A young man went home from one of our meetings some time ago. He had been converted. He had previously been a wild young man. His mother had made it a rule, she told me, that she "would not go to bed till he came home." That was her rule. If he did not come home till five o'clock in the morning, she sat up, and when he was out all night she got no sleep; but when he came home she always met him with a kiss and threw her arms around his neck. She treated him just as if he was kind, attentive and good. Sometimes he would be out all night. Those nights she would not go to bed and he knew it.
One night her son came home. She looked to see if he was under the influence of alcohol. He came up to her, and he said, "Mother I have been converted," and then she embraced him, and wept tears of joy. "Why," she said, "Mr. Moody, you don't know what joy it gave me. You don't know how I praised God that my prayers had been answered."