p. 10 | Grandma’s Lesson

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Dec 3, 1902

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 28, No. 49.

Grandma’s Lesson.

Dear Grandma Vance, with her white puffs of hair, her dainty cap, and placid smile, sat dreamily gazing at a figure in the carpet, as she rocked slowly to and fro.

The needles, which rarely were quiet when held in grandma’s industrious fingers, now lay at rest in her lap, and only a slight creaking under the rocker was heard in the silent dining-room.

Everybody in the house loved Grandma Vance, and nearly every room contained a comfortable rocking-chair with a view to having her able to pause in whatever place she liked, and find an easy chair awaiting her.

So it happened that grandma was sitting in the dining-room, and it was very warm there on the cold, winter morning, tho the furnace heat had not penetrated to the upper rooms as yet with quite such a general warmth as was felt there.

Things had not gone quite as smoothly that morning in her son’s family as usual; there seemed to be some little friction between the children, and Julia, her son’s wife, found the family sewing accumulating faster than her busy fingers could meet the pressing demand.

Then Jane had “given notice,” and within a week another girl must be found to reign as queen of the kitchen; and what with one thing and another of an outward nature, young Mrs. Vance was tired and discouraged.

“I declare,” she said to herself, “I don’t see how Frank’s mother can always be as bright and cheerful as she is. It seems to me that if I was as old as she is, the noise and contention of the children would drive me nearly distracted. Then when baby unraveled that long piece of knitting yesterday she had put so much time and work into, she was just as undisturbed and patient about it as could be. I have a great mind to ask how she manages to find so much comfort in life.”

There was baking to do, and a pile of mending to do; but all at once, grandma, still dreaming away with her eyes fixed on the carpet, was roused from her day-dream by the entrance of her daughter-in-law.

In her hand young Mrs. Vance held her work-basket, with a pile of stockings heaped high up on top.

“There, mother,” she began, “I’ve got all creation to do to-day it seems to me, but I made up my mind to darn a few stockings at first, and at the same time have a little chat with you. Everything appears to come so easy to you; now I’ve been wondering if you ever used to feel tired and perplexed in your younger days, when family cares bore hard and troubles used to come all in a bunch, as I suppose they do to every one sometime in life.”

“Dear child,” grandma began, “you little know how much of toil, effort, and oftentimes how much of discouragement I waded through while bringing up my large family.

“To begin with, there was no ‘modern improvements’ in my day, making work comparatively light, and after rising with the dawn, kneading bread, churning butter, and attending to various wearing duties connected with a farm and dairy, I would be obliged to sit up half of the night with a sick child, then be up and about my household cares again early in the morning.

“I think that, naturally, my disposition was a happy one, but gradually I began to let my incessant duties worry me. I know that my voice was not always tender as a mother’s should be in addressing her children, and then I know, too, my brow began to be clouded much of the time.

“I thought my work was more constant than that of any of my neighbors, and altho poor father—we always called Frank’s father, ‘father,’ the whole of us—altho he did all he possibly could, I somehow felt as tho I was leading a hard, severe life, which in some way he might make lighter if he chose.

“Well, my dear, I sometimes think that when we have enough, and try the Almighty up to a certain point, it is a glimpse of what He could do to punish us for our repining, were it not for his loving-kindness and unwillingness to grieve His children.

“I remember one winter—very much such a time as this, only in the country the cold seems very much more severe than it ever does in the city—there were four boys then, claiming my constant care, and from morning till night I was at it, baking, brewing, churning, sweeping, cutting, mending, and fretting.

“Yes, I confess it with regret even now, I was fast becoming a nervous, fretful wife and mother, while still in my early prime.

“Well, one cold morning father proposed taking the boys, all of them, and going over to a piece of woods about two miles away, to see if some timber there was fit for cutting. I bustled about and got their breakfast early; then father said something about taking a lunch as they might be detained, but I objected, impatiently declaring it would only amount to my getting a dinner for them all, besides fussing to put up lunches. Your husband, I remember, spoke up cheerily and said comfortingly—Frank was always as good-natured as he is now—‘Never mind, mother,’ he says, ‘if we do get a little hungry, it won’t hurt us any.’

“And off they started—my precious husband and my four darling boys.

“In two hours there was one of the wildest storms raging I ever saw in my life. Snow, rain, and sleet were terrible enough, but oh, the wind, it was simply awful!

“By noon I would have given everything I possessed had I only put up that lunch. But in the middle of the afternoon I heard that the bridge between our township and the next one, where they had all gone, was floating down the river with four or five persons on it.

“Well, my dear, I won’t distress you with a long description of my sufferings; all I can say is, I spent hours on my knees during that long night of anguish, and the vows and promises I made have never been forgotten either by me or my Maker.

“In the morning my loved ones were restored to my arms. Not a mouthful of food had they tasted since their breakfast the day before, but the way I feasted them for the next week, father declared it was almost enough to kill them.

“But after imagining myself a widow and bereft of my four boys through all one long, winter night, I was cured of fretting and thinking my lot a hard one, forever.

“And it was astonishing when once I resolved that things were best for me just as they were, how much lighter my duties seemed to grow. In fact, the time soon came when I thought I was to be envied with my kind husband and four sturdy boys. There is a good deal to look back upon and feel thankful for, but I think that terrible lesson did wonders for me.”

Grandma’s eyes took on their dreamy look again as her voice hushed, and only the light creak of the rockers was heard.

But young Mrs. Vance gathered up her work, saying softly:—

“Well, now I’m going about my baking, and oh, how thankful I am I have my dear little family to bake for! Thank you for your story, dear grandma.”

—Selected.