A poor widow was unable to pay the rent of her little cottage, and set off over the hills to see a relative, whom she hoped would give her help.
She had one little boy, and early one bright morning set out upon her long walk. By-and-by the sky grew gloomy, the wind chill, and little silent flakes of snow began to float about. Her little boy got tired trotting, and she had to carry him. The snow came more quickly and lay upon the ground quite thick. The path over the fields became covered up. But still the widow battled on against the rising blast and drifting, blinding snow. At last she got bewildered, and sank down exhausted and worn out by the wayside.
She never reached her relative. A search party found her cold and dead. They had looked in vain, for hours, for some trace of her, till one of them espied a bit of her shawl in the snow, and there, rolled up warmly was her little boy, alive and well. The mother in her love had wrapped the little boy in her warm shawl and thus exposed herself to the icy blast, and died to save her boy.
Years rolled on; an old man entered where a minister was preaching. The preacher was telling the love of Christ, who came to seek and save the lost, and told of this mother perishing for her son. The old man was that widow’s child. He had wandered far from God, and been in distant lands, but God, in mercy brought him back to his native land, and brought him to Himself by the story of his own mother’s love, and the love of Christ which passeth knowledge.
“O, how He loves!” Do you know Him?
ML 09/29/1940