At meetings being held in the north of England, Lionel Fletcher noticed a rough-looking man showing the ravages of sin on his face. He was the first to rise at the end and rush to the preacher. The story poured out in sobs. His son had trusted Christ shortly before. His father was the worse for drink when Charlie told him he’d been saved. Grabbing his belt, the man began to lash his son, and did so each night he dared attend the meetings. One bitter night, finding his son hiding in the pigsty for warmth, he dragged him out and threw him in the coal cellar, all the while hearing Charlie pleading with God to save his father. Now here he was weeping out his repentance, saying, “He’s beaten me; Charlie’s beaten me.” Then, suddenly, at the door appeared Charlie, called from the mill by friends who had seen his father go forward. They embraced, and “Charlie’s hand stole up to his father’s face, and he began to pat it, and I heard him say, ‘Father, how I love you, how I love you.’” “Love never fails” (1 Cor 13:8).