. The Saturday evening post. thought I would write Peter exactlywhat was in my mind. I would search himand warn him. Then I fell to trembling at the fear ofwhat I was about to do. Who was I toquestion him? After all, my son had de-livered himself into the hands of the Lord would chasten him and tear himdown and build him up according to hisword and his Spirit. That was the end ofthe struggle. I knew it when I began toweep. Then I went over to the table andwrote him the kind of letter the motherof a young preacher should write. I toldhim that I would go with him and helphim and stand b
. The Saturday evening post. thought I would write Peter exactlywhat was in my mind. I would search himand warn him. Then I fell to trembling at the fear ofwhat I was about to do. Who was I toquestion him? After all, my son had de-livered himself into the hands of the Lord would chasten him and tear himdown and build him up according to hisword and his Spirit. That was the end ofthe struggle. I knew it when I began toweep. Then I went over to the table andwrote him the kind of letter the motherof a young preacher should write. I toldhim that I would go with him and helphim and stand by him so long as I had thestrength for this business. All I asked ofhim was that he would pray without ceas-ing that he might be a true disciple and be-come as much as God would give him graceto be like his father, who had literally be-lieved in the way, the truth and thelife, and had preached it, counting him-self as nothing that he might serve his Lord. (Continued on Page 114) 112 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST December 4, 1920.
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