CHRISTIAN parents who have borne the burden of their children on their hearts through many long years of prayers and tears may, perhaps, find a word of comfort in this brief account of the Lord’s faithfulness.
“He abideth faithful, He cannot deny Himself,” but have we been faithful in our prayers and pleadings on behalf of our children? Have we never grown faint-hearted, and unbelieving, as long years have rolled on, and there is no visible evidence of a work of God in those so dear to us?
He was a fine fellow, of splendid physique and clever brain, generous to a fault, successful in all he undertook, a favorite at school and college, but―he lacked the “one thing needful,” and the loving hearts of his parents yearned over him.
At one time, when a Cambridge undergraduate, he was deeply exercised about his spiritual condition, and, at his own request, his tutor had a long talk with him one night, pressing upon him the claims of God and the supreme importance of eternal things-conversation being prolonged into the small hours of the morning. Said his tutor: “Never shall I forget the grip of the hand that he gave me that morning, as he thanked me for my interest in his soul’s welfare.” But “the thorns sprang up, and choked the Word,” and not yet was the fruit seen. The parents prayed on, and waited the Lord’s time.
Later, there were evidences of an uneasy heart, and long talks with a favorite sister who pointed him to the Saviour, but something seemed to keep him back, and he did not come out openly on the Lord’s side.
Years rolled on, and he went to Australia, and decided to settle there, thus drifting away from home influences. After some time he set up a home of his own, and was universally respected and beloved. He lived what is there known as a “white life,” and helped many a man out from Home to do the same, not only by his indirect example, but by personal talk and influence.
Still “waiting patiently,” the father passed away, leaving the mother to continue in prayer alone, wondering whether there had ever been any real work of God in her boy’s soul after all, or if it had been but a passing emotion.
But look at the fly-leaf of that widowed mother’s Bible, the gift of her eleven children when all at home. Each had written his or her own name, and underneath the list we find the text, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved — and thy house,” and the last three words are heavily underlined. There is the secret of the mother’s peace. “The Lord abideth faithful, He cannot deny Himself.”
Eighteen long years rolled by, including one short visit home, when there was the same loving son and brother, the same respectful listening to words of pleading, but no direct response, and the mother’s heart took up afresh the burden of prayer for her absent boy. Never was her weekly letter omitted, full of loving interest in his home life, and, later on, in his wife and little ones, and often was dropped the “word in season,” which she prayed might reach his heart.
Suddenly came the sad news of a very severe accident, of partial recovery, and then of gradual increase of danger-signals which could only point to one, and that a fatal, termination. Almost before the significance of the news had been understood, however, God saw that the tender mother-heart could bear no more, and quietly called her home, into the presence of the Christ whom she had so long loved and trusted―trusted not: for herself only, but also for her children. Like those of old, she died in faith, “not having, received the promise.”
Dear Christian parent, are you prepared to do this — wiling to leave the time entirely to the Lord, but fully counting on His faithfulness to fulfill His Own Word?
After a protracted period of suffering, the invalid was brought back to his old home in England. Here, although the things of Christ were treated with respect, and attendance at the daily reading persevered in as long as possible, yet, when the Truth was sought to be put before him, he would always say, “It is all so unreal to me, I cannot: set it at all, and yet it is not for want of thinking about it.”
As weeks rolled by the end was evidently drawing near. The only resource was to continue in earnest prayer that God’s light might burst through all the mists and unreality of man’s thoughts, and reveal Himself to the weary sou. And at evening time there was light. The moment came when at last he saw, “There is nothing left for me to do, it’s all done.” And as a little child, in all simplicity, he entered into the kingdom. He would interrupt in the middle. Of a sentence and say, “Let me quite understand, say it over again.” “What were the words the Lord said to the dying thief?”... “There could be nothing else but what the Lord has done, of course I could not do anything in it at all.” ... “I am trusting entirely in Him.” ... “Read the words of Christ Himself to me.”
His one deep regret was his wasted life: “Don’t do as I have done,” he would say; “my life has been utterly wasted.” The night before he passed away he said, evidently thinking of his mother, “I am sorry I have missed seeing her, but it will not be long now, and, remember, ‘With Christ is far better,’” and he laid emphasis on the word “remember.” He was put to sleep by Jesus without a struggle.
If the reader should be one who has not yet touched Christ for himself, may the writer commend the Saviour as the One not only for dying With, but for living with. What is life without Christ? It is wasted. It may appear “white” in the sight of men, but in the sight of God it is utterly wasted. Have you ever got into the presence of God, there to see yourself as He sees you?
One word to believing parents. “He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.”
J. I. H.