SOME years ago I was asked by a friend, a medical man, to go and see a young woman who was dying; and as I think it is very wrong to conceal from one who is nearing eternity the fact that such is the case, I asked him if I might tell her that she had not long to live. “Certainly,” he said; “and tell her I say so.” I Went to the address given, and was shown up into a comfortably furnished drawing-room, on a sofa in which lay one of whom it might be said she was almost beginning life, and yet one glance showed that very soon this world would be for her a thing of the past. She was but nineteen years old, and she was a wife and a mother; but the eye, with its almost unnatural brightness; the sunken cheek, with its hectic flush; and the quick breathing, told plainly that consumption had done its terrible work, and that her days on earth were numbered; and yet, strange to say (although I believe a not uncommon feature of such cases), she thought she would recover. And her answer to my first question was, that she was better, and would soon be about again; and that her kind husband had promised, when she was stronger, to take her to the sea.
What could I say to her? I knew I must tell her the terrible truth; but how cruel it would seem, to dash those hopes to the ground, and tell her plainly that so far as this world was concerned there was no hope, and that eternity was close upon her.
Looking to God to help and guide me, I said quietly, “But suppose you don’t get better?”
“Oh, but,” she said, “I am sure I shall! I have felt much better the last two days.”
“I don’t think you will!” I answered; and, after a pause, “indeed, I am sure you will not.”
She looked quickly up at me, and said, “Why do you say so? you are not a doctor.”
“No,” I replied, “I am not. But Dr. —who asked me to come and see you, told me I might tell you that you could not recover.”
I shall never forget the look on that young face as she said, looking me full in the face, “Did he say I was dying?” No need to answer that question, for she knew what the answer must be; and with a cry of despair she exclaimed, “Dying! Dying!”
I felt it was better to say nothing till the first outburst of grief was past, and then I asked her if I should read something to her about that precious Saviour who came to die for poor sinners. For a time she did not answer, but at last said, “Yes, if I liked.” But I could see there was little, if any, desire to hear, and that her one thought was that soon she would have to leave this world, and the husband and child she loved so dearly.
Turning to Luke 8, I read to her, slowly and quietly, the beautiful and touching story of the poor woman who, when every resource of man had not only failed her, but had brought her only more and more disappointment, had in simple faith touched the hem of the garment of that blessed One, who not only never failed or disappointed any who turned to Him, however deep their need might be, and however hopeless their case, but who met the simple faith of their poor weary hearts out of all the endless resources that were in Himself, and gave them much more than they expected. I read it through once to the poor weeping one, and then I asked her if I should read it again. She quietly said, “Yes,” and I did so, very slowly, and she ceased crying, and I could see she was listening.
When I had finished I told her how, when every hope seemed gone for the poor sinner, and all his resources were at an end, that blessed Saviour had come down to this poor world of sin and death, had gone through it blessing all who turned to Him, and then on the cross finished that wondrous work for which He came into this world, going into the judgment of a holy God against sin, and drinking that cup of judgment to the very dregs. I told her that just as one touch of faith brought to this poor helpless one all she needed then, and the blessed words, “Thy faith hath made thee whole, go in peace,” so one look of faith to Him where He was, a Saviour for sinners at the right hand of God, because His work for sinners was finished, would bring her all she needed—not in healing to the perishing today, but, what was far better, in life to the immortal soul; and that a peace and joy sweeter and more real than any this world could give would be hers if she simply took God at His word, and as a poor helpless sinner believed in that precious Christ whose blood was shed that she might live forever. This and much more I told her, and, though she said nothing, she listened; and when I had once more read the precious story of grace to her she thanked me, and I left.
A few days after I went again; but what a sight met me as I entered the room. There she was on the sofa, with evidently only a short time left her here, but with a bright smile on her face that spoke more than any words could have done. No need to tell me of the blessed change that had taken place—there was joy instead of sorrow, and there were smiles instead of weeping; and it was easy to see that the peace “which passeth all understanding” was hers.
“Why,” I said, “how happy you look.”
“Yes,” she answered; “I’ve touched the hem of His garment, and that’s enough.”
There was no need to ask what she meant when she said those words. The brightness of that face told more than any words the deep reality of all they expressed to her. She, like the poor, needy, helpless one in the gospel story, had found her resource in Christ when every other had failed, and had learned the reality of those blessed words, “Go in peace.” Praise and thanksgiving came from those lips which before could only speak of dying; for she had been led to put her whole trust as a poor sinner in Him who had died for her, and had borne her sins “in His own body on the tree.” (1 Peter 2:2424Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes ye were healed. (1 Peter 2:24).)
My heart did indeed go up in thankfulness to God for the greatness of that grace which had done such great things for her. I did not see her again; for very soon after she passed away, bright and happy to the last.
Reader, what would death bring with it to you? Ask yourself that question honestly before God. Are you still “in your sins” before Him? or have you as a poor sinner learned that there is one thing only that answers to God for sin—that precious blood which is on the mercy-seat, and which has met and satisfied His every claim? Do you know Christ as a Saviour who has “made peace through the blood of His cross”? (Colossians 1:2020And, having made peace through the blood of his cross, by him to reconcile all things unto himself; by him, I say, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven. (Colossians 1:20).) If so, you can joyfully say―
“Christ died, then I am clean;
Not a cloud above, not a spot within.”
P. G.