WHILE visiting a well-known medical missionary in Canhotinho, my attention was drawn to the arrival of an old woman accompanied by her daughter. I soon discovered that the girl was a believer, and that she had persuaded her fanatically Catholic, but very sick, mother to come quite a long distance to consult the Protestant doctor.
The old lady was evidently very ill indeed, and I never remember seeing a more unhappy looking face than hers. The daughter told me privately that her mother and all her family and relations were bitterly prejudiced against and fiercely opposed to the Gospel, and had refused to permit her even to mention the subject, but she begged that I would speak a word as occasion might offer. An opportunity presented itself next day, but I was received with a frown and a muttered imprecation, and all I could say only seemed to produce a contrary effect, and to deepen the gloom that seemed to enshroud the dying woman, and I had to retire with a sad heart and a sense of defeat. The daughter seemed very disappointed, but she begged me not to desist from another interview.
A day or two later the consultation took place, and the doctor told me afterward that it was a hopeless case of cancer. She was too old to be operated on, but could not live long.
This was terrible news to me, and I wondered what its effect would be on the poor woman, as I thought of that sad face. The hours passed quickly, and the departure of the woman and daughter was at hand, and once again the girl appealed to me to speak to her mother. “We leave in a quarter of an hour,” she exclaimed, “and if you would do anything you must do it now!”
Hastening across to her quarters I now found the woman looking inexpressibly more miserable and hopeless. Again I essayed to speak to her of a Saviour indeed, Who could heal her worst disease, the cancer of sin, and urged her not to despise His forgiveness and gift of eternal life. There seemed to be less encouragement to go on than ever, and she hardly appeared to hear what I said, and replied not a word. There was no trace of desire or interest on that poor, pale face, and the case seemed hopeless, yet I felt I must go on.
Half-despairingly, I asked her if she would like me to pray for her, and to my intense astonishment she nodded her consent to the proposal. Soon after she was kneeling at my side, and repeating in a cold, mechanical way my promptings in prayer for forgiveness through Jesus Christ, and then essayed to thank God in similar fashion. Then the daughter came in, we said a very hurried good-bye, and―as so often happens―I quite forgot a case which had not given much evidence of reality.
About ten years later I visited a pastor in a neighboring state. When he greeted me I noticed that evidently something had transpired that greatly moved him, and I ventured to inquire the cause of his commotion.
“Forgive me betraying my emotions,” he exclaimed. “I have just witnessed a sight I shall never forget. It was the deathbed scene of a member of my church, an old lady who ten years ago was given up by Dr. Butler, who said there was no hope of her recovery from an incurable disease.
“However, on that same occasion she had been converted to Christ, and had long lived to be a great blessing and inspiration to the church and neighborhood.
“As the end drew near, the daughter called me to give some final word of cheer, and I went prepared to encourage and support the aged sister in her last hour of supreme trial. But, Senhor, it was she who encouraged and helped me. There was no need for my ministrations. It was a marvelous scene I saw. Surrounded by her friends and neighbors, full of joy, she just sang and sang, until her last breath. I never knew that death could be so glorious.”
Thus gloriously passed over the river the once sad and hopeless old lady of Canhotinho, and all the trumpets sounded for her.
Hallelujah!