Won't you Love My Jesus?
This story is from Scotland and shows how the simple question, “Won’t you love my Jesus?” was used in leading a scoffing skeptic to the feet of Jesus. It is a true story and shows how very possible it is for the Lord to use the weak things of the world to bring low the mighty, yes, low at the feet of Jesus. We are going to tell the story in the skeptic’s own words:
“As I stepped upon the platform at the railroad station, a hand was laid upon my arm, and a voice said, ‘Norman, is this you?’
“I turned and looked at the speaker. It was an old classmate whom I had not seen for years and with whom I had agreed to visit a few weeks. After we had pushed our way through the noisy crowd and were seated, I looked at him again, and exclaimed: ‘Richard, how you have changed! How different now from the wild youth you used to be.’
“‘Yes, Norman,’ he replied, ‘there have been many changes with me since we parted; and the greatest change of all has been here,’ he said, pointing to his breast.
“I suspicioned religion in this remark and gesture and was scarcely able to conceal my disgust.
“That evening as he, his wife and myself were walking in the conservatory, and I was admiring some jasmin, Richard said to me, ‘Norman, I have yet another treasure to show you, and although it is small, it is greater than all these, almost the greatest one I have. Can you guess?’
“When we went back to the sitting room he introduced me to his beautiful little daughter, his only child, his little Bessie. I was not fond of children, at least I thought so, but this little girl strangely won her way into my heart. “That evening, sweet in memory to me, we became firm friends. She loved me, because when she asked her father if he loved me he said he did. She sat with me a little while and I told her an old fairy story which most strangely came to my remembrance, and then, after playing with her awhile, she went off to bed."
“The next day we all went out for a delightful drive. Bessie was bright and beautiful as the day, but sometimes there was a thoughtfulness of expression upon her face which troubled me as being beyond her years! “
“As I was talking to her father I said something jeeringly about Jesus who had led the only pure life on earth. The father didn’t reply, but motioned me to look at Bessie. She was looking into my face with a look of mingled horror and surprise – an expression such as I never saw before or since, and which I shall never forget. It was for a moment. No one spoke. The little girl burst into a flood of uncontrollable tears, and I felt ashamed that, in the presence of one so pure, I should have spoken what she had never heard before. Then she looked at me in a sort of pitying way, and said, ‘I thought you loved my Jesus; oh, how could you have said that of Him?’ During the rest of the drive she lay upon her father’s bosom in perfect silence. No one spoke.”
“The next morning I was all alone in my room thinking of all that had occurred, and a strange unaccountable feeling of seriousness was creeping over me, a sort of longing to be like her, when suddenly she was at my side. I started as I saw her, and met the tender gaze of love and pity which she bent upon me. Her head was laid upon my arm and for a moment both were silent. Then the silence was broken with the words, ‘Won’t you love my Jesus?’ and she was gone.”
“I could not ridicule that lovely spirit, and yet some demon within me tempted me to do so. The next morning, and the next and the next, she came in the same way, said the same words and left. I never answered her, and at no other time did she allude to the subject, but she never failed to come at that hour each morning.
“One day I said to her, almost unconsciously, ‘Tell me how to love your Jesus.’ She looked at me for a moment and in a twinkling was on my knee, and I shall never forget how she told me the story of Christ’s love for me. My eyes were far from dry when she went away, but there was less sorrow on her face than usual. Morning after morning she came and never seemed weary of telling the sweet story. But one morning she did not come and I waited a long time in vain. No little feet came pattering along the hall, no little hand was clasped in mine, no little words of instruction were lisped in my ear. Presently there came a hurried knock at my door. It was opened without waiting for permission by the little girl’s father."
“‘Norman,’ he said, ‘Bessie has just awakened from a long and heavy sleep and is very ill.’ I went with him and we found her with eyes closed, and in a sort of stupor. The doctor came and revealed the fact that she was to be with us only a little while longer. There was so painfully little to be done for the dear sufferer that two days passed almost in silence as we watched over her precious form. It was a heavy burden for us to bear to think that she no longer would be the light of our hearts. I say we, for though I was perhaps mistaken, the little girl had so taken possession of my heart that it seemed to me that she could not be dearer to those who had the first earthly claim upon her affections. At the end of her second day her life seemed partially to return. She opened her eyes, and smiling a little, said, ‘Dear Uncle Norman, won’t you love my Jesus? Mommy and Daddy love Him, and I love Him and am going to Him, and I want to tell Him that you love Him too.’ “
“‘Bessie,’ said I, ‘tell Him my heart and life are His forever more.”
“The young girl’s face was wreathed in glory. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I am so happy now. Now I have all I want. Now I come, I come, Lord Jesus!’ and the youthful spirit, so pure, so holy, returned whence it came. God’s little messenger had turned a soul to righteousness and she was called home.”
This little girl is an example of what a Christian ought to be – her person radiating love, her devotion to her Saviour so true that she was heart-broken to hear Him spoken evil of and her love for Uncle Norman’s soul so red hot and consistent that she persisted in her efforts to win him to Christ until she succeeded even on her death-bed.
If this skeptic was brought to shame before a pure, innocent little girl, I wonder where the scoffers are going to stand before the Son of God who is perfect holiness, whose eyes are a flame of fire. In the crimson that came to this girl’s little face when her Saviour was being derided this skeptic wisely sensed the forbodings of divine holiness and wrath and turned to God for mercy before it was too late. Are there any scoffers, high or low, rich or poor, educated or uneducated, reading this? May I ask you, “Won’t you love my Jesus?”