Such were the triumphant words with which a woman greeted me one day as I entered her cottage.
A severe illness then laid her low, and for a time she seemed softened and subdued, and those who were watching for her soul became hopeful, but, alas! returning health was not accompanied with any sign of a new life, and still they waited and prayed.
On one occasion, after this an evangelist, strange to the village in which she lived, called at her cottage and inquired whether she knew her sins forgiven. She could only say:
“No,” and, after setting God’s way of peace before her, he left, adding, on parting:
“I hope, when I come again, you will be able to tell me your sins are forgiven.”
These words made a deep impression on her mind, and, when I shortly afterward visited her, she told them to me with evident feeling.
Very soon after this, it was laid upon our hearts to commence a little weekly afternoon meeting at her cottage, in order that she might hear the truth, though she took no pains to seek it elsewhere. This was continued for about a month; each time we noticed her earnest gaze as we spoke of salvation for poor sinners, but still the blessing tarried. On one of these occasions, the one who was speaking was specially led to dwell on John’s testimony, recorded in the 19th chapter of his gospel concerning the blood that flowed from Christ’s side, the blood that cleanseth from all sin, the precious blood that speaks peace.
One day in the following week, just as we were sitting down to dinner, a messenger arrived, entreating us, at her request, to go and see this poor woman, saying that she was “dying and had gone mad.” Immediately I hastened to the cottage, in much conflict of soul, scarcely daring to enter the open door, but I was reassured by sounds of joy, and, on my appearance, though propped up in bed, and surrounded by several neighbors, she at once stretched out her arms, her face beaming with delight, and exclaimed:
“I’m saved, I’m saved through the precious blood of Christ.”
Then she proceeded to tell me in glowing language that for nights she had lain awake wondering how she could be washed in His blood, till that morning, when, as she sat at breakfast, the light entered her dark soul with such radiant power, that joy for the time had made her (what others called) mad. As I stood in wondering awe and adoring gratitude at her bedside, I could only wish that many “wise and prudent” ones were afflicted with the same blessed madness.
Continually she exclaimed:
“It’s all true what you’ve told me, and I never believed it before.” Then, with streaming eyes she poured out praise and thanksgiving to Him who had “opened her eyes,” adding, with great solemnity:
“How blind, how deaf I’ve been!”
All the time she was gazing upwards, as if at some object or vision, and would speak with rapture of “the glory of that throne.”
Later in the day I saw her again, and still her joy was the same, expressing itself in verses of hymns, of which, however, she knew but few, but her poor body was evidently groaning under “the weight of glory.”
For a week or two she continued in this blessed frame of soul, very weak in mind and body, but never weary of the one theme—God’s love in saving her. The doctor (a man of the world) who was attending her, was constrained to confess that her madness was one of joy, not melancholy, and to another of his patients he said:
“She preached me an excellent sermon.”
As soon as her health was restored, and much of the mental excitement had subsided, it was her great desire and joy to go and tell others whom she had previously known what the Lord had done for her.
Walking along the road, she would speak to all of the happiness she was experiencing, while her simple tale often brought tears to the eyes of hardened men.
As weeks and months wore on, the change in her was acknowledged by many who at first looked doubtfully on the excitement, and had ventured to prophesy that it would all wear off. In her own simple language she declared:
“He teaches me alone.”
Though able to read but little, and knowing scarcely anything of the Bible, her spiritual intelligence was remarkable, and it was indeed a privilege to feed her hungering soul. Whenever she alluded to her conversion, she always called it “a gift,” thereby tracing it at once to its divine source, and adding her testimony to the truth of God’s Word:
“By grace are ye saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God.”
This history is now told in the earnest hope that laborers in the Lord’s vineyard may be encouraged in the blessed work of winning souls. The power of God must accompany His own word spoken in the Spirit.
To any who may read this narrative, who have not as yet tasted the peace and joy of forgiveness, let me say that the same “precious blood,” shed once and forever, can make you clean.
The same mighty, loving Saviour is able to deliver you from the power of sin and Satan. You need not wait to feel what this poor woman did, before you believe. It was not her feelings, or her happy experience that saved her, but her faith that took God at His word, and accepted His great salvation in Christ.
“There is life in a look at the Crucified One,
There is life at this moment for thee,
Then look, sinner, look unto Him and be saved,
Unto Him, who was nailed to the tree.”