During the day there had been a market in this village. A Chinese farmer named Chang Fang Yuan from a near-by town, doing his business in the marketplace, happened to engage in conversation with one of the Christians, who invited him to the meeting that evening “to hear a white woman speak Chinese,” no mention of the subject to be discussed. My friend Chang promptly said he did not believe a word of what his friend was saying. No woman could speak Chinese so he could understand. Indeed he went so far in the heated argument which followed, as to tell the Christian very plainly, he was a liar, and he, Chang, knew it, and would prove it, as he would spend the night in Liu Kia Ku to attend the service and listen. This he did, with an unlooked for result.

Our place of meeting was a rather commodious tent, erected on a threshing floor near the church. By eight P. M. the tent was packed, men on one side, women on the other, with not an inch of space left for standing room. It must have been at this time that Chang, the farmer, arrived on the scene. He found it impossible to get inside. But being a Chinese man who had made up his mind to hear, he was going to hear. Outside he moved from place to place until, directly behind the rude platform, he discovered one of the flaps open, through which he stuck his head. In this fashion he could both hear and see.

Remember, he had never heard the Good News before. This was the only information he had ever received of the Gospel: the Elders in his home town had sworn an oath and signed it with their blood, that if a foreign missionary or Chinese evangelist would come to their town preaching “The Devil’s Doctrine,” they would kill them; or if any person or persons in the village would become secondary, or second-class devils (local name for native Christians) they too would be killed without delay.

With this scanty knowledge Chang listened to the story of the Prodigal son and its application to himself. It came a direct revelation of the Holy Spirit enlightening him, uncovering the secret sins of his heart, unveiling the righteousness of God.

The service closed. The crowd dispersed. Chang entered the tent, rapidly made his way to the space before the platform, and flinging himself at my feet he cried out, “I am the prodigal! I am the prodigal! How shall I get back to my Heavenly Father? Will He receive me? Oh, I have wandered so far away! Tell me how to get back?”

We knelt together, pleading for and with him, telling him to say, “Lord, forgive me for Jesus’ sake!” Soon the peace of God filled his soul, the Holy Spirit revealing the risen Lord in him. He spent the remaining days of the Conference with us. He had some education and could read.

The parting day came quickly. “My brothers and sisters, pray for me,” Chang cried out at one of the closing services. “I may never see you again in the flesh. I go back to die, unless God delivers me.”

With heavy hearts we commended him to God and proceeded on our journey.

He returned to his village, his heart overflowing with love to God and man. Like Paul of old, no fear of death could close his mouth or prevent him proclaiming the Good News. He had returned to his Heavenly Father, and his Father had received him.