“Well,” said Christie, gravely, “what would you have? ‘By grace are ye saved through faith, and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.’ ‘The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ There is nothing in all the Bible clearer than that. And surely eternal life is a gift worthy of God to give.”
“But He does not give it to all,” said Miss Gertrude.
“To all who desire it—to all who seek for it in Jesus’ name,” said Christie, earnestly.
“But in another place it says, ‘No man can come unto Me, except the Father, who hath sent Me, draw him.’”
Gertrude did not speak to-night, as she had sometimes done of late, in the flippant way which thoughtless young people often assume when they talk on such subjects. Her voice and manner betrayed to Christie that she was very much in earnest, and she hesitated to answer her; not, as at other times, because she thought silence was the best reply, but because she longed so earnestly to say just what was right.
“This change which is so wonderful must be God’s work from beginning to end, you once said,” continued Gertrude. “And since we have no part in the work, I suppose we must sit and wait till the change comes, with what patience we may.”
“It is God’s work from beginning to end,” repeated Christie, thoughtfully. “We cannot work this change in ourselves. We cannot save ourselves, in whole or in part. Nothing can be clearer than that.”
“Well?” said Gertrude, as she paused.
“Why, it would be strange indeed if so great a work was left to creatures so weak and foolish as we are. None but God could do it. And if a child is hungry or thirsty or defiled, what needs he to know more than that there is enough and to spare for all his wants in the hands of a loving Father? There would be no hope for us if this great change were to be left to us to work. But the work being God’s, all may hope. I suppose I know what you mean,” she added. “I have heard my father, and Peter O’Neil, and others, speak about these things. Peter used to say, ‘If God means to save me He will save me; and I need give myself no trouble about it.’ That is true in one sense, but not in the sense that Peter meant. I wish I could mind what my father used to say to him, but I cannot. Somehow, I never looked at it in that way. It seemed to me such a wonderful and blessed thing that God should have provided a way in which we could be saved, and then that He should save us freely, that, it never came into my mind to vex myself with thoughts like these. I was young, only a child, but I had a great many troubled unhappy thoughts about myself; and to be able to put them all aside—to leave them all behind, as it were, and just trust in Jesus, and let Him do all for me—oh, I cannot tell you the blessed rest and peace it was to me! But I did not mean to speak about myself.”
“But I want you to tell me,” said Gertrude, softly.