Saving Power in the Home
By C. T. Adams
The family of our narrative lived in a small village, having moved there from their home in the country for the benefit to be derived from the village high school, which was considered exceptionally good. This home was not rich in luxuries. Its furnishings scarcely surpassed life’s bare necessities, but it was rich in that love which is the essential element of the home. Its walls were not a stranger to prayer, for a “family altar” was erected when first the home was built; and here each morning and evening the household assembled for the reading of God’s Word and prayer. The parents were godly people who made it their chief aim in life to bring up their children in the “nurture and admonition of the Lord.” Though they might fail in all else, they had determined to accomplish this. In the circle there were several boys merging into manhood, and a few small children. The father was a man of strong and unusually tender love, and was in the habit of giving expression to it in the home. The mother’s love was also strong and deep, although not usually expressed in words. Though frail in health, she was never too weary to minister to the sick or those in need. In their new environment, for a time all was well. The young men gratefully improved the opportunity offered for getting an education, and the parents observed with evident satisfaction the appreciation manifested on the part of their sons, of the financial sacrifice made for this privilege. But the disturber who succeeded in spoiling the peace and happiness of the Eden home, was busy trying to break this circle. At length a son of eighteen had acquired a love for the world. He who had found joy and contentment within the home, began to spend his evenings with the rude and godless in the village loafing places. To him home had become uninteresting, and his heart longed to revel in the gay society of the world. The pleasure party had a bewitching attraction for him. He had come to believe that in the world were his best friends, and any effort on the part of parent or brother to reconcile him was interpreted to be against his personal liberty. The father had recently accepted a call to the gospel ministry, and according to directions planned to leave home for his field of labor. But before leaving, feeling anxious for the welfare of his wayward son, he called him aside, as was his custom with his children, to pray with him. When the son, who from a child had taken delight in these seasons, knew the purpose of this private interview, he said, “Father, you may pray if you want to. I do not care to. Give me fun. All I want is fun.” The father went on his way with a heavy heart. On reaching the scene of his prospective labor, he said to his fellow worker, “I must return home in the morning.” The astonished brother, who was greatly in need of help, on inquiring for the reason for so speedy a return received the reply, “I have a lost boy at home. I can not stay. How can I labor for others with this burden on my heart? I can not stay.” The next day before the setting of the sun he was home again. In the evening, on making inquiry for his estranged son, he was informed that he was “down town.” The mother, in her almost impatient anxiety to rescue him from the companionship of the ungodly, suggested to the father that he go with the rod and bring the boy home before him. To this he replied, “If we can not win his heart, he is lost.” Then followed a few anxious days during which every means that love could suggest were employed for the reconciliation of their unfortunate child, but all seemed of no avail. It was Sabbath evening; the members of the family had gone to rest, but for the father there was no rest. It had been the height of his ambition in this world to raise his family to love and fear God. To this end he and his faithful companion had bent all the energies of their united life. They had watched for the souls of their children “as they that must give an account.” In sickness, when it seemed that death must result should nature have her way, they had cried unto nature’s God, who rebuked the power of disease. These tests of affliction they had a number of times been called upon to pass through. Especially does he call to mind the sickness, when but an infant, of this dear boy. He can even yet feel the agony of soul experienced as it seemed they must give him up. Well does he remember how, in their extremity, as parents they importuned God for the child, promising, if spared, his life should be wholly devoted to God. At that time they dedicated him in a special sense to the Lord. With these memories pressing upon him, can he now give up the struggle and let this son go to the world? Can he now surrender his soul to the enemy to be ruined? — “No,” he in anguish replied, “this can never be. God, help me! This can never be.” Already it seemed that Satan had succeeded in his work, for all the means that love could devise had been tried to reach the impenitent, apparently to no avail. As the hours of darkness wore wearily away, in deep anguish of soul this father prayed for his son. All that long and terrible night he wrestled with God for power to save the lost. As the light of a new day was breaking, he sought the bedside of the sleeping son, hoping for some word showing that his prayer was heard. As he approached and gently laid his hand upon him, saying, “My son, haven’t you a word for your father this morning?” he was met with the almost cruel reply, “Let me alone; I want to sleep.” At this the father’s feelings can better be imagined than told. But his prayer had been heard. It could not be otherwise; for He who had inspired it could not fail to give the answer, though it be delayed. It was the Sabbath; and the family, as was their custom, attended the usual Sabbath services; but still a cloud hung over this home. At the dinner-table the wayward son, noticing that the mother was absent, said, in a manner that betrayed something of his restless feelings, “Where’s mother?” The father replied, “Your mother has no appetite for dinner.” The son made no further inquiry, for he understood the situation, which added remorse to his already awakening conscience. The mother was grief-stricken, and alone she wept and prayed. For her offspring her love was stronger than death. For her children she had given the beauty and bloom of her life. Her cheeks, once rosy, and her face, once so fair, had grown pallid, and wrinkled with care. With a burden born of heaven she prayed for her boy. At the dinner-table no more was said, for no one had a heart for words. The meal being ended, the father invited the son to accompany him into the parlor, saying he wished to talk with13him awhile. The boy, once so loving and sympathetic, reluctantly conformed to his father’s wishes. As the father conversed and read fitting words of inspiration, the young man’s heart was touched; the tears of penitence welled up in his eyes. The time had come for “the spirit of heaviness” to give way to “the garment of praise.” He yielded to the Holy Spirit’s influence, and with weeping fell upon his father’s neck, saying, “O I have longed for this time!” Does this not suggest the heart longing of many a wayward son and daughter bound with the fetters of sin? After making his confession to the father, he sought the mother, and then made wrongs right with the other members of the family. Then there was rejoicing in this home, as well as among the angels in heaven, for the lost son and brother had been found. Some time after this experience, this son was called to the gospel ministry, and on leaving home for his field of labor, not knowing that he would ever be privileged to return, he said, as he wept upon his father’s neck, referring to this experience, “O if you had not held onto me then, where would I have been now?” Yes, the question might well be asked, “Where?”