Yet, He was God Himself.
He died for our sins--and He rose from the dead. He is now in Heaven, and
He waits to receive you there, Louisa. None of us deserve to go to Heaven,
but He who was so perfect suffered in our stead. He died for all of us
sinners that we might be pardoned. I wish I could explain it better, much
better, but Jesus loves you, Louisa. I know He loves you more than you
could ever dream."
Louisa's wrinkled face lighted with a smile; but she did not seem able to
believe or comprehend this good news, which came to her, oh, so late in
life.
"Oh, if it were only true," she murmured, as she clasped her hands together
and her eyes filled with tears.
"But it is true, Louisa; don't you believe it? See here, He knows very well
you live here alone with your cat, and that you are so sad, and that you
have nobody else to care for you. He wishes to be your Friend, and He will
be if you will ask Him. Why not ask Him now, Louisa?"
"Oh, perhaps so, some day, mademoiselle."
"Do it now, Louisa."
"No, no; not now."
"Oh, why not now, Louisa?"
"Because I don't understand very well, mademoiselle. How could God love me,
a poor, forlorn, useless old woman, who never loved Him, nor served Him.
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