thoughtfully: “We’ve all been taught about prayer since we were little kids, but sometimes we forget we can go to God under all circumstances.” “Yes,” said big sister Linda. “I remember that wonderful verse in Luke: ‘Men ought always to pray and not to faint.’ ” “I didn’t faint!” said Jonathan. “You sure didn’t, Pal,” said brother Bruce, “We’re all proud of you,” and he reached over to ruffle his little brother’s hair. “Well, what I want to know,” said practical sister Jill, “is he going to get a reward?” Their f a t h e r l aughed . “Of course not! You don’t get rewards for just doing your duty. All the same I’m mi gh t y thankful it turned out this way.” Just then the telephone rang and everyone jumped to answer. “Sit still, all of you,” said their father, “I ’ll take it this time.” They were all as quiet as mice, listening to his responses on the phone. “Oh, you got all of them— the whole gang—good! You think it can be broken up and those boys helped some way — tha t’s fine! I wouldn’t want this as a daily occurrence around here. You think it’s safe for him to walk to school as usual? They threatened him on the way home tonight. My wife had gone to pick him up and just missed him at school but she caught up with them. I ’m glad it’s over!” The children were all wide-eyed as their father returned to the table. “They got ’em!” they shout ed in chorus. “Now how do you feel, Jona than Edgar Hoover, J r? ” asked Mark. That night as Jonathan’s moth er and the beloved “Grammy” of the household stood beside the bed of the sleeping Jonathan, his mother said, “I t’s really been Jonathan’s big day, hasn’t it? I hope I won’t have to go through another like tha t very soon.” “Oh, I don’t know,” said Gram my, “there’s a lways p r a y e r . Prayer changed things today and it can change things again!” f l
in heavy, gruff voices. “Listen, kid, you didn’t see nothin’,” one boy said, while the other pulled out a switchblade knife and held it close to Jonathan’s throat. “We don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but you’d better not go to the cops or your folks . . . understand?” he said. Jonathan’s knees were shaking again. He knew all about that dreadful weapon b e c a u s e his brothers had told him. A shudder went through him as they half- dragged him along the street, not very fa r from his house. But right in the midst of the terror a won derful peace came to his young heart. Prayer, of course! Hadn’t it worked this morning when the police came? One of the fellows pinched his arm. “What are you mumbling, kid?Can’t you speak?” The other boy laughed. “He’s scared to death. He knows what we’ll do if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut. Don’t you?” Jona than nodded his head. Then there came to his ears the most beauti ful sound he had ever heard, his mother’s voice crying, “Jonathan! Jonathan!” as she drove up along side in their gray station wagon. The fellows dropped his arms and ran. Jonathan ran to the car, “Chase them, Mom! Chase them!” he cried excitedly. “No, Jona than,” said his mother, “The po lice are on every corner. They’ll get them. They know what they look like. I just want to get you home. Are you all right? Did they hurt you?” “No, Mom, but I was scared to death,” said the little fellow as his mother held him close. And be cause there were tears in her eyes, he cried a little too, even though he was such a big boy. Mom would never tell the other kids he cried. “I was scared . . . but I prayed . . . and you came, Mom!” he said. At the dinner table that night Jonathan was a hero. He told the whole story over again, not leav ing out the two prayers he had prayed and the answers the Lord had sent. Mark, his older brother, said
said to the officers, “they were fooling around here the other day and I ordered them off the lot.” “We’ll get them,” said one of the officers, “Where do you live, Son?” asked the other. Soon they were ringing Jonathan’s doorbell. His mother’s face turned white when she saw her youngest with the police but the men reassured her at once, “No trouble, Ma’am, and no accident. Your boy here just witnessed a robbery.” Jona than’s eyes sparkled as the men explained. But Jonathan’s mother was anxious. “Is there anything more you want of my son? He’s already late for school.” “Well, yes, Ma’am, could you and he come to the station while he makes a statement and looks at some of the mug shots — sorry — pictures of some known gang members? Then we’ll take him to school and explain to the teacher and bring you back home.” Soon they were a t the police station and Jonathan was telling the story to a man who wrote it down. Two of the pictures the police showed him looked like the two fellows who drove off in Mr. Nelson’s car. “Thanks a lot to both of you, and now we’ll drop you off at school, Jonathan,” said one of the officers. They went into the school with Jonathan’s moth er to explain his tardiness to the principal and Jonathan headed for the playground where the boys and girls were having recess. What a great moment that was for Jonathan when they crowded around him to ask him why he came to school in a police ca r! The rest of the day it was hard to keep his mind on his lessons. As soon as school was out, Jonathan grabbed his cap, jacket and lunch pail and started for home as fast as he could, taking all the short cuts he knew. He didn’t even stop at Billy’s house to find out how his pal was. Hurrying a long, he didn’t see the two black-jacketed fellows who grabbed him by the arms, one on either side. He rec ognized them as the ones who helped the other two steal the car. Holding him tight, they talked
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FEBRUARY, 1970
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