OCR Text |
Show 236 Mr. Turnbull listened. I turned to him. "Mr. Turnbull, you are a very sick man, " I said. "Why don't you go to a doctor?" "They could take all the doctors and throw them in the ocean," he said. "It is not doctors, but God who heals the sick. I am a Christian Scientist, and I don't believe in going to doctors" I hadn't known that, and didn't know what to say. He went on: "I suppose you think you performed a miracle last night, saving this woman and baby. " "Well, I was there, doing my best. " "I want you to know that all the time you were down there working I was on my knees, praying. It was God, not you, who brought these people through the night. " "I don't doubt it, Mr. Turnbull, " I said, and I believed it. "But faith without work is dead. Don't you think I was some sort of instrument in his hands?" "I suppose you were, " he admitted. "Surely she had to have someone. " Mr. Young was listening with interest. "But it was not you. It was God. " "Mr. Turnbull, I believe that men have no knowledge that does not come from God, and when it comes I believe we should use it, and that we should also pray for help. " It did no good, and I left the room in a storm of words. Mrs. Turn-bull was waiting and I shook my head. |