Chapter 3 – Hardships and Poverty in the Branham Home

It has often seemed in the Providence of God, that His chosen vessels have been ordained to live their early lives in circumstances of hardship, and in some instances extreme poverty. Sometimes they have been permitted to taste deeply the cup of sorrow. No one knows how to feel for another in distress or affliction unless he has gone through similar trials himself. Rarely have those who have received an unusual calling from God been reared in homes of the rich, or have come from aristocratic families. The Saviour Himself was cradled in a manger. On the eighth day at the time He was circumcised, the family could afford for the sacrifice merely turtle pigeons, which were to be offered only if the parents were too poor to afford a lamb. (Lev. 12:8) Critics during Christ’s ministry questioned the authority of His forerunner, John the Baptist, because he appeared in such rude garments, and his preaching was rugged, lacking the polish and the style of the ecclesiastical schools of learning of his day. But Jesus said of John, that none born of women was greater than he. And He asked the critics rather pointedly, “But what went ye out for to see? a man clothed in soft raiment? Behold they that wear soft clothing are in king’s houses.” In other words the Lord was showing them that they should not look for prophets of John’s stature to emerge from an environment where they had been pampered and sheltered from the stresses of life. Humility and sturdiness of character are developed best amid the rugged life that comes from hardship and sometimes suffering and poverty. But we must now let Brother Branham tell something of his home, his childhood days, and his father’s struggle against poverty.

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I was sort of a daddy’s boy–When I saw those great muscles as he rolled up his sleeve, I said, “Oh my! Dad will live to be a hundred years old.” My father had great muscles from rolling logs in the woods. It didn’t seem to me he could ever die. But he was only fifty-two years old, still an un-grayed, curly-haired man, when his precious head lay across my shoulder and God took him home.

I’ve seen dad come from the log woods so sun-burnt that mother would take scissors and cut his shirt loose from his back. He worked hard for seventy-five cents a day to make us a living. I loved my father, even though he drank. Sometimes he gave me a whipping, but I never got one but that I needed another. He used to keep the Ten Commandments on the wall with a large hickory switch over them. I got my education out in the woodshed when I did wrong. But I loved my dad. Years later he gave his heart to Christ and got saved, just a few hours before he died in my arms.

Poverty In The Home
I remember how dad had to work to pay the bills. It’s no disgrace to be poor. But it is hard sometimes. I remember that I didn’t have proper clothes for school. I went one whole year without even a shirt to wear. There was a rich woman nearby that gave me a coat with a sailor emblem on the arm. I would button the collar up and it would get so hot. The teacher would say, “William.” I would say, “Yes, Ma’am.” “Well, why don’t you take that coat off.” But I couldn’t; I didn’t have any shirt on. So I would fib and say, “I’m chilly.” She would say, “All right, sit over over by the fire.” And I would sit there while the perspiration would run down on me. Then she would say, “Aren’t you warm yet?” I would have to say, “No, Ma’am.”

Well, it was pretty hard going. My toes would stick through my shoes like turtle heads. Then a little later I got a shirt.
I’ll tell you what kind of a shirt it was. It was a girl’s dress which belonged originally to my cousin, and had a lot of curlicue stuff on it. I cut the skirt part off, and after I put it on, you should have seen me strut going to school. Then the children got to laughing at me, and I said, “What are you laughing at me for?” They said, “You’ve got on a girl’s dress.” I had to fib again. I said, “No I haven’t; that’s my Indian suit.” But they didn’t believe me and I went off crying.

There was a boy that lived near us, who was selling those little PATHFINDER magazines. In so doing, he was given a prize of a Boy Scout suit. My, how I liked that suit. It was wartime then and everybody that was big enough in those days was in uniform. I always wanted to be a soldier. I was too little then. Even in this last war I wasn’t large enough to go. I have four brothers that went. But God has given me a uniform anyway–the armor of God–so I could go out and fight against sickness and disease that is binding people.

But how I admired that Scout suit, with its hat and leggings. I said, “Lloyd, when you wear that suit out will you give it to me?” He said, “Yeah, I’ll give it to you, Billy.” But my, that suit lasted longer than anything that I ever saw. It seemed to me he never would wear that thing out. Then I missed it for a while and so I went to him and I said, “Lloyd, what did you do with that Boy Scout suit?” He said, “Billy, I’ll look around home and see if I can find it.” But when he looked for it he found that his mother had cut it up to make patches for his dad’s clothes. He came to me and said, “I can’t find any of it but one legging.” I said, “Bring me that.” So I took it home and put it on. It had a draw string on it, and I pulled it up, and I thought that I was a real soldier. I wanted to wear it to school and I didn’t know just how to do it. So I pretended that one of my legs was hurt and I put that legging on as if I were protecting my injured leg. But at school the teacher sent me to the blackboard. I tried to hide my leg that did not have a legging, and all the children got to laughing at me. I started crying and the teacher made me go home.

I remember when we went out in the old buckboard wagon about twice a month to pay the grocery bill. The grocer would give us some sticks of candy. All of us little boys sitting on blankets out there, would watch that candy when dad brought it out, and every little blue eye would look close to see that each of those sticks were broken exactly even, that each one would get the right amount. I could go out this afternoon and get a whole box of milk chocolates, but it would never taste like that candy did. That was real candy. Sometimes I would suck on a piece of it, then wrap it up in paper and put it in my pocket. I’d wait until about Monday and then suck on it again a while. My brothers would have eaten their candy up by then, and they would want to suck on my candy too. Sometimes I would make a bargain with them and let them lick it a couple of times, if they would promise to help me with the chores.