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the girl urged “Brother” .Flacks to gp with her in .search of satin and veil ing and valley lil'es. Perhaps, she knew, with her fine sensitiveness to human needs, that the mere invitâtion would kindle delight in the heart of a Jew who must ,ften h?ve been lonely. They went to one of the best stores., in Dallas, operated by Jews, and saw yards of^gleaming satin unfolded. In his ' gentle, t unassuming way,. Joseph Flack- suggested to the sales-- person, “ You know, I’m going to marry this girl.” ' His Jewish features were unmistak able, and his comment aroused curi osity. . • In the most riattcr-of-fact way, he went on to say, “Yes, but she is not* going to marry me. I will tell you of the absent bridegroom.” . It was easy and natural to make the transition to the subject of Christ, thé waiting Bridegroom in heaven, and to urge upon the hearer an acceptance of Him. All day long, he missed no opportunity to witness, with delicate tact, for the Lord he loved. The train that was to take them back to Paris was aue to leave at about nine o’clock. ■“There is time to go to the mission!’’ Joe Flacks suggested eagerly. To the girl, wearied from a hard day of shop ping, the idea seemed preposterous. Put again her understanding heart moved her to assent. Seated in the back ->.? the mission hall where some two hundred people had congregated, she saw her friend invited to be the speaker of the eve ning. In embarrassed surprise, she listened; his message was about “The Wedding Garment.” The Jews love allegory and are par ticularly apt in the use 01 it. Joe Flacks was that night. He began with snatches of conversation that had been heard that afternoon. And then, faithful to his Lord, he went on to exalt Christ, the heavenly Bridegroom, and to speak of His love for His bride, the church. With tenderness he drew attention to the One* who had so “loved the cl urch” that He gave His life for it on Calvâry’s cross. He pic tured Him in the “far country,” even heaven itself, waiting and praying for His blood - bought bride, u n t i l He should return for hei and take her to Himself. In the interim before Christ’s return, he said that all the bills are paid; for just as the girl’s father had given her several blank checks, to be filled in according to the amount of her needs, so all the promises of God are at the believer’s disposal. With humility he spoke of the Holy Spirit, the One whe aids the bride-to-be in her task of choosing garments “ clean and white,” in readiness for Christ’s appearing and the “marriage supper of the Lamb.”
A, roomful of people listened in close attention. To one person, the message meant more than to others. In th i deepest sense—she understood. She understood also on that day in 1919 when The Letter came. We had moved to Oak Park, Illinois, where I was pasfor of the Fourth Congrega tional Church, and we were experi encing hard days. With the influenza epidemic raging, I was called upon, night and day, to minister to the suffering an4 the dying and to com fort the bereaved.
on musingly, “ and that English bride of his must find things looking right!” Perhaps she thought of her own coming to Australia, as a bride from England in that long-ago time. She wanted her son, and her son’s wife, to partake, or the same home-centered enjoyment. But when “tomorrow” came, Mother was unable to rise from her bed, and one of my sisters was ill, too. The doctor called, and Mother whis pered, “Pleaje see my daughter first. She is much worse than I am,” Rapidly she grew weaker. Though her mind was clear and she under stood all that was said to her, she became unable to speak. It had not been difficult, however, to know some of the things she was thinking. For example, when her children came to her bedside—and all the family was. neat her except Jim and Father who were in - h e a v e n , Hubert who was en route from France, and I in the United States—Mother seemed to check them off one by one, as though she were saying, “Yes, you are safe in Chrirt. In that little locked room upstairs I prayed fo. you every day. ‘With ray own hands’ I helped to lead you to the Saviour.” On the question of personal salva tion, she could account for all of us— except one. There was my brother Will, the only one of the family to whom the taste for liquor had been a sharp temptation. It was to him that my Mother gave her last pleading message, not spoken in words, but in the ■appeal of her eyes., She would look only at Will, following him with her glance as he moved about the room. But those eyes closed, at last, and Will had not yielded to Christ I came back from my walk and my musing and I sa'id to my wife, “Mother prayed for all of us But she. had to go to hea/en without knowing that her prayer was fully answered. I won der why.” My wife was not as troubled about the m a t t e r as I was; she.had a mother’s faith,* and that kind is strong, When years passed—five, perhaps— and word came of Will’s illness, and of his outstanding triumphant con version and testimony that occurred only a few days before his death, my understanding helpmeet reminded me gently, “Your mother always believed Acts 16:31, didn’t she?” I recited the text aloud: "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house." Mother, Father, five boys and three girls: all our “house” was “saved.” Yes, Mother haS believed, and God had met her fajth in glorious fulfill ment. He always will.
Utterly wearied, my wife and I were resting in our little bungalow home that hot afternoon. Our year - old daughter played or the floor. When the mailman came, handing me a sheaf of letters, I saw that one was large and weighty, as though it con tained enclosures. It was from Aus tralia, and I tore at the envelope. Inside, there were messages from several of my sisters and brothers. ~ read the words unbelievingly, and Silence Settled over me like a heavy cloak, without a word, I passed the letters to rr.y wife. When she read them, she did not reprove mt f o r my' silence nor seek to alter it. Alter all, she, too, was a mother, and with that indescribable perception that God has given to such women, she sensed what it had mean for a mother to die,’ in far-off Australia, and for her son, in America, to be suddenly jolted into the realization of his great loss. Later in the day, ,1 left the house, and for hours I walked, seeking to reconstruct :he scenes that The Letter had sketched. My mother had died of influenza, following only a week’ illness. With one of my sisters, sbe had been mak ing her home with another daughter, after the passing of my father. One day, while she was still well, but resting on a couch and chatting with one of the girls, she observed, “Tomorrow I will wash those curtains. I want to wash them with my own hands." The curtains were Nottingham lace, and she prized them. “Hubert will be hon.e from the war in about twe more ^eeks,” she went
[The End.], See Page 263
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