IN a village tavern, the daughter of the innkeeper, keeper, a young woman of about twenty-three years of age, lay apparently dying. The “Rock” had a very bad name; its owner was an ungodly and dissolute man, notoriously averse to anything of a religious character, so that though it was known the young woman was ill, Christians were deterred from visiting her. The character the girl had borne did not lead them to expect a welcome from her, and they shrank from encountering the man’s fierce profanity. But the Lord was at work in the house, and would have His servants there also. One day a poor woman thus accosted a christian friend: “Miss Z., I feels as you ought to go and see that poor thing at the Rock. There her be a-dying, and not a creature to tell her she’s got a soul. I’d go, but my nerves won’t let me. I’ve had no sleep this night for thinking of her.”
“But, Betsy, I’m afraid they would not like me to go.” “What matter’s that?” replied Betsy. “Her’s going to be saved, and you’ll get in somehow to speak to her.”
Thus admonished, Miss Z. made the attempt that same afternoon, and, after a few kind words about the girl’s state of health, was allowed an entrance. She found her sitting up in bed, bent nearly double with pain, struggling with a cough, which was almost choking her.
Mary Jane looked forward to death as a certainty. “I’ve given up everything except my mother,” she said, and then began to cry, for the tie between mother and daughter was strong; but, beyond an acknowledgment that she would like to be prepared for heaven, she gave no sign of interest in eternal things, indeed she seemed to have no intelligent apprehension of her state.
Upon the next visit the poor mother rated that doctors had been called in from other places, and agreed that there was no hope — it was only a question of hours, and she sobbed aloud: “Oh, ma’am, much as I love her, I’d give her up willingly, if I only knew she was prepared for heaven.”
The same cry was echoed by the father, who had entered the sick room. “Oh, my dear daughter,” said he, “do make your peace with God, and get ready for heaven.”
The daughter’s condition of soul appeared to be dull in the extreme, and most earnestly did Miss Z. plead with the Lord for some word which should awaken her to the realities of eternity.
On her way home Miss Z. was again encouraged by blunt-spoken old Betsy’s “Never you mind, miss: her’s going to be saved,” said in a decided tone; and it was well known that old Betsy’s faith was seldom disappointed.
That evening two old women, neighbors, had come to sit with the invalid, who seemed to pay little attention to them. Miss Z. again told out the gospel of God’s free grace—that, though “guilty, lost, and helpless,” for those who receive Him there is life, and that peace has been made through the blood of His cross.
Then the two old women began to try to buoy her up with false hopes, saying, most likely she would get all right again in spite of the doctors; and if not, she would be happier in heaven, adding, “Now won’t she, Miss Z.?”
“If she is fit for heaven,” was the reply. And then there came to the Christian’s soul very forcibly the terrible unfitness of sinners for that heaven to which so many look forward complacently.
This poor girl, accustomed all her life to the company and manners of a low tavern, and these old women, with their sordid groveling ideas, thinking nothing of sinning when expedient, what would they do in the glorious purity of heaven? And even the fairest and purest of earth’s daughters, who had never known the temptations of lives such as these had led, how stained with thoughts, if not with deeds are they! “There is none righteous, no, not one. All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” None, none are fit for heaven, save those whom God has made meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light.
“Fit for it! Of course she is,” returned one of the old women. Then the girl roused herself, and gathering up what little strength remained, she sat up and faced the speaker, and said solemnly, “That’s false Maria; no one can say I am fit for heaven.”
The energy and solemnity of this outburst took her hearers by surprise. She sank down again into her former position, and the old women left. Terrible as was the statement Miss Z. was thankful enough to hear it, for it showed the darkness had been broken into at last by conviction of sin.
When Miss Z. called again, she found a great change had taken place in the invalid who said her burden was getting lighter. Most anxiously did her visitor inquire what she really meant, whereon she said that at dinnertime a man had called in on business, and hearing of her illness, had begged to be allowed to see her. He had but a few minutes at his disposal, and on coming into the room, looked at her sadly, saying “My poor girl, I am very sorry to see you like this. You must get ready to die. My dear girl, do accept your Saviour. You will be saved if you receive Christ. For God’s sake, for your mother’s sake, for your own sake, accept the Saviour now,” and then he fell on his knees at the bedside, and for some moments continued in fervent prayer.
“A light seemed to break in upon me then,” said the girl.
Fearing lest this should be due to mere excited feeling, Miss Z. told her how that Jesus Christ had died for sinners, and showed that salvation is found in Him alone. She spoke of the awful character of sin, and of the holiness of God, and then, bidding her look away from everything else to Christ, left.
Next morning, Miss Z. was again at the Rock. To her surprise, Mary Jane was still alive, indeed she was quietly lying back upon her pillow, and with a face full of joy.
“Well, Mary Jane, you are better today.”
“Yes, ma’am; the cough hasn’t troubled me a bit since I received Christ.” “Have you then really found Him?”
“Yes; I trust Him, and He has saved me.”
Her interest now was as remarkable as her dullness had been disappointing. With quiet confidence, she was relying on the sufficiency of Christ for her salvation, and also on Him to supply her need. On her mother entering the room, she turned to her with “Oh, mother, you have only to receive Christ—that’s all. Do accept Jesus, mother.”
“Well, Mary Jane, I’m sure I’ll try,” responded the poor woman.
Her younger brother had been called home to see his sister. “Do you know Christ, who makes your sister so happy? Do you know that your sins are forgiven?” he was asked.
“I don’t see how anybody can know that. I believe Jesus died for everybody, but I don’t see how I can say my sins are forgiven.”
“Why, yes, Charley,” broke in his sister; “we can I know that I am washed whiter than snow. It’s only to receive Christ, Charley, that’s all. And then we can say, ‘He loved me, and gave Himself for me.’ It’s no use to believe He died for everybody; you must know He died for you.”
The change in this young woman was most remarkable, her memory was retentive of the scriptures she had heard, or which she was well enough to read, and the Spirit of God taught her how to use the word effectually to those who came to see her. Her one desire was to get strong enough to go to her friends who were still living carelessly and in sin, as she had done. And it seemed as if her wish was to be fulfilled, for, to the surprise of all, she continued to increase in physical strength from the time that she “received Christ” until she was able to walk downstairs. Whether it will please the Lord to restore her, remains to be seen; but one thing is certain, her illness has proved a blessing, not only to herself, but to her brother, who was converted soon after the conversation mentioned, and to her mother and father, who are now very ready to hear the word.
Dear reader, are you prepared for heaven? If not, repent of your sins, and remember, “It is only to receive Christ, that’s all.” M.M.A.