“SHE will never be any better in this world. The doctor says she is going fast.”
“Does she know her real condition?” I asked.
“Oh! no; the doctor says it would only hasten her death to tell her. We must be bright and cheerful when with her, and let her think that she will get well. It is all we can do now for her, poor child!”
“But, surely,” said I, “you will not let her die without giving her some warning of her approaching end?”
“She has thoroughly made up her mind that she will so far recover as to live for some years, and we will not damp her spirits; no, she must not be told her end is so near.”
“Can I go upstairs to her?” I said.
“Yes; she will be glad to see you.”
Reader, if you have any thought about your soul’s future, namely, that heaven or hell must be its eternal portion, you will understand what passed through my mind as I went to that sick room.
What about her soul? that precious soul! Must she die, I thought, without some knowledge of her condition? No, I will speak to her, and convey some idea to her mind that she may not get better.
Adie was a young relative of mine, one whom I dearly loved. But a few months before her illness she had left her childhood’s home a happy bride, and now had been brought back to it, a shattered wreck of her former self, to die! A severe cold had settled upon her lungs, and consumption was doing its rapid work.
She had written to me a few weeks previous to my present visit, telling me of her illness, and I, being at that time unable to go and see her, had written her a long letter in which I had sought to put before her God’s way of salvation, even Jesus.
I had received no answer to my earnest appeal, and now I fondly hoped to hear from her own lips that she was indeed a true believer in the Lord Jesus.
I gently opened the door of her room, and was soon seated by her side, gazing upon her altered face. She seemed to understand my look, for with assumed cheerfulness, she said,
“Do you think I have altered much?”
“Yes, dear,” I replied, “I did not expect to see you looking so ill, but perhaps you are not so well this evening?”
“Indeed,” she said, “I am very much better than when I came here a few weeks ago, so you must not, please, persuade me differently. It was only this morning that Dr.— told me I was certainly stronger, and he hoped very soon I should be able to return to my own home.” Silently I prayed that God would enable me to speak to her faithfully of her soul’s condition. My heart yearned over her, and inwardly I wished I could die for her. When I addressed her again, it was to speak of her husband. “He must miss you sadly, dear Adie?”
“Indeed, he does,” she answered, “and, oh, we were so happy together. We so well suited each other. I wish I had never seen that wretched place where I caught this cold; it has altered everything for us.”
“No doubt God had a purpose in allowing you to catch cold,” I said, “He is too wise to err, too good to be unkind.”
“Perhaps so,” she said, “but then we cannot make sad things seem pleasant.”
“My dear Adie, if you only knew the tender sympathy of Jesus, you would not talk thus. You know that sorrow is no strange thing to me, but I tell you I would not have been without one drop of it, for in the darkest hour I have found Him to be enough to fill my heart with peace and rest. Tell me now, has your illness led you to think of a region where all is fair and unchanging—I mean Heaven?”
A tear was hastily wiped away as she rather abruptly replied, “Oh! of course the thought does sometimes come, and more especially it did when I was so very ill, but I cannot think of anything mournful for long, there have been enough sad scenes in our family of late, I must be cheerful for my husband’s sake. I am sure I try every means to get better, and then there will be brighter days for us. It is so good of my husband to let me be here where I can have milder air and better nursing than he could get for me at home.” So she talked, and I saw only too plainly that God’s Son, the blessed Jesus, had found no place in her heart. “Adie,” I said, “I do not want to tire you, but I do want you to consider this all-important question—Is your soul saved? Are you resting on Christ and His finished work?” “Well,” she answered, “we cannot be converted all at, once; Mr.—, the minister of the church where my husband and I attended, has often said that conversion is a progressive work. We cannot give up old habits in a moment of time. I am sure Mr.— was master of his subject, and a reliable authority.”
“Providing,” I interrupted, “that he gave you the word of God as his authority.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m sure he is a good man; I would rather believe his word than many others. Really, the services were most simple. I never did like High Church; but these services were all that could be wished.”
“Adie, dear, do not weary yourself,” I said, “about the difference between ministers and churches, but put your trust in Christ, for the Bible declares that He is the alone way through which a poor sinner can be saved.”
“I do not think,” she said “that I am worse than other people, that you should speak to me so. I am sure I regularly attended church, when well enough, and God knows that I am unable to go now. As to believing in Christ, why, of course I do; I have said it many times in the beautiful church prayers. It is useless telling me that belief in Christ will save me, but I trust that when my time comes to die I shall be prepared for the change.”
I entreated her to bow to God’s word, to own Him as true, to let God act as His heart wanted to—to save her from never-ending woe, to trust the blood of Jesus. But all seemed useless, and I parted from her, although with an aching heart.
That was my last opportunity of presenting Christ to her. During my following visits others were present with her, and she appeared to have no desire to converse with me. I looked around her room in vain for a Bible or tract, nothing but light frivolous reading surrounded her, and on my last visit a novel was hastily covered by her to escape observation.
Soon, very soon after, I received the sad news of her death. I could not describe to you the feelings of my heart on that sad occasion. With two others of her Christian friends I stood around her coffin to have one last look at that pale face. Then our tears broke forth.
“Ah,” said one, “if we only knew she was saved.”
“How did she die?” I asked.
“Very quietly,” was the answer; “only two or three hours before her death, she walked across her room, and chatted brightly to her husband about soon going to their home.”
“Did she show no sign of fear?” I said.
“No,” was the response, “there was no time; she was suffocated, only a look and she was gone.”
“She died so easily,” said another, “that I trust she has gone to heaven.”
“To rest our hopes upon an easy death,” I exclaimed, “is but a miserable delusion of Satan. Our only authority is the Bible, and that states most clearly the way whereby we may be saved. Had poor Adie given any evidence that she was trusting Christ, we should not be standing here sorrowing without hope. We can do nothing for her now; we must leave her to God.”
Sadly and silently we left her room, and went and told Jesus.
Unconverted reader, I have written the foregoing account of my young relative, with the hope that it may be used of God to arouse you, ere it be too late, not to neglect His great salvation.
Believe on the Lord Jesus now, and you shall be saved. But do not put it off till you are laid upon a dying bed, or Satan may deceive you as he did poor Adie, and then the time of mercy will be past for you, and never-dying misery will be your fearful portion.
“Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation” (Cor. 6:2).
You may be outwardly moral, amiable, and even a professor of religion, but all this will not save your precious immortal soul. Do not, as poor Adie did, think that you are no worse than others, or that a little religion will suffice for God. Search the Scriptures; they will tell you that He looks not at the outward appearance, but at the heart. “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God” (Rom. 3:2323For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; (Romans 3:23)).
And is it not, dear reader, terribly sad to despise God’s wondrous love? Have you thought of His love? Have you considered what it cost Him to send His only Son down to this dark world? Perhaps you have not thought of this. Think now; Who was it that was nailed upon Calvary’s cross? It was God’s only Son. Why was He there? As the bearer of sin, of your sin if you believe Him.
The blood shed upon that cross cleanseth from all sin! That precious blood tells out the love of God to the perishing sinner.
But, woe to those who despise that Blood!
God will never forget the work of His Son.
He thinks much of it. It satisfied all His righteous claims against the sinner, and gives the believer eternal life and eternal happiness.
Alas! my reader, if you are without Christ, you are in a fearful position. Though you possess health and all that this world can give, you are still poor if you cannot say—
“In pining sickness or in health,
Christ for me;
In deepest poverty or wealth,
Christ for me;
And in that all-important day,
When I the summons shall obey,
And pass from this dark world away,
Christ for me.”
Whoever you may be, delay no longer.
Come to Jesus now leave everything that keeps you in darkness, and bow to God’s word, so that to you the Lord Jesus may never have to say, “Depart from me, I know you not.”
E. E. S.