Annie, a bright, intelligent girl, was her widowed mother's only child. Through her Christian mother and aunt, she had been under the teaching of the Word of God from her very infancy. Sad to say though, it appeared to have made no real impression upon her. She was thoughtless and frivolous and, when spoken to about her soul, was always ready with a light and careless answer. "Time enough to grow good," was her favorite reply.
In her early childhood Annie was a frail little thing; and as she grew into young lady-hood she was by no means constitutionally strong. A severe cold, which she found it difficult to throw off, finally settled in her lungs. Poor Annie became a very sick girl. Doctor after doctor was tried, but to no avail. Finally, it was evident that Annie's time on earth was short—and still she was unsaved.
About this time her aunt told me with tears of the sorrow which had come upon them. I asked if I might go and see her. She thanked me, and said they would be glad. I did call on several occasions, but failed to gain admittance to the poor girl. Even as she grew weaker, she still refused to be spoken to about eternity. So I could only lift my heart to the Lord, and join with others in prayer for her.
One day there was a marked change for the worse, and Annie knew that she was near death. Did she know she was without Christ? Oh, what awful solemnity in such a position! The very light and truth she had been so long in contact with, only deepened her condemnation! Yes, Annie knew that, without Christ as her Savior, she must pass from the midst of the gospel light which shines out in this day. She knew that only the blackness of darkness awaited her poor, lost soul unless she accepted the message of God's love. But time was short and eternity is forever! How awful to contemplate!
Thoughts such as these arose within her. She was now most anxious for help, and begged her aunt to send for me. I had heard of her extremity, and of her desire to see me, so I arranged to call that afternoon at an hour which would be convenient for her.
When I entered her room, I found her propped with pillows, half lying and half sitting, in a large chair. I sat down near her, and lost no time in coming to the point. "And now, Annie, how is it with your soul?"
Her poor face grew anxious as she shook her head and said, "I am not prepared to die. Can you help me?"
"Is that not a solemn condition to be in?" I said. "A solemn thing it is to have to do with a holy God, who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity, and who is even now looking into the very secret chambers of your heart. He not only knows all that you have done, but He knows what your thoughts have been. What He says of your heart is this: 'The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? I the Lord search the heart.' Jer. 17:9, 10. What a solemn thing that even now He is searching your heart!"
I could see by her expression that the Word of God was having its effect upon her, and felt sure that she was having to do with the One who was reminding her of all that ever she did (John 4:29). I then solemnly asked her: "Now, as in the presence of God, and in the light of what He has said about your heart, what have you to say for yourself?"
With an energy that surprised me, she answered: "I deserve to go to hell, sir."
"Thank God," I said, "that you have reached this point. Now I want to tell you what God's heart is, and what His thoughts about you have been."
I then reminded her of the love of God who gave His Son to die, and quoted John 3:16: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
Then I brought to her remembrance that, in His perfect work of redemption, Christ had so completely satisfied God's holy and righteous claims about sin, that He can now be just, and the Justifier of the ungodly. I told the eagerly listening girl that, upon the ground of that work, He is sending out the blessed message that "through this Man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins; and by Him all that believe are justified from all things." Acts 13:38, 39.
"Now," I said, "if God is perfectly satisfied with what Christ has done, I ask you, dear Annie, What have you to say?"
All this time she was listening as one for whom life and death were hanging on what she heard. I repeated my question: "God is perfectly satisfied with what Christ has done; and now I ask, What have you to say?"
Again, with surprising energy, she answered me:
"I am satisfied too."
Her whole body relaxed as she burst into a flood of tears. The joy which filled her heart could find no richer way of expressing itself, and the happy, settled expression on her face spoke volumes which words could not convey.
Her mother, aunt, and myself could not refrain from tears of joy. We were a feeble expression of the "friends and neighbors" who were called to rejoice with Him who found His sheep; or of those who were called to have part in the "music and dancing," which told out the Father's joy in having His lost one found, this precious one who was dead, alive again.
When visited by a friend, who was surprised to find her thus rejoicing, dear Annie was asked: "What gave you such peace?"
Her answer was: "It was when I came to know that God was satisfied with what Christ had done."
In speaking to another friend, she said, "I always knew I was a sinner; but until that evening I never felt that God was looking into my heart."
And now, dear reader, one word to you: As God is looking into your heart, and sees all that is there, what have you to say? Is it, "I deserve to go to hell"?
As you hear the blessed tidings that God is perfectly satisfied with what Christ has done, can you answer: "I am satisfied too"?
If not, you are yet in your sins; the judgment of God is impending over you; and the wrath of God may at any moment overtake you.
"How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation?" Heb. 2:3.