ll of death and separation from those we most dearly love.
How many a woman there is, who a few years ago, or a few months or a few
weeks ago, had no care, no worry, for by her side was a Christian husband
who was so wise and strong that the wife rested all responsibility upon
him and she walked care-free through life and satisfied with his love and
companionship. But one awful day, he was taken from her. She was left
alone and all the cares and responsibilities rested upon her. How empty
that heart has been ever since; how empty the whole world has been. She
has just dragged through her life and her duties as best she could with an
aching and almost breaking heart. But there is One, if she only knew it,
wiser and more loving than the tenderest husband, One willing to bear all
the care and responsibilities of life for her, One who is able, if, she
will only let Him, to fill every nook and corner of her empty and aching
heart; that One is the Paraclete. I said something like this in St.
Andrews' Hall in Glasgow. At the close of the meeting a sad-faced
Christian woman, wearing a widow's garb, came to me as I stepped out of
the hall into the reception room. She hurried to me and said, "Dr. Torrey,
this is the anniversary of my dear husband's death. Just one year ago
to-day he was taken from me. I came to-day to see if you could not speak
some word to help me. You have given me just the word I need. I will never
be lonesome again." A year and a half passed by. I was on the yacht of a
friend on the lochs of the Clyde. One day a little boat put out from shore
and came alongside the yacht. One of the first to come up the side of the
yacht was this widow. She hurried to me and the first thing she said was,
"The thought that you gave me that day in St. Andrews' Hall on the
anniversary of my husband's leaving me has been with me ever since, and
the Holy Spirit does satisfy me and fill my heart."

But it is in our work for our Master that the thought of the Holy Spirit
as the Paraclete comes with greatest helpfulness. I think it may be
permissible to illustrate it from my own experience. I entered the
ministry because I was literally forced to. For years I refused to be a
Christian, because I was determined that I would not be a preacher, and I
feared that if I surrendered to Christ I must enter the ministry. My
conversion turned upon my yielding to Him at this point. The night I
yielded, I did not say, "I will accept Christ" or "I