Dr. P. tells how a little girl came to him after the close of an evangelistic service. Nearly every one had gone, and the lights were being put out. The evangelist noticed that the child was following him around. At last he said: “Little girl, what do you want; why have you not gone home with the rest of the folk?”
As she turned to him he saw that her clothing was ragged, her feet bare, her hair tangled and hanging loosely, nd her face was none too clean. Altogether she was a forlorn-looking little creature, probably about twelve years old. She stood up on her bare toes, and whispered into his ear,
“Mister, I want to be saved.”
Surprised and startled at the intensity of the child’s tone, he scrutinized her narrowly and questioned her more closely.
“So you want to be saved? And why do you want to be saved?” Again the child raised herself on her toes and whispered, “Because I am a sinner.”
“Who told you you are a sinner?” asked the evangelist.
“God says so in His Book—and—I feel it here,” laying her little dirty hand over her bosom.
“Well,” asked the evangelist, “do you think I can save you?”
A sudden change came over her, and drawing away, she did not whisper this time, but her words rang out short and clear, “No, Mister, you can’t save me. No man can save a sinner!”
Then drawing the little inquirer beside him on the seat near, the preacher took her little hands in his own, and in a kind tone said, “You are quite right, dear little soul, no man can save you. Tell me, why did you come to me? Who can save you?”
Again her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and with infinite pathos in her words she replied, “Jesus, Mister; He can save me.”
“Ah, yes, my dear,” said her questioner, “Jesus can save you. But tell me how He is going to do it?”
Again the little lips lifted to his ear, and her eyes filled, as she eagerly answered, “O, Mister, He died for me.”
Some curiosity prompted the evangelist in putting the next question, “Then He is dead, is He? How can He save you if He is dead?” The child sprang from her seat and her eyes now flashed. Again her voice rang aloud, “He’s not dead. He’s not dead now! He died for me, but He’s not a dead man. He’s God’s Son, Mister. Didn’t you sat that this very night in your sermon, that God raised Him from the dead? No, He’s not dead now.”
Her voice dropped again, and once more came the pathetic words, “O, Mister, I want to be saved.”
The child had grasped the truth with a clearness seldom seen. She left happy and rejoicing, having learned that by simple faith she was saved by trusting in the finished work of the risen Christ.
ML 09/16/1945