No Escape from Work by S.

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Mar 18, 1875

No Escape from Work.

By S.

It is trying work to be such a Seventh-day Adventist as I ought. The theory is fine, just according to the Bible; but it compels me to work for my neighbors, who, on presentation of the unpopular truth, shrug their shoulders, lift one corner of the upper lip, shake their heads, and treat me with the forbearance they would probably show to a mild lunatic, or some blinded pilgrim on his way to Mecca, with his shoes filled with pebbles.

If I could sit down in a quiet, well-ordered house, in a room well lighted, warmed, and tastily furnished, and read the publications from Battle Creek, enjoy the propositions set forth by the gifted brethren, and not be obliged to come in contact with that air, which plainly tells me that I am a poor, deluded fanatic; because I “have Saturday for my Sunday,” I could get along easier.

Many times my companion and myself would sit down by the fire at home and study; but feeling that to be a wrong to others, get up, put on our wraps, take some tracts or periodicals, visit our neighbors one or two miles distant perhaps, and try “once more” to say a few words, oftentimes ill-chosen and untimely perhaps, but the best we can do with our limited gifts. I often fancy we could accomplish more if we were not so poor; but who knows but we might be so engrossed with the care of our houses, lands, and cattle, if we had them, that we would forget that our “possessions would consume away into smoke,” and choke the sinner whom we now labor to save?

Once when we were building a house (in our imaginations) we were interrupted by the shrill whistle of the locomotive. We both stopped, looked at each other, and commenced talking of something else. We are so fortunate as to hear, in our country home, four times a day, the announcement that this is the “day of God’s preparation.” I never see a train without thinking of it, and sometimes my eyes fill with tears because of the unthinking multitudes, who regard not the sign.

It is wearisome work to warn those whom it is so hard to arouse. How often my thoughts run back to those poor, tired pioneers in the work, those who carried or sent the truth from point to point till it reached our ears, and thanks fill my heart that we were permitted to see the truth. Let us all labor in our neighborhoods, that we may prepare the way for a minister, and that our skirts may be clear in “that day.” S.

Hillsdale, Ill.