Please Give Me Just One Soul

On my homeward course, following the pressing duties of the day, as I slowed my pace upon the lonely service-road beside the swift thoroughfare, the Spirit of God did, with sudden and unmistakable force, lay a curious nudge upon my heart: I was to turn right into the solemn quietude of Eternal Gardens!

A smile, I confess, played upon my lips, for I knew not the meaning of this gentle command. Slowly, I steered my humble vehicle through the great gates, uncertain if the earthly watchman would permit my intrusion, yet casting all to the wind in that moment of obedience. I did but take the chance, for the Lord's Impulse is ever a sovereign guide!

Ah, the silent cities of the dead! My soul doth find a most unexpected affection for these hallowed grounds, these resting places of mortal clay. Many, I know, deem them melancholy, or reserve their notice for the appointed day of memorial; yet to me, they are a spring of solace! Here resides a certain, profound quietude that my spirit craves. It is a place of reality, set apart from the fleeting vanities and noisy deceptions of the world's passing show—a true sanctuary from the confusing clamor! I drove through the winding lanes until I spied a space untouched by man's near presence. There, I anchored my chariot beneath the shade, and with deliberate steps, made my pilgrimage to a distant, sheltering tree, taking my precious time to reflect upon that which endures.

A solitary family did indeed grace the distant prospect—the father bent low upon the earth, attended by his spouse and a precious little lad. My heart, ever yearning for fellowship, entertained the thought of approaching them; yet, discerning that their errand was a private one, I checked the impulse, and kept my silent vigil till they departed in their vehicle.

The time that remained was a sacred hour spent in converse with the Eternal Father! Joyful praises, sentences of profound gratitude, hopeful petitions, and the very utterance of my deepest yearnings and daily struggles were poured forth. The silent gravestones were my audience on that blessed afternoon. I did, indeed, put sober questions to those cold marble tablets concerning the lives of those beneath: Did the glad tidings of the Gospel ever reach their ears? And if so, did a final, crushing regret attend their heedlessness? I inquired of their earthly triumphs: Were they mighty? Were they rich? Did they carry the burden of worldly happiness? From my quiet vantage, I confess, their stones wore no look of such things.

Before I take my leave of this hallowed space of quiet time, a solemn petition cried out from my very soul. I cast myself upon the Father, asking a grace most singular: grant me one soul this day before I return to my humble dwelling.

This practice, I confess, is a spark caught from the glorious flame of that 'Apostle of Prayer,' John Hyde. He, with a holy audacity, first begged the LORD for but one precious soul each day, and the LORD, whose ear is never heavy, did grant it. In time, his faith, like a growing mustard seed, brought him to ask for even eight souls daily, a request the Almighty did most graciously honor.

Thus, as I venture forth to make known the name of Christ, I lift this same earnest cry: one soul, just one, that God would deign to grant me a brief discourse with, or even simply the planting of a single, imperceptible seed. I need not witness the sprouting, for I possess a deep and steadfast conviction that He grants this simple prayer every single time. That great and final Day, when the roll is called, shall surely reveal the abundant fruit of these daily, heartfelt tears and supplications.

Having concluded my humble petition, I rose from my knees and offered a sincere word of thanksgiving to the Father, Whose ear is ever inclined to the cry of His children. As I began my return journey to my scooter, mine eyes fell upon a solitary man, resting nigh upon his motorcycle, within the very bounds of this place. His attire betrayed the fact that he was bound to labor here. My heart was struck with the marvelous wonder of Divine Providence! I did not need to search the highways and byways for a soul; nay, the Father, in His boundless grace, had already brought this one soul, as if by an invisible hand, practically to my very side! It was a most precious confirmation that the Lord's hand had already moved in answer to prayer.

"Kuya, may I ask you a few questions?"

"Yes, of course."

"How long have you worked here?"

"Long enough."

"Have you ever stopped to think that while you work in such a place, you'd end up in the same ground as they are someday?"

"Yes. I do. A lot."

With the opportunity so plainly laid before me by the Hand of God, I seized the moment to direct our converse toward those great and often-neglected realities of this fleeting life.

We spoke not of trifles, but of sin: his own hidden transgressions, and the grim harvest reaped by the departed lying silent around us—the very cause of their earthly repose. I unveiled to him the truth of the secrets which God's all-seeing eye discerns, and the certainty of death, that final summons. Thus, we travelled the thorny path together until, by the grace of the Holy Spirit, we arrived at the radiant prospect of Salvation in Christ Jesus! We lingered at the foot of the Cross, pondering the mystery of imputation, the wonder of redemption, the promise of the new life, and the ultimate, unending Joy of knowing God.

He received these sacred truths with a profound earnestness, his gaze often fixed upon the ground in deep contemplation. He listened with rapt attention, engaging me man-to-man, heart-to-heart, asking questions that betrayed a stirring soul, and then listening yet more. Oh, the sweetness of communing with a fellow human pilgrim about the glorious hope that abides in Christ!

I thanked him for allowing me his time. I felt his gratitude when he firmly shook my hand and held it longer than usual. He thanked me with sincerity.

I lift my thanks to my sovereign God for the very existence of this leafy sentinel—this tree—which, in His wisdom, was planted here to afford me a sheltering shade.

For mark this, my soul: had I not perceived its generous canopy, I would surely have pressed on, missing the appointed tryst. And thus, I would have tragically passed by the precious opportunity to speak the Life to that lone man. The shade was the bait, the tree the Lord's own landmark, ensuring that I remained precisely where His Providence had need of me! Every detail, even the comfort of a simple shadow, is governed by His loving design.

As I journeyed homeward, my soul fell into a profound meditation upon the wellspring of my actions. I confessed, with sober humility, that I perform this sacred labour not merely for Christ, but truly because of Him! For alas, one may toil for Him, yet be driven by the fleeting applause of men, making Christ a secondary aim. But no! I must hold fast to this truth: Christ is not the object of my faith, but its living, enduring Root.

Hitherto, I have yet to make a sincere supplication that the Father has failed to answer or will ever deny. And so, with a continuous, holy heaviness and eagerness of heart, I shall ever lift this one, consuming prayer: the fervent yearning for that glorious day when the Father shall finally see fit to employ my humble life utterly and wholly in His blessed Service.

The earth has been made unclean by those living in it; because the laws have not been kept by them, the orders have been changed, and the eternal agreement has been broken. For this cause, the earth is given up to the curse, and those in it are judged as sinners: for this cause, those living on the earth are burned up, and few men are left.

Isaiah 24:5-6