The Wonders of Prayer Part 32

NETTIE'S DAILY BREAD.

A little girl in a wretched attic, whose sick mother had no bread, knelt down by the bedside, and said slowly: "Give us this day our daily bread." Then she went into the street and began to wonder where G.o.d kept his bread. She turned around the corner and saw a large, well-filled baker's shop.

"This," thought Nettie, "is the place." So she entered confidently, and said to the big baker, "I've come for it."

"Come for what?"

"My daily bread," she said, pointing to the tempting loaves. "I'll take two, if you please--one for mother and one for me."

"All right," said the baker, putting them into a bag, and giving them to his little customer, who started at once into the street.

"Stop, you little rogue!" he said, roughly; "where is your money?"

"I haven't any," she said simply.

"Haven't any!" he repeated, angrily; "you little thief, what brought you here, then?"

The hard words frightened the little girl, who, bursting into tears, said: "Mother is sick, and I am so hungry. In my prayers I said, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' and then I thought _G.o.d meant me to fetch it, and so I came_."

The rough, but kind-hearted baker was softened by the child's simple tale, and instead of chiding her or visiting threats of punishment, as is usually the case, he said: "_You poor, dear girl; here, take this to your mother_," and he filled a large basketful and gave it to her.

THE BROTHER'S PRAYER.

A physician, who for many years practiced his profession in the State of California, was called once to see the child of Mr. Doak, of Calveras County, living on the road between San Andreas and Stockton, and not far from the mining town of Campo Seco, or Dry Camp. He says: The patient was a little girl about ten years of age, bright and intelligent and one of twins, the other being a boy, equally bright and well-disposed. The primary symptoms had indicated inflammation of the stomach, which the attending physician had hopelessly combated, and finally, when by metastasis it attacked the brain, with other unfavorable symptoms, he was inclined to abandon the case in despair.

It was at this juncture I was called in. The symptoms were exceedingly unfavorable, and my own opinion coincided with my professional brother's. However, we determined to go to work. A day and night of incessant watching, and the state of the patient caused us both to feel the case hopeless, and we only continued our attendance at the earnest solicitation of the child's mother. The anxious, care-worn and restless sorrow of the little brother, his deep grief as he saw his sister given over to the power of the King of Terrors, had attracted our attention.

He would creep up to the bedside of his sister silently, with pale and tearful face, controlling his emotion with great effort, and then steal away again and weep bitterly. With a vague, indefinite idea of comforting the little fellow, I took him to my knee, and was about to utter some plat.i.tude, when the little fellow, looking me in the face, his own the very picture of grief, burst out with--

"Oh, Doctor, must sister die?"

"Yes," I replied, "but,"--

Before I could go farther he again interrupted me: "Oh, Doctor, is there nothing, nothing that will save her? Can n.o.body, n.o.body save my sister?"

For an instant the teachings of a tender and pious mother flashed over my mind. They had been long neglected, were almost forgotten.

California, in those days, was not well calculated to fasten more deeply on the mind home teachings. There were very few whose religious training survived the ordeal, and for a long time I had hardly thought of prayer.

But the question brought out with the vividness of a flash of lightning, and as suddenly, all that had been obscured by my course of life, and, hardly knowing what I did, I spoke to him of the power that might reside in prayer. I said, G.o.d had promised to answer prayer. I dared not allow the skeptical doubt, that came to my own mind, meet the ear of that innocent boy, and told him, more as my mother had often told me than with any thought of impressing a serious subject on his mind, "_That the prayers of little boys, even, G.o.d would hear_." I left that night with some simple directions, that were given more to satisfy the mother than from having the slightest hope of eventual recovery, promising to return next day.

In the morning, as I rode to the door, the little boy was playing round with a bright and cheerful countenance, and looked so happy that involuntarily I asked:

"Is your sister better?"

"Oh, no, Doctor," he replied, "but she is going to get well."

"How do you know," I asked.

"_Because I prayed to G.o.d_" said he, "and _he told me she would."_

"How did he tell you?"

The little fellow looked at me for an instant, and reverently placing his hand on the region of his heart, said:

"_He told me in my heart_."

Going to the room where my patient was lying, I found no change whatever, but in spite of my own convictions there had sprung up a hope within me. The medical gentleman with whom I was in consultation came to the room, and as he did, _a thought of a very simple remedy_ I had seen used by an old negro woman, in a very dissimilar case, _occurred to my mind._ It became so _persistently present_ that I mentioned it to my brother pract.i.tioner. He looked surprised, but merely remarked. "It can do no harm." I applied it. In two hours we both felt the case was out of danger.

The second day after that, as we rode from the house, my friend asked me how I came to think, of so simple a remedy.

"_I think it was that boy's prayer_," I replied.

"Why, Doctor! you are not so superst.i.tious as to connect that boy's prayers with his sister's recovery," said he.

"Yes, I do," I replied; "for the life of me I cannot help thinking his prayers were more powerful than our remedies."

LIGHT GIVEN TO A BLIND CHILD.

"A missionary visiting one of the mission schools of Brooklyn, was introduced to a remarkable child. He was brought into the school from the highways and hedges, and young as he was, he had been taught of G.o.d.

One day he was playing with powder, and putting his mouth to the match to blow it, it exploded, and the whole charge went into his face and eyes. He became totally blind, and the physician gave but little hope of recovery. But the little sufferer was patient and calm, and even hopeful; sitting through the dark days meditating on what he had learned at the mission Sabbath-school, and repeating pa.s.sages of Scripture and many a beautiful hymn.

"One evening after the physician had spoken discouragingly, and his parents, as he perceived, were in deep distress, he was absorbed on his knees in a corner of the room in earnest prayer. His voice, though subdued almost to a whisper, was indicative of intense feeling. His parents inquired what he had been praying so earnestly for. Why, said he, that _Jesus Christ would open my eyes. The doctor says he can't, and so I thought I would ask the Savior to do it for me. G.o.d honored his faith. In a few days his sight came to him; and the prayer was answered.

He can now see clearly_."

ASKING THE LORD TO HELP HIM IN HIS LESSONS.

"A little boy was at school, he was diligent, and determined to succeed, but found that parsing was rather hard.

"One day he went to his mamma for a little help in a.n.a.lyzing some sentences. She told him the proper manner of doing it, and he followed her directions; but he was much troubled that he could not understand the whys and wherefores himself.

"His mamma told him it was rather hard for him then, but that after he had studied a little longer, it would be quite easy.

"Johnnie went into another room to study alone, but after a little came back, his face perfectly radiant with joy. He said: 'O mamma, I want to begin again. I asked Jesus to help me, and now I think I see just how it is. He always helps us when we ask him;' and with unspeakable delight he with his mamma went over his lesson again."

GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD.

"The _American Messenger_ tells the story of Johnny Hall, a poor boy.

His mother worked hard for their daily bread. 'Please give me something to eat; I am very hungry,' he said one evening. His mother let the work upon which she was sewing fall from her knee, and drew Johnny toward her. Her tears fell fast as she said: 'Mamma is very poor, and cannot give you any supper to-night.' 'Never mind, mamma; I shall soon be asleep, and then I sha'n't feel hungry. But you will sit and sew, and be so hungry and cold. Poor mamma,' he said, and kissed her many times to comfort her.

"'Now, Johnny, you may say your prayers;' for dearly as his mother loved him, she could ill afford to lose a moment from her work. He repeated 'Our Father' with her until they came to the pet.i.tion, 'Give us this day our daily bread.' The earnestness, almost agony, with which the mother uttered these words, impressed Johnny strongly. He said them over again: '_Give us this day our daily bread_.' Then opening his blue eyes, he fixed them on his mother, and said: 'We shall never be hungry any more.

G.o.d is _our Father_, and he _will_ hear us.' The prayer was finished and Johnny laid to rest. The mother sewed with renewed energy. Her heart was sustained by the simple faith of her child. Many were the gracious promises which came to her remembrance. Although tired and hungry, still it was with a light heart she sank to rest.