Once Mr. Spurgeon, in the course of a sermon, suggested that every one of his hearers when they got home should write a truthful description of himself, in the fewest possible words—either, "Thomas Jones, lost," or, "Henry Williams, saved." "If you see it in writing, it may startle and impress you," he said.
A Christian woman, who was present, determined to act upon his advice. When she and her family were seated around the table in their home, she brought out a pen and notepaper, and said, "I want to tell you what Mr. Spurgeon said in his sermon today."
The father, who was reading his Sunday newspaper, looked up for a moment to watch the preparations, but when he heard Mr. Spurgeon's name mentioned, he went on reading.
"Mr. Spurgeon asked us all," continued his wife bravely, although with a beating heart, "to write our names on a sheet of paper, and to put 'saved' or `lost' after them, and to be quite truthful about it."
Mr. Mitchell took hold of the poker, and with a good deal of unnecessary noise, banged the coals about in the grate.
Meanwhile, his wife was writing. She wrote at the top of the page, "Sarah Mitchell, saved." Then she handed the paper to her eldest daughter, who had been with her to hear Mr. Spurgeon. She took the paper, and wrote under her mother's name, "Lucy Mitchell, saved." It was now Harry's turn.
Mother was anxious about Harry. She longed that he might be a Christian, but she did not know whether or not he had accepted Christ as his Savior. How her heart trembled when he took up the pen!
When with a steady hand, and without a moment's hesitation, he wrote, "Harry Mitchell, saved," her heart was filled with joy. The good woman wiped her eyes, and looked as only a mother can look at her eldest son, who had thus boldly taken his stand on the side of the Lord.
Baby, as they called the youngest, had learned to love Jesus at the Sunday School. She could make capital letters, and wanted to add her name. Some of the letters were large and some small, and she made a blot on the paper, but when it was handed to the mother, she read, "Alice Mitchell, saved." That was the whole family, except the father, who was reading the paper.
George Mitchell was at least an honest man, and a kind father. The children were not in the least afraid of him, even when he somewhat gruffly said, "Pass the paper to me."
"Hand me the pen, Harry," he added, a moment later. "It's all trash, but I might as well join in the game."
So he wrote under the other names, "George Mitchell, I—"
Before he could add another letter to that "I", his wife seized his arm, and cried out, "George! You shall never write that."
Then the children all joined in, shouting out, "No, no, dear father, you must not write that. You shall not write that!"
Father tried in a good-humored way to shake himself free. He tried to laugh, in a nervous, forced way, at the whole thing. But as they all stood and cried, and pleaded, he broke down and fell on his knees beside his wife and children, confessing his sins, and accepted the Lord Jesus as his Savior, and was able to write, "George Mitchell, saved."
What joy there was in the family that night-all loving the Savior, and on the way to heaven!