THE other morning, at a cottage door, the good woman received the gospel papers I wished to leave with such willingness that I said— “I suppose you are one who loves the Lord Jesus Christ?”
“Ah, sir,” she replied, “that’s just what I want to be bottomed in.”
“So you are not quite sure?”
“You see, sir, I think I do some days, and then dark doubts and fears come, and I be afraid I don’t.”
“Well, my friend, if you do not know your own love to the Lord Jesus, can you not go to His feet and say, ‘Lord, THOU knowest all things, Thou knowest that I love Thee?’ It is not our knowledge of our love to Him that keeps us bright, but our faith that He loves us and gave Himself for us.”
As I saw she still hesitated, I told her of the woman who went to the minister in a like frame of mind, and who was told to go home and write on a sheet of paper, “I DO NOT LOVE JESUS,” and then sign it.
She stopped me with an eager exclamation, “O, sir, I couldn’t put my cross to that.”
“No,” I said, “I am sure you could not.”
To help her a little I asked— “What has the Lord Jesus done for you, that you should love Him?”
She lifted her hands as she took her seat by the fire, and exclaimed, “Bless you, sir, He’s done so much for me, I couldn’t tell you half!”
She then proceeded to relate how her husband and six children had all been taken to heaven, leaving behind such a clear testimony concerning their faith in Christ that she could count these sore bereavements amongst her choicest blessings.
She related how her boy, who had died at nineteen years of age, had passed away in triumph, and how his soul was filled with sights of glory.
“‘Mother,’ he said, ‘my hands are dead—I can’t lift them; but I can clap with my new hands.’
“It was beautiful to be with him, sir!”
Then she went on to tell of another child, nine years of age, who was taken ill suddenly, about twelve o’clock in the day. “I carried him up to bed,” she continued.
“‘Mother,’ said the child, ‘I must say my prayers.’ So he knelt down and then said, ‘Now, mother, I must commit my little spirit to Jesus.’
“I watched him fold his young hands and say, ‘Lord Jesus, into Thy hands I commit my spirit.’ He went to sleep that morning, and never awoke again. O, sir, the Lord has done much for the!”
“But you are not quite sure whether you love Him?”
She smiled, as if she half saw how foolish her thought had been, and then went on with the tale of her mercies. “There’s our beautiful crops the Lord has given us this season; oh, what a mercy they are!”
“Yes,” I said, “the Lord has been mindful of us; but what has He done for you personally?”
“Raised me up again, sir, so that I do my little bit of work. I was very ill a short time back, but, thank the Lord, He made me strong once more,”
She had not yet touched the Lord’s mercy where I knew her love would be “bottomed,” as she expressed it; so I said—
“These mercies which you name have to do with others as well as yourself. Now, what has the Lord done for you? Can you stand by faith at the foot of His cross, and look into those wounds, into that side, and say, ‘He suffered thus for me’? Now,” I continued, as I shook hands with my friend, “May I reckon you as one who truthfully says, ‘I love Him because He first loved me’?”
“Yes, sir, I can say that.”
I wonder how many who read this little story can say it? Can you, doubting soul? Do not be afraid of your own voice—whisper it aloud—the Lord is listening— “I love Thee, Lord Jesus.”
ML 12/17/1916