A Word to Parents by Carrie

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 21, 1868

A Word to Parents.

By Carrie

DEAR PARENTS: I have something to say to you, and if our good editor will give a young girl a place in his paper, I trust that it may not be wasted. Not that I think I can say anything new to parents, but I wish to have you remember what many seem to forget, and that is, you can never win the love and confidence of your children by the sweat of the brow.

Some appear to think, if they work and care well for their children it is enough; but children look for loving words, smiles and caresses, and when these are wanting, although the parents may work far beyond their strength, love and confidence are returned only in a small proportion, and the hearts of the parents and children are forever strangers; and oh! what parents can do the whole work God has given them to do when this is the case? I wonder that there are those who are model parents in every other respect, but refuse what is so dear to the child—love, that speaks in looks, words, and little acts of affection. Little do they think, when they rise above such trifles, that they have soared above the reach of their children; and life is full of bitterness to the child, who has no bosom friend to trust, no ear that will kindly listen and enter into its joys and sorrows. I know it is hard, for I have felt it.

For a little while in the morning of my life I had a dear, gentle mother. Oh! what a priceless treasure was that! but it was not mine long, for one morning I woke to learn that death had been in our household and left me motherless. From that night there was a great blank in the world to me. Through childhood I passed with no loving “good night” whispered in my ear; no bruise, or ache, or pain of mine was ever cured by that healing balm—a mother’s kiss. God had given me a warm, loving heart, and oh! how I longed for love and sympathy, but it came not.

My father was a good man, one that feared God, and walked uprightly; and I believe now he loved his children, but I saw nothing then that spoke to my young heart of love. He trained us carefully, but never entered into our joys and sorrows as though he had once been a child. Long before I can remember, I grew too old for a seat upon his knee. He never sought my confidence, and why should I give it? I looked up to him with reverence as a father, but would as soon have thought of making a confidant of the cold moon so high above me, as of the man that never stooped to such a foolish thing as to kiss his children, or say a sweet, loving word to them.

I had a step-mother, one that cared well for me, and would deny self for my sake; and I grew into long dresses under her care. For years I had called her mother, but the years brought no tenderness, no sympathy for me. All my life I had hungered more and more, and now that I had come to years, I was starving for home-love. Every one told me I had a good mother; and from my heart there ever went up a “God bless her!” But when they said my own mother could not have done better, I could not but think how many times I had felt that something was wanting. There were several children, and not until we had grown up and one was passing away, did we know that all had hungered for love alike, so utterly had our hearts been strangers. While we were taught to be kind, had love also been instilled in our young minds we might have been all the world to each other; but now, oh! how little we knew of each other’s hearts.

Oh! I wonder not so many boys leave the parental roof to seek happiness in the highways and byways of earth, when no cord of love exists to bind them there; and that so many girls, in their eager grasp for love, are to-day feeding upon husks. Alas! they might have been saved had there existed full confidence between parent and child. God only knows what I might have done had I not found Jesus a loving friend, and learned to tell him everything. Dear Jesus, he could stoop so low as to sympathize with even me, and whisper words of cheer. But my heart was long burdened before I found this friend. CARRIE.

Oh! parents, be entreated of one who, in her sad, longing hours, dare not go to father nor mother for comfort, because their sympathy seemed lacking, and their love chilly, and let your sympathy gush forth in your daily life, and your love be warm and ardent. Do not soar among the stars, where your child’s heart can never reach you, but live in its affections as parent and bosom friend. Let the sweetening of your life be what some may term “sickish,” rather than let your children grow up longing for love; and at last go forth in the world to seek what you have refused—go forth and meet Satan as he walks abroad, clothed as an angel of light, to allure their loving hearts, and cast them among breakers, and bring your gray hairs down in sorrow to the grave.

REMARKS.—There is a profound lesson in the testimony and plea of this young girl, which ought to thrill the heart of every parent who reads it. There are few students of life, as it is seen in our homes, our streets, thoroughfares, and public haunts, who cannot attest the truth of every word so simply, sincerely, and touchingly recorded above. We have seen a mother, with a care-worn expression, half turn her face to meet the kiss of the little one at night, and coldly tell it to “hurry to bed, and do n’t make a noise.” Such must find a cheerless home in their old age; and the children will gladly escape from its influence. Parents, let these things sink with weight into your hearts.