I remember, when on the North Side, I tried to reach a family time and again and failed. One night in the meeting, I noticed one of the little boys of that family. He hadn’t come for any good, however; he was sticking pins in the backs of the other boys. I thought if I could get hold of him it would do good. I used always to go to the door and shake hands with the boys, and when I got to the door and saw this little boy coming out, I shook hands with him, and patted him on the head, and said I was glad to see him, and hoped he would come again. He hung his head and went away. The next night, however, he came back, and he behaved better than he did the previous night. He came two or three after, and then asked us to pray for him that he might become a Christian. That was a happy night for me. He became a Christian, and a good one. One night I saw him weeping. I wondered if his old temper had got hold of him again, and when he got up I wondered what he was going to say. “I wish you would pray for my mother,” he said. When the meeting was over I went to him, and asked, “Have you ever spoken to your mother, or tried to pray with her?” “Well, you know, Mr. Moody,” he replied, “I never had an opportunity; she don’t believe, and won’t hear me.” “Now,” I said, “I want you to talk to your mother to-night.” For years I had been trying to reach her and couldn’t do it.
So I urged him to talk to her that night, and I said, “I will pray for you both.” When he got to the sitting-room he found some people there, and he sat waiting for an opportunity, when his mother said it was time for him to go to bed. He went to the door undecided. He took a step, stopped, and turned around, and hesitated for a minute, then ran to his mother and threw his arms around her neck, and buried his face in her bosom. “What is the matter?” she asked; she thought he was sick. Between his sobs he told his mother how for five weeks he had wanted to be a Christian; how he had stopped swearing; how he was trying to be obedient to her, and how happy he would be if she would be a Christian, and then went off to bed. She sat for a few minutes, but couldn’t stand it, and went up to his room. When she got to the door she heard him weeping, and praying, “O God, convert my dear mother.” She came down again, but couldn’t sleep that night. Next day she told the boy to go and ask Mr. Moody to come over and see her. He called at my place of business (I was in business then), and I went over as quiet as I could. I found her sitting in a rocking-chair weeping. “Mr. Moody,” she said, “I want to become a Christian.” “What has brought that change over you? I thought you didn’t believe in it.” Then she told me how her boy had come to her, and how she hadn’t slept any all night, and how her sin rose up before her like a dark mountain. The next Sunday that boy came and led that mother into the Sabbath-school, and she became a Christian worker.
O little children, if you find Christ, tell it to your fathers and mothers. Throw your arms around their necks and lead them to Jesus.