Newcastle tonight?” Well, I couldn’t even eat my meal because of the desire for more alcohol. I told my friend, “I have mates waiting down the Shankhill Road for me.” But John stated, “I’ll go with you.” My eyes stood out in my head. “You’re going to a meeting? You must be joking!”
“No, I’m not joking, and I want you to come with me,” replied John. So I had to go to the meeting that Saturday night.
Afterwards John asked if he could go to a Gospel meeting every night the following week. Not one night did they miss for the next two or three weeks. I accompanied them on odd nights.
The fight was really going on at this stage in my life. I wanted salvation. I wanted Christ as my Saviour. I knew that to die as I was would have been the lake of fire for ever and ever — never again to see my father and mother, my wife and children, nor that gracious friend again. I tried to avoid the thought.
One Friday night Mr. Leckie and his wife sat up with me all night, right through until daybreak, trying to point me to Christ but without success, for I wanted the world. How patient he was and, though really exhausted at times, he kept up the good work.
I was a member of the Linfield Supporters Club. It was Easter, and time for the annual weekend in Blackpool. I arrived back in Belfast a miserable sinner. I was really depressed. I wanted Christ. The world no longer gave me pleasure. I was sick of trying to hide my sorrows and fears with alcohol. That Thursday I met my mate outside a public bar on the Shankhill Road. He gave me my wages. I thanked him and returned home without one sip of alcohol. That Friday I stayed with Mary. So unusual was this that she knew something was happening to me.
On Sunday, April 18, that persistent servant of God, Mr. Leckie, took us to Newtownards to hear Mr. Derick Bingham preach the Gospel. On our way back to Belfast, my wife spoke with me. She opened my son’s New Testament and said, “Billy, read these few verses.” “It’s no good,” I replied. I was so heartbroken, confused and worried. “Go on, read it anyway,” she said. I began to read these words from John 14:1-6:
“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me . . .” Immediately I felt relief. I read them repeatedly from the opened Book until we reached home. My wife put the children to bed. I still had the book open at John 14. I asked Mr. Leckie, “Is this our Lord Jesus Christ speaking to His disciples?” “That’s right,” he said.
I rose and headed to my bedroom, convinced that there was no point in speaking further to Mr. Leckie. He had spent hours and hours, day and night, to tell me God’s way of salvation, and here I was no further on. For the first time, I felt that I had missed my chance of salvation.
As I ascended the stairs, I noticed my little boy’s bedroom door was open, and he was kneeling at his bedside praying. I stopped outside his room, my heart breaking. Tears streamed from my eyes as I stood helpless before God. My son arose and came toward me. Looking up into my face, he said, “Daddy, I was praying to God to save you and make you happy. Would you get saved now?” I bent down, put my arms around my boy and cried like a child. Finally I managed to say, “Son, I will ask God to save me now. Just stay here and I’ll go into my bedroom.”
I went in and closed the door, fell to my knees and cried out, “Lord, ease my troubled heart. Please, Lord, let not my heart be troubled. Lord, save me.”
At once I felt peace flowing through my heart and mind, and I uttered, “Thank you, Lord, for saving me and for dying on the cross that I might live.” Then I ran into my son’s bedroom and threw my arms around him.
“Billy, my son, I’m saved!” I said. We both fell on to the bed, crying with happiness. My wife took the stairs by storm. I will never forget the look on her face as she threw her arms around me. “You got saved? Wonderful!” And my faithful friend, Mr. Leckie, what joy filled his heart; it showed all over his face. “Praise God. Hallelujah!” he said.
We went straight to where Derick Bingham was preaching at the Nurses’ Home to tell him the news. Then my parents’ home in Belvoir Park was the next call. Well, it was like giving my parents the whole world. They had prayed so hard and long for me as had multitudes of others. Now those prayers had been answered.
The news spread quickly. Everyone was talking about “Billy Stevenson getting God’s salvation.” The children of God rejoiced and such happiness it brought to my own heart and soul, and into my home, thanks be to God.
The Devil was still trying to get me, so first the old bookie docket was burned. As to the other swindles in which I was involved, I just told the boys, “I got saved on Sunday night, so cut me out.” They didn’t believe me; they thought it was a joke, but they soon realized that it was not.
Then came the clubs. Mr. Leckie waited in the car while I went in to hand over my membership cards and resignation. Again they marveled, “The drunkard’s got saved.”
Yes, by the grace of God, it was true. I had put my trust in the Lord Jesus who died for me that I might have everlasting life! Have you? I can assure you that what God did with the vile, sinful, hell-bound life and troubled heart of Billy Stevenson, he can do with yours as well. He gives victory. He gives purpose in life. He gives hope for eternity. And He gives peace, even in Belfast!
I came to Jesus as I was,
Weary, and worn, and sad,
I found in Him a resting place,
And He has made me glad.