Riches of grace

by E. E. Byrum

Three weeks later I left Tacoma for Portland, Oregon, under the name of Grayson, where I looked up a friend of mine. He was at that time manager of the Oregon Hotel. The next morning I was more miserable than ever before and thought that I was sick. The night preceding I related to my friend all my troubles, with the exception of my being a deserter from the army.

While I was looking for a charity physician who could give me something to relieve my distress and trouble, I found a Salvation Army man and asked him if he knew of any physician who worked for charity and would give me treatment. He told me that he had a friend who was a physician and who was a lover of Jewish people. This was the first time that I ever heard that a Christian loved a Jew.

I went to the office of the doctor, whose name was Estock, and he gave me a cordial welcome. Putting his right hand on my right wrist and his left hand around my neck, he said that he loved the Jews because his Savior was a Jew and that he was glad God had sent me to his office in answer to his prayers. I was dumbfounded and unable to answer. The doctor said, "You do not need a physician for your body, but you need the Lord Jesus to heal your soul, for your trouble is with your soul, and the Lord Jesus is able to save you from your distress and troubles." He gave me a little bottle and said: "Here is a little medicine, but you do not need it. The only thing that will help you is prayer, and I will 'phone to my wife and ask her to pray for you, and I will also pray for you. This will be the only way you will get peace."

The next morning as I was offering my thanks to him he said, "Do not thank me, but thank God that he sent his only begotten Son, that through him such poor unworthy people as we should be saved through his love."

"What can this mean?" I answered. "Is there a God that will love such a man as I am?—a man who curses him? a man that stamped his Bible under his feet and fought against him? Is it true that he will love me so?"

The doctor answered, "He died for such men as you, that he might save you." He further said: "My house belongs to the Lord, and I owe everything to him. The God of Abraham and Isaac is my God, and the God of David and also the Prophets. He is my God, and he is your God, whether you want him or not; and I beg you to come with me to my house."

"It is impossible for me to go into your house," I answered, "because I do not believe that there is a God, and if there is one, I am unworthy to go into such a house."

He pleaded with me further to go, and I went with him. I lived at the doctor's house for thirty days. We had the strongest arguments on Scriptures, he trying to prove to me that Jesus is the Messiah that came to save his people from sin. I contradicted every word of his with the Old Testament Scriptures.

On the thirtieth day in the doctor's house I was more vile than ever before. I got up in the morning looking for the first chance to get even with the doctor because of his persistence in mentioning the Lord Jesus on every occasion. When I came down-stairs, they were ready for breakfast. I sat at the table brewing within myself, full of hatred, malice, and bitterness against them because of their holding up to me the Lord Jesus as my only Savior. While at the table I could not withhold my bitterness, and when they read the Scriptures after the meal, I began to laugh, mock, and curse, calling them all kinds of vile names.