BLJ: Enjoy this heart warming true story. Merry Christmas Eve!
From "Records of Modern Miracles" By Emma M. Whittemore
"Your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him" (Matt. 6:8 ).
As the winter advanced, a real necessity arose to prove to the poor tramps of the street that there was something more in religion than an address or a handshake, or a "God bless you". Accordingly, much prayer was offered that means might be granted whereby beds, clothing and food, could be provided, and that these things might speak of God's provisional love to these homeless, and often degraded, ones. From various sources bedding, clothing and food supplies reached us.
On separating the things the bundle contained, we discovered an odd glove. Vainly we searched for the mate. Just for a moment we were inclined to throw it aside, when Capt. Potter reminded us that one odd glove might just as well have come in answer to prayer as if its mate were there. We therefore showed it respect equal to the other gifts and placed it upon the shelf ready for service.
It was nearing the end of the year and we wanted to add all possible joy to the lives of those to whom the Mission ministered. On Christmas night a wretched looking specimen of humanity entered just as the meeting started. He was in a half-drunken condition and took a seat upon almost the last bench in the hall. There was a hole in the crown of his hat, through which his bushy hair protruded in a rather comical way. When he removed his hat, his hair stuck untidily in every direction, and might have been mistaken for a mop. It had not seen comb or brush for many a day.
As the meeting proceeded, prayer was silently offered for him by one or two whose hearts had been stirred at the sight of the poor sin-marred creature. Suddenly he interrupted the service by raising a very dirty hand, and waving it to attract attention said most earnestly, with tears in his bleared eyes, "For God's sake, if there is any hope for me, won't you all put up a prayer?"
In a moment Capt. Potter was by his Side, and placing his hand on his shoulder, said in his winning way: "My dear fellow, of course we will pray, and if you mean what you say, prove it by stepping to the front." I have always felt that God is able to clear even a drunkard's brain sufficiently for him to grasp the truth. After a bit of a struggle the man staggered forward as though meaning business. It was not easy for him, and we could see that he was ashamed of himself, but he gained courage under the Captain's kindly sympathy. At last he reached the front bench, then as he got down upon his knees, he seemed to realize what it might mean should he be truly saved. If ever a sinner called upon God, poor drunken Joe called that night. None of those present can ever forget it. It seemed as though the cry came from the very depths of despair, and that all earthly power was unavailing. It was only the prayer of the publican, uttered in a most heart-stirring and appealing way: "Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner." Covering the request with the precious name of Jesus, he had not to wait very long before he realized the efficacy and power of that Name, and his joy knew no bounds.
When God took such a walking ragshop of a man, half-dazed with liquor, and redeemed him in the Blood of the Lamb, should anyone doubt the Gospel's power? We learned afterwards that Joe had heard of the Mission, and feeling that after all there might be a possibility of making something out of his life, he had that evening determined to go to the hall and see what could be done. Tattered and torn, and presenting a miserable appearance even to his own drunken eyes, he had mustered up what little courage he possessed and borrowed a coat from a former acquaintance who was almost as poorly off as himself. Buttons it had none. The button-holes had long since been torn through. And so two iron meat-skewers were the ingenious and unusual fasteners.
After rising from his knees, we noticed that the poor fellow had but one arm. It was one of the most bitterly cold nights we had had that winter and our stock of clothing had run low, but just before the meeting broke up, like a flash, the one odd glove came to the mind of Capt. Potter. Asking the man to wait, he hurried to the closet and taking down the glove could not suppress a "Hallelujah". He hurried back to Joe and as God cannot make a mistake, it proved to be the right-hand glove for that one-armed man. It fitted him perfectly, and being fleece-lined, was delightfully warm and comfortable.
People may smile skeptically and perhaps I am old-fashioned now, but I have always felt that this was but another instance of our Jehovah's wonderful forethought in allowing the original owner (who could readily afford it), to lose one of his gloves in order that that poor, one-handed man might have a suitable covering for many a cold winter day. How he treasured that gift of God's love! When we told him the whole story, he was more profoundly stirred than he could possibly have been had there been a pair. It was to him a wonderful reminder of how strangely but wonderfully God may supply all our needs.
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