May, 1942
THE K I N G ’ S BUS I NE S S
169
lessly held before him the memory of B that last hour that he and Bud had had together. • • • They had left the chemistry class together that Tuesday afternoon. The exam had been a stiff one, and it had seemed good to sprawl on the grassy terrace for a bit before they went to their homes. “Whew! that was an exam and a half,” Don had exclaimed, “but I’m sure glad it’s over.” He was mildly surprised when Bud did not answer, and he turned his head a little to look at him. Bud might have been asleep, stretched there so still, one arm flung across ■ his eyes to shade them from the sun. And Don remembered, a little uncom fortably, that Bud had failed in the examination that afternoon. Funny Bud didn’t get on better in chemistry. He had the brains, certainly, and he liked to make things. He ought to make a good mechanic some day— he loved machinery. Across the street, football practice was in full swing, the dull thump of the pigskin interspersed with cheers from the loyal few who had turned out to watch the afternoon practice. But it was quiet where they. were. “Now is the time to speak to Bud," the small inner voice, which had been 1 more active of late, urged Don. He stirred uneasily. There it was again. For weeks he had' had this burden for Bud. And it was growing heavier every day. As a child of six years, Don had accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as his Saviour. Simply and eagerly he had taken his stand, realizing that he wanted to belong to Christ, to be His sheep and not one of the goats, outside the fold of God. Only recently, however, had he begun to awaken to his inheritance in Christ. With this fuller knowledge of what salvation meant, the natural desire that Bud should belong to his Lord had strengthened into a feeling of I . urgency that Bud, his pal, must know ’ the way to eternal life. “Bud knows I’m a Christian,” Don argued slowly with himself. But he had to admit that he h a d n e v e r spoken to Bud about salvation. He had invited him to church and to Christian Endeavor, but he had never done the real thing, had never wit nessed verbally to Bud and asked him to accept Christ. Last Sunday night, the pastor, had stressed that v e r y thing, and Don had felt that he was preaching straight at him. But how did a fellow begin, anyway? Bud stirred and sat up. “Guess I’ll jog along home,” he muttered. But he made no move to pick up his books. His long, slender hands rested idly across his knees, his whole attitude one of dejection. And then he said
the words that would be engraved forever on Don’s memory. “Say, Don, do you ever wonder where we’ll be this time tomorrow— this time next week? Boy, I have.” Don almost gasped In his amaze ment; Could Bud have known what he had been feeling? Here was the moment he had been waiting for. He wanted with all his heart to speak. But something held him back. Was he ashamed? Was he afraid he would hurt Bud’s feelings by telling him he was a sinner? Would it break their friendship? Don hesitated as he al lowed these questions to defeat him because he was not willing to face them—and the moment was lost. When he turned back, Bud was get ting to his feet. “Well, So long,” he said. He smiled at Don, a strange dark look in his eyes, and walked away. “No, Bud! Wait a minute,” Don had called when he could find his Voice. But Bud had not heard. * * * With an effort Don came back to the present and realized with a new maturity of mind that the business of the day must be gone through with. Regrets were in vain. God had warned him, but he had failed. And Bud was gone now. Sighing heavily,- he made his way along the hall to his classroom.
the memory of that lost opportunity would never be forgotten. He had re ceived challenges before, many times, but this was different. As he knelt before his Lord, he definitely “pur-, posed in his heaft” to allow the Lord Jesus Christ to use him unreservedly in personal work a m o n g his own classmates in high school. * * * The first few weeks after Don’s de cision to work for the Lord on the school campus were not easy ones. But gradually he found other Chris tian fellows, and they organized a daily noon prayer, group, praying about their own spiritual needs, and asking also for the salvation of their fellow students. Conscious of his oWn handicap in npt knowing how to witness to Bud, Don began to study the Word, mem orizing verses that would be effective in personal work. His heart lifted int praise to God- when a few of the oth ers of the prayer'group began to fol low the same plan fof themselves. It would have been easy to count this enough of a witness and prepara tion for a busy student to make. But if Don were tempted- to take this course of a passive witness, the mem ory o f Bud’s death and of his own sealed lips held him to his purpose, a purpose to witness to the Lord’s
“Oh, God,” he cried that night on his knees in his own room, “Bud is in hell tonight, and it is my fault. I failed You and I f a i l e d him. I missed the opportunity You gave me — missed them all—and now it is too late. Oh, God, for give—forgive . . . he pleaded. God had promised for giveness f o r confessed sin, and He gave it that night. But it was also given Don to see what it meant for one soul to die without Christ. As he knelt t h e r e , i t
saving power not only by' his own actions, but by his personal testimony. Always before him ,was the prayer that God would give him more oppor tunities. And the Lord granted his request. He learned that “the prepara tions of the heart in man, and the answer of the tongue, is from the Lord.” . He did not pass up his oppor tunities now. * * • It was nearly two years later and Don was wondering how he c o i f Id safeguard his time so that the work of the Lord that he loved might: not be crowded out.. He tried to spend each afternoon after school hours in mingling with the fellows bn the prac-
seemed as though the curtains of time Were drawn aside and he could see Bud standing before God in judg ment. Then Don fancied he heard the Father’s voice asking, ‘¿Bud, why did you not accept My Son when you were on earth?” And his heart stood still as, in im agination, he coiild hear Bud’s dis mayed question, “Don, why didn’t you' tell me?” - The words seemed to beat through the room and through Don’s heart— over and over they came, “Don, why didn’t you tell me?”—even after the peace of the Lord’s forgiveness came to him. And he knew that should he live to be seventy—or even eighty,
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