When the war broke out I was a young man, just out of school and all on fire with patriotism. I enlisted at once and went away thrilled with the thought of the action before me. I had little thought for the needs of my soul.
My mother was a devout Christian and parted from me with many a tear and with many a prayer. She slipped a New Testament in a pocket of the knapsack she had prepared for me on the morning I left. That little book was almost constantly with me, but nearly a year passed before I opened it.
We were in many engagements, and I saw many sad sights but was unmoved by it all. Sometimes we had letters from home, and my mother’s one theme was, “Oh, my dear boy, if only I could know that your soul was saved, that you had given your heart to Jesus!” I thought that was “just Mother” and felt rather complacent over the fact that she had so much love for me and was so anxious on my account.
At last my turn came. We had been through so much and I had escaped unhurt, so I began to think I would be spared. I was careless about exposure, until one day a sharp shock in my right arm knocked me to the ground. I lay stunned for a while and came back to consciousness to find medics bending over me. I was soon in a hospital, and that night my arm was amputated above the elbow.
Days and nights of suffering followed. At last feeling well enough and wanting something to read, I brought out the little Testament my mother had given me. For the first time I opened its pages. It was not that I had any desire or purpose to seek God. If there had been anything else to read I would not have opened the Testament. I began to read that Book with no more idea of seeking salvation than I would have had if I had been reading a magazine.
I started at Matthew, with the words: “The book of the generation of Jesus Christ.” I don’t know how it was but, as I read, everything about the life of Christ became deeply interesting. I had no thought of becoming a Christian, but I was simply drawn toward the character of Jesus as shown in the gospel.
I read right through the book-Matthew, Mark, Luke-all the way to Revelation. Every part was interesting, and when I had finished Revelation, I began again at Matthew and read it through again. With still no thought of becoming a Christian, I clearly saw from what I read the way of salvation through Christ. I saw plainly that God gave Jesus, His Son, to be our Substitute, and that whoever would confess their sins and accept Him would be saved.
While still in this state of mind, yet still with no purpose or plan to repent and accept the Savior, I was awakened one night by the nurse, who said, “There is a boy in the other end of the hospital who is dying. He has been begging me for the last hour to pray for him or to get someone to pray for him, and I can’t stand it. I am a wicked man and can’t pray, and I have come to get you.”
“Why,” said I, “I can’t pray. I never prayed in my life. I am just as bad as you.”
“Can’t pray!” said the nurse. “Why I thought sure from seeing you read the Bible that you were a praying man. What can I do? There is no one else for me to go to. I can’t go back there alone. Won’t you come and see him at any rate?”
Reluctantly, I got up and went with him to see the dying boy. He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen. There was agony in his face, and he fixed his eyes on me and said, “Pray for me! Oh, pray for me! I’m dying, and I’m not ready to die. I was a good boy at home. My mother and father are members of the church, and I went to Sunday school and tried to be a good boy. But, since I’ve been in the army, I’ve learned to be wicked. I drank and swore and gambled and went with bad men-and now I am dying. Oh, ask God to forgive me! Pray for me! Ask Christ to save me!”
As I stood there and heard the boy, God said to my soul by His Spirit, just as plainly as if He had spoken in my ears, “You know the way of salvation. Get right down on your knees and accept Christ and pray for this boy.”
I dropped down on my knees and held the boy’s hand in mine, and in a few broken words I confessed my sin and asked God for Christ’s sake to forgive me. I believed right there that He did forgive me and that I was now God’s child.
Then I prayed earnestly for the boy. He became quiet and pressed my hand as I pleaded the promises. When I looked up, he was dead. A look of peace was on his face, and I can only believe that God, who used him to bring me to my Savior, had used me to lead him to trust in the precious blood of Christ. I expect to meet him in heaven.
From that night I read my New Testament with a new joy. Christ was precious to me, and His promises comforted my heart. Soon after this I was able to go home.
Many years have passed since that night in the hospital, and I am still trusting and confessing the Lord Jesus Christ, and I purpose by God’s grace to continue doing so until He calls me home.