DO I believe in miracles? Of course I do, for I am one. I have been looking in the dictionary to see what a miracle is, and it says: “It is a wonder: something that only God can do;” and if you knew my history you would say that was true of me. Would you like to hear it? I will tell it gladly, and before I am finished, you will say that no human power could have made me what I am.
I was born in Westmoreland, in a little village that used to boast that it sent out the strongest men that could be found in England. My father was one of the finest men I have ever seen, and he gloried in his strength. I was his youngest child, and he delighted to have me by his side. His great desire was that I should be the champion wrestler of my country, and he trained me accordingly. By the time I was twenty-one I could throw any young man in the village. Among the companions of my childhood was Nellie W —, the brightest, bonniest girl in Westmoreland.
Of course we married, and the first year of our married life was unmixed sunshine. Nellie had a beautiful and well-trained voice, and I was rather musical, so the clergyman persuaded us to join the church choir. I suppose there is better singing than ours was, but I never heard it, and it was the talk of the, country round.
Bright as our sky was, the shadows began to fall. The fact is, I had been taught to regard beer as a necessity of life, and no one ever warned me of its danger. The result was that I drank it freely. It met me everywhere, and I welcomed it, as a God-sent friend. For a time I drank it without any injurious effects, but gradually it conquered me. Every night found me at the drink-shop. When my wife spoke to me about this I lost my temper, and said words that I should have knocked anybody down for saying to her, and then I hated myself for having done it. Many a time I made up my mind that I would do differently, but an hour at the “Unicorn” swept away all my good resolutions.
At last my master spoke to me about my irregularity, and, being somewhat under the influence of drink, I told him he was welcome to get a better man. He took me at my word, — we parted. I hadn’t courage to go home and tell Nellie, but went again to the “Unicorn,” where I knew a lot of my mates were. Wild with excitement, I drank and laughed like a madman. At the closing time the landlord told us we must leave. I told him I should stay as long as I pleased, and he took me by the shoulder to put me out. My temper was up, and with one blow I sent him headlong. Getting help from some of his servants, he mastered me, and flung me into the road.
Stupefied with the fall and drink, I lay there till the morning. I awoke to consciousness of the madness of my conduct. I was out of work, and no chance of getting any. I dared not look my injured wife in the face, and I determined to leave the place. After walking a little distance I came to a cottage, where they were getting an early breakfast. They gave me a cup of tea, and urged me to go home. It was, however, all in vain. I sent my love to my wife, and told her she would never hear from me again till I had some good news to tell.
For several days I pursued my weary way, kind cottagers giving me food, and I got sleeping wherever I could find a little shelter. At last I met with a carter who wanted a man, and I gladly accepted his offer. My wages were not half of what I had received at home, but a hungry and weary man will grasp at anything. For a week I went on quietly, but when I received my wages I went, with the master, to a public-house, and, before the evening was out, I was conquered again, most of my wages were spent, and I had to pinch all the following week. Week after week was spent in much the same way, and hope of improvement seemed to have left me.
My work often led me to the railway station, and there I formed the acquaintanceship of one of the porters, and one day he told me there was an opening for a man who knew a little of mechanics. This seemed just the place for me, and I applied for it, and obtained it. Here my wages were better, and the rigid enforcement of the rules, together with the influence of the porters, most of whom were abstainers, kept me more sober. After a while I wrote to my wife, for my heart was always yearning after her, and I told her where I was, and what I was doing. She at once replied, offering to come to me. I told her that this was impossible, for I had no home, and no means to support her. Cruel selfishness on my part, for if I had been sober and careful, I should have had both; but I was a heartless slave, tied and bound by the chain of drink. Thank God! He loved me, and in His own way He was coming to my help.
One Sunday afternoon, the public-houses being closed, I sauntered into the park, homeless and hopeless, and saw a crowd gathered around a man speaking. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I entered the crowd, and listened to the speaker. I found he was talking about liberty for the captives, and the opening of prison doors to them that were bound. Just as I came within hearing, he was talking about those who were bound by the chain of drink, and how they were dragged out of church, shop, and home by it, till at last they became captives forever. Every word he spoke pierced my heart, and the voice of God thundered in my ears: “Thou art the man.” It was a true picture of my past; was it also to be a picture of my future? I forgot the crowd around me. I saw the old church; I heard Nellie’s sweet voice; I saw the little home once so full of happiness; then I looked in terror at the dread future till I felt as if I should faint. To prevent a scene, I hastened to a seat close by, and listened eagerly to the rest of the speaker’s words. He went on to speak of the Deliverer, who came into the world to seek sinners, who could save to the uttermost, and who was there that day, Mighty to save.
My heart seemed broken, and I turned my head away to hide the tears... The speaker, however, had noticed my agitation, and as soon as he had finished, came and sat down by my side.
His kindness won my confidence; I told him that I was the man that he had been describing, and eagerly asked him if the Deliverer he had been talking about could deliver me? He said there was no room for a doubt of that, and went on to tell me “the old, old story of Jesus and His love.” How He had left heaven, and lived and died for me — yes, for me; that He had risen from the dead, and had ascended into heaven to plead for us. He told me of the multitudes that He had saved.
I asked him what I must do to get Him to deliver me? He told me that the first thing I must do was to cry from my heart — “Lord, help me.” That God would hear and answer. That I must cease to do evil. That God saved men from their sins, but never in them. I told him that this was my great difficulty. That my bondage was absolute and long continued. That I had often vowed to give up my besetting sin; had kept on for a time, but always went back again, and sank deeper, and that I was afraid to try again.
He told me that it was because he knew this, that he gave me that prayer to use. That I had been trying in my own strength, and therefore was sure to fail, but that if I tried in God’s strength I should be sure to succeed. That I alone could do nothing, but that God and I could do anything. He said I must remember the past, that my life’s sins stood against me; and that if these were not pardoned, whatever my life might be in the future, I should perish forever, — but that the Deliverer was a complete Deliverer; that He had made a full atonement for our sins, and had provided all-sufficient help for the future. That this Deliverer was almighty, and that He was “able to save to the uttermost.”
The words stirred my soul to the depths, and with all the energy of my nature I cried — “If He can, He shall”; and as I spoke there arose within me a hope that proved to be the foretaste of salvation.
My friend advised me to go to my lodgings, and quietly seek that light which God’s Word can alone impart, and most carefully to avoid intoxicating drink. I took his advice, but God only knows the struggle that went on within me. Fortunately for me, the public-houses were closed, so that the thirst within was not met with the temptation without. On reaching my lodgings I went to my bedroom. Gradually the light dawned. I saw that Jesus had borne my guilt — my sin — my curse — and I realized that His blood could cleanse. I then and there saw it, believed that Jesus had died for me, and that thus trusting Him as my Saviour―my Substitute — I was saved. My burden was gone, and in one moment I could look up to God, and call Him, “Father”; for He says: “To as many as receive him (Jesus), to them gave the power to become the sons of God.”
It was said of me for the first time, “Behold, he prayeth!” The light seemed to fill my mind, I saw that what Christ had done at Calvary, He had done for me, and that all He was, He was for me. I stayed in my room all the evening, and lived in memory my life over again.
I was filled with shame as I thought of the sins committed, the gifts abused, and the opportunities neglected, but I knelt again and again at the mercy seat, and realized that His blood which had been shed could, and did cleanse, and thus I found rest to my soul.
In the evening I determined to write to my wife, and tell her what had happened. I had sent word when I left the village that I would write to her when I had some good news to tell her, and surely this was good news indeed. In the morning I went to my work, but it was like a new world. My joy, however, was of short duration, for I had not been long at my work before one of my mates came to me, and offered me a drink from his flask. In a moment the craving for drink came upon me with such force that my feet well-nigh slipped. It seemed as if every nerve in my body was burning with thirst. The longing I experienced is indescribable. I hurried from the temptation, feeling that everything I valued in this world and the next was at stake. I tried to pray, but the very power to pray was gone. It was the hour and power of darkness. Suddenly my eye fell on a pump, standing by my place of work, and I resolved to try what water would do. I drank heartily, and the gnawing thirst abated. I felt that God had sent me deliverance. The battle went on all day, indeed, all the week, but the moment the internal fire broke out I hastened to the pump, and it was quenched. That week stands out from all the other weeks of my life. It was the week of fiercest assault, and the week of most complete victory — the conqueror was conquered; and now with a grateful heart I say, “Christ and the pump did it.”
My wife soon after joined me. We took a little house, and by diligence and economy we have got it nicely furnished. It hasn’t a name, but I call it “Content Cottage.” I saw in the paper the other day the question asked, “Is life worth living?” Thank God, mine is! I thank Him. I wouldn’t change with the Prince of Wales. When I left the village, Nellie left the choir, and gave over singing, but since we have been re-married her music has all come back, and I think it is sweeter than ever.
The other Saturday I was on duty for nearly twenty hours, and, as it had been a drizzling day, when I left work I was wet, cold, and tired; but presently I came in sight of our little home. The light was shining so brightly that it seemed to come down the street, and enter and brighten my heart. When I reached the house the table was spread, and the kettle was boiling on the hob, while Nellie was just giving the last touch to everything, and singing —
“Salvation! oh, the joyful sound!
What pleasure to our ears.”
It was so sweet that it quite carried me away.
C. G.