Cripple
Tom and his Texts
In
one of the miserable
Born
a cripple, he had always been a sufferer; but, as long as he was able, he had
swept a crossing on his crutches, or gone short errands to earn a few pence. But soon after his parents’ death the boy had
to take to his bed. Very ungraciously
the old woman allowed him to occupy the top room in her house, which room he
never left again.
His
mother had taught him to read and write, but, not knowing the truth herself,
she had never told him of “Jesus and His love.” Sometimes, however, on a snowy night when the wind was blowing
hard and cold, the lad had crept into the Mission Hall not far distant, merely
for the sake of getting a warm by the comfortable stove. Numb with cold, and weary in body, he took
little heed of what he had heard on those nights’ but now, lying alone day
after day, there came into his mind the memory of it, and by degrees he was
possessed with a great longing to know more about the things of God, and to
have a Bible of his own. He knew that
it was from the Bible that the speakers had gathered their knowledge, but that
was all. So, summoning up courage, he
one day consulted Granny about it.
His
only encouragement in that direction was a laugh. “Bibles weren’t in her line!
What did a lad like him want with Bibles?” So the matter dropped for a time,
but the lad’s desire to possess one did not grow less.
One
day, however, up the creaking stairs came noisy, boisterous Jack Lee, the only
friend the cripple had in the world.
“Hurrah!
Hurrah! Got a new berth! Off north to-morrow! Come to say good-bye, Tom,” he
cried, all excitement, seating himself on the bed, and wiping the perspiration
from his brow; ”But I’ve got a real beauty present for you, my lad,” taking
from his pocket something wrapped in a greasy bit of brown paper.
Tom
raised himself on his elbows, not at all gladdened by the news he had heard.
“A
bright new shilling for you, Tom, lad. And you’re not to spend it till yer
wants suffin real particular.”
“Oh,
Jack! You’re good, but I want something now very particular.”
Yer
do? What’s he?
“I
want a Bible.”
“A
Bible! Well, I never! Spending all that on a Bible, when I had to scrape months
and months to save it in coppers.”
“Don’t
be angry, Jack,” said the cripple boy. “I do so want a Bible. Please get it,
Jack-now-this very evening, at Fisher’s, afore the shop closes. Granny never would; she’d spend it in gin,
if I let it get into her hands.”
“What
can yer want with a Bible, Tom, lad? Only scholards understands them there
things,” he answered rather crossly.
“Maybe
so, Jack, But I’m hankering after one.”
“Very
well, lad, then I’ll go, but I knows nought about Bible buyin’.”
“Fisher
has ‘em at a shilling, for I saw ‘em marked in the window when I used to go
by.”
Jack
descended the stairs less rapidly than he had mounted them. But he got over his
disappointment before he returned with a beautiful shilling Bible. “Fisher says I couldn’t leave you a better
friend, Tom, lad, the shilling couldn’t be vested better; and, says he, “It may
be worth a thousan’ pounds to the lad.” So ‘pears there’s suffin as we ought to
know about.”
Tom’s
joy and gratitude were unbounded. “I know it, Jack. I know it!” Hugging the
Book to his breast.
“I’m
happy now. Oh, how kind you were to save that shilling.” So Tom got his Bible,
and valued it and read it.
Do
you?-you, reader-man, woman, boy, girl, - do you value and read the Book of
God? If so, you will find out what cripple Tom discovered. And what was
that? He found out he was a sinner-lost
and in need of a Saviour, and he found that Saviour in Jesus. He trusted Him, confessed Him, loved Him,
and was filled with a great longing to do something for Him. But what could he do? Tied to a bed of
sickness, it seemed as if he could do nothing but lie still and suffer. But love is quick to discover ways of
serving its Object, and so, looking to God for guidance and strength, the
little helpless cripple said-
“It
won’t do to keep all this blessed news to myself;” so he thought and thought, until, at last a simple work was
decided on for the Master. His bed
stood close by the window sill, which was low, and somehow he got a pencil and
paper, and wrote out different texts, which he would fold, pray over, and then
drop into the noisy street below, directed-
“TO THE PASSER-BY-PLEASE READ.”
He
hoped that by this means someone might hear of Jesus and His salvation.
Generally
his texts were simple, gospel ones, but sometimes he wrote a text which had
been given him by the Lord for his own soul.
This service of love, faithfully rendered, went on for some weeks, when
one evening he heard a strange footstep, and immediately afterwards a tall,
well-dressed gentleman entered the room and took his seat by the lad’s bedside.
“So
you are the lad who drops texts from the window, are you? He asked kindly.
“Yes,”
said Tom, brightening up. “Have yer heard as someone has got hold of one?”
“Plenty,
lad, plenty! I picked up one last evening, and God blessed it to my soul. I have been a Christian for some years, but
lately I got cold in soul, and God used your text and spoke to me by it.”
“I
can believe in God’s Word doing anything, sir,” said the lad humbly.
“And
I am come,” said the gentleman, “to thank you personally,”
“No
me,sir! I only does the writin”; He does the blessing”.
“And
you are happy in this work for Christ?” said the visitor.
“Couldn’t
be happier, sir. I don’t think nothin’
of the pain in my back, for shan’t I be glad when I sees Him, to tell Him that
as soon as I knowed about Him and His great love I did all as I could to serve
Him? I suppose you get lots of chances,
don’t yer, sir?”
“Ah,
lad, but I have neglected them; but, God helping me, I mean to begin
afresh. At home in the country I have a
sick lad dying. I came to town on
pressing business. When I kissed him good-bye, he said, “Father,I wish I had
done some work for Jesus”; and the words stuck to me all day long, and the next
day too, until the evening when I was passing down this street your text fell
on my hat. I opened it and read, “I
must work the works of Him that sent me, while it is day: the night cometh,
when no man can work.” John 9 v 4 It
seemed like a command from heaven.”
Tears
of joy were rolling down the lad’s face.
“It’s too much, sir, “ he said, “Altogether too much.”
“Tell
me how you managed to get the paper to start it, my lad.”
“That
warn’t hard, sir. I jest had to talk
with Granny, and offered to give up my ha’porth of milk she gives me most days,
if she would buy me paper instead. You
know, sir, it can’t last long. The
parish doctor says a few months of cold weather may finish me off, and a drop
of milk ain’t much to give up for my blessed Jesus. Are people happy as have lots to give Him, sir””
The
visitor sighed. “Ah, lad, you are a great deal happier in this wretched room,
making sacrifices for Jesus, than thousands who profess to belong to Him, and
who have time, talents and money, and yield little or nothing to Him.”
“They
don’t kno Him, sir. Knowin’ is lovin’, and livin’ and tryin’ to please Him is
doin’. It ain’t love without.”
“You
are right, Tom. But now about yourself.
How would you like to end your days in one of those homes for cripple lads,
where you would see the trees and flowers, and hear the birds sing? I could get
you into one not far from my home if you liked, Tom.”
The
weary lad looked wistfully into the man’s kindly face, and after a few moments’
silence, ansered: “Thnk’ee sir; I’ve heard tell of ‘em afore, but I ain’t
anxious to die easy when He died hard.
I might get taken up with them things a bit too much, and I’d rather be
a lookin’ at Him, and a carryin” on this ‘ere work till He come to fetch me.”
“Well,
my lad, then I will see that you have proper food and all the poaper you need
while you live. I will settle it with
one of the Bible-women. Now laddie, before I go I want you to pray aloud for
me.”
There
was a bight light on the poor, pale, upturned face, as he said in a tone of the
deepest reverene: “Lord Jesus, I know you’re a listenin”, and I’m much obliged
to you for sending this gentleman here to cheer me in my work. Now, Lord Jesus, he’s a bit troubled about
not havin’ lived for Thee in past days, will you help him to see to it that
ther’s nothin’ left undone in the comin’ days; and please, Lord, make him go
straight away and tell them other rich men of Thy love. Now, Lord Jesus, please
bless this kind friend, all reads and always.
I ask this for Thy name’s sake.” “Amen,” said the deep-toned voice.
Then
the gentleman rose and said farewell. Before leaving
News
of the dying lad reached them from time to time through the Bible woman, but it
was not till winter had set in, and the snow had fallen and covered the earth
with its crystal whiteness, that they heard that the dear lad had “gone to be with
Jesus.”
The
same post broght a parcel which contained Tom’s much –prized and much-used
Bible. What a precious relic was that
marked Bible in that beautiful home! For when the cripple boy’s friend lent it
to his youngest son to read- the careful marking, the short simple prayers
written by the cripple lad on the margin, and his dying wish on the fly-leaf,
written about a week before his death, that “this Holy Book may be as great a
friend to someone else as it has been to me” made such a deep impression on the
youth that he got convert4d, and gave himself to the Lord, and later on to
mission work in foreign fields; and out in Central Africa he has shown that
worn-out Bible to many a native Christian when tellig them about cripple Tom
and his texts.
Reader,
young and old, have you learnt to know the Lord Jesus as your personal Saviour?
If not, He waits to be gracious – to be to you, little child, and to you,
grown-up man and woman, all that He was to cripple Tom.
If
you do know him, are you seeking to serve Him?
If
a dying lad, in suffering and destitution, could joyfully deny himself the
little sip of milk, which cooled his parched lips, and partly fed his weary
body, surely it is possible for us to suffer a little, deny ourselves a little,
and work a little for the blessed Saviour, who has loved us and given Himself
for us.