On the Latch
“For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost” (Luke 19:10).
I have heard of a girl who in an evil hour left her mother—won by the promises of some villain, and traveled to a large city. And there went down to the lowest depths. At last all sad at heart and perishing with hunger she thought she would creep back and see the old home again, and die. Of course her mother would never receive her anymore, but nobody in the village would know her, and it would be good to see the cottage and the flowers of the garden and to hear the birds sing again. And so with heavy heart and wearied steps she wandered on until she reached the little village. It was night when she got there. Footsore and faint she could just stand by the gate, and, dark as it was, the stars would give light enough to see the place—and there she would stand and try to feel again as she had done long ago. But, as she came near, a light glimmered along the path and she saw that it was her mother’s cottage. Long ago her mother must have gone to bed. What did this mean? And wondering she came on—and she found the gate was set wide open—the gate that was always so carefully shut, and noiselessly she crept to the door. It was on the latch, the door that always used to be bolted and barred at night. She stepped within, and whispered wondering, “Mother.” Ah, it was enough, the arms were about her neck. Their tears mingled together, and love, as deep and true and full as ever, welcomed her home and loved her into goodness. And she found that ever since she had left her home that door had been on the latch, that gate was left wide open, and in the window was the candle set to guide her steps. That was a mother’s love, but very far beyond that is the Savior’s love.
I have heard of a girl who in an evil hour left her mother—won by the promises of some villain, and traveled to a large city. And there went down to the lowest depths. At last all sad at heart and perishing with hunger she thought she would creep back and see the old home again, and die. Of course her mother would never receive her anymore, but nobody in the village would know her, and it would be good to see the cottage and the flowers of the garden and to hear the birds sing again. And so with heavy heart and wearied steps she wandered on until she reached the little village. It was night when she got there. Footsore and faint she could just stand by the gate, and, dark as it was, the stars would give light enough to see the place—and there she would stand and try to feel again as she had done long ago. But, as she came near, a light glimmered along the path and she saw that it was her mother’s cottage. Long ago her mother must have gone to bed. What did this mean? And wondering she came on—and she found the gate was set wide open—the gate that was always so carefully shut, and noiselessly she crept to the door. It was on the latch, the door that always used to be bolted and barred at night. She stepped within, and whispered wondering, “Mother.” Ah, it was enough, the arms were about her neck. Their tears mingled together, and love, as deep and true and full as ever, welcomed her home and loved her into goodness. And she found that ever since she had left her home that door had been on the latch, that gate was left wide open, and in the window was the candle set to guide her steps. That was a mother’s love, but very far beyond that is the Savior’s love.