Sister Julie Krantz

My earliest memory of Brother Sam Dale is from the eyes of a child still little enough to get away with lying down on the bench and sleeping in church. My mama was pretty strict about that kind of thing, so I must have been about three or four years old. My church home at that time was known as Holly Heights in Athens, GA. Brother Dale has referred to it often when he spoke of his early days following Brother Branham’s ministry. That was sometime around 1969 or 1970. There must have been special meetings because the church was packed, and we were forced to choose a seat near the front. That was unusual since Mama had two small children. I slept on the bench with my head in her lap, and when everyone stood to sing, she woke me up. I remember opening my eyes and looking up at two tall men standing behind our bench. They were Brother Dale and Brother Tatum. I don’t know why that memory stuck with me all these years.

I was born and raised in the Message, my parents being regular visitors to the Tabernacle in Jeffersonville during Brother Branham’s meetings. I was born two weeks before his death on Christmas Eve in 1965. I cannot think of a time in my growing up when that voice did not permeate our home. Nevertheless, as a teenager, I ventured into that dangerous territory that many teenagers cannot resist….”freedom,” the fashion and the fun that the world has to offer. I did not stay there long (by His grace!) because at the age of 18 I was diagnosed with glaucoma. I already experienced permanent vision loss. In three months,during my first semester at the University of Georgia, I went from having a job at the shoe store in the mall to not being able to read the shoe box labels if they were higher than eye level, or to reading the new computer screen cash registers, without squinting.

Fast forward to the night I first met God. It happened about six months after I was told I might go blind. I was still 18 and just had glaucoma surgery. Back then it was not an outpatient surgery. It was “open surgery” and a 

four-day hospital stay. My eyelashes were shaved, the surgery was done with a scalpel, and sutures were made under my eyelids. The whites of my eyes were blood red, and I wore a hard metal eye patch. I could not lie down at more than 45 degrees for two weeks. My recovery seemed to be very slow. I was getting really scared, not only for my vision, but I had the vanity of an 18-year-old girl–I looked hideous!

I was lying across my bed in a darkened room one evening. My stereo was on a country music station on a low volume (of course) so my parents could not hear it. (As if they did not know!) Back in the 80’s this station played gospel music every night from six o’clock to eight o’clock called,”Country Chapel.” I know, that sounds incredible in today’s world, right? My mama always tuned in, especially when we were in the car. I felt TRAPPED in the car. I could not get away from it during those hours. Although I basically ENDURED her music, there was one song that I never minded listening to when it came on–”I’ll Rise Again,” by Dallas Holm. 

I lay there in the dark with a burning, swollen, bloody eye, feeling sorry for myself. I listened to George Strait telling me that I “looked so good in love.” (I was, by the way, in love–with the guy I married within that year, and buried three years after that. But that’s a whole other testimony.) I somehow began to think of God,  of how I’d been raised, of how far I’d gone off track, of how He was probably punishing me now, and of how I needed to talk to Him because I needed a for-real miracle. Somewhere in those thoughts was, “He’s not gonna listen to me, though. I left Him. I cut my hair. Brother Branham said a woman with cut hair does not even have the right to pray.” See? I’d been listening. I now know what he meant by that, and a lost teenager certainly CAN pray no matter what they did to their hair.

The music changed. It was time for Country Chapel. I thought about getting up and changing the station, especially after what I thought were “whiny” quartet songs had played. Since my mind was on things of God, I suppose 

I must have decided to let it play, even though God felt SO far away. Somewhere in my subconscious I thought, “I wish they’d play that one I like.” Immediately….IMMEDIATELY….the first notes of the song began to play. I felt like I could not breather, could not move. I felt chills. I think I even felt scared. I rolled off my bed slowly and dropped to my knees in that dark room. I knew with all my heart and soul that He heard me. He heard everything I was thinking. Jesus was in my room. It was VERY real and it was enough!

I could not do anything except just cry and cry and cry. My bandages were soaking wet by the time I got up. I wanted to see my eye. I switched on the light and peeled off the tape that was holding the metal plate over my eye. The light did not hurt my eye. I dabbed at the tears, took a deep breath, and slowly looked up into my mirror. My eye was no longer swollen and drooping. It was wide open. The whites of my eye were white, not bloody. The vision still was not clear, but it was not milky either. It was just a bit out of focus because I was nearsighted since I was nine. I nearly passed out. God did that for me in a matter of minutes just to show me that He was there, that He heard me. I now think of an old song that says, “He washed my eyes with tears that I might see.”  I laughed and cried at the same time and ran into the living room where my parents sat. Running like that, yelling, “LOOK AT MY EYE! LOOK AT MY EYE!” nearly caused them to have heart attacks, but I finished ripping the remaining tape off my cheek. When they saw it, Mama started praising the Lord, and Daddy started laughing with me.    

Was I completely healed that night? No. Did I accept salvation that night? No. I still struggled with the world, finally surrendering to God three years later, followed by my husband, who got baptized three months before God called him home. However, my personal journey began that night when He made His Presence known to me through a song. Could that have been a coincidence? Sure. That song was at the top of the gospel charts back then, but I do not think it was a coincidence. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

When that song came on right at that moment it elevated my faith. THAT’S what brought Jesus into the room. Brother Branham said that God deals with us according to our personality. He chose to use music as an in-road with me on many occasions since then, confirming and vindicating something I was already pondering.

From there I married, became a mother, and was widowed by age 22. Our pastor at Holly Heights died a year later. My mama, wanting to keep me in church with my kids, hauled all over north Georgia, bless her heart. Finally she suggested, “Why don’t we go up to Lula to Sam Dale’s group?” I visited there as a child back in the days when there was an out house (although no longer used). I thought that Wade and Terrance were mean boys, but we went, and here I am.

Under Brother Dale’s ministry I have grown in the Lord. There were times when I did not see it, long gaps sometimes, but like a baby growing as it eats, it is not seen on a daily basis. Only when the before and after are compared is growth seen. As for my vision issues (the catalyst that drove me to my knees), I once asked Brother Dale if maybe this may be the thorn in my flesh, like Paul had. I will never forget his wise but simple answer. “That was REVEALED to Paul. Did God reveal that to you, or are you asking me what I think?” 

I answered, “No. I just thought it might be.”

Brother Dale then said, “Well unless it is revealed to you, I ‘d tell you to keep claiming what He said in His Word, that you are healed. I’ve got no other word to give you on that.”

Doesn’t that sound just like him? I am still claiming it, Brother Dale!