The Story of a Bible
While preparing for my profession as a physician I was hired as assistant in a hospital. In such a place one gets acquainted with a great deal of human suffering, and amidst these things the precious fruit produced by the Christian alone is also to be seen.
This was not new to me, for in the early days of my youth I had had opportunity to observe such fruit. Especially had I seen it in the life of my dear mother, a godly, devoted Christian. How often she told me of the Savior! And many times I had seen her wrestling in prayer for my soul's salvation.
But nothing had made a deep impression upon me. The older I grew, the more wicked I became. For the God of my mother, I did not care in the least. Rather, I sought by all means to drive Him out of my thoughts. Indeed, I was in danger of becoming a thorough infidel, but for the voice of my conscience ever accusing and reproaching me.
About this time an incident which crossed my life gave it an altogether different course. One day a seriously injured hod-carrier who had fallen a considerable height while climbing a ladder, was brought into the hospital. The case was hopeless; all we could do was to ease the pains of the suffering man. He seemed to realize his condition, for he was fully conscious, and asked me how long he would last. As it was in vain to keep the truth from him, I gave him my opinion in as cautious a manner as I could.
“So long yet!" he answered. "I thought it would be sooner, but He knows best.”
“Yes, I believe I know it," I answered smugly. The man looked at me, endeavoring to smile. "I understand you very well, but I meant Someone else," he said with difficulty.
“Have you any relatives whom we could notify?" I continued. The patient shook his head. He was all alone in the world. His only wish was to see his landlady, whom he owed a little sum, and he desired to bid her farewell. His desire was, of course, granted.
After a week of much suffering he died. I went to see him on my regular visits, at least once a day. What struck me most was the quiet, almost happy expression which was constantly on his face. I knew he was a Christian, but about such matters I cared not to talk with him or hear.
After the man had died, some things regarding the deceased's affairs were to be attended to in my presence.
“What shall we do with this?" asked the nurse, holding a book in her hand.
“What kind of a book is it?" I asked.
“The Bible of the poor man. His landlady brought it at her second visit. As long as he was able, he read it; and when he was unable to do so any more, he kept it under his bed cover.”
I took the Bible and—could I trust my eyes?—it was my own Bible!—the Bible which my mother had given me when I left my parents' home. Later, when I was short of money, I had sold the Book for a small sum. Yes, I had sold it. My name was still in it, written in my mother's own hand, and under my name was the verse she had selected for me: "Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? by taking heed thereto according to Thy word." Psa. 119:99BETH. Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? by taking heed thereto according to thy word. (Psalm 119:9).
I stood as if in a dream, but I soon regained my self-control. Managing to conceal from those present my deep emotion, and in seemingly indifferent manner and tone, I answered the nurse: "The Book is old and has hardly any value; let me keep it and I will see about the rest.”
I took the Bible to my room. It had been used frequently. Many leaves were loose, others torn; the cover was also damaged. Almost every page gave evidence that it had been read very often. Many places were underscored; and while looking through it I read some of the precious verses. Many words I had heard in the days of my youth returned to my memory.
With a deep sense of shame I looked upon the precious Book. It had given comfort and refreshment to the unfortunate man in his last hours. It had been a guide to him into life eternal, so that he had been enabled to die in peace and in happiness. And this Book, the last gift of my mother, I had not valued and had actually sold for a ridiculous price.
I need not add much more. Sufficient to say that I was condemned before God. The regained possession of my Bible and the reverent study of its doubly sacred pages was the cause of my conversion. The voice of my conscience could not be silenced. I found no rest until I came to Him whose hand of love I had often repulsed, but who ever thought of me in pity and compassion. By God's grace and mercy I learned for myself that "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners," of whom I felt myself to be "one of the chief.”