(This is the story that formed "Millionaire and Miss" found in "JUNIE'S LIBRARY")
If there were a rich man in fedora and furs riding along slowly in chaperoned Mercedez Benz along the proverbial road of life, handing out leaflets of what he felt was important, and the way he felt we should live, and those who saw these leaflets mostly disregarded them… Would it come as a big surprise to anyone that those who disregarded his writings and his person, then came to his car and asked for his help one day… if he didn’t lift his head to listen to their request, and they went away complaining that the rich man “never listens to them”?
For sake of contrast and a story, let us say there was a poor boy somewhere, during one of that billionaire’s slow drives, who stopped and stared at the paper handed him through the window of that car.
“Thanks, mister, but I can’t read...”
Before he knew it, the boy was cleaned, fed, clothed, and sent off to the best boarding school in the land, where he received the “larnin’” he needed to “make sense” of that billionaire’s “chicken scratch”.
And read it he did. That boy not only read through that leaflet countless times, but sometimes he read portions out loud to the man just to show him now he could, as well as to thank him.
He came back to the car one day—clean-cut, decked out in finest clothes, and he had learned by heart—the first section, the first four pages of the pamphlet he tells the rich man his life is better now because of!
But he needed a little tape because some of the pages were coming apart; could the man buy him some? Of course, the billionaire bought him more rolls than he’d ever need.
Later on, when he came back not needing tape to mend the leaflet but glasses so he could read it better—his eyes were getting weak—the man quickly got him reading glasses; then took him not only to the optician but also the optometrist, then to the medical doctor too. Of course, he footed the bill for all of this. And they were friends now.
But one day, the boy came looking as miserable as a person could be. His mother had died. The billionaire didn’t try to cheer him up; just told him how very sorry he was—he remembered the sparkle in the boy’s eyes through the years whenever he was enabled to buy a gift for his mother.
The son ended up living with the rich man. “Everything I have is yours,” the man said as he moved in.
Is there someone thinking, “God never answers my prayer”? When did he last pick up His leaflet—it’s called the Bible—and simply heed what He had to say? God will be quick to supply mending aid necessary for those seeking His face in His word; and no doubt, life becomes richer when putting to practice all that’s written there. And even at times of heartbreak and loss—there is no guarantee His own will not experience them--we will find all belonging to our prayer-answering God at our disposal.
