Some years ago, my lot was cast for a time in a very gay, pleasure-loving family, the members of which were, with one exception, apparently strangers to the grace of God. The one exception was a little girl, who loved the Saviour.
A beautiful home hers was, as far as outward things were concerned, but my heart ached as I saw the hollowness and unhappiness which lay beneath the gaiety around me. The servants seemed to have followed the example of their master and mistress, and though owning that they were not safe for eternity, generally avoided any conversation about their souls, excusing themselves on the plea of being “too busy” to listen.
“Ah,” they were warned, “you will not be ‘too busy’ to die.”
Amongst the servants was a nice-looking young woman, whose face was so bright and pleasant that I used at first to think she must be one of the Lord’s own. Her manner, too, was quite different from that of all the rest. As I very rarely saw her, I made inquiry of the servant who usually attended to my wants, and found that she was not living in the house, but only came in when extra help was required for needlework. So, much as I wished to speak to her, I felt there was little prospect of my doing so. But just when we are helpless God can act. One day I found that three or four of the servants, with A. to help, were to be at needlework for several afternoons in the room nearest mine. I felt that this was an opportunity I must not lose; so, when I knew that they were all at work, I took an interesting gospel book—a story of two poor little children—to read to them, feeling sure that their hearts would be touched, when hearing of childish misery and sorrow cheered and brightened by a Saviour’s love.
So, with an earnest prayer that God would use the little book for His own glory, I began reading. They became much interested, and when I had laid the book down, and began to ask them if they would like to know what it was to have their sins forgiven, and to be ready if death came suddenly, to go to a home so bright, so glorious that it was beyond all thought—even then they listened, and more than one looked at her work through tears. When I rose to go there was a general request that I would come again.
That was just what I wanted; so next day I went, and, after finishing the little book, appealed earnestly to them to accept the Saviour at once, telling them that they would be lost if they did not, and that the best of us were poor, helpless sinners, utterly unable to save ourselves, and unable to do anything to please God until saved by faith in Christ Jesus.
That was the last time I read to them all. The particular work required was finished, and I only saw them occasionally, as before. But the Lord’s gracious work had been begun, though I did not know it at the moment. Not many days after, a knock came at the door of my room, early in the morning, and A. entered, and asked if she might come in while I read my morning chapter, as one of the servants had told her I was accustomed to do this, and that I should be glad for any of them to come if they would. For a moment I was tempted to change the chapter which I had already begun for another, as I was reading the Epistle to the Colossians, for I thought a simpler portion might be better. However, I did not alter it, but in coming to the verses:
“In whom we have redemption through His blood, even the forgiveness of sins,” and the following, I laid particular stress upon them, and spoke to A. about them very earnestly. The next morning she came in still earlier, with her face all aglow, and said:
“O, I felt I must come and tell you at once; I can say that verse now, ‘In whom I have redemption through His blood;’ yes, that’s true of me, really true—I was obliged to come and tell you.”
At first it seemed too good to be true; but, as I saw how her face glowed with an emotion that came from a heart stirred to its depths, I could only join her in tears of joy for the good news. Afterward she told me how angry she had felt when I said she was a lost sinner; that she was sure she was not, for she had lived a good life, getting up at five o’clock to get her work done to go to early communion at her church. No one before had told her she was a sinner.
“But I could not get it out of my mind,” she said, “and when I went to bed I could not sleep, and I lay and thought about it, and the next day, too; and I felt so wretched, for I began to be afraid it was true. Then I read in the Bible,” she added, “but that did not help me; and then I came in to see if you would let me hear you read the other morning, and that verse I could not forget—it kept in my mind, and after I went to bed I was thinking over it, and all at once I saw that that was the way I might be saved—and O, the difference it made! I saw that it was His work, not mine, and I was so happy! I felt almost afraid for the morning to come, for fear the happiness should go; but it hasn’t, for I am ‘in the kingdom of His dear Son.’”
Well, dear reader, I have little more to add. I saw A. for some months after this, and rejoiced to witness the reality of her life in Christ. Her face was brighter than ever, and it was a deep joy to me to see how He had led her on; and now I am looking forward to meet her at Home. Dear reader, can you say: