Taking up the local paper, I read of the death of "Diana Bacon, aged 102," or 108, I cannot remember which. On reading it aloud to my friends, which whom I was staying, they exclaimed,
"Why, that is our dear old friend," and showing me a photo of a sweet, peaceful old face, told me the following,
One summer morning they were out walking, and they saw sitting under a hedge, in the country lane, an old body making nets. Feeling interested in her, they went and sat beside her, and spoke of Christ. She listened; seemed pleased, but evidently did not know Him as her Savior. They asked her could she read?
"No, she couldn't read, but she had a little grandson who was a good scholar."
They had given away all their tracts, so taking a piece of paper, one wrote out this verse,
Reading this to her, they told her to be sure and get the little grandson to read it to her often. Then telling her of the pardon through the precious blood, and that even an old body like herself, living so long without Christ, might find cleansing and peace through this blood of God's dear Son, they passed on their way.
Two years passed away, and one day, walking in this town about two or three miles from where they had met the old woman, an old bent form approached them, and making a low curtsey, said,
"O! ladies, I have been praying to the Lord that I might meet you again." They exclaimed:
"Do you know us, then?"
"O! yes," she cried. "Don't you remember two years ago you met me in the lane, and gave me a little paper."
And then, fumbling in her basket, she produced the little scrap, very dirty, very thumbed, and one recognized her own handwriting. She said at once,
"I can now say, the blood of our Lord Jesus has cleansed me from all sin."
The Lord had cared for the seed sown, and others had been led to tell her of Jesus. They never lost sight of her again. Every Saturday, for many years, as long as she could walk, she came to their house, and though she could not read, seemed to grow in love and grace, and always enjoyed a word of prayer and a little reading. She never forgot her text.
"Thank you a million hundred times," she used to say so often. Frequently they went to see her, and every January 1st, her birthday, they paid her a special visit. The first time they went, she said,
"I have got a big Bible, and I want you to mark that verse, that when people come to see me, I may point out the text and say, That is the verse which brought me to Christ."
And now, safely housed, the dear old woman can look back and rejoice in the light that knows no shadowing over the way God sought and won her.
Dear reader, are you waiting for some great thing to bring you to Christ? Some very fine sermon, a shipwreck when you are marvelously saved, a serious illness when you lie facing death for days or weeks? No, God is calling you every hour, waits for you to come to Jesus every day. Old Diana Bacon had a responsive heart. God called, and she answered, and came to Him.
He speaks peace and gladness. He tells of cleansing from every sin; of "no condemnation;" of sins "remembered no more," and "cast into the depths of the sea."
"Blotted out as a thick cloud," and the spotless robe of righteousness in which to appear before God, as fair, and as dear, as His own beloved Son.