My Mother's Fear | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Sep 9, 1873

My Mother's Fear.

My mother is a Scotch woman, but we have resided many years at the village of — in England. She is a true Christian without doubt; but she had, till lately, one peculiarity in her character, which kept her from being a happy Christian;—it was the fear of death; not the fear of being cast away at the last, but the dread of having to lie on a sick-bed, and to feel that death must soon lay his hand upon her. Her nature recoiled at the very thought of it, and kept her for many years from that happiness and peace which should be the attendant of a forgiven sinner.

She was in communion at the Lord’s table, and her Christian friends often tried to convince my dear mother that, as sure as God was true, so would her strength be equal to that day of death, as much as it ever was to any trial of her life. But it was all of no use; she knew God could be nothing else but faithful; but still her dread was the same, and kept her constantly unhappy. Others also tried to console her, and to draw her mind off the dreaded moment, but at length they all gave it up; it was useless. She used to stop them short with, “I tell you it will be dreadful, I know it will.”

Well, there came to our village one week-day, a gentleman who had been preaching in the neighborhood around, and he gave out that there would be preaching under the old oak by the wayside, at the corner of the road to —. I went, and was much struck by the simplicity with which he told the gospel story to his hearers, and while I listened, the thought struck me that the good man might be made useful to my mother. As soon as he had done, I went and asked him if he would come and see my mother, who was then an invalid, and could not leave her house. He said he would come then, and as we went along, I told him of my mother’s fear of death, and begged him if he could do anything to comfort her, to do it. My mother knew where I had gone, and as we entered, I said, “Mother, here is the gentleman I have been to hear, come to see you.”

“Glad to see you, sir,” said mother; “pray sit down.”

“My good woman,” said he, after a few casual remarks, “your son has told me how much you suffer from the fear of death.”

“O, pray, sir, don’t mention it. It was gone from my mind, and I dread the thought of its revival.”

“It is good and wholesome if unbelievers have a dread of death,” said our visitor, “but I trust you are a true believer.”

“Through God’s grace, I rejoice in hope of eternal life.”

Our visitor sat thinking a moment or two, and I was wondering what he would say next, for I had often heard others go over the ground of God’s faithfulness, and his promise to be with his people in every trial.

He broke silence, and said, “Well, my good sister, I know you cannot always control your own feelings, but does it not strike you as unwise to grieve over what may never happen.”

“Never happen, man!” said my mother, “what do you mean? In this life we are certain of nothing but death and the Judgment. It must come! It must come!”

“You believe God’s word, madam?” inquired the stranger.

“Most truly,” said my mother.

“Then listen to me,” and he turned to 1 Thess. 4: 16-18, and read, “The Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the Archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air; and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words.” And then turning to my mother, he said, “Are you sure you will not be one of those ‘who are alive and remain’ when Jesus comes? If not, you are not sure you will ever die at all.”

My mother was struck dumb! The passage was quite familiar to her, but it never occurred to her that she might possibly be one of those who will be alive at that day. Our visitor saw the truth had struck home, and bidding us farewell, he left, promising to call again the next time he came our way.

As soon as he had gone, my mother bade me get her large Bible and find the passage, and she sat and read it as one spell-bound. At last she said, as if talking to herself, “How strange it should follow with the words, ‘Comfort one another with these words.’” And then she repeated the passage, “Watch therefore, for ye know not at what hour your Lord doth come.” “Grieving over what may never happen! and all these years!” “Comfort one another with these words.”

Our visitor called again, but found his work was done; the simple truth had, under God’s blessing, brought forth fruit, and my mother dreads no more the fearful death, but keeps her eyes on the life, and earnestly joins in the prayer, “Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly.”—Sel.