TO THE “LEFT-OUT” LITTLE SISTER.
By Adelaide Bee Cooper
DEAR little plain-faced sister, why are the corners of your mouth drawn down, and why is that worried wrinkle between your eyes? And your eyes themselves—soul windows—little sister, should always be clear and bright, and their curtains should never be swollen and red. You are “discouraged,” you say; you wish—O, how you wish—that you were pretty and graceful, like Jeanne; or bright and winsome, like Lelia; or gifted and accomplished, like Katherine, who plays so well, who has a voice that all love to hear, and who can move a whole roomful to smiles or tears by her recitations. Then there is Marian, who is the pet and pride of the beautiful home where her friends love to go for the “good times” that do not come your way. And sometimes it seems as if life is very hard indeed; as if you were shut out from all that makes it pleasant and bright and happy and desirable, and shut in to much that is unlovely and disagreeable. Your own home is very plain, your clothes are perhaps poor and coarse, and the education you long for more than anything else is denied you. So you look at these other girls whom you regard as more fortunate, in possessing good looks, dainty garments, beautiful homes, accomplishments, leisure, opportunity, “good times;” and because you can not read their hearts, and have not yet learned that every human soul must sooner or later be disciplined by pain, you allow yourself to become envious and bitter. “It is not fair!” you cry, again and again; and you allow the thought so large a place in your mind that it hinders your own soul growth, and makes you miserable and unhappy. And in a world where one is so surrounded and pressed about with opportunities for bringing sunshine into darkened lives, unhappiness may become a positive sin. “If Satan can not make you wicked, he will make you miserable,” was the word of a dear, wise-hearted friend, in whose busy life being selfishly “miserable” found no place. So long had her thoughts been high and sweet, for so many years had her strength been given to unselfish service for others, that her naturally plain face had become really beautiful in its expression of serenity and trust—a face one could not look upon without longing to possess the secret of its peace. And let me tell you that it is not worth while to fret for greater gifts and larger opportunities while your own precious talent is folded so closely in a napkin of selfish desire, and buried deep in the soil of discontent. O, you “haven’t any talent”? Ah, but you surely have one. Perhaps—who knows?—you may have two, or three, or even more, all hidden away and lost sight of in your longing for the good gifts of others. But you surely have one. Bring it out, then, and cultivate it. That is the first step on the road to happiness and the pleasant land of content—willingness to bring ourselves into harmony with our environment, and to do the work at hand. Your talent, indeed, may be a very homely one—a gift for making a sweet, light loaf of bread, for setting neat stitches, for soothing a fretful child, for giving a homelike touch to a room—perhaps a large, many-sided talent of every-day usefulness that may make your value above rubies in the humble surroundings of your own home. But you “don’t like that kind of talents”? You would rather sing, or play, or paint? Well, if you wish to sing, why not make your life a song—“a grand, sweet song”? You can if you will. Some one has expressed the thought that God writes the words of our lives, and leaves us to set them to music. We can make the song sad or sweet,—a wailing dirge or a hymn of joy,—according as we will. And, too, there is music in human hearts—music as exquisite, as filled with divine harmony, as any that ever swelled into beauty under the hand of a master musician—music that perhaps waits for the skilful, sympathetic touch that you alone can give. And what more beautiful pictures than happy smiles, the sunshine of happy hearts, on faces that were, but for your ministry, mournful and sad, pictures as much more precious than the most wonderful creation of an artist’s brain as a human soul is of more worth than canvas and pigments! Play and sing and paint, then, by all means; but do not fret because your opportunities for expression in these arts are not precisely those of your neighbor. In cultivating your own special gift, do not neglect the distasteful duties that fall to your share. Bring to them a spirit of resolute, cheerful determination, and perhaps you will soon have two talents where now you have but one. There need be no limit to the increase, remember, if you will only become a “worker together;” for His power is limited only by our willingness to let Him work through us. Amiability, good sense, cheerfulness, sympathy, sincerity,—there is no surplus of these beautiful graces in the markets of the world—nor likely to be. Yet they are all within your reach—your reach, little sister, and if you will seek for them, open your heart to them, they will bring joy to your soul, and to your face a beauty above and beyond mere feature symmetry. Strive for them, no matter if you fail a hundred times; and some day they will crown your life with a diadem more precious than any that is locked and double-locked in the Old World treasure vaults. No princess of the royal line need be more rich than you in these priceless jewels. As for the education that you must give up for a term, a year, perhaps even longer, why be in despair over that? There is an education of the heart, little sister, beyond that of books; but that need not suffice. Every day opportunities knock at our door; and she who keeps her eyes open, her ambition and courage high, and her heart receptive, need not pass through life ignorant. The self-educated girl, no less than the self-made man, is likely to be more of a success than one who has received her education as she has her food—with no thought of its cost or of its adaptability to her needs. Read good books, improve your memory, and determine that, no matter how little you know, you will know that little just as well as it can possibly be known, and you will find your place waiting for you when the time comes. Not without shrewd business sense are the words of the great apostle, “This one thing I do.” She who can do one thing well, often takes precedence over her more showy sisters, who can do many things indifferently. And the “good times” that you are shut away from or left out of by reason of your environment, your taxing duties, your slow tongue and plain face and poor clothes—do not grieve for them. It is hard for you to understand, now, why God does not give these things to you; it may seem as if, with so many good things in the world, there might be some for you. There are some for you; and, sometime, never fear, yours will come to you. No sweet white clover blossom, common tho it be, can be so hidden that it will not be found by some thirsty, weary bee; no tiny stream, no matter how choked, and thwarted, and turned out of its chosen way, but makes a little strip of earth fairer, and offers its perpetual cup of cold water to bird and insect and shy woodland creatures innumerable. Wait patiently, then, little sister, for the unfolding of God’s perfect plan for you, remembering that— “God’s plans, like lilies pure and white, unfold;
We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart;
Time will reveal the calyxes of gold;” and be sure that in that plan there are “good times” for you—perhaps not just the kind you long for now, but those so much better that when they do come you will wonder that you ever sighed for the other. But there are “good times” that you need not wait for—good times that you can enjoy even now. There are the other shut-outs, you know,—the girls who long with aching, envious hearts for the few good things that you enjoy—and despise. Share your pleasures, tho they are never so rare and poor, with these girls, and you will find your joy growing deeper and fuller with every experience. Enter into their lives, and pass on to them the determination and hope and high resolve that have inspired your own; and you will find, by and by, that life—your life, with its thwarted plans and blighted ambitions—is sweeter than you had thought. Then, as the years pass, and the graces that are the fruit of a love-filled, unselfish heart crown your character, friends will come to you, and deepen and broaden your life, and make it rich, and sweet, and complete beyond the power of words to tell,—friends whose companionship11and sympathy and love will give you a faint glimpse of what the associations of heaven must be, since they are among the good gifts of the Father of that country. Then the wonder to you will be, not that you have so few friends, but that you have so many. With humility you will strive to meet their high ideal of you, and to be worthy of their confidence and love. So begin now, little sister, with the unpleasant duty that calls you this moment; improve your one talent; neglect no opportunity, however poor, for self-culture; shed on others the light of sympathy and love—and heaven’s best and most precious gifts shall all be yours.