There lived in Allahabad, in India, a young Hindoo about eighteen years old. The smallpox had disfigured his face almost beyond recognition and robbed him of his eyesight. He could no longer remember the time when he last saw daylight.
“Do you know the Lord Jesus?” a missionary once asked him.
“I heard His name many years ago,” replied the blind boy, “but do please tell me more about Him.”
The missionary then told his eager listener the old, and yet ever new, story of the Saviour, who came into the world to save sinners; and the Hindoo believed on Him.
From that time, when the love of God rose in his dark heart, like the morning sun upon the horizon, his scar-covered face beamed with joy. “I must belong to Him; I must be baptized,” he exclaimed, “and David shall be my name, because, like David, I will sing of His grace.” Henceforth he was no longer to be pitied, for his heart flowed over with joy and his disfigured face always lit up so beautifully whenever he began to sing or to speak of Jesus. He came every day to the missionary to get his daily food. It was not, however, food for the body, but a portion from the Bible—God’s Word—which was read to him, and which he carefully remembered all through the day.
One day on coming to the missionary, he appeared to be quite troubled, and as that was very unusual, the missionary asked him at once what was wrong.
“O, teacher!” exclaimed David, “I do wish I could read.”
“But, David, you must not wish for impossibilities, for you are blind,” replied the missionary.
“That is true,” the boy sadly admitted, “but I have heard that there is a print: which those who are blind can read. Do you know anything about it?”
The missionary knew, of course, but saw no possibility of getting such an expensive Bible for his poor scholar, and he, therefore, thought it better, rather than to allow him to have false hopes, to nip in the bud any desire on his part to have it. But David was not discouraged.
“Will you pray with me that my heavenly Father may send me His Word and teach me how to read it?” he asked. Such a request the missionary could not refuse, but afterward he confessed that he had said he would do so without much faith.
The months passed by David continued to come each day, as usual, to have a portion from the Bible read to him, but he never mentioned his prayer. One morning, however, he came hastily stumbling up the stairs to the veranda.
“Are you there, teacher?” he called. “Yes, what is it?”
“Look, someone has pushed this parcel under my arm, saying,
‘Poor blind boy, I have felt sorry for you for such a long time. May this be the means of blessing to you.’ What is it, teacher? Open it quickly for me.”
The missionary undid the string of the parcel and expected to find in it a garment, but what do you think it was? The Gospel of John in blind-print! O, the joy!
“I really knew that my Father would send it to me if only I waited. It is my Father’s own Word and own gift!”
Full of wonder and thankfulness David pressed the Book to his lips and kissed it.
The first thing, however, was to kneel down and to thank God together for it, which they did. David then started the difficult task of learning how to read it when at last he could do so, he said one day,
“Teacher, I cannot, and must not, keep this to myself. Hundreds are hungering after its precious treasures, as I once did.”
The next Sunday he went out with the Book fastened round his neck by a cord, and as he went along he read out aloud some of his favorite texts.
In the course of time, David became an active missionary. He traveled his homeland, and as he went through the villages he would read aloud from his Book to the villagers. Later he daily visited a blind institution, where he read to his fellow-sufferers.
Many of them, through David, came to know the Lord Jesus Christ as their own Saviour, and David rejoiced greatly.
ML 02/21/1943