<TITLE>08. Par 27-29</TITLE>L-27 And then when he come up there... The thing had to do to help the man, you've got to enter into his own suffering with him. The only way, you just treat anything good. Just be kind to an animal and you'll win it. How much more have you got to be kind, showing brotherly love one to another.
And I talked to him, and somehow I just felt how bad the devil was. He had probably raised a bunch of little kiddies in his day, working out there for a few pesos and eating the little tortillas, maybe made out of old lettuce had been throwed away by the tourists, and the stuff that it was made of. And my heart was breaking. And then to think the devil had him staggering in black darkness. And I just couldn't do no more of that, but embrace that old wrinkled man up to my bosom. And as I looked, he couldn't understand a word I was saying.
But I said, "Heavenly Father, be merciful. Surely the devil has mistreated him, done this to him, the man that You died for."
And while I was praying I heard something; hollered, "Gloria a Dios." And I turned him around and his eyes was open. He was walking over the platform, shouting and praising God. What was it? Sympathy? Love had been... He couldn't understand, but he knowed I loved him. God knew it.

L-28 Many people said about wild animals, "Aren't you afraid of them, Brother Branham?" Never. I love them.
Here sometime ago... My first seven years was a conservation officer, a game warden. And one time while I was going up to dig a little ditch to throw some water over to turn some fish into a stream... We were supposed to pack a little old pistol. And when I went over across the field, there was a man sick over there that I knew... I was a minister at the time. And I was going over to visit this minister, that had... or this man to pray for him.
And on my road, I just pulled off this little old gun and throwed it up in the car, and locked up the door, and took out across the field, which is about three quarters of a mile. I had forgotten that in that field was a killer bull, that had just killed a colored man, down at the Brook's Farm and they had sold him to Mr. Guernsey on the pasture up there. He was a famous bull, good stock, but was a killer.

L-29 And I was going out across the field, singing to myself, and I come up to a little bunch of scrub timber; and all of a sudden out of that scrub timber raised this big killer bull. And he looked right at me. What was the first thing? I reached for the gun to kill him. I had no gun. I looked for the fence about three hundred yards. He was standing about twenty or thirty yards from me. There was no trees, nowhere to go, but was stand on and take your death. So I said, "Heavenly Father, I suppose this is the end."
And I'm glad I didn't have the gun. I'd have killed the bull then and then went and paid for him. But I stood to look at the animal; he backed off, snorted, threw his horns down in the dirt, twisting his tail. I knew he was coming, and I stood and looked at him a moment, and something happened. Somehow or another... This may seem foolish, but all the fear left; when love come in, fear went away.


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