EVEN Louie's heart, deceitful as it was and full of busy thoughts and imaginations, could not present much to comfort her under this fresh shadow, the shadow of a cloud that was very near at hand, a cloud which she could do nothing to keep away, and which might at any time burst in a storm of destruction upon her head. A little, little hope was all that she could find now, a hope that, notwithstanding all that she too well knew about her own self and her own ways, she was not so bad as multitudes who peopled the earth; and that perhaps, compared with them, the Lord, of whose love she had so often heard, would forgive her her sins and would, in His mercy, take her to the place of safety when He took her many kind Christian friends and all the rest of His people.
But oh, what a deceitful hope this was! The sinner, whether a child or a grown person, will not be examined by the light of what he is, compared with other sinners, but by the light of that God who is light, and in whom is no darkness at all. Felix, the brave, the learned, the respected Roman governor, “trembled" when he heard of righteousness and judgment to come; and well indeed may any unsaved child tremble at the thought of that righteousness and judgment to come. So, in the midst of the groundless hopes presented by her own deceitful heart, Louie yet found room for many a doubt and many an anxious fear.
It was on a Sunday, not long after this, that she received a sad message: many a blessed message of salvation, of forgiveness, love and peace lay within the covers of the little Bible which she so often held in her hand, but all these messages she had not yet turned to; she had not yet learned to refuse her own heart and her own thoughts and to listen to the thoughts of God, and so now she was to receive, as a message, the testimony of her own heart when for a moment, in presence of the truth of God, its bulwarks of deceit were broken down, and its false hopes became like chaff which the wind driveth away.
Every Sunday, the children took a long drive to an old-fashioned little building which was three miles away: a great yellow carriage came to the door, and it was well that it was a great one, for when Mamma and Miss R. and all the children, as well as a big, red-covered basket which held their books had been stowed away, there was not a corner or crevice left for anything or anybody else. Many other people went to that same old-fashioned building, for a dear old saint and servant of God usually preached there; he had the hoary head which is a crown of glory, and a very kind smiling face was seen beneath the snow-white locks, but with all his goodness, I doubt whether this old man ever told in plain words how a sinner could be saved; and though Louie heard and understood a great deal of what he said, and could give a little account of it when asked to do so, she never heard anything that answered the many questions which disturbed her heart.
However, one Sunday, just before the preaching began, all the people stood up to sing a hymn, and at once this hymn arrested Louie's attention, for it began thus—
“Hark! that shout of rapturous joy
Bursting forth from yonder cloud;
Jesus comes, and through the sky
Angels tell their joy aloud."
So this hymn was on the very subject which had been so deeply engaging Louie's thoughts for the last few weeks; it spoke of the Lord's coming for His saints, but oh! how different were the thoughts told of in those verses from the thoughts which that same blessed subject awoke in Louie's unhappy heart! The hymn went on to say—
"Rise, ye saints, He comes for you,
Rise and meet Him in the air."
And it was then that Louie received the sad message, the testimony of her own unrenewed, unreconciled, heart. “You are not one of those saints," said her heart; "you will not rejoice in that day, you will not rise to meet the Lord, you will be left behind, you will not share the joy, your portion will be judgment." An awakened conscience, a heart aroused, can testify to us of our own guilt and ruin, but it can do no more.
Louie, taking counsel with her own heart, got only a testimony of judgment; it is the testimony of God as given in His word which alone can speak peace to the guilty conscience and rest to the troubled heart, and this is the testimony called, in the Epistle of John, the record. “And this is the record, that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. He that hath the Son hath life, and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life."
Louie received the testimony of her own heart, but she did not receive the testimony of God, and so she went home that day with a heavy burden upon her; still, the true testimony of her heart was better than its deceitful hopes. She felt sure now that there was only one hope, whether to deliver from death and judgment or to give joy and peace in the thought of the Lord's coming, and this was to be a child of God. No child of God would be left behind; Louie felt quite sure of that, and she earnestly wished that she were a child of God, but how was she to become one? If she had only looked at the Gospel of John, the first chapter and twelfth verse, she would have found there the answer to her question: "As many as received him," that is Christ Jesus, the Son of God whom the Father sent to be the Savior of the world; "as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name." Instead of reading and, in obedience of faith, receiving this word, Louie looked into books which contained the words and ways of men, and there she found things which puzzled and troubled her very much. One book said, "If you want to go to heaven you must love Jesus." This troubled her more than anything, for she felt that she did not love God, or Jesus the Son of God. This was dreadful, but it was the truth, and it is still true of every unsaved, unreconciled person; for the natural heart does not, and cannot, love God. “The carnal mind is enmity against God." (Rom. 8:77Because the carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be. (Romans 8:7).) Until “we have known and believed the love that God hath to us," we are "enemies in our minds by wicked works." We know, whenever we begin to think carefully, that we have done a great many things which are evil and displeasing to God; we know also that our thoughts, ways, and desires are not such as suit the holy God, and while we thus examine our own hearts we cannot but feel that God will be, as a Judge, against us; thus we are at enmity with Him. Sad indeed this is, while all the time it stands written that “God commendeth his love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us." It is quite true that none will be in heaven who do not love the Lord Jesus Christ. “If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ let him be Anathema," that is, accursed; still, it is not anything of our love to Christ, but only and entirely His love to us, which fits us for and brings us to the place of blessing. “He loved me and gave himself for me." “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins." “We love him because he first loved us."
These were days of sad trouble to Louie; she tasted indeed the bondage and torment of fear. Like the wicked person spoken of in Proverbs 28:11The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion. (Proverbs 28:1), she was ready to flee when no man pursued. Often and often, at the slightest alarm, she was filled with fright; even when there was no alarm, when at night the house was all quiet, the quiet brought no sleep to Louie; she would fear lest that stillness were the stillness of a house from which all were gone but herself. Sometimes she would jump out of bed and run into the next room to look at the other children; there they were, quietly asleep in their beds, and Louie would go back to hers. Sometimes she would cry out, and a maid would come running up to see what could be the matter, and would find nothing which, to her mind, could have caused the child's distress; and Louie was often told that this habit of screaming at night was a very foolish one, and that she was getting quite too old to continue such disturbances.
One night in particular; she had gone away on a short visit with her mother. There were several other visitors in the house, and Louie was particularly desired not to scream after she was in bed, but, if she wanted to see any one, to ring the bell: the bellrope hung close by her hand, at the bedside, and so it seemed that all would be well. Louie did not at all wish to ring for a strange maid, who would certainly, if she did so, think her very strange; for she never felt that she could tell any one what was in her heart or what caused her fears, and so, when the help she so loudly entreated arrived, it generally appeared that she wanted nothing; and often she was told that she must have been dreaming, and called out in her sleep. On this night, Mamma came and gave Louie a goodnight kiss, and saw her tucked up snugly in bed, and then, with many injunctions about the bellrope, left her. Louie tried hard to go to sleep, but in the strange room this was even more difficult than usual, and presently she began listening to the few sounds which reached her from a distant part of the house, but as the time went on these grew fainter, and at last, with all her listening, she could perceive nothing but that silence which was more terrible to her than the most alarming noise. Had the Lord come and taken away everybody out of the house except herself? Was she at last left alone?
The room was quite dark; Louie sat up and listened, but not a sound could she hear. She could bear it no longer, but remembering, even at that moment, what she had been told about not screaming, she seized the rope at her side and pulled it with all her might. Then again she listened for the sound of a footstep which would assure her that the dreadful moment, the day when she should be left alone for judgment, was not yet come. She listened, oh! how eagerly, but she heard nothing, not a movement; again she pulled the rope, again and yet again, no footstep answered. Often Louie had feared that the coming of the Lord had overtaken her, as it will overtake the wicked, like a thief in the night; but now it was more than a fear, she felt almost sure. What could this dreadful, this persistent silence mean but an empty house? No consideration for what anybody might think of her could restrain her now; she sprang from her bed with a great cry, she ran to the door and seized the handle, she felt that she must escape from that silent room. But she could not; the door was fastened. Louie's utmost strength was of no avail, she shook and pulled, but the door would not yield. However, the silence at last was broken, not only by her own terrible cries, but by the sound of many feet hastening along the passage to her room. At first Louie could hardly hear or understand, so great was her excitement, but presently she distinguished well-known voices, and then her anguish was stilled. The Lord had not come yet; the hour of judgment had not overtaken her yet, and soon she was able to listen and to understand that, in her hurry, she had pulled a wrong rope which did not ring the bell, but which had moved the bolt of her door and fastened it. Thus no bell had been heard by the servants below, and no answering sounds had reached her above.
Louie opened the door and she breathed freely once more, indeed she was able presently to feel a good deal ashamed for all the confusion she had caused. Every one thought that she must have awaked suddenly from a very dreadful dream, but she knew well that the cause of her fears was no dream, but a truth, a truth most blessed for the children of God, but awful indeed for the unprepared. Like a thief, that moment which is the hope of the saint, will take away from the sinner every hope, every joy, everything that he ever loved; and Louie knew that she was a sinner, but alas! she did not yet know the sinner's Friend.