The Helpfulness of Helping
By Emma Graves Dietrick
“OH, dear!” said an impatient mother, “do get out from under foot.” “But I want to help!” answered a cheery little voice. “Help? Great help you’d be; run away and don’t bother me,” replied the mother. And in a sorry tone the child said again, “But I wanted to help!” adding, pleadingly, “Please let me!” “No, no, I tell you; you only bother me. Go right away.” And a little push added emphasis to the mother’s words. Years later that mother said to a friend: “I don’t know why it is my children don’t seem to care how hard I work. They seldom try to either help or save work.” And yet cause and effect were closely allied. If she had gladly taken the offered help of the little one, and with loving patience trained the willing feet and fingers in helpfulness, she would have had a double harvest in the after years in the saving of work to herself, and, more important still, in the habit formed in her child. Another mother heard the same childish offer, and, looking beyond the present into the future character, replied, “So you shall, dear.” And every day the little fingers grew more skilful. At first the dishes to be carried from dining-room to kitchen by the eager helper must be carefully selected from those least likely to break, and the carrying of the very best was a reward for a whole day without an accident. To be sure, it was an added care to an already overbusy life, but it well repaid the labor; for, as the years passed, the mother and her children grew into a real partnership in both work and pleasure. The greatest reward of this mother was that her children acquired a habit of helping others, and by it were themselves made unselfish and courteous. “Let us see how many helps we can give to-day,” was a frequent morning remark of this mother’s, and she was very watchful for an opportunity herself to help the children. “Let me help you, dear,” as a little lad struggled into his overcoat; or, “I’ll help look,” if a book or ball had wandered away. Talking things over together, the first mother said: “O, I haven’t time to wait on the children; let them look out for themselves, and not expect to be waited on.” To which the second mother made answer: “Don’t you think they learn to be selfish that way? I do things for my children, and expect them to do for me and others.” “But it’s too much trouble,” said the first mother. “Better take your trouble now than by and by,” replied the other. And the years proved her wisdom. “Your children seem so glad to help you,” said a friend. “I have to drive mine, to get any help at all.” The other side of the story came through the window where the mothers were sitting. Their children were at play outside. Evidently some plans were under discussion, and one mother’s boy said:— “You ask my mother, and I’ll ask yours, and maybe they’ll let us go.” The other mother’s boy replied, “Why don’t we each ask our own?” “My mother’ll say ‘Yes’ to you quicker’n she will to me,” replied the first voice. “My mother wouldn’t,” half indignantly replied the other. “She says she would do more for her own boy than for any other boy on earth.” And the mothers looked at each other. —Emma Graves Dietrick, in Christian Work.