Thank You John

When Dr. Broadus was a boy in a little town he was converted to Christ. He had been attending some meetings, and he went to one of his playmates, Sandy Jones, a red-haired, awkward chap, the next day and said to him: “I wish you would be a Christian. Won’t you?”

And Sandy said, “Well, I don’t know, perhaps I will.” And sure enough, after a little while, one night in the little church, Sandy Jones accepted God. Straightway he stalked across that little meeting house, held out his hand and said, “I thank you, John, I thank you, John.”

Dr. Broadus went out from that little town and became a great scholar, a great exegete, a great theological president. Every summer when he went home to that little town, and he hardly missed a season, I am told, this awkward, red-haired old farmer, in his plain clothes, with red sand on his boots, would come up, stick out his great bony hand and say: “Howdy, John. Thank you, John, thank you, John. I never forget, John.”

When Dr. Broadus died, his family around him, he said: “I rather think the sound sweetest to my ears in Heaven, next to the welcome of Him Whom having not seen I have loved and tried to serve, will be the welcome of Sandy Jones, as he will thrust out his great hand and say: “Howdy, John. Thank you, John.”