The Little Mother by Mrs. J. C. Brower

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D.C. · Jul 28, 1904

“The Little Mother”

By Mrs. J. C. Brower

MRS. J. C. BROWER

ALWAYS as I go about my daily tasks, I have present the memory of a Western home presided over by a little Scotch woman whom her children delight to speak of as “the little mother.”

It was a home, where, because of a large and growing family dependent upon a small income, and because the “house-band” did not reverence the Great Father, “the cares of life came thronging fast.” Often the fare was very plain, and sometimes scant; and the children’s clothing, though neat and clean, bore evidences of frequent turning, darning, and patching.

The neighbors visited, gossiped, and aped the manners and fashions of their “smart set.” The little mother remained at home because of the incompleteness of her wardrobe, and for the love she bore her boys and girls.

She was not a church-member, but her worn Bible, the fervor expressed in the old hymns she hummed about her work, her firm adherence to right principles,—these and many other things proclaimed her a child of the King.

Many a weary, discouraged soul found comfort and new inspiration in a quiet chat in the bare little “front room,” and returned to face the emptiness and selfishness of the great world stronger in a determination to trust all to the One “divinely good.” Many a weak one learned to believe that “God holds the lever of circumstances,” and that something of the Great King’s character is reflected in all his handiwork.

Not far from the dooryard of the home was a grassy knoll upon which lay a large gray rock. Below, a little valley sloped to a wooded stream. Beyond, in the distance, stretched the rugged hills. Beside the rock, upon the little knoll, the little mother erected a Beth-el, which she called her “retreat.”

As the children grew older, they learned of its existence, and understood why, so many evenings, they had missed her from her accustomed place among them. Here she brought her sorrows, her cares, and her perplexities, indeed, all her burdens; and when forbidden to kneel or to read God’s Word in her home, she would come aside to her retreat, her “mercy-seat,” and pour out her fulness of heart before Him who is “touched with the feeling of our infirmities.” She sought for light and truth, and when truth came, she walked in every ray with thankful heart.

Her boys and girls came to rely upon the principles so carefully taught by her in word and example, and to hold in tender regard her “retreat.” One who entered the family a few years ago said of her, “She is the best woman I ever knew. She carries a blessing with her wherever she goes.” The sick, sad, destitute, and afflicted come to her for help and comfort. The gay and thoughtless are helped by her counsel. She lives a quiet life, unconscious that she has ever accomplished anything worthy of notice. But the Heavenly Father, who has been her counselor in her quiet hours, and her support through all the toilsome days, has blessed her seed-sowing. “Her children rise up, and call her blessed,” and in many a perplexity are strengthened by remembering her counsel and her life, and especially by the retreat, which, like the little mother, they have established for themselves.