It Was The
LORD
The Biography of Robert L. Donnelly
Susanna K. Martens
WELCH PUBLISHING COMPANY INC.
Burlington, Ontario, Canada
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data
Martens, Susanna K., date
It was the Lord : the biography of Robert L.
Donnelly
ISBN 1-55011-135-3
1. Donnelly, Robert L. (Robert Leslie), 19062. Pentecostal churches — Canada — Clergy — Biography.
3. Clergy — Canada — Biography. I. Title.
BX8762.Z8D66 1990
289.9'4’092
C90-094149-9
® 1990 by Susanna K. Martens
WELCH PUBLISHING COMPANY INC.
960 The Gateway
Burlington. Ontario
L7L 5K7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a re­
trieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior permission
of the copyright owner.
Printed in Canada
Contents
Acknowledgments
6
Foreword
7
Poem — The Lowly Heart
8
1. Beginnings......................................................................... 11
2. Childhood Family.............................................................. 18
3. Youth................................................................................... 24
4. Salvation and Healing........................................................ 30
5. Empowered.......................................................................... 38
6. The Path of Obedience........................................................ 45
7. Maxim..................................................................................53
8. Prince Albert........................................................................62
9. Gilbert Plains ...................................................................... 72
10. Daisy’s Healing.................................................................... 78
11. Into the Fray........................................................................ 88
12. Redeeming the Time............................................................ 98
13. His Hands Extended........................................................ 108
14. Forth into the Field............................................................ 120
15. Heart’s Desire.................................................................. 134
16. The House on Dynes ...................................................... 143
Epilogue ............................................................................ 150
Acknowledgments
I was honoured to write the story of Pastor Donnelly. At first
he hesitated to tell it. but when he felt assured of God’s will, he
opened his heart to me. I appreciated his candor. However, be­
cause he never wanted to say anything negative about anyone
but himself, the book was in danger of becoming one-sidedly
positive. For instance, the hardships he faced at Prince Albert
were glossed over at first telling. A chance remark alerted me
to ask more probing questions to find out what really hap­
pened there. Reluctantly, he allowed the inclusion of those bit­
ter details and made sure to counterbalance them positively in
the chapter that followed.
Thanks to my husband John for his patience. I could not
have written this book without his help and encouragement.
Thanks to author Betty Mae Dyck for copyediting my work.
She helped me strive for excellence and, having lived in
Saskatchewan and traveled widely in other countries, contrib­
uted to the accuracy of the manuscript. Her insightful
guidance and persistent optimism are a continual inspiration.
Historical information was obtained from D. L. Leonard’s
book, A Hundred Years Of Missions, published by Funk &
Wagnails in 1903, and from PAOC Women's Ministries Mission-in-Depth brochures.
The poem. “The Lowly Heart,” by Anna L. Waring, was tak­
en from Donnellys’ favourite volume. Treasures of Poetry, com­
piled by A.L. Byers and Eva R. Johnson, published in 1913 by
the Gospel Trumpet Company in Anderson, Indiana. The
poem, “Apart With Christ,” by Mabel Glenn Haldeman, was
in a long ago Sunday School paper. Though I was unable to
contact either the authors or the publishers for permission, I
acknowledge and am grateful for the use of this poetry.
All Scripture passages are quoted from the King James Ver­
sion.
To the many who wrote and gave tribute to Pastor Donnelly
— thanks. I appreciate all who prayed for the completion of
this biography. May every reader be inspired to a closer, more
humble walk with God.
Robert Donnelly was right when he said, “A river of God’s
grace flows by the path of obedience.”
In Christ, Susanna K. Martens
June, 1989
Foreword
Robert Donnelly has contributed much to the work of God
and especially to The Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada over
these many years as a pastor, teacher and an itinerant
preacher to our churches, conventions and camp meetings.
In my privilege oi association with him, I have found him to
be a man of great depth and substance, a man very believable
because of his sincerity and always evident love for Jesus
Christ and His Church. He is a man of loyalty who finds it
easy to support others in the ministry and to be an encourager
to the Church.
The majority of his years in the ministry have been invested
in pastoring, but in the latter part of his active ministry he has
served very effectively as a teacher/evangelist — an evangelist
who spends much time in the Word and in prayer resulting in
a ministry very dependent upon the Holy Spirit.
Throughout his ministry he has been a very serious student
of the Scriptures. Robert Donnelly brings to the pulpit a
unique and fresh insight in his application, making him a very
engaging preacher of the Word. He has always majored in
preaching Christ and Him crucified.
I have been favoured on occasion to share ministry with
Brother Donnelly in camp meetings across Canada. I have
also benefited from his itinerant ministry as a pastor in several
churches.
I was honoured with the invitation to write this foreword. I
commend the reading of this book to you. I am satisfied that it
will inspire you to serve the Lord with dedication and dili­
gence. This story needs to be told. It reflects what happens
when a life becomes singular in purpose and unreservedly giv­
en over to God.
James M. MacKnight
General Superintendent, PAOC
April 1989
7
THE LOWLY HEART
Father, I know that all my life
Is portioned out for me;
And the changes that are sure to come
I do not fear to see;
But I ask Thee for a present mind
Intent on pleasing Thee.
I ask Thee for a thoughtful love,
Through constant watching wise
To meet the glad with joyful smile,
And wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself.
To soothe and sympathize.
I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking some great thing to do
Or secret thing to know;
I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.
I ask Thee for the daily strength.
To none that ask denied,
And a mind to blend with outward life,
While keeping at Thy side;
Content to fill a little space.
If Thou be glorified.
8
And if some things I do not ask
In my cup of blessing be,
I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to Thee;
More careful not to serve Thee much.
But to please Thee perfectly.
There are briers besetting every path,
That call for patient care;
There is a cross to every lot,
And an earnest need for prayer;
But a lowly heart that leans on Thee
Is happy anywhere.
In service which Thy will appoints
There are no bonds for me;
Tor my inmost heart is taught the truth
That makes Thy children free;
And a life of self-renouncing love
Is a life of liberty.
Anna L. Waring
9
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Chapter One
Beginnings
“Before I formed thee ... I knew thee; and before thou
earnest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and ordained
thee a prophet to the nations.”
Jeremiah 1:5
It was an autumn afternoon. The fragrant tea was poured
and we relaxed around the kitchen table. In the weeks to come
we’d meet like this often. Pastor Donnelly had agreed to tell
me his life’s story.
As I glanced around the tidy little bungalow I felt peace. A
kettle steamed gently on the wood heater in the living room.
Cupboards and shelves in the kitchen and dining room dis­
played delicate china teacups, fancy cake-plates and wooden
figurines and dishes. On the wall near an upright piano hung
rows of interlocking picture frames, with fresh young faces
smiling from each brass oval. In the opposite corner wellthumbed hymnbooks leaned against the rack of a small organ.
From the window I could see pastel snapdragons and sunny
marigolds nestling in profusion against the trunk of a huge
Russian elm by the carport. Billowy clouds scurried across the
blue Okanagan sky.
I looked at Pastor Donnelly and his dainty wife, Daisy,
seated beside him. His shoulders were stooped, his massive
hands unsteady with Parkinson’s tremor. I knew I was in the
11
presence of a man of God. “His lite has spiritual treasures
which must be preserved,” I mused, determined to get some of
them onto paper.
“Do you know the miracle of this house?” asked Sister
Donnelly, sipping her tea.
“No, I haven’t heard it yet,” I replied.
“It was the Lord!” she exclaimed.
I leaned forward as the story began to unfold.
*
*
*
Robert Leslie Donnelly was bom July 18, 1906, the eighth in
a family of ten. Manhood was thrust upon him early by the
harsh life on a northern Saskatchewan homestead. He learned
to value the satisfaction that came — in spite of aching mus­
cles — from a hard day’s work. The formidable challenges of
breaking that bushland, and the incredible hardships later on
prairie farms, never seemed to discourage him. Common
sense and hard work were the ethics of those times.
To his family and neighbours Robert was an ordinary coun­
try boy. Like Amos in the Bible he was “no prophet, neither a
prophet’s son.” Yet, the Lord chose him. One day Robert
Donnelly would leave the wheat fields and forests of Saskatch­
ewan to labour in the greater harvest for his Lord.
Robert’s grandfather, an Irish Catholic, served King Edward
VII in the British Army in India. His father, Ralph, motherless
since infancy and having grown up among soldiers, joined the
army too, becoming a musician in the military band.
Was it humiliation? The lure of adventure? No one knows
why Ralph Donnelly left India for Canada. (Some close to
him thought that his alcoholism may have precipitated his
discharge from the army.) Whatever his reason, he settled in
Winnipeg, Manitoba.
Having been fairly well educated in music, he was attracted
by The Salvation Army band at a street meeting. Before long
he joined them with his big brass euphonium. Through the
ministry of The Salvation Army he was saved from sin and
delivered from alcoholism.
In 1890 Ralph took a bride, Ellen Govenlock from Seaforth,
Ontario, and settled in the small town of Neepawa, about 100
12
miles northwest of Winnipeg. Courage and hope and 10 chil­
dren filled their home! Robert Leslie was the third from the
youngest.
In those pioneering days most people struggled to earn a liv­
ing. The Donnelly family supported itself with a dray1 busi­
ness. Everybody had to help. Using four horses and two
wagons they delivered coal and wood to homes and trans­
ported passengers to and from the train station. The childhood
thrill of being near those mighty steam engines stayed with
Robert even into manhood.
Neepawa was nestled in a mixed farming community. An
incident there made a lasting impression on five-year-old
Robert. Pastor Donnelly recalled it with a twinkle in his eye.
"There was a slaughterhouse not far from our home. The
owners also raised pigs. A huge tank of buttermilk stood in a
pig-pen nearby. They’d just pull the plug, fill the troughs and
then put the plug in again. I got the notion I’d like to try it. I
pulled the plug, but then couldn’t get it back in again. Finally I
decided the better thing to do was to disappear. Nobody would
ever know. I was terrified. For weeks I suffered with guilt.
Every time someone knocked at the door I was sure it must be
the police. I never told anyone to this day. An awful lot of milk
went to waste.”
Hearing about a real estate boom in Saskatchewan, Ralph
Donnelly sold the dray business, packed up the family and
moved to Saskatoon. He bought land near the university,
thinking he’d strike it rich by reselling to developers. His
hopes were dashed. That area of the city was not to be devel­
oped until many years later.
The Donnellys settled into a small one-storey house on
22nd Street in Saskatoon. Ralph got a job with the Public
Works Department as a day labourer. Their family was
smaller now; the older children had married or found jobs of
their own. The four youngest — Jessie, Robert, Weldon and
Alvin — attended primary grades at Princess School. The
strapping he got for chewing gum in class was the most memo­
rable thing about grade one for little Robert.
On Sundays the family attended Salvation Army Services.
Robert first responded to the love of God at one of those meet1 A dray is a sturdy, low cart with fixed sides.
13
ings. “I’ve given my heart to Jesus,’’ he told his father later.
Ralph encouraged him, “Keep it up, son.”
Another vivid memory was of a visit from his Aunt Bessie.
“Weldon and I had a lot of disagreements. Aunt Bessie saw me
chasing him through the house, shouting, ‘You pig. You dirty
pig.’ I was going to beat him up when I caught him.
“She stopped me. ‘I heard you calling Weldon a pig.’
“ ‘Well, he is,’ I retorted.
“ ‘Are you his brother?’ she asked quietly.
“1 was very provoked with her, but never forgot that. If he
was a pig, why, I was his brother!”
Three years later Ralph decided to buy a homestead in
northern Saskatchewan. Similar plans were made by his eldest
daughter Elsie and her husband Jack. Together they traveled
northwest of North Battleford to stake their claims. In those
days a homesteader had to live on his land for three years (at
least six months of the year) before he could claim ownership.
Ralph built a shack and stayed there all winter.
In spring he returned to his old job in Saskatoon, repairing
streets throughout the summer. His plan was to move the fam­
ily to the homestead before winter set in.
Early one fall morning in 1915 the Donnellys loaded their
possessions onto a northbound CNR train and clambered
aboard. They arrived at Turtleford late that afternoon — 25
miles short of their destination. Arrangements had been made
for a neighbouring homesteader to meet them at the station.
When he finally came, their stuff was soon transferred to his
wagon. Then, with horses straining and wagon creaking, they
struck off into the night.
It was pitch dark and bitterly cold by now. None of them
were adequately dressed for such weather. They huddled
together for warmth.
Hours later they were startled by the wagon bumping over
unusually rough terrain. At last the driver spoke. “I think I’ve
missed the road.” he muttered. “Don't know where we are.”
Lost the road! Now what? But there was a bit of trail. He
dropped the reins to let the horses follow their instincts. After
what seemed like an eternity the wagon jolted to a stop. The
horses had brought them to an isolated log cabin. The
homesteaders who lived here took the shivering travelers in
14
and made room for everyone to sleep on the cabin floor. The
horses were given shelter in the bam.
In the morning the driver had his bearings. “We’re ten miles
from the Donnelly homestead,” he reckoned. “We’ll have to
switch from the wagon to a sleigh.” It had snowed heavily all
night. With typical northern neighbourliness their host loaned
them his. Soon they resumed their journey — this time in the
right direction.
When at last they saw their own property, Ellen and the chil­
dren were stunned. There in the bush, hidden under a mound
of snow, stood a rough little shanty. Was this their new home?
They stared, speechless.
Pastor Donnelly’s voice rose in the telling of it. “We were
shocked to see the tiny shack that was to be our home. It meas­
ured no more than 10 x 12 feet, had a sod roof and no floor.
The more I think about it. the more I marvel that we ever sur­
vived. I don't know why, when my Dad had lived there all the
previous winter, he hadn’t built a house — there were all kinds
of trees around. So there we were — all piled into that little
shack.”
One of the older brothers arrived a few weeks later to help
build a log house. It was a family project. After the logs were
laid around the perimeter of what would be their cabin, Robert
had the job of cutting down the willow saplings and shoveling
out the snow.
Ralph dug a well as soon as he could, striking water at 20
feet. Until then they melted snow and ice for their water sup­
ply.
The Donnellys were poorly prepared for the rigors of home­
steading. All their energies were put into simply staying alive.
They had no livestock and no proper equipment. No thought
of complaining, though. Staggering privation and poverty were
prevalent throughout the whole countryside. Many others
were living in similar conditions. It was all they knew.
Friendliness among neighbours has always been the code of
conduct in the north. It was necessary for survival. The
Mowerys and several WWI veteran bachelors who lived in the
area were especially kind to the newcomers. One bachelor
bought two bags of flour. “Mrs. Donnelly,” he offered, “if you’ll
bake my bread from one bag, then you can use the other for
your family.”
“We recognized this as a kindness of the Lord,” said Pastor
15
Donnelly, “and were thankful for His mercies.”
During those first years food had to be rationed to the chil­
dren. Each was given three pieces of bread a day. No butter.
No jam.
The wilderness around them provided prairie chickens, rab­
bits and ducks. Later, when Robert was 12, his mother allowed
him to take the gun. He’d walk all day, looking for rabbits.
“Oh, the thrill of coming home with one little rabbit!” he
remembered. “It was amazing how much gravy my Mother
could make from one little rabbit.”
Thoughts of education had to be put aside; here were no
schools. The Bible and the Family Herald newspaper were the
only available reading material. Occasionally Ralph led fam­
ily prayers with Bible readings, but young Robert preferred to
read for himself every chance he got. Faith in God
undergirded the Donnelly family. The children often heard
Ralph sing the old Salvation Army hymns while he worked
outside. God was real to Robert. That first commitment to
Jesus he’d made in Saskatoon remained with him throughout
his childhood.
Ralph went south that spring, to work as a farmhand to sup­
port his family. All summer his wife and children were left to
fend for themselves. Ellen depended on nine-year-old Robert
to be “the man of the house.”
The days grew warmer. Under sunny skies, buds began to
swell on the willow bushes and the snow melted quickly. With
gardening in mind, Ellen and the children went out to inspect
their property. It was covered with rocks. Ralph had taken this
homestead sight unseen, in the dead of winter when every­
thing was hidden under two feet of snow. Now that all was in
view, it was plain to see, this surely was the rockiest piece of
land in the country.
“The whole thing seemed utterly ridiculous,” exclaimed Pas­
tor Donnelly. “The place was solid bush. Chop down the trees.
Dig out the stumps. And then the rocks. Rocks. Rocks. We
could do nothing with them but pile them up along the edge of
the property.”
When brother-in-law Jack came with his team of oxen to
break up some land for them, he couldn’t plow ten feet without
striking a boulder. Ever so many axes and plows were ruined.
(In later years, after most of the stones had been hauled off,
they were able to work the land quite easily with horses.)
16
Besides the clearing and plowing of the land, there was a
stockpile of wood to secure and the pantry to fill for the winter.
Ellen and the children worked feverishly all summer, slapping
at pesky mosquitoes and black flies all the while. With bare
hands they dragged dry windfalls to the house and cut them
into stove-sized lengths. From dawn to dusk they picked wild
berries in the bush. By summer’s end Ellen had preserved and
dried vast quantities of blueberries, cranberries, saskatoon
berries and raspberries. With cupboards filled and wood piled
high, they knew this winter would be better than the last.
17
Chapter Two
Childhood Family
“He that trusts in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about.”
Psalm 32:10
To Ellen Donnelly, of Scottish Presbyterian background,
quiet submission to her husband was a godly calling. She
seemed always to agree willingly with his ideas and decisions
— no matter what. Her children never heard her complain. A
good example of diligence and virtue, she worked hard. Her
implicit confidence in God gave Robert a sense of security.
Though her hands were calloused and rough, she was a gen­
tle mother, seldom reprimanding her children. Perhaps her
own unhappy childhood with a harsh stepmother had made
her sympathetic and tolerant. Happily, serious quarreling
among the Donnelly children was rare. Respect for others,
especially for parents and neighbours, seemed to come natu­
rally to them.
Robert Donnelly remembered only one of his mothers
spankings. “I had neglected to care for my little brother, whom
she had left in my charge. She was very angry with me when
she found I’d left him in the house alone to go exploring in the
bush. She believed in the ‘laying-on-of-hands,’ and did it quite
enthusiastically.”
His voice softened. “But, I have pleasant memories of my
18
mother and of my family. Though we were living in extreme
poverty, we had cheerful relationships with one another. There
were few extras, but we never seemed to be anxious about the
shortage of supplies. Mother had every confidence the Lord
would provide. And He always did."
Indeed. God must have been watching over them. With no
resources, no equipment and no machinery, they always had
food, shelter and clothing.
His father appeared not to worry about the family. He
seemed to have no qualms about moving them to the home­
stead and leaving them in the bush, unequipped and inexperi­
enced. Yes, he did send home his earnings, but during those
crucial years he was away so much that his children barely
knew him.
A bush lire swept through the area that first summer. Father
was away. At night its fearsome glow lit up the whole country­
side. Then, after several menacing days, the flames roared
onto the Donnelly homestead. Hot coals and sparks flew in
every direction. No time to panic. Quickly Ellen and the chil­
dren formed a bucket brigade. All day long they dragged water
from a nearby slough, sloshing it onto the tarpaper roof of
their log home. They must keep it wet. The fire would eventu­
ally die out around them. It did. While some of the neighbours
lost buildings to that fire, the Donnelly home was spared.
Two years later the fathers of Elmhurst district got together
to build a one-room, log schoolhouse. There would be seven or
eight pupils, varying in ages. They hired a fellow homesteader,
Mr. David Tetlock, to be the teacher. Robert thoroughly
enjoyed his few years at school. He had an insatiable desire to
read; the study of literature and history was pure pleasure to
him. In those days memorization was called “learning by
heart." Robert memorized long poems with ease.
Mr. Tetlock taught the children well, showing concern for
each individual. The woman who substituted for him
occasionally, however, seemed helpless and disorganized in
comparison. She’d often send the two oldest boys out to chop
wood for the heater. “With no trouble at all we’d manage to
spend half a day getting in the wood," chuckled Robert. “First
we’d have to find a tree, then drag it up and cut it into lengths
to fit the stove. It was much more fun than sitting in the class­
room ..."
The school building doubled as a local meeting place. Two
19
or three times each summer church services were conducted
there by a traveling preacher. His visits were always a big
event; the whole community gathered to hear him. Those
meetings helped to confirm Robert’s childhood faith in God.
That the Heavenly Father watched over him was simply
taken for granted by Robert. He spent many hours wandering
through the uncharted bushland, sometimes miles from home.
But for God’s protection he’d doubtless have been lost many
times.
One homesteader lost some horses and thought they might
be in the woods near the Donnellys' place. They’d been miss­
ing for several months, he said. Robert searched the woods lor
days, hoping to earn the reward he’d been offered. “I never
found those horses,” recalled Pastor Donnelly, “but I had a lot
of pleasure just walking through the bush and seeing the dif­
ferent animals and birds. I got to know the layout of the whole
country.”
The Donnellys had no horses of their own and it was two
years before they finally got a Short-horn cow. When she bore
a bull calf they excitedly named him Shorty. What fun! When
Shorty was a year old Robert made a harness for him and
hitched him to a little cart. “If you want to eat hay,” the chil­
dren gleefully shouted at the calf, “you'll have to work and pull
it.”
Shorty did a lot of hauling for them — wood, hay and water
from the creek a quarter of a mile away. Robert made a
stoneboat (a platform on skids), put a barrel on it and hitched
him up. What a wild trip! With all the splashing and tipping,
there usually wasn’t much water left in the barrel by the time
they got home. Shorty learned to work like a horse. They sold
him two years later.
Since Turtleford was a two-day trip away with brother-inlaw Jack’s team of oxen, the Donnellys didn’t go to town very
often. Necessities were purchased at the general store five
miles away — walking distance. Robert and Jessie carried
sacks of Hour or sugar home from the store on their backs.
Regaling one another with funny songs and stories, they
laughed all the way home. Pastor Donnelly smiled broadly at
the memory, “It was hilarious.”
In 1919 Robert and Jessie decided to build a better house. It
20
was a huge undertaking for two teenagers, but they were deter­
mined. (Both had quit school by now.) Then, with helpful sug­
gestions from neighbours, they began to build.
Poplar logs made fine walls, but planed lumber would be
needed lor the floors and roof. How could they get it? Thirteen-year-old Robert knew' what to do: he’d get a job. The
Sneves, a neighbouring Swedish family, owned a sawmill.
He’d ask them. Sure enough, they hired him for the winter, giv­
ing him room and board and lumber in exchange for his
labour.
Robert was given place with the other mill workers in the
attic of the Sneve’s huge barn-shaped home. He slept in a
bunk bed filled with deep, sweet-smelling hay. What comfort.
Mealtimes at the Sneves seemed wonderfully extravagant to
Robert. At home they had so much less. No shortage of eggs,
cream or butter here; generous portions were heaped on his
plate. He still savored the memory.
Mr. Sneve took a liking to his determined young hiredhand. The boy was willing to learn, eager to please and always
dependable. He knew that Robert, without a father’s counsel,
had responsibilities at home far beyond his years. With paren­
tal concern, he taught the youth many practical skills for
homesteading, including horsemanship and mechanics.
At the Sneve’s place Robert had mainly two responsibilities.
One was to feed the animals and milk the cows; the other, to
haul wood and water for the steam tractor that ran the saw. He
worked very hard, spurred by thoughts of the lumber he was
earning. Whenever the tractor had enough water, he’d go for
another load of wood. What a thrill to drive Mr. Sneve’s fine
team of Percheron draft horses.
That winter was exceptionally cold. Robert wore two pairs of
overalls at once, both with patches on patches. Wool mittens
and socks, handknit by his mother, and a cloth cap with ear­
flaps completed his outfit. For those extreme sub-zero temper­
atures, however, he wasn’t dressed nearly warm enough.
One day it was so bitterly cold that the men couldn’t work
the saw. Everyone stayed indoors. Robert thought to himself,
“Here’s my chance to get ahead with hauling wood.” He
hitched up the horses and headed out for a load. There were
stacks of logs in various parts of the Sneve’s homestead. He
chose a pile two miles away. By the time he’d loaded the sleigh
the horses were snorting restlessly, anxious to get back to the
21
or three times each summer church services were conducted
there by a traveling preacher. His visits were always a big
event; the whole community gathered to hear him. Those
meetings helped to confirm Robert’s childhood faith in God.
That the Heavenly Father watched over him was simply
taken for granted by Robert. He spent many hours wandering
through the uncharted bushland, sometimes miles from home.
But for God’s protection he’d doubtless have been lost many
times.
One homesteader lost some horses and thought they might
be in the woods near the Donnellys’ place. They’d been miss­
ing for several months, he said. Robert searched the woods for
days, hoping to earn the reward he’d been offered. “I never
found those horses,” recalled Pastor Donnelly, “but I had a lot
of pleasure just walking through the bush and seeing the dif­
ferent animals and birds. I got to know the layout of the whole
country.”
The Donnellys had no horses of their own and it was two
years before they finally got a Short-horn cow. When she bore
a bull calf they excitedly named him Shorty. What fun! When
Shorty was a year old Robert made a harness for him and
hitched him to a little cart. “If you want to eat hay,” the chil­
dren gleefully shouted at the calf, “you’ll have to work and pull
it.”
Shorty did a lot of hauling for them — wood, hay and water
from the creek a quarter of a mile away. Robert made a
stoneboat (a platform on skids), put a barrel on it and hitched
him up. What a wild trip! With all the splashing and tipping,
there usually wasn’t much water left in the barrel by the time
they got home. Shorty learned to work like a horse. They sold
him two years later.
Since Turtleford was a two-day trip away with brother-inlaw Jack’s team of oxen, the Donnellys didn't go to town very
often. Necessities were purchased at the general store five
miles away — walking distance. Robert and Jessie carried
sacks of flour or sugar home from the store on their backs.
Regaling one another with funny songs and stories, they
laughed all the way home. Pastor Donnelly smiled broadly at
the memory, “It was hilarious.”
In 1919 Robert and Jessie decided to build a better house. It
20
was a huge undertaking for two teenagers, but they were deter­
mined. (Both had quit school by now.) Then, with helpful sug­
gestions from neighbours, they began to build.
Poplar logs made tine walls, but planed lumber would be
needed lor the doors and roof. How could they get it? Thirteen-year-old Robert knew what to do: he’d get a job. The
Sneves, a neighbouring Swedish family, owned a sawmill.
He'd ask them. Sure enough, they hired him for the winter, giv­
ing him room and board and lumber in exchange for his
labour.
Robert was given place with the other mill workers in the
attic of the Sneve's huge barn-shaped home. He slept in a
bunk bed filled with deep, sweet-smelling hay. What comfort.
Mealtimes at the Sneves seemed wonderfully extravagant to
Robert. At home they had so much less. No shortage of eggs,
cream or butter here; generous portions were heaped on his
plate. He still savored the memory.
Mr. Sneve took a liking to his determined young hiredhand. The boy was willing to learn, eager to please and always
dependable. He knew that Robert, without a father’s counsel,
had responsibilities at home far beyond his years. With paren­
tal concern, he taught the youth many practical skills for
homesteading, including horsemanship and mechanics.
At the Sneve's place Robert had mainly two responsibilities.
One was to feed the animals and milk the cows; the other, to
haul wood and water for the steam tractor that ran the saw. He
worked very hard, spurred by thoughts of the lumber he was
earning. Whenever the tractor had enough water, he'd go for
another load of wood. What a thrill to drive Mr. Sneve’s fine
team of Percheron draft horses.
That winter was exceptionally cold. Robert wore two pairs of
overalls at once, both with patches on patches. Wool mittens
and socks, handknit by his mother, and a cloth cap with earflaps completed his outfit. For those extreme sub-zero temper­
atures, however, he wasn’t dressed nearly warm enough.
One day it was so bitterly cold that the men couldn’t work
the saw. Everyone stayed indoors. Robert thought to himself,
“Here’s my chance to get ahead with hauling wood.” He
hitched up the horses and headed out for a load. There were
stacks of logs in various parts of the Sneve’s homestead. He
chose a pile two miles away. By the time he’d loaded the sleigh
the horses were snorting restlessly, anxious to get back to the
21
Chapter Three
Youth
"Thou compassest my path and my lying down . . .
Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit . . . ?”
Psalm 139:3,7
By 1922 Ralph Donnelly was badly crippled with rheuma­
tism. Fourteen-year-old Robert persuaded his father to stop
working as a farmhand and stay home with his family.
“I’ll go to work, Dad,” he offered, “and send home my earn­
ings.” For the next four years Robert was the family’s main
source of support. He didn’t mind; he liked working hard.
“Imagine,” he’d say, “having the fun of working and then
getting paid for it on top of that.”
Out on the job a man could be himself. Social niceties and
the cut of his clothes were of no consequence there. Robert was
tall and strong with muscles like steel. Loading wagons, driv­
ing teams of horses, swinging an axe or tracking through the
bush — to him it was all just a lot of fun.
Social gatherings, on the other hand, made him very
uncomfortable. He was painfully shy and always conscious of
his homemade, well-patched clothes. Lack of education con­
tributed to feelings of awkwardness and inferiority. If visitors
came he’d disappear into the bush. He’d wander through the
trees alone for hours until he was sure the guests had gone.
When the time came to leave home and find a job, one of
24
their bachelor neighbours invited Robert to job-hunt with
him. "There's work available farther south building grain ele­
vators." he encouraged.
Filled with anticipation they caught the train to Saskatoon.
When they got there, what disappointment. They were told
that all elevator construction had been postponed until fall
when the grain crop size could be determined.
There was no turning back. His companion had a brother
near Harris, south of Saskatoon. "Let’s go and help him seed
his crops.” suggested the older man.
"We had a good time," Robert grinned. “Ed would come in
early at noon and whip up dozens of baking powder biscuits
with cream and eggs."
Word got around that Robert was a hard working young fel­
low. Soon a neighbouring farmer hired him to help with hay­
ing. then another to join his threshing outfit. The long, hot
summer days were exhausting. Robert worked with all his
might, knowing that the family at home was depending on
him.
Pay day at last! Eagerly Robert counted his money. What? It
was only a fraction of what he had expected — much less than
the other men had received. Too shy to ask about salary ini­
tially, he'd assumed that his wages would be the same as every­
one else’s. All summer he’d worked hard, and now his boss
was taking advantage of his youthful inexperience. Protest
welled up within him, but he didn’t speak.
The older man, seemingly oblivious to Robert’s consterna­
tion and disappointment, broke the silence. “Stick around.
There’s still fall plowing to do." Somewhat reluctantly, Robert
agreed to stay.
After freeze-up, the farmer casually mentioned that field
work for the year was finished and tomorrow he’d take Robert
to the train station. “Another farmer owes me money,” he
explained. “We’ll see him there and you’ll get the rest of your
wages.” Robert was relieved.
Next morning the man-with-the-money was nowhere to be
seen. His boss tried to persuade Robert to board the train any­
way. “I’ll send you the money later," he promised. The tall,
sun-browned youth quietly refused. He was not leaving with­
out his wages. He’d wait.
Back at the farm cash was soon found for him. Again it was
less than half of what Robert felt was due him. The farmer
25
handed him a 10-gauge shotgun to boot. A fine gun — it would
be a collector’s item today — but practically useless to Robert.
(Stores in that area sold only 12-gauge shotgun shells!) A dis­
appointed, but wiser young man returned to the family home­
stead near Turtleford.
Later that fall Robert suggested to his brother Weldon.
“Let’s dig a new well.” By this time the original well had col­
lapsed. To get water for the family and livestock, they had to
melt snow and ice on the kitchen stove.
A spot near the house was chosen, against their father’s con­
sidered opinion. Their choice of locations didn’t respond to
his willow’s witch. However, since they’d be the ones to do the
digging he didn’t argue the point.
“It was hard work.” remembered Pastor Donnelly. “Solid
clay. We had to use a pick axe every inch of the way. I did the
digging and Weldon hauled up the dirt with a windlass and a
three-gallon bucket. At 25 feet we hit a good body of water.
When it was time for me to come out I’d put one foot in the
pail and hang onto the rope. Weldon hauled me up. Just like
that. Our well always had plenty of water — as long as my
folks lived there.”
Robert loved horses. He had a way with them. One spring
morning his brother-in-law Jack asked him to help hitch up a
couple of broncos. One was so wild that they had to throw and
hog-tie him before they could get the harness on. Finally suc­
ceeding, they teamed him up with a quiet mare.
Then Jack decided they’d use this pair to ride to Turtleford
for a new plow. They got to town without incident, but couldn’t
find the plow he wanted. They’d have to go 10 miles farther to
the next town. By the time they headed home it was late in the
afternoon. (The bronco was still reluctant in harness.) Sud­
denly the road disappeared into an expanse of swirling,
muddy water. The Turtle River had flooded its banks.
After examining the situation Jack came up with an idea.
Robert should take the long rope attached to the front of the
wagon, ford the river on the gentle mare and try to find the
road again. Jack would stand in the wagon holding the
bronco’s reins. Then Robert would tug the rope and guide
them safely across.
“I wasn’t very enthusiastic about it,” admitted Pastor
Donnelly, "but it worked fine. Once across we hitched the
26
horses together again and away we went. By the time we got
home that bronco was well broken in.”
Robert's reputation with horses followed him from farm to
farm. Many times he’d be asked to harness-break, or “gentle”
them.
"One horse wouldn't be tamed,” laughed Pastor Donnelly.
“Another young fellow and I took a job together as hiredhands. For some unknown reason, my partner kept telling our
new boss, ‘Bob's a good horseman. He can break any horse.’ It
wasn't long before the farmer mentioned he had a four-yearold mare named Flossie, who had never been hitched up. He
wanted me to gentle her so she could be used to take the chil­
dren to school. I was really afraid, but tried not to show it.
When the horse saw me with a saddle, she threw her head
back and neighed. Then she just about tore the barn apart, try­
ing to fight it. But I saddled her. Then I took her out into a
plowed field to try to mount her there. But I went flying into
the dirt before I could get my leg all the way over her. We had a
saying in those days: ‘I reached for the horns of the saddle and
got a fistful of grass.’ ”
After blindfolding the mare, Robert was able to mount her.
But as soon as the blindfold came off the horse immediately
threw him into the dirt again. By the time it was over his watch
had been trampled, his shirt was torn and his nose was bleed­
ing. “1 was never able to ‘gentle’ Flossie,” he concluded with a
wry smile.
Robert had no problem finding jobs. In the summers he
worked as a prairie farmhand, in the winters as a bush-camp
teamster or logger. (One winter he also trapped over 100 musk­
rats for a fur dealer in Saskatoon.) Invariably, his conscien­
tious and trustworthy ways won him the confidence of
employers. In spite of his youth he could hold his own at any
job.
The simple trusting nature of his childhood, however, was
fast disappearing. His temper often flared violently. Due to
several bad experiences he became sarcastically critical of
anything “Christian.” Bitter disillusionment and resentment
consumed him. Religion was just a tool used to take advantage
of people, he had concluded. Most professing Christians he’d
encountered were undeniable hypocrites and blatantly dis­
honest in the workaday world.
27
At home between jobs Robert still participated in family
devotions. Reverence towards God, the Creator, was never
really lost. But his heart was hardened towards Christianity
because he seemed to meet fraudulent Christians everywhere.
It suited him just fine that the subject of religion was taboo
in the bush camps and easily ignored. His job, hauling loads
of 100-pound railway ties, went from dawn to dusk. Then he’d
have to feed, water and rub down his four-horse team. He’d hit
the hay after supper, exhausted. No time for religion.
When he was 17 Robert heard that The Pas Lumber Com­
pany was hiring men. He caught the train to Tisdale to get in
on this opportunity. Hundreds of men were being recruited to
work in various northern logging camps for the winter. He was
accepted immediately. Having stored his trunk and trapping
gear at the local hotel, the next morning he joined a group of
men on the back of a large truck. Their job site lay 100 miles
northeast of Tisdale, at a connecting channel between the Car­
rot and Saskatchewan rivers.
After traveling 80 miles over rough gravel roads, the men
were dropped off at a stopover camp for night. The following
morning they tramped the last 20 miles through the bush to
camp.
This well organized logging camp employed 150 men and
was larger than any he’d worked at before. Each bunkhouse
held 50 hay-filled bunk beds. The janitor (“bull cook”) kept
things in order, regularly stoking the kitchen and bunkhouse
fires and wakening everyone at 5 a.m.
Satisfying the appetites of hungry loggers was a full-time job
for the cook and his staff. Mountains of pancakes, bacon and
eggs were consumed at breakfast and vast quantities of pota­
toes, pork loaf and beans at lunch and supper. (Robert never
tired of beans.) There were pies and lots of fresh baked bread.
Soon he was joining the others in good-natured banter about
“petrified peach pie” (made from dried peaches), and “CPR
strawberries” (stewed prunes).
At first he worked as a tree feller. When it became known
that he was a capable teamster, he was given charge of four
horses. He had to haul huge sleigh-loads of logs down to the
landing and dump them onto the frozen river channel. They’d
float down river to the mill at spring break-up.
Early in spring the loggers were given two options. They
could stay in camp till the ice broke and float south on the log
28
booms, or they could walk out. Robert, eager to get work on a
farm, decided to walk the 100 miles to Tisdale. Several others
joined him. They were provided a company team and sleigh to
carry their luggage and blankets. Meals and sleeping quarters
were set up at 30-mile intervals along the way. Racing from
point to point was a lot of fun for those young fellows. Most of
them would cover the 30 miles by noon and then have nothing
to do but eat and sleep till the next morning.
In Tisdale Robert and a fellow logger took a room together
in the hotel. That evening he pulled out his stored belongings
to check them over. Reaching into Robert’s trunk, his friend
took out the dismantled .22 rifle and began to assemble it.
Then he raised it. squinted through the sights and pulled the
trigger. BANG! The two young men stared in shock at the
smooth round hole in the window. A bullet in the chamber!
Not a word was spoken. Visibly shaken, Robert’s companion
dismantled the gun and very carefully replaced it into the
trunk. The next morning they left without mentioning the
“ventilated” window to anyone.
Robert caught the train and headed south to Strauser, Sas­
katchewan. where he promptly found a job. Seasonal farm
work progressed as usual — seeding, followed by summer fal­
low plowing and then haying. But the weather in 1924 was
exceptionally dry. Crops were sure to fail. Robert’s employer,
realizing he’d be unable to afford to keep a hired-hand, paid
Robert and gave him a lift to the train station.
Crops might be better farther north, Robert figured, so he
made enquiries in Unity. There he met James McOuat who
was looking for hired help. Soon Robert had climbed into
McOuat's one-horse buggy and off they rolled in a cloud of
dust. He felt pleased to have found another job so quickly.
Robert felt at home with the McOuats almost at once; they
had four teenagers of their own. The several hired men ate
with the family but slept in the bunkhouse.
Next morning when he took his place at the big kitchen
table Robert noticed the friendly atmosphere immediately.
Eager to get right to work after breakfast, he was puzzled when
nobody left the table. Gradually he realized what was about to
happen. Mr. McOuat brought out a big Bible and proceeded
with family devotions. Robert’s heart sank. Oh. no! A Chris­
tian family! What had he got himself into? He was sure there
was trouble ahead.
29
Chapter Four
Salvation and Healing
“But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised
for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon
Him; and with His stripes we are healed."
Isaiah 53:5
Who can tell the far reaching effects of one life given over to
God? How important are the daily disciplines of a Christian
life? James McOnat regularly led his family in morning devo­
tions. The hired men (whether they liked it or not) were in­
cluded. Heads bowed, they'd sit quietly till the last prayer was
prayed.
It wasn’t long before Robert realized these Christians were
different from others he'd met. Obviously they really loved
God. Everything they said and did was affected by their ardent
faith. Even their teenagers were devoted Christians.
Work! On this farm 200 tons of hay had to be put up and
vast acres of summer fallow plowed. A section of wheat (640
acres) had to be cut with a binder and stooked. Stocks were
made by standing six or eight of the heavy bundles of grain on
end against each other, pyramid fashion. They were left to dry
in the sun. Stocking was quite an art; a good man had to work
hard to keep up with the binder. Added to all that was the dai­
ly care of cattle and horses. Everyone was always being hur­
ried along—there was no end of things to do. No dawdling al­
30
lowed. On Sundays, however, the work stopped and only nec­
essary chores were permitted. The “Lord’s Day” was set apart
for rest and church attendance at the nearby Cutknife Pente­
costal Assembly.
Robert knew immediately that the McOuats were concerned
about his spiritual condition. His boss had gently probed into
his background, asked which church he attended and invited
him to join them at the Cutknife Assembly.
Midweek prayer meetings were held in various farm homes.
On those days, work was finished early so no one would have
to miss them. Robert began to attend and the group of loving
Christians accepted him warmly. Their faith and love were
convincingly sincere. Within Robert stirred a desire to also
know God intimately. But he kept his thoughts to himself.
The McOuat farm was immense, covering miles in every di­
rection. Over 300 acres of hay had to be cut. Three or four
horse-drawn mowers and one hay rake worked the fields,
while several men piled haystacks by hand. Robert was as­
signed to a mower.
It was a long job — even for four mowers — to cut that
much hay. Day after day he felt quite alone under the vast
prairie sky. The horses knew what to do; back and forth over
the fields they plodded, heavy mower in tow. Swaths of sweet­
smelling hay stretched in long narrow rows behind them.
Plenty of time for Robert to think and think.
His thoughts were in turmoil, his heart heavy. The sounds of
haying faded into the background. Things were not right be­
tween him and Jesus, and he knew it. Every day he became
more strongly convicted of his sins.
On Wednesday. August 6. 1924, he could bear it no longer.
Pastor Donnelly recounted: “The Lord was dealing with me
while I was mowing. 1 began to get very troubled about the
kind of life I had been living. I knew my attitude was wrong.
My temper was very bad. One afternoon I got so convicted I
just stopped the team of horses and got down on my knees be­
hind the mower. I cried out to God to save me. To forgive me. I
remembered how I’d given my heart to Jesus when I was only
five or six years old. How far I’d drifted from God since then!
But He took me back.
“I didn't say anything about it at supper, though I wanted to.
I guess I was fearful. But it was prayer meeting night . . .
When they asked me to go I was very glad for the opportunity.
31
There was a lot of rejoicing when I told them what I had
done.”
The news of Robert’s conversion spread quickly among the
farmhands. In the bunkhouse late that evening the men eyed
him with interest. One joked, “So, you’re thoroughly saved
now, are you?”
“Yes, I really am,” he replied firmly, “and I think it would be
a good thing for us all to pray.”
Someone said, “Yeah, go ahead.” So he did. Raising his
voice with emotion, he thanked the Lord Jesus for saving his
soul from sin. There was absolute silence. Robert blew out the
coal oil lamp and crawled into his bunk. As he lay in the dark­
ness his heart was filled with peace and joy.
Next morning he awoke well before the others. Hurrying to
the barn he knelt in an empty stall and lifted his heart in pray­
er. This precious new relationship with his Heavenly Father
must not be neglected. From then on he tried always to keep
this early appointment with God. It was the start of a lifelong
habit.
One morning after chores, Robert was busily sharpening
mower knives. His stomach growled. Would the breakfast-call
never come? Mr. McOuat just stood watching. Robert stiff­
ened. Intently slanting the blade against the spinning
whetstone, his grip tightened on the handle of the grinder. Nei­
ther spoke. Breaking the long silence, his boss casually men­
tioned that he’d hold the blades the other way if he were doing
it. Robert’s old temper exploded. “Well, that’s good! This is the
way I hold it!” he snapped. The older man was taken aback.
“All right,” he answered softly and walked into the house.
Robert ate his breakfast silently that morning, eyes down­
cast. After Bible-reading Mr. McOuat looked at him and said,
“Now Bob, would you lead in prayer please?” “I was stuck,”
confessed Pastor Donnelly. “I was still hot and bothered and
angry with him. So I had to apologize before I could pray. ‘Sor­
ry I spoke that way ,’ I said. I knew I'd been out of line. I’ve
thought often of it since . . .You can’t harbor resentments if
you're going to pray together.”
Not long after, he explained to Mr. McOuat why he’d been
bitter towards Christians. One experience with a so-called
Christian employer still rankled. After working a full season
for that man he had never been paid. His boss quickly took the
32
matter in hand and wrote a letter to the culprit. Eventually
some money was sent to Robert's parents, but never any to
him directly. He was learning to forgive, however, and best of
all the festering bitterness was gone.
As the weeks went by Robert felt more and more at home
with the McOuats. Everything there encouraged him to grow
stronger in his new-found faith. They loaned him a Bible. He
spent every spare minute reading it. Whenever the local Chris­
tians gathered, he'd join them. To him they were like family.
He wrote his parents that he'd got right with God. They were
very pleased. That winter he went back to the homestead to
visit them, but the McOuat's farm was “home” now. Nothing
delighted him more than to worship with his Christian broth­
ers and sisters at the Cutknife Assembly.
Being a man of spiritual discernment. Mr. McOuat soon be­
came convinced that God wanted Robert in the ministry. Con­
tinually he tried to build the youth's confidence, encouraging
him to study. Robert was diffident and sure he’d never qualify
for any public ministry.
The harvest was bountiful in 1925. McOuat’s granaries
bulged with over 10.000 bushels of wheat. Good crops were a
welcome blessing from God for the farmers of the Cutknife
Assembly and an incentive to build a church. Everyone would
be expected to share the work.
“What could 1 do?” Robert wondered apprehensively when
Mr. McOuat invited him to help too. “With my inexperience
and incompetence Ell be sure to botch things up. There must
be another way to help.” Then he had an idea. If he hauled all
the wheat to the elevator in town by himself, his boss would be
freed to work on the building. Mr. McOuat consented.
Next morning Robert resolutely hitched up two teams of
horses, and heaped both wagons with grain. Driving the teams
in tandem, he skillfully guided them to and from the elevators.
All winter long he hauled wheat that way, making two trips
each day to the town of Adanac. It was a mammoth undertak­
ing for one person to load and unload four wagonloads of
grain in sub-zero weather. Besides that, Robert had the regular
task of rubbing down and feeding the horses and keeping up
daily barnyard chores. No complaints. He was happy to do it.
This was his contribution to the church building program.
Pastor Albert Scratch agreed with Mr. McOuat that God
33
was calling Robert to the ministry. Pastor Donnelly explained
his continuing reticence.
“I was frustrated with the thought of having no education —
that I was not qualified in any way to meet people publicly. My
pastor tried to get me to do something, but I’d usually beg off.
One day I thought. ’I’ll cure him this time; I’ll go ahead and do
what he asks. He’ll be so ashamed of me he’ll never ask again.’
But even that didn’t turn him off. He kept on asking and en­
couraging me ... It was the Lord!”
The dedication of the new church building began with a
missionary convention. The Otto Kellers from Kenya and the
J.R. Spences from China were some of the special speakers.
These were the first Pentecostal missionaries Robert had met
and he admired them deeply. Within him stirred a desire to
also do something for his Lord. He thought longingly of South
America. Would he ever go there?
The following autumn a young fellow from BC joined the
McOuat threshing crew. Robert and he had to share a bunk.
This bedfellow often had fits of coughing, though he seemed
healthy otherwise. Then suddenly he got sick and had to leave.
After a few weeks the McOuats received a letter from him
saying he had ’’galloping consumption” — tuberculosis! Three
months later he was dead.
By the next threshing season Robert was coughing too, but
unconcerned. ’’It’s nothing,” he thought. “I’m a healthy 20year-old.” Then one morning he woke up gagging and gasping
for breath. His mouth was filled with blood. Cleaning himself
up as best he could he went to work as usual and told no one.
Again next morning his mouth was full of blood. After several
days of this he finally admitted to himself that he needed help.
Tuberculosis attacks initially without noticeable symptoms.
By the time a patient coughs blood, however, it has reached
the advanced stage. Before modern medicine it was often fatal.
In 1926 the only remedy was plenty of rest and nourishing
food.
X-rays revealed a spot on Robert’s right lung. Doctor’s or­
ders: immediate isolation in the TB Sanitarium at Saskatoon!
He packed his bags. The Christians at Cutknife prayed ear­
nestly for him, sympathizing over the gravity of his condition.
Robert was unperturbed. Somehow he knew everything would
be all right. When he arrived at the “San” he wrote a letter to
the McOuats, “I arrived here safe and sound.” As usual his at­
34
titude was: "Well, this will soon pass over.”
Facilities at the San were new. but seriously overcrowded.
Within three months he was transferred to the sanitarium near
Fort Qu’Appelle. named Fort San. The TB advanced relent­
lessly in Robert’s lungs. Most days his body burned with fever.
Steadily he grew thinner and weaker.
This forced inactivity was foreign to his nature. All he could
do here was read and rest. Day and night he read the Scofield
Chain Reference Bible that his sister-in-law had given him.1
Many letters from family and friends encouraged him too.
One letter he received in the fall of 1927 brought the news
that Dr. Charles S. Price, famous Congregationalist preacher
with a healing ministry, was coming to Saskatoon. (Robert had
been in sanitariums for almost a year now.) The excited writer
suggested Robert should try to attend these meetings. He could
be healed! Healed? The prospect seemed overwhelming. Rob­
ert prayed earnestly whether or not to go. After careful consid­
eration he spoke to his doctors about it.
“You'd be foolish to go.” they advised. “Wait till you feel bet­
ter. You're still running a temperature and much too ill.”
Robert pointed out weakly, “I don't seem to be improving
. . .” They had to agree.
Finally they said, “You might as well go.”
His doctors got a berth for him on the train and saw him off.
At Saskatoon friends whisked him to a rooming-house and
settled him into a room they’d rented for him. How good to be
among familiar faces again.
The healing services had already begun. Capacity crowds
gathered three times a day for three weeks at the large hockey
arena. At every service Dr. Price gave an opportunity for sick
people to line up for prayer. Daily miraculous healings were
reported. With help from his friends — and much determina­
tion — Robert attended all the remaining sessions. At first he
could only walk short distances unaided, because he was ex­
tremely weak. Surprisingly, he grew steadily stronger.
He looked at the questionnaire he’d received to prepare him
for the healing line. Name? Nature of problem? Spiritual con­
dition? One question kept him back. It seemed impossible to
'Since her husband Harry’s death in the 1918 flu epidemic, she and Robert
had developed a special friendship. Of all the Donnelly boys he was the
most like her husband Harry, she said. When Robert asked her to buy a
Bible for him she did so gladly and refused to let him pay for it.
35
answer. “Do you believe the Lord will heal you now?" He ago­
nized over it. It must be answered, but he couldn’t say “Yes.”
Day after day he cried out to his Heavenly Father for faith to
answer that question. The meetings would soon be over. It was
now that he needed healing. Then one day as he knelt beside
his bed, open Bible before him, a promise from God suddenly
became very personal. “I create the fruit of the lips; Peace,
peace to him that is far off, and to him that is near, saith the
Lord; and I will heal him” (Isa. 57:19). Robert’s heart leapt.
That promise was for him!
Pastor Donnelly’s voice trembled. “Finally the Lord helped
me to say, ‘Yes, I believe He heals me now!’ After the last Sun­
day night service I went forward for prayer. The sense of God’s
presence was so tremendous that people were falling prostrate
on the platform and all around the front at the altar, even be­
fore anyone ever went near them to pray. I was one of the last
ones in line, standing alone. When Dr. Price finally prayed for
me I didn’t feel a thing. I expected perhaps I’d fall down too,
but no. Though I had no feelings, God had spoken and He
would see me through. My confidence was in the Lord.”
Robert stayed on at the rooming-house after the meetings
ended, using his savings to pay the rent. Though very weak
and shaky, he began to look for a job. It was early October —
harvest time on the farm. Not strong enough to be of any use
there, he’d have to find work in town. Day in and day out he
trudged up and down the streets of Saskatoon, searching for a
job. It seemed hopeless. But he “just took things as they came,”
one day at a time, trusting God to see him through.
Finally he landed a job selling ladies’ “real silk” stockings
door-to-door. How humiliating for a tough logger and
farmhand. “But,” he reasoned, “if I don’t work I don’t eat.”
Trudging from house to house he sold enough stockings to pay
his rent. Mercifully that embarrassing job lasted only a few
weeks. Next he became a news agent on the Saskatoon, Sas­
katchewan /Chauvin, Alberta railway run. Back and forth be­
tween the two stations he’d travel, selling newspapers, candies
and fruit to the passengers. Before long, though, he was out of
work again; he d been unable to meet the required sales quota.
To his relief and delight, friends near Cutknife invited him
to spend Christmas with them. Since his fever was gone and
he was no longer spitting blood, he accepted eagerly. How
36
exhilarating to be baek in the country.
In January he was offered a job hauling wheat for a nearby
farmer who was sick. At first it was very difficult for him to
shovel wheat into the large wagon box set on a sleigh. He kept
at it, determined not to give up. Gradually his strength re­
turned. Within a few weeks he could quite easily keep up with
the other hired man. All winter long he worked with a team of
horses hauling grain from the farm to the elevator in town.
Some days he counted as many as 40 other wheat-hauling
teams on the roads. How wonderful to be back among farm
workers.
He wrote a letter to the doctors at Fort Qu'Appelle telling
them what he was doing, giving God all the credit. Somehow
this confirmed what he'd known all winter: he was healed! He
took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh country air. Per­
haps he'd soon be able to return to work at the McOuat’s
farm . . .
37
Chapter Five
Empowered
"For I will pour water on him that is thirsty, and floods upon
the dry ground: I will pour out My Spirit upon thy seed, and
My blessing upon thine offspring."
Isaiah 44:3
The McOuats had a job waiting for him. It was good to be
home again. Robert knew he owed his life to his loving
Heavenly Father and was grateful. How could he ever say
thanks? With all his heart he wanted to serve God. If only he
were more qualified ... If only he’d had an education . . . If
only. . . He poured out his heart in prayer and spent every
available minute reading the Bible.
That summer he decided to be baptized. Tom Kennedy, the
new pastor of Cutknife Assembly, immersed about a dozen
young people in a nearby lake. This was their open declaration
of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ — a public identification with
Him.
Pastor Donnelly spoke reverently of that solemn occasion.
“It was a very wonderful experience! I never cease to be
thrilled with baptismal services, and I’ve conducted many
myself. There's something very awesome and significant about
that covenant testimony. I don’t think we’ve yet fully appreci­
ated the mystery of it. We know what takes place on the earthly
38
scene, but how it affects the heavenlies we don't know for
sure . . . I’ll never forget that occasion.”
Mr. McOuat was more convinced than ever that his unas­
suming farmhand was destined for the ministry. "Robert
ought to study and prepare for it,” he thought. In 1929 the per­
sistent farmer tackled the subject with him again.
Encouraged. Robert applied for admission to the Amy
Semple McPherson Bible School of Los Angeles, California.
That was not to be. The Americans had strict financial
requirements for the admission of foreign students. Robert
couldn't meet these; he didn’t get in.
Mr. McOuat would not give up. "Why not study by mail?
You can have the bunkhouse to yourself all winter, with only
barnyard chores to do.”
It was an offer Robert couldn’t refuse. He sent to Los
Angeles for a correspondence Bible course.
Snow had been piled up to the eves around the bunkhouse
to provide insulation. The potbellied coal heater radiated
warmth. A coal oil lamp stood on the table. With no one to dis­
tract him, Robert pored over his lessons late into the nights.
All winter he immersed himself in the study of God’s Word.
He loved it! By spring he had completed the course — eight
different subjects and over 300 Bible memory verses.
Robert knew most of the McOuat’s neighbours well. An
elderly childless couple took a special liking to him. Theirs
was a beautiful farm with fine horses, machinery and 640 acres
of good land. The farmer came to Robert with an offer.
“Would you consider taking over my farm?” he asked. "You
can have it any way you want. Pay me so many bushels, or a
percentage of the crops, or cash-rent it. Just take over and run
it.”
What an incredible offer. How often he’d wished for a farm
of his own. Here it was, free for the taking.
“It was quite a temptation,” acknowledged Pastor Donnelly,
“but I had to tell him I believed God was leading me in
another direction.”
Later, when his elderly friend lay dying of cancer, Robert
visited him and prayed with him. He came away thanking
God that the old farmer had found eternal salvation, too.
The Baptism of the Holy Spirit was something Robert had
39
long desired. How he struggled in prayer tor it.
“For several years I sought for the fulness of The Blessing,”
related Pastor Donnelly. “I’d usually leave the place of prayer
discouraged, thinking it was not yet time for me to receive it.
The only thing 1 learned was that I needn’t have waited. It was
God’s time whenever I was ready. He’s always ready. I’ve never
read anywhere that He said, 'Come back tomorrow
it s too
soon for Me to give you help.’ We need to know this about
many of His promises.”
In the summer of 1931 the Saskatchewan Pentecostal
Assemblies held their annual conference at Saskatoon. Robert
was excited to be there. Large crowds gathered at the exhibi­
tion grounds to hear the visiting speakers. Some sessions were
held at the local Pentecostal church with prayer services
downstairs afterwards.
After each evening service he’d head for the prayer room,
hoping for the Baptism of the Holy Spirit. “I spent much time
seeking the Lord for the fulness of The Blessing, but it both­
ered me to have people lay their hands on me. They’d create
quite a furor about my condition. I always wished they’d leave
me alone and let the Lord deal with me as He wanted to.
“I know that wasn’t the right attitude . . .”
One evening, towards the close of the convention, Robert
decided to leave the noisy prayer room and go for a long walk
in the city. Two hours later he returned to find several people
still praying. He knelt down beside them.
“I hadn’t been on my knees long before God gave me the
confidence — the assurance — that He was going to meet my
need that very night. I discovered it was God’s time. I just kept
waiting, praying, worshiping. Joining me in prayer were sev­
eral men and my pastor. Brother Kennedy. At about 3 o’clock
in the morning God began to move upon my life in a most
remarkable way. I was lost in His presence and began to speak
with other tongues quite freely — and loudly. This continued
for some time. My friends were beside themselves with ecstasy,
racing up and down in the prayer room, praising God with all
their hearts. It was daylight before the meeting broke up.
“I was clearly taught by my pastors and teachers that this
was but the beginning of the Spirit-filled life with God. I never
doubted that God had met and filled me, though I haven’t
always been as full of ecstasy as on that particular night.”
40
Church meetings in the C utknife Pentecostal Assembly
were held on Sunday afternoons. This was more convenient
for the farming families who had to travel miles with horses to
attend. At Paynton, 20 miles to the north, the Christians had
been meeting in the community hall Sunday evenings for
about a year. Pastor Kennedy ministered in both assemblies.
Robert unobstrusively participated in the services at both
places, quietly serving wherever he was needed. His comments
in Bible class were always thought-provoking. Though he
knew his Bible well by now. he was still very shy. Addressing
relative strangers at Paynton was easier for him than to stand
before friends at Cutknife.
That January Pastor Kennedy asked him to take charge of
church affairs while he and his wife went on a vacation.
"You’ll have the loan of horses to drive back and forth
between assemblies." he promised.
Robert hesitated, then agreed. "After all." he reasoned, "it’ll
only be for two weeks. With God’s help 1 can do it."
The responsibility was awesome. He spent long hours in
preparation on his knees. The McOuats, and other friends,
encouraged and supported him with their prayers.
During Pastor Kennedy’s absence Robert received an
urgent phone call from Brother Styles, a Christian from the
assembly. “My neighbours are in serious trouble. Can you
come?”
Robert left immediately. It was 20 miles to the Styles’ home
and the weather was bitterly cold, but the situation sounded
grave. What could be wrong?
The Styles welcomed him into their warm living room.
Quickly they explained. “This family has come to us in a
dreadful panic, absolutely terrified! They’ve begged us for
safety but they won’t say what’s frightening them. They’re
upstairs in the bedroom now. What’s wrong? We just don't
know."
Robert bowed his head. “The first thing to do," he said, “is to
ask for God’s help.” The farm family joined him in prayer.
Then, tiptoeing upstairs, they peeked into the bedroom where
the guests were resting.
The young couple sat bolt upright in bed, terror-stricken.
Still fully dressed, they clung to each other, white-faced with
fear. Introducing Robert as their interim pastor, Mr. Styles
41
invited them to explain their problem. They looked at him
strangely.
“That’s the devil trying to find out. We re not going to tell
him!” Then pleading, “Don’t tell anyone where we are. Please?
Please hide our cutter and horses?”
Robert was in a quandary. What should he do? Obviously
the distress was real, but try as he would he couldn't get a firm
grasp of the problem. He knew of only one thing to do. Pray.
The Styles followed him back to the living room to agree with
him again in prayer.
Suddenly the couple came rushing downstairs in agitation.
“Someone has contacted the outside,” they charged. (In fact,
Brother Styles had quietly phoned the doctor.) Robert spoke
reassuringly, trying to calm them.
“What about your cattle?” he asked. “Who’s feeding and
watering the stock?”
“Nobody. We just had to leave them.”
“Well,” he said gently, “the cattle can’t get by without feed
for long.”
Gradually they relaxed and realized they’d have to go home
for their cattle’s sake. Before long they bundled onto their
sleigh and headed back to their own farm.
Robert and teenaged Edgar Styles decided to follow them a
few minutes later. “We’ll make sure they get home safely,” they
said. When they arrived the woman was already lighting a fire
in her kitchen stove.
“Hello . . . My husband’s in the barn,” she said warily, nurs­
ing the fire. The two young men hurried out to help with feed­
ing the animals.
By the end of the evening Robert had won their confidence.
He and Edgar were invited into the living room for a snack.
From pamphlets scattered around, it was evident that these
people had become entangled in a strange religious cult.
Slowly the couple began to speak of their ordeal. “A horri­
ble, terrifying influence came into our home and drove us out.
It was indescribable! We would have died if we’d stayed.” They
had run out of the house, hitched up their horses and fled to
the nearest neighbour.
Still shaken, the man looked at Robert imploringly. “I want
you to tell this story. Tell it all over the world; people need to
know what’s happening.”
“Well, tell me what it’s about and I’ll be glad to share the
42
news wherever 1 go,” answered the young minister.
"No. I don't think I should say more. Just tell people what
happened to us and let them decide. Now, will you do that?” he
persisted. “Will you tell it everywhere?”
"Well, if you think it would help I’d be glad to,” assured
Robert.
The young man sighed. “That takes a great burden off my
shoulders.”
Edgar began strumming the guitar he'd brought along. After
a few songs and prayer they said good-night. Everything
seemed normal again. Robert felt drained. What a shock to
discover the reality of dreadfully evil spiritual forces.
"I was totally exhausted for two or three days afterwards,”
said Pastor Donnelly, “but I kept that promise. I’ve related this
incident many times over the years. What good it does I
wouldn't know, but there is a real spiritual enemy. We need to
be on guard against him. But God is always sufficient...”
By the time Pastor Kennedy returned Robert had been well
initiated into the ministry.
Rather than relieve Robert of all pastoral responsibility,
Pastor Kennedy asked him to continue ministering at
Pay n ton.
“Get a job nearby if you can — so those Christians can have
weekday services too,” he suggested.
Robert consented, glad to help out till a pastor could be
appointed. Before long he’d found a job near Paynton and
began conducting regular worship services in the community
hall.
The Paynton meetings were well attended, but offerings
were meager. Most Saskatchewan farmers were desperately
poor from the Great Depression of 1929. A donation of even
$1.00 was rare. Usually, only a few coins were given.
Robert knew the rent for the hall would soon be due. Dig­
ging into his own pocket he asked one of the local men to
deliver the payment for him to save him a trip to town. The
man agreed and took the money. Many weeks later Robert got
a bill: the rent for the hall was in arrears. What? Had it been
forgotten? He couldn’t believe his eyes. When questioned, the
man sheepishly admitted he’d spent Robert’s money on
tobacco.
“I was terribly shocked,” said Pastor Donnelly. “But there
43
was nothing I could do about it. I still had some money so 1
paid for the hall rental myself.”
Month after month Robert faithfully preached God’s Word.
How satisfying. But he realized that a qualified pastor would
probably be assigned to Paynton at the next summer’s confer­
ence. What would he do then? He’d likely head back to the
McOuat’s farm.
44
Chapter Six
The Path of Obedience
“My grace is sufficient for thee: for My strength is made perfect
in weakness.”
2 Corinthians 12:9
The resurgence of Pentecostal revival in the 1920s was phe­
nomenal. spreading across the country like a prairie fire. In
Saskatchewan whole communities, including Tisdale, Park­
side, Spruce Lake and the Star City area, were affected. Many
theatres and dance halls closed down. Lack of interest. In
some towns tobacco and liquor sales were almost nonexistent;
the majority of the people had turned to God. Christians from
all denominations received the Baptism in the Holy Spirit.
They gathered for fellowship wherever possible — in com­
munity halls, schools, tents, churches or farm homes. The
imminent return of Jesus Christ was uppermost in everyone’s
mind. Never were the old hymns sung with more fervor. Never
were the holy Scriptures searched more diligently. Prayer
meetings and Bible study groups were packed. It was not
uncommon for people to pray together into the wee hours of
the morning, on their knees or prostrate on the floor. In refer­
ring to these prayer meetings, terms such as “waiting on God,”
“tarrying in His presence,” “seeking His face,” and “crying out
to God” were commonly used. The untiring theme of countless
45
evangelistic meetings was “Salvation tor all. Always the mes­
sages were urgent: Sinners, repent! Christians, watch and pray!
By 1932 the revival had begun to subside. Sadly, many had
turned back to their former sinful ways. Was it through lack of
basic Bible teaching? There were those, however, who contin­
ued to burn with devotion to God.
The revival had not been as noticeable around Cutknife and
Paynton as in some other parts of Saskatchewan. The country­
side there was sparsely populated and neighbours had infre­
quent contact with one another. Even so. there was generally a
good response at church meetings.
Robert gave the report for Paynton Assembly to the Pente­
costal Conference in Saskatoon that summer. At his sugges­
tion that they needed a full-time pastor, two young women
were assigned to minister there.
Then, to his complete surprise, he was asked to accept pas­
toral responsibilities for the Assembly at Pense. about 20 miles
west of Regina. He was overwhelmed.
“I felt as though I was being pushed into the ministry.”
admitted Pastor Donnelly, “though not altogether against my
will. The Lord seemed to confirm that I was to give my life to
pastoring. It was really quite an adventure."
The McOuats rejoiced and praised God. sharing Robert's
excitement. Now his farmhand days were over.
But his savings were gone. He'd bought a 1927 two-door
Chev for $80.00 and had regularly paid the rent for the
Paynton community hall. From now on his wherewithal
would come from the church offering plate. Robert was confi­
dent. God would surely meet his every need.
The Pentecostal Assembly at Pense came into being as a
direct result of one man's conversion to Jesus Christ. Jack
Brooks was a young local hero whose abilities in athletics,
music, mechanics and electricity were admired throughout the
community. With the dubious reputation of being a harddrinking, chain-smoking man's man, he'd taken up with a
dance band in Vancouver. Living the “high life.” it was said.
While visiting Christian relatives in Moosejaw. Jack was
soundly converted to Jesus Christ. A changed man came back
to Pense. All his former cronies heard him tell about his con­
version. The evidence was undeniable. Some thought he’d
gone crazy when he bought a building and started to preach in
46
it. Others were interested. It wasn t too long before close to 30
ot his triends had been persuaded to accept Jesus Christ as
their Saviour, too. A thriving church was established with Jack
as their first pastor. Others followed him when later he became
a traveling evangelist. Robert Donnelly was the third pastor at
Peuse Pentecostal Assembly.
A little room at the back ot the church was designated as the
pastor’s living quarters. Robert unpacked his few belongings
and looked around. The room was adequately furnished with
a Winnipeg-couch (a setee with an extra mattress that pulled
out from underneath), a table and chair and a flat-topped gar­
bage burner that doubled as cookstove and heater. He walked
into the sanctuary. There stood the pulpit, a piano and several
rows of pews. Dropping to his knees he bowed his head in
prayer. God helping him, he'd be a faithful pastor.
In those days, becoming a pastor was called “going out into
The Work.” There was no shortage of work to be done. Newlyordained pastors were assigned to assemblies every year at the
summer conventions in Regina.
Robert was very conscious that God had chosen him to
minister at Pense. He felt his responsibility keenly. With
unswerving dedication he began to address the spiritual needs
of the people, visiting as many homes as possible and praying
for the community daily.
Pastor Donnelly remembered his prayer distinctly. “I was
seeking God for help on behalf of the community for which I
was responsible. In my prayer I said, ‘Oh, God, what is most
needed in this particular situation?’ I won't boast that an angel
spoke or anything like that, but a conviction was formed in my
inner being: What is most needed is a pastor who is fully
yielded to God’s will.”
Robert’s wholehearted commitment to God was challenged
and confirmed at one summer convention. He told this story:
“An old, old man in his 90’s got up to give his testimony. He
had a voice like a trumpet, and was deaf as a post.
“He roared. ‘I hear you young people are going out in The
Work.’ Then he bellowed, ‘How far out are you going?’
“I can hear him yet — that voice still calls through the years:
‘How far you going?’ Am I going as far as God wants me to, or
only as far as I want to go? It’s one thing or the other.”
47
Robert re-committed himself to go all the way with God, no
matter what the cost.
A bond of friendship developed between the young people
of the Regina and Pense Assemblies. Often they’d participate
in each other’s services. Zealous efforts to reach the surround­
ing communities with the Gospel united them.
During those joint ventures, Robert was attracted to a young
lady named Daisy, the leader of the Regina youth group. She
was dainty and lovely, with an undeniable inner strength. All
the young people, it seemed, drew encouragement from her.
Daisy directed song services and evangelistic efforts with
equally unflagging enthusiasm. In Robert’s estimation, her
whole-hearted dedication to God was remarkable.
The jointly-sponsored outreach at Zehner, 30 miles from
Regina, stood out in Pastor Donnelly’s memory. It was a week
of evangelistic meetings held in a farm home. He preached;
Daisy led the singing. It seemed natural for them to minister as
a team.
“The Lord really moved at those meetings,” said Pastor
Donnelly. “One night, after I finished my sermon, I put a chair
in the middle of the room and asked if anyone would like to
respond. Two young couples came and knelt by the chair and
gave their lives to the Lord. Together we prayed with them.”
Sister Donnelly smiled. “Others could see our relationship
heading up before I was aware of it. I don't know whether he
was conscious of it or not.”
“Oh, no,” teased her husband, “I didn’t even think about it.”
“Oh! What? That isn’t true,” she exclaimed. “Somebody told
me you were interested in me and I said. ‘Go on — he’s got
more sense than that.' There were so many other girls far bet­
ter. I told you so many times but you wouldn’t look at them.”
"Well, I told you the same thing about myself,” he answered
gently, “but you wouldn’t look at other men either.”
Several months went by. Daisy began to be concerned for
Robert s health. He looked gaunt, and was definitely growing
thinner week by week. Not knowing him well enough to ask.
personal questions, she made private enquiries of people at
Pense. What was he eating? Was he getting nourishing food?
No one seemed to know. One neighbour lady said she’d
looked in his window and seen him at his table, reading the
48
Bible. An empty plate, knife and fork were set before him, she
said. Daisy gathered courage to ask him herself.
“The frying pan is too greasy to cook with,” he laughed eva­
sively. “and the porridge pot is too hard to wash.”
She suspected that his only meals were those offered him
during pastoral calls. Her suspicions were true: Robert’s meals
had been few and far between. Each week the offering —usu­
ally only two or three dollars — was spent almost entirely on
his car. so vital for pastoral visitation. That left little or nothing
for food. He'd been surviving mainly on snacks that were
offered him at homes he visited. One or two families
occasionally had him over for supper, but no one had much to
give. Everyone was poor and in the grip of the Dirty Thirties.
To think that Daisy cared about his health warmed Robert’s
heart. He tried to see her at every opportunity. Whenever he
was in Regina he'd take her for rides in his car. How comforting to be with her. Normally he found it hard to talk with just
one person; preaching to large groups was much easier. But
Daisy was different. They’d talk for hours while watching the
flaming prairie sunsets blend into the night. What sweet com­
munion with God when they prayed together.
One fateful July afternoon Robert made a cheerful pastoral
call on an invalid woman. After having read the Bible and
prayed with her, he wished her well and took his leave. Sud­
denly blood began to gush from his mouth. He was stunned.
What now? Not another hemorrhage! He mustn’t alarm the
bedfast lady in the house. The only thing to do was to go
home. Gagging and gasping, blood pouring down the front of
his shirt, he got into his car and drove as fast as he dared.
In the privacy of his room he took a long drink of cold water
and lay down to think. How could he tell his congregation?
“I didn’t know what to do,” said Pastor Donnelly. “I’d been
testifying all through the country how the Lord had healed me.
I’d been quite well and strong. But now... It was starting all
over again. I was shocked.”
Gradually the bleeding stopped. Several weeks later he con­
cluded that God must have healed him again. His breathing
seemed normal and he felt fine. He had told no one about the
incident.
Then it happened again. Early one Sunday morning he
awoke with blood pouring from his mouth. Choking and
49
barely able to breathe, he cried to God for help. After a few
desperate minutes he was able to drink some water. What a
predicament! People would soon be arriving for the Sunday
service. They’d come to the back looking for him and see the
bloody mess. Help must come from God.
A sentence he’d read somewhere came to his mind: “By the
path of obedience flows the river of God’s grace.” He sat up.
“Once again the Lord gave me confidence,” said Pastor
Donnelly. “Whatever He calls us to do, there’s a river of His
grace right there for us. I decided that if this was to be my last
day. it might as well be a good one. I’ll go all the way with
God.”
He got up, washed and shaved, and drank as much cold
water as possible. When the people arrived the bleeding had
stopped. He was ready to preach. God blessed that service in a
remarkable way. The whole congregation seemed to be caught
up with a sense of His presence. They didn’t realize that Rob­
ert was preaching what he thought could be his last sermon.
That was his last hemorrhage. Knowing that if God had
called him there'd be strength enough for the task, he contin­
ued faithfully from Sunday to Sunday. Though on Mondays
he’d be so exhausted he could barely walk, by the following
Sunday he’d be ready for another service. Finally, because his
fever persisted, he reluctantly resigned from the church and
admitted himself for medical care once again to Fort San.
Daisy’s promise to keep in touch comforted him.
At the San his first tests revealed active tuberculosis. The
second, only one week later, showed no sign whatever of the
disease. He could leave. “But,” said the doctors, “you’re wel­
come to stay the winter and rest.” Robert thought it over.
Where could he go? He’d resigned at Pense. His folks weren’t
able to keep him. He decided to stay.
The food at the San was plentiful and nourishing, his room
warm and comfortable. Freed from all concerns, he read,
prayed, studied and rested all winter. Now he realized that his
loving Heavenly Father had permitted this physical setback
for his benefit. “God is so good!” he thought. There was only
one drawback — Daisy was far away.
She wrote encouraging letters and visited him at Christmas,
delighted to see him healthier. By spring he’d regained his
weight and strength. His stay at the San proved to be a valua­
ble preparation for future ministry.
50
When Robert left Fort San in the spring he decided to visit
his parents before he applied for another pastorate. It had
been a while since he'd seen them. Stopping en route to visit
the pastor in the little town of Semans, he was invited to con­
duct a week of meetings there. How he enjoyed preaching
again. From there he went to Nokomis, then to Watrous, each
time getting the same invitation. For several weeks he
preached from one community to the next.
The pastor at Watrous was the District Presbyter (the spir­
itual director of assemblies in his part of the province). He saw
Robert as a godsend. “The assembly at Maxim,” he ventured,
“has been without a pastor all winter. Would you consider
going there?”
“Yes, I could do that." replied Robert without hesitation.
“I'll visit my parents some other time,” he promised himself,
as he headed south along the flat, dusty road to Maxim, 30
miles from Weyburn.
The hamlet of Maxim had two stores, one grain elevator, an
old church with a parsonage and a school. Four families lived
there. People came from miles around for Sunday services,
filling the churchyard with their “Bennett Buggies.”1
Everyone took a liking to the tall, skinny preacher who had
moved into the parsonage. The farmers shared their produce
with him — milk, butter, eggs, bread, vegetables. How wel­
comed Robert felt by their kind generosity.
Daisy had made him promise he’d cook at least one square
meal each day. When she wrote to ask what he was eating he
replied, “I'm fixing potatoes — but only because you asked."
Robert was ordained by the Pentecostal Assemblies of Can­
ada, August 7, 1935 at the Saskatoon annual conference.
Always self-effacing, he was taken completely by surprise to be
one of three “fiery young preachers" invited to speak at that
conference. “It was a very exciting time for me,” declared Pas­
tor Donnelly, “something I thought would never happen. But
. . . it seemed to be the Lord’s doing."
After conference he returned to Maxim — and the empty
parsonage. His thoughts turned to Daisy. They’d been corre'Few people could afford gas during The Great Depression. At the sugges­
tion of Prime Minister Richard Bennett they took the engines out of their
cars, hitched horses to them and travelled in comfort.
51
spending regularly and she had visited once. It would be so
good to have her with him always.
By May, 1936 he was sure of himself. With a clean bill of
health from the doctor, and a song in his heart, he drove to
Regina to ask for her hand in marriage.
52
Robert's parents. Ralph and Ellen Donnelly (1941)
Robert's father on the homestead, with horse and sleigh
The McOuat's house and wash-house
Haying at the McOuat’s farm; Robert, on the left, with fellow farmhands
Team of horses and cutter — Robert’s rig, “fixed for travel" at Maxim
Church and parsonage at Maxim; Robert’s ‘27 Chev, (bought for $80.00)
The Donnelly family at Prince Albert
(1940); Robert and Daisy with Ruthella
and Ralph
The Donnelly family at Gilbert Plains
Gilbert Plains Mission
Ladies' Prayer Band at Elim Tabernacle in Saskatoon, 1948 Left to Right:
Back Row:
Mrs. McFayden. Mrs. Campbell. Mrs. Bertha Shepphard. name unknown, Mrs. Welsch,
Grandma Hornby, Mrs. Gladys Grafham, Daisy Donnelly
Front Row:
Mrs. Howat, Mrs. Ashton, Mrs. Martin, Grandma Blackstock, Mrs. Snuggs
Billie and Ronnie, foster children at Port Arthur (1955)
The Pathfinder — Robert and Daisy's home as they began their itinerant ministry
Robert and Daisy Donnelly, departing at the Seattle airport on their trip to visit PAOC
foreign mission stations (August 25, 1976)
Pastor Robert and Daisy Donnelly — on their 50th anniversary of ministry, summer of
1985
Chapter Seven
Maxim
“We are labourers together with God . .
1 Corinthians 3:9
Daisy Bird Kettering was born into a family of 10. Her par­
ents, Charles Wood and Ella Bird Kettering, lived near Mile­
stone, Saskatchewan. When World War I broke they left their
eldest son in charge of the family farm and moved to Regina.
Shortly after that Charles traveled to California and found
work in the orange groves. Then the family moved to San
Diego, staying there until Daisy finished high school.
Ella Kettering made sure her children were raised with high
moral standards. They joined the local Methodist Church and
the Loyal Temperance Legion, a unit of the Woman’s Chris­
tian Temperance Union for elementary school-age boys and
girls. Little Daisy solemnly pledged “never to marry a man
who drank, smoked or swore,” and to always dress and con­
duct herself “like a lady.”
Despite high standards Daisy had frequent stormy fits of
temper. Alarmed, her mother cautioned her, “You'll end up in
a mental hospital if you don’t control yourself.” Nothing
helped.
Daisy busied herself with school activities, taught Sunday
School, helped in the public library and sang in the church
choir. She knew her mother was right. Those violent rages
53
even frightened her. But how could she change?
One unforgettable day friends invited her to special meet­
ings sponsored by Pentecostal Christians. It had never
occurred to Daisy to attend religious meetings other than in
her own church. She went to please her friends.
“Well, well, what’s the difference?’’ asked the minister in his
sermon that evening. “What’s the difference between the well’
of the church and the well’ of Christ? There’s social standing
and friendship in church membership, but Christ alone — not
the church — gives eternal salvation. If you trust and rely on
Jesus Christ there should be a change in your life. You’ll have
a different Master than before. Quit playing in the devil’s play­
ground.’’
Suddenly Daisy understood her problem. She needed Jesus
to be her Master. He could change her life. Publicly she
accepted Him as her Saviour and determined always to submit
to Him. From that evening on. whenever her anger boiled she
simply called on God for help. Eventually her temper tan­
trums ended.
Her parents recognized the change for good in their daugh­
ter. The newly organized Four-Square Pentecostal Church,
however, they viewed with suspicion. Reluctantly they allowed
Daisy to attend services there only once each Sunday. Now
that she’d discovered the reality of Jesus Christ, her only desire
was to know Him better. How thrilling to be baptized by
immersion in the Pacific Ocean some weeks later, and then to
experience the Baptism in the Holy Spirit.
In 1930 the Ketterings returned to Canada for a visit. Finan­
cial problems due to bad investments temporarily prevented
them from returning to California. Daisy found a secretarial
job in Regina and, in spite of scorn and disapproval from her
family, began regularly attending services at the Pentecostal
Assembly.
She found many friends there. Throwing herself with aban­
don into every possible service opportunity for her Lord, she
was soon elected leader of the youth group. Her zealous lead­
ership inspired them to join evangelism efforts of the nearby
Pense Assembly youth.
When tall young Pastor Donnelly began to pay special
attention to her she was charmed. He possessed all the
qualities she'd ever admired in a man. Surely he deserved
someone better than she . . . Soon it was apparent, even to her,
54
that God had brought them together. What could she say?
When Robert asked her to marry him, she answered: “Yes!”
Daisy s family was embarrassed and disappointed that she
chose to marry a Pentecostal preacher. It was an awkward situ­
ation. She and Robert discussed it prayerfully. “Let’s make it
as easy for them as possible,” they decided. “We don’t want
any hard feelings.”
"Robert and I would like to be married in your living room.”
Daisy announced to her parents. “The only thing we ask is
that it be by a Pentecostal minister.” At last they gave their
blessing, relieved that she would honour the Kettering tradi­
tion of having weddings in the family home. Her delighted sis­
ters began a flurry of preparations. Clean the house. Decorate
the living room. Surprise! A shower! What happy excitement.
Five friends came to witness the ceremony. Daisy’s joy was
complete. “Everything was lovely,” she remembered warmly.
“My sisters were so kind . . .”
On June 17, 1936 Robert and Daisy were united in holy mat­
rimony, pledging their undying love to one another. Jack
Brooks, their evangelist friend from Pense. conducted the cere­
mony. That same day the newlyweds moved into the fourroom parsonage at Maxim.
Robert had painted and polished the floors till they
gleamed. A homey wood stove stood in the kitchen and every
room was comfortably furnished. An old pump organ graced
the living room. Daisy was delighted. Even for a city girl this
was a dream come true. Best of all, she and Robert would serve
God together.
Special evangelistic services marked the first two weeks of
their marriage. It was an appropriate beginning for their life
together. Guest preacher Jack Brooks and his wife stayed at
the parsonage with them.
Preparing meals for two men was a challenge Daisy could
handle. But when it came to baking bread, what a problem!
She simply didn’t know how. Robert tried to console her, “The
people have always brought me bread before. I’m sure they
will again.” He was wrong. Not one more loaf of bread was
given. (The women in the congregation probably reasoned
that the pastor would prefer his bride’s bread to theirs.)
“We survived,” laughed Pastor Donnelly, remembering
Daisy’s valiant baking powder biscuits and that first rather
55
heavy loaf of bread. “Practice has made her an excellent
baker.”
Daisy’s first trip in a cutter almost ended in tragedy. (A cut­
ter is a small light sleigh.) One bitterly cold February after­
noon they visited at the Baycroft’s home. When they finally
left, night had fallen. Generally, prairie folk stayed indoors on
such winter nights, but Robert decided that they could safely
make it home. Only three miles. Bundled under heavy rugs
against the biting wind and driving snow, they headed in the
direction of the parsonage.
Soon Robert noticed a wind change. “Strange,” he thought,
“the wind doesn’t change directions this time of night.” Sud­
denly it dawned on him: his horses weren’t a team. Having
been loaned to him from different farmers, they were straining
in opposite directions. The cutter had been going in circles.
Robert stared into the numbing blackness. Where were they?
No fences. No roads. No landmark. They were lost!
With a firm grip on the reins he forced the horses around so
the wind was at their backs. He must keep them heading in
one direction. Daisy tucked the rug tighter around herself as
she thought longingly of the new little life stirring within her.
Over the drifts they slid in the night, too tense to speak, each
silently crying to God for help.
A light! Safety! Praise God. Soon they were huddled around
the warm kitchen stove of that farm home. “You can stay the
night,” invited the farmer.
“Thank you very much,” said Robert, as he and Daisy
warmed up beside the heater, “but I’ve got my bearings again.”
They were five miles from home now but he was sure they’d
make it. He’d not depend on the horses this time.
Near midnight the cutter finally glided up to the parsonage.
“The Lord delivered us,” acknowledged Pastor Donnelly
gratefully. “We could have frozen to death.”
Their first child was born the summer of 1937. On doctor’s
orders Daisy had gone to Regina for the delivery. “It’s a boy!”
came the exciting news. Robert was thrilled and eager to see
his new son. Coincidentally a hog dealer in Maxim needed
someone to haul a load of pigs to Regina. Robert had hauled
for him before. “I was very pleased to drive that new truck, full
56
of squealing pigs," smiled Pastor Donnelly, “to see my first­
born son."
Baby Ralph Bruce was healthy and robust. Even though
Daisy couldn't nurse him he thrived on the fresh cow’s milk
that Mrs. Baycroft sent each morning. Tucked in a basket on
the back seat of the car. he traveled with his parents whereever they went.
The Donnellys accepted the communities surrounding
Maxim as part of their spiritual responsibility. They were the
only pastors within a radius of 30 miles. Home after home they
visited, listening to people's problems, caring and praying for
them. The depression was at its worst in 1937. Robert and
Daisy's visits gave hope and love to many in the bleakness of
those times. They were Gospel Workers. Denominational
affiliations were irrelevant.
They conducted regular Bible studies near Torquay in the
home of a devout Lutheran family with eight children. Here
they were always given the best guest room and treated like
royalty. How they appreciated this generous hospitality.
Stopping by one day, the Donnellys found this couple quite
upset. Their eldest daughter had gone to work in the city and
was attending a strange church there. “It’s a ‘holy roller’ Pente­
costal church." lamented the father. “I've heard of their weird
antics. Do you know anything about them?’’
“I’ve never been to that church," answered Robert carefully.
“Have you been there to see for yourself?"
“No," answered the distraught father, “but we heard from
someone who was there that they roll on the floors and climb
the walls and . .
“But did you see it?”
“No. but they hang from the lights and . . .’’
Robert stopped him. “Well, I think you should go down and
attend a meeting or two. See for yourself. By the way. I guess
we should tell you that we’re Pentecostal Workers.”
The astonished father caught his breath and stared at them.
Embarrassment coloured his face. Then he heaved a big sigh
of relief, as much as to say, “Well, they can’t be so bad then.”
Bible Study meetings continued in this home as usual.
Young people’s meetings had to be canceled during the win­
ter of 1938. Too cold. “This would be a good time to conduct a
week of Bible studies,” thought Robert. He’d never attended a
57
Bible School, but he knew how he’d like one to be run. Sixteen
enthusiastic young people responded to his invitation. 1 hey
came with blankets, groceries and coal tor the heater. The par­
sonage was packed with excitedly chattering students.
Everyone pitched in to help with meal preparations and
chores. At night after stacking the pews, the boys spread their
blankets on the church floor. The girls slept on the parsonage
floor. How eager they were to study the Word of God.
School started in earnest with morning hymns, Bible read­
ing and prayers. Then, expectant young faces upturned before
them, Robert and Daisy began to teach. There were lessons on
the Epistle to the Ephesians, the Person of the Holy Spirit and
the Second Coming of the Lord Jesus Christ. Preaching
assignments, impromptu talks and tests kept them diligently
studying the Scriptures. Laughter-filled periods of recreation
were sandwiched in between. Every day culminated with a
public evangelistic rally in the church.
“We had a full-fledged Bible School,” beamed Pastor
Donnelly triumphantly.
“Such jewels,” sighed Sister Donnelly.
“Yes,” agreed her husband. “Several of those young people
later attended Bible School in Saskatoon. Some became pas­
tors.”
The Donnellys conducted regular Bible Study meetings in
five different locations: Beaubier, Lake Alma, Midale, Tor­
quay and North Portal. They had the oversight of several
weeknight prayer meetings in homes near Maxim as well.
Bible School students assisted them in the summers.1 In the
winter months Robert and Daisy carried on by themselves.
Though in most communities the Bible meetings were
received enthusiastically, in some places there was very little
response to the preaching of God's Word. Robert was per­
plexed.
"Too often,” confessed Pastor Donnelly, “I had to cope with
discouragement. I’d drive 30 miles to have a meeting and three
or four people would show up. I’d visit around the country and
though most people were interested they weren’t willing to
commit themselves to something new.”
'Missionary to Kenya, Gordon McQuarrie, was one of those students. Pedal­
ing his bicycle from home to home, he helped establish the Pentecostal
Assembly at Beaubier. 1 ragically, while he and his wife were vacationing in
Mombassa, he drowned while swimming in the Indian Ocean.
58
Robert couldn t understand this attitude, but he continued
faithfully to oiler them the teaching of God's Word. He trav­
eled at least 100 miles each week — summer by car, winter by
horse and sleigh — making pastoral calls from Tuesday morn­
ing until late Friday night. Daisy shared his vision and com­
mitment. Whenever possible she and the baby accompanied
him. In harsh winter weather he'd often travel alone.
“I'd constantly look to the Lord for something that would be
useful for the next meeting in a given area,” said Pastor
Donnelly. “He always gave me a set of Scriptures or an outline
of the spiritual needs. I'd work it out in my mind while travel­
ing. I had set a pattern of reading through the Bible over and
over again, consecutively from Genesis to Revelation,” he ex­
plained. “Whenever I could, I’d be reading the Scriptures. I
tried for at least ten chapters a day, though I didn’t always
succeed."
Sermon preparation in close communion with the Holy
Spirit and utter dependence on Him was always Pastor
Donnelly’s way. He rarely made notes. His messages were
bathed in prayer, anointed by God and not easily forgotten or
ignored.
“Early in my ministry,” he related, “I found that my muchreading paid off. God would bring to the surface thoughts I
had not premeditated; quotes from different writers, various
poems I’d memorized or relevant historical facts. Sometimes
they’d come to mind just before or during the meeting; often,
while I was already preaching. Since I had no other source of
help I relied totally on the Holy Spirit. He never let me down.”
The Great Depression continued, unrelenting and pitiless.
Drought and grasshoppers plagued the land. Even Daisy’s
wedding dress was eaten by those voracious pests. Former lake
beds became dry dust bowls. Having sucked the last traces of
moisture from sloughs and gullies, Russian thistles tumbled in
the dry prairie wind. Farmers were reduced to feeding thistles
to their cows. No snowfall some winters meant it was useless to
seed crops in the spring. No crops; no money.
The spiritual condition of the Assembly (in spite of —
maybe because of — hard times) was very good. On Sundays
the church was filled to overflowing. Daisy taught the boys
and girls in the parsonage. Like their parents, the children
were sensitive to spiritual things.
59
“We’d have such precious times in our children’s meetings.”
Sister Donnelly wiped her tears as she remembered. “Many
children were saved — I mean there were real changes. And
those children would pray . . .”
“I remember one prayer meeting night in the Olsen Home,”
added her husband, voice quivering with emotion. “The place
was filled. Children wrapped in blankets were lying around on
the floor sleeping. During the prayer service, while we were all
kneeling, one five-year-old boy stirred awake. He got up and
looked around. Then he got down on his knees and began to
pray. He just prayed his heart out for God to do something.”
The people of Maxim Assembly showed their love for the
Donnellys in many tangible ways. One winter Robert needed a
cap. Having no money he and Daisy “talked to the Lord about
it.” A few days later Clarence Olsen handed them a package
saying, “I don’t know, but I feel you need this.” They accepted
the parcel with thanks. “The Lord knows what we need.” com­
mented Robert to Daisy as she peeled back the wrappings. It
was a warm winter cap complete with earflaps — in Robert's
size. How wonderful!
“It was the Lord,” exclaimed Sister Donnelly, still awed at
His provision.
The loyal Maxim congregation lovingly tithed what little
they had to the assembly, whether it was their own produce or
government relief. If too much of one item was donated, Daisy
could take it to the store and trade it in for something she
needed. Three local girls had found jobs in Chicago. Faith­
fully they sent their tithe money to the Maxim Assembly. The
Donnellys used every precious dollar to buy gas. As for them­
selves . . . They knew their Heavenly Father cared for all their
needs.
Never once did Robert pass the offering plate, in all his
years at Maxim. “I didn't have face enough to ask people for
money,” explained Pastor Donnelly. “They were already giv­
ing everything they had.”
Sister Donnelly raised her hands in praise to God. “They
were the most generous people we’ve ever known. When the
books are opened in Heaven some of those who weathered the
Great Depression will be sure to have great rewards.”
60
In the fall of 1939 Robert felt their time in Maxim was com­
ing to a close. The congregation was stunned, reluctant to let
them go. He assured them of God’s guidance in the matter.
Later a pastoral call came for him from the assembly at Prince
Albert in northern Saskatchewan.
Daisy was reluctant, too. Move from Maxim to a big city?
She had wanted to raise her family in the country. It was diffi­
cult to accept. “But,” smiled Sister Donnelly wisely, “the Lord
made me willing to go."
61
Chapter Eight
Prince Albert
"... and who knoweth whether thou art come ... for such
a time as this?”
Esther 4:16b
In August 1939 the Donnellys moved to Prince Albert,
Saskatchewan. Since Daisy was expecting their second child,
she and little Ralph took the train. Robert traveled by car. He
had tied as much furniture as possible to the top; the inside
was crammed to the ceiling. The Old Chevrolet sagged under
the heavy load. With the family dog riding on the running
board, he squeezed himself behind the steering wheel. His
heart was filled with confident anticipation as he headed
north along the dusty prairie road. He was confident: God had
directed this move.
Arriving in Prince Albert ahead of Daisy’s train, he drove
directly to the address of the Pentecostal church. There in the
centre of the city stood an old house with a two-room log an­
nex clinging awkwardly to the back. This? A city church?
Astonished, he went in to look around. Interior walls had been
removed to make room for rows of rough wooden benches and
assorted chairs. A piano stood off to the side. On the floor in
front of the pulpit lay a framed trap door — the only access to
an ancient wood-burning furnace under the building. One of
the back rooms was the pastor’s kitchen, doubling as a sitting­
62
room; the other a storage and junk room. Narrow stairs led
from the sanctuary to two tiny bedrooms.
Robert looked in dismay at this dilapidated house with its
sloping tloors. Obviously no heat from the furnace could pos­
sibly reach their living quarters; the underground crawl- space
did not extend that far. Memories of the neat country church
and cozy parsonage they'd left at Maxim flooded his thoughts.
What would Daisy say?
As soon as she arrived at the train station, she asked. “Have
we got a nice place to live?”
After a long silence he answered, “I think we can make it
nice.”
Daisy understood immediately what her gentle husband
was reluctant to verbalize. Together they cleaned and fixed up
their new home until it was bright and cheery in spite of the in­
conveniences.
That December a beautiful daughter with dark curly hair
was born to them. Cradling baby Ruthella in her arms, Daisy
was sure all her dreams had been fulfilled. “No parents ever
enjoyed their children more than we did,” said Sister Donnelly
softly.
Almost from his first Sunday in Prince Albert, Robert
sensed that some hearts in the congregation were cold towards
his ministry. The young people were enthusiastic, the service­
men from the nearby air force base came gladly, but the older
members were spiritually apathetic. Sunday after Sunday they
sat unresponsive and indifferent to the preaching of God’s
Word. How could he reach them? His heart was heavy. Both
he and Daisy felt the rejection keenly. Strength against dis­
couragement came from the faith that God had brought them
here to fulfill His purpose.
“I guess I’d been spoiled by the response I’d seen on the
southern prairies,” admitted Pastor Donnelly, “and now to see
the lack of response in the city . . .” He prayed earnestly and
began to address the problem of spiritual lethargy with his ser­
mons.
One of the older men stopped coming to church. When he’d
been absent for two weeks Robert paid him a visit. “I just can't
take that kind of preaching,” growled the irritated man.
“You’ve no business talking to the congregation that way.”
The young pastor answered as tactfully as he could, “You
should have been out last Sunday. A number of young people
63
testified how God had blessed and spoken to them through
that sermon.” The man was implacable and never attended
church again while the Donnellys were in Prince .Albert.
“I may have been unduly severe in my preaching,” offered
Pastor Donnelly in reviewing the offending sermon. “I men­
tioned the very first meeting of the New Testament Church.
On the evening of Christ’s resurrection the disciples had met
together, but one of them was missing. Rarely are all members
of a congregation present at the same time. Even that day at
Prince Albert some people were missing. I wondered why? So I
went down the line, suggesting various possible reasons: the
alarm clock didn’t go off; or they sent their clothes to the
cleaners and didn’t get them back in time; or their aunt was
coming so they couldn’t go to church in case they’d miss her.
There were all kinds of reasons they couldn’t attend. Then I
suggested that the main reason we should be present when the
Church gathers is because the Lord Himself will be there. On
that resurrection evening He came and said, 'Peace be unto
you.’ If you’re absent you’re liable to miss His message of
peace ... I guess some people didn't get much peace from
that sermon.
“But we had some wholly dedicated young people in that
city church,” Pastor Donnelly hastened to add. “They were ea­
ger to hear the Word of God.”
“Yes,” agreed his wife, “we have to admit there was a great
work done in the hearts of those young people. There were not
many of them, but they were jewels.”
The Donnellys saw great opportunities for ministry to chil­
dren in Prince Albert. When they learned that there was no
Sunday School in the east end of the city, they got their young
people to canvass that area with invitations. Over 30 children
were recruited for the Pentecostal Sunday School. Robert ar­
ranged tor a city bus to pick them up each Sunday morning
and take them home again. The cost for bus and driver —
$10.00 per Sunday.
With this influx of new Sunday School students, there was a
definite need for more teachers. Several young people enthusi­
astically volunteered. Every Saturday evening the Donnellys
instructed the would-be teachers. The next morning — Bible
lesson fresh in mind — the young people taught the children.
Soon the children’s work expanded to Vacation Bible
School and Bible Camp at Round Lake in the summer. Con­
64
vinced of the importance of child evangelism, Robert took per­
sonal interest in this ministry. To him each child was of infin­
ite worth. Indelible impressions were made on the little ones as
their pastor blessed them in prayer. Children loved him.
Daisy prepared Bible lessons from the book of Daniel for
their first VBS. The first children's camp was a blur of busy ex­
citement. Over 100 children attended; they'd expected only 50.
Many gave their hearts to the Lord Jesus. How thrilling! Even
one child's eternal salvation made all the work worthwhile.
The city of Prince Albert had a newTB sanitarium. Robert’s
heart leapt when he heard of it. No question — he must go vis­
it the patients. There he met four teenaged brothers and sisters
from near Turtleford, all with tuberculosis. When they heard
that Robert knew their parents, they clung to him as though he
were next-of-kin. Enthralled at the account of his healing from
TB, they begged him to come and see them again. He began
regular visits. How eagerly they welcomed him each time.
Three of them acknowledged Jesus Christ as Lord of their lives
and Saviour of their souls.
Before long the Donnellys were conducting meetings at the
San on Sunday afternoons. Through a public address system
(Robert’s first experience with a microphone) he could be
heard by all the patients. About 30 people at the San re­
sponded to the salvation messages, many hearing of God’s
amazing love for the first time in their lives.
How refreshing to have a receptive audience! It was like a
healing balm to Robert’s heart. He never tired of repeating the
Gospel story: Jesus, the Son of God, died for all sinners and
rose again from the dead; anyone who believes and receives
Him personally is reconciled to God and eternally saved from
hell.
Robert was puzzled by the opposition to these meetings
from local churches. Even some doctors voiced disapproval.
He and Daisy were undaunted. With compassion and empa­
thy they returned week after week to share the love of Jesus
with the San patients.
Among those saved through their ministry at the sanitarium
was a mother from Lac La Ronge, 200 miles north. Her hus­
band hauled freight with horses between there and Prince Al­
bert. Whenever he was in the city he’d attend the Sunday meet­
ings with his wife. Before long he moved his six children to
65
Prince Albert so the family could be together. They all began
to attend the Pentecostal Sunday School. The Donnellys took
them under their wings, making sure they had a ride every
Sunday. That whole family was won to Jesus Christ; they were
loved into the family of God.
“It seemed we’d come to Prince Albert for such a time as
this,” said Pastor Donnelly solemnly. Sister Donnelly wiped a
happy tear at the memory of all those precious souls saved.
Robert’s initial concerns about heating their home proved
correct. (That winter water froze to the kitchen floor when Dai­
sy tried to wash it.) Though he kept the fire burning in the
church furnace, only the upstairs bedrooms benefited from it.
The kitchen/sitting-room stayed cold. All winter Daisy kept
the children bundled in the bedrooms — the only really warm
place. It was spring before baby Ruthella could stay down­
stairs.
Robert kept both the church and the parsonage supplied
with firewood. (No one else offered to do it.) To scrounge
enough wood was a winter-long project. Often he'd wait in the
biting cold at a nearby bridge, hoping to flag down a truck
with a load of firewood. Between Sunday School and worship
service, he’d clamber through the trap door in front of the pul­
pit to stoke the furnace. (The men remained comfortably
seated in their pews.)
That summer Robert tackled the time-consuming and awk­
ward job of digging a basement under their log annex. Day af­
ter day he lowered his tall lanky body into the cramped crawl­
space, scratching and picking a tunnel to their end of the
house. He carried pailful after pailful of dirt up through the
trap door and out to the trunk of the car. When it was full he
hauled it away.
Some in the assembly grumbled about what he was doing.
“Other pastors have lived in that room and never com­
plained,” they murmured. No one offered to help. Inch by
inch, pail by pail Robert continued. Finally the space was
large enough. Having constructed a heater from an oil barrel
he dragged it down, fitted it to the pipes and kindled a fire. The
metal drum heated quickly, glowing in the darkness of the
crawl-space. Before long its warmth radiated to the rooms
above through the grate he had put in .the floor.
Sister Donnelly glanced at her husband proudly. “Robert
66
did everything in his power to fix up that place and make us
comfortable. After that we were nice and warm.”
The Donnellys missed the friendly country-style hospitality
to which they'd grown accustomed in Maxim. Occasionally
someone stopped by to see how they were doing, but mostly
they were left to fend for themselves. When Daisy was con­
fined to bed for several weeks with suspected rheumatic fever,
Robert was the only one to help with the children. Every nerve
in her body screamed in pain at the slightest jarring of the bed.
Yet she longed to be near her darling babies. Robert fixed up
the junk room and set up her bed where she could see them at
play. It was a trying time. Until his wife recovered he cared for
her and the children alone, keeping the little ones with him as
much as possible.
After Daisy’s illness, a family at Regina (the first converts
through their ministry at Maxim) sent tickets inviting her to
visit them until she’d regained her strength. A gift from the
Lord — how wonderful! Robert gratefully took her and the
children to the train station, glad for the nurture she’d receive
among her friends. It would be a time of rest for him too; her
illness had taken its toll.
While she was in Regina Daisy contacted her sisters. They
were shocked to see her so pale and thin and plied her with
questions. Isn’t your husband taking care of you? What! No
washing machine? Doesn’t he care? And no radio? Daisy tried
valiantly to defend her beloved against these incriminations.
To her they were false accusations.
“He’s always gentle and kind,” she insisted. “He does every­
thing he can for me and the children.” How could they possi­
bly understand what she and Robert were going through at
Prince Albert? How could she explain that she was just as
committed to the ministry as he? She tried her best to commu­
nicate their strong confidence in God.
“That’s a pie-in-the-sky attitude,” they scoffed.
“Our Heavenly Father understands,” she answered calmly.
“He will supply our every need.”
Robert embraced his wife lovingly when she returned a few
weeks later, strengthened and ready to stand with him in The
Work. “Good to have you home again, dear. I missed you.”
Not long after that a parcel arrived at their door. They
opened it eagerly. What could it be? It was a beautiful Spartan
radio. They could hardly believe their eyes. Who sent it? There
67
was no return address. Thankfulness filled their hearts as they
switched on the evening news. It would be a constant reminder
of God's faithful provisions. (They never found out who sent
that radio.)
In 1942 Robert was elected Field Presbyter over the more
than twelve Pentecostal churches in northeastern Saskatche­
wan. Traveling by bus, he’d visit the assemblies of his district
whenever they invited him. It was a golden opportunity to
make many new friends.
When pastors and other Christians from the presbytery
came to Prince Albert, they’d usually stop by at the Donnelly
home for a visit. How Robert and Daisy appreciated this fel­
lowship. Though sometimes their cupboards were almost bare,
they always set what food there was before their guests. Hospi­
tality was a way of life for them.
One day a delegation from their own assembly came with
an unconscionable demand. “We've decided,” they said, “that
you’re no longer to have guests at the parsonage. It’s too much
for you. We know you can’t afford to give them meals, and
your salary will not be increased.” The young couple was
stunned, staring at them in disbelief.
“Brethren,” Robert replied firmly, “we will continue to enter­
tain guests as we please in our home.”
Their budget was indeed stretched almost beyond limit each
month. Robert had sold his Chevrolet to get cash for groceries.
At mealtimes he refused milk and other nourishing food,
saying the children needed it more than he. He was growing
dangerously thin again. Had it not been for gifts of food from
thoughtful visitors, they could not have survived those meager
years.
The Donnellys continued to welcome all who came to their
home, trusting God to supply their daily bread. And He did.
Mr. Davies, a resident of Prince Albert who attended Pente­
costal services occasionally, stopped by one morning for a
friendly visit. Daisy was scrubbing clothes on a washboard.
“Mrs. Donnelly, don’t you own an electric washing ma­
chine?” he asked, astonished.
She smiled, wiped her soapy hands on a towel and shook
her head.
“Would you like to have one?” he persisted.
“Yes of course, Brother Davies,” she laughed. “What a ques­
68
tion to ask of a young mother with two children!”
Within a tew days an electric washing machine was deliv­
ered to the parsonage door — courtesy of Mr. Davies.
In conversation with Robert one day. Mr. Davies observed
casually, “You're pretty good with cars. Mr. Donnelly. Will you
come with me to check out a few and give me your opinion?”
Try ing to hide his reluctance. Robert obliged. “I’m really too
busy to go browsing in used car lots,” he thought to himself.
Several Saturday afternoons and many cars later they
slammed down the hood of a 1928 Hudson they’d been in­
specting.
"This looks like a pretty good car,” said Robert. “You should
do alright to buy it.”
Mr. Davies paid for the car and they drove off together. Rob­
ert was secretly relieved at the prospect of having his Saturday
afternoons free again, although he’d been glad to help a
Christian brother. When they arrived at the parsonage his
friend turned and handed Robert the keys. “God bless you,”
he said. “Many safe miles of traveling! The car is yours.”
Robert was astounded. Eyes brimming, he gripped Mr.
Davies’ hand. Words failed him. It was a most generous gift
and another blessing from his loving Heavenly Father.
Within a week he had his license and was using the car for
pastoral visits. The congregation was amazed to see him with a
car again. The Donnellys acknowledged God as their gener­
ous Provider. With great delight Daisy wrote to her sisters,
sharing the good news that now they owned a radio, a washing
machine and a car. “It was miracles amidst poverty,” said Sis­
ter Donnelly.
Robert visited as many homes in the city and outlying
communities as he could. Three or four Christian families, liv­
ing in the bush country not far from Garrick and Choiceland,
invited him to their home meetings occasionally. In response
to one invitation he posted a letter asking to be met at the
Garrick bus stop. When he arrived, there was no one to meet
him.
“Well,” he thought, “they must be expecting to meet me at
Choiceland — the next stop.” But no one was waiting for him
there either. “Oh well,” he decided, “I think it’s only six or sev­
en miles from here to the meeting place. I’ve still got time to
walk.”
69
Three foot-weary hours later he arrived at the farm home
where the Christians were gathered. What joyful surprise to
see him. What apologies and solicitude! “We didn’t receive
your letter. How awful that you had to walk all the way. You
must be tired.” After refreshments the meeting continued late
into the night. Oh the comfort of genuine Christian fellowship.
Robert knew they loved him.
A group of Christians at Deer Ridge, 30 miles out into the
bush, invited Robert to minister in their community. Two
Scandinavian families, both named Ek, were especially hospi­
table and helpful. Accompanied by young people from the
Prince Albert Assembly, he conducted regular Bible meetings
in the Deer Ridge schoolhouse. The result of these services
was an amazing spiritual awakening. Often the building was
filled to capacity with men, women and children — all eager to
hear about God. It became clear to Robert that his ministry
was better received in rural communities than in the city.
One winter he invited Jack Brooks to conduct a series of
evangelistic services at Deer Ridge. Jack arrived in a 1926
Dodge and they drove out together. Even though the weather
was 50 degrees below zero, people flocked to the meetings.
Again the blessing of God was remarkable. At the end of the
week the two friends headed back to Prince Albert, happy to
have served their Lord together.
Suddenly the car ground to a halt. Now what? A broken
axle. Miles of desolate country road stretched in either direc­
tion. The icy wind whistled through the bushes, drifting snow
across the road. Stranded. Praying for God’s help, the poorly
clad preachers began to walk.
What relief when they met an Indian farmer hauling a load
of grain to Prince Albert. At his invitation they clambered onto
the wagon and lay down on top of the grain. They huddled to­
gether against the numbing cold under the frozen sky. The
ride seemed endless. Could they endure it? At long last the
wagon came to a stop. Thank God! They were safe at home.
Some time later Jack confided that he'd fully expected to
freeze to death during that ride.
“It was a miracle that either of us survived,” said Pastor
Donnelly.
The blessing of God continued to rest on the Christian
group at Deer Ridge. A flourishing Pentecostal Assembly was
established in that community a few years later.
70
Robert resigned as pastor from the Prince Albert Assembly
in 1943. After four years, he and Daisy felt assured that it was
time to move on. Move to where? Only God knew. The family
stayed with triends at Deer Ridge and Robert conducted eve­
ning services in the schoolhouse while they waited for God’s
guidance.
He had declined an invitation from the Assembly at Gilbert
Plains, Manitoba. "Saskatchewan is my place of service. I’ll
wait." But when the meetings at the schoolhouse were over he
was still waiting. The call to Gilbert Plains began to seem
more and more appealing.
Never one to make a hasty decision. Robert moved his fami­
ly into a borrowed cottage at Emma Lake. The next few weeks
were devoted to quiet, uninterrupted prayer. "Lord, I must
know Your will. I can't be pastor without that assurance." He
took walks alone in the forest and spent hours on the lake, os­
tensibly fishing. Daisy knew what he was really doing; she
watched and prayed with him.
One day he came striding into the cabin, a look of resolve
on his face. "I'm going to call about Gilbert Plains,” he an­
nounced as he reached for the phone. Hovering nearby, Daisy
heard him ask. "Are they still looking for a pastor?”
“Yes,” was the reply, “and they won’t be happy until you
come.” Robert turned and smiled. This was a confirmation of
what he already knew. Gilbert Plains, about 20 miles west of
Dauphin, Manitoba, was their next appointment from God.
71
Chapter Nine
Gilbert Plains
“Praising God, and having favour with all the people . . .” Acts 2:47b.
Gilbert Plains Assembly welcomed the Donnellys into their
fellowship and into their hearts. It was like a homecoming for
Robert and Daisy. How comfortable to be among country folk
again; how good to have a responsive congregation once more.
Robert easily identified with these farm people. Most impor­
tantly, they responded when he challenged them from God’s
Word.
“I was at home with a rural congregation,” he explained
simply.
“And they loved our children,” added his wife. “One family
even loaned us a piano so Ralph and Ruthella could have the
opportunity to learn music.”
The spiritual revival that had moved across the prairies in
the 1920s touched the community of Gilbert Plains in a
remarkable way. Even when the Donnellys arrived, almost 20
years later, people still recounted the beginnings of their
Assembly with emotion. Robert and Daisy were stirred to hear
this account.
Rev. Thomas Latto, the pastor of the United Church in Gil­
bert Plains in the 1920s, was a dignified and scholarly man.
Like many in his church, he was very devout and followed
72
Christ sincerely. Intriguing stories about the outpouring of the
Holy Spirit at Winnipeg prompted him to go and see for him­
self. What he witnessed there so inspired him that he stayed to
join a group of Christians earnestly “seeking the Lord.” He
came back to Gilbert Plains filled with the Holy Spirit.
When he told his congregation about his spiritual experi­
ence, they were profoundly shaken. What had happened to
their pastor? Some wanted to hear more; others voiced indig­
nant disapproval. This bordered on fanaticism, they charged.
The church was split in two.
Eventually the stronger, more influential group in the
church asked for his resignation. Graciously he left, a number
of like-minded members with him. Initially the outcasts met
under the trees on the town's exhibition grounds. For about a
year they gathered in various places to worship and then
erected their own church building. God continued to pour out
His Holy Spirit on them. Young people flocked to these serv­
ices — dozens knelt at the altar to receive salvation.
Quite a few of these converts went on to attend Bible School.
As many as 20 entered public Christian ministry. Later the
group affiliated with the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada
(PAOC), with Rev. Latto as their first pastor.
"We came at a good time,” said Pastor Donnelly.
Robert had a missionary-heart, always interested in winning
lost souls to Jesus. Appropriately for him, Gilbert Plains was
also known at that time as The Mission.
Among the spruce covered hills of the nearby Duck Moun­
tains were numerous logging camps and sawmills. Robert
began visiting the camps. Being an experienced woodsman
himself, he understood loggers and logging operations. With
only one exception, every camp he visited gave him permis­
sion to use their facilities for Gospel meetings. A pastor from
Roblin, 40 miles away, came with him occasionally.
He’d arrive early in the morning, work with the men around
the mill all day, then invite them to gather in the cook shack at
night. By the end of the day they felt at ease with him. Here
was a preacher who knew how to work like a man. When the
dishes were cleared after supper, most of the men stayed to
hear what Robert had to say. Their response was generally
very good.
After one such meeting the cook offered the two preachers
73
an evening snack before they hit the hay. They’d laid out their
blankets on the beds at the end of a bunkhouse earlier in the
day so they’d know where to go later in the dark. The rest of
the men went to bed while Robert and his companion stayed
to chat with the cook.
By the time they felt their way into bed, the lamps had been
extinguished and the bunkhouses were quiet. They had just
laid down when one of the loggers began groaning in mock
agony. “Oh. this back of mine; this back of mine. I should
have asked one of those blank-blank-blankety-blank preach­
ers to pray for me.”
Without hesitation Robert’s friend sang out, “It's not too
late, Mac. We’re still here.”
Dead silence. “Mac” said no more about his back.
Robert heard about a mill being run by two brothers from
Iowa, Albert and Bob Britcher. With their families they'd been
living in the Duck Mountain hills for about three years,
employing at least 30 men in their logging and milling opera­
tion. The two pastors set out to visit them.
Introducing themselves to the older brother — the boss —
they explained why they'd come. Albert Britcher stared at
them. “You're preachers?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” answered Robert, “we preach the Gospel.”
“Well, of all the days to come to camp, this is it!” laughed the
burly woodsman. “We’ve been in trouble all day.” (The two
preachers had arrived at the height of a furious boundary dis­
pute between the brothers and forestry officials.)
Still laughing at the irony of the situation, Albert Britcher
said with some hesitation, “We've never had religious meetings
in our camp before.”
“Well,” answered Robert, “I think I can promise you that if
we don’t do you any good, at least we won’t do you any harm.”
“O.K.. then.” He had the cookhouse cleared and called a
meeting.
When it was over everyone thanked the two ministers pro­
fusely. The brothers offered them beds in a bunkhouse and
welcomed them to return. “Come back any time! That’s just
what we need,” they said earnestly.
While he was pastor at Gilbert Plains Assembly, Robert
spent at least two weeks of every winter at the Duck Mountain
logging camps. Of them all, the Britcher’s camp proved to be
74
the most enthusiastic and responsive. Robert could count on a
warm welcome there every time.
Soon after they'd arrived at Gilbert Plains, Robert began
visiting all the farms in the Deer Park area, about eight miles
away. After having made acquaintances, he’d often take Daisy
and the children along on visits. Soon they’d established an
afternoon Sunday School in the Deer Park schoolhouse.
One December day a fanner came to see Robert about a
vacant United Church building in that area. The people on
whose land it stood wanted to get rid of it. “My parents helped
build that church.” he said. “I’ve just paid $200 for it because I
don't want it to be used as a granary. Would you be interested
to buy it? It’s been dedicated to God.”
Robert presented the proposal to the Gilbert Plains Church
Board. Attendance at the Deer Park Sunday School had been
generally good, he pointed out. Even though most adults were
not attending, community attitude was very positive. The
Board agreed that a meeting place in that area could be useful.
They paid the farmer $200 for it.
The wood-framed church building stood on a field about
two miles off the main road. It would have to be moved. Rob­
ert asked around about having it relocated near the school
along the main road. Everyone he approached about it,
agreed.
He got some good-natured ribbing from the municipal
council when he asked for the use of their caterpillar tractor to
move the building. “So you’re having trouble getting people to
church, are you? And you want to haul the church to the peo­
ple.” Robert laughed with them.
“Just let us know when you’re ready,” they chucked. “We’ll
send a man with the cat to help you.”
Moving a church was an exciting challenge. Men from The
Mission and several neighbouring farmers joined to prepare it
for the two-mile haul. First they jacked it up off its foundation
and put skids underneath. Crosswise under the skids, for roll­
ers, they laid four large spruce trees, donated by one of the
farmers. By evening the church was ready to roll.
On moving day everyone arrived early. The man from the
municipality hitched up his huge caterpillar tractor. An
admiring crowd had gathered in the field to watch. Slowly,
slowly the building began to move grandly across the frozen
75
fields. Cables straining. Skids grinding. Spruce logs rolling.
What a majestic sight!
They progressed steadily until they came to a narrow field of
fallow ground, a quarter of a mile from their destination. The
skids plowed deeply into the loose soil, the building shook and
everything came to a halt. They were stuck. No amount of
skillful maneuvering helped. The big cat was powerless to
budge it.
One man brought his smaller cat to help. Surely with two
tractors pulling they’d get things moving again. It was no use.
Finally, because it was getting late, they had to give up for the
day.
“If you leave it right where it is,” one farmer told Robert, “I’ll
go to church.” The gesture was especially generous, seeing that
the church was stuck on his property.
Mulling the problem over in his mind for a few days, Robert
came up with a plan. Several men from the assembly
accompanied him to Deer Park to help. They jacked the build­
ing up again and freed everything under it. Then they cut a
number of small poplar trees from a nearby stand and laid
them crosswise underneath the spruce tree “rollers.”
A few days later the municipal cat easily pulled the building
over the fallow field to its proper location. Community-wide
interest had been sparked by the move of that little church.
Though a few adults attended when they could, Gospel
outreach at Deer Park continued to be mainly to children.
Most parents felt they were too busy to attend.
With a population of about 3,000 in Gilbert Plains, the
assembly had a good-sized Sunday School. Daisy’s ministry
among children was exceptionally fruitful. She organized
them into Busy Bee Bible Clubs. During a series of special
meetings in 1946, God sent “a gracious move of His Holy
Spirit” among the children. So eager were they for the things of
God that at least 20 came to the Donnelly's home during
weekday noon hours — just to read the Bible and pray.
“Adults shouldn’t be the only ones to have a blessing from
God,” they said.
This remarkable revival among the children continued long
after the special meetings were over. At Vacation Bible School
that summer these youngsters insisted on meeting for prayer at
least half an hour before each day’s activities began. One
76
morning, classes couldn’t begin until 11 o'clock because some
of the children kept praying. Meanwhile the adults were kept
busy trying to occupy the younger children with songs and
games.
"I looked in the door again and again to see if the praying
children were done.” said Sister Donnelly. “I kept saying to
myself, ‘What shall I do?' But they just kept on praying and
praying.”
"The Lord really met us in a powerful way,” agreed Pastor
Donnelly. "It was a sovereign move of God. Some of those
children went into the ministry when they were grown and
became effective servants of the Lord.”
Knowing the value of summer Bible camps for children, the
Donnellys began searching for a suitable campsite near Gil­
bert Plains. When the Britcher brothers heard of this need
they responded. "We don't really use our camps during the
summer months. You can bring the children up here.” (They
had four kids of their own.)
It was an answer to prayer. Soon teachers and counselors
were organized and plans for Bible camp were set.
That same summer at least 60 youngsters from Gilbert
Plains, Roblin and Grandview came to the Britcher logging
camp. The generous owners allowed all their facilities to be
used, supplied a cook and most of the food. What an adven­
ture for the children to sleep in loggers' bunk beds and eat at
loggers’ tables. There was even a little lake nearby. Summer
Bible camp in the Duck Mountains became an annual event,
blessing children and adults alike.
"Bob Britcher and his wife Beth both came to know the
Lord in a very real way that summer,” remembered Pastor
Donnelly. “Later they became active in the Roblin Assembly.
We kept in touch with them for many years . . .”
For Daisy, camp time was the highlight of the year. It was
wonderful to observe God at work — to see awareness of Him
develop in the children. With her own two by her side, she
gave herself unstintingly to this ministry. There was always
time enough to counsel any child — always enough energy. Or
was there?
77
Chapter Ten
Daisy’s Healing
"My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and
earth.”
Psalm 121:2
After the busy summer of 1947, Daisy became unchar­
acteristically listless and very weak. She was always tired.
What could be wrong? Lovingly Robert prayed with her.
Surely God would heal and strengthen; so many things called
for her attention, both at home and at Sunday School. Yet she
grew steadily worse.
All winter long he nursed, cheered, and prayed God’s help
for her. Finally, in the spring, he knew it was time to act. “I’m
taking you to see the doctor in Dauphin.”
Robert barely noticed the signs of spring all around — the
greening of the fields, the swaying of the budding bushes in
the blustery May wind. Concern for Daisy filled his mind.
Would the long drive to Dauphin be too tiring for her? (It had
been out of the question to take her to the doctor at Gilbert
Plains; everyone knew he was a drinking man.) He glanced at
his wife, leaning back against the seat with her eyes closed.
How pale and thin she looked. Oh, Lord, what could be
wrong? Then, remembering his own miraculous healing from
TB. he had no doubt that God could heal his little wife too.
The doctors at the Dauphin clinic examined Daisy and said
she was seriously anemic. The prescription: liver injections,
78
iron tablets and lots of liver in her diet. “Come back in a
month and we’ll check you again,” they said.
Everyone at Gilbert Plains Assembly prayed earnestly for
Daisy's healing. Lovingly the ladies came to help. They pre­
pared meals, did the laundry and cleaned the house. The
elders anointed her with oil, according to James 5:14, and
prayed over her. Visiting evangelists and the District Superin­
tendent laid their hands on her and prayed. Yet she grew
weaker and thinner every day. Even to lift her feet over a door­
sill became almost too much for her. Often she was overcome
with teeth-chattering chills. Wrapped up in a quilt, she’d stick
her feet into a wanning oven until the violent shaking spell
passed.
The Donnelly children were a buoyant, happy pair. They
seemed little affected by their mother’s illness. Ralph had a
cheerful sense of responsibility; Ruthella helped prepare sup­
pers or mixed batches of cookies, directed by Mom lying on a
cot in the dining room.
“They were the happiest children,” remembered Sister
Donnelly, “so content and helpful. I don’t know what we’d
have done if they’d been cry babies.”
Daisy realized she was seriously ill. “I seem to be getting
worse instead of better,” she whispered to her husband one
day. “Do you think I should talk to the children? Just in case
something happens to me?”
Robert was silent for a moment. Then he spoke softly. "I
think it would be a good idea, if you feel you can.”
She called them to her side. “Mommie wants to talk with
you,” she said as cheerfully as she could.
“Oh, goodie!” they exclaimed, bouncing onto her cot.
Drawing them closer, she began to tell them about the won­
ders and beauties of heaven. “ . . . And nobody is ever sick or
unhappy there. We'll be with Jesus forever.” The children lis­
tened intently. “Sometimes God takes daddies home to
heaven,” she explained simply, “and sometimes He takes
mommies first. But whatever He does, it’s all right.”
“Is that all?” they asked innocently.
“Isn’t that nice?”
“Oh. that’s really nice,” and they ran off to play.
After a while Ruthella quietly returned. "You know what,
Mommie?”
“What, dear?”
79
“Let’s go to heaven now, and then you won’t be sick
anymore.’’
Daisy stroked her little daughter’s hair. “God makes the
choice, darling. He knows best. We must accept whatever He
sends.”
Ruthella was satisfied. She smothered her mother with
kisses and skipped happily out of the room.
Robert remained confident that God would intervene. Con­
tinually he tried to encourage Daisy and lift her spirits.
Though she was in a state of constant exhaustion, he had
assurance enough for them both.
Daisy’s sister Hazel came to visit. She was so distressed
when she saw Daisy’s shaking chills that she phoned their
elderly mother in California. Ella Kettering promptly packed
her suitcase and flew to be with her ailing daughter. “I’ve come
so you can stay in bed where you belong,” she declared. Robert
wondered about the wisdom of leaving Daisy in her care. She
was 76 and frail herself. To make it easier, he brought a mat­
tress into the living-room and made a bed for his wife there.
He had wanted Daisy to stay in bed all along, but with two
lively children vying for her attention she had found it nearly
impossible. Oh, the strength of Mother Kettering’s love! She
nursed her daughter, cared for the children and managed very
well. Daisy thankfully remained in bed.
Liver. Iron tablets. More liver. Sometimes gagging, Daisy
forced herself to follow the prescribed regimen faithfully every
day for a month. Though she remained chronically tired, there
was optimism. Surely, they thought, her next medical test
would show an improvement. But when the doctors examined
her at the end of the month, they were alarmed to find her
blood count had dropped to an even more dangerous level.
Since they were at a loss to know what else to do, they told her
to keep on the same routine. The mention of Daisy’s chills was
dismissed as irrelevant.
Trying not to show his dissatisfaction, Robert helped Daisy
to the car. More than ever they agreed with the words from
Psalm 121: “My help cometh from the Lord.” Together they
recommitted Daisy’s health to Him.
When they got home to Gilbert Plains, Daisy suddenly
began to shake violently again, her teeth chattering
uncontrollably. That was the last straw. Exasperated. Robert
grabbed a quilt, wrapped her up like a baby and bundled her
80
out to the car. Daisy had never seen him so upset.
"I'm taking you to this doctor. Right now!” he declared
firmly. The raw wind whistled through the streets of Gilbert
Plains as they sped to Dr. Fox's office.
With Daisy shaking like a leaf in his arms, he almost ran up
the stairs and into the crowded waiting room. A young intern,
substituting for Dr. Fox, saw them immediately.
Quickly discerning Daisy’s serious condition, he lashed out
at Robert. “What's the matter with you, bringing her out in
weather like this? Don't you know better?” Dismissing the
other patients, he began examining her at once. When he read
her high temperature he fairly screamed, “Get her home and
into bed right now! I'll examine her there.”
Shoulders sagging wearily. Robert obeyed.
"I felt so sorry for my husband,” sympathized Sister
Donnelly. “He was always gentle and kind, and they bawled
him out as though he didn’t have any sense.”
At the parsonage the young doctor tested Daisy in several
ways. Then, brusquely ordering her temperature to be taken
and recorded three times daily, he left.
Two days later Robert received a phone call from Dr. Fox
who’d just returned from his vacation. “I know I haven’t been
consulted about your wife’s illness, except by my intern,” he
said, “but could I have the privilege of examining her for
myself?”
“Yes,” answered Robert meekly, “If you feel you want to.”
Within an hour the old doctor was at the parsonage, thor­
oughly examining Daisy. He looked at her hands and finger­
nails, then ran his hand up and down the back of her neck.
When the examination was over he motioned Robert into the
next room, presumably out of Daisy’s earshot. (She heard every­
thing they said.)
“I’m not sure . . . but if my diagnosis is correct your wife is a
very, very sick woman,” said the doctor gravely.
“I don’t need to be told that.” countered Robert.
“She’s got all the symptoms . .
the doctor continued,
naming an almost unpronounceable disease. “In all my 40
years of practice I've seen only one other case like this. There’s
nothing we can do. It’ll just be a matter of time before she’s
gone.” Then, in a more encouraging tone, “But I’ve heard that
the new medicine, penicillin, is quite effective. Dr. Gimmel in
Winnipeg has just returned from taking a course on it at the
81
Mayo Clinic. I recommend you take your wife to see him. The
only problem is, I don’t think her weakened heart could stand
the trip by car or train. There’s just a chance she'd make it by
plane.”
“We’ll take that chance,” replied Robert without hesitation.
Immediately arrangements were made for Daisy to take the
next morning’s flight to Winnipeg. Ladies from the assembly
bathed her and prepared her clothes. Mother Kettering volun­
teered to accompany her; Robert would stay with the children.
The Donnelly household stirred early the next morning.
Daisy lay in her living room bed, listening to the familiar
breakfast sounds from the kitchen. “June 17. Today is our 12th
anniversary,” she thought tearfully, “and I’m heading for the
hospital. I’m such a burden to my husband — and a hin­
drance to the ministry . .
It was almost too much to bear.
Suddenly Robert came dancing into the room with a grape­
fruit on a lovely cake plate, as though he were going to a party.
He handed it to her with a flair and a kiss. What a funny, lova­
ble sight. She laughed in spite of herself.
When Daisy arrived at Winnipeg General Hospital, they
wheeled her into an isolated room, commonly known as “the
death room.” She looked like a living skeleton, weighing only
74 pounds. “Your husband is coming to be with you too,” com­
forted the nurses as they began to test her blood. Robert
arrived with his car the following day to escort Mrs. Kettering
back to Gilbert Plains. Daisy barely noticed when they kissed
her good-bye. She just lay there, too exhausted to move.
Two days later Dr. Gimmel came into her room and sat
down beside her bed. “You know, Mrs. Donnelly, it’s our pol­
icy to tell our patients everything,” he began. “Your disease is
called subacute bacterial endocarditis. Bacteria in your system
are devouring your blood cells. All the liver you’ve been eating
and have had injected into you, has only fed these germs until
now your blood is 90 per cent poisoned. There’s absolutely no
reason for you to be alive.”
“Oh, yes there is!” exclaimed Daisy, pointing upwards. “He’s
in charge; I’m not a bit afraid.”
The doctor patted her on the shoulder. “I’m glad to hear you
say that; it’ll be an easier road for you.” Then he barked
instructions to the nurses. They scurried in every direction.
Ordering one nurse to stay with Daisy at all times, he com­
manded, “She’s not to do a thing. Even if she needs to write a
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message you do it for her.”
“Is there something I can get, Mrs. Donnelly?” asked the
nurse later, as she fluffed the pillows.
“Yes.” answered Daisy, “I'd like three postcards.”
The nurse brought them and prepared to write what her
patient dictated.
“Please. I'd like to write them myself,” pleaded Daisy, reach­
ing for the cards.
“Oh, no. Mrs. Donnelly. You heard what the doctor said.”
“You know as well as I do what he really meant,” she
insisted weakly. “If it’s the last thing I do. I’m going to write
those cards.”
She'd only finished two cards when her room began to bus­
tle with hospital personnel bringing medical equipment: IV
poles, tubes, bags of blood, monitors, ice-packs, needles.
“Oh, Lord,” she prayed silently, as the nurses began the
blood transfusion, “just give me one more promise from Your
Word. Some reassurance that You’re here. Lord.” Straining to
catch a glimpse of something — anything — her eyes fell on a
rolled up Sunday School paper on her bedside table. She was
too weak even to remove the envelope wrapped around it.
Turning it slowly in her hand she read the phrases of a poem
that were visible.
APART WITH CHRIST
Hush now, for a season with Me,
And soon you My highest shall see;
The waiting seems long and is lone,
But not lonely, surely you’ll own.
Hush just for a moment, not long.
And rest from the rush of the throng;
And soon you shall emerge into view,
And cherish My will all anew.
It was her message from the Lord. “I’m going to get well!”
she told herself in amazement. Lying back with joy and won­
der, she hugged this “nugget from God’’ to her heart.
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity around her bed. Hur­
ried messages, stethoscopes, thermometers, nurses anxiously
taking her pulse. Something had definitely happened. Daisy
knew.
83
“What’s going on here? What’s going on?” exclaimed the
doctor, rushing to her side.
“I’m all right, doctor,” chirped Daisy cheerfully from the
bed. “I’m fine.”
Later the nurses teased her about the “five pints of Norwe­
gian blood” they’d given her. From that day on she began to
steadily improve. The many prayers had been answered.
The following day Daisy asked for permission to get up.
“Certainly not,” said the doctor, “but you may use a wheel­
chair.”
Now she read the rest of the poem on that Sunday School
paper.
I love you, My child, can’t you see?
I want you alone here with Me
To sit at My feet and adore
The love that is yours evermore.
Hush then, and be calm in your soul;
You know now in part — not the whole;
But wait and be quiet a while
And welcome this rest with a smile.
by Mabel Glenn Haldeman
“Lord, if that’s all You’re asking of me, I sure can do that,"
she prayed softly. Peace had flooded her heart.
Daisy received 345 injections of penicillin (one every three
hours) during her stay in the hospital. She was moved out of
the “death room” into a five-bed ward, right next to a larger,
50-bed ward.
Dr. Fox heard she was responding to treatment and came to
visit and examine her. As before, he felt the back of her neck
and looked at her hands. Grimly he shook his head. Back at
Gilbert Plains he reported that if Mrs. Donnelly lived she’d
never walk again and would likely be a vegetable the rest of
her life.
Not so! Soon Daisy was traveling from ward to ward in her
wheelchair, visiting and making friends. She even taught a
Sunday School class in her room, praying with and counseling
many patients. During the night, knowing she’d be awake for
her penicillin shots, some came to her for comforting counsel
and whispered prayers.
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One day Dr. Gimmel asked. "Mrs. Donnelly, would you
mind it I used your case to teach the interns of this hospital?
The use of penicillin is new for all of us, and you have
responded so well to it."
She consented gladly. Soon she was a “regular” at classroom
sessions and medical convention seminars. She heard her ill­
ness explained so many times that soon she could answer
queries herself with. "I had subacute-bacterial-endocarditiswith-a-bisectoral-defect-of-the-mitral-valve.”
After eight weeks in the hospital and one week as an outpa­
tient. Daisy was ready to go home. How she looked forward to
being with her loved ones again. She was studying her hospital
bill when Dr. Gimmel approached, grinning broadly.
"Did you have something to do about this?” Daisy asked,
waving the bill at him.
"What's the matter? Isn’t it high enough?” he laughed.
“That’s not what I'm saying.” she protested. “But I've been in
the hospital eight weeks and had 345 injections of penicillin.
You know this bill is not nearly as high as it ought to be. It’s
only just over $300.”
“Well,” said the doctor, “you co-operated with us. Besides,
it’s a joy to see you get well.”
“I know God is in control and has watched over me,” replied
Daisy, “but I also appreciate your kindness. You’ve come to
see me daily — sometimes two or three times a day.”
“Now look here, young lady,” he teased. “Don’t I deserve
some pleasure too? I’ve enjoyed watching you get well.” Then
more soberly, “I’ll tell you, Mrs. Donnelly, in this hospital
we’ve never had a case like yours that hasn’t been a repeater.
But I don’t expect you to be a repeater.”
“And I don’t expect to be back,” replied Daisy as she
thanked him.
Autumn was beginning to colour the countryside when
Daisy finally returned to Gilbert Plains. How wonderful to be
home again. So what if she still dragged her feet when she
walked? So what if Robert had to carry her upstairs? She could
walk. Praise the Lord!
Robert and the children were overjoyed to have Daisy home
again. The assembly joined them in thanking God for
answered prayer.
Soon Daisy was asking about the assembly’s young people.
85
They’d been enthusiastically responding to God’s Word in the
spring; were they still growing in their faith? It soon became
apparent that they’d need additional counseling and personal
follow-up. More than her strength allowed.
Robert made enquiries to see if two Gospel Workers could
be sent to help at Gilbert Plains Assembly. In no time he’d
arranged for Esther Schindel and Lorina Dempsey to come
and minister to their youth group.
While they were waiting for the young women to arrive, the
Donnellys received a letter from the pastor of Prince Albert
Assembly. “Could you come and preach at a series of meetings
here? Also, I’d like to discuss with you how better to meet my
congregation’s needs. We’d love to have your wife come with
you,” he invited.
“You’ll have to go alone,” said Daisy disappointedly. “We
can’t take the children out of school and I should stay and
help with the young people.”
When the Lady Gospel Workers arrived they were quick to
offer help. “We think you should go with your husband.” they
insisted. “We’ll gladly look after your children and the youth
meetings.” So Daisy accompanied Robert back to Prince
Albert.
“It was just what I needed,” said Sister Donnelly gratefully.
“I was built up in my own soul.”
“We were received very graciously by the Prince Albert
Assembly,” remembered Pastor Donnelly. God blessed both
the meetings and the pastoral discussions.
Daisy grew stronger. One morning she drove to the Gilbert
Plains General Store on her first shopping trip since her ill­
ness. As she climbed out of her car she heard a gasp behind
her. There stood Dr. Fox, a look of astonishment on his face.
“You, Mrs. Donnelly? You?" He could hardly believe what he
saw. Far from being a vegetable, Daisy was walking around
quite normally. How she thanked God that his dire predic­
tions had not come true.
Gilbert Plains Assembly continued to lavish love on the
Donnellys. Although money was scarce, they generously
shared meat, eggs, milk and vegetables from their farm prod­
uce and helped in many practical ways. Shortly after Daisy’s
return from Winnipeg General Hospital, an elder came to the
parsonage with a request.
“Would you please give me your hospital bill?” he asked. “At
86
least let me see it.”
Robert hesitated.
"1 mean it.” insisted the brother as he took the bill from
Robert’s hand. “The Church Board asked me to get it.”
A few days later he brought the bill back, along with a wad
of money. Every family of the assembly had contributed until
the total amount of the bill had been met. Robert’s hands
trembled as he received this huge love gift. “Thank You, Lord;
thank you, brothers and sisters,” he whispered.
Among his colleagues Robert was known as a man of the
Word and of prayer. Younger pastors came to him for encour­
agement and advice, knowing that his counsel was sure to be
scripturally sound. Often he was called to preach at summer
conferences. He preached with the unmistakable unction of
the Holy Spirit, but even his most fiery exhortation was filled
with the compassion and tenderness of a shepherd’s heart. He
dearly loved God's Church — destined to be the spotless Bride
of Christ — encompassing all true Christian believers. Caring
for God’s people was an awesome responsibility. Humbly,
faithfully, he ministered wherever and whenever he could.
Whether he spoke to hundreds at a conference or to 20 in a
logging camp, it was the same to him. He’d prepare as
prayerfully and diligently for one as for the other.
In May 1948 Robert received a pastoral call from Elim Tab­
ernacle, the Pentecostal Assembly at Saskatoon. He’d heard
about the grievous problems that congregation had just expe­
rienced. Leaving Gilbert Plains would be painful. After much
prayer he and Daisy knew the answer must be yes. Back to
Saskatchewan. Back to a city church.
87
Chapter Eleven
Into the Fray
“Better it is to be of an humble spirit . .
Proverbs 16:19b
Elim Tabernacle in 1948 was like a war zone. Spiritual
casualties everywhere. Robert found membership decimated
to less than half its former size. Those who remained in the
assembly were either deeply wounded or caught in the
crossfire of confusion. Others, in bitter disillusionment, had
given up the faith altogether. Why?
Robert recognized the enemy. It was the same evil presence
— bent on the destruction of God’s work — he’d encountered
before. Lovingly he began to minister the faith-building, heal­
ing Word of God.
The Pentecostal revival of the 1920s had never died out com­
pletely in Saskatchewan. For two decades tears of repentant
sinners wet the altars of assemblies almost every Sunday.
Hungry for more of God, people prayed for the Baptism of the
Holy Spirit. Home Bible study groups and prayer meetings
dotted the province. Spiritual gifts of the Holy Spirit operated
freely among them; prophecy, word-of-knowledge and speak­
ing in tongues with interpretation. Prayers were answered, mir­
acles and healings occurred, demons fled — all in the power­
ful name of Jesus. Christians were ecstatic over their new­
88
found spiritual realities. Everyone was sure the Second Com­
ing of Jesus must be very near. It was harvest time for the
Church. A genuine move of God. A real revival.
Who can tell where deception begins? Who can judge
another's motives? At Bethel Bible Institute in Saskatoon, a
major centre for Pentecostal Christian education in Saskatch­
ewan. the insidious enemy gained a subtle foothold. Eager stu­
dents of God's Word unwittingly became his prey.
Two ambitious Bible School teachers began to claim per­
sonal authority over the movement of the Holy Spirit at this
time. “These are the last days; this is the last out-pouring of the
Holy Spirit,” they prophesied. “God has put us in charge.”
Teaching that God was finished with denominational systems
like the Pentecostal Assemblies, they urged everyone to aban­
don organized churches and follow them instead. “God has
cast them off." they warned. “Come out from among them;
touch not the unclean thing; Christ will return for only a pure
Church. You could be left behind at His coming.”
Linking themselves with end-time prophecies in the book of
Joel, they called themselves the Latter Rain Movement. Soon
they had a passionate following.
Their super-spiritual teachings seared across the province
like a prairie fire. With misguided zeal their followers majored
in visions, dreams, strange manifestations, the casting out of
demons and prophetic utterances. Constantly they sought new
and exciting spiritual experiences — a proof to themselves of
their special status with God.
Many Christians became confused, not sure whom to
believe, what to do or where to go. A malignant spirit of divi­
sion rampaged through the assemblies. Families were split,
friendships broken, Christians estranged from one another.
Even other denominations were adversely affected. Congrega­
tions were warned against the “froth” of pentecostalism. Those
who’d been against the Baptism of the Holy Spirit all along
felt justified in even more vigilant opposition to that “danger­
ous” doctrine.
Pentecostal Christians across Canada waged all-out spirit­
ual warfare in prayer on behalf of their Saskatchewan brothers
and sisters. Urgent pleas for God’s intervention dominated
summer conference prayer meetings. Godly ministers wrestled
with the questions: Why is this happening? What shall we do?
How is it possible that choice men of God can go astray?
89
The renegade Bible School teachers had privately prepared
their 70 or 80 students to withdraw from Pentecostal fellow­
ship en masse. When they thought they had enough influence,
they declared themselves openly, demanding that the school
properties be turned over to them. Providentially, ownership
had been legally secured to the PAOC in 1942; transfer of the
deeds was out of the question.
Now that it had become public, the painful problem could
finally be addressed. Having departed from the principles and
practices of the PAOC, the schismatic teachers would have to
leave. Taking their proteges with them they moved the head­
quarters of their Latter Rain Movement to North Battleford.
Bethel Bible Institute was left with only a handful of bewil­
dered pupils.
Attendance at Elim Tabernacle fluctuated wildly from Sun­
day to Sunday when the Donnellys came; sometimes 16, some­
times 100. People wavered. Questioned. Wondered. Who’s
right? Who's wrong? Months passed before any semblance of
stability returned to the congregation.
Several Saskatchewan assemblies voted to sever all ties with
the PAOC. Most Pentecostal assemblies had never organized
formally in the first place, content to be loosely joined
companies of like-minded Christians. Elim did have a mem­
bers’ roll but most people in the congregation were just
adherents. Membership had never been requisite to fellow­
ship.
On the day that Elim voted. Latter Rain sympathizers
crowded into the sanctuary, hoping to sway the decision their
way. The roster was read; the voting bar set. What? Only mem­
bers have a legal right to vote? Tempers flared, tears flowed —
to no avail. The little group of members at Elim voted to con­
tinue with the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. Robert
gained a new appreciation for the value of church member­
ship.
Within a year most dissenting assemblies had shut down
completely, no longer believing in structured worship. Left to
fend for themselves, those Christians were like sheep without a
shepherd. Before long the majority of them had given up. Lost
sheep, devoured by wolves in shepherd’s garb.
Robert’s heart ached for God’s people. Many a night he
came home weeping after long hours of counseling sincerely
confused questioners. “I didn’t know what more to say,” he’d
90
tell Daisy brokenly. Together they pleaded for God to under­
take for them.
God did intervene in a marvelous way. Mature Christians
began to commit themselves to pray for Robert and the deplor­
able state of their assembly. Three older women prayed faith­
fully every day. Sister Donnelly lovingly called Galdys
Grafham. Bertha Shepphard and Grandma Hornby “our
three musketeers.” While Robert walked the streets of
Saskatoon searching out his hurting congregation, they knelt
in prayer.
Overwhelmed with a sense of inadequacy, he approached
every home with fear and trembling. “What’ll I say? What
should I do?” he agonized while mustering up courage to
knock on the door. He visited family after family during those
trying days, supported by that faithful trio of “prayer warriors.”
“They were senior citizens of the Kingdom of God and they
knew how to pray,” said Pastor Donnelly. “I can’t say how
many times I experienced marvelous encouragement and
strengthening from the Lord while making calls.”
Prophecies of doom were hurled against the Pentecostal
Assemblies by followers of the Movement. Even to enter a
PAOC building brought on castigation and threats of hell.
Self-styled prophets laid hands on gullible believers, ostensi­
bly giving direct orders from God. Unquestioning obedience
was expected even when the prophecy was clearly contrary to
the Bible. “It’s a new word from God subsequent to the Scrip­
tures,” they were commanded.
The story is told of one young woman who traveled to a
country in Africa on the strength of a “word from God.” Some­
one had prophesied that she’d be able to speak the native lan­
guage miraculously when she got there. Instead, stinging disil­
lusionment met her. Tragically, many Latter Rain young peo­
ple gave up the Christian faith within a year after the split.
How bitter to realize they’d been duped by lying prophets.
They’d staked everything on the Movement and it had played
them false.
“It was difficult to lead my congregation to worship m the
freedom of the Holy Spirit,” recalled Pastor Donnelly, “for fear
they’d get carried away again by the strangeness that had come
to our assemblies all over the province ...
The following autumn, after some debate, Bethel Bible Insti­
tute re-opened its doors. Only eight students enrolled. Godly
91
men from the assemblies took leadership. Robert Argue
became the new principal; Edmund Austin, Eddie Lother,
Eric Hornby and, later, District Superintendent Carl Stiller,
took turns teaching. Robert Donnelly was invited to teach part
time. Knowing the intrinsic value of holy Scripture, he
assigned hundreds of Bible verses for the students to memo­
rize. The Bible was his only text book. Students sat enthralled
while he unfolded the riches of God’s Word. No less memora­
ble were the lessons he taught by example.
Frilly Manley, one of his students and later the church sec­
retary, remembered him fondly. “’He never failed to till my
mind with spiritual nourishment. I thought a master of the
Scriptures such as he could never be stumped. One day he
shocked us all by calmly answering a question with, ‘I don’t
know, but if you join me in searching, we’ll have the answer by
the next class.’ He was right. We, who thought we were getting
so wise, got a lesson in humility.”
The second year after the split, over 30 students enrolled at
BBL Gradually, as the assemblies regained spiritual equilib­
rium, the student body grew, eventually exceeding 200.
Although it was still difficult for Robert to counsel people
one-on-one (feelings of inferiority continued to plague him),
another challenge seemed even more formidable. As Elim’s
pastor he inherited responsibility for the weekly Wonderful
Word radio broadcast. No pre-recording in those days, the
program went on the air live.
At first he was terrified. Preach to a microphone? Crying to
God for help, he decided to give his best. Sermons had to be
written out ahead of time. Station policy. (He had not been in
the habit of making sermon notes.) The music was performed
by young people from the assembly. What a feat to round up
the youth early on Sunday mornings and get to the radio sta­
tion on time. In spite of a few frantic incidents, they never
missed a Sunday. It turned out to be a fruitful outreach ministry.
Wonderful Word broadcast had a large listening audience.
In those pre-television times whole families gathered around
their radio sets to listen, captured by the familiar theme-song,
“Sing Them Over Again To Me.” Relying heavily on the Holy
Spirit, Robert began to preach a series of messages about the
Bible. For one full year he examined the multifaceted Word of
God, never exhausting the theme. How better to help people
92
withstand the enemy's vicious attacks against faith than
through the faith-building Word of God?
Letters of response flooded the station. Listeners from all
denominations told of faith renewed, salvation affirmed, bless­
ings received. Through Robert, God administered spiritual
healing to many of His people throughout Saskatchewan.
Contrary to disparagements from false prophets, God
showed His people at Saskatoon’s Elim Tabernacle that He
had not abandoned them. Day after day His presence among
them was almost tangible; the many answers to prayer, thrill­
ing.
A young couple from Turtleford brought their teenaged
daughter to Saskatoon for medical help. Barely able to walk or
talk, she'd not had strength enough to hold up her head for
several days. The doctors were perplexed. Clearly her condi­
tion was serious, but what was the cause? Leaving her at St.
Paul’s Hospital the worried parents came to the parsonage for
prayer. Robert and Daisy knelt with them, asking God to heal
the girl. No sooner had they risen from their knees than the
phone rang. It was the hospital. “Come get your daughter.
There's nothing wrong with her.” Amazed, the four pray-ers
looked at each other. Thank the Lord! How delighted the par­
ents were to find their daughter bright, cheerful and com­
pletely healthy again.
“They knew it was the Lord,” smiled Pastor Donnelly.
“We knew it too.” agreed Sister Donnelly, lifting her hand in
praise to God.
Repeatedly Robert’s ministry at Saskatoon was confirmed.
An elderly mother, wakened from a deathbed coma after he
laid hands on her and prayed; a teenage girl, instantly healed
from a serious heart condition after prayer. Healings contin­
ued for over a year.
“We couldn’t claim to have had any great faith,” stressed
Pastor Donnelly. “I could see no reason for these marvelous
phenomena except that God’s people were earnestly praying.
He was using their ministry of prayer for His own glory.”
What reassurance. These miracles belied the dire Latter
Rain pronouncements that God had rejected all Pentecostal
Christians. In hindsight Pastor Donnelly realized those physi­
cal healings were an indication of the greater spiritual healing
that was coming to the assembly.
A high school teacher and his wife, both recently converted,
93
were among those who’d left the assembly. Sincerely con­
vinced at first, they’d become confused and uneasy about their
decision. Robert and Daisy met them one day while visiting
from home to home. Gently they began to minister to them,
praying for God’s wisdom all the while. The couple listened
graciously. A few weeks later, after having attended several
worship services, they confessed to Robert. "Now that we've
heard fuller teaching from God's Word we realize we've been
deceived. We'd like to come back to the assembly.”
Gradually many former members returned to Elim. Though
it was difficult for them to “eat humble pie," they responded to
the sound preaching of God’s Word, meekly asking to be rein­
stated. Open arms and hearts welcomed them back.
The owner of the local Christian bookstore had been one of
the most militant supporters of the Movement. Robert and
Daisy continued to graciously visit his home. (Christians from
Elim occasionally attended meetings he held in a room above
the store to keep in touch.) When he heard that Elim Taber­
nacle was growing — that God was indeed blessing “organ­
ized” fellowship — he began to doubt his rebel stand. His con­
stantly-prophesying Latter Rain group began to seem weari­
some. Finally he realized what he must do. Humbling himself,
he confessed that he'd been wrong and asked to be taken back
into Elim's fellowship. Later, he became one of the assembly’s
most faithful deacons.
In the wake of the Latter Rain Movement, many Saskatche­
wan Pentecostals became suspicious of anything smacking of
the supernatural. The slightest manifestation of the Holy Spirit
in a meeting was met with uneasy skepticism. Fears of again
being burned by “wild fire” were to inhibit some assemblies in
that province for decades to come. Concern for the Church
still etched Pastor Donnelly’s face as we sat around their kit­
chen table in Penticton.
“It was a very, very taxing and trying time,” he remembered,
“driving Christians to much soul-searching. Bible-reading and
fellowship with one another The outcome of it all was that we
were strengthened and more closely bonded together.”
Pastor Donnelly unfolded a piece of paper and laid it on the
table before him. Barely glancing at the notes he’d written, he
raised his voice and began to share his continuing burden for
94
the Church. As he spoke I caught a glimpse of his shepherd­
heart.
"One thing became very apparent,” he began, "and I've rec­
ognized it through the years since then: it’s the work of our
adversary, the devil, to divide Christians from one another.
The first casualty of error is fellowship. It’s something we
should recognize immediately. We can be guided by asking:
Does this separate me from my brother, or does it bond me
more closely to him? Does it dismember or unite the Body of
Christ? When we lose fellowship with other believers we lose
something of infinite worth.
"Pride is an outcropping of disunity that follows loss of fel­
lowship among Christians. It’s very subtle. When God begins
to pour out His Spirit upon us, separate us unto Himself,
endue us with His blessing, guidance, wisdom and power, it's a
common temptation to feel more or less exalted. We call it
spiritual pride, but it’s not very spiritual. It’s a wrong spirit; a
spirit that exalts self over others. It’s an evidence of error, a
sure work of the flesh.
"To be given prominence greatly appeals to our native self.
Unless we’re cautious, church leadership can lend itself to
exaltation of the human instrument. That always ends in dis­
aster. The safest position we can take is that expressed by John
Bunyon: 'He that is down need fear no fall, and he that is low,
no pride; he that is humble ever shall have God to be his
guide.’
“With every blessing should come a sense of awe and won­
der that God would condescend to select any of us to bear His
likeness, His majesty and His Word. A careful recognition of
the working of God in our lives should teach us this. Instead of
exalting us, every fresh experience and revelation should hum­
ble us. We should bow very low at His feet, confessing our own
unworthiness and His inestimable grace.
“As the Apostle Paul said about himself: 'unto me, who am
less than the least of all saints, is this grace given’ and 'Christ
Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief’
The more revelation God heaped upon him, the more he real­
ized his unworthiness to receive that revelation. Humility was
his great defense and protection, keeping him from self-infla­
tion and egotism.
“Thank the Lord for His patience and mercy, keeping us
low before Him. that ‘in all things He might have the pre­
95
eminence.’ All the work of God, all the work of the Spirit, the
sum total of the teaching of Jesus Christ and the Apostles, the
central theme of the Scripture is the unity of God’s people for
His glory and for His honour. To this end we are dedicated!
Amen.”
Elim Tabernacle’s young people were enthusiastic and
eager to serve God. On Saturdays they’d pack their lunches
and travel to various neighbouring towns to witness for Christ.
All afternoon they’d distribute Christian literature. Then in the
evening they’d conduct Gospel street-meetings.
Robert often encouraged them, “If nobody else gets any
good out of this, it’s good for us. There’s no better therapy than
to get out and witness to our faith.”
One young person came to Robert with a question. “Why
don’t we have visiting evangelists any more? We used to have
so many.”
He answered, “Perhaps we need some teaching for awhile.”
Soon after that a passing evangelist spoke at Elim. When the
meetings were over that young person came to Robert again. “I
could hardly wait to get back to good teaching again. We really
don’t need evangelists.”
“Oh, but we do,” replied Robert. “God has set both teachers
and evangelists in the Church. One ministry cannot replace
the other — both are needful.”
Little by little God brought restoration to Elim Tabernacle.
Christian brothers and sisters, once estranged, broke bread
together again. With reconciliation came a fresh vision for
evangelism. Attendance grew. How rewarding for Robert and
Daisy to realize they had been instruments of the healing. The
battle had been won through prayer.
“We were highly favoured at Saskatoon,” said Pastor
Donnelly kindly. “The Church Board gave us every encour­
agement, support and prayer. It’s great to have people you can
count on . . .”
In the spring of 1952, after four years as their pastor, Robert
was sure his time at Elim Tabernacle was over. Stability had
returned, the assembly was steadily growing and soon a regu­
lar assistant pastor would be necessary. He shied away from
the thought of having to be someone else’s director.
“I found it very difficult to be a boss,” explained Pastor
96
Donnelly. "I’d always know when it was time for me to resign
from an assembly — when it got so big 1 needed an assistant. I
was glad to work with others if they'd pitch in with the work on
their own, but I didn’t like to have to tell them what to do . . .
And I always resigned before I got a call to the next place.”
Responding to a pastoral call from Port Arthur, Ontario,
that summer, he and Daisy said farewell to Saskatchewan
once more. They were battle-scarred, but victorious.
97
Chapter Twelve
Redeeming the Time
“ . . . I was a stranger, and ye took me in: naked, and ye
clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and
ye came unto me.”
Matthew 25:35,36
“More tea?”
“Yes, thank you, Sister Donnelly. It’s good.”
Outside, dry brown leaves scuttled across the pavement in
the brisk north wind. Heavy clouds sailed across the moun­
tain-framed sky.
“There’s snow in the air,” we all agreed.
I turned to Pastor Donnelly, across the table from me. What
an honour to know him. I’d been coming for several weeks
now and was beginning to feel like family.
“Then you moved to Port Arthur?” I prompted.
“Yes. It was August, 1952.” His smile widened and he
straightened his shoulders. Port Arthur must have been spe­
cial to him, I thought.
“I wish we could convey the enthusiasm of those dear peo­
ple at Port Arthur,” interjected his wife, teapot pausing mid­
air. “They were so willing . . .”
“Yes,” he concurred. “I never had to tell them what to do.
They’d just see what needed to be done — sometimes before
we did — and do it. The whole assembly was like that — pitch­
ing in and working together.”
98
Sister Donnelly tucked her teapot back into its quilted cozy
and rejoined us at the table. “They were so dedicated . . .”
*
*
*
After a refreshing stopover at Family Bible Camp in south­
ern Manitoba, the Donnellys headed for Ontario. Their home­
made travel trailer bumped along behind the car. (In
Saskatoon. Robert had built it from scrap materials.) Travel­
ing through Minnesota and Wisconsin, bordering states, they
swung north, west of Lake Superior to Port Arthur.
Breathtaking. That's how they described their first glimpse
of the Canadian Lakehead. Immense grain elevators towered
from the waterfront, like giant sentinels guarding the northern
skyline. Enormous lake freighters moved ponderously through
the water, their cargo of prairie grain destined for world mar­
kets.
The Twin Cities of Port Arthur and Fort William lay only
four miles apart on the shores of Lake Superior, one of the
world’s largest grain ports. (They amalgamated in 1970 form­
ing the city of Thunder Bay.) The Lakehead teemed with in­
dustrial activity: shipbuilding, railways, forestry, mining, pulp
mills, foundries, flour mills. Called “the narrow waist of Cana­
da,” all the major transportation routes east and west con­
verged here. Gravel roads trailed north into the hinterland to
isolated bushcamps.
“What potential for the Lord’s work,” thought Robert, sur­
veying his new field of service. What a challenge to reach these
many people for Christ. Daisy’s thoughts reflected his. “Oh
Lord, help us to fulfill Your will.” They were glad to find Port
Arthur’s Elim Pentecostal Tabernacle ideally situated on a
main thoroughfare, readily accessible to all.
The general lifestyle and attitude of Port Arthur’s communi­
ty was blatantly hedonistic and spiritually indifferent. Al­
though the population during peak periods of seasonal em­
ployment bordered on 100,000, not one congregation ol the
several evangelical churches exceeded 100. “Money; make it
and spend it as fast as you can” seemed to be the popular phi­
losophy. It grieved Robert and Daisy to see folks caught in this
trap of materialism with spirits dead to the love of God. Imme­
diately they began to intercede for the city. Only by the al99
mighty power of Jesus’ name can one be rescued from that fa­
tal deception.
The small group of Christians at Elim Tabernacle had faith
and vision to reach their city for Christ. Robert confidently as­
sumed responsibility for their regular Sunday afternoon radio
broadcast. (Soundroom equipment no longer intimidated
him.) Weekdays he took turns with other city pastors, conduct­
ing morning meditations over the radio. Teenaged Ralph and
Ruthella joined the assembly’s youth, helping with the radio
music. Through the air waves Robert could reach men in the
bushcamps, encourage lonely shut-ins, persuade reluctant un­
believers and wayward backsliders. Letters from listeners
poured into the station. One woman wrote, “My day begins
properly when I hear you say Good-morning.” How reward­
ing. Always he kept in mind that many of his radio-parishion­
ers had no other means of Christian fellowship. He prayed for
them faithfully.
The Assembly had begun the construction of a new church
building under the leadership of their previous pastor, Wilfred
Taylor. The unfinished basement served as a Sunday meeting
place. The main sanctuary was yet a dream. At just the right
time God brought Gordon Martin, an experienced carpenter,
to the assembly. Under Gordon’s skillful supervision the
building program was resumed. Elim’s policy was ’pay as you
go — don’t go into debt.’ Men from the assembly donated their
labour. Robert donned his overalls and joined them.
Scaffolding had to be built for the 18-foot-high concrete
block walls. Lathing. Stripping. Plastering. What a job. Every
Saturday the mess was cleared away and benches set up for
Sunday morning. It was a labour of love. Good-humoured ca­
maraderie made it all enjoyable. “When I got the hang of plas­
tering,” chuckled Pastor Donnelly, “I used to say, ‘You don’t
have to be smart to be a plasterer. If you were, you wouldn’t be
one.’ ”
Daisy was their “joe-boy,” running errands for the men. She
made pastoral calls in Robert’s stead and visited Sunday
School contacts. If she sensed a situation which needed Rob­
ert’s attention, he’d change out of work clothes and make the
necessary pastoral visit. Attendance began to grow.
The Donnellys donated much of their salary to help pay for
the new church building. To help their household budget Rob­
ert took a job as school bus driver. Having established a good
100
rapport with the manager of the bus fleet, he had the courage
to ask. "Do you think we could use one of these busses for our
Sunday School?”
"Sure.’ was the genial replied. “Help yourself You can use
one for $2.00 as long as you get your own driver.” All the vehi­
cles were in badly run-down condition but at least they
worked. (The saying was that all of Port Arthur was run like a
logging camp — if there’s any fixing to do, just tie it up with
barbed wire.) That weekend a bus filled with excited children
arrived at Elim Sunday School. The driver? Pastor Donnelly.
About that time three special couples were transferred to
Port Arthur by their employers. What a blessing they were to
the Elim congregation. Not waiting to be invited, they imme­
diately got involved in the Sunday School.
Arnold Gorling.1 a traveling salesman, brought stimulating
new promotional ideas.Ted and Rita Bradford’s total dedica­
tion to children’s work was remarkable. Ted, the SS
Superintendant, would come straight to church from his
nightshift job as a railway dispatcher. Paul and Carol Brown,
enthusiastic and friendly, made everyone feel welcome at Sun­
day School. Attendance leapt from 50 to 150. More than one
school bus could handle.
With the audacity of faith Robert went to city hall. “Could
we have a city bus pick up and return our Sunday School chil­
dren?” he asked. Incredibly, the city fathers gave consent.
“That’s a good idea!” For only $10.00 per Sunday, trolley bus
service was provided for Elim Pentecostal Sunday School. At­
tendance soared.
One day Daisy visited Adeline, a teenager who’d recently
come to work in Port Arthur. “How are you?” she asked sym­
pathetically, glancing around the one-room apartment. The
girl began to weep uncontrollably. She was desperately lonely
and overwhelmed by the big city.
Motherly compassion welled up in Daisy’s heart. “Why not
pack up your things and come to our place for a while?” she
suggested. “You can stay with us until you feel settled in your
job.” A smile of relieflit up the tear-stained face. Quickly Dai­
sy helped gather up her things.
Adeline was the first of many teenaged girls and young
'Arnold Gorling was well known in Ontario. His fine penmanship, in spite
of having only one arm, won him the honour of writing the official govern­
ment greeting to the Queen, when she visited Canada in 1954.
101
women to find refuge at the Donnelly home. Sometimes they
sheltered as many as five at a time. A few, like Adeline, paid
for their room and board; all became a part of the family.
Edna, Jeanne, Audhild, Violet and Irene were a few of the oth­
ers who stayed with them. This home was a safe haven; the
Donnellys, like second parents. Robert was the first real gen­
tleman some of them had ever known; always considerate and
kind, understanding and wise. “Never once did I ever see him
angry,” remembered one, “or hear him say an unkind thing
about anyone.”
So many girls came to live with them that Robert and Daisy
began to wonder, “Is God leading us into a ministry with
young people?” They were willing, if He so directed.
Irene, a social worker with the Children’s Aid Society,
boarded with them for a few months. One day she asked Dai­
sy, “Do you know anyone who’d care for two preschool chil­
dren until a foster home can be found for them? I don’t know
what to do. I’ve had to place so many children this week that
I’ve run out of homes.”
“I’ll be glad to take them,” she said without hesitation.
“Bring them right over.”
When they arrived Daisy was aghast; what a heart-wrench­
ing sight. Ronnie and Billy, aged two and four, had greasy
matted hair, bowed legs and filthy rags for clothes. Little
Ronnie couldn't walk at all. Both boys were so badly
malnourished that they’d lost all their baby teeth.
Together the two women began the grim task of cleaning
them up. With a pair of scissors they cut the filthy rags from
the pathetic little bodies and filled the bathtub with disinfected
warm water. While Daisy tenderly bathed them Irene flew to
the store for new clothes. By supper time the little brothers
were clean and comfortable. Hardly recognizable.
One afternoon, a few weeks later, Billy tugged on Daisy's
skirt while she was peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink.
“Me a good boy?” he asked hopefully.
"Yes, Billy, you’re a good boy,” she answered lovingly.
“Daddy like me?”
“Yes, Daddy loves you.”
“Ruthella like me?” he persisted. “Me not a bad boy?”
Daisy’s heart melted. Setting down the paring knife, she
gathered the little boy into her arms. “Everybody loves Billy,”
she assured him. “Billy is a good boy.”
102
One day the Donnellys received a phone call from the On­
tario Mental Hospital at the Lakehead. Robert had regularly
been visiting patients there and was well known by the doctors
and staff. The 16-year-old sister of the two little boys you have
staying in your home is a patient here. We were wondering if
she could come to visit her brothers. We'll send an attendant
with her.”
By all means.’ they invited. “She’s more than welcome.”
Though Violet seemed timid and fearful, she demonstrated
genuine love for Ronnie and Billy. The boys were happy to see
their sister.
A few weeks later the hospital called again. “May we bring
Violet and her attendant again?”
“Certainly, but is an attendant really necessary?” Violet is a
lovely girl and seems normal enough — except for being fear­
ful. ' responded Daisy. "Do you mind telling us why she’s in
the hospital?”
"Violet suffered a nervous breakdown and was committed
by her parents.” explained the voice at the other end of the
line. “She really shouldn’t be here anymore, but unless some­
one signs her out of here she'll have to stay. Her parents seem
to have forgotten about her.”
How cruel. Daisy felt indignant. “Is there any reason why we
can't sign her out? She could live with us and be with her
brothers.”
“No reason at all,” was the reply.
Violet came to stay, first on a trial basis and then perma­
nently. How good to be accepted into a family. Gradually she
regained some self-esteem. Her fears subsided. Daisy helped
her get a job in the laundry room of the local hospital. By the
time the Donnellys left Port Arthur she was emotionally well
enough to live on her own.
Ronnie and Billy stayed for over a year, loved and nurtured
by everyone in the Donnelly household. Daisy took them with
her whenever she went visiting; they were real “door-openers.”
What heartbreak when the courts gave them back to their par­
ents. How could they? “Dear Lord, must these darling babies
go back to that uncaring home?” Tearfully they committed the
little brothers to God's care.
In the ensuing years the Donnellys cared for over 25 pre­
school foster children. Some stayed a few months, some a year
or more. Ralph and Ruthella and the teenaged girls helped
103
care for the little ones. Heart and home were large enough for
them all.
The assembly had established an afternoon Sunday School
in the McKenzie district, 18 miles out in the country. Among
the many children who attended, were 13 sadly neglected
brothers and sisters from an alcoholic home. When the
Donnellys heard that Childrens’ Aid was about to disburse
them into various foster homes, Daisy called Irene. “Could
Linda and Bobby stay with us? We’d really love to keep them.’’
Arrangements were soon made. Sister and brother, three and
eight respectively, lived with the Donnellys for six months, un­
til the courts returned them to their own parents.
What tender memories. “We just had no end of pleasure
with Linda and Bobby . .
remembered Pastor Donnelly
fondly.
Sister Donnelly agreed, wiping a tear. “Our home was given
to taking people in. We wished we could have adopted them . .
Religious instruction in the public schools was offered to
grades seven and eight through the ministerial association.
Robert was assigned chaplain to a school nearby. Alternating
between the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles, he
taught Bible lessons every Wednesday morning. Students
loved him. “Hi, Padre!” they’d call when they met him on the
street. Enthusiasm for the classes ran high. What excitement
when parents and teachers crowded into the auditorium to
hear the year-end Bible drills and contests.
“It was a wonderful opportunity” exclaimed Pastor
Donnelly. “That was all the Christian teaching some of those
children ever received.”
Robert was sick at heart when religious instruction classes
were cancelled in Port Arthur schools. “I think many local
ministers voted against them,” he said ruefully. “They said it
was too much work. Too divisive. They said we were just caus­
ing confusion . . .”
Sister Donnelly broke in, “There was no confusion at our
school!”
He went on, “I think probably that was one of my most fruit­
ful ministries. Five years in the public schools . .
Street meetings were held at the waterfront of Port Arthur
every Sunday evening. Crowds of at least 100 men gathered on
the wharves, drawn by the Gospel music. They’d stay to hear
104
the message. Young folks from the assembly mingled in the
crowd, inviting men to the seven o'clock service at Elim. One
evening several men knelt right there in the open and publicily
accepted Jesus Christ as Saviour from sin. Two or three began
attending Elim regularly.
One cynic questioned a local policeman. “What’s the use of
these street meetings? The same crowd week after week . . .
What’s the point?”
The officer replied. “You should see what it’s like when the
street meeting is over. The whole atmosphere around here is
changed. Instead of drinking and carousing as usual, the men
are subdued and go back to their rooms and apartments quiet­
ly. The street meetings really make a difference.”
As a regular contributor to the weekly church page, Robert
got well acquainted with the editor of the Port Arthur News
Chronicle. The paper had a friendly policy towards church
news. One day the editor's assistant stopped Robert and said,
“My boss has left me in charge while he’s away on vacation. I
don't know much about the church page; why don’t you take it
on? You could set it up to please yourself.” Barely concealing
his amazement, Robert accepted the challenge. For three
weeks he had the church page all to himself.
The owner of the local radio station was a choleric, hot-tem­
pered man. One Sunday afternoon when Robert and the
young people arrived at the station for their weekly program
he met them angrily. “After next Sunday your radio program is
cancelled.”
“Whatever for?” asked Robert in surprise. “Haven’t we just
recently renewed our contract? And the response from listen­
ers is very good.”
“Your kids are causing too much damage at the station.
Some of them have been climbing on top of my desk,” he
snapped. “That contract is just a piece of paper. Sue me if you
want to. The program is off.”
Now what? Robert knew the charges were false; the young
people had always behaved properly. What could he do? He
talked to his friend, the editor of the News Chronicle.
“There’s no point in fighting him, even if you have a legal
right,” the editor advised, “it would only cause friction in the
community.”
Robert had to agree. Reluctantly he explained the situation
to his radio audience and said goodbye to them. The letters of
105
support for the program that flooded in made no difference. It
was over. What a disappointment. Robert could only commit
the matter to God and focus his energies in other directions.
The Donnellys tried to seize every opportunity to reach out
to others with God’s love. Typical Sundays were incredibly
busy: 9:45 a.m., Sunday School; 11:00 a.m., worship service;
2:00 p.m., radio program; 3:00 p.m., SS at McKenzie School;
6:00 p.m., street meeting at Port Arthur; 7:00 p.m. evening
service.
Naturally their two children participated in the work. Ralph
was a talented musician, often called on to play the piano at
services and Ruthella’s beautiful singing was a real asset to the
ministry.
“I didn’t realize how busy we'd been until after we left Port
Arthur,” confessed Pastor Donnelly. “I don’t know how we did
it all . . .” They had served God as a family unit.
Suddenly everything changed. Suddenly there were tears,
heartache and cries of “Why, Lord?” Ralph had disappeared.
“He’s only 16. Where could he be?” Robert and Daisy were
devastated to realize that their son had run away from home.
Several agonizing weeks later they found where he was . . .
Ralph came back repentant and with a new appreciation for
his Christian upbringing. “He thanked us for all the Bible
verses he’d had to memorize as a child,” said Sister Donnelly,
“and he recommitted his life to God . . .”
He quit school and took a job with the Fort William radio
station. Shortly after that he moved to North Battleford to be a
radio announcer. Driven to their knees, Robert and Daisy
struggled with the pain of his leaving.
“I’m afraid I didn’t handle it very well at first,” confessed
Sister Donnelly. “He ran away twice . . .”
Ruthella’s cheerful ways were a comfort. She continued to
help wherever she could. Daisy called her “my right arm.” Af­
ter graduating from high school she moved to Winnipeg for
nurse’s training. How empty the house seemed.
“It was a very traumatic time for us — both children gone.”
Robert and Daisy knelt together in prayer. “Oh Lord, we en­
trust our children to Thy care.”
In 1958 Robert sensed that it was time to move again. He re­
signed as pastor of Port Arthur’s Elim Tabernacle and ac­
cepted a posting to Morden, Manitoba.
“I think we’ve had enough children for a while,” he told
106
Daisy, as they contemplated the move into Morden's smaller
parsonage. “No more foster children . .
He was concerned
that caring for children alone would be too hard for her.
She agreed, content that she and Robert would continue
serving God together . . .
107
Chapter Thirteen
His Hands Extended
. We speak before God in Christ: we do all things, dearly
beloved, for your edifying.”
2 Cor. 12:19b
Morden was a God-fearing, unpretentious little town in
southern Manitoba surrounded by grainfields and dairy
farms. As an almost totally Christian community, it enjoyed a
spirit of co-operation among the various denominations. Here
were no hectic demands for evangelistic outreach; no apalling
social needs. With help from their new church family the
Donnellys settled into the parsonage.
How quiet the house seemed without children and teen­
agers. Robert applied himself to prayer and study of the Word;
Daisy got acquainted with the children in Sunday School.
The Pentecostal church, right across the street from the par­
sonage, was a renovated dance hall. Though its layout left
something to be desired for church functions, the assembly
was thankful for it and made do. Every year, as wind, rain and
snow re-exposed the Dance sign over the front door, they re­
covered it with another coat of paint. Most other evidences of
its worldly origin had been erased.
Fire destroyed the tabernacle during a fierce blizzard that
November. Fire engines just couldn’t get there in time to save
it. Only a few hymn books and musical instalments were res­
cued. No one knew the cause of the fire. .Faulty wiring? At least
108
the building was insured. The congregation confided among
themselves that they were glad to be rid of that stubborn
Dance sign at last.
“You can use our church when we're not using it,” offered
some men from the neighbouring United Church. “Our pastor
is away, but we're sure he’d agree.” Gratefully the Pentecostals
accepted. With some adjusting of schedules both congrega­
tions shared the same building for the rest of that winter.
In spring the Pentecostal Assembly hired a contractor to
build a new church for them. He supplied labour and material
and promised to have it done in three months. Three months?
What a wonderful prospect. With Robert as their building in­
spector, the congregation waited eagerly. Sure enough, by June
the new sanctuary was completed. What a time of thanksgiv­
ing and joy.
The way God moved among the Crusaders children’s club
and youth at Morden was especially memorable for the
Donnellys. Visiting evangelist Ken Bombay inspired several to
consecrate their lives to God and receive the Baptism of the
Holy Spirit. Strange as it may seem of Pentecostals, their par­
ents were upset over this. Like most Christians in this predom­
inantly Mennonite community, they were very conservative
and feared emotionalism. Perhaps rumors of the recent prob­
lems in Saskatchewan were a contributing factor. Armed with
the Word of God, Robert and Ken Bombay visited the parents
and tried to allay their fears. The Baptism of the Holy Spirit is
a wonderful and vital blessing from God, they assured.
Daisy appreciated the ladies’ no-nonsense prayer meetings.
Thursday mornings were set aside strictly for prayer. Each
woman in the group drew a card from the Scripture Promise
Box and read the Bible verse on it. Then they prayed and went
home to attend to family responsibilities. No socializing.
By 1961 Robert was ready for new challenges. Prayerfully he
resigned from the Morden assembly and waited for God’s fur­
ther leading. That fall he was called to be the pastor at Swan
River, Manitoba, about 100 miles north west of Dauphin.
Though he knew from conversations with other ministers that
this assembly had some problems, he was willing to serve
there. God would help them.
The Donnellys plunged right into the work at Swan River:
visitation program, Sunday School, Vacation Bible School.
Here were more opportunities to evangelize than in Morden.
109
Robert continued his disciplined prayer life and searched the
Scriptures daily for God's message to this community.
“You can set your watch by Pastor Donnelly," said the
neighbours. Every day, Monday to Friday, he left the manse at
6 a.m. and returned at 9 a.m. for breakfast. They knew he'd
been praying at the church.
Robert visited as many homes as he could, showing love
and concern to everyone, inviting them to consider the claims
of God on their lives. By the time he left Swan River he’d been
to more than half the homes in the vicinity and was highly
respected throughout the community. Unfortunately, not eve­
ryone in the assembly felt the same.
The Church Board had hired a construction company to
build a new parsonage. Robert, thoroughly acquainted with
building projects by now, went occasionally to see their prog­
ress. Every aspect of God’s work keenly interested him.
One day he noticed that the carpenters were using sub­
standard material. How disturbing. With the best of intentions
he mentioned this to the Church Board. Their reaction took
him by surprise. “So, you think the parsonage won’t be good
enough for you?’’ they charged indignantly.
“That’s not it,” Robert tried to explain. “It's just that they’re
using shoddy material. You’re not getting what you paid for.”
His explanations fell on deaf ears. To make matters worse.
Daisy had suggested changes to the floor plan to make the
house more practical. The Donnellys sensed that many of the
older members of the assembly rejected their ministry from
then on.
“We didn't care about the house for ourselves,” declared Sis­
ter Donnelly. “We spoke up for the Lord’s sake; His money
was being misused. It was all a misunderstanding.”
“It took us a while to establish confidence” said Pastor
Donnelly tactfully. “But the Lord moved. In those years He
used us mainly with younger people — to deepen them, help
them get a firmer grip on spiritual realities and dedicate their
lives to His service. We did appreciate the people at Swan
River, and still have close friends there.”
Always supportive of children’s ministries, Robert made it a
point to be a part of Sunday School opening exercises once a
month. The children loved him. One Sunday a challenge was
given to bring new children to Sunday School. A high goal was
110
set. “If you reach that goal,” laughed their pastor, “I’ll let you
break a record over my head.” What fun. Week after week the
children dragged in their friends. Finally the day came; the
goal had been met. The children errupted into cheers of
delight as Robert — true to his word — let them break a pho­
nograph record over his head.
There were several remarkable conversions at Swan River
during that time. Three school teachers and some young
adults committed their lives to the Lord Jesus Christ. Jeanne
Wegner was one of them.
"I was almost 20, working in a bank,” she remembered. “My
sister Bernice and I shared an apartment. Though we had not
been raised in a Christian home, I had an inner desire to know
God and had always tried to be good. Since two of my friends
had died I was afraid of death ... I attended the United
Church; Bernice, the Pentecostal.
“In 1962 I went with my sister to hear some visiting singers
at her church and really enjoyed the music. After the service
someone invited us home for dinner. They were so friendly
that I came back for the evening service.
“During the following week Mrs. Donnelly visited me. I
returned the next Sunday. Then I heard Mr. Donnelly preach.
I remember his hands — his huge hands — and his booming
voice. I knew I couldn’t be good enough for God no matter
how hard I tried. When the altar call was given, I went to the
front of the church and made my decision. (Mrs. Donnelly
was there with her handkerchiefs . . . They had Kleenex, but
she handed out nice hankies.) That’s when I came to know the
Lord . . .”
In the ensuing weeks the Donnellys kept close contact with
Jeanne, anxious to nurture her new Christian life. Before long
they invited her to move in with them. They called her “one of
our girls” and she learned to love them as her Christian par­
ents. (Her own family lived some distance away in the country­
side.) Later Bernice came to live with them, too.
“It was nice to have a Christian family,” said Jeanne warm­
ly. “Through the Donnellys’ influence I learned many things
about having a happy home. I'd never really trusted men
before, thinking they were one way at home and another way
in public. But living with Pastor Donnelly I saw he was always
the same. Every morning we’d have prayer at the breakfast
111
table. He was gentle. You could trust him.
“He always helped around the house and felt strongly that
Mrs. Donnelly shouldn’t do the vacuuming. And he was
always appreciative, always a gentleman. Opening doors . . .
He’s a very special man; such a man of prayer. I really love
him.’’
Ken Stupak was a seven-year-old boy in the Swan River
Sunday School at that time. He, too, has fond memories of
Pastor Donnelly. “My family was invited to their home one
Sunday afternoon. \Vhile dinner was being prepared Pastor
challenged my father and me to form the shape of a cross from
a five- or six-piece wooden puzzle. It was difficult, but with a
little help from him we managed it. This incident impressed
me because of the way he treated me. To him I was not just a
boy,’ less important than an adult, but someone valuable.
That’s how he treated all children. He valued them."
Robert and Daisy saw everyone as created in the image of
God and therefore precious. Mrs. Jean Stupak. Ken’s mother,
recalled an incident that happened in Paul’s Hardware where
she worked. Robert had come into the store with a broken win­
dow to be repaired. It was so dirty it stank. Customers stood
watching. Everyone knew the window wasn’t his own. It
belonged to a poor, socially unacceptable family. (Daisy tu­
tored the mother of that family in basic hygiene.) At last Rob­
ert paid for the repairs and left. When he’d gone, comments
from the customers were genuinely respectful. “To think that a
clean-cut man such as he would care for people like that.”
After three years Robert resigned. He knew it was time to let
someone else lead the Swan River Assembly. Prayerfully he
began to consider a pastoral call from Selkirk, Manitoba. It
was in the Red River valley, about 25 miles north of Winnipeg.
Another troubled church . . .
At District Conference that summer his was one of the
names nominated to be District Superintendent. Daisy was
glad to see him thus honoured, but she knew the position was
not for him. She knew how hard it was for her husband to take
authority over others. “Thy will be done,” she prayed fervently.
When the ballots were counted, Robert had lost by one vote.
He was satisfied. Now he was free to respond to the call from
Selkirk.
Some ministers at the conference wanted to honour Robert
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for his willingness to go to a small, troubled assembly like Sel­
kirk after having been nominated to the position of Super­
intendent. Robert looked at them in surprise. “Brethren, I’m
serving the Lord! When you hitch up your horses, do you first
ask them for permission? Do you ask them where they’d like to
work? I’m glad to serve wherever the Lord wills.”
Before committing himself to the Selkirk Assembly he wrote
them a letter. “We're praying about it,” he said, “but I do ask
for one condition: all officers of the church (Board members,
Sunday School teachers and all who hold office) must regu­
larly attend Wednesday night prayer meetings. We’ll quarrel
continually if you're not there. As long as everyone is at prayer
meeting. I know we'll have a profitable time.”
They agreed to those conditions and he became their pastor.
They kept their word. After about a year, Robert began to dele­
gate responsibilities for the Wednesday night service. First
each of the Board members were given charge, then members
of the congregation. The assembly thrived. Soon people were
asking. “When is it my turn?”
“I'm still persuaded.” emphasized Pastor Donnelly, “that
the more people you get involved in a midweek Bible study or
worship service, the more the whole congregation flourishes.
Every department of the church will be touched, encouraged
and strengthened. If there’s no involvement between Sundays,
we can't hope for much to be accomplished. There’s too much
to do; it can never be done by meeting once or twice on Sun­
day. We need more time to get acquainted and interact with
one another."
Robert found a challenging opportunity for service at the
large Selkirk Mental Health Centre. The doctors, swamped
with young people impaired by glue-sniffing and LSD.
requested help from the ministerial association. Some patients
as young as 12 or 13 had permanent brain damage; all were
severely disturbed. Immediately Robert responded to the call
for help. Compassion for these young people overwhelmed
him. The doctors gave him the liberty to minister according to
his own discretion. Every week he conducted Bible study
group sessions with about 30 patients and he visited all the
wards. Someone commented about his Bible studies, "This is
one therapy session we don’t have to pressure the kids to
attend.”
While visiting in a locked ward one day Robert found two
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girls fighting furiously, scratching and pulling hair. Their
noses were bleeding, their dresses torn. The staff was out of the
room. When the girls saw Robert they stopped. One came over
to him.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“I just want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“Oh,” said Robert, “I just want to talk to you about God.”
“Okay,” she answered. “I’ll go change my dress.”
When she returned both girls sat down together and listened
to what Robert had to say about God.
The hospital cafeteria was a gathering place for the patients.
Robert often went there to have coffee. The kids were at ease
with him. Unthreatened. This was one adult who loved them,
whom they could trust. It was not unusual for him to have two
or three young people kneel at his table for prayer.
One day he was reading to a girl in the cafeteria. “When you
pray say, Thy will be done . . ”
She stormed in sudden exasperation, “Is it God’s will for me
to be in a nut house for the rest of my life?”
“I don’t know what God's will is for you,” answered Robert,
“but I know it’s good. If you ask Him to have His way in your
life, it’ll likely get better. And if you keep on praying for God’s
will to be done it’ll keep on getting better.”
Her eyes lit up. “Maybe God has something better for me.”
He did. Not long after that she was released from the mental
hospital.
Dr. Donald Pettit, Director of the Selkirk Mental Health
Centre Psychology Department, wrote a tribute to Pastor
Donnelly.
“Every profession has its ‘giants.’ The Church also has been
blessed with men and women who have made outstanding
contributions through the centuries. Some are well known for
their missionary zeal (like the Apostle Paul), some for their
oratory skills, writings or leadership (like Billy Graham, John
Wesley or Martin Luther). But there are others whose ministry,
though less known in the popular sense, has had as powerful
an influence on people in their own sphere of influence. Pas­
tor Robert Donnelly is one of these.
“My first acquaintance with this gifted preacher was in 1966
when my family moved to Selkirk, Manitoba. The Donnellys
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pastored the local PAOC church. Pastor Donnelly had an
almost legendary reputation as a masterful pulpiteer. He was
one who could sound the depths of the most profound truth of
Scripture. We found that he well deserved this reputation. His
greatest sermons were taken from the simplest objects and
thoughts . . .
“Though many pastors tend to avoid ministry to mental
patients, Pastor Donnelly willingly visited anyone at the Sel­
kirk mental hospital. When the Government of Manitoba
hired a full time Catholic priest as hospital chaplain. Pastor
Donnelly made a special effort to introduce himself to him.
This contact allowed the Holy Spirit to open doors for spirit­
ual service.”
The Selkirk ministerial association became concerned over
the many troubled marriages in the community. A special
meeting was called to discuss the problem and they took a
united stand. No more weddings would be solemnized except
for those who first took marital counseling. A notice was put in
the local newspaper to inform all prospective couples.
Until now Robert had performed weddings without too
much hesitation, as long as he was sure neither partner was
divorced with the former spouse still living. Now, upon reflec­
tion. he was sobered by his responsibility before God.
Pastor Donnelly explained his position. “After examining
the whole field of weddings and marriage ceremonies, I came
to the clear conviction that a Christian wedding can be hon­
estly performed only for Christian couples. I got into quite
lengthy discussions with some young couples who wanted me
to marry them. I'd explain that I couldn’t see any point in offi­
ciating at a wedding where the couple didn’t even believe in
God. How could I ask Him to bless them and solemnize their
vows if they hadn’t the slightest intention of making Him the
centre of their home? I’d be a joker; it wouldn’t be serious.
After that, many couples gave up on me and found someone
else to marry them.
“I’m still persuaded that Christian marriage is only for
Christian people,” emphasized Pastor Donnelly. “We minis­
ters have no right to lead a couple into a covenant, in the name
of God, when we know they don’t intend to carry it through.
We become partners to the whole farce. I’d like to see a revolu­
tion staged over this matter. The deplorable state of marriages
today is because pastors and ministers have been lax. We have
115
not discharged our duty to teach, train and guide young people
in the solemnity of the marriage covenant. Marriage is a cove­
nant before God. He will hold us to account if it isn’t kept."
Robert was receiving increasing numbers of invitations to
speak at rallies, conferences and special events. Realizing that
he was absent from his own assembly too often, he
approached the Church Board about it. “Either I’ll have to
start refusing these invitations or resign and go out into special
ministry." They prayed with him about the matter.
Several months later, after carefully weighing the pros and
cons, Robert was sure of God’s will. In May 1968, with the
blessing of the Selkirk Assembly, he resigned from the pastor­
ate to begin an itinerant ministry.
He and Daisy talked things over. They wouldn’t dream of
imposing on other people, but staying in motels would be too
expensive. They’d need a trailer home. But how could they
ever pay for one? Sure of only one thing — that God had
called them to travel — Robert went to the Credit Union in
Selkirk to ask for a loan. “I was almost persuaded that they’d
never grant it,’’ he recalled.
The manager listened sympathetically to his request. Con­
scientiously Robert listed the disadvantages against his receiv­
ing the loan. “We’ll have no permanent address and no regular
income. There’s no guarantee that we could make regular pay­
ments.”
“Well, that’s no problem,” said the financier at last. “How
much money do you want?”
Robert was taken up short, now that he had to come up with
a figure. “Well, we have to buy a trailer to live in . . . About
$3,000?”
“No problem.”
To Robert’s amazement the loan was granted without hesi­
tation. Praise the Eord.
Prayerfully, and with some excitement, he and Daisy
shopped around for a trailer. They found just what they
needed in Winnipeg — a 1958, 20-foot Pathfinder in good con­
dition.
A few days later they had packed all their belongings and
crammed them into the trailer. (They would store some things
at the Bible School in Saskatoon.) With the Pathfinder hitched
to the back of their Dodge, they waved goodbye to friends at
Selkirk and headed south. Their traveling ministry had begun.
116
Robert s first engagement as an itinerant preacher was to
teach at the 1968 Manitoba District Family Camp meeting.
Pentecostal summer camp meetings have always been spirit­
ual highlights for both ministers and lay people. Friendships
are renewed, fellowship strengthened. For two weeks he led
morning Bible study sessions there. Young pastors, encour­
aged by his ministry, enquired about his future schedule. By
the end of Family Camp he had invitations to go to several
assemblies. Having determined to view every invitation as
God-appointed, he accepted them all.
Pastor Donnelly explained. “I felt I was safe in establishing
this test: as long as there were invitations. I would accept them.
If I ever had to ask for meetings I'd know my special ministry
was finished. Then I'd settle down in an assembly and be a
pastor again, probably in two years or so.”
A phrase from the book of Acts was Robert’s motto. The
Apostle Paul, it says, went about “strengthening all the disci­
ples.” This was his desire, too.
"I considered my effort for the strengthening of the Body of
Christ to be of great consequence. As the Church is strong, the
work of God progresses.
“I didn't think of myself as an evangelist; I had a teaching
ministry. In my judgment, the Church is involved in two great
projects at the same time. The one. the evangelization of the
world; the other, the Christianizing of the Church. That is to
say. the raising of the level of spiritual values in the lives of
God's people — in the lives of us all — so that Christ Himself
be Lord of the Church by being Lord of our lives. It is bringing
into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ.
“This is the ministry of the assembly — to have mature
members counsel new ones and teach Christian virtues by pre­
cept and example. It’s an ongoing, never-ending task.”
For almost ten years the Donnellys traveled across Canada,
as far east as Ottawa and west to Clinton Creek near the
Yukon border. In the summers they relieved pastors, took on
interim pastoral duties and ministered at Camp Meetings. In
the winters they conducted special meetings and after-school
children’s crusades. (Offerings were generous; before long the
loan from the Credit Union was repaid.) Robert responded to
every invitation, always conscious of his need to hear from
God on behalf of the people to whom he ministered.
Burning in his heart were the words ol an angel who had
117
spoken to him when he first became a pastor. Had it been a
vision or a dream? He wasn’t sure. To Pastor Donnelly the
incident was still as clear and forceful as when it happened.
“An angel came to me and just asked me this question:
‘What are the duties of a pastor?’
“I answered just as quickly, ‘To preach and pray.’
“And the angel said ’No!’ very forcefully.
“I was shocked and said: ’What are the duties then?'
“The angel said, ’To pray. To pray. To pray . . . And then to
preach.’
“I’ve never gotten away from that. The ministry must have
its origin in God. We must rely on Him to guide us. The pre­
paring of the message is primarily the preparing of the mes­
senger. If God gets me ready then the message will be forth­
coming. He will look after the message. That doesn’t mean I
won’t study or read or open my heart, but those things are sec­
ondary. At least, that was the pattern for me . . .
“I found my traveling ministry to be very rewarding and
continually marvelled at God’s mercies, protection and care. I
had nothing to do but seek the Lord, read His Word, and pray
and preach . . .”
Rev. Murray Lincoln, former Dominion Commissioner for
Pentecostal Crusaders and missionary to Hong Kong, was a
struggling young pastor at Walkerton. Ontario during those
years. He invited Robert to minister at his assembly.
“I was a new pastor in a small church of about 80 members,”
he wrote. “A few months earlier I’d been ready to turn the
world upside down. Now I was discouraged, realizing that no
matter what I thought or did, not much was happening. It had
been more than ten years since anyone from the community
had come to the Lord. It seemed that no one wanted what we
had to offer. My faith was shaken.
“In January 1975 the Donnellys arrived. They came to
places that normally couldn't get ‘big name’ evangelists. The
snow was deep and it was cold, but the people came out. I was
ready for a good week of meetings, sure that Brother Donnelly
would help bring the breakthrough we needed. The breaks
came in ways I hadn’t expected . . .
“The first one was when I came to the church early one
morning to find Brother Donnelly stretched out across the
platform in prayer. He was crying out to God for the meetings
118
of that week. He'd been doing that every day. I’ll never forget
the sight of him waiting on God for our little church. It broke
me. That was the big break I needed.
“The second break came during a conversation we had. I
was pouring out my heart to him about our little church and
its lack ol vision. ‘How do I reach this town for the Lord? What
should I do?’
"Brother Donnelly answered slowly, ‘Well, if we could get a
better vision oi how the Lord sees things, maybe that would
help. If God could raise us up above Walkerton to look at it
the way He sees it — into each home, each heart and mind,
each problem. Then we'd realize that He’s been working on
this person for six months, on that one for ten years . . . We’d
see how He works with the wonderful Holy Spirit and we’d
know how to move in a better way.’
“That answer was for me. I began to pour out my heart in
prayer at the altar too and tried to see things from God’s view
point. In a few months about 18 people from the community
accepted Jesus as their Lord and Saviour. Today that assembly
has about 300 worshipers. My fellow pastors who served at
Walkerton afterwards continued moving with God, but I'm
convinced that the big breakthrough happened when Brother
Donnelly came to minister in our little church.”
Year by year Robert continued his gentle ministry of
“strengthening the disciples,” encouraging young pastors.
Invitations kept coming. How he loved the Work of the Lord
— Christ’s Kingdom established in the hearts of men and
women. “Some day I’d like to visit our mission fields,” he con­
fided to Daisy, “especially South America . . .”
119
Chapter Fourteen
Forth Into The Field
"Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in
the villages. Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the
vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear . .
Song of Solomon 7:11,12
Robert’s longing to visit Pentecostal missions in South
America intensified. When he was in his 30’s he had applied to
the PAOC Missions Board but had been refused. “It’s too diffi­
cult for a man of your age to learn a new language,” they told
him diplomatically. Regularly he and Daisy prayed for those
who had been sent abroad, keeping themselves well-informed
on the work and needs of missionaries. Robert accepted the
decision of the Board, but his heart’s desire to minister on a
foreign field remained.
By now he’d been in the ministry for over 40 years. Soon
he’d be 70. Would his dream ever come true? Since his 65th
birthday Daisy had regularly saved the money from his senior
citizen’s pension. “Offerings from the services are enough for
us to live on," she’d assured him. “We’ll put this money aside
for your trip to South America.” She knew he’d probably have
to go alone. As long as he went — that was the important
thing.
Robert shared his longing with friends and co-workers
wherever he ministered, daring to believe that it could be
120
God's will for him to go. Daisy encouraged him. Soon, loving
Christian brothers and sisters began pressing five and ten dol­
lar bills into their hands. “This isn't much, but put it aside for
Brother Donnelly's travel fund,” they'd whisper. Some
assemblies surprised them with special love-offerings. The
Donnellys felt humbled and grateful. As the savings account
grew steadily, a trip to South America began to seem like a dis­
tinct possibility’.
One day several Christian brothers were discussing the mer­
its of traveling to the Holy Land with a tour group. Robert lis­
tened to them thoughtfully. Finally he couldn’t contain him­
self. “I wouldn't spend a nickel on a tour,” he blurted, “but iff
could minister . . . Then I'd go tomorrow.”
Word that “Brother Donnelly would be willing to minister
overseas” soon got to Carman W. Lynn. Executive Director of
Overseas Missions for the PAOC. He contacted Robert imme­
diately.
“Why don't both you and your wife visit all our foreign
fields, instead of only those in South America?” he invited.
“Our missionaries need someone to minister to them. You
could help. If you like we'll draw up an itinerary for you.”
Travel almost around the world? Overwhelming! “I was
shocked,” recalled Pastor Donnelly. “I never expected any­
thing like that. It took a while to get used to the idea . . .”
He agreed. Arrangements were made for them to begin a
six-month tour of PAOC foreign missions that very August.
The cost? About $8000. They’d saved enough, with a little left
over to help with groceries at the various mission stations.
Praise the Lord!
They drove to Abbotsford, BC and parked their trailer at the
Pentecostal Camp. Friends agreed to look after their car.
Ruthella, living in nearby Delta, drove them to the Seattle
airport.
On August 25, 1976 they boarded a Hong Kong bound
charter plane with about 400 other passengers. Hearts pound­
ing, they settled into their seats and buckled up. Sixteen hours
later they landed in the Orient. A different world.
According to schedule they were to stay in Hong Kong one
night and fly to Taiwan the next day. But when they went to
confirm their tickets they were caught short. “You must have a
visa to get to Taiwan,” they were told firmly. It was a detail
their travel agent had overlooked. Missionary Henry Borzel
121
came to their aid. “I know an agency'where you can get visas
quickly,” he reassured them. “You’ll catch tomorrow’s flight.
What a relief. Sure enough, the next day, correct documents in
hand, they landed in Taipei.
Ken and Wyn McGillivray, veteran missionaries to the Chi­
nese, welcomed them into their home. Taipei is a large indus­
trial city on the estuary of the Tanshui River at the northwest
end of the island. Terraced rice paddies and neatly cultivated
fields cover the surrounding hillsides. Verdant forests deck the
rugged mountain range in the distance. Known as “the jewel ol
the Orient,” Taiwan’s tropical climate and rich volcanic soil
make for lush growth almost year round. How lovely. But it
was the masses of people in the city that impressed the
Donnellys, more than the beauty of the island.
The streets of Taipei were unbelievably crowded, teeming
with pedestrians, bicycles and motorcycles. They saw whole
families, babies and all, weaving confidently in and out of traf­
fic on two wheels. Everyone seemed to have something impor­
tant to do, even if only to sweep the streets with a broom. But
the evidences of idolatry and superstition everywhere deeply
grieved the Donnellys.
While traveling south over a precipitous mountan road, they
noticed hundreds of pieces of yellow paper strewn along the
way. Brother McGillivray explained, “Those are Buddhist
prayer-papers. In hope of traveling this stretch of road safely,
people buy whole pads of pre-written prayers and scatter them
as they go.”
Christianity has become a part of the mosaic of religions in
Taiwan. Gospel ministry has had free access to that country
since the days of Chiang Kai-shek and several denominations
are established there. Ministering for three weeks to Pentecos­
tal assemblies all over the island, the Donnellys were wel­
comed graciously by everyone. Robert noted that the
assemblies were small in comparison to the population. Even
the largest congregation in Taipei had no more than 200 peo­
ple. Every Christian here was like a brand snatched from the
fires of idolatry. What a precious part of the Body of Christ.
Missionaries Ray and Verna Austin were in Taipei to set up
a Bible School. The Donnellys were especially glad to see
them because Ray had been in the youth group at the Port
Arthur Assembly in the 1950s. To visit the Austins for two
122
weeks was heart-warming and gratifying.
Robert s main goal was to encourage missionaries and
national Christian workers. Therefore his itinerary had been
scheduled to coincide with missionary conventions and con­
ferences on the various mission fields. In Taipei he preached
to a large gathering of Chinese pastors. Speaking through an
interpreter was a new' experience for him. “I enjoyed it very
much.” he said. "The pastors were very courteous and
appreciative.”
During his short stay Pastor Donnelly discerned an attitude
of reserve in the Church of Taiwan. “Freedom of the Holy
Spirit was evidently lacking,” he confided. “All the
missionaries earnestly asked for prayer and were greatly bur­
dened by spiritual conditions. They were all asking God for an
outpouring of the Spirit. I think they felt isolated from the
mainstream of missionary work . .
From Taiwan the Donnellys flew to Bangkok, Thailand.
Missionaries Don and Dorothy Raymor met their flight. Every
morning for two weeks Robert taught at Bangkok Pentecostal
Bible School; evenings he preached in the churches. His inter­
preter was fluent in both English and Thai as well as several
Chinese dialects. “This young woman was extra-ordinary —
an unending blessing and inspiration.” exclaimed Pastor
Donnelly.
The Pentecostal church in Bangkok easily seated 1,200 peo­
ple. Robert was keenly interested to see the progress of God’s
work here because he knew the man and the story of its begin­
nings.
William Butcher had been a Pentecostal missionary in
China when the communists took over that country in 1949.
He was unable to escape their brutal grasp. They sent him to
prison camp where he suffered cruelly for being a Christian
missionary. Eventually he was released. Back home in Can­
ada, he became pastor of the Swan River, Manitoba Assembly
before the Donnellys went there.
Pastor Donnelly related: “I remember that at one PAOC
General Conference in Ontario we were told of the great need
in Southeast Asia. Especially Thailand. Before the conference
was over, Will Butcher had volunteered to go there even
though he was getting on in years.
“Bangkok was an enormous city with an extremely complex
traffic system. He didn’t know anybody. For several weeks he
123
tried his best to find someone who could understand Manda­
rin since he couldn’t speak Thai. One day he climbed a small
hill on the outskirts of the city to pray and meditate. While sit­
ting there, wondering what to do and where to go, he noticed
an elderly man coming up the hill. Will greeted him. The old
man was startled. He understood. He was Chinese!
“ ‘Why did you come up the hill?’ asked Will. He replied, ‘I
am seeking after God.’ So, in Mandarin, Will told him about
Jesus. That old man became a believer . . .”
Pastor Donnelly’s voice trembled. Tears welled up. “The old
man made this statement: ‘Why didn’t you come before? If all
the people in your country know about Jesus, why were you so
long in coming?’
“They found an old shed in the heart of Bangkok to use for a
meeting place,” he concluded. “And that’s the beginning of our
assembly in Bangkok. I visited that old shed while I was there
. . . and just marvelled at God’s grace . . .”
Chiang Mai (300 miles north by bus) was their next destina­
tion. Before they left Bangkok, Robert had a chance to encour­
age the missionaries privately. Everyone gathered in one of the
homes for a last meeting. Just a handful of God’s servants far
away from home. Tender love for them filled his heart.
Clearly, this trip was an extension of the travel-ministry to
which God had called him almost 10 years earlier. Prayerfully
he began once again “to strengthen the disciples.”
“I remember speaking to them about our moods,” recalled
Pastor Donnelly. “I asked, ‘Do our moods master us, or do we
master our moods?’ Moodiness can be devastating. There’s no
remedy except to claim God’s promises by faith. And we need
to claim not only the promises, but the presence of Promiser.
He has come to fulfill His promises.”
Unknown to Robert, there were those in that little gathering
who’d been struggling with emotional ups and downs.
“Not only are missionaries exposed to strange cultures and
new sets of values,” said Pastor Donnelly sympathetically,
"but they have to adjust to working with one another. Junior
missionaries must accept guidance and instruction from those
who’ve been on the field for years. It’s no easy matter; they
don’t know each other before they get there.”
Robert and Daisy resolved to pray even more faithfully and
with new understanding for missionaries on foreign fields.
124
Ray and Betty Faulkner were pioneering a new work at
Chiang Mai. How delighted they were to see the Donnellys. As
a struggling young pastor in Ontario, Ray had been greatly
encouraged by Robert's itinerant ministry some years earlier.
Eagerly the Faulkners shared what God had been doing in
this northern I hai city. Several preaching points had been
established in and around the city. The response had been
most encouraging.
Robert and Daisy visited one ot the rural assemblies. The
sanctuary was not much more than a shelter from sun and
rain — packed dirt floor and a palm-thatch roof but no walls.
About 40 adults had come to the meeting. They listened atten­
tively while their children romped and played in a nearby
field.
At the conclusion of the message Robert invited them to join
him at the front for prayer. To his astonishment all the chil­
dren came running in and crowded around him with their
parents. “It was a marvelous meeting,” declared Pastor
Donnelly. “Fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, little
children — families praying and weeping together before the
Eord. God blessed and poured out His Spirit on all — children
and adults alike.”
The Faulkners asked Robert to conduct a dedication service
for their baby son. The congregation of new Christians
watched with interest. He prayed for and blessed the baby in
the name of Jesus and the parents promised, before God and
witnesses, to raise him for the Lord. When the ceremony was
over Ray spoke. He’d been trying to explain the concept of
dedicating children to God to the congregation. Now he
invited them to follow their family’s example. That day Robert
dedicated several Thai children to God.
From Thailand the Donnellys flew to Nairobi, Kenya. At
the airport William Cornelius, Field Director of PAOC mis­
sions in East Africa, met them. Robert and Daisy felt as
though they were traveling from country to country visiting
family. William and his wife Lillian had been students at
Bethel Bible Institute in Saskatoon.
When they went to pick up their baggage, one suitcase was
missing. Lost in transit. They left a copy of their itinerary at the
airline desk, hoping the suitcase would catch up with them
125
somewhere along the way. At least there was nothing too
important in it.
Their visit to Kenya had been timed to coincide with the
annual Christian workers’ retreat and family reunion at a fine
resort just outside of Nairobi. Missionary children, home on
their once-a-year break from boarding school, clung happily
to their parents. Missionaries greeted one another warmly.
German and Swedish Pentecostal missionaries and Canadian
workers from Tanzania joined in the holiday. Robert minis­
tered to the adults during the day. Daisy helped with children’s
meetings. Evenings were given to informal fellowship and
prayer. Those days were a refreshing and important time of
relaxation and fellowship for everyone. How good to laugh,
pray and share together in the family of God.
The Donnellys were especially impressed by the courage
and faith of women such as missionary-nurse. Marilyn Bush.
She worked alone, miles from anywhere, trying to gain a
foothold for the Gospel among the tribes in the bush. Yes,
there were hardships, there was loneliness, but her report at
the retreat was filled with confidence and trust in her Lord.1
All the missionaries gave encouraging reports, noted
Pastor Donnelly, affirming their trust in God in spite of adver­
sity. "They all indicated a great sense of God’s Spirit at work.
There was no pessimism at all.”
The multiracial Valley Road Pentecostal Assembly in Nai­
robi was a congregation of about 1.000 people in 1976. (About
ten years later they constructed a new edifice seating over 2,000
people.) “There was a tremendous spirit of excitement and
fervor,” observed Pastor Donnelly after preaching there.
A trip to Africa wouldn’t be complete without seeing zebras,
lions and giraffes in the wild. At the Animal Kingdom Game
Farm near Nairobi the Donnellys saw hundreds of wild ani­
mals in their natural habitat. “I didn't take any chances,”
laughed Pastor Donnelly. “We drove close to a lion who had
just gorged himself on a zebra. He was pretending to sleep, but
I saw him watching us with one eye. I watched him with both
eyes. We stayed in the vehicle.”
Robert and Daisy also traveled west to Kisii and north to
'God honoured her faith. A medical dispensary — Comolion Health Centre
— was built and a nucleus of Turkana believers now worships where once
she laboured alone for many years.
126
Nyng’ori. In Kisii they were awed by the manicured beauty of
vast tea plantations; women in brightly coloured dresses har­
vested leaves from the tops of the bushes. What a delight also
to visit the well-run, cheery Christian schools — boys and
girls, in most instances, taught at separate locations.
Memorable was their visit to a native Christian home in
Kisii. The mud-and-brush walls of the hut had been freshly
plastered with cow-dung for the occasion. They stooped to
enter through the low doorway. Their eyes soon adjusted to the
dim light filtering through the smoke-hole in the ceiling. Gra­
ciously their hostess invited them to sit at a table in the centre
of the room and offered them a basin of water and a towel to
use before the meal. They dined on pocho (cooked cornmeal
which one rolls into bite-size balls by hand and dips into wellseasoned gravy). The Donnellys were blessed by the courtesy
and hospitality of their hosts. Robert’s thoughts went back to
his pioneering days at Turtleford . . .
The ferocity of African killer bees was witnessed first-hand
by the Donnellys.Several hives were kept on the mission com­
pound. about 50 yards from the house. For safety’s sake, it had
been agreed that no one should ever go to them alone. One
missionary thought he’d be alright wearing a beekeeper’s out­
fit. so he went out to get some honey alone. Suddenly the bees
angrily swarmed over him, viciously stinging through every
tiny opening in his suit and netting. Running for his life, he
stumbled into the house and slammed the door behind him.
Ill-tempered bees covered the doors and windows. It was
secure. Immediately his nurse-wife injected him with bee-sting
antidote. Thank God, he survived. What an unnerving
incident.
At Nyang'ori, not far from Kisumu on the shores of Lake
Victoria, they were guests of Doug and Lowana Lynn.2 Doug
was the new dean of the Bible School there. At chapel. Robert
stood before the roomful of smiling black faces. How exhila­
rating. What potential for God. Prayerfully he taught God’s
Word to these precious young men.
“We didn't need an alarm clock." he recalled with a smile.
“At six in the rnornng we could hear them in the church,
enthusiastically lifting up their voices in prayer."
2At that mission station a monument marks the grave ot Otto Keller, first
Pentecostal missionary to Kenya about 50 years earlier.
127
“They’d sing at the top of their lungs,” added Sister
Donnelly. “And it was nice to see how they honoured my hus­
band because he was an older man. They called him 'Bwana’
so respectfully . .
Later Carman Lynn told them about the disruptive tribal
rivalry there’d been among the Bible School students at that
time. “Your ministry,” he said, “helped resolve the conflict.
Things quietened down and there was no more trouble.”
Robert gave God the credit. “It was an answer to the prayers
of many.”
After almost a month in Kenya, the Donnellys prepared to
go to Zambia. (Before leaving they checked at the airport for
their lost suitcase. No trace of it.) The day they left there was an
urgent phone call from a Zambian missionary.
“We were robbed last night,” he said. “They’ve even taken
the tires and lights off our car. Could you bring headlights
with you? We can’t buy them here.” (At that time most
commodities were either in very short supply in Zambia, or
not available at all.) Quickly Brother Cornelius bought a set of
headlights while Robert and Daisy paid for two large bagsful
of groceries including flour, sugar, whole-grain cereal and but­
ter. When they flew out, headlights were packed in their lug­
gage. A few days later Brother Cornelius brought the groceries
to grateful missionary housewives.
A busy two weeks in Zambia followed. Robert ministered at
the Lusaka Assembly, the Minim Mission Station, a mission­
ary retreat and the Bible School in Kitwe (a two-hour drive
north of Lusaka).
Missionaries, by the very nature of their calling, must hold
earthly possessions lightly. Many have had to “suffer the spoil­
ing of their goods,” but only some have been able to do so joy­
fully (Heb. 10:34). Constant thievery and looting in Zambia
continually challenged the faith and endurance of Christian
workers. Lovingly the Donnellys prayed with them and minis­
tered encouragement.
The youthful, vibrant congregation in Lusaka was exciting
to visit. Many were university students. Mission work in Zam­
bia was relatively new, but these fervent young Christians par­
ticipated aggressively in the evangelization of rural areas.
“There was a real spirit of revival,” declared Pastor
Donnelly.
“Robert had a wonderful ministry to the university students
128
in Lusaka," added Sister Donnelly. “They flocked to him
between services, hungry for more of the Word. They were like
little birds with their mouths open. You could just keep push­
ing it in . .
“It was the Lord," said her husband modestly.
A short flight from Lusaka landed the Donnellys at Johan­
nesburg, South Africa. Here was a well-established mission
work, lifetime fruits of labour for pioneers like Charles and
Emma Chawner (South Africa's first Canadian Pentecostal
missionaries) and Early and Pearl King.
While they waited to retrieve their baggage, an alert airport
employee noticed their name on a tag. “Oh,” he said, “there’s a
bag here for Rev. R. Donnelly." Sure enough, it was the miss­
ing suitcase. What timing! From then on they laughingly
called it their “miracle bag.”
They stayed at the Bernard Hunter home in Florida, a sub­
urb of Johannesburg. Bernard was a 30-year missionary vet­
eran and understood Africans well. His relationship with the
blacks was one of mutual love and respect.
Robert went with him to the famous gold mines on The
Rand, a rocky ridge near Johannesburg. Here was a unique
opportunity to minister to men of many different tribes from
all parts of the country. Since company policy dictated that
every six months all mine-workers be laid off, there were
always new men to hear the Gospel message at Bernard’s
mine-site meetings. (Other missionaries followed up these
men when they returned to their tribal villages.)
For two weeks Robert helped him hand out Christian litera­
ture as the men streamed from the mines at shift end. Many
came to services in the hall later. Using interpreters recruited
from the congregation, the two ministers shared the truth of
God’s love. An unforgettable experience for Robert. After the
meetings the miners invariably shared their evening meals
with them. Real African cooking!
Durban businessman Jonathan King (son of pioneer mis­
sionary Early King) arranged a week-long preaching stint for
Robert in his city. (Durban is about 300 miles southwest of
Johannesburg, on the shores of the Indian Ocean.) Robert had
the privilege of preaching in various churches of different
denominations. He felt honoured to minister to this cross-sec129
tion of the Body of Christ in South Africa.
Robert's cousin Grace and her husband lived in Durban.
Although the two couples had never met before they wel­
comed the Donnellys into their home. Even though Grace was
recuperating from a stroke, they attended some of Robert s
meetings. Less than a year later Grace died. Had it been for
her sake that God brought Robert to Africa? She met her Lord
Jesus Christ at those meetings.
The Donnellys had to get a special permit to travel to
Tzaneen, in the Transvaal. For safety reasons, they had to
return each day by 5 o’clock in the afternoon. For one week
they drove back and forth each day to minister to the small
student body at the Pentecostal Bible School there. Their gra­
cious hosts were principal Frank Holder and his wife Dorothy.
A delightful week. The friendly openness of those students was
remembered warmly.
Pastor Donnelly had been preaching almost every day —
sometimes two and three times a day since leaving Canada.
Little time for sermon preparation. Every morning he’d rise
early to read his Bible and pray, totally depending on the Holy
Spirit to give him the right message for each congregation.
Faithfully God gave him discernment concerning the needs in
His Body in that particular place and culture.
He commented on the loving unity they witnessed among
South African Christians of all races. Since inter-racial gather­
ings were forbidden in buildings but not in tents, Christians
often held large tent-meetings. True Christian love is colour­
blind. Robert exhorted them to maintain this attitude.
“They had a very healthy, wholesome respect for each other.
To me it seemed that the Church — the true Church — was the
one unifying factor in the whole nation. There’s strength and
unity in the Christian Chruch which bridges the gaps that
divide the races. Too bad we never read about this in our news­
papers,” he added wistfully.
The Donnellys’ flight to Liberia, West Africa, was unavoida­
bly interrupted by a stopover in Kinshasa, Zaire for a plane
change. The hostile reception there was frightening, but Pastor
Donnelly saw some humour in it all. “I guess we were suspi­
cious looking characters.” They were greeted by mistrustful
faces peering from behind dirty calico curtains hanging on
130
airport windows. Curt officials demanded they open all their
bags and answer innumerable questions.
"We won't need money,” the Donnellys tried to explain
when ordered to cash some travel checks. “The airline com­
pany has looked after everything for us.” The officials were
adamant. Before the day was over Robert and Daisy under­
stood that demand. Extortion. Though they carried with them
prepaid tickets for meals, taxi and hotel, they were forced to
pay for everything twice. Prices were exorbitant. Six dollars
for just tea and toast. Thirty-six hours later, with great relief
they boarded their plane for Liberia.
It was midnight when they landed at the airport. 30 miles
outside of Monrovia. Liberia. Paul and Debbie Krymusa, a
young missionary’ couple, had driven out to meet them. Wea­
rily Robert and Daisy disembarked and headed for the cus­
toms area. How nice to think they'd soon be among Christian
friends again. A guard stopped them at the door.
“Let me see your visa,” he demanded.
Robert was taken aback. “I asked about visas for your coun­
try before leaving South Africa,” he protested. “I was assured
they weren’t required.”
“I’m not responsible for other people’s mistakes,” snapped
the official. “You’ll have to catch the next flight out of here.
There’s a plane for New York in an hour. You’ll have to wait
here in the customs area.”
“But our friends are waiting for us in there,” Robert
motioned towards the sitting room. Brusquely the guard called
the Krymusas over and scolded them soundly for not having
given their guests adequate travel information. To get visas
now would take at least three weeks. Finally he allowed the
older couple to take a room at the airport hotel for the night.
Paul and Debbie returned to Monrovia without the
Donnellys.
The Donnellys were just finishing breakfast the next morn­
ing when Paul arrived with a friend, a big smile on his face.
“The Lord woke me at night,” he grinned, introducing his
companion, “and reminded me of my friend who works at
Immigration. I called him and he knew what to do. First thing
this morning we went to the office and explained the situation.
Here are your visas.”
Praise the Lord! Immediately Robert and Daisy offered
thanks to their Heavenly Father. Once again He had brought
131
them through a crisis. “The Lord shall'help them and deliver
them . . . because they trust in Him” (Psalm 37:40).
After a day in Monrovia, visiting a youth drop-in centre, the
Donnellys boarded a six-passenger plane for Zwedru, 300
miles inland. It was a short flight over mountains and dense
jungle, uneventful except for the landing. (The pilot struggled
to bring the plane to a stop just short of the trees at the end of
the runway. No brakes.) But for the first missionaries to Libe­
ria’s interior, decades earlier, it had been a long dangerous trek
by foot through malaria-infested swamps and dense under­
growth. Many lost their lives to jungle fever. Liberia in those
days was called “the white man’s grave.”
Now a dirt road runs through the jungle, constructed at his
own expense by Christian philanthropist, R. G. LeToumeau.
Zwedru was a well-established mission station by 1976, with
elementary and high schools, Bible School and a good-sized
church, capable of seating about 300 people.
The sanctuary was packed for the ten-day convention.
Some of the missionaries in that gathering were Jesse Lynn
(Field Secretary and administrator) and his wife Virginia,
Annie Cressman, Herb and LaVerne Tisher and Doris Sauder.
Robert felt it an honour to minister to these choice servants of
God.
One of the interpreters at the convention was a stately old
gentleman named Nelson — as black as ebony. He interpreted
excellently, even using the same gestures as the speaker.
“Whenever I couldn’t think of the right words he'd sense
what I wanted to say," remembered Pastor Donnelly with a
smile. “Once in a while when even Brother Nelson was baf­
fled, someone would call out the word from the congregation.
'Yeah, that's it,’ he’d say, and continue. There was no hurry,
they had all day . . .”
Missionary Annie Cressman was one who had walked the
300 miles from Monrovia to Zwedru before there was a road. A
courageous woman of God, she survived the six-week trek and
served her Lord in the jungle for over 30 years. The Donnellys
thoroughly enjoyed her and her intriguing stories.
Annie told of her long-standing “working agreement” with a
colony of army ants. A double clothesline stretched out across
a ravine in the back yard. The ants had claimed one line as
their bridge from the jungle to the house. It had to be kept free.
132
If something was hung on that line the ants invaded the house
— seeming to protest. When their “bridge” was clear they’d
stay outside. Whenever Annie left for a few days, she’d first
sprinkle crumbs at the doorway to signal the ants. While she
was away they'd come in and devour any vermin that might be
inside; beetles, lizards, snakes. Then they’d march back into
the jungle — via the clothes line. Annie would return to a pestfree house. A truly symbiotic arrangement!
When she first came to Liberia, Annie and fellow-missionary Joy Hansell produced alphabets for the Tchien. Putu and
Grebo Liberian dialects. They translated the Gospel of Mark
into those languages and taught the people to read phoneti­
cally.3 Using their material. Herb Tisher undertook a phono­
logical and grammatical analysis of the Tchien dialect in 1974.
Alter revising the writing system he began the arduous task of
translating the New Testament into the Tchien dialect — a
project that would take over ten years to complete. Doris
Sauder produced Tchien primers and taught the tribal people
to read.
The Donnellys’ visit to Zwedru concluded their tour of
Africa. Unforgettable! With hugs and tears, and promises to
pray and to write, they said goodbye to missionary friends at
the airport. Boarding the huge jet they settled into their seats.
This would be a long flight. Robert leaned his head back and
closed his eyes. Argentina. South America at last . . .
•’Annie also translated the entire New Testament into simple English —
Good News For The World, published by the American Bible Society. This
version is being used in several countries.
133
Chapter Fifteen
Heart’s Desire
“Delight thyself also in the Lord; and He shall give thee the
desires of thine heart.”
Psalm 37:4
“We were in a dither,” confessed Pastor Donnelly, remem­
bering their arrival at Buenos Aires. "We landed in that great
city without the name of anybody to contact."
Since the Missions Board in Toronto had been unable to
finalize this part of their itinerary, Robert had tried to make
his own arrangements with a missionary in Buenos Aires, ask­
ing to have someone meet them at the airport. No reply. (Later
they found out that missionary was on furlough and had not
received the letter.)
Robert and Daisy inched forward in the line-up to the cus­
toms wicket. The airport was unbelievably crowded.
“What will we do?” they wondered. “There’s no one here to
meet us. We don't even know anyone to phone.”
Finances were another concern. Runaway inflation in many
host countries had already swallowed a big part of their travel
fund. They were about $1500 above budget already! The Mis­
sions Board was covering costs while they traveled, but there
would be a large bill to pay when they got home.
Robert glanced through a window at passengers jostling
around incoming baggage. What? There stood Carman Lynn.
They could hardly believe their eyes. Soon the three were hug­
134
ging one another. Carman had arrived from Toronto just
ahead of them. He, too. was scheduled to address the National
Conference of Argentinian Pentecostals. There had been no
need to fret. A missionary soon arrived to meet them all.
"Oh, 1 just remembered. Here’s a letter for you, Brother
Donnelly." Carman reached into his briefcase and handed
Robert an envelope. He opened it and stared. Words failed
him. It was a large gift from Evangel Tabernacle in Kelowna,
B.C. — exactly the amount he and Daisy needed, with 68 cents
to spare.
“It was the Lord," the Donnellys agreed when they heard the
story behind that generous gift. About six months before the
beginning of their tour, they had ministered in Kelowna for
several days. Unknown to them, Evangel Assembly had taken
a love-offering and sent it to the Missions office in Toronto
designated “For The Donnellys’ Trip.” Somehow the envelope
containing the check was laid aside and forgotten. During
preparations for Carman Lynn's trip to Argentina it was
rediscovered. Just in time. Oh. the faithful love of the Heavenly
Father. In His foreknowledge He had once again proven to be
their great Provider.
Pentecostal Missions to Argentina began in 1913 with the
arrival of Annina Kjaelstrup and Niels Sorensen from Den­
mark. Dr. and Mrs. Charles Wortman from London, Ontario
joined them in 1921. God blessed their work. Many people
found personal salvation through faith in Jesus Christ and
were filled with the Holy Spirit. The first Pentecostal assembly
in Buenos Aires was started in the late 1940s by Erling and
Alvina Andresen from the USA. Others followed. These
missionaries faced intense opposition from established eccle­
siastical authorities, but the numbers of believers continued to
grow steadily.
In 1954 Argentina experienced a sudden burst of spiritual
revival. God moved in answer to many prayers. On April 14th
of that year evangelical and Pentecostal Christians took a joint
step of faith. With presidential permission they rented a large
stadium in Buenos Aires and invited an American evangelist
to conduct a Gospel crusade.
There was no choir. A missionary's son accompanied the
singing of choruses with his lone accordian. At first the audi­
ence was lost in the sea of bleachers, but gradually more peo135
pie came to hear God’s Word. Within a few weeks the place
was crowded out. The crusade was moved to a larger stadium.
Every night for two months the meetings continued. It was
estimated that several times attendance exceeded 200,000.
Hundreds submitted to the Lordship of Jesus Christ; many
were healed, some delivered from the power of evil spirits.
Many new churches and Bible study classes were started. The
Bible Society completely sold out of Bibles. From one end of
the country to the other people were singing Christian
choruses.
The Donnellys had always been thrilled by missionary
reports from the Argentine. Their part had been to pray fer­
vently. God worked. Pentecostals form the largest single group
of Protestant believers in the country today. Buenos .Aires has
well over 100 assemblies. A pastor in one city had his congre­
gation multiply from 300 to 6,000 in just a few years — too
many for one shepherd. Concerted efforts were begun to train
national pastors and leaders.
Joy pervaded the Pentecostal Conference of missionaries
and national workers in 1976. From all over Argentina they
came for this special week of Christian fellowship. Facilities at
the rented Catholic monastery were ideal — spacious auditori­
ums and enough bedrooms for all. Meetings were unhurried,
rich in praise and worship to God. Robert preached three
times a day.
After the conference there were invitations to visit several
assemblies. The Donnellys eagerly accepted. Missionary
Garry Fricker escorted them and interpreted into Spanish
when Robert preached. (They knew his parents and promised
to greet them from Garry when they returned to British
Columbia.) Robert’s heart was stirred at the goodness of God.
What a privilege to minister to these precious Argentinians.
The congregations were large and exuberant — some with
over 700 people. He sensed an air of expectancy. Piles of dis­
carded crutches bore testimony to God's healing power.
Clearly, He was still at work here.
“We never had to give an altar call,” Pastor Donnelly mar­
veled. “As soon as we were done preaching, the whole congre­
gation surged forward for prayer. People came expecting mira­
cles. Healings were a regular occurance and it was quite com­
mon to see someone set free from evil spirits.”
A pastor called for Robert and Garry one morning. A
136
couple had brought their 20-year-old son for deliverance from
a demon. With an uncanny ability to know hidden matters he
had been causing trouble since childhood. Often he embar­
rassed and infuriated people by revealing their intimate
secrets. Over and over the parents had taken him to doctors
and hospitals. None could help. Finally one physician told
them, "You'd better take him to a Pentecostal church . . .”
Here they were, asking for help.
Pastor Donnelly recounted. “He was a handsome young fel­
low — lonely-looking and very sad . . . The pastor read to him
from the Scriptures and explained, Jesus is here and He’s
going to set you free from that evil spirit.' Then we prayed, laid
our hands on him in the name of Jesus and commanded the
demon to leave. Soon the young man relaxed and began to
smile. He was free. There was no commotion, no Hurry. All
was quietly done. The Lord had delivered him.”
Garry took the Donnellys to meet his assembly in Rosario.
300 miles north of Buenos Aries. This was a relatively new
work and a young Spanish pastor assisted him there. Robert
and Daisy were overwhelmed by the affection and hospitality
of that congregation. “One kiss wouldn’t do,” they laughed.
“You had to be kissed on both cheeks . . . And an invitation to
tea after the service meant a full scale dinner. They’d be cook­
ing and serving until midnight . . .”
With overflowing hearts and parting prayers Robert and
Daisy said good-bye again and boarded a plane for Brazil.
Recife, their next destination, is about 1.000 miles northeast of
Rio de Janeiro on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. Robert
looked at the Hight schedule. They’d have to change planes in
Rio. Although departure from Buenos Aires had been
slightly delayed, they’d still be on time to connect with the
plane for Recife — if everything ran smoothly.
When they landed at Rio they rushed off the plane and
struggled into the over-crowded depot. Everyone around them
was speaking Portuguese. “We’re running late, observed Rob­
ert. “Why don’t you get our tickets confirmed while I look after
the baggage? Our next plane will be leaving shortly. Daisy
hurried away with the tickets.
Robert had just seen their luggage through customs when
she returned. “No one here speaks English, she cried in dis­
may, “and I can’t find an information desk. Now what? Help137
lessly they looked at the faces of people passing by. All they
heard was Portuguese. They were strangers in a foreign coun­
try. Stranded.
“Our Heavenly Father will look after us,” reassured Robert.
Then they just stood there and quietly prayed.
Suddenly a tall, distinguished-looking man, head and shoul­
ders above everyone else, came striding towards them through
the crowd.
“Are you having problems?” he asked in perfect English.
“I think that’s an understatement,” answered Robert with
sudden relief. Quickly he explained their predicament; he and
Daisy were about to miss their flight to Recife.
“Oh, I think I can help you,” said the tall gentleman. Hailing
a porter he explained the situation to him in Portuguese, took
out his wallet and gave him some money. Then he stooped
and kissed Daisy on the cheek, shook Robert's hand warmly
and said, “God bless you!”
Before they had a chance to ask his name or even thank him
he turned and walked away.
“We watched him and he just disappeared . . .” said Pastor
Donnelly, wonderment in his voice. “He just faded in the
crowd . . . just disappeared. I’m sure it was an angel . .
Soon they were in a taxi, speeding out of the terminal. Their
flight to Recife was from a different airport five miles away.
They made it with time to spare; the plane was late.
While they waited here a man came up to Robert. “Are you a
Christian?" he asked in English.
“Yes,” he answered, “are you?”
“Well, I’m trying . . .”
Robert could tell he needed spiritual help. While waiting for
the plane to Recife, he counseled that man about assurance of
salvation through faith in Jesus Christ. Another divine
appointment.
Brazil is a magnificent country of mighty rivers, mountains,
grassy plains (pampas), rolling highlands and tropical rain
forests. First attempts of Protestants to evangelize its inhabit­
ants were made by French Huegenots in 1555. They were
driven away by the Portuguese. More than 200 years later,
while Carey preached in India, Brazil was still oblivious to
God’s loving offer of free salvation by faith in His Son Jesus.
Finally in the 19th century, Christians in Europe and North
America began to hear the “Macedonian call” from Brazil
138
(Acts 16:9). Baptists and Presbyterians were some of the first to
respond. Dr. Robert Kalley, a Congregationalist from Scot­
land. came in 1838. His ministry resulted in the establishment
of several churches and preaching-places in Rio de Janeiro.
He started Brazil’s first Sunday School in 1855.
Many of those first missionaries faced persecution and mar­
tyrdom. Their blood became the “seed” of the Church. After
1889. when religious freedom was declared in Brazil, thou­
sands responded to the Gospel message. Protestant churches
sprang up in every port city. Concerted efforts began for the
evangelization of the hitherto unreached tribes in the interior
regions. Though Roman Catholicism and Spiritism remain
dominant, conservative estimates say that today one Brazilian
in every ten is an evangelical believer.
The first Pentecostal missionaries to Brazil were Daniel
Berg and Gunar Vingreen from Sweden in 1910. Harland and
Hazel Graham from the USA and Harold and Amy Matson
from Canada arrived in 1941. Their work was flagged as The
Pentecostal Evangelical Mission of Brazil. Traveling with a
huge tent the two couples preached the Gospel from the Ama­
zon region to the northeastern states.
The Donnellys had always been excited by mission news
from Brazil. They had heard that thousands and thousands of
people were turning to Jesus. Absolutely astounding. What a
mighty move of God.
It was late in December (summer in Brazil) when Robert
and Daisy arrived at the home of Harold and Amy Matson in
Recife. The two couples were long-time friends; Amy had been
an outstanding children’s worker in Saskatchewan before her
marriage.
“All the missionaries at Recife are getting together lor a real
Canadian Christmas dinner,” Amy had written, “with turkey
and all the trimmings. You’ll be here in time to share it with
US.
“What can I bring?” Daisy wrote back.
“Why don’t you bring a green salad? Ha, ha, ha, Amy had
joked. She knew it was impossible to find ingredients lor a
green salad during the Brazilian hot season.
Now Daisy held open her shopping bag for Amy to see. I
brought the salad,” she laughed. Tucked in her bag were a
crisp head of lettuce, celery and some other salad greens. I
139
had it in plain view at the top of my bag when we came
through customs from Argentina. They allowed it through.”
“I'm not telling anyone,” Amy laughed hilariously. “It’ll be a
surprise.”
A few days later when all the missionaries gathered for
Christmas dinner, Daisy presented her salad. Everyone went
into ecstacy. Never was a green salad more enjoyed.
After more than 30 years of pioneer missionary work, Brazil
was home to the Matsons. They had preached the Gospel in
remote areas, small towns and villages. They’d raised their
family here. There were endless stories to tell of perils, prob­
lems, victories, healings and miracles. Robert and Daisy lis­
tened spellbound. It was like hearing another chapter from the
Book of Acts.
Many homeless children roam the streets of Brazil’s large
port cities. In Recife alone were around 80,000, estimated Har­
old Matson. He and Amy began taking in these orphans in
1973, supported by caring Christians in North America. Their
home was known as Lar Cristao, Christian Home. At the time
of the Donnellys’ visit they were caring for about 80 children
— with the help of volunteer staff. Often children were left on
their doorstep. (As the number of children increased, larger
accommodations became necessary. In 1982 the orphanage
was moved to the city of Natal and renamed The Lily Of The
Valley Orphanage.)
The public schools in Recife were overcrowded. Every year
the question was whether children from Lar Cristao would be
given space in school. It was cause for concern and prayer. Just
before Christmas the Home was notified that every one of the
children would be admitted for the next school term. Praise
God! Then what rejoicing — every child at Lar Cristao was
invited into a private home for the Christmas holidays.
The Recife Bible School (later an accredited Bible College),
began in 1963 when the Matsons taught Bible lessons to a
small group of young people. Bill Mercer from Canada
became president of the college in 1972. Though the school
was closed for the holidays, the Donnellys were glad to see it
was being enlarged.
“There is a great need for more pastors and leaders in Bra­
zil,” observed Pastor Donnelly.
Missionaries and national Christian workers of Recife met
140
around the Word of God with Robert. Among those present
were Bill and Linda Mercer and new missionaries Tom and
Laura Fodor. (Tom had just preached his first Portuguese ser­
mon.)
A three-day visit to Fortaleza, 300 miles north along the
coast, was Robert's last preaching-engagement in Brazil. They
stayed with the Rex Stuckless family, missionaries from New­
foundland. Once again local pastors and mission staff gath­
ered to meet with the Donnellys. Robert took great pleasure in
preaching and answering questions, but he enjoyed the fellow­
ship most of all.
"I hadn't realized the tremendous population of Brazil,”
mused Pastor Donnelly. "Vast areas of the Amazon remain
unexplored, untouched by civilization. As in all mission fields
the hope is that national leaders will take over the
evangelization of their country.”1
On a tropical January morning the Donnellys embraced
their missionary friends at the Recife airport. Farewells are
never easy. At Rio they'd catch another flight out of the coun­
try. They settled back in their seats, brushed away the tears
and contemplated the goodness of God. To think that they
had witnessed and in a small way participated in the spiritual
awakening of South America. Brazil and Argentina would be
forever in their hearts. “Thy Kingdom come, dear Lord . .
The jet streaked northward across the equatorial sky. After a
plane-change in Caracas, Venezuela and then another in Bar­
bados, they arrived on the island of St. Vincent in the West
Indies.
In the following weeks they visited and ministered in Barba­
dos, St. Vincent and Trinidad. The Donnellys had fond
memories of fellowship with Larry and Esther Ulseth, senior
missionaries in Trinidad, and Pastor LeRoy Joseph and his
family in St. Vincent. They lived with the Josephs for one
month while ministering to the seven assemblies on their
island.
The joyful faith of West Indian Christians, in spite of unem­
ployment and poverty, seemed remarkable to the Donnellys.
At mealtimes the Donnellys found they couldn’t indulge their
appetites at the expense of their kind hosts. (The Josephs had
'The revival in Brazil continues. By 1984 The Brazilian Assemblies of God
had grown to over 12 million members and adherents, averaging 44 thou­
sand new members annually.
141
three little mouths to feed.) By the time they left, Robert had
lost more than ten pounds.
“It’s marvelous to see God’s hand at work among people of
many nations and languages,” concluded Pastor Donnelly.
“They all have one common experience, one common bond;
all express pleasure and joy in serving God. It’s marvelous to
see the difference the Gospel has made in lives — whether
from the hinterland of Brazil or from cities like Johannesburg.
People rejoice in the Lord and find satisfaction in serving
Him.”
Towards the end of February 1977 the Donnellys boarded a
Toronto-bound jet in Barbados. Their missionary journey was
over. Time to go home.
142
Chapter Sixteen
The House on Dynes
"Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with benefits, even
the God of our salvation.”
Psalm 68:19
To arrive in Canada in the dead of winter from sunny Bar­
bados can be a shock to anyone’s system. The Donnellys
braced themselves against the biting cold. Adeline and Irene
were at Toronto International Airport to meet them. Both had
lived with the Donnellys at the Lakehead but now worked
here.
“Stay with us for a while,” they urged. “You’ll have the house
to yourselves all day long while we’re at work.”
Robert and Daisy accepted gratefully. They had many
friends in Toronto but Adeline and Irene were like family.
How good to rest for a while.
“How long do you think you can stay?” the young women
asked.
Tired of traveling, Robert joked, “We’re going to stay here
forever!” He and Daisy were virtually exhausted. After six
months of steady preaching he had almost lost his voice.
“I didn't know until I got to Toronto that I was just played
right out,” recalled Pastor Donnelly. “I didn’t even want to talk
or see anybody ... It was the Lord’s mercy that we had a rest­
ing place.”
After 10 days of relaxation Robert was ready to “get back
143
into harness.” He took a series of meetings in Oakville where
his friend Ray Stewart was the pastor. It was good to be in
familiar territory again. Three weeks later Robert and Daisy
both felt strong enough to travel back to British Columbia.
“This is for you,” said Adeline and Irene, handing them a
wad of money. One thousand dollars? “It’s the Lord’s money
— it's been designated for you,” was the only explanation they
gave. The Donnellys received it thankfully. Another gift from
their Heavenly Father.
“Let’s travel to the west coast by car,” the Donnellys decided.
“We can visit family, friends and pastors that way.” They
bought a car, cashed in their plane tickets to Vancouver and
kissed Adeline and Irene goodbye.
More than three weeks later they arrived in Edmonton,
Alberta to visit Jeanne and Bernice who’d been part of their
extended family in Manitoba. The sisters were distressed to see
the elderly couple so fatigued. “Dad has lost so much weight.”
noticed Jeanne.
“Why not stop this constant traveling, at least for a while,
and live with us?” they urged.
“Remember that $1000 you lent me?” asked Charles,
Jeanne’s husband. (Robert had almost forgotten.) “I invested it
in a duplex — one third of the equity belongs to you. If you
want I’ll put it up for sale; then you can use the money for a
downpayment on a house. You really should be looking for a
place to settle down.” the younger man advised gently.
The thought of owning equity was new to the Donnellys. In
45 years of ministry they’d lived in eight different parsonages
and, in the past ten years, two travel trailers. They’d never even
owned much furniture, let alone a house. Everything they’d
ever had was poured into the work of God. Many times they’d
been asked how they'd manage during retirement. Robert's
stock answer was, “Do you think the Lord will cast us aside
when we’re old and unable to carry on? After we’ve served
Him these many years? No! He has a place and a plan for us
“There’s no hurry to sell the duplex,” he answered now. “We
hope to travel another year or so before we settle down.” But it
felt good to be wanted and loved.
In mid-April they finally got to Delta. After a short visit with
Ruthella they were off again — to the 1977 BC Spring Confer­
ence in Vernon. Enroute they stopped in Penticton to visit mis­
144
sionary Garry Flicker’s parents. Eli and Adele. They were
delighted to get news about their son in Argentina.
“Your new home is lovely,” admired Daisy as the Friekers
showed them around. “Maybe we'll soon have the
downpayment for a house too . . .”
Adele’s face lit up. "Let's look for a house here; maybe you’ll
see something you like. We know a Christian realtor. Shall we
call him for you?”
Robert agreed immediately — to Daisy’s surprise. Her hus­
band was never one to make impulsive decisions. (He teased
her later, saying he'd been too tired to fight.) The realtor came
immediately and by evening they'd viewed several houses.
One on Dynes Avenue — a cottage with a neatly landscaped
yard — was seriously worth considering.
Next morning the Donnellys went back to see it alone.
Vendors Doug and Bernice Crump showed them through the
house. Mr. Crump hobbling around on crutches. He’d had a
debilitating accident while traveling overseas and would never
be able to work again. They were selling house and furniture
and moving to Florida for therapy. It was obviously hard for
them to leave the home they loved. The two couples chatted
comfortably, a sense of kinship between them.
“That house is all we need.” the Donnellys admitted to the
realtor, “but it’s more than we can afford.”
"Put in an offer,” he suggested. “They can reject it or make a
counter offer.” After some persuasion they signed the papers,
offering $20,000 as a downpayment.
"Only Thy will be done, dear Lord!” they prayed fervently.
Neither could say why they offered that specific amount —
to them the world of finance was foreign. Where would they
get that much cash? They’d returned from overseas with empty
pockets. The required sum could only be realized by adding
the value of their van-and-trailer unit to the equity of the yet
unsold Edmonton duplex.
“Actually, we didn't think about all those things,” admitted
the Donnellys. “We wanted it to be very difficult so we’d know
it was of the Lord’s doing if the deal went through. We wanted
only His will done . .
To their utter amazement word came next morning that the
Crumps accepted their offer. They wanted to see the
Donnellys immediately. Robert and Daisy were flustered.
Decisions were usually made slowly, with prayerful caution.
145
“We felt swept along by a tide,” they'confided. “We assured
the Lord that we did not want to run ahead of Him . . .’ They
prayed for a guiding promise from the Bible.
A favourite verse came to both: “I will instruct thee and
teach thee in the way that thou shall go; I will guide thee with
mine eye” (Ps. 32:8). It was a promise they had often claimed
before. But buying a house . . .?
With that promise in mind they went to the Crumps again.
As they drove, Daisy broke the silence, “I can understand
when the Lord says He will instruct and teach us. But what
does He mean when He says He will guide us with His eye?”
Robert pondered awhile. “Perhaps we could think of it as a
laser beam,” he answered at last. (He was thinking about elec­
tric-eye beams that open doors at supermarkets and hospitals.)
“Everything will come into focus, the door will open and
there’ll be no fear of making a mistake.”
That answer satisfied Daisy. They would watch for circum­
stances to come together.
Bernice and Doug greeted them like old friends. “Since it’s
you buying our house, we ll just pack our bags and walk out.
We want to give you all our furniture,” they exclaimed. The
Donnellys were astounded. The house was completely fur­
nished: chesterfield and chair, recliner, lamps, colour TV,
built-in stereo, fireplace with fixtures, table and chairs, stove,
fridge, dish-washer, dryer, two bedroom suites, desk and hidea-bed. A stupendous offer!
They phoned Charles in Edmonton. Reluctantly he
explained, “It would be humanly impossible to sell the duplex
in time to meet the deadline on your offer, but I’ll put it up for
sale if you want.” It seemed the deal was off. Still they prayed,
“Thy will be done.”
“I will guide thee with mine eye” almost thundered in their
ears when Christian friends of the Frickers, Manny and
Wanda Schulz, made them a stunning proposal. “The Lord
has been talking to us all night,” they said. “We have two pro­
positions for you. Either we’ll buy the house outright and you
can buy it from us on your own terms; or we’ll loan you the
downpayment — interest free — for three months. There’s
only one condition: if at any time you wish to sell the house,
we’d like the first option to buy it. If you need our money
longer than three months, you can borrow it at the going inter­
est rate.”
146
Robert and Daisy looked at each other, overcome with emo­
tion. Circumstances certainly were coming together. Finally
Robert spoke, “I think we could do nothing else but accept
your generous offer.”
The deal was immediately finalized; the house was theirs.
Praise the Lord. What a time of thanksgiving. Manny and
Wanda became dear friends and financial advisors to Robert
and Daisy.
The Donnellys still had several pulpit-commitments in
Ontario. With the help of their new-found friends they packed
their lovely furniture into storage and found renters to lease
the house for one year. “There'll be time enough later to enjoy
the house and furniture.” they promised themselves.
Robert was not expecting to preach at the Vernon confer­
ence. It was for love of the Body of Christ that he and Daisy
had come. They joined in the singing as the first meeting was
about to begin. Suddenly Robert felt a hand on his shoulder as
the District Superintendent whispered in his ear. “Our sched­
uled speaker. Brother Taitinger, has just been taken to hospital
with a heart attack. Do you think you could take his place?”
With three minutes notice, Robert became the conference
speaker.
"It was the Lord’s timing that we were there,” believed Pas­
tor Donnelly.
During the three-day conference Pastor Keith Pennoyer
from the Penticton Assembly took Robert aside. “Brother
Donnelly, would you consider being Visitation Pastor at
Bethel Tabernacle?” he asked. Robert thanked him but
declined. “This fall I have many commitments in the east,” he
explained.
Intending to go to Ontario in September, Robert ministered
for two months in Merritt (a small town in BC’s interior) and
several weeks in Victoria on Vancouver Island.
“Although I was still very weary,” he recalled, “I enjoyed our
stay at Merritt very much. No big responsibility and the people
were very kind to us.”
While the Donnellys were on Vancouver Island, a letter
arrived from Ontario — unavoidably, Robert’s appointments
had been cancelled. “Why not join our pastoral staff? sug­
gested the ministers in Victoria. “Pray about it and let us
know.” On the day when he was to give his answer Brother
Pennoyer phoned. “Won’t you reconsider and come to
147
Penticton?” The answer was easy. “Yes." he replied, “we’ll
come.”
“Now remember,” said Robert to his wife as they traveled
back to Penticton, “we won't ask our house back from the rent­
ers. We made an agreement and an agreement is an agree­
ment.” That was fine with Daisy — she certainly didn’t mind
living in their trailer for another year.
They set up camp on Bethel Tabernacle’s parking lot until a
permanent site could be found. A few days later, just as they
were about to leave the churchyard, Robert was called to the
phone. It was their renter. “I heard that your plans have
changed,” he said. “You can have your house back — there are
lots of other places available for us.”
How like the Lord! Before long the Donnellys were settled
into their new home and Robert had joined the pastoral staff
of Bethel Tabernacle. Thanksgiving and joy filled their hearts.
There’d be a Donnelly family celebration in the house on
Dynes that Christmas.
By February the three-month loan had been repaid. Eight­
een months later, with unexpected money from Robert’s sis­
ter’s estate, the mortgage on the house was paid off. They were
debt-free.
“This is God’s house,” the Donnellys emphasized. “He
arranged the financing and He did a good job. We're hon­
oured to be workers together with Him . . .”
* * *
For a while no one spoke. It was a sacred moment; we were
in God’s presence. Sister Donnelly sighed, “Praise the Lord”
and daubed the tears from her eyes. Pastor Donnelly’s face
was serene; the Parkinson’s tremor of his hands had almost
stopped. “I guess that will do for now,” he said. This was the
last of our regular meetings.
I rose and took my empty teacup to the kitchen sink. “Thank
you for sharing your life with me,” I said softly. “God is so
good . . .”
“Thank you and God bless you,” they countered, following
me from the table. “The Lord has been good to us. We’ve mer­
ited nothing . . . We never even prayed for these things; just
had a deep sense of knowing that He would provide when the
148
time came. He did. He has and I le will. Blessed be the name of
the Lord . .
“Thank You. Jesus," I sang as I drove along the highway,
barely noticing the blustery weather. God's love is very warm . . .
149
Epilogue
June 25, 1989
The Donnellys are dearly loved at Penticton’s Bethel Pente­
costal Tabernacle. Well past retirement age, they continue to
serve the Lord and others with self-forgetting abandonment.
They have prayerfully supported the ministry of three succes­
sive pastoral teams — Rev. Keith Pennoyer and Warren
Benson, Rev. Don Schneider and Dave Larson, Rev. Don
Scheske and Kendall Shram — and always strive to promote
the spiritual well-being of the Church. All three pastors have
highly valued Brother Donnelly's insightful counsel.
Before the Schneiders came, he served as interim pastor.
The preparedness of the congregation to receive their new
shepherd was due in large part to Pastor Donnelly's wise and
thoughtful ministry.
Rev. Don Schneider wrote: “It was a privilege for me to
share the ministry with Rev. Donnelly from 1978-'86. His con­
sistent, faithful and prayerful life encouraged all who knew
him. Brother Donnelly was well known for his comprehension
of the Word of God. He rarely used notes when he preached
and could quote long passages of Scripture and poetry from
memory. At 80 his ministry appealed to all ages. He was keen
and alert and kept in touch with the times. His dry sense of
humour and wit brought a ready response from the people.
“Thank you. Brother Donnelly, for making God so real to
me by your godly Christian example!"
Exemplars of Christian faith and devotion, the Donnellys
seem tireless in their service to God. Pastor Donnelly has
served as visitation minister, adult Sunday School teacher,
mid-week prayer and Bible study leader and. after his retire­
ment in 1986. a highly esteemed elder of the Church.
In his first 10 years at Bethel he. was frequently called on to
assist assemblies in surrounding communities (Princeton.
Keremeos. Armstrong. Grand Forks) with Sunday morning
services when they were without pastors. Currently he serves
150
as chaplain at Sun Village Lodge, a large retirement complex
in Penticton.
Like her husband. Sister Donnelly has always served her
Lord unstintingly. Children's Church (which she named Dan­
iel s Band), ministry to hospital extended care patients lor over
eight years, and Women Alive Bible studies have been labours
of love.
The couple attributes their continuing good health to the
goodness of God. Although Pastor Donnelly was diagnosed to
have Parkinsons disease in 1983. medication keeps it under
control. He suffered grievously from arthritis in the knees for
several years, barely able to walk some days. An artificial
knee-joint replacement in 1984. combined with a disciplined
regimen of exercise, has solved that problem.
Pastor Donnelly is a spiritual father in the Church. Eternity
will reveal how many hundreds of people have been blessed
by his gentle, compassionate ministry. Connie Jung is one of
them. When she was on the verge of joining a false cult, the
Donnellys visited and prayed with her. Not long after that she
became a Christian and began attending Bethel. Now she is a
strong, committed follower of Jesus.
“Their visit was of the Holy Spirit,” believes Connie. “I’ve
learned so much from both of them. The strong point of Mrs.
Donnelly's Bible study group is that our prayers are answered.
And when Pastor Donnelly preaches I often feel as though
he's read my mind — he answers the very questions I’ve been
wondering about."
Frank Conci. a member of the Church Board, named his
firstborn son after Robert Donnelly. “Pastor Donnelly made a
profound impact on my life when I was a new Christian. I
have the greatest respect for him — his lifestyle, his wisdom
. . . Of all the people in the world, he’s the one I’d want my son
to emulate.”
Self-effacing and still somewhat shy. Pastor Donnelly has
never sought the accolades of men. Sufficient, that heavenly
approbation — “Well done thou good and faithful servant.”
Pastoral responsibilities continue to weigh heavily on him.
“I'll have to answer to God for them.” he explained to his wife
one morning, after an agonizing night of prayer for a wayward
couple.
Yet. it behooves the Church to give honour to whom honour
is due (Rom. 13:7). “I couldn’t say enough about him. He always
151
gives you the benefit of the doubt — always thinks the best and
brings out the best in you . . .”
“He’s been a real encouragement to me . . .”
“Everything he says is so valuable, like jewels coming out of
his mouth . .
“His words are always timely . . .”
“Humility and absolute submission to the Lord . .
“He’s an island of solid rock in the stormy sea of life . . .’’
It has been said that midweek prayer meetings are the heart­
beat of the Church. What sweet fellowship of the Body of
Christ! What precious communion in the Word of God!
At the conclusion of one such meeting a holy hush had
fallen on the people at Bethel. The presence of the Lord was
almost tangible. Loath to break the atmosphere of worship, no
one stirred. At last Brother Donnelly cleared his throat and
began to sing the words of 1 Timothy 1:17. Gradually the con­
gregation joined him, lifting hearts in worship and adoration
to Jesus, the King of kings.
“Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible,
the only wise God . . .
Be honour and glory for ever and ever,
Amen . . . Amen . . .
Be honour and glory for ever and ever,
Amen.”
Those words are the benediction of Robert Donnelly’s life.
* * *
Postscript
June 27, 1989
This morning I brought the completed manuscript of Pastor
Donnelly’s biography to his home.
“He’s resting on the couch in his study,” said Sister
Donnelly as she led me into the living room.
I handed her the box. “Don’t disturb him — I just wanted
him to have a copy of the finished work.”
Sister Donnelly tip-toed into the study to get some papers
from the shelf. “Susan has brought the manuscript,” she whis­
pered, when he asked who'd come.
152
“Does she need me for any particular reason?” he asked.
"No, I don't think so.”
"Then, I think I'll just stay lying here.”
Daisy came back into the living room. “Robert didn’t rest
very’ well last night because of the shaking,” she explained as
we chatted briefly. “He tries his best to stop it by clamping his
arms between his knees, but still the whole bed vibrates with it
"Yet he keeps serving God as usual," I marveled. “He taught
Sunday School last Sunday, and gave the Charge to the high
school graduates last week . .
"Yes. he has a good attitude,” she said simply. “He just trusts
the Lord . . . Before we went to bed last night we sang
together: Just One Day Nearer Home. He put his arm on my
shoulder and said. 'I won't be singing that song too many more
times.’ Then we sang: Forever, forever, oh, not for a day; He
keepeth His promise forever'."
I listened while Daisy softly sang that old hymn for me. Her
voice broke as she brushed away the ever-persistent tears.
“Robert went down the hall to the bedroom repeating, ‘For­
ever; forever; forever . . .’ Oh, I wish you could have heard
him pray last night; for the Church — for the assembly — for
all Christians . . .”
As usual I left the Donnelly home encouraged. God has eve­
rything under control.
When I got home my answering phone was flashing a mes­
sage: “Pastor Donnelly has passed away . . .”
“You won’t be long, will you?” he had asked after I left.
Daisy was about to leave for a luncheon appointment.
“No, but I'll stay home if you like — I don’t have to go,” she
replied gently.
“Oh, no. You go — I’ll be alright,” he had insisted. “I won’t
quarrel with myself.”
She got her purse. A moment later, when she went to kiss
him goodbye, she found Robert sitting in his study — expired.
The Lord had taken him home.
Robert Donnelly walked with God and God took him (Gen.
5:24). “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His
saints!” (Ps. 116:15).
153
Printed by
Marquis, Montmagny, Qc
.r
It Was The
nr
'-3
Susanna K. Martens is a writer and
children's Bible Teacher. She and her
husband John live in the Okanagan
Valley inB.C.
This is the story of how a poor Saskatchewan farm
boy, Robert Donnelly, became a remarkable man of
God. His biography is a stirring saga of whole­
hearted commitment and humble obedience to the
call of God.
"I commend this book to you. I am satisfied that it
will inspire you to serve the Lord with dedication and
diligence. The story needs to be told. It reflects what
happens when a life becomes singular in purpose and
unreservedly given over to God.”
"The Church, like every profession, has its giants.
Pastor Robert Donnelly was one of them. He well
deserved his almost legendary reputation as a mas­
terful pulpiteer."
Director
Selkirk Mental Health Centre
WELCH PUBLISHING COMPANY INC.
Burlington Ontario, Canada.
ISBN: 1-55011-135-3