A LITTLE boy, four years old, was amusing himself o n e day in the room of an invalid friend. She had a little table fitted with drawers, in which she kept many things which it was convenient to have at hand. To look into these drawers, and examine their contents, was a never-failing amusement to little H—.
On the day of which I speak, after he had sat quietly on the floor for a good while, playing with something out of the drawers, he began asking his friend various questions: Why could she not walk about? How long was it since she was well? When would she get well?
To this last question she answered “When it pleased God to make her so.” “When would He?”
That she could not say; but as the persistent little questioner pressed for an answer, she said she did not think she should be quite well till she went to heaven.
“When shall you go?” said little H—.
“When God pleases.”
“And what shall you take with you?” “Oh, nothing,” was her reply.
“But you will take your little table; you can’t leave that behind!”
“Oh, no, I shall not want it there.”
“But why won’t you want it?”
“Because Jesus is there, and He will give me all I want; I shall not want to take anything with me.”
A deep sigh, and then the little fellow said, “My mother will want to take her box of clothes with her, I know that.”
Again his friend told him that where Jesus was we should want nothing; we should have everything, and be always happy.
“Do you want to go to heaven? said H—. “I don’t.”
Here he got up, and ran away to play, and the conversation ended, while his friend was left to reflect on the way in which little H— had expressed the unspoken feeling of many a heart.
Is it not so? How many of us are ready to go? I do not now speak of the readiness of knowing our sins put away, that we are washed in the blood of Jesus. There must be that readiness, or the thought of going will fill our hearts with fear. But is there this heart-readiness? Is the Lord so all to us, that there is no packing up to be thought of; but that when His summons comes, we shall be glad to go?
Now let me tell you of another little boy, of about the same age, a happy, joyous child, whose sweet, clear voice might be heard all over the house, as he went about singing like a little bird. He was very fond of the hymn:
“There is a happy land, far, far away,” and would often talk about “sweet baby,” a little brother who had been taken to the Home above. Less than a year after the baby’s death, this little boy was ill.
One day, his mother was watching tenderly by his bedside, when he said, “Mother, are there a great many people in heaven?”
“Yes, Alfred, a great many.”
“Mother, would there be room for Alfred?”
The tender mother, who, till now, had not thought she might have to part with her precious child, remembered, “In My Father’s house are many mansions,” and answered, though with an aching heart, “Yes, there would be plenty of room for Alfred.”
“Then, mother, I want to go to God.” And very soon after, God took him to His home above.
Dear reader, which little boy’s words express the feeling of your heart? The boy at school is happy, and rightly so, with his games, and his lessons, and companions, but if an offer comes to go home, what then? Is the Lord’s presence the home of our hearts?
ML 04/15/1917