<TITLE>03. Par 9-13</TITLE>L-9 They said, "Oh, my," said, "but this man's worth twenty-eight million dollars. He owns a big Mission Bell Winery and all."
I said, "I don't care what he owns, sir; my Father owns the cattle of every hill and He... I--I don't have any need of the money."
And he said, "Well, I was just seeing your mother's home and yours here, the parsonage," and said, "you could use it."
I said, "Yes, when I need it, Father will send it to me. But I--I don't need it now."
And I refused to look at it: A million five hundred thousand dollars in one offering. I'd rather take fifty cents or a dime from so-and-so, and so-and-so, and let everybody have a part in it, then to take a big lot of money. Heartaches, troubles, and then you think, "Well..." It's just too much, the curse of the love of it. And I--I was born poor, raised poor; my people are poor; I want to die poor. The only thing I want to have when I die is favor with God; that's all I want. I brought nothing into this world, it's certain we take nothing out. That's true. So what we get from the line of God, is only thing we can take with us. So if you ever want to pray for me, it's not to have money, not to have big homes, or be popular, but just pray that I can stay in the hands of Christ, mold, clay, that He can mold me, and use me, in any way that He sees fit to do it. I'll pray the same thing for you, that you'll be the same way.

L-10 Now, perhaps, pretty soon, I'll be braving the fronts of Africa, different parts of the world again. I always ask this at my meeting. Things are going hard... You can imagine how they go sometime. You'll never know, Christian friends, no, you'll never know what it is, a life of this type. Some of you think it's all flowers; you don't have the least idea, my dear brother, or sister. I wished I could swap my position today, if it be pleasing to God, for some minister who come just preach the Gospel and walk out and make his altar call, instead of having... going through this. Well, you don't know what it is. But that was my life; that's what I have to do.

L-11 A few years ago when I left on my first trip, my little girl Rebekah was remarking one of my going out. I was gone six months before returning. I'd just go from place to place. I stayed eight days and nights and never left the platform; I said, "I'll pray for all of them or die here trying." Well you, no need of trying, there's more at the end than there was when I started. The prayer line constantly going all the time, thousands and thousands coming through the prayer line. They'd bring orange juice; I'd sleep, put my head up against the pulpit, and sleep, and start the prayer line again. Stay right there with them. They'd stay right standing in the rain and everything, waiting.

L-12 When I got home, my little girl didn't know me. I was a stranger. She said... Her mother had been showing her my picture. But when I come home I'd lost my hair; my face was wrinkled, drawed up; I'd lost about twenty-five pounds of weight. That wasn't her daddy. That like to killed me when I know my own child wouldn't know me. Well, that's the way it's been...?... with Billy. But I know Him. I want Him to say on that day, "You done the best you could, so it'll be all right," as long as that's all right.

L-13 Some woman said to me not long ago; she had followed several meetings and tried to get in at different places to be prayed for, poor thing. Finally she got in; she was prayed for. When she started to leave, she just broke down, started weeping, said, "Brother Branham, can I ask a question?"
I said, "Sure, sister."
She said, "When do you ever get any rest?" This is about four o'clock in the morning. Said, "When do you ever get any rest? Look at that group of people that are still waiting."
I said, "Sister, when I cross over on the other side, that's when I want to get rest."


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