WINNIE first came to my Sunday school class when she was but four years old. Even then the chubby, fair-haired little girl sat eagerly listening to the simple, heart-winning story of Jesus and His love. Why should we doubt its power to win the young and tender heart, even at so early an age as Winnie then was? I am certain that it was at one of these first afternoon “talks” about Jesus dying on the cross for sinners, that the dear child was really saved, for the new life was manifest, and we could not help seeing it.
Winnie was very fond of the hymns, and her favorite was,
Shall we gather at His coming,
When the dead in Christ arise?
Shall we hear the Saviour’s summons
To God’s home beyond the skies?
Her clear sweet voice could be heard above all the rest when we reached the chorus:
Yes, we’ll gather at His coming,
His glorious, His glorious coming—
Gather with His saints at His coming,
If washed in the Saviour’s blood.
One afternoon I missed Winnie, and on making inquiry I learned that she was sick and in bed. I hastened to see my little girl, and found her tossing in a fever. Winnie’s home was not a palace—only a small upstairs flat, where the light of the sun scarcely shone. Her father was a dock worker, and her mother, to help support herself and Winnie, took in sewing. I am afraid her father spent most of his spare hours, and his money as well, in taverns. When he came home in the evening, and found little Winnie lying ill in bed, he was very much alarmed. No doubt he was a great deal ashamed of being so neglectful of his little girl.
When Winnie saw her father looking so dejected and miserable, she smiled and said, “Come, Daddy,” and stretched out her arms to embrace him. He kissed her, and a big tear fell on her cheek.
“Do not cry, Daddy,” whispered Winnie; “I’m going to the happy land, to Jesus’ country. Jesus is so good and kind, He will be waiting for me. Mamma’s coming, and I wish you would come too, Daddy.”
This was more than the miserable father could bear. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud. His sins against God, and neglect of his wife and child, pierced him like arrows. That word from the lips of his sick and apparently dying child, was God’s message to his hardened heart. It woke the first sense of sin and shame, and the Spirit deepened it into real conviction of sin before God.
He sat by Winnie’s bedside all that night, watching while her mother got a little needed rest. Winnie opened her eyes and saw him, and seemed delighted.
“Sing to me my old hymn, Daddy, ‘Shall we gather at His coming,’” said the dear child. It seemed that the fever had broken, and she seemed greatly relieved. Twice he tried to fulfill her request, but his voice faltered. Well did he know that, as he was a sinner unsaved, he could not.
“Gather with the saints at His coming.”
I know that you will be both thankful and relieved to learn that dear little Winnie got better. The first time she was allowed out she came to Sunday school. That same evening she entered the little hall, leading her father by the hand, to hear the gospel, and God used His own Word to set the captive free. Winnie’s father received Jesus as his Saviour, and confessed Him as his Lord. Now they have a happy little home, and there and down at the docks, he lives for Christ, to whom he now belongs.
ML-09/27/1964