The Feverish Hand

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Dec 17, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 48.

The Feverish Hand.

It was a Monday morning, and a rainy one at that. "Mother" was busy from the moment she sprang out of bed, at the first sound of the rising bell. Others besides children get out of bed "on the wrong side," as this mother can testify. She began by thinking over all that lay before her. It made her "feel like flying." Bridget would be cross, as it was rainy; there was a chance of company for lunch, so the parlor must be tidied, as well as the dining-room swept, dishes washed, lamps trimmed, beds made, and children started for school. Her hands grew hot as she buttered bread for luncheons, waited on those who had to start early, and tried to pacify the little ones and Bridget.

"My dear, you're feverish," said her husband, as he held her hands a moment; "let the work go, and rest yourself; you'll find it pays."

"Just like a man!" thought the mother. "Why, I haven't time for my prayers!" But she had resolved that she would read a few verses before ten o'clock each day; so, standing by her bureau, she opened to the eighth chapter of Matthew, and read these words: "And he touched her hand, and the fever left her: and she arose and ministered unto them."

It seemed to that busy wife as if Jesus himself stood ready to heal her—to take the fever out of her hands, that she might minister wisely to her dear ones. The beds could wait until later in the day, the parlor might be a little disordered; but she must feel his touch! She knelt, and he whispered: "My strength [not yours] is sufficient." "As thy day so shall thy strength be." "My yoke is easy [this yoke you have been galled by is the world's yoke, the yoke of public opinion or housewifely ambition]; take my yoke upon you and learn of me: and ye shall find rest."

The day was no brighter, the work had still to be done; but the fever had left her, and all the day she sang, "This God is our God, my Lord and my God."

It is true that when the friends came to lunch, there had not been time to arrange the parlor, and no fancy dishes had been prepared for the table; but the hostess' heart was filled for them as members, with her, of Christ, and they went away hungering for such a realization of him as they saw she had.

"Ah," said her husband, when he held her hands once more, "I see you took my advice, dear; the fever is quite gone."

The wife hesitated—could she tell her secret? Was it not almost too sacred? Yet it was the secret of the Lord, not hers, and would glorify him. Later on, when the two sat together, she told who had cured her fever, and said, quietly, "I see that there is a more important ministry than the housekeeping, though I don't mean to neglect that."

"Let us ask the Lord to keep hold of our hands," said her husband. "Mine grow feverish in eager money-making, as yours in too eager housekeeping."

This is no fancy sketch. Dear mothers, busy, anxious housekeepers, let us go again and again to him, that he may touch our hands, lest they be feverish and so we cannot minister, in the highest sense, to those about us.—Christian at Work.