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T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
July, 1937
“How wonderful!” sighed Pockie. “It’s too much for God to do. And me dying, and not able to do anything for Him!” “That’s how much God loves you. All He asks is that you believe that He has paid for your freedom! He came ‘to seek and to save that which was lost.’ ‘While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ ‘If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.’ This is God’s own Word.” “I believe!” Pockie lifted the man’s hand and kissed it. “Imagine a fellow like Pockie kissing a man’s hand!” sighed Ralph to hide his em barrassed thankfulness. The. doctor said, “I think we’ll let him rest now, Miss White.” He cleared his throat and reached for the boy’s pulse. “I ’m all right now, Doc,” declared the boy. “I wish you’d wire Dad that I’m saved. No use keepin’ him in suspense till I can tell him . . . What a Saviour! What a Saviour! Why didn’t you tell me about this, Doc? . . . 1 think I’m getting well already . . . Oh, Ralph! Thanks, ole top, for all you’ve done . . . Will somebody pray out loud while we’re all here? Then I think I can sleep.” He sighed, “And don’t forget to thank God for Mammy’s nerve!” Biola’g World-Wide Prayer Circle Regular members of Biota’s World- Wide Prayer Circle and other friends of the Bible Institute of Los Angeles responded to the invitation to meet on June 11 for a day of prayer for the school. One of the burdens on the hearts of those assembled was the prayer that many thousands of Christians might be led to join the Biola Prayer Circle and to pray regularly for the school. The plan followed by those enrolled in the prayer fellowship is that of pledging to spend a specified hour each week in inter cession for the school’s ministry and for its spiritual and material needs. As friends around the world unite in this supremely necessary service, the plan is that continuous prayer shall arise to the Lord on behalf of the school. Persons desiring to enroll in Biola’s World-Wide Prayer Circle are invited to choose an hour and write to the secretary, Miss Christina J. Braskamp, 558 S. Hope St., Los Angeles, Calif. Evangelistic Ministry In dealing with men in evangelistic meet ings in shops and factories, one must present a straightforward, appealing gospel mes sage. “During the summer of 1936,” wrote Carleton E. Null, “J. W. Johnston worked in noon-hour shop meetings under the aus pices of the Bible Institute of Los Angeles in the vicinity of Los Angeles. He was earnest and dependable, and the Lord blessed his testimony. To those of ‘like precious faith’ who are seeking cooperation in the type of ministry which Mr. Johnston is qualified to give, I would commend him for prayer and fellowship in the gospel.” Mr. Johnston may be addressed at 5517 Monterey Road, Los Angeles, Calif.
pray for him, please call that studio at once? Ralph sat beside the telephone, waiting in tense suspense. Near him a blond fellow typed out radio continuity. Suddenly he stopped and addressed Ralph, “Whatcha so nervous about?” “I ’m waitin’ for a report on the radio SO S for my pal.” “What’s the matter with him?” “He’s dying, and we gotta find a negro mammy that handed him a tract the other day on the street car.” The, blond laughed unsympathetically. “And negro mammies do not have radios!” Ralph chilled. Then he said, “She may not have a radio, but she sure has connec tion with God! By the way; what would you say if your pal asked you the way to heaven ?” “Ugh! you got me!” He resumed his typing. The telephone rang. A quiet voice said, “Friend of Pockie?” “Yes . . . y-es-!” frantically. “I ’m the man who sat across from you boys on the street car. I’ve just tuned in and heard your request. May I come out to see Pockie?” “Yes, yes! Will you come to room 114, Hillside Hospital?” Soon a grey-haired gentleman sat beside the pock-marked patient. “Mister Pockie,” he began, using the title of address which Mammy had used. “God finished payment for your sin at Calvary. God counts that when Jesus Christ died, He paid your debt, with His blopd. Will you count it? Are you truly sorry for your sin? If you will accept the gift of so great a ransom price, God will wipe out all your account. Believe this, and there is nothing to keep you from God’s heart!”
“A friend of the patient wishes to see you, Doctor,” she announced. | “A girl?” “No, a young man. Says he had a wire from the dad.” “Send him in.” “Is he bad off, Doc?” inquired the new comer. “Yes. Hip broken. Internal injuries. Head gashed.” “Mammy!” called the young man on the bed. The nurse began to speak as she fancied a negro mammy would, but the result was a disturbing baby talk which only served to make the boy more restless. “You’re not saying the right thing!” ad vised the friend, who gave his name merely as “Ralph.” “I know it!” grieved the nurse in a whisper. “I mean what you say is not what she’d say,” said Ralph. “Let me try? I’ve been studying dramatics. This is my cue.” He leaned down to the prostrate one and said, “Don’ yo’ fret, Mister Pockie! I’se prayin’ fo’ yo’.” Instantly the restless head was quiet. Doctor and nurse were amazed. “Then there is a Mammy in his life?” asked Dr. Branch. “Well, not exactly. One day we met one on the street car. But I think that’s the one he wants.” “How can we get her ? Who is she ?” “Search me!” “Pray out loud!” begged Pockie. “Yo’ jes res’ yo’ se’f now, honey!” said friend Ralph. “I can’t rest!” moaned the boy. “My train’s wrecked. Get me onto God’s train!” he begged. Aghast, Ralph turned to the doctor. “Is he dying?” Pockie heard: “Yes. Dying and hell-bound like you said, Mammy. Pray, Mammy!” Ralph cleared his throat. He moistened his lips . . . “Pockie, ole scout . . . ” “Ralph!” “Yes, and Mammy is not here. But I have to tell you . . . ” Pockie cursed . . . “Tryin’ to calm me when I’m dying! Get Mammy! I’m not out of my head! I’m dying!” “I’ll go get a preacher . . . ” “You will not! Don’t bring any soft- soapin’ ritualist around here to lecture me! I want Mammy!” He groaned and lost consciousness again in the agony of soul and body. The doctor felt Pockie’s pulse. He spoke to Ralph. “If you hadn’t confessed who you were, we’d have pulled him out of this.” Sharply, he added, “Young man, you go think up some way to be a bigger success than you’ve been here this morning!” Utterly dejected, Ralph left Hillside Hos pital. He went from place to place, dazed with anxiety and the feeling of responsi bility. Finally he talked with the manager of a radio broadcasting station. A call for Mammy went over the air. Would any one who had seen a negro mammy talk to a pock-faced young man, and had seen her hand him a tract and tell him she would L
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