LONG and anxiously I had looked for some sign of divine life in my precious child, but I saw none. She was strong and bright and merry, good tempered, and ever ready to help me, and, perhaps, gave me less trouble than her sisters; but God had not wrought in her soul, and she showed a distinct distaste for any mention of His name. The story of the love and work of Christ never brought one smile from her; and when asked to join us in our little readings, she would often say, "Why, I would rather go and play.”
I took little notice of this to the child, but my heart was often heavy as I saw her run out and in to the great old chateau in France, where we were living at the time, and heard her shouts of merriment as she played with the other children in the curious old garden.
And why was it I saw no sign of anything but natural life in my child? Had she been less carefully trained than the rest of my family? Had I failed to instruct her early? Had I not sought to interest her in Bible stories, in spite of her strange aversion to them? All these, and many other questions, I asked myself. We had faith in God concerning her, and had early looked for proof of life.
She was nearly six years old; my other children had confessed the Lord before that age, and from two to three years of age had at least shown some interest in the Bible stories usually loved by young children; but it was not so with my little D—. As we read together each day, she had the most stolid indifference in her face and manner; and when asked a question in turn with the other children, her usual answer was, "I do not know what you say," or "I don't know what you mean.”
Only once can I remember her being in the least interested when a friend read her the story of John the Baptist in the wilderness. She asked me to read it for her the next day, and I gladly took the opportunity of trying to interest her in other Bible narratives. But in vain. So time went on. A friend who was with me thought she traced some sign of softening in the dear child, for she too was anxiously looking for it, but I saw nothing to assure my heart.
I was weak and ill, and was led to pray that, if it pleased God to remove me, I might have the assurance of this dear child's safety before I was taken. My weakness increased, and it was thought best to take me to England before winter; and as the journey had to be undertaken at once, I had to part from three of my little ones for a few weeks.
With a mother's anxious care, I said, “What if I should never see this child again? I have no assurance of her salvation,”
The children were kept out of my room lest the fatigue of leaving them too much with me should unfit me for my long journey, but I cried to God for my child.
A few days before I left for England I was resting on the sofa in my own room, when a sharp tap came to my door, and a fair head and rosy face was thrust in, and an anxious pleading voice said, "I must come in, indeed I must; they have kept me from you too long." Amused by what I judged the indignation of my little maiden, I drew her near me and told her she might come on the sofa beside me; and thinking to soothe her troubled spirit, I said, "Come, dear, and I shall tell you the story of a cat and mouse.”
The large eyes, now full of tears, gazed at me, and she replied, “Not now, not now the story of a cat and mouse. I have waited three days to tell you something, and I must tell you it now, I am converted;" and that dear little head, relieved of its burden, rested upon mine. For a moment I was silent. Had my prayers really been answered, and was I to have this joy ere I started on my journey?
Could it be?
“Tell me, dear D—," I said, "are you sure?”
“Quite," she answered; “I am certain. I shall tell you all about it. I was so very unhappy, for I knew I was not converted; and they would not let me see you, and that made me unhappy too; so I went into the nursery quite alone, and I knelt down by my bed, and said to God, O God I am I converted or not? do, do tell me.' And He told me I was, and that my sins were all put out by Jesus; and then I was so happy, for God had spoken to me.”
“How did God speak to you?" I asked," you could not hear Him?”
“Oh yes, I did; He spoke deep down into my heart, and I can never forget it.”
Thankfully I accepted my child's confession. I had failed to interest her in the things of God; but when He had spoken deep down into her heart, there was life and peace. K.