C. H. Spurgeon was addressing a great number of people. Very earnestly he pressed decision for Christ. Some, the preacher said, had perhaps never faced the question; had never openly confessed Christ; a very simple test was suggested, that each of his hearers should, on their return home, write his or her name, and after it, one word, saved, or lost.
Among those who listened was a lady, we will call her Mrs. Marshall, as, though the story is all true, I am not quite sure about her name. She had been a Christian for some years; her eldest daughter, she felt sure, could say of the Lord Jesus,
“He is my own trusted Saviour.”
Her seven-year-old Alice, too, was one of the good Shepherd’s lambs, but what about Harry? a bright, clever, though sometimes self-willed boy. She had prayed for him, and longed to win him for Christ, but she was not quite sure that he was really the Lord’s. And her husband? Ah! tears gathered in her eyes as she thought of him. He was an honest, uight man, and a kind father, but—not a Christian.
On her way home she made up her mind to try the plan that had been prosed, and later in the day, gathering her family round her, she placed pen, ink and note paper on the table, told them what she was going to do, and said she wanted all their names. Mr. Marshall sat reading, or pretending to read, his Sunday newspaper, but he could not help hearing all that was said.
Taking the paper, the mother wrote in a clear, firm hand, Lucy Marshall, saved, and passed it to her eldest daughter; her hand trembled a little as she wrote, and a large teardrop made a blot on the paper but Nellie Marshall, saved, was the second name on the sheet.
It was Harry’s turn next, and the pen was handed to him. He seemed uncomfortable, and looked at the door as if he would have been glad to find some excuse for getting out of the room. Once he rose from his seat, but sat down again, and hid his face in his hands. For some minutes no one moved or spoke, the mother and sister prayed. At last he looked up with a bright smile, and drawing the paper to him wrote, Harry Marshall, saved.
“Shall I write your name, darling?” Nellie asked of her little sister. But Alice said she could write it herself. She could not write very well, some of the letters were large, some small, some straight, others crooked, but she wrote Alice Marshall, saved.
“But we do not have father’s name,” some one said.
“O, we must have father’s name!” they all exclaimed. Mr. Marshall laid down his paper, saying,
“Well, I don’t see much use in it, but I suppose I must please the children.”
He spoke lightly, but there was a troubled look on his face as he took the pen. After a few moments’ thought he wrote, Robert Marshall, L—,
“O, father, don’t write that,” cried the children.
“O, Robert, you must not, dare not finish that word: It’s too dreadful,” pleaded his wife.
“‘Tis true, though,” he said, almost in a whisper, and falling upon his knees he prayed, “O God, for Christ’s sake, be merciful to me a sinner.”
It was not very long before he, taught by the Holy Spirit, was able to rest in the finished work of Christ, he could rejoice in he forgiveness of sins. The L was crossed out, and Robert Marshall, saved, completes the family list.
This story was told by a son of Mr. Spurgeon’s, who added that for years the whole family were known to him as consisent, devoted Christians.
What would you write after your name, dear girl or boy? Please don’t throw down this “Messages of Love” paper and run off to your lessons or your play with a careless
“I don’t know.”
You may know, for the salvation of God is offered as a free gift to you.
It was sinners the Lord Jesus came to save, and it is sinners God still receives, pardons, and blesses, because of the work done by His beloved Son.
SAVED, or LOST, which are you, dear boy or girl?
ML 06/21/1942