MANY years ago in a village in the heart of the Forest of Dean, a young woman, who had been converted some years, made the very sad mistake of marrying an unconverted man, hoping to be the means in God’s hands of leading him to the Saviour in after days.
She found, however, she had no power over her husband, and he went from bad to worse, and the home of love and happiness that she had pictured before marriage turned out to be a time of misery.
She talked to him, and prayed for him daily, but he became a frequenter of the village inn, and there in the skittle alley would spend his spare time drinking and gambling away his life, and so some twelve years of wretchedness and unhappiness of their life was spent.
A mission was to be held at the chapel where this dear woman attended in spite of all the jeers of her husband, and it was laid upon her heart to pray especially for his salvation, and she seemed to realize in her soul that on the following Sunday her prayer would be answered, and her husband would be reached.
Many times each day she was looking up to God to this end, and in due time the Sunday arrived. Calling him by his name, she said, “We have a special man at the chapel today, you will come just for once and hear him, won’t you?”
“No,” he replied, “certainly not, I am not going to your chapel, and especially today, as we have a skittle match coming off up at the inn, and I shall be there all day.”
The poor woman said no more, but her hopes sank down to zero, and getting alone by herself she could not refrain from weeping. They had a little daughter some five or six years of age, whom the mother had many times spoken to about the Lord Jesus, who came into this world to save sinners, and this young heart had in all simplicity received the Saviour as her own. At this moment she came to her mother and said, “Mammie, what are you crying for?”
“Oh! nothing, my dear,” replied the mother, and brushing away her tears she got herself and child ready for chapel, and went off to the service, the husband going his way, as was his custom now on Sundays, to spend his time playing skittles and drinking. He did not appear at dinner-time, and after the meal was over as the dear woman was thinking of him, and the downward road he was taking, and the certain end, she could not refrain from weeping again.
“Mammie,” said the child once more, “you are crying again; what is the matter?”
The poor mother could no longer keep quiet, and she said, “Daddie is a wicked man, and I had been hoping he would come to chapel today, and take Jesus as his Saviour, and instead he is down at the public house drinking and playing skittles with a lot of bad men,”
“Mammie,” said the little girl, “do you believe God answers prayer?”
“Certainly,” replied her mother.
“Then,” said the child, “let us ask God to save Daddie,” and falling on their knees by the side of the table they looked up to God. The little voice broke the silence, “Jesus, Daddie is a very wicked man. He is not kind to Mammie, and it just makes her cry because he won’t come to chapel and give his heart to you, but will you please just save him where he is. Amen.”
Atheists may mock, and men of the world may make a scoff, at prayer, but the words of this child went straight up to heaven, and like a lightning flash came the answer.
At that moment in the skittle alley the pins were stood up, and the man had the ball in his hand to throw at them. His companions, some flushed with drink, were standing around, when suddenly his arm dropped to his side, the ball rolled on the floor, and he said, “Mates, I’m going home.”
“Nonsense,” said his friend, “the match isn’t finished. You can’t leave now. Have another drink.”
“I’m going home,” he said, and home he went. He walked straight into a room, and shut the door. His wife said, “Won’t you come and have your dinner?”
“No,” he growled, “let me alone,” and he pushed her out of the room.
Tea-time came round, and she asked him to come to tea, and again she met with the same answer, “Go away, let me alone.”
About nine o’clock he came out and asked for a Bible, and without saying another word shut himself up in the room again. She went to bed about ten o’clock, praying, as she had been almost unceasingly doing since he came home, till she fell asleep.
She was suddenly awakened some hours later by hearing her husband shouting for joy, singing the song of the redeemed. The Lord had saved his soul. There was no more sleep that night as they both praised God for the wonderful work He had wrought in that home, which was now a real home for the first time in their married life.
The next morning the dear man, who worked on the railway, told all his friends what had happened, and he started that very day to warn sinners of their doom, and to point them to “the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world.” He and his dear wife went out together after his work was done, and God blessed their labors abundantly. He was called in the district the King’s Son, and many a forester has to look up now and thank God for having sent the “King’s Son” across his pathway.
In answer to prayer the money came in, and a little mission hall was built, and it still stands up on the hill above the village, and the writer has many times had the privilege of preaching the gospel to the simple souls that gather there. The one known as the “King’s Son” has been now some time up in the glory with the One who broke his heart with His almighty love in that cottage years ago in answer to the prayer of a little child. The widow is still alive, bright and happy in her Saviour’s love, and her one delight is to tell to others of the Saviour she has found.
The writer looks upon her as one of his greatest friends, and can vouch for the truth of this story, which answers the question, “Does God answer prayer?”
A. B.