On a certain Sunday afternoon I was busy teaching in the Sunday school, when all at once an unusual shouting and laughing in the street disturbed our quiet. I looked at my boys inquiringly.
“O! Miss B—it is only the boys of the gipsy-wagons who are playing out there.”
“Well, we must invite them in.”
“What! Miss B—let those gipsies come in here?” they all cried out together.
“Yes, ask them. Open the door.”
“Come in, boys!” I cried out, when the door was open, “I am just beginning to tell a nice story, I am sure you would like to hear it.”
A moment’s hesitation, and then they came in. There were about seven or eight of them, real rough boys, dirty, with torn, ragged clothes, and sticks in their hands. A moment later they were sitting on the benches, looking around them with wondering eyes.
I began my story, and what I had hoped for happened. The new boys listened attentively from beginning to end. Then I questioned my boys about what I had been telling them and heard their answers, while the others listened in amazement. After this a hymn was given out as usual, of which the refrain was:
“O! come to Jesus! Jesus is here.”
This refrain was repeated so often that I had no doubt, but that the new boys knew it by heart.
“Boys!” said I, “now you know it certainly by heart and can sing with us.”
To the astonishment of my own scholars, they at once sang with us, loud, clear and pure. When the singing was over I said to them,
“Now I want to ask you something. Will you promise me that when you return to your wagons you will go at once to your father and say: ‘Father, Jesus loves you!’ And then to your mother the same thing: “Mother! Jesus loves you!’ “They promised and went away.
The following Sunday they were there again, and to my great surprise they looked entirely different. I scarcely recognized them, so clean and neatly they were dressed. From that day forth they came regularly to Sunday school. Three weeks later a workman addressed me and said: “Miss B—among the gipsies they are talking a good deal about you. Their chief tells to everyone that he is quite changed through a message that you sent him. And it appears to be true, because formerly he was always drunk. He was one of the foremost in fighting and swearing. And now he doesn’t seem to be the same man. He says frankly to everybody that for the future he will serve God. He would like to have a talk with you.”
And so it happened that the following Sunday when the boys were leaning, I saw an old man, standing at the door, strangely dressed in a long embroidered tunic, with a felt hat and an unusually thick stick in his hand. When he took off his hat I noticed that his hair was gray.
“Thanks be to God, Miss!” he cried out, “for all this, and for what He has done for me.”
“And what has He done for you?” I asked, with a friendly manner.
“Well, Miss! You called our boys in here, the boys of the gipsy-wagons, and gave them a message.
My little Mark, when he returned, came right to me, climbed on my knee and said: “Father, we have been with the teacher in the school, and they sang there so beautifully, and the teacher told us such a nice story, and she said that I must tell you that: Jesus loves you. O Miss! I did not know what I heard, and my first impulse was to push the boy out of the wagon, for you must know that I was a bad man, and had often made a bad use of the name of Jesus. But it did not last long before the boy came back and began singing:
“O, come to Jesus! Jesus is here.”
I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t stay in the wagon. I went outside without thinking of supper or anything else, and the whole evening I wandered around in solitude. My whole life passed before me. I had led a bad life, neglected my children and set them a bad example. This all rose up before me and made me miserable. The following Sundays I went to church, first to one, then to another, in the hope of hearing a word of comfort, and on a certain morning I heard some one preach on the “Bread of Life.” That touched my heart. One day, the week after, I was in my wagon on the way to the city to fetch materials for my basket-making. Yes, I said to myself, This is now for the daily bread, but the “Bread of life” where shall I find that? I was so troubled that I remained behind alone, and creeping into the bushes I knelt down and cried to God,
“O, Lord! I am only a poor sinner, but I must have the Bread of Life, or else I have no rest. Yes, I must be delivered from sin. O, God! have mercy on me!”
And God had mercy on me. For see, in the middle of my prayer the words of the hymn came back to me:
“O, come to Jesus! Jesus is here.”
Yes, Jesus came to me and remained with me. Then I went back to the wagon, and on the way to the city I was the whole time thanking God for what He had done for me. My wife and children were surprised, not knowing what had happened to me: they really thought I was not quite right in my mind. And now Miss! since then I tell everybody about Jesus.”
It was really just as he said. Everywhere he went, (and he traveled all over the country with his wagon), he bore testimony to the love of the Lord Jesus that he had learned to know for himself.
This was one glorious fruit of the Sunday school, and at the same time a proof that God will also use children to make known to others His message of love and salvation.
Dear young readers, it is not enough to hear regularly about the Lord Jesus and all that He has done. No, we must know Him personally as our Saviour, and be able to cry out, “Jesus loves me, He has saved me, from eternal condemnation. He died for me, and therefore I am free from the punishment of sin.”
And when you have learned this, your heart will compel you to tell to others,
“Jesus loves you.”
ML 10/17/1943