Many years ago in Brooklyn, N.Y., a Moody-Sankey evangelistic meeting was in full swing. Thousands had to be turned away from the huge Clermont Avenue Rink each service, for lack of room to accommodate the crowds. Other thousands received blessing from the gospel preached and sung by these two devoted servants of Christ. In addition, from two to three hundred requests for prayer would often be announced.
After one of the meetings, a fine-looking young man came into the inquiry room along with a number of others. Asked if he was willing to accept Christ as his only Savior, he bowed his head in his hands. His whole frame shook with deepest feeling as he replied: "Jesus will not accept me."
"Why not?"
"Because I have been an infidel for many years, a follower of Charles Bradlaugh, and for the last eight years I have spoken at every opportunity, in private and public, against Christ. I have traveled over nearly all the world, and have argued everywhere against Him and all those who professed to be Christians. Now I fear He will never forgive me for what I have done."
"Do you want Him to forgive you?"
"Well, sir," he said, "I can't explain my feelings about it or why I am here tonight. Some power that I do not understand has been striving with me for the last two days, and I am in a sad state of mind."
The Christian addressing this young man lifted his heart in prayer that he might make no mistake. After a moment he said: "My friend, what you need tonight is Christ. He will dispel your gloom and sorrow."
"But," exclaimed the young infidel, arousing himself from what seemed to be a deep reverie, "I have fought against Him so long; and thought I was right, too."
"Did you have peace in your heart when you were preaching against Christ?"
He looked up in some surprise. "No, I was a coward," he confessed. "I remember, while coming home from a long journey on the sea, we were one night driven by a storm near the rocks off a certain shore. When I thought we were sure to go to the bottom of the sea, I got down on my knees and prayed to God to save us. The storm died, and with it went my prayers, for as soon as. I thought we were safe, like the coward that I was, I went back to my old ways, and denied that there was a God."
"Well," the Christian said, "let that go. What brought you here tonight?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I have not been to a religious meeting for years. Neither have I talked to a Christian in that time. I have lived entirely among infidels and skeptics. But about a year ago I received a letter from my dear old mother, away over in Dundee, Scotland. She asked me to promise that when Moody and Sankey came back to America I would go to hear them, if they came near where I was. I answered her that I would, and when they came here I thought I would have to keep my word to my mother. So I went to the Rink two nights in succession, and since that time I have had no rest. I have been walking the streets all day, thinking, thinking. Not knowing any Christian to whom I could speak, I thought I would go once more to the Rink. And now here I am, talking to you."
"My friend," I said, "it is the Spirit of God striving with you in answer to your mother's prayer. She may be praying for her wandering boy this very night. Now, do not delay any longer. Yield to Christ and He will receive you, for He has said, 'him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out."' John 6:37.
He bowed his head, while his trembling form told how deeply his heart was moved. After a hard struggle he grasped the hand of the Christian and said: "By the grace of God I take Jesus Christ as my Savior now!"
After a word of prayer his friend asked him to write to Scotland at once and tell his mother all about it, and he promised that he would. A few evenings later they met at the door of the Rink. As they shook hands the Christian worker asked him if he had written to his mother.
"Oh, yes," said he, "but not until I had sent her a cable dispatch first."
"What did you say in the dispatch?" he asked. "Well, I just said, 'I've found Jesus,' and signed my name to it."
"Thank the Lord," said the Christian.
"Yes," he exclaimed, "that is just what my dear old mother cabled back to me, 'Thank the Lord, O my soul!'