OLD Isaac sat shivering in his chimney corner, though it was a bright, sunny day in May. All his bones ached with rheumatism, and even the large fire gave him no heat, as he sat looking moodily into it, counting the months since he had last gone to his work. The long-looked-for sunshine had not brought the recovery he expected, and his hopes of getting about again grew more dim daily.
Thus I found him sitting, as I looked into his cottage that spring afternoon.
A few words of sympathy soon drew out the story of how he had been seized with rheumatism last Christmas, and had never done a stroke of work since, and now he was getting thinner and weaker each day.
“Indeed, my opinion is, ma’am that it’s something a deal worse than rheumatics that I’ve got. I think I must be going off.”
“Does it not frighten you, Isaac, to think you may be soon called away? What hopes have you for the other world?”
“Well, I can’t say as how it frightens me. You see I’ve never done no harm to anybody; and it seems to me I’ve as good a chance of heaven as anyone.”
“But is having ‘done no harm’ enough to satisfy a holy God? Have you ever done anything fit for Him?”
“All I can say is I have been a good man all my life. I’ve always done my duty; there isn’t a man on the place the master gives such a good word to as he does to me. I’ve said my prayers reg’lar, and gone to chapel; and I should like to know, ma’am, what could God expect from any man more than that?”
Poor old Isaac! He seemed so satisfied in his self-righteousness that my heart sank. I tried to press upon him the just claims of a holy God, and put before him that even if he were as good as he said, still he fell infinitely short of perfection; and that nothing―nothing but divine righteousness would do for God. All was powerless to break him down, and I felt I could say nothing more. One last resource remained.
“Do you read the Word of God, Isaac?”
“No; I’m no scholar, ma’am.”
“Well, can your wife read to you?”
“My misses can spell a bit, but she could not read a chapter in the Testament!”
“Should you like me, then, to come in sometimes, and read a little to you?”
“Thank you, ma’am; I’d take it kindly.”
“Well, let us have our first reading now.”
I opened my Testament, and, lifting up my heart to God to bring His own Word to bear on the conscience of the poor, self-complacent old man, turned to Luke 15 and read the first seven verses, commenting shortly on them.
From that day I often went to read a little to old Isaac, but, fearing that no impression was being made, I only spoke about the Scriptures read, without making any direct appeal to him. It was, therefore, a glad surprise to me when he said one day, in a very earnest tone, “I do feel grateful to you, ma’am, for coming to see me. I have got good.”
“What good, Isaac?”
“I’ve got hold of Christ.”
The news seemed too good to be true. I dared hardly believe it.
“But you told me you were all right for heaven the first day I came to see you:”
“So I did, ma’am; but I know now I was going straight to t’other place.”
“How came you to find that out?”
“Do you remember, ma’am, the day you read to me about the Shepherd seeking the wandering sheep, and about the people that thought they were so good that they had no sins to repent of? Well, I’ve never got that story out of my head since—I may say night and day; it seemed to follow me like, and it will follow me as long as I live. It’s at the top here,” striking his hand on his heart; “it lies here.”
“And what did you learn from it, Isaac?”
“Well, I went over and over it in my mind, and thinks I to myself, I’m just one of them there folks, saying I’m so good, and all the while I’m a very wicked man. Oh, ma’am, I was a-wandering, and a-wandering, when God sent a friend to show me Jesus; and now the Good Shepherd has found me, and He is carrying me safe home on His shoulder, and I’m sure I’m for Christ.”
Yes, it was quite true. The wandering sheep was found, and the news that old Isaac had got hold of Christ was not too good for the tender mercy of our God.
My visits to the little cottage are so different now, and our readings have become very happy and blessed since Isaac knew the Lard Jesus.
“I do always so enjoy a bit of the Word, you know, ma’am,” is his answer when I ask if he is not in too much pain for me to read that day.
“Oh, I do thank God that you ever popped your head inside my door,” bursting into tears of gratitude; “to think I should have lived all these years, and not have found Christ before! The Lord is good. He is precious. Bless Him!”
And now Isaac wishes to tell to others the story of God’s grace, for in “a day of good things” none should hold their peace.
“I used to think I did not care much whether I ever got better or not, but now I should like to get just well enough to tell folks about Jesus.”
However, Isaac has not strength to leave his cottage fire, to tell what Jesus has done for him; but as the neighbors come in for a little chat, he gives his simple testimony to the One who has loved him and washed him from his sins in His own blood.
The rheumatic pains grow worse and worse, but the old suffering look is succeeded by a bright smile of peace and joy.
He says, “Talk of suffering, I do suffer; but it’s all nought now I’ve got Christ; and my sufferings are not worth talking of again’ His.
“What love it was of God to send down His Son to die Just think of Him there on the cross, with the crown of thorns round His head, and the nails through His hands and His feet It makes me tremble to think of what they did to Him; and He bore it all for the likes of us―not for some of us, but for all of us, if we’ll only trust Him. Blessed be God!”