FORBEARANCE IN THE HOME by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Nov 30, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 47.

FORBEARANCE IN THE HOME.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.

If we can all learn the grand lesson of patiently bearing the blame for our own faults and mistakes, instead of blaming some one else, we shall have gone a long way toward making our homes, as it were, the gates of heaven. But it is a lesson hard to learn. We have all been years and years trying to learn it. We have had line upon line and precept upon precept, and have read over and over again the sad results of a stubborn refusal to acknowledge and confess a wrong.

A great many centuries ago, thousands of people were encamped at the foot of a mountain. At its top, in full view and hearing of its tented people, were the blazing glory, the thunder and the lightning which told of the presence of the God of Israel. But their leader, the grand old man who had borne so patiently with all their murmurings, was hidden from their sight by the glory of Jehovah. They waited in vain for him to return to them. Day after day passed, and still the mighty Law-giver was enshrouded by the glory at the summit of Sinai.

Soon the murmurers in the camp began to show themselves, and in a moment of weakness and fear, Aaron made them the calf of gold. When at last Moses appeared on the scene, his elder brother was so fearful he would have to bear the blame of the trouble, that he even tried to throw a cloak of mystery over the whole affair.

“I only put the ornaments of the people into the fire,” he protested, “and there came out this calf!”

Well, it is this very disposition in a family that calls for the greatest forbearance. And alas! it is by no means confined to the children. Then, too, another evil calling for forbearance is the determination never to confess a fault.

But neither is this sin,—for sin it is—confined to the children of a family. I know a husband who is a professed Christian, and who, in a moment of temptation, yielded and sinned most grievously against the patient and long-suffering wife, yet, altho he ceased long ago to transgress in this respect any more, he has never in the remotest manner asked her forgiveness or confessed his sin.

Now all these things call loudly for forbearance. I think it would help us all in this direction, if we would only remember the long-suffering forbearance of the Lord toward us. Sinning, sinning, sinning, every day, every hour! And yet the mercy of our God never fails! When we become more like Him, we shall bear more and more the sweet fruits of charity and love.

“If Thou, Lord, shouldst mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?” O can we not learn to forgive, to forbear, and to be merciful to the erring? Some of us need to be perfected through the ministry of pain, and sorrow, and suffering. Sometimes our poor worn spirits forget the blessedness of trust, and we begin to worry and murmur. But He who has made these wonderful bodies and sensitive nerves of ours, that so often thrill with pain at the thoughtless word or unkind remark, knows every pain and every tear, and He will not send one too many. When the work of perfection is complete, we shall find rest, and that sweet peace that flows like a river.

A great sculptor is hewing away at his marble. Rough and uncouth it is. Blow after blow falls upon it, until finally the delicate sandpaper must finish the work. This last is like the little troubles, the small worries of life, which at times seem so exasperating. But who would presume to dictate to the sculptor and say, “Hold! it is enough!” Perhaps to the unpractised eye the statue may seem perfect. But the artist knows better. He sees the defects, and he knows just how much polishing is necessary.

Sometimes our patience is sorely tried, even with those whom we love. Well, what shall we do?—Forbear, forbear, FORBEAR! The brothers of the Lord Jesus did not believe in Him. Let us tell Him all about it in the privacy of our closets. He will give us so much of His forbearing grace, that what we had imagined we could not endure another day, will pass away, and sweet peace will take the place of unrest. O! I know it is so. Let us try the blessed experiment oftener; it will not fail us.

In the back yard stands a tree which is a wonder to every one. It has grown from a tiny, leafless, branchless stump in one short season, to be a thing of beauty, at least fifteen feet in height. The branches are graceful and willowy. The leaves quiver and wave in the summer breeze. Why, we can almost see it grow? “What is the secret of it all?”—I will tell you. Year after year that little tree has been trying to grow beautiful. But time after time somebody or something would break off the stem and so stop the growth in that direction. Well, in this way there was a fine, strong root developed. Instead of showy branch and leaf, there spread out under the dark, damp ground in every direction a large network of roots. Firmer and firmer they grew. Farther and farther they spread out. At last, with the coming of a new spring, the brave little stump made one more trial. Then, O how it grew! Too large now to be broken off, it stands preaching its sermon to every beholder.

We, too, need more root, most of us, and it is by constantly breaking off the branches that the root grows thriftier. The breaking and pruning process leaves us disfigured and bleeding, but be patient; the root is growing.

“Well,” says one, “I can stand almost everything, but there are certain things which touch me to the quick. Then, I forget myself, and instead of patiently forbearing, I become angry.”

A noble ship is sailing into port. It has braved a hundred storms and made many a voyage. But suddenly, as it nears the harbor, a loud report is heard, and a jet of flame shoots upward into the lurid sky. Ah, the keel has touched an electric wire. There is a buried mine beneath the doomed vessel, and the touching of that little wire meant death.

O I am afraid too many of us have those little electric wires in our make-up, somewhere, that nobody dares touch. Too bad! let us get rid of them.

We are all nearing port, and, as every heart knoweth its own bitterness; so we all know our own weaknesses. With some it is temper; with others it is impatience; with others it is neglect of secret prayer; with some it is vanity; with others, jealousy; and with the most of us, it is lack of forbearance toward others. Ah, look out for the little electric wire. It will ignite a whole mine of sin, and folly, and misery; and let us remember in our need and in our weakness, that “in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.”