One of the ways the Lord provided for us to build housing was to raise chickens. With that income, we built the chapel, retirement homes for the elderly, provided for the operation of the Children’s Home, and provided an income for the young men we were working with. We sold a hundred dozen eggs a week at a handsome profit, because we were about the only farm in the whole New Orleans area to have the chickens up off the ground in cages, which produced better tasting eggs.
One of our good customers was a well known figure, reputed to be a Mafia boss. He would usually pick up his eggs himself, and soon became very friendly with me. It was very impressive when he would pull up in his limousine with three or four body guards. When I first saw him, I could not help admiring his handsomeness. He would always be extremely well dressed, in an expensive suit. He was a family man, and just beamed with kindness. He gave me the impression that he was very generous with his wealth. He was always a perfect gentleman, graciously accepting tracts I would give him, and always interested in the work we were doing for the Lord. I prayed for him that he would get saved and become a worker for the cause of our Lord.
One day he drove up to our house in his big black limousine. He got out of the car, surrounded by his four bodyguards, and walked up to me by the chicken house to purchase his eggs. After placing them in his car, he came back to talk to me, still flanked by his guards. He told me that he was impressed with our work, and that he liked us and wanted to help us. I knew he meant it, and I knew he wasn’t talking about peanuts, but a lot of money. He was widely reputed to have given millions of dollars to churches already.
I looked him in the eye and thanked him for his concern for us and the work of the Lord. I told him that I didn’t wish to insult him—you don’t insult a man surrounded by men whom you assume know how to use sawed-off shotguns— but I could not accept any gifts from him. I explained that I used any money I received for the Lord’s work only, and the only people who could support the Lord’s work are born again Christians. At this juncture I placed my finger on his chest and said with all sincerity, “Now, you know that you are not saved, don’t you, and until you get saved God doesn’t want your money. Unless you get saved, when you die, your soul will be in hell forever.”
He listened intently while I told him the gospel story, and that through the redemptive power of the blood of Jesus Christ, he could be saved. Although I related the gospel to him for at least half an hour, he did not accept God’s gift of salvation. Over the years, several Christians have testified to him but as far as I know, he is still in a lost condition. I keep imagining what a testimony it would be if he trusted the Saviour. I long for, and pray for his salvation.
Like the rest of the planet’s five billion souls, God loves him and Christ died for him. I covet his soul for the Lord.