A FEW winters ago, I had the privilege of relieving some hundreds of the poor in Bermondsey. While visiting-in M——-Place, among scenes of poverty and wretchedness such as I had never dreamed of, I first met the dear child of whom now write, trusting that God will use the simple story of her life to lead others to the Saviour, that they, too, may know the same deep joy and peace which filled the heart of little Susan.
As I knocked at the door of her room, a voice said, "Come in," and I entered. Over the dying embers of the fire sat a woman, whose scanty clothing was little more than a piece of coarse bagging.
It needed but a glance to assure me that here I had indeed found the poverty and want which I was seeking. An old table stood in the middle of the room, and a four-post bedstead was in the corner nearest the fire; these, with a chair and stool, formed the only furniture.
Upon the bare sacking of the bed lay a little girl, whose feet were frost-bitten, so that she could not put them to the ground; it was thus that I first saw little Susie.
I spoke a few words to the poor woman, but did not particularly notice the child until a voice from the corner where she lay called my attention to her.
"O, sir," she said, earnestly, "I'm so glad you have come; I've been so wishing you would come."
I looked at the poor little child and tried to remember where I had met her, but in vain.
"I don't know you," I said; "I never saw you before; why are you glad to see me?" "
Ah," she replied, sitting up and looking at me as if I had been some well-known and long-expected friend, "but I know you; I have heard you preach at the corner of Nelson Street."
For several years it had been my custom to read the Scriptures in the open air from a Bible-carriage. The place the child mentioned was one which I knew well. I had been accustomed to stop the little carriage and read there night after night, and it was there that little Susie had made my acquaintance, all unknown to me.
Mrs. Parsons was a widow, who earned a bare living for herself and her children by chair-caning; she had often sent her little girl to fetch the cane, and on her way Susie passed the corner where I was reading. Many and many a time, she told me, she had stopped to listen, and though it was several months since I had been at the place, she remembered what I had read, and knew me as soon as I entered the room.
"Now tell me, why are you so glad to see me?"
"Because I used to hear you talk about the Lord Jesus, You used to say what a bad man you once were, and what great things He had done for you. How you were saved in the shipwreck and in the battle, and then how He saved your soul."
Much touched at what I had seen and heard, I took leave, promising to call next day. Upon my second visit, the child was more comfortable—if indeed one can speak of comfort in so sad a case. A bed had been sent to her, and she lay softly; warmly covered, and with a happy smile upon her face, so young and childish, yet so worn and thin.
Her earnestness, and desire to hear the Word of God, drew me often to the poor room, and I tried, in words as simple as possible, to set before her the wonderful story of the love of God in the gift of His beloved Son, and the love of the Lord Jesus Christ in giving Himself a ransom for many. I knew Susie would not mind telling me what was in her heart, so I said to her,
"Do you think the Lord Jesus died for you, my child?"
She thought a minute, and then replied, with the bright look I loved to see,
"Well, I don't know, 'azacly, for I can't read nor write; but I know I'm a sinner, and I know I do love Jesus."
"And what do you love Him for, Susie? Why should a little girl like you love the blessed Lord Jesus?"
"Didn't you say as He died for sinners?" she said, looking up at me, wonderingly; "Ain't I a sinner, and didn't you say He died to save sinners?"
Ah, my little Susie, God Himself had been thy Teacher, and the lesson which He read thee from His book, was a lesson of love.
"Love which no tongue can teach,
Love which no thought can reach;
No love like His.
God is its blessed source,
Death never can stop its course;
Nothing can stay its force,
Matchless it is."
Yes, Susie had known and believed the love of God to her, and she never lost the joy of this blessed knowledge.
Brighter days soon came to her, for friends aided her mother in her poverty, though the weary pain did not lessen as time went on, and disease seemed to take a firmer hold of her feeble little body, so weakened by want and exposure. I had mentioned at our Sunday-school that she was fond of being read to, and now she often had young visitors who sat beside her, reading from the Bible, delighted as they found how much that had grown too familiar to them, was new and wonderful to their rapt listener. Sometimes, too, they would teach her hymns, which she learned very quickly, and sang with great delight.
My child, did you ever shed a tear over the narrative which you have so often read of the sufferings of Jesus, the blessed Lord who died to save yon—died because of our sins? You are not too young to come to Him, who said,
"Suffer little children to come unto Me," who received this child, and will receive you, if you only trust Him just now.
Messages of God’s Love 12/22/1929