Covenanter Witness Vol. 53 - Rparchives.org

care."about."A Lamb In The NightReprinted from The Covenanter Witnessof September 21, 1938Having been sent into Southern Alabama to visit the school and mission,I had an experience that impressed itself so deeply that I have never beenable to get away from it.A group of us went to visit TuskegeeInstitute, built and directed for somany years by the late Booker T.Washington. Dr. Robert R. Moton, sincedeceased, was at that time the head ofthe Institute, a man of unusual abilityand of fine personality and character.Returning the following day we werewithin some ten miles of our homedestination when, suddenly, the rearaxle of the car broke; a hind wheelrolled off into the ditch, and we cameto a sudden stopthough without injuryto anyone. We were in rather a wild,woodeddistrict within two or threemiles of a village. I secured a placein a passing car for the two ladies ofthe company and they were soon safehome. The driver and I remained, hoping to have a new axle sent out and sotake the car home that night. But thisproved impossible.As we walked to the little villagemade up of three houses with a generalstore and post office combined, duskwas falling. In the store where we wentto secure food, a group of men weregathered. Seeing a white man enterwith a colored companion at that timeof day and under those circumstances,they at once assumed that I was a representative of some of the mills of thenorthern states inwhat was to themthe nefarious business of coaxing theirNegro workmen from the plantationsto the North. There were dark looksand muttered threats and whisperedconversation, while my friend and I ateour lunch. Afterward I went out to abench by the little station house to waitfor the passenger train.The place was in black darkness except for a few lights shining from windows. Especially were the lights noticeable in a large house a hundred yardsor so up the road. Evidently a communitysocial was in progress there. I hadpaid no attention, but sat on the benchwaiting and meditating. A group ofcolored men on the other side of thebuilding were talking and joking together.Suddenly I heard a slight sound asthough some one were approaching a-round the side of the station house. Ipaid little attention only noticing thatthe sound seemed to grow less as thoughthe person or the animal had gone down80the railroad track. A few minutes laterthere came to myto be the whimperingears what seemedof a little child.I could not be certain and could not understand what would make such asound, but it continued. As I arose andwalked down the track through thedarkness, I hardly expected to discoveranything and yet was not satisfied to donothing. It might have been almost anything but it sounded like a whimperingchild.Suddenly I came upon her, a littlebaby girl apparently under two yearsold, in her bare feet and dressed onlyin her night gown, tears on her sweetcheek and crying quietly to herself. Shewas a white child but lost in the blacknight. She did not know where she wasnor how to find her home or her people.Her bare feet were hurting in the cinders and the pitiful appeal of her cryingwent to my heart.I spoke kindly to her and gatheredher up in my arms, patting her andtalking to her with all the comfort Icould put into word and voice. Shecould not, or would not, tell me whereshe belonged but one of the coloredmen by the station house told me herparents were at the party in the bighouse.With the little girl in my armscomforted and happy now, I knocked atthe door of the big house. A manoneof the men who had been in the groupin the store, the proprietor of the storeopened the door and looked out. Nosooner had he seen us than a strangefire leaped into his eyes and coveredhis face and in a stern voice he demanded, "Where did you get my baby?"I answered as firmly as he had spoken,"I got your baby, sir, in the middle ofthe railroad track, walking out intothe night, lost, and it is just time forthe night express to go through!"At that he looked earnestly into myface. Suddenly he realized what hadhappened and his whole bearing andappearance and attitude toward mechanged. Taking the little one into hisarms he thanked me most courteouslyand earnestly, explaining that they hadleft the baby asleepat home in herbed and that, evidently, she had awakened and wandered out into the nightand into the path of death!We were friends now and everythingpossible was done for my comfort untilthe train should come. For years thatfather and I corresponded, though Ihave never seen him or the little oneto this day. But though I have neverseen that dear little girl sincenowgrown almost to womanhood if she isstill aliveI have cherished as a mostprecious memory, a memory that stirsmy soul and warms my heart, that experience when I found her lost in thenight and in the very path of oncomingdeath, lost and crying for help, andgathered her up into my arms to sootheand comfort her and a little later todeliver her safe into the loving arms ofher father.She was indeed a lamb in the night,"Away from the tender Shepherd's"Out in the desert He heard itscry sick and helpless and ready to die."How thankful I was, and am to thishour, that God allowed me to find herand bring her home.Dear friends, there are so many ofGod's lambs out in the night, just astruly as was that sweet little girl. Theyare lost. They are in the path of death.They cannot find their way home. TheSaviour has sent you and me to bringthem in. Are we seeking Christ's lambsin the night?O.F.T.BACKGROUND INFORMATIONAs I passed from one room to anotherat the art gallery, I heard the womanback of me comment to her escort, "Theonly trouble with some of these picturesis that I understand so little about religion. I don't know what they'reThis chance bit of conversation bothered me as I continued my study of thefamous masterpieces on display as Imarveled at the use of reflected lightin Rembrandt's painting of "St. PeterDenying Christ" as I gazed at ElGreco's "Feast in the House of Simon"and all through the many rooms housing this magnificant exhibition.As I went home that night, bits ofclass notes came to mind, as: "The connection between art and religion is asold as man," * * *"Christianity wasresponsible for saving art during theDark Ages," and so on. My friend of theconversation was going to have difficulty with at least thirty of the paintings in that particular exhibit. And Itruly felt sorry for her.Since then this incident has been reminding me of Philip, who also cameacross somebody who was having difficulty understanding what he was lookingat.The thing that is bothering me now isthat Philip did something about it. Whatcan I do about the woman in the artgallery?The Lutheran.THE COVENANTER WITNESS