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There was a smile now and a note of gratitude and thanksgiving which made glad the heart of God. We have al ways been a little hesitant about deal ing with men while under the influence of drink but the immediate transforma tion in that man banished every vestige of doubt and we could but say, “ What hath God wrought!” “ Oh! the love that sought me; Oh! the love that bought me; Oh! the grace that brought me to the fold. Wondrous grace that brought me to the fold !” Another Knee Bent to God Another striking example was that of a clean, well built young man who stood for,over an hour and a half, lis tening to the old old story. As we, ex hausted from the strain, went in doors, we saw the same young man returning disconsolately, and went to him. “ I’m not a Christian,” he said. “ I know nothing of Christianity. I’m the son of a very wealthy man but there doesn’t seem anything in life worth living for; nothing interests, amuses or satisfies.” It was a real joy to tell the story, but his stoicism, lethargy and indifference were appalling. It seemed he was only looking for a new thrill and didn’t want Christ, but we just kept that wonder ful Savior constantly before him and at last turned to Revelation 3:14. As he read that passage, his head fell for ward and the great choking sobs broke out. We just let him have it out and after a while brought him back to our little room and asked him to kneel with us. “ Why, I’ve never kneeled to God all my life.” Just think of it! He was in the thirties. But, as we prayed for him, he broke down again and again and the marvel of it was he bore no evidence of being of an excitable or emotional nature. But God was surely dealing with him and when the battle was fought victory ultimately came, and all through the Eternal Word. God hath said it. Hebrews. 1:1, 2. Christ has done it. 1 Cor. 15:3, 4.
gering up to us as we gave the message. One whiff of his breath was sickening, but he stood, and some power stronger than his own constrained him to stay till a dart pierced his soul. He made a dive into the hall, feebly muttering, “ I’ll sit down and rest till you are through. I must talk with you.” It was a sad story. Twelve years to the day he had lost his mother. He loved her dearly, and hearing she was dan gerously ill, took the long trip back east, praying that she would be spared till he got there and would recognize him. He promised to be a Christian and serve Christ if He would only grant him this, and as he waited in that death room a faint “ Joe” reached his ear. Reaching her side he knelt and taking her hand, he whispered “ Mother, Joe’s here, do you know me?” Her eyes were glazed. She said, “ Oh doc tor, how good you are to me.” “ Oh no, Mother” he sobbed, “ this is not thei doctor. It’s your own baby boy, Joe. Speak to me, mother dear.” “ Yes, I know you, doctor, I’m glad you’re here’ and falling back, she was gone. Stun ned and crazed with grief and disap pointment, he raised his fist and cursed God. Twelve long years passed. He had never darkened a church door, read a word of the Bible or offered a prayer, and Lincoln’s birthday being the anni versary of her death, he got drunk; but God brought him past Biola Hall in time to hear the message of a love that is eternal. We asked him how long God had spared his mother’s life to him. He told us, twenty-eight years. We asked: “ How often did you thank Him for all her love, devotion and sac rifice and care?” “Never once,” he ad mitted. “ And yet you tried to have your prayers heard and answered by the God you had ignored, and the Christ you had rejected; seeking to present a check before the Bank of Heaven for payment, unsigned by the name of Christ, or. sealed through His precious blood.” He had never thought of that and as we unfolded the sweet, old love story, the big tears began to roll down. “ Do you think He will ever forgive me?” “Well, let us take it to Him.” And then on our knees we both poured out our hearts in a cry to Him. His was one of confession and repentance, and we are sure it reached the Throne of Grace for when he rose from his knees every evidence of the drink had disappeared from his face and voice.
I believe it. John 3:18. I am saved. Eph. 2:8. £\U. m m
HARBOR WORK C laude H . P earson , Superintendent Our workers board all the large vessels reaching the port of San Pedro, distribute. Gospels and other religious literature and hold services, which are attended by the mepibers of the c r e y and passengers.
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