A Mother’s Remarkable Testimony
By A Mother
For several years we lived the “life beautiful”—the life of perfect trust in God. We contracted no debts, we tithed the little money which came into our hands. Our greatest desire was to serve God with such service as should be well pleasing in his sight. We counted it a joy to sacrifice for the One who had made the great sacrifice for us. We praised him continually for permitting us to labor in his vineyard, and in those days he gave us many souls for our hire. But dark days came, and darker still, and my cry went up to God, but the heavens seemed as brass. Satan saw his opportunity, and tempted me. Stealthily came the suggestion, “God does not care for you!” Finally bitterness and rebellion crept in, and we were drifting away from that which we had once loved. The Bible was wilfully neglected, and prayer was unuttered. The once quiet, happy home became one of unrest. I saw with anxiety the change in my children’s characters. I was daily12grieved and surprised at the outbreaks of temper and the lawlessness of their behavior. I had ceased to read the Word of God to them, and to carry them with me to the throne of grace. But the Spirit of God was striving mightily with me, and sometimes I would say: “I will go back to Jesus.” Then, with greater intensity, I would say: “No, I will not go!” He has cast me off! He has not delivered me from my troubles! He does not care!” And so the battle raged, until, from battlings within and strivings without, I was almost undone. One day, when my patience was exhausted, and my boy had been repeatedly reprimanded and punished, I dropped everything and talked with him. That was another thing I had ceased doing. I talked with him, but not in anger, as usual, for my heart yearned over him, he was so naughty, and seemed to be actuated by such an evil spirit. I put my hands on his shoulders and asked him to look into mother’s eyes and tell her why he was so naughty. The tears came, and as he looked through them into my face, he answered: “O mother! I don’t know why I am so naughty. I try not to be, but at night it always seems to have been a bad day.” Then, breaking into sobs and drawing closer to me, he continued: “If you would only read the Bible and pray with us every day, as you used to, I believe I should be a better boy. But it’s hard to keep trying and trying to do right all by myself!” The arrow flew straight home, piercing my mother-heart to its very center. I saw uncovered before me my responsibility for the evil triumphing over the good day by day in my boy’s life. I was deeply touched by the sublime faith of my precious child. While I was terrified and compelled to acknowledge the effect of my own spiritual condition as reflected by my children, it was hard to go back to Jesus. I still felt rebellious regarding circumstances which he could change, and then, besides, I had robbed him of my service and that of my children. I had robbed him of daily praise and thanksgiving and the incense of sweet living. I was humiliated as I recalled all these things, and felt myself unworthy. At this time the deaconess happened in—no, nothing ever “happens” to God’s children, estranged and rebellious though they be. She discovered my wretched condition, and freely laid bare her own quivering heart, that I might further know how God sometimes deals with his own, and yet loves them. Over and over she whispered: “Though he slay me, yet will I trust him,” and, “Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.” She urged me to go back to church and to the Sunday-school, but I explained that this was impossible, owing to family duties. The home department work, ever borne upon the hearts of the deaconesses, came to her mind as filling my need, and so she begged me to take it up for my children’s sake as well as my own. I finally promised her that I would, and, after I began reading the Word and talking with him as I used to do, I stooped again to lift my cross, for I was ready to carry it if He willed it so; but he had put his own broken body underneath it, and has carried it for me ever since. It has become the custom of our house to bring the Bible to the table at the lunch-time, when the freshness of the morning has worn away, and there is need of new strength, that the afternoon’s work may be well done. The children look forward to this time, and we never get closer together or have a richer blessing than when reading God’s Word and speaking to him, his Holy Spirit brooding over us all.—A Mother, in Sunday School Times.