ONE stormy winter evening, about three years ago, as my sisters and I were sitting around the fire congratulating ourselves that we need not be out on such a wild. stormy night, we were suddenly startled by the violent ringing of the door-bell. Upon answering it, we saw the figure of a little girl huddled in the door-way.
“Please Miss,” she began, “my sister would like to know if you would come over to our house and sing for her.”
When she had spoken, we recognized her as little Ruthie O. — who lived but a few steps from us on a back street. The sister of whom she spoke had been very low with consumption for some time and was expected to pass away at any moment.
“How is your sister tonight, Ruthie?” one of my sisters asked as we were hurrying into our wraps.
“She is much worse tonight,” replied the child with a brave attempt to keep back the tears. “She says she is going to die and wants to see you, and she sent for the I, —girls, and for Lillie and Nellie N. —too.”
Hurrying through the darkness, we were soon at the little girl’s home. We found the house quite filled with friends and neighbors who had been sent for by the dying girl. Never shall I forget the thrill which passed over me, as, upon entering her room, I caught sight of her thin wasted figure propped up among the pillows on the bed, with her mother and sisters around her. I had not known her very well, but from the few times that I had seen her, I had thought her to be a very quiet and reserved, if not rather proud, girl. Because of this I was all the more shocked at the change in her. Her naturally large blue eyes seemed larger than usual and were almost black with excitement. Her thin cheeks and drawn lips were scarlet, and her wax like fingers worked nervously with the folds of the sheet. I heard her asking for us as we entered the room, and when she saw us, she fastened her eyes upon us as if fearful of losing sight of us. After they had all come, we sang several hymns in which she joined feebly.
After we were through singing, she asked us all to come up near to the bed, as she wished to say something to us. I cannot remember the exact words in which she addressed us, but the impression they left on my mind can never be erased, and I wish to write them that others may read them. She was very weak and spoke in gasps, stopping at short intervals to regain her breath. I shall quote her words as nearly as I remember them.
“I suppose you are all wondering why I sent for you tonight,” she began, “but I wanted to tell you something. It is almost too late,— but I told the Lord —if He would give me just one more chance—I would try to do something for Him—even now before I die,—and He has—and that is why I sent for all of you tonight.”
Here she stopped for a moment, while her great anxious eves wandered from face to face and we listened in breathless silence for her to go on. She seemed to be struggling with herself, and trying to conquer her weakness and natural timidity, while the pained, almost agonized, look in her eyes was pitiful.
“Yes—yes,” she went on almost wildly.
“It is almost too late—the devil has been telling me for days it was too late,—he has been taunting me with it until I almost believed him. But the Lord has given me one more chance. I have been a believer for years.” Here she paused and the agonized look in her eyes increased and her voice rose to a wail. “Yes—for years, but I don’t suppose any of you knew it,—no, I was almost ashamed of it—ashamed of Christ! —and I’ve never done anything for Him—and now I am going to die—I can’t do anything more. I had a chance—yes, lots of chances—and I didn’t take them. Now I must be taken away, because I’m no good here. I know I am going to heaven—yes, I’ll get in, but that will be all. The Lord can’t say, ‘Well done,’ to me because I haven’t done anything—and now it is too late—my chance is gone. But oh, if I had only known! If 1 had only realized! Oh, how differently I would have done.”
Overcome by her emotions, the dying girl paused and gasped for breath. Her strength was fast leaving her, and when she resumed, her voice was so faint we could scarcely catch her words.
“I wanted—to tell you this—so that you wouldn’t do as I have done. Don’t wait—until—you are on your death-bed —before you speak—for Him. You have your health—and strength—oh, use it for Him,—and then when you come to die—it won’t be like this. Oh, if I could only make you realize—how awful this is!— to die, knowing you have done nothing—nothing- for Him—and He has done so much for us—so much. I know most of you are Christians—and I want you to live for, Him—to do something for Him—don’t he ashamed of Him—and your end won’t be like this—for some time—you’ll be in my place—some time you must die—and then will you be like this?—or will you be rejoicing that you have fought a good, fight and know that He is waiting to _take you by the hand and say— ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant’?”
“Good bye—all of you—don’t grieve for me for I am glad I am going home—where I won’t grieve Him any more—for I know just how it would be if I were given another chance. But learn a lesson—from me—and don’t wait—until, it is too late.”
Here her strength failed her completely and we were asked to leave. We did so and as we moved slowly and sadly from the room, the words, “Don’t wait until it is too late,” kept repeating themselves over and over in my mind, and to this day they do whenever l think back to that sad scene.
Her soul passed away soon after, to be with the Lord. But it was not a happy death-bed, as she felt that she was being taken away because she had been an unprofitable servant. “I have done nothing for Him—nothing, and now it is too late,” was the burden of her cry until the last.
Oh, let us all learn a lesson from this case, as dear Martha (for that was her name) pleaded that we should. The time in which we may do something for Him is short at best, and may he much shorter than any of us realize. And when we think of it, what a wonderful privilege it is to be allowed the opportunity to do something for Him down here—for Him who has done so much, and suffered so much for us, and who loves us with such a deep, longing love. How it must grieve His loving heart to see us go on from day to day, as we often do, indulging in thoughtless frivolities and follies far from Him. We may think they are little things and it does not matter. But it was those little weaknesses, those frivolities and follies, as well as the darker crimes, that rung from our blessed Lord those drops of bloody sweat and those agonized words, “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” Oh, let us think of this, and turn from all such things to Him. How truly those lines of that hymn express it, “Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.” And how rich will be our reward if, at the end, we are counted worthy to receive from His own lips those sweet words, “Well done.”
ML 04/11/1909