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May, 1944
stored safely under my bed. We had had only two or three flavorful snacks from this supply when our matron, “Mother” Russell, passed through the dormitory on a tour of Inspection, in company with several visitors. When they entered our odorous room, no one else was there. I have no idea what explanation she may have made to the guests; I do know the fervency of our appeals to her later. The herring dis appeared. It was to my understanding room mates that I intimated some anxieties I felt. Would I ever be at home in this school? The size of the institution awed me. Though it had only a few buildings as compared with the twenty* four of today, I felt unoriented. What concerned me most was the classroom assignment^. In Australia, I had not applied myself too diligently to study. Would I be able, now, to master the Institute courses? With all my heart, I longed to grasp what the Institute was offering me. Having chosen the Bible Course, of which William Evans was the depart ment head, I had the privilege of sit ting under his masterful teaching, and that of such others as James M. Gray, Howard W. Pope, and D. B. Towner. Gripped by the Word that was so faithfully set forth, I spent every available moment studying outlines, Scripture passages, and related re quirements. But I was not doing too well. One day, with a strangely mingled sense of self-assurance and uncer tainty, I cornered my Australian col league, Charles Hummel, and put some questions to him cautiously. "Charlie," I said, “how did you get on here? Do you think I’ll be able to make it?” “Of course,” he beamed, pulling from his desk an examination paper that had been returned to him with a good grade on it. “This gives you some idea of what is expected.” I glanced at one question: “Who was Antiochus Epiphanes?” I never had heard of him. The other queries on the page left me equally blank. Being unaware. of these troubled thoughts of mine, my good friend went on confidently: “Not one of the boys here from Down Under has failed yet, and you won’t, either.” I felt better. Hummel’s reassuring words were well timed. They cushioned the blow that came next. I had drawn from my post box an official-looking notice, summoning me to the business office—and went with- out trepidation. “Mr. Talbot” — the cashier spoke with kindly solemnity—“what provi sion have you made for the payment of this term’s board and room? Your account is overdrawn, you know.” I was sure there was some error. Words of explanation tumbled from
My Christian Soldier Son By Charlotte E. Arnold
The weeks have passed since
His overseas address, his will. His clothes came home today. I hold them to my bosom still. There was no chance to say. "Good-by," or clasp his hands. And yet, thank God, he knows That there Is One who under, stands And is with him where he goes. A letter came from him today, The first from overseas. It came across my anxious Like a fresh and cooling Between the censored lines A mother's glad delight Because he told me he had And talked with God that breeze. felt way
I have heard
From him across the sea. The months have passed and Has ever come to me. O God, forbid that I forget Wherever he may be He has Thy presence with him yet. For he belongs to Thee. not a word A telegram has come today— Somehow I knew it would. For He had whispered yester- As only Jesus could. He told me that my soldier Had clasped His mighty hand And they, in quiet peace and boy day
--
»
knelt night.
joy.
Had entered Glory Land.
I walked for several blocks, not car ing. My first concern was for Jim, for I knew the high regard in which he was held by every one at the Institute, and I thought: “I have disgraced him —and he doesn’t deserve that. Every one will say that his good-for-nothing brother Louis can never preach, for no one will understand him; and he can’t pay his bills.” My anxiety, too, was for my unsaved father, in Australia, and for what my failure would mean in this relation ship. Coming to America, I had de termined to make good here, and to show Father that I could. I pictured the grief that my laxity would cause Mother. She believed in me; she had prayed for me; she had sacrificed to send me here. All this time, God in His mercy was endeavoring to make plain to me the immeasurable difference between self- confidence and confidence in Christ. I had been cocksure enough: about my clothes, about my funds, about my ability to succeed. Patient, loving Lord that He is, He spoke correction to my despondent heart. The message came on the wings of an old song’s melody, for Salvation Army lassies, shivering in the rain, were singing on a street comer: “Thou art enough for me, Thou art enough for me; Thou living, loving, mighty God, Thou art enough for me.” Back to my room I went, quieted in spirit. I had heard God’s voice. (To be continued)
me so rapidly that they were unintel ligible. Though the Moody Bible Insti tute then, as now, required no tuition, and furnished board and room to stu dents at the lowest possible rates, the approximate one hundred fifty dollars that I had brought from Australia would not last forever, though I had vaguely supposed it would. There was no mistake: My funds were exhausted, and I would have to seek employment at once. But where? People complained that they could not understand my speech, so who would hire me? There have been other moments of despair in my life, but this was one o f the blackest. It was dark when I left the Institute building, and a cold rain was falling.
In the rain, an eld song rang out.
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