Teddy’s Book | AdventAI

S. D. A. Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Sep 7, 1882

FromThe Signs of the Times, Vol. 8, No. 34; Special Edition, No. 1

Teddy’s Book.

Something about it struck Teddy very forcibly. I am not sure whether it was the text itself or the minister’s reading it the second time in a very earnest manner. He was a new minister, and was preaching to the children this morning.

His text was: “And another book was opened, which is the book of life;” and as I say, he read it over twice.

The book of life, the book of each one of our lives; do you ever think of that book, children, and what you are writing in it? Every morning you start with a fresh page, and at night what do you find written there—temptations met and overcome, kind words spoken, little acts of helpfulness performed? Or is it a record of temptations yielded to, cross and fretful words, and no kind actions? Think of it, children, when you are tempted to do what is wrong, that it will be written in your book of life, and at that last great day it will be opened and read.

Teddy sat at the end of the seat that Sabbath, and was just wondering if he could possibly snap an apple-seed—he had some in his pocket—at Joe Peters without Sadie’s seeing it, when, as I said, something, either in the text itself or the reading of it, caught his attention. It was such a thoroughly new idea, he writing a book—one that would be opened and read on that awful day. On the whole he did not like the idea, certainly not if everything was put in it, was his decision as he recalled some of the many things he had done “just for fun.” Then he tried to think of something he had done during the past week that he should like to see in his book; but he failed to recall anything, unless it was that he carried poor Mrs. Kent a basket of apples. “Wouldn’t a done it, though, only mamma made me,” he was obliged to confess to himself just as he had decided that that was quite a meritorious deed.

“I say, mother,” he asked, anxiously, when he reached home at noon, “the minister said God puts everything we do down in a book; do you b’lieve he does? Maybe he don’t see everything, you know.”

“O, yes! he does, Teddy—every single thing. We cannot hide even our thoughts from God. So we should be very, very careful, even of them,” replied mamma, smoothing his rumpled curls lovingly.

“Well, then, I guess folks forget about it; don’t they? Or else maybe they don’t know.”

“I think we all forget sometimes, Teddy; but mamma wants her little son to remember that God sees him always wherever he goes, or whatever he does; will you?”

“I’ll try,” said Teddy, with an unusually grave look in his brown eyes.

Just then the dinner-bell rang. Teddy went down-stairs, and being very hungry forgot all about the sermon, his book, and all, until Monday afternoon in the spelling-class at school.

Now Teddy did not like spelling. In fact, he was not over-fond of study of any description, but spelling was his particular aversion. He almost invariably failed, and this very afternoon Miss Westwood made a rule that all who failed must remain half an hour after school. Teddy heard it in dismay. It was splendid skating down the river, the first they had had this winter, and they were all going down directly from school. For once he was utterly oblivious of everything around him; he never lifted his eyes from his book after Miss Westwood said that, until the class was called.

But it was all in vain; the very first word that came to him was “believe,” and he could not remember whether it was “ei” or “ie.” He hesitated, grew red in the face, and was just going to say “ie,” when Miss Westwood was called to the door.

“Ahem!” said some one, softly.

Teddy looked around, and there was Will Adams, holding up his slate with “ie” in great big letters on it.

Teddy felt as though a mountain was lifted off his shoulders, for he was quite sure of the rest of the lesson. Then it was that he remembered yesterday’s sermon, and his promise, and the words of the text; it all flashed through his mind in an instant. Suppose he were to spell the word as Will had written it for him, which was not the way he would have spelled it himself, to think what would it look in that book? But then to think of having to stay in when all the rest were having such sport, and his new skates just aching to be used. What should he do?

It seemed to him that it was all of half an hour before Miss Westwood closed the door and resumed the lesson, though it was really but a few moments.

“Well Teddy, how is it?” she said.

Teddy felt positive that every one in the room must hear his heart beat, it thumped away so loudly.

“B-e, b-e-l-” What should he say?

“God sees us always, whatever we do is written down in our book of life. Remember that, children, when you are tempted to do wrong; think how it will look in your book.”

“E-i-v-e,” he said, hurriedly.

Will Adams looked up in blank astonishment.

“Couldn’t you read it on my slate?” he asked after school.

“Yes;” replied Teddy, coloring; “but you see I—didn’t want to write a cheat in my book.”—Sunday School Times.