Ces

This day unfolded as a series of seemingly disjointed and unplanned threads, which only became clearer as the hand of Providence wove everything into place. It was by the Lord’s sovereign direction that this afternoon's errand led me to our accustomed place of Sunday gathering; and there, while awaiting my wife’s return, I set my heart to the work. I intended to distribute tracts among the passersby, all the while keeping a watchful eye for a station where I might lift up the voice of the Gospel, should the opportunity present itself.

I saw a pair of Watchtower emissaries plying their wares within the shelter of the kiosk, and my heart was stirred with a hope to engage them in discourse. My previous encounter with their sort had remained a ragged, open-ended affair, concluded only when their leader advised me to seek the counsel of a psychiatrist rather than the face of God.

I moved among those resting there, dealing out a few flyers to the gathered souls, and in the course of the work, I extended a tract to this lady. She must have overheard my testimony as I labored with the group seated beside her, for when I inquired if she would receive the Word, she proposed an exchange. With a steady hand, she offered a flyer of her own. When I asked what it contained, she replied that it spoke concerning the Lord Jesus Christ.

Initially, I had assumed that she was with the Watchtower company beside her, and thus I was pleased that she had not rejected my greeting. Yet, what a pleasant surprise when she corrected my error, declaring herself to be a blood-bought believer in the Lord Jesus Christ. A Baptist by confession. Her name is Ces. She is seventy-five years old and shares that she never leaves home without her gospel tracts. She simply loves telling others about Christ, and intends to do so till the Lord calls her home. May God bless her faithful soul. 

With a discerning eye, she inspected the tract I had given her and began to pose inquiries. It brought a profound joy to my spirit to find that she tested me, seeking to ascertain if I were indeed a true partaker of the faith who understood the foundations of my confession. I remembered that sacred admonition of the apostle John: "Beloved, believe not every spirit, but test the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world." (1 John 4:1) She applied it to my own testimony. Rather than receiving me with a shallow or worldly greeting, she sought the spiritual credentials of my soul, proving my confession against the standard of the scriptural truth. I praised God—for it is a rare and refreshing mercy to be interrogated by a sister who values the purity of the Gospel above the politeness of men. She asked the right questions—those weightier matters of the soul—and eventually, our discourse blossomed into a season of sweet fellowship. We dwelt long upon the infinite goodness of God and the singular glory of salvation in Christ. We remained in this communion for some forty minutes, until the assembly of souls in the park began to swell, and I felt the inward pressure of the Spirit signaling that the hour had come for me to take my stand. I excused myself from her company, and she, being of a kindred spirit, understood the necessity of my departure; for I had earlier unburdened my heart to her concerning my mission for the souls gathered in that park.

As we parted ways, there was a warmth between us as though we were life-long friends, bound not by years but by the blood of the Covenant. We offered one another the holy assurance that, through the sovereign grace of God, we are already brother and sister for all eternity. We looked beyond this world, acknowledging that this temporary parting is but a brief intermission, destined to end in an eternal togetherness where we shall worship the King in His kingdom forever.

The time neared the seventh hour of the evening when I brought the labor of the day to its conclusion. My wife and I then turned toward a nearby coffee shop, where we were to reunite with the beloved flock to resume our accustomed season of daily family worship.

It was a most gracious conclusion to the day's end—from the sweat of the spiritual warfare to the quietness of domestic devotion. My heart was full of thanksgiving, finding in that hour a sweet and solemn occasion to render praise unto the Lord for the greatness of His providence. Truly, it was a day where the soul could rest in the knowledge that every unplanned step was directed by His hand, and every labor, however small, was held in His eternal keeping.