The neighbors called her "Wild Kate", so brusque and rough was she, both in looks and manners. I was told I need not call on her, as she would neither welcome me nor come to the meetings. But I remembered the words of Him who said, "I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance."
Having resolved to "sow beside all waters" I went one day to her cottage. As I neared it, an old man said to me, "Are you going in there, sir?" He glanced significantly at Kate's door.
"Yes," I replied.
He said, "Weel, weel, it's a needless task, an' I wish ye safe out, sir. She's an awful woman."
I replied: "I have a message from God for her, and I am not afraid."
I knocked at the door. A strong, harsh voice said, "Come in."
As I entered she seemed surprised and exclaimed: "Oh, you've made a mistake."
I said, "No, I have made no mistake. You are the person I came to see, Kate."
"Did you, sir? Well, you are the first minister who ever came to see Kate Douglas since she came to Bolton. Will you take a seat, sir?"
I readily did so, and we entered into a very pleasant conversation which concluded with my asking her to the meeting in the evening. She answered: "Well, sir, as you have been so kind as to come yourself and invite me, I will come; and thank ye kindly, sir."
True to her promise Kate was at the meeting that night, and some arrow from God's quiver entered her heart. It brought her low before Him, and the self-sufficient "wild" woman was humbled.
It was some weeks later, and on a wild stormy wet night. As I sat alone in my study, the servant came to say that someone wanted to see me. "Show him in here; it must be something very urgent that would bring any man out on such a night as this."
"It is a woman, sir, and she has come all the way from Bolton. Though I wanted her to warm and dry herself at the fire, she insisted that I should come at once and ask you to see her."
The door was again opened, and Kate Douglas entered the room. "Kate," I exclaimed, as I rose to receive her. "How are you? This is a rough night for you to be out. You are cold and wet."
Placing a chair for her, I begged her to sit down; but there she stood erect, unable for a moment to speak. At last she said, "Ah, sir! Wild as the storm is outside, it is nothing to what is raging in my heart. Ever since I heard you at the meeting, there has been nothing but storm in my soul. You spoke that night about a Refuge from the storm, and I've come to ask you where I can find it."
"What kind of a Refuge do you seek, Kate?" I asked, anxious to know the state of her mind. "A Refuge from what?"
"From my sins and God's wrath!" She replied slowly and solemnly.
Lifting my heart in prayer to God for wisdom, I opened my Bible and turned to Psalm 46. Slowly I read: "God is our Refuge and Strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof." Psa. 46:1-31<<To the chief Musician for the sons of Korah, A Song upon Alamoth.>> God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 2Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; 3Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. (Psalm 46:1‑3).
"Sir," said Kate, "do you mean to say that the God I have hated and sinned against all my life will be my Refuge? It is His wrath I want to hide from. Oh, that wrath! That wrath! If you can tell me nothing but this, sir, then I may as well go now and face the storm, the cold, and wild wind and rain. I'll return home worse off than I came. God could never have any dealings with me as I am."
The expression of her face had changed from intense expectation to that word of disappointment and distress. I hastened to say: "Listen to me, Kate. You did not hear me out. What did you expect me to tell you to do?"
"Why, sir, there's my neighbor who is a good living woman, and she's never through saying prayers, and doing religious things, and reproving all who don't do as she does. Though I don't like her ways, I don't know what else I could do for peace of mind."
"And you thought I would prescribe some such self-righteous system to bring rest to your wounded conscience?"
"I thought maybe you could tell me how to follow some such course, and so mend my ways."
"And what would become of all your past sins?"
She hesitated and then sadly said, "I don't know."
"Well, Kate, hear this. It is not my word, but God's: 'There is none righteous, no, not one.' That is God's description of man. Then, lest man should think that any effort of his could ever heal the breach between God and him, we have this divine declaration: `By the deeds of the law shall no flesh living be justified,' for in God's sight 'all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags.'
"Hear now what God says of His remedy for our natural wicked state: 'In due time Christ died for the ungodly.' Christ's own words are, 'I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.
"Well, sir, what must I do?"
"Confess yourself among this class of ungodly sinners, and plead Christ's promise to accept and save such. 'He came unto His own, and His own received Him not. But as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name.' " John 1:11,1211He came unto his own, and his own received him not. 12But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: (John 1:11‑12).
"But how, how, sir?"
I then read to her several scriptures from the Old Testament where the promise of the Savior was foretold—the gift of God to man. Then turning to the New Testament, we read of the birth and life of Christ, of His death and resurrection; then turning again to His own words of promise and invitation to sinners.
Hour after hour passed, but Kate's eagerness did not wane. "Now, Kate," I said, "you know all. Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, even the chief."
"I am that one," burst from her lips. "Can it be that He will take me and be a Refuge to me?"
"His own word is, 'Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.' Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'"
"Ah, sir, I see now what you mean by God being a Refuge. Jesus, God's Son, making peace between God and man. How wonderful! Oh, how wonderful. And to think that I never knew it before. God bless you, sir, for inviting me to that meeting. Will you pray for me?"
We knelt to pray, and I believe in that quiet hour that tempest-tossed soul found a haven of rest. She arose to depart—the storm without had ceased, and the streaks of the early dawn streamed through the closed shutters. I opened them.
"What a calm," I exclaimed.
"Oh, yes," she said. 'All is peace now. I have found Jesus. Now He is my sinful soul's Refuge. Jesus! He took my place and died for me. God bless you, sir, for telling me of Him."
Intense were the struggles Kate still had against sin, and especially with her temper. One can easily see that it was no light combat for a spirit so bold, and feelings so proud and excitable, to wage. Even the boys who used often to rouse Kate's indignation by tormenting her realized that for they said: 'There's no fun now with Wild Kate. She is so quiet. She never swears, nor runs after us, as she used to do. See here," said he, seizing a black cat 'and going with it to Kate's door, which was open. Kate was sitting with her back to it, intently reading her Bible.
"Here's a present for you," shouted the boy as he threw the cat over her shoulder into her lap, and then ran away. Kate had a dislike to cats, and the boy knew this. He expected her to get angry and chase them. Instead, Kate lifted the cat in her arms and carried it to the door. Laying it gently on the ground in sight of the boys, she then shut her door. The gentleness of Christ had won her heart and tamed her wild spirit. Now she desired only to be pleasing to Him—"a living epistle of Jesus Christ," known and read of all.
"Not many lives, but only one have we,
One, only one:
How sacred should that one life ever be,
That narrow span;
Day after day filled up with blessed toil,
Hour after hour still bringing in new spoil."