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LOVING OBEDIENCE IN THE HOME

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Oct 12, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 40.

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LOVING OBEDIENCE IN THE HOME.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.
I HAVE had much to say about the duties and responsibilities of parents,—too much, perhaps some may decide. However, it is not with a desire to conciliate any whose back the coat may have fitted quite snugly, that this subject has been chosen, but only to emphasize the truth that the children, as well as the parents, have a duty to do in the making of a happy home.
It is plainly the duty of the parent to insist upon obedience, because there can be no real happiness in a lawless and ungoverned household. But it is also the duty, and should be the highest pleasure, of the child, to render obedience—aye, loving obedience, to the parent. Did you ever notice the wording of the fifth commandment? Did you wonder why the word “obey” was not used instead of “honor”? I will tell you why: The latter word includes far more than the former,—it includes the deepest love and filial respect as well. It is quite possible to render a sort of servile obedience, prompted by fear, in which there is no particle of love.
“Well,” says John, “I try to do as father says; but sometimes he is unreasonable, and besides, he gets so angry that he punishes me, I sometimes think, only because he is angry. Of course, I obey him; I have to do that at present, but to honor him is quite another thing. Am I to receive no credit for obeying him?”
It seems to me, John, that obedience of this kind calls for very little credit. Now, to be honest, don’t you think so?
“Well, I don’t know. Half the boys of my acquaintance will tell you the same thing. They obey from force of necessity. But the love and the honor are not there.”
O, the sadness of it! We have so little time,—such a brief life in which to journey side by side with our loved ones, that it is unspeakably sad that unkind and bitter words and cruel misunderstandings should mar our brief earth-life! O, if the young could understand, and be brought to realize that mother’s hands may wear out some day, and father’s hair grow whiter and thinner, I think they would teach themselves to forgive and forget the hasty word sometimes spoken in the worry and heat and turmoil of life’s battle.
“Father spoke a little bit harsh to me to-day,” says Mary. “I wanted to go to the concert, and he refused to allow me. I was quite angry for the moment, and a hard and bitter reply almost escaped my lips. But when I brushed the hot tears from my eyes, and glanced up at him, and saw his face was pale and worn, and his lips trembled, I just sent a quick prayer heavenward, and O, how my anger melted away! ‘All right, father, I’ll not go unless you think best, and I’ll try not to want to go, even,’ I said. You ought to have seen father’s eyes then. They were brimful of tears in a moment, and he kissed my cheek. ‘Thank God for such a daughter as you are, Mary,’ he said, ‘a daughter that knows how to render loving obedience.’ O, how happy I felt then! That kiss from my father, and those loving words, were worth more than all the concerts in the world!”
Ah, yes; there is nothing on earth that is worth half as much as love, and the loving deeds that are the outgrowth of it.
For the young and inexperienced, obedience is not only a cardinal virtue, but it is necessary to their safety, and oftentimes to their very existence. Many will remember with a sigh the story which went the rounds of the newspapers a few weeks ago, of three little children, living near one of our large cities. One day they started out to gather wild flowers. But the way was long unless they crossed a high railroad bridge. “You must not go over the bridge, children,” said the mother,—“it is not safe. Now remember,—I know it is nearer for you, but there is the curve, and you could not see the coming train. So go around the other way, and good-by.” With a hurried kiss they were gone. Beguiling the time with childish prattle, they soon came to the place where the two paths met. The forbidden and the unforbidden,—the safe and the unsafe. Obedience and disobedience, danger and safety, were before them. Just over the track in tempting array, flaunted the beautiful flowers.
“O let’s run over the bridge, it’s so much nearer; mama won’t care, and we’ll be home so much quicker,—come on, Jennie,” said her two companions. “No, no; you must not do so; I will not go over the bridge; mama forbade us.” Still they insisted, and, hand in hand started over the bridge, while the other child ran home, screaming: “O, you will be killed, because you will not mind mama!” The direful prophecy was all too true; and two mangled little forms were shortly afterward carried to the saddened home.
O, if the children, and the youth as well, could learn to recognize the first lisp of the tempter’s voice, leading them away from the strict path of obedience!
From over across the waters we have been hearing about the terrible loss of life and property in the war in the far East. Great ships have gone down; and without a moment’s warning or a thought of danger, hundreds of people on board the doomed vessels have been sent into eternity.
What was the trouble?
Ah, away down deep in the quiet waters the cunning enemy had buried the deadly explosive. The vessel had approached a little too near,—only just over the danger line. The dimpling waters rippled softly about the great ship, and the blue sky above gave no hint of danger. No echoing bell rang its note of warning, and no signal man flaunted his crimson flag above that chasm of horror. When, hark! a deep, rumbling roar; a shudder runs along the great steel sides of the war-ship,—an awful trembling, like that of a mighty leviathan in his last throes of mortal agony; a streak of flame, as from the bowels of the earth,—and the dark waters part, and close, and settle down again, over the grave of a hundred men.
O, look out how you tamper with the enemy. Look out how you approach ever so distantly the danger line of disobedience. Do you know what it was that wrecked this beautiful earth, and changed an Eden into a charnel-house of dead men’s bones?—It was only disobedience.
There has never been a tear or a sorrow or a moment’s pain or an hour’s grief or a wail of agony or a gray hair or a bent form or a furrowed brow or a mourner’s sigh or a bed of death,—never one that has not been caused by disobedience.