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THE CHAMBER OF PEACE

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Apr 30, 1902

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 28, No. 18.

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THE CHAMBER OF PEACE.

By Mary Wood-Allen

[Mary Wood-Allen, in Union Signal.]
The large parlors were filled with a throng of well-dressed women with here and there the black coat of a man contrasting with the universal brightness of color. They were chatting together in subdued voices, but the heads of all were turning often toward the hallway, as if in expectation of the coming of some one. At length there fell on the ear the sound of distant music, soft and clear. Its tones stilled the hum of conversation, while the attentive ear caught the sound of a light footfall, the rustle of a dress, and amid the hush of expectancy, a tall, slender woman passed through the hall and entered the parlor. She greeted no one, but went directly to the place prepared for her, and took her stand at a small table whereon lay a Bible. Her face was fair, her brown hair slightly tinged with gray, her dress, of a soft, clinging material, was of white; and with a rapt expression of face, she seemed in some way as if set apart from her gaily-attired audience.
She raised her eyes and stood for a moment in profound silence, while the deepest stillness prevailed, and every head was bowed. At length she spoke slowly, solemnly, and with a profound reverence: “The Lord is in His holy temple. Let all the earth”—the earthy part of us—“keep silence before Him.” The stillness seemed to deepen. There was no sound of breathing, no rustle of garments. Every soul was hushed in the presence of the great Jehovah.
To Mrs. Ashton, the scene was one of great impressiveness. She was just closing her first visit to the great city, and even now was on her way to the train. Her days had been full of great activity, of bustle, noise, glare, and brilliancy. This deep hush, coming in the midst of all the sights and sounds of city life, seemed strangely overpowering. She was prepared by it for the reception of truth.
The address that followed the silence was simple but effective, and it sank deep into Mrs. Ashton's heart. It was a plea for faith, implicit faith, in the all-loving, ever-present God, who guides the trusting heart in all storms of trial and adversity; the faith that surrounds the soul like a protecting dome, shutting out all danger, but giving ever a glimpse of heaven, until the world, in spite of distracting scenes, becomes a veritable chamber of peace.
As an aid to the attainment of this constant serenity, the speaker advised going daily into some place consecrated to holy thoughts and pure aspirations.
“We have in this house,” she said, “our Chamber of Peace, and all who are united with us have right of entrance there. Within its sacred precincts no unkind word is spoken, no unholy thought is indulged. All weary, worn, and anxious hearts among us have the right to come by day or night and in this silent place seek and find divine aid. To those of you who are strangers among us, I give an invitation to visit our Chamber of Peace before you go away.”
“Will there be time for us?” whispered Mrs. Ashton to her friend, who nodded in acquiescence.
The throng had departed, and the speaker, seeing the two ladies waiting, came up to them. “Will you come up into our place of peace?” she asked. She led the way upstairs, and the two followed her.
The room they entered was large and bright, the outer end opening through a wall of glass into a conservatory. The furniture was simple, but was all of white. The walls, of a light neutral tint, formed a fitting background for white-framed engravings, all of a sweet and peaceful type, such as a gentle-faced Madonna, a quiet landscape, or the face of a little child. A broad couch, a few easy chairs, small tables with books, and a cabinet organ, comprised the furniture. Mrs. Ashton took up the books and glanced at them. They were nearly all in white bindings, and she realized that all were, in some way, calculated to uplift and encourage the reader.
Without a spoken word, the lecturer invited them to be seated, and taking her place at the organ she sang for them a sweet and solemn chant of struggle ending in perfect victory. As they left the room, she said,—
“Since this room was consecrated to peace, no loud or unkind word has been spoken in it. We have filled it full of the spirit of love, and many a troubled soul has come here to pass out from its silence filled with a quiet serenity.”
During the long hours of night travel that followed, Mrs. Ashton carried with her the presence of that peaceful room. It stayed with her for many days, and often amid her daily trials did she long for an hour of calm in that sweet retreat. But one day the thought came to her, “Why may I not have a Chamber of Peace of my own?”
Her house was small—there was no room to spare from the requirements of every-day life—and she had almost given up the idea until she remembered her unfinished attic. Its possibilities grew upon her, and at last, consulting no one, she created among the very rafters a quiet nook consecrated to peaceful meditation.
Her resources were small, but she was ingenious. She made the walls of hangings of unbleached muslin, to which she pinned the few engravings she could collect. A blue and white counterpane (a family heir-loom) draped and transformed an ordinary cot into a couch. She upholstered a small rocker and painted it with white enamel. A small table, covered with a white spread, held her few books, and the room was dedicated with silent prayer and became her daily refuge.
Here, after the household tasks were done, she came for rest. Outside those muslin walls she left her cares, her petty annoyances, her feelings of pique, of irritation or resentment. Here there must be only love and peace.
At first it seemed impossible to drop all disturbing thoughts; but soon with the entrance into her retreat discordant feelings vanished, and she came to feel that the very atmosphere was filled with holy calm. She wondered if others would recognize it, and one day when her little son seemed instinct with naughtiness she said to him, “Mama is going to take you to her dear, quiet room where only angels of love and goodness dwell.” The little fellow looked up at her in surprise and followed her silently. “Mama will leave you here for a little while,” she said; “and you must sit still and listen to hear some still voice whispering in your heart telling you of love. This is the place where mama comes when she feels tired and naughty, and she always hears sweet whispers of love that rest her and make her happy. You may come down stairs when you get ready.”
She left the child and thought he would soon follow her; but as an hour passed and he did not come, she went up to see what he was doing. She found him sleeping on the couch, and so left him undisturbed. A half hour later he came down, his face aglow with happiness. “I like your little room,” he said. “It is a good place to lose the naughty;” and after that, when tired or cross, he would ask if he might go up to the white room for a little while, and he always came down quieted in spirit.
“How I wish everybody had a Chamber of Peace,” thought Mrs. Ashton, and she introduced her husband to its sanctuary, and it became to him also a retreat from worldly cares and anxieties.
One day there was a quick ring at the bell, and immediately a near neighbor entered, apparently much perturbed.
“Mrs. Ashton,” she said, “will you keep this key and give it to John when he comes home to-night?”
“Are you going away?” asked Mrs. Ashton, in surprise.
“Yes, I am,” responded Mrs. Bell, with a bitterness of accent which betokened some great unhappiness, “and I'm not coming back,” she added, after a pause.
Mrs. Ashton had just come from her Chamber of Peace, and her heart was full of love and rest. She was surprised at Mrs. Bell's outbreak. She recalled her coming two years before as a bride into the little cottage next door, and had rejoiced in the evident happiness of the young couple, which seemed almost to renew the happy days of her own young wifehood. What had happened? How could she help in this emergency? With the influence of her peaceful room still around her, she calmed her thoughts and asked quietly, “Can I help you, Mrs. Bell? I am sure you are in trouble.” The sympathetic word broke down the barriers of self-control, and the young woman poured her sorrows into the ears of the older woman. It was a simple tale; the old story of growing estrangement, of waning sympathy, of hasty words and unkind acts on the part of each.
“And Mr. Bell does not know you are going?” asked Mrs. Ashton.
“No,” responded Mrs. Bell, with resentment in her tone, “but he'll find out I have some pride. I won't put up with everything, as most women do. I'll teach him a lesson.”
“Your train does not go for two hours,” said Mrs. Ashton. “You would better stay here and not wait at the station. Come with me. I will take you to a retreat where no one will find you, and when the time comes you can go to the train,—if you still want to.”
“I'll want to, you may be sure,” replied Mrs. Bell, following her neighbor upstairs.
Mrs. Ashton had not expressed approval of her plan, but she had not condemned her, and certainly she could see how greatly she had been wronged. She looked in surprise as she was ushered into the attic room. Mrs. Ashton gave her the rocker, and sitting down on the couch said, “This is my Chamber of Peace, Mrs. Bell. It is my retreat from all the storms of life. For a year it has been to me my one place of comfort and safety.”
Mrs. Bell looked her question. “Yes, of safety,” continued Mrs. Ashton. “I find by experience that I am often in danger, but my foes are from within. I made this little room and consecrated it to all pure and holy thoughts. An unkind word has never been spoken in this room, and I have learned to banish unlovely thoughts when I enter it. No matter how unkindly I feel toward persons, when I come in here I will not let myself think of them in any way but with love. I recall all I can of their goodness. Every one has some good quality, and I dwell on that, or else I refuse to think of these persons at all. I never allow myself to pity myself while here. I find before I leave that I have ceased to pity myself and have begun to pity others. I have brought you here where you are safe from the knowledge of any one. I can only ask that you will not disturb the atmosphere of my peaceful room by thoughts of retribution or resentment. While you are here, for my sake, think only of sweet and lovely things.”
“You are asking a great deal,” said Mrs. Bell, in a hesitant manner.
“I realize it, dear, but it will not be long, only two hours. Lie down here and shut your eyes; or read one of these little books, and, just for this brief space and because of your love for me, keep the atmosphere of my little room free from the elements of unrest.”
Mrs. Ashton did not stay to argue, but kissing the troubled young face, and laying her hand gently on the bright young head, she breathed a silent prayer and left the room.
It lacked only fifteen minutes of train time when Mrs. Bell came down stairs. The angry flush had died from her face, and there was a look of peace in her eyes. She went at once to Mrs. Ashton, and, kissing her, she said, “Where is my key? I am going home—to stay,” she added, in reply to Mrs. Ashton's questioning glance. “You are a wise woman. Your little room has performed its mission. Its overpowering atmosphere of love reached my heart, and, as I was pledged not to think unkindly, there was an entrance into my soul for all the sweet influences there. I began to think of John lovingly, and I soon came to see where I had done wrong and to forget what he had done to irritate me. I know he loves me; but we have both been worried by cares and vexations in daily life, and as we had no Chamber of Peace to go to where we could leave our worries, we vented them on each other. Now I mean to have such a place for myself. It seemed to me,” she added softly, while her eyes filled with tears, “as if I heard God Himself speaking to me.”
“Yes,” whispered Mrs. Ashton, “that is because you were still before Him. He is always speaking, but we are making so much noise, we do not hear Him. ‘The Lord is in His holy temple. Let all the earth’—the earthly part of us—‘keep silence before Him.’ Then shall every place become to us a Chamber of Peace.”
Ann Arbor, Mich.