The Story Of A White Rose
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One evening a man was on his way to speak at a Gospel meeting in London. He was hurriedly passing along the Thames Embankment and noticed a young woman mourning deep in thought within a hundred yards of the hall. His attention was arrested; at first he hesitated but then felt prompted to speak to her, asking her to pardon his apparent rudeness in addressing her. He invited her to the meeting close by, saying no one would interfere to stop her leaving at any time, and promised a cup of hot coffee and bun.
The young woman indignantly resented his interruption and declined the invitation. Shortly before this encounter, the man had a tea with a lady who presented him with a white rose. His hostess had been so persistent and some power seemed to have compelled him to accept so he had yielded. Removing it from his coat, he turned and asked that the young lady would accept it. She finally did grasp the beautiful flower, and as the lamp shone on her sorrow-stricken face, he noticed a falling tear. Giving her the name of the street where the hall was situated and saying goodbye, he left her, hoping she would still attend the meeting.
When the gentleman had finished speaking later that evening, he spotted the young woman in the hall. After another worker had concluded, she rose as though she had something to say and yet was afraid; nevertheless, she told her story.
The young lady had been standing on the embankment deciding whether to go back into the haunts of vice and immorality in which she had lived for five years, in sin of the most wretched and degrading kind, or end all by throwing herself into the Thames. She had all but decided to drown herself when the gentleman spoke to her and aroused her from her wicked thoughts. After repeatedly pressing her to accompany him to the meeting and her refusal, he asked that she accept a beautiful white rose—the same pure white flower her widowed mother gave her five years before in their village home in north England, far from the sinful city. It was her mother’s favourite flower, and she had remarked, “Ellen, my dear girl, you are leaving your poor lone mother, much against her wish, to roam, I very much fear, into sin, and when you are far away from her, and you ever see a white rose, always remember your mother’s parting gift to you will be followed by fervent prayer for the return of her sinful child. Day nor night shall I cease to pray that God may bring you home a saved child.”
Ellen, the young woman, had often thought of her mother and her words and had had to stifle her conscience many times, and while considering that awful step that night, she had thought of her. “I pray to God to forgive me the sorrow this night’s act would have caused her,” she said. “This pure sweet rose brought me to my senses. I gazed at it, kissed it, moaned over it, felt powerless to resist coming to this meeting, and I’ve been listening to the invitations to ‘Come to Jesus,’ and I feel I dare not go from here without salvation; if Christ will only extend His mercy to one so deep in sin and immorality as I am.”
The Christian workers began to speak to her about John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Ellen listened eagerly to this, then burst into tears and fell on her knees, imploring in deep anguish that God would save her soul. The Christians joined in prayer, then left her with God, with whom she was pleading for forgiveness. She eventually became more calm and subdued, and then quietly rising she exclaimed, “Oh, mother, your long-lost child will return to you saved by believing in the merits of a crucified Saviour.”
That night she was given shelter and on the next day the news was communicated to Ellen’s mother who was overcome with joy and thankfulness at the glad news. She was given a place among Christians where she was able to live happy in Christ and a consistent life, seeking to lead others to the same precious Saviour. And Ellen could always after remember and thank God for the gift of the white rose.
—From 100 Thrilling Tales by Hy. Pickering
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