Free The Final Adversary by Gilbert Morris

met him, he recognized my name. Wanted to know if I was any relation to Mark Winslow—the one who’d given so liberally to Moody Bible College in Chicago. Well, I lost no time assuring him that I was the son of that illustrious man, and he insisted that I sit on the platform.”
    “How nice!” Lola said with a pleased smile. “I’m sorry your father couldn’t be here, but I think he’ll come tomorrow. You know how much he admires Mr. Moody.”
    After about half an hour Andy exclaimed, “There he is! There’s Mr. Moody! Come on!”
    “Andy, no!”
    “Sure, he said he wanted to meet Dad, but he’ll have to be satisfied with you.”
    Lola had no choice, so she followed Andy until they were directly in front of the famous evangelist. “Good to see you, Mr. Moody,” Andy said. “My father was unable to be here, but I’d like you to meet my mother.”
    Mr. Moody was not an impressive man, Lola noted. Short and thick-set, with a full graying beard, kind brown eyes, alert and clear. His grammar wasn’t the best, but there was none of the arrogance sometimes found in famous people.
    He smiled at her with a genuine air of pleasure.
    “Mrs. Winslow,” he said in a pleasant tenor voice, “I have written your husband several times, thanking him for his generous support of our Bible college, and it gives me much pleasure to thank you personally.”
    “Oh, Mr. Moody,” Lola replied, awed by the opportunity to meet him, “it’s been little enough, but we pray for you every day.”
    “Thank you,” Moody said, then he gave her a steady look,and after a moment’s silence asked, “Is there anything I can pray with you about, Mrs. Winslow?”
    Lola dropped her eyes, then raised them, tears ready to spill over. “We have a son who is in prison, Mr. Moody.”
    Moody considered her, then in a conversational tone began to pray. It was as though he were addressing a close personal friend, with none of the wordy ministerial prayers often heard. “Dear Father, it is your joy to reclaim prodigal sons. This, thy handmaiden, and her companion are your faithful servants. I ask that you bring their son back from the depths of sin and lead him to the cross. Save him, Lord, for we ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, the friend of sinners.”
    Unable to see Moody clearly through her tears, she whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Moody.”
    “I believe God has begun His work in your boy. I believe he will soon be set free,” the evangelist said.
    “Oh, thank you,” she said again, then took Andy’s arm as they returned to their seats.
    “That was wonderful, Mother!”
    Lola smiled, her heart rejoicing at the words echoing in her mind: I believe he will soon be set free. Though the service was wonderful, she scarcely heard Ira Sankey, the great musician, sing, or Moody’s powerful message as the Spirit of God moved in the hearts of people. She could only think of Barney.
    On the way home as Andy talked about the sermon, his mother interrupted him. “Andy, tell me again about the night you went to find the man who shot Adams.”
    Surprised, Andy said, “Why, Mother, I told you about that before.” But at her insistence, he recounted the details again.
    When he finished Lola asked, “About this girl, Katie—you thought she knew something?”
    “I thought so at the time, but now I don’t know. Those people are suspicious of anyone like us.”
    “Andy, I’m sure you were on the track of something,” Lola said quietly. She sat there thinking hard, and then added, “Ithink God has brought us back to New York to help your brother.”
    “Why, Mother, Dad’s paid out a fortune to private detectives! They tried everything.”
    Lola smiled at him. “But Barney’s not their son.”
    That night long after she went to bed, she kept hearing the words: I believe he will soon be set free. A voice whispered that Moody had meant that Barney would be saved—be free from sin. But Lola shook her head fiercely. “No, Lord! Save him and