Born in Quebec to Scottish parents, T. D. W. Muir was born again in Hamilton, Ontario, under the preaching of John Smith and Donald Munro. He pioneered the assembly work in Detroit, Michigan.
We had a baptism at Belle Isle, an island with a commodious beach in the Detroit River. After the baptism we had to walk through long grass which on that occasion had been drenched with rain. The women folks suffered most from this for it meant that their clothing was wet; and as the result of such a wetting, and the long walk from the island to the street car, and the slow progress homeward, my wife received a severe chill which ushered in a dangerous attack of bronchitis. For thirteen weeks she hovered between life and death, with three short intervals that made us hope for recovery, but with as many relapses, until at last a period of longer improvement ensued, and the doctor eventually said she might be allowed to get up from her sickbed.
Then came the convalescence, and, as is often the experience in such cases, she had a longing for something to tempt the jaded appetite, “If I could only have some chicken broth, I think I would enjoy it,” she said. But that luxury was far from being a possibility because of my depleted purse. I had a plan, however, in my mind, which I thought under the pressing circumstances offered a solution, and this I determined to resort to without telling my wife. By selling my silver watch (a gift from an uncle of mine) I hoped to manage the financial problem nicely, and this I resolved to do. But she sensed my purpose, and charged me solemnly (as I was about to leave the house) to do nothing whatever without prayer to God, and then to leave the matter with Him.
This injunction from my wife proved an effective deterrent for I realized that my purposed act would be tantamount to taking things into my own hands, and so I did not carry out my plan. But as I passed a butcher shop I saw a bargain—three pig’s feet for five cents— and as the price was within my means I made what I thought was a fine purchase. Soon I had some savory soup ready for the invalid, but to my surprise, instead of being acceptable, it turned the sick patient’s stomach to even think of it, and I had to eat the concoction myself to demonstrate its great palatability.
At that time the woodshed was just as bare as our cupboard: the last block of wood was used up, and I had to scrape together the bark and splinters to feed the fire in the little stove. After I did so, I knelt down on the bare floor and told the Lord of our desperate need, and pointed out the great necessity for fuel on account of my wife’s weakened condition and the danger of another relapse from being chilled. I then took the basket into the house and, as I had some business to attend to, I left this last lot of fuel in her charge to replenish the fire when necessary. I did not mention to her nor to anyone else the condition of affairs in the woodshed and went off.
On my return, she greeted me with the question, “Why didn’t you tell me you had ordered a load of wood? I refused to allow the driver to deliver it because I had not heard of your doing so.”
My answer was that she knew as much about it as I did, for I had certainly ordered no wood. And then I learned what had happened in my absence. The driver of a truck had come to the door to find out the location of the woodshed and to get the key to the same as he had a load of wood to deliver.
My wife told him, “There must be some mistake.” But the man was not to be moved from his purpose.
“Is not this T. D. W. Muir’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I am ordered to leave this load of wood here, and I intend to do as I was told. Show me where the woodshed is.” And so he piled it in, and when
I looked I saw the answer to my prayer!
Soon after, a knock brought me to the front door to see a stranger, evidently a well-to-do gentleman, for from his clothes I judged him to be a man of means. In response to his enquiry I gave him my name and when he mentioned his I realized that this was a banker from upstate with whom I had had some correspondence. I welcomed him into the room and when he was seated he made enquiry about my health which I was glad to inform him was very good. Then he enquired about my wife and I told him she was fairly well now, having just recovered from a long siege of illness. While we conversed together, I saw him taking mental stock of his surroundings—the carpetless floor, the curtainless windows, and all else in keeping with our early days in Detroit.
I asked him if he purposed going to the Hamilton conference, and he said,
“No.”
“I thought perhaps you were on your way there.”
“No,” he replied, and added, “There are some things in which I don’t quite agree with the brethren at that conference, and that is one reason why I didn’t go.”
“What things, may I ask?”
“Well,” he said, “Do you happen, to know Mr. B. who lives here in Detroit?”
“Yes,” I answered, “And do you hold the beliefs that he holds in regard to eternal punishment?”
“Well, yes I may say I do,” he replied.
“Then,” said I, “I am sorry to hear it.”
“Why?”
“Because such doctrines as he and you believe are totally opposed to the teaching of the Word of God.”
After some further discussion, he said, “I must be going. I am glad to have seen you, and I wish you to receive this and use it in the Lord’s work.” As he said so he produced a roll of bills held together by a rubber band and offered it to me for my acceptance. But I withdrew my hand and said, “I cannot touch that money.”
“Why not?”
“For this reason: What you have just told me severs my relationships with you. I cannot have any fellowship with one who holds the doctrine of annihilation as you do.”
“But you have accepted such a gift on former occasions.”
“Yes, that is true, but I did not then know that you believed these unscriptural doctrines, and so I cannot take that money.”
“But,” he insisted, “the money is all right, if I am not. Take it and use it.”
“No,” I said, “the money may be all right, but the source is not, and I cannot have anything to do with it.”
“Well,” said he, “if you cannot conscientiously use it for the Lord’s work, nor for your own use, take it for your wife’s sake, and get her some dainties during her convalescence.”
“No, sir,” I replied, “I cannot take your money for any purpose whatever, so long as you hold these doctrines that are opposed to the truth of God.”
“All right,” was his final word, “I am sorry. Goodbye.” He went and that was the last I heard of him.
I closed the door and sat down, and I felt like a cad, for here was within my reach just what I required for the needs of my sick wife, and the devil said to me, “Take it, man, and use it,” but the “way of escape” was there as well as the temptation, and the Lord gave me grace to silence the enemy. And again upon my knees I committed our cause to the God of all grace.
Soon there was another caller. At the side door this time was a knock and when I went to answer it I found standing there a Christian woman, who had been recently saved at our gospel meetings. What do you think she brought with her? In one hand there was a pitcher filled with chicken broth, on her other arm a basket in which there was a cooked chicken, fresh vegetables, and a loaf of homemade bread. She had walked all the way from her little farm near Belle Isle bridge bearing these good things to her sister in Christ.
Again I withdrew and kneeled down to my heavenly Father who knew I had need of such things and who had so graciously turned my heartfelt prayers into heartfelt praise.