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5B. Welcome to Lompoc California 
Being an Evangelist like I am, has its blessings but it also had its drawbacks. My work at Camarillo had been so enjoyable that when the time eventually came, I did not really want to move. The bishop had asked me to go down to a place called Lompoc, but I wrote back begging for six month's grace. His stern reply left me in no doubt, "Your move," it read, "is "facti accompli" - an accomplished fact!"
As I left Highway 101 for the Lompoc turnoff, an eerie silence seemed to descend over the road. Deep green moss draped the shaded oak trees on both sides. A night fog lay like a sinister carpet upon the fields. Except the purring of my engine, all was hauntingly quiet and still. The tall stacks of a mine glinted in the dusk sun on my left. Then, in a halo of mist, the beautiful timbered church of St. Mary's suddenly rose, a coveted Gothic jewel lovingly built in the center of town. The derelict and broken down Parish House next to it stood out in stark contrast. To my surprise, the church was ablaze with light. A crowd of people milled around the doorway outside. "Are they the members of some neighbouring congregation?" I wondered. "Who had come out to welcome me?"
Dying Congregation in Our Lompoc Church
I strutted across, expecting to be greeted by them. As I approached, however, it became increasingly clear that they were not interested in me at all. I headed instead toward a clergyman on one side of the group. "Our Lutheran congregation," he told me proudly, "use this building four nights a week and every Sunday, of course, for our services and Sunday School." Indignation swelled up inside and as courteously as I could manage, I probed further, "When do the Episcopalians meet then?" "Them," he replied, a smile spreading across his face, "there aren't many of those in town. They don't use this building much, except their service after ours have finished!"
That first dull, foggy Sunday in Lompoc, a group of us waited in the rain outside the Episcopal Church. The inside was crowded with this other Lutheran congregation who had nurtured a strong and growing fellowship in the same building in which our Church was dying. I was shocked that our people had agreed to rent the church for only forty dollars a month to help pay their own expenses. "I'll write to the Bishop about this in the morning!" I vowed quietly to myself. The Bishop agreed, the Lutherans moved, and we began repairs on the church and Parish house.
Lompoc Vicarage on Fire
Only a few weeks after beginning, tragedy struck. Loud cries summoned me from my bed in the middle of the night. "The vicarage is on fire!" A group of us stood by helplessly watching the hungry flames consume the dry timber building. In the amber glow against the black of the night I picked out a friend's features. "It's not that bad," I said hopefully, "it's only something material." Awakened, the Church Warden, who happened to be standing directly behind me replied caustically "It's only material, but it took us twenty years to pay for it!" Soon afterwards, plans began to build a new parish house. To help this effort, the parish committee decided, in its wisdom, to appoint a professional fund raising director. It was then that my troubles really began!
Our youthful new director was full of bright ideas! One of his first was that we should find old wallpaper sample books and roughly tear out the leaves. Then as we handed these to our astonished neighbours we said, "We're tearing off the wallpaper to invite you to our family dinner!" This much vaunted dinner was intended to be one of those grand occasions with all the trimmings. "It will to be absolutely free for everyone," insisted the fund raiser. "The cost will be borne out of church funds!" Our ladies, however, stubbornly refused to sit by. They Wanted to do all the cooking themselves but the fund raiser was adamant, "the church must pay for a caterer to do it." Deadlock!
That following Sunday, a hushed congregation listened intently for the announcement about the dinner. "The grand dinner," I proclaimed, "will be held next week through the kind donation of a certain Annie King of Kilkenny, Ireland. Everyone is invited, and it is free! The church funds will not be used!" After the service, the church buzzed. "Who is this Annie King?" everyone was asking. "Why is she paying the bill?" It was a closely guarded secret. Only I and two others knew that this person was my late mother, Annie King-Lewis, who had once lived in Southern Ireland. By donating this amount in her memory, our church was blessed and harmony was restored in our parish. Annie King's dinner aside, rumour had it that the Government was about to announce plans to build a missile site in Lompoc, bringing much needed employment to the area.
Merry Christmas to Lompoc
A few days before Christmas, a clue appeared in the Lompoc Herald. A cartoon showed a jolly Santa Claus riding a gleaming missile toward the town with the greeting, "Merry Christmas to Lompoc." Later, the announcement came officially that the Vandenberg Base would be built there. New life was on its way! Optimism pervaded the whole church now. As if to herald the government's decision, the bishop announced that he would soon appoint a clergyman to the Parish. I would go to see Dean Drake about my next assignment.
Start a Revival
After talking about the San Bernardino area for sometime, Dean Drake mentioned how concerned he was for our little church in Colton, California. "Captain," he announced very soberly, "I want you to go there, ignite the fuse, and start a revival!" A puzzled look crept across my face. "You can do anything you wish! I am giving you a blank check! You can lead the revival any way the Holy Spirit leads you!"
"You've gotta have a glory in the things you do, an alleluia chorus in the heart of you" 
