DEAR children, you know that when Jesus was on this earth He opened the eyes of the blind, and did many wonderful things; and now, though He has ascended up into heaven, His ways of acting with people are different, but no less wonderful, for He is the same Lord, and through His Spirit He opens dark blind hearts to see the light of the glorious Gospel, and to receive the gift of eternal life, which is more precious than the sight of the eyes.
Did you ever think how sad it would be to be blind, never to see the sun or the trees, or The grass or sweet flowers; always in darkness, never to see your father’s or mother’s face? You might hear the bird’s sweet song, and might wonder what the songster was like, but you would never see its bright feathers and its sparking eye. You might smell the sweet flowers from the garden, but you would never see their gay petals, all would be darkness and night to you. Oh! it is sad to be blind!
Now, I am going to tell you the story of Maggie, the blind girl. All day long she sat by the fire, or, when it was fine, on the stair leading up to her house, in the sunshine. She loved to feel its warm rays, but she could never see all the bright things that God had made, for she was blind. Poor Maggie!
I was asked to go and see her one day. It was a long way off—farther than I could walk—but I found an omnibus went near the place, and I was able to walk the rest, of the way. I was not very long in finding out the house of poor blind Maggie. It was up a great many stairs, and a bird sang sweetly in a cage at the door, and often cheered Maggie as she sat in darkness.
But few went to see her, and as I knocked at the door she started up quickly from the low stool on which she sat by the fire, and said, “Who is there? Everybody is out.”
“Oh!” I said, “but I came to see you, Maggie, though you cannot see me. I have heard of you, and thought you might like me to read to you sometimes.”
Poor Maggie smiled, and looked pleased. She was the child of drunken parents, and seldom heard a kind word, as she sat day after day in darkness. No one had ever read to her, or spoken to her of Jesus, and her face was sorrowful and dark. Her eyes were sightless, and no ray of divine light had ever entered her soul. No kind word was ever spoken to her as her days passed on sorrowfully, so she listened gladly, as I opened my Bible and read to her the story of blind Bartimeus in Mark 10, and of the love and grace of Jesus, who gave sight to his blind eyes, as he sat by the highway side begging. Maggie was much interested, and wanted to hear more of this wonderful Man, who could cure blind people, so I promised to go very soon again to see her.
The next time I went to see poor Maggie, I heard the angry voice of her mother scolding her as I went up her long stair, and, dear children, what do you think she was scolding her for? Shall I tell you? She was scolding her because she sang, as she sat on her low stool by the fire; for now, in place of sitting all day long in darkness, and silence too, her heart and lips had been opened to sing of Jesus, who cured the blind man as he sat by the wayside.
Poor Maggie! It was such a new thought to her to hear of any One who could open blind eyes, and to be told that it was all true, that her heart was cheered, and she sang about it, as she sat hour after hour, seeing nothing, and doing nothing, all day long. Her parents were too careless to take the trouble to teach her to do anything useful about the house, and so the poor child had grown up from a baby ignorant and useless; nothing to cheer her but the song of her little bird in the cage and nothing else to call her own but the little wooden stool on which she sat all day long.
But now a new joy had lightened her dark mind. She had heard of One who could, and who did, cure a blind man, and the name of Jesus became dear to her as she thought of His love. And so, dear children, I found her singing, and anxious to hear more. I had brought her the Gospel of Mark in raised letters for the blind, and there her delicate little fingers, which had never been hardened by work of any kind, could trace out the story she so loved, and many others in the same Gospel, that made her heart bound with joy. Even at night she would sit up in bed with her new-found treasure, for the day and the night were alike to the poor blind child, and she was then undisturbed by those around her, who could neither share her joy, nor did they like to see her happy.
ML 06/17/1906