Feddy was only a little errand boy, and lived down a back street in a big smoky town. Every Saturday night his master handed him his week’s earnings, which Freddy pocketed with a glad,
“Thank you, sir,” and was off like the wind, whistling the last new popular air. Arriving home he would give his aunt, for he had no mother, the greater part of his small earnings, reserving for himself 15 cents only. I want to tell you what he always kept that 15 cents for.
Once, after leaving work, poor Freddy’s eyes chanced to rest upon a large flaring bill posted on a wall—this was to inform the public that a certain play was being performed at the theater near by, and to the theater he went. So fascinating did it prove to him that from that night the little boy became a regular spectator, taking his place with a host of other boys in the remotest gallery, where he helped by whistling and clapping to swell the applause of a noisy and delighted audience, but you will see how good God was to this little boy.
One night he chanced to see a crowd gathered together in a side street, just off the main thoroughfare.
With a boy’s natural love of anything like a “row,” Freddy set off to inquire into the matter. However, it was no “row” at all, only a number of men and women pushing into an open door, from whence sounds of music were proceeding. It was nice music, too, and Freddy went in with the rest and sat down on one of the benches, which were being fast filled up by the stream of people who continued to pour in at the door. Soon the music ceased and there was silence, then a young man got up and spoke from a platform at the end of the hall. Freddy was so busy looking about that he didn’t pay much attention to what was being said; presently however, these words.
“Where will you spend eternity?” rang through his ears.
Looking up he caught the preacher’s eyes fixed upon him. Perhaps it was uninitentional on the part of the young man, but the words cut home to the little boy’s heart. He scarcely heard anything more, only these words sounded again and again, “Where will you spend eternity?”
Eternity! O! what a great dreary word it seemed! He slipped out of the hall, but had scarcely got beyond the door, when he turned back and reentered. The preaching was over, and the young minister had left the platform, and was going from seat to seat asking men and women to yield to the entreaties of God, and accept the pardon of their sins, that He was willing and ready to give. Freddy wondered if he would speak to him, and his heart beat fast and loud when a firm strong hand was laid upon his shoulder, and voice whispered,
“Do you love Jesus?” A low sob and a sorrowful,
“No,” was the answer—and then for an instant came the thought of the brilliantly lighted stage, the dazzling dress and the gay music. What of these? They would have to go; but O! that dreadful word “Eternity” silenced and put to flight all that had before seemed so enviable and so delightful.
In a very few words, the young man told him the sweet story of Jesus’ love, showing him how his sins had separated him from God, but that Christ had stepped in, and had borne the punishment of them, that he might go free. It was so beautifully simple to this little boy, that he joyfully and thankfully received it into his heart (O! I wish every one would do the same, instead of questioning and doubting God’s power to save), and went out of the doors with the consciousness that he had been washed in the blood of the Lamb. Freddy is a bright witness for Jesus, and winning others to the Master he has learned to love.
“Where will you spend eternity?” God used to bring that soul to Himself.
Dear boys and girls, where will your eternity be spent? It will either be with Jesus in everlasting joy; or with Satan in an eternity of remorse, and shame, and anguish, God wants you, He waits for you; He shows you Jesus who bore the judent of sin on Calvary—with you the choice rests—God is a God of love, but His Spirit will not always strive with you.
ML 04/16/1944