p. 90 | OIL THE HINGES by F. J.

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Sep 13, 1877

OIL THE HINGES.

By F. J.

I CHANCED to be in a family where the mother was an invalid.

Her little boy kept his playthings in a closet opening from the sitting-room. To and fro he passed with his train, headed by a tin engine, and loaded with numberless nondescript articles of transportation.

Meanwhile, the closet door kept up an incessant and unmusical creak, creak, till it seemed as if nerves would rebel outright. I expected each moment that the father would look up from his paper with, “I can’t have that noise any longer,” or that the mother would cry out, “I cannot endure it.” Instead of this, she rose from her couch in an adjoining room, came to the closet, took down a bottle of oil, drew a feather from a dusting brush, and thoroughly oiled the hinges.

Not a word was spoken; the mother returned to her resting-place; the father read on; the tin toys traveled along their tireless track; weary nerves relaxed their tension, and each felt conscious of having received a personal favor.

How often, amid the hurries and worries of home-life, might a little of the oil of gentleness stop the creaking. Many are the rusty hinges; their name is Legion. The cheerful, “Can I help you?” “Let me fix it,” “I’ll find it for you,” would smooth and soothe matters for little toddlers in fretful moments, as well as for wayworn pilgrims nearing the end of the journey.—F. J., in Christian Weekly.