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Temperance in the Home

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Mar 25, 1909

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 86, No. 12.

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Temperance in the Home

By AUGUSTA C. BAINBRIDGE

God's Work in Our Bodies

AUGUSTA C. BAINBRIDGE
“How does my heart keep beating, mama? It was beating when I went to bed last night, and it is beating now. It beats hard when I run.”
“God, my child, controls not only the beating of your heart, but your breathing, and the movements of all your vital organs.”
“Then my ‘telegraph operator’ doesn’t do it at all?” asked Henry, who had well in mind what he had learned about his “will” and the “telegraph wires,” or nerves.
“No, your will can not be trusted to do these things.”
“Why not, if he can do other things?”
“Because you have to sleep sometimes; and even when awake, you have other things to do, and you might forget,” said Mrs. Ayers.
“How good God is!” said Henry, reverently.
“Yes, he certainly shows his loving care for us in making our bodies. If we had to keep our hearts beating, and all the other things going on which are necessary to keep us alive, we could not do anything else. But even if we did give all our time to it, we could not do it; so he does it for us.”
“How does he do it?”
“He has taken such pains in making our bodies that all these vital movements (that is, the movements that must be made just right in order to keep us alive) are controlled by nerves and muscles over which we have no command. You can not say to your heart, ‘Be still,’ as you could say to your foot.”
“No, I know I can’t; for when I ran to school yesterday, it beat so hard it almost,—well it made me feel choked; and when I stood at the door, I wanted it to stop, but it didn’t.”
“But it stopped when you were rested?”
“Yes, but I breathed hard for a long time.”
“Of course you did; for that is one of the ways that we gather strength after any extra exertion; and God made it so. In order that these muscles may act properly, each in its own place, they are managed by nerves that are not connected with the will. For that reason we call them involuntary muscles.”
“Then these—what is it, mama—that long word?”
“Involuntary; that means not under the control of our will.”
“Yes, these involuntary muscles just go right on, attending to their business, and we don’t have to mind them at all. Isn’t that nice? I am glad it is fixed that way.”
“But we can hinder them, my son. Do you remember what I told you about the effect of intoxicating liquors on the nerves that carry orders from the brain?”
“Yes, but these are another kind; does it hurt them, too?”
“Indeed it does; but we do not see the effect quite so readily, though it is more serious.”
“How can that be?”
“It is much more serious to interfere with God’s work in our bodies—our breathing, our digestion, or the circulation of our blood—than it would be to interfere with the moving of a hand or a foot.”
“Yes; because it might not make you die to move your foot, or to keep it still; but if we didn’t breathe, we would die.”
“That is true, and it is these nerves that feel most keenly the action of alcohol; for it hardens them just as it does the nerves of motion, by drinking up the water they contain; and they can no more order their muscles to do the right thing than the other nerves can.”
“Then things would be in a sorry plight, and we could not help ourselves—only just suffer, I suppose.”
“Yes, suffer, until the effect of the alcohol passed away; and our vital organs would be left just that much weaker from the suffering.”
“Well, I don’t want any of it, mama, —not even a tiny little bit!” and he held his two forefingers so close to each other that you could barely see the light between.
“No, not even a ‘tiny little bit,’ my son;” and Mrs. Ayers caught the two fat fingers in her hand, and pressed them earnestly to her lips, just as mothers know how.
San Francisco, Cal.