Elaine Wilson with jesus at age 99



Vol. XXIII - Issue 3 Jul/Sep 2015


News of Interest

Pastor Dixon and Chin Pastors

Dan Hardon, Pastor of Gateway Anabaptist Church in Monroe, Michigan, preaching at an Anabaptist Church Conference in Cebu City, Philippines the first week of june.

UBF Meeting April 13-14

Summer UBF Meeting

Trinity Springs, Indiana

August 17-18, 2015


National UBF Meeting

Paduka, Kentucky

October 19-21

Declaration of Independence

Franklin Graham's Statement at First Baptist Church Jacksonville


Hovind Acquitted on All Charges

Who Owns Palestind Part VI: The Position of the Jews

Same Sex Marriage Resolution

Elaine Wilson with Jesus at age 99

Summer Unregistered Baptist Fellowship

What Would Jesus Have To Say About the Emmanuel Church Massacre?


Booklets by Dr. Greg Dixon

The Trumpet Archives

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 A Bully meets an Angel

Well, she almost made it to one-hundred, but not quite.  She missed it by 102 days.  But more than that, she missed the Rapture, which she didn’t expect to miss.  In fact nearly every time I saw her she said, “Jesus is coming soon.”  She believed it too.  Many times, she and her husband, Dr. Art Wilson, pastor of the Wichita Baptist Tabernacle in Wichita, Kansas would pick me up for Sunday school, and practically before she had time to greet me, she would say, “Jesus is coming soon.”  That was in 1947.

But the first time I met her was under somewhat different circumstances.  It was a very hot August of the prior year.  My parents had just moved with me and my step-sister and brother from the West side, to the more affluent East side of Wichita.  Changing sides of town hadn’t changed me, I was still filled with the same bitterness, hatred, anger and perennial chip on my shoulder that I had carried as long as I could remember.  From my earliest recollection I was called “Buddy”.  In fact, I don’t ever remember knowing or writing my given name.

The following event took place on a Monday or Tuesday at approximately 3:30 to 4 pm in the afternoon.  A “Rolly Polly” boy with blondish hair, around twelve years old, came riding his bike down the side walk towards me.  When he got parallel with me, I knocked him off of his bike, cursed him out, and told him not to ride his bike on my side walk in front of my house.  He began to cry and said, “I’m going to go home and tell my momma’ on you.”  I said, “I’ll go and tell her for you.”  Boy was I brave, so I thought.

So I followed him from Volutsia Street where I lived, between some houses,  through his back yard on Estelle Street and stood out in their yard by their front porch.  Pretty soon this Angel came out the front door with little “Rolly Polly” behind her.  As soon as I saw her I thought it was Judgment Day.  I immediately said, “Can I play basketball in your back yard?”  I had seen the basketball goal when I came through the yard.  She said, “We don’t let little boys play in our yard that use the kind of language that you use.”  I promised not to use that kind of language, and she said that I could.  Then she said that they were having a tent crusade and would I like to come, which I said that I would.  By this time, I was greatly relieved that I had escaped the judgment.  “Rolly Polly” looked pretty relieved too.

As evidence that the Holy Spirit was on my trail in a most significant way, the next day I received a phone call from “Mom” Lucas wanting to know if I would like to go to a tent revival crusade with them the next evening (Thursday).  She said that the preacher was going to preach on the subject: “Will We Have a Third World War With Russia?”  I said, “Yes.”  That interested me, because there had been a lot of stories in the news on that subject lately, in that it was right after WW II.

Mom and Dad Lucas had been my foster parents from the time that I was four  years old until my mother married my Step Father, Lyle E. Dixon when I was eight.  My mother had taken me into “Luke’s Barber and Beauty Shop” on South Harry Street in Wichita, Kansas when I was four years old.  She told me to wait on her while she went into the back where the hair dresser was.  Luke, the one legged Barber struck up a conversation with me.  He asked my name of which I told him that my name was “Buddy.”  In answer as to where I lived, I told him that I didn’t like where I lived, and in response to, why?  I said, “Because the woman drinks beer.”  At that point Luke said, why don’t you come live at our house and I agreed to do it.  When my mother came out Luke told her that he and Buddy had made an agreement and that I was going to live at his house.  He said you go down to 1333 Mosley Street and tell Mrs. Lucas that Buddy is going to stay with us.

So mother took me by the hand and we walked the two blocks down to 1333 Mosley Street, mother knocked on the door and mother told Mrs. Lucas about the deal.  I sat down in Luke’s big chair and woke up the next morning and that was my home for the next four years except for a brief time that I lived with my aunt Gladys Manus in Oklahoma City when I was five.

The Lucas’ were fine Christian folks with an adopted daughter and son who were still living at home.  Another adopted daughter was already married and lived next door with her family.  The Lucas’ were church hoppers and pretty well went where the excitement was going on at the time.  I did win an award for attending a Nazarene Sunday school class, without missing for one year.  In fact I went forward in a Nazarene revival meeting.  I’m not sure that it was Holy Ghost conviction more than the thundering sermon of the preacher and the thunder storm going on outside, but whatever, it didn’t take.  Mom Lucas was some praying woman though.  Boy could she pray.  You could hear her all over the house.  She could pray all heaven down.

The big tent at Waco and Douglas, with the “Kansas Tornado”, Evangelist “Art” Wilson doing the preaching, was the most exciting thing going on in Wichita that lazy hot summer in 1946, and Mom and Pop Lucas weren’t about to miss it.

Thursday evening came, and the Lucas’ were right on time at 121 Volutsia Street to pick me up.  When we got there, I thought that that had to be the biggest tent I had ever seen.  But after my eyes got used to the light, they didn’t have day light savings back then, and little light bulbs were trying to compete with the remaining daylight outside, I saw little “Rolly Polly” sitting across the aisle.  I doubled up my fist and said, “I’ll get you after the meeting is over.”  I’m sure he began to pray for my soul right then and there.

When the evangelist began to preach, I prayed the following prayer.  “Dear Lord, Please help me to concentrate on what the preacher is saying tonight.”  I had a very difficult time concentrating on things at that time of my life, especially school work or anything academic.  It seemed that my mind had no capacity to conceptualize ideas of any kind that pertained to learning.  But an amazing thing happened that night.  Bro. Wilson preached from one of the most difficult texts of the Bible, Ezekiel Chapter 38 & 39 for more than two hours.  We were sitting on a hot August night on wooden benches under a tent with no A/C, and I can still remember as if it were yesterday, almost word for word the sermon that he preached.

It seemed like a box car load of conviction for sin had me literally pinned to the ground to the point where I could hardly breathe.  When he gave the invitation to come forward, I turned to Mrs. Lucas and asked her to go with me and she said, “No.”  Something inside said, it’s now or never.  I took one step and it seemed that I floated all the way to the front.  The guilt of sin was gone.  When the preacher asked the people to come and shake our hands at the end of the service, “Rolly Polly” was the first one to grab me and we hugged and I didn’t think he would ever turn loose.  Many will remember him as Rev. Ray Wilson, for more than forty years, one of the great missionaries to Mexico along with his wife Bonnie.  Oh how I loved him.

I was in a Bible Conference in Ft. Worth a few years ago when his Bonnie called me and told me that Ray had had a stroke and was in the hospital in McAllen, Texas.  I left immediately and flew there.  I stood there with her as the Doctor showed us the CT scan and it looked as if we were looking at a city where half of the lights had gone out.  I waited with her until it pleased the Lord to take him on home. 


Now his mother Elaine Wilson has joined him in heaven.

Elaine Wilson

Elaine Wilson, 99, passed to her heavenly home Tuesday, April 28. Preceded in death by husband, Dr. Art Wilson, two step-sons, Raymond and Donald, and daughter, Rose Fields. Survived by two daughter-in-laws, Bonnie and Velda Wilson, sons, Paul and Mark, 14 grandchildren and 4 great-grandchildren. Service Friday, May 1 10:30 am, Berean Baptist Church, Springfield. Visitation with family Thursday, April 30 6 - 8 pm Greenlawn East. Burial Wichita Kansas. Memorial established with Berean Baptist Church Mission Account.

One day, The “Angel”, “Rolly Polly”, his dear wife Bonnie who has admirably carried on the ministry alone in Leon Qto, Mexico, and all of us will meet again in that city where the Lamb will be the Light where the lights will never grow dim again In the land where there will be, “No More Night.”                 




















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