One night, as the rain fell heavily and the wind shook the door on its hinges, the mother, alone in her cottage, could not sleep. Her daughter had gone astray, and had been absent for some time. The mother knew not where she was, or how she was; but the fear lest she might be out in such a storm, awoke the tenderest feelings of a mother’s heart. O! that she were under her mother’s roof! was, no doubt, her deepest and fondest wish. The ingratitude of the daughter had not quenched the love of the mother. Sorrow deepens such love, and a broken heart makes it tenfold more tender.
The mother arose to relieve her heart in prayer. Blessed refuge for a sorrowful and broken heart! Her prayer must be imagined. But that will be easy for those who have waked and watched for a prodigal’s return. But there was One who heard it all, and who was making all things work together for good, for the dear children of His love. The angels, too, were listening and watching, with admiring wonder, the movement of God’s hand, and sharing His joy. They desire to look into such things, and they rejoice when a sinner is converted. But with what deep interest they must watch the ways of God in grace with such a sinner, and receive as a fresh charge a new heir of salvation. “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.” Luke 15.
While the mother yet prayed, and while the storm yet raged, she heard a knock at the door; when she opened it, a well-known voice asked, if she could be forgiven. What a meeting! Who could describe it? “My child, my child!” mingling with the welcome words, “Will you forgive me, mother?” satisfied and overjoyed both hearts. The daughter was shoeless, in rags, and drenched with the wet, but she was now in her mother’s arms, under her mother’s roof, and she was, after all, her daughter still.
But the deeper joy was yet to come. When the grateful mother was thanking God for her daughter’s return, and praying that He would now forgive her sins and save her soul, the daughter whispered in her ear, “I am saved already, mother.” Enough, O enough, more than enough, to break a mother’s heart over again, but now with overwhelming joy. The daughter proceeded: “About a week ago, I heard a man preaching in the street, and, as I stood and listened, all my sins seemed to come up before me, and I was so alarmed that I ran home to my lodgings, and prayed to God to forgive me, and I believed He pardoned my sins; and then. I left for home at once, and have walked all the way.”
Beautiful and touching as this scene is, and brightly as the grace of God shines through it all, it is, blessed be His name, no uncommon case. We have known and witnessed many of a similar character. Though, alas! all have not praying mothers, as this one had, yet some have. The Lord’s name alone have all the praise and glory.
We have in the above narrative, a fine illustration of the right way for a sinner to come to Christ. The daughter returned to her mother just as she was, and at once. She was the very picture of misery and wretchedness. Her condition proved her prodigality. She needed not to say a word, but to throw herself on her mother’s mercy. The rags spoke loud enough—yes, loud enough and plain enough for that mother’s heart. But she came to the right place, and to the right person, and at once. Anything else would have been wrong. Had she remained away until she got shoes and clothes, she might never have gladdened her mother’s heart in this world. And this, certainly, was her first duty. The only right way was to return at once and just as she was; and to confess the wrong she had done and seek forgiveness. Nothing could be of so much importance as to relieve the anguish of a mother’s broken heart. Every hour’s delay would have been heartless cruelty.
And thus, surely, should it be with the lost sinner, when Jesus says— “Come.” He should come at once, and come just as he is. Anything else—everything else, must be wrong. Many think, when they hear the invitations of the gospel, that they must in some way or other be better before they can come. They think they must at least find shoes and clothes before coming, and so make a respectable appearance. But this can never be. Every hour’s delay is time lost, besides the sin of refusing the love of Jesus. The moment you hear Him say—Come, my dear fellow sinner, be sure that you come, and just as you are.
“The blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanseth us from all sin.”
We may notice also two important lessons from the above:
1. The value of prayer. God’s twofold answer to that mother’s prayer ought to encourage all hearts to pray without ceasing, but especially those who are praying for a similar blessing. He not only delivered the daughter from the paths of evil, but saved hen soul from the depths of hell. God’s time, and place, and way are the best. Let us wait on Him in faith, nothing wavering. He always answers faith. The happy day will come when the long prayed-for one shall be brought to the Lord, and numbered amongst His redeemed. Even though we were called away before it takes place, the prayer of faith remains before Him, and can never be overlooked.
Here, the Lord be praised, the sheet-anchor of faith may be confidently cast; for no circumstance, however adverse, can move it from its stronghold. And, where, we may ask, is the thoughtful Christian, who has not some special object of prayer before the throne of grace? May we honor God with the unquestioning confidence of our hearts, and seek that His name in all things may be glorified.
2. We have here a word of encouragement for open-air preaching. Little did the preacher know that he was the means of saving a soul from hell—of filling a desolate home with songs of joy; and also, of filling all heaven with music and dancing. Disturbed and interrupted with noise of the street, he may have gone home quite discouraged, and sought relief in casting all upon God, as many have done before him. But He who forgets not the work of faith and the labor of love, will show him the happy fruits of his work by and by. And when the brazen and granite monuments of earthly fame shall have passed away forever, the sinner saved by grace shall shine on the plains of glory, as the eternal monument of God’s own work by means of His feeble workman. Who would not rather be the means of saving one soul from hell, than be the object, even the worthy object, of the greatest earthly fame?