This evening a little girl said to me, “Do tell we a story please, just a little one before I go to bed.” So I did, and shall I tell it to your Though’
I have often spoken of little Alfred to others, I think some of the younger readers of “Messages of the Love of God” may like to hear the story too.
He was such a fine, jolly boy of six or seven years old, with large dark eyes that used to look up at me as I spoke to the little fellows in my Sunday class. I remember Edward, Harry, Charlie, Frankie and others, but Alfred I shall never forget.
We had speaking about Hagar one afternoon, how she had fled from her mistress into the wilderness, and when she was frightened and alone, the angel of the Lord spoke to her, and told her that God had heard her cry. She was so struck with wonder that God, whom perhaps she had forgotten, had seen her, and known all about her, that she made use of a word in her language which means,
“Thou God seest me.”
Poor Hagar! only a runaway Egyptian woman! Little she thought of the thousands of children all over the world who would be taught that text. It was the very first one I learned. Then came “God is light,” then “God is love.” Did your mother teach them you, I wonder? It is such a grand thing to know that though God can see us, though He is light, and nothing is hidden from Him, yet He loves us.
As the boys were young and could read a tiny bit, I generally wrote out on a large card anything I wanted them to remember, and we used to repeat it quietly together. On this afternoon we said the text, “Thou God seest me” several times, then I asked,
“Who sees us?” “God.”
“What does God do?” “Sees us,”
“Whom does He see?” “Us.’
“Now, Edward, you, say it,”
“Thou God seest me,” said Edward.
“Now Harry.” “Now Frankie,” and round till it came to Alfred’s turn. But Alfred twisted on his seat and grew very red and said nothing. I was disappointed.
“Come Alfred, you can say that tiny text, surely. ‘Thou God’—.”
But still Alfred was silent and only fidgeted more.
“O! Alfred, try. ‘Thou God’—Come.”
“Thou God seest us,” said the little fellow at last. I was more disappointed. Here was a restless, inattentive little boy! He could not even say a, short text of four words correctly. We repeated it again, and once more Alfred replied,
“Thou God seest—everybody.” “Thou God seest—all the world,”
I wondered, for he was a bright little fellow as a rule, so I said,
“What does ME spell, Alfred?”
“Me, teacher.”
“Well, why didn’t you say, ‘Thou God seest me’?”
For a moment he waited, with his big eyes bigger than ever, then he whispered: “Why, teacher, if God looked right at me, He’d see me too much.”
That was the reason the text was not said!
God had allowed the message to sink down, down, until it reached the conscience of that boy, and he felt that God’s eye, if looking at him, would see things he knew were sinful things.
He thought that if the eye of the Lord was on everybody it might not see all he did perhaps, and that God would not notice that naughty action or this sinful deed. But to feel that God was looking right down at him made hint uneasy. Yet it is true as the little hymn says,
“He looks at thee, all day and all night long.”
Now little boy, little girl, what about you? I hope you can say without fear, “Thou God seest ME,” knowing that though you are sinful and naughty, Jesus’ precious blood has been shed to cleanse you from all sin, and make you fit for God’s sight. Have you thanked Him?
ML 07/26/1936