It had been a long time now since that mother had gone to be with Christ, called into His presence from this very home. But the mem ory of her regular daily farewell to her child had never faded, and today the daughter prayed: “Keep Thou, 0 Lord, the door of my lips, and use me for thy glory.” She tapped gently at the door. A stout, plain woman answered, a little girl edging in beside her. The s tra n g e r began, smiling, “ You’ll excuse me, won’t you, for coming? You see, my family used to live here—when I was a little girl. 1 love this place. I haven’t been in this vicinity for years and years, but I thought I’d like to call today, if you didn’t mind.” “ Now ain’t that nice you’ve come!” the woman responded warmly. “We don’t get no comp’ny here, much. What with my man sick all the time and me working in the cannery all I’m able, and little Jewel here need in’ us, we don’t have no chance for gaddin’ ourselves.” She turned. “Hey, Ben!” she called loudly. The man of the house stumbled through the doorway, looking ema ciated, bent, discouraged. He sank in a cool corner of the porch where shade from a prune tree was falling. “ I’m right glad to see you, stran ger,” he said heartily. “ I’ve been mighty close to dyin’ — two, three times lately. But” — proudly! — “ seems like I alius pull through.” “ Did that experience occur, by any chance, in this house?” “Why, yes, of course.” “ I’m not surprised. Did you know that this is an unusual house? I know from personal experience that the Lord Jesus Christ has been here. It’s a house all filled with prayer and with love to Him. There’s been prayer in every room of it, behind every door of it—mother’s prayers, and father’s prayers, and family prayers, and the prayers of a little child.” “Well, I declare!” the sick man ut tered the words in amazement. “ May I ask,” the questioner went on, “whether you have prayer in this house now? Do you belong to the One who answers prayer?” “No,” he said, “but we’d like to. I was sayin’ to the woman just the other day that on account of Jewel here (we’re bringin’ her up since her ma died) we had ought to get
A true s to ry of a “ house all fille d w ith prayer and love to H im ”
H ello !” Curiosity, rather than welcome, colored the boy’s tone. He eyed the newcomer sharply. A notebook, another Book, and a cam era—nobody who lived in this little town carried such things as these. “ You’re a stranger, ain’t you?” The boy pronounced the verdict flatly, as he lay on his stomach un der an umbrella tree near to the street. “Yes, I suppose I am—to you. But this town doesn’t seem strange to me. I used to live here. Right here.” She waved an arm in the direction of a brown lath bungalow that stretched out, tired and worn, among flower beds. “ This house?” “ This very house! Who lives here now? Do you?” “ Naw! Old Man Wentz does. And his woman and a little kid. He’s lived here awful long—as long as I can remember.” “ Say,” he went on with a four teen-year-old’s im p re ss iv en e ss , “why’d you come here? Just to see an old house?” “Well, no, not exactly. You see, Some One whom I respect very much asked me to come. I wanted to please Him. I’ve been in Alaska on a sum mer trip, and I’m hurrying back now to Los Angeles. But He told me this morning, when I talked with Him, that by a little careful planning, I
could have a whole day here in S------ . I wanted to come for His sake. And anyway, I wanted to see the people who live here.” “When you don’t even know them?” “ I didn’t know you until a moment ago. But I’m glad to know you now.” “ Seems awful funny to me—your cornin’ here,” the youngster mused, scrambling to his feet and approach ing the house. “Here—I’ll open the gate.” He started forward, but the side walk burned his bare feet and he winced. “ Oh, thank you— I’ll do it! The walk’s hot. I know.” A wave of remembrance swept over her. She knew how that side walk had felt against her own bare feet, more than twenty years before. Her hand was on the gate which bore the same tricky latch over which she had cried in childhood. There was the same long gravel path to the house, flanked now with rows o f petunias, with here and there pink roses and shasta daisies and loganberry vines at the lot bound aries. There was the same low front porch on which her mother had stood morning by morning at school time, and had said, “ Be a good girl, darling. ‘Keep the door of your lips.’ ” The solemn-sweet words had rooted deeply in her young heart.
32
THE KIN G 'S BUSINESS
Made with FlippingBook flipbook maker