L. B. Bridgers, son of a praying Christian mother, believed he had been called of God to preach Christ as Savior to "whosoever will believe." He had just completed a series of so-called revival meetings in a mid-western city. A few days rest was scheduled for him before beginning another evangelistic campaign in a nearby town.
Physically weary, L. B. had scant choice of a location in which to seek quiet and rest before his next appointment. He could either go to his mother's home, which was on the way to the town in which he must next preach, or he could take the long train journey to his own little family home. There he knew were his wife and two children with whom he could spend a few brief hours between the rail trips there and back. That would give him little physical rest; but only the loving heart of the Savior could know the rejuvenating spiritual power he would derive from seeing these dearly loved ones again.
This threefold natural tie won; and, without attempting to apprise the little family of his coming, L. B. secured a seat on the first available train HOME. Over the long journey his weary spirit revived as he anticipated the reunion awaiting him at the end of the way. How happily did he, who loved so tenderly the waiting trio, envision the hours just ahead of him! How fair to his memory was that little cottage at home! He would arrive at the village station just before dawn, and from there he would have to walk the rest of the way. But what of that? To his mind came the last line of a well-known hymn:
"The toils of the road will seem nothing,
When we get to the end of the way."
The village was still dark and quiet when he arrived there, but he knew well the dirt road that led to his cottage. Oh to see that little house again! And what joy awaited him there!
At last L. B. turned the last curve between him and home. Now surely he would see its whiteness against the back-drop of dark hillside. But, unable to believe his eyes, he stared at the sight before him. Instead of white walls and gleaming windows, a dull, reddish glow outlined the blackened foundations of what had been his home. An early morning breeze brought the pungent smoke of burnt wood as a few shadowy forms stood silently by. Were his wife and children among them?
This thought galvanized L. B. to action. Racing the remaining few yards, he demanded: "My wife? Our children?"
Pityingly the neighbors shook their heads. One old man on whose face age and sorrow had left their marks, gently put a loving arm around his shoulders as he said brokenly: "Parson, I guess all of us here have had you tell us at one time or another: 'Absent from the body, present with the Lord.' We know even that is bitter medicine to you now. But can't you say, `The Lord gave; the Lord has taken away'? The rest will come later."
As the fact was borne in on L. B.'s consciousness that his wife and children had perished in the fire, the enormity of his loss overwhelmed him. Only the necessity of his making proper decisions and arrangements for a final service for his loved ones kept the bereaved man in a semblance of composure. That sad duty accomplished, poor L. B. was left with a feeling of utter frustration, emptiness, and, yes, bitter rebellion against Him whose love he had previously proclaimed.
What was he to do? To resume his former life of gospel preaching would now be hypocrisy and sham. To turn to One whom he still owned to be "the author and finisher of faith," though He had deprived him of his nearest and dearest, could bring but small comfort to his rebellious heart. In his utter distress the only peace he could envisage lay deep in the quiet flow of the nearby river. There, he decided, he would find the answer.
Determined now to "follow through" with this decision, L. B. made careful preparations to guarantee his sinkability. Loaded with heavy concrete in his clothing, he chose the highest point on the river bank from which to plunge to the jagged rocks below. But listen! As the distraught man prepared to jump, it was as though a voice spoke to him. "Go to your mother!" was the command. It was so imperative, so insistent, that L. B. was effectively stopped.
His mother! Why had he not thought of her before? Yes, he would go to her for the sure comfort of her love and understanding, known to him all his life. Like a chastised child he sought again the soothing peace of his mother's presence. With tender patience she looked to the Lord for daily guidance in leading her son back into the consciousness of his Savior's unchanging love.
As bitterness and rebellion gave place to confidence and trust in his restored heart, Jesus, the Savior and Lover of souls, daily became nearer and dearer than ever before to L. B. In humble rededication to Him who had called him to "preach the Word," this life, almost wrecked by satanic doubt, fear, and disobedience, was reclaimed to the service of Him who "having loved His own which were in the world, loved them unto the end." (John 13:11Now before the feast of the passover, when Jesus knew that his hour was come that he should depart out of this world unto the Father, having loved his own which were in the world, he loved them unto the end. (John 13:1)).
A fitting memorial to L. B. is the hymn he himself wrote: "He Keeps Me Singing."