We were invited to a wedding in South Wales. The friends who invited us kindly arranged two nights' accommodation for us so that we could travel down one day, spend the following day at the wedding, and drive home the day after that.All we were told about the church building where the wedding was to take place was that it had been borrowed for the occasion and that it was within walking distance of the place where we were staying.
On the morning of the wedding, we walked to the church. When we arrived I discovered, to my delight, that it was the very place where the Welsh revival began. It was the chapel where Evan Roberts, the young man so wonderfully used in the revival, used to worship.
Some time later, friends offered us their house in South Wales for a week's holiday. We weren't able to go at the time originally suggested, so it was some weeks later we took up the offer. On our journey down, it came time for a break, and we couldn't find a motorway services open. It was uncanny. Until eventually we came to a motorway services near Cardiff that we wouldn't have visited otherwise.
On the car park were a number of cars with fish emblems on the back, and we got chatting to the occupants. It turned out they were all going to a week's convention in a large tent in the grounds of Swansea University. "You must come," they said. We were staying quite near Swansea, so we spent four or five evenings at the convention and enjoyed some great meetings.
Providence, as some people used to call Him, had so wonderfully arranged the details of our holiday that not only that: on the Wednesday afternoon of our week's holiday there was a meeting at the chapel where Evan Roberts used to worship to mark the 100th anniversary of the Welsh revival. We went along.
There were people there from all over the place. There was no one there who actually remembered the revival 100 years before - although there was a 100-year-old man in the meeting - but there were people whose parents had been involved in the revival.
It was at that meeting that I heard a story about Evan Roberts I had not heard before.
An old retired minister told how his mother had been one of the young women who went round the churches with Evan Roberts, taking the revival with them. One day, when the old minister was four years old, a knock came to the door of the farmhouse where they lived. The four-year-old boy ran to open the door. A man was standing there.
"The man smiled at me," he said. "I will remember that smile as long as I live. He said to me - in Welsh - 'Is your mother in?' I didn't reply. I turned and ran into the farmhouse to my mother and said 'Mother, Jesus Christ has come.'"
The man of course was Evan Roberts. The boy didn't know who it was. He had no idea. But the man had such a presence about him that the little lad thought it was Jesus.
What a story.
