Not many years since, a young coachman was living in a gentleman’s family near London. He had good wages, a kind master, and a comfortable place; but there was one thing which troubled and annoyed him. It was that his old mother lived in a village close by, and from her he had constant visits. You may wonder that this was such a trouble to him. But the reason was that, whenever she came, she spoke to him about Christ and the salvation of his soul. “Mother,” he at last said, “ I cannot stand this any longer. Unless you drop that subject altogether, I shall give up my place, and go out of your reach, when I shall hear no more of such cant.” “ My son,” said his mother, “ as long as I have a tongue I shall never cease to speak to you about the Lord, and to the Lord about you.” The young coachman was as good as his word. He wrote to a friend in the Highlands of Scotland, and asked him to find him a place in that part of the world. He knew that his mother could not write, and could not follow him; and, though he was sorry to lose a good place, he said to himself, “Anything for a quiet life.” His friend soon got him a place in a gentleman’s stables, and he did not hide from his mother that he was glad and thankful to get out of her way.
You may think it was a pity she thus drove him to a distance. Would it not have been wiser to say less, and thus not to lose the opportunity of putting in a word in season? But she believed, in her simplicity, that she was to keep to the directions given her in the word of God—that she was to be instant, not in season only, but also out of season. And true it is, that the foolishness of God is wiser than men.
The coachman was ordered to drive out the carriage and pair the first day after his arrival in Scotland. His master did not get into the carriage with the rest of the party, but said he meant to go on the box instead of the footman. “He wishes to see how I drive,” thought the coachman, who was quite prepared to give satisfaction. Scarcely had they driven from the door, when the master spoke to the coachman for the first time. He said, “ Tell me if you are saved.” Had the question come to the coachman direct from heaven it could scarcely have struck him with greater consternation. He felt simply terrified. “ God has followed me to Scotland!” he said to himself. “ I could get away from my mother, but I cannot get away from God!” And at that moment he knew what Adam must have felt when he went to hide himself from the presence of God behind the trees of the garden. He could make no answer to his master, and scarcely could he drive the horses, for he trembled from head to foot.
His master went on to speak of Christ, and again he heard the old, old story, so often told him by his mother. But this time it sounded new—it had become a real thing to him. It did not seem to him then to be glad tidings of great joy, but a message of terror and condemnation. He felt that it was Christ, the Son of God, whom he had rejected and despised. He felt for the first time that he was a lost sinner. By the time the drive was over he was so ill, from the terrible fear that had come upon him, that he could do nothing more, For some days he could not leave his bed, but they were blessed days to him! His master came to speak to him, to read the word of God, and to pray, and soon the love and grace of the Savior he had rejected became a reality to him, as the terror of the Lord had been at first. He saw that there was mercy for the scoffer and despiser; he saw that the blood of Christ is the answer before God even for such sin as his had been, and he now felt in his soul the sweetness of those blessed words, “ We love him because he first loved us.” He saw that Christ had borne his punishment, and that he, who had tried to harden his heart against God and against his own mother, was now without spot or stain in the sight of that God who had so loved him as to give for Him His only Son. The first letter he wrote to his mother was to tell her the joyful tidings: “ God has followed me to Scotland, and has saved my soul.”
“ Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.” Psalm 139:7-127Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? 8If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. 9If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; 10Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. 11If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. 12Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee. (Psalm 139:7‑12).