IT was raining hard one Sunday, and a little girl was looking anxiously out of the window, afraid it might prevent her from going to Sunday School.
She had learned to love the Saviour and knew that her sins had been washed away by the precious blood of Christ. Her mother was a Christian, and they were a great comfort to each other. —Her father was not saved, but let his wife and child do as they pleased, for he loved them both fondly.
This rainy Sunday he told his little girl it was too wet to go out, and said, “Suppose we have school at home today, you and I.”
She said, “Then you will be teacher and superintendent both, and I will be your little class.”
So she got her Bible and two hymn books, and put two chairs opposite each other, and then said, “Now, father, school is ready.”
He sat down on a chair opposite his little girl, and asked, “What must I do?”
“You must be superintendent first, and he always gives out a hymn to begin with.”
“But, my dear, I don’t know any of these hymns, and I don’t know the tunes.”
“Perhaps, then, you will let me give out a hymn that I can sing, and you can help me.”
She soon found a hymn that she knew well. It was her favorite, and it told of the Lord Jesus coming from heaven to seek and to save the lost, and how that on Calvary He shed His blood for the cleansing of sins. She commenced singing, and the words of the hymn were carried home in power to his heart. He could not sing for a choking sensation in his throat, and it was hard work to conceal his tears. He did not know what he was bargaining for when he offered to be Sunday School teacher, and as soon as the hymn was over he was going to leave the room.
“Father, we are not done yet.”
“I think we have had enough,” he said, as he sat down on the chair again. “What must we do now?”
“Father, you must pray.”
“My child, I cannot,” he said.
“But father, you are the superintendent, and he always prays after we sing a hymn, and you wanted to have Sunday School,” she said, looking up pleadingly into his face.
A great conflict was going on in his heart, which was softened under the words of the hymn that was just sung, and now what was he to do. Would he break his word, or yield? The beseeching look of his little girl brought him to his knees, but his heart was too full to allow any words to escape his lips.
His little girl, seeing he did not begin, gave him a nudge with her elbow, and said, “Father, pray.” He could hold in no longer, and gave vent to his feelings in tears and sobs.
Just then the room door was opened by his wife, who had been praying for him for years. Quickly she kneeled at his side, and earnestly united her prayers with her husband’s; and God who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, shone into his heart, and he was saved. Many times after did they thank God for that wet Sunday that brought about such blessed results.
ML 07/21/1918