I remember a man in New York who used to come and pray with me. He had his cross. He was afraid to confess Christ. It seemed that down at the bottom of his trunk he had a Bible. He wanted to get it out and read it to a companion with whom he lived, but he was ashamed to do it. For a whole week that was his cross; and after he had carried the burden that long, and after a terrible struggle, he made up his mind. He said, “I will take my Bible out tonight and read it.” He took it out, and soon he heard the footsteps of his friend coming upstairs.
His first impulse was to put it away again, but then he thought he would not — he would face his companion with it. His friend came in, and seeing him at his Bible, said,
“John, are you interested in these things?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“How long has this been, then?” asked his companion
“Exactly a week,” he answered. “For a whole week I have tried to get out my Bible to read to you, but I have never done so till now.”
“Well,” said his friend, “it is a strange thing. I was converted on the same night, and I, too, was ashamed to take my Bible out.”