p. 10 | Appreciation in the Home by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Oct 5, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 39.

Appreciation in the Home.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.

The summer sun streamed hot into the little kitchen. The old clock struck the hour of two, and still the little girl in the big brown apron kept bravely at her task; those dishes,—and there were heaps of them,—must be washed.

Mrs. Gray had been called away to the home of a sick neighbor, directly after dinner; and when Marjorie had asked her mama what she should do all alone till her return, mama’s only reply had been: “O, play with your dolls or gather flowers; I shall be home in an hour or so.” But ten-year-old Marjorie had no idea of allowing the table of dirty dishes to stand, while she spent the time playing with Diana, her newest doll. “Surely mama will be tired when she gets home from attending the sick lady.” So the little sleeves were tucked up bravely, and mama’s apron tied about the tiny body, so to make her a “big woman.”

One by one the great plates and the cups and saucers were washed and carefully wiped. O, how many there were of them! and how the little back ached with weariness. Finally the self-imposed task was all done except two or three very dirty kettles. She was so anxious to play with Diana, that she had almost decided to leave the kettles for mama to do. Then she remembered how tired poor mama seemed every night, and so, after a short battle with herself, she bravely resumed her task; so that it was not until almost three, that the last kettle had been nicely washed and set away. Of course Marjorie was very tired, but the joy of having done what she could to help mama, was sweet to her heart, and then, how she would enjoy mama’s pleased surprise.

But I am most sorry to say Mrs. Gray was not an appreciative woman,—and that means, O, so much! It means that she was an unwise mother, a cold and careless mother,—in fact, a selfish mother.

At last, two eager little eyes saw mama coming and two eager, tired little feet sprang to meet her.

“O mama, mama! I’ve done all the dishes, every one; it took me an awful long time, but I got it done at last,—’cause I knew you’d be tired.”

“Well, I declare! how like a little fright you look! You’ve spilled the greasy dishwater all over your dress, and I dare say it is ruined. Strange I can’t leave home a minute but you are sure to get into mischief. Now I’ve got to wash out your dress,—if it isn’t ruined quite.”

“I didn’t mean to, mama; I only tried to help you, but the pan was so heavy, I just couldn’t keep from spilling some. I—I—hoped you would be glad, mama,” and the soft, innocent eyes filled with tears.

Mrs. Gray turned away carelessly, and paid no further attention to the child. The dishes were set, neat and shining, upon the dining-room table, and a little while later, when she went to prepare supper, she found the kettles and frying pans as nicely washed as she could have done it herself. Really, in her heart, she acknowledged that her little ten-year-old daughter had done well, and that it had been a great help to her. But it would never do to tell her,—she might be spoiled. And so, instead of a word of hearty appreciation and a motherly kiss on the dear little lips, there was nothing but harsh and bitter words of reproof.

Is it any wonder that to-day, in her lonely home, Mrs. Gray weeps hot tears as she looks over toward the small mound where lies the little daughter, whom she never appreciated until it was too late? O! the pity of it!

But it is not alone toward the children that we manifest a lack of appreciation. Sometimes there are the grandma and the grandpa in the home. O how many little things grandma is constantly doing to lighten the labor of the family and to add to everybody’s comfort! Precious grandma!

Susie is in a hurry to dress for company, and finds her stockings neatly darned, tho she remembers well enough that there were holes in the toes when she took them off. Whose patient, loving fingers mended those holes and folded the stockings neatly away in the drawer?—Grandma’s. I wonder if Susie ever thinks to repay her with a loving kiss and a gentle word of appreciation. Perhaps, sometimes; but I am afraid not often.

The other day Jennie was in such a hurry to get ready for a picnic, that it seemed she never could get those “hateful” dishes washed. Whose gentle voice was it that called from the bedroom: “I’ll do the dishes for you, girlie; go on!”

I listened, hoping to hear at least, a “thank you, grandma,” but I only heard the little girl say to the playmate who was waiting for her: “Goody! now I can go; I’ll be ready in a minute!” and off she ran without even a good-by to grandma.

“I could go skating with the boys if I only had my chores at the barn done,” complained Harry.

“I’ll do them for you, my lad,” smiled grandpa. “I’ve not forgotten how I felt when I was a boy.”

“All right, be sure to give Prince his oats,” and away runs Harry.

“Wait a moment, my boy, you’ve forgotten something,” calls mama.

“What is it, mama? I’ve got my comforter and my mittens and my skates and my leggings—”

“Yes, I see you have, and you’ve got something else too,—the best grandpa that ever lived,—but you’ve forgotten to thank him,—see, there he is leading your pony to water.”

“O, grandpa don’t care, do you grandpa?—much obliged, tho!”

Now Harry is not the only boy who thinks grandpa “doesn’t care” for appreciation, is he? Did you ever see any other boy who acted as if he thought so, too?

I remember reading in a very old Book about a man who was beautifully appreciative. He was a great king and a mighty warrior. One day after a battle he became very thirsty and said: “O, that one would give me drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem, which is at the gate.”

Then three of the soldiers went and brought it to him, at the peril of their lives. But the king appreciated their kindness too much even to drink the water. “Be it far from me, O Lord!” he exclaimed, “that I should do this; is not this the blood of the men that went in jeopardy of their lives?”

O, appreciation is a beautiful virtue,—a heavenly grace.

When the poor woman broke the alabaster box of ointment on the sacred feet of her Lord, some criticized her action. But O, the blessed Christ appreciated the deed of love; aye, and He expressed His appreciation in the most tender manner: “Wherefore, I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much.”

O, the heart of the Nazarene knew what it was to hunger for human love and appreciation. His sad, sad life, and His tragic death, form a page in human history which chronicles the most deplorable lack of appreciation which it has ever been the lot of any historian to pen. Yet even under the cruel shadow of the cross, where He gave His precious life even for His murderers, that wonderful prayer than which more divinely beautiful was never breathed, was poured forth from His breaking heart: “Father! forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

He came to His own, But they would not receive Him,— The King of all truth,— But they scorned to believe Him, Rejected His mercy— O! terrible blindness! They slighted His love, And they mocked at His kindness.