Thank You for That Word!

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D.C. · Jul 2, 1908

“Thank You for That Word!”

Picture to yourself the courtyard of a Chinese farmhouse, in which are a cow, a pig, a dog, and cats, with grass and corn-stalks for fuel; a shed to shelter the animals at night, muddy with much tramping in the recent rains; a tiny grass and mud house in which the meals are cooked for the family; a guest-room, opening toward the south; the mud floor, nicely swept, the long table opposite the door, on which are the ancestral tablets—old, black, and dusty; two tiny stools; seed-corn and various farming implements hanging on the mud walls,—such were the surroundings of a pitiful old woman I saw to-day.

When the Bible woman and I entered the court, we heard her groans, and, as we came into the guest-room, saw her lying in the corner of the room on a mat on the floor, a cotton-stuffed pillow supporting her head, unable to move herself, and the flies tormenting her in her filth and discomfort. She had on a bright-red wadded garment, preparatory to her death and burial, and in the yard

under a shed we saw her coffin, all in readiness.

I moved my little stool over, and spoke to her, and she began to weep, saying, “You see me here, an old woman, sick and utterly helpless, just lying here as if dead. Alas! alas!” She realized, I think, that she could probably never rise from that sick-bed, and was afraid. I told her to listen to me, and said, “Don’t worry about that, only trust the God of heaven, and he can save your soul.” She looked up at me as one longing for the least ray of hope, and answered eagerly, “Can he? Thank you, thank you for that word!”

I told her of salvation by Jesus’ death,—she had never heard it before,—and told her to pray to God for forgiveness of sin, trusting Jesus’ merit. She asked, “How pray to him? Burn incense?”

“No, just speak to him reverently and in sincerity, and he will hear and answer,” I replied.

“How? What shall I say?”

“Say, ‘I pray the Lord of heaven to forgive my sins and save my soul in heaven, trusting Jesus as my mediator, who died to save me.’”

“But I can’t get up and kneel to pray.”

“That doesn’t make any difference; pray lying where you are, only mean what you say.”

She clasped her wrinkled hands, and said, “O heavenly Lord, I pray thee pity me, take away my sin.”

“Save my soul in heaven, I trust Jesus, who died to save me,” I added, she repeating it after me.

“Sin” and “suffering,” in Chinese, are the same word, and the Bible woman and I both tried to make her understand that this salvation was from sin and transgression, and not from sickness and physical death.

Does she know enough to be saved?—I do not know. Yet who knows the unbounded love and pity of the loving Father, who has said, “Before they call, I will answer”? He only knows if the ignorant old heart in reality turned the eye of faith, be it ever so feeble, to him. He is far more tender than we; and if there is in the poor woman’s heart any repentance and faith, he knows and will honor it. We taught her the same words again and again, and then left her with the prayer that she might grasp their meaning, and believe and trust in him who alone can save.—The Missionary.