An Invalid's Mission

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jul 31, 1884

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 10, No. 29.

An Invalid's Mission.

SOME years ago a lovely young girl was suddenly stricken with disease. A long illness and the development of spinal trouble made her a helpless invalid. Pain, often excruciating and almost more than she could bear, depressed her sorely until she could not enjoy even the intervals of temporary relief.

The days had no pleasure in them, and the nights were filled with the phantoms of a weary brain that dwelt unceasingly upon her miserable condition. She sought solace in self-pity, until a morbid imagination made the picture all dark, or aglow only with the lurid flames of persecution. She thought of herself as a martyr, always suffering and always dreading inquisitorial dealing. God did nothing for her! His ears were not attentive to her prayer, and she could only cry aloud: "How long, O Lord, how long!" Thus her life seemed slowly ebbing away.

One morning she awoke very early. The fading stars were giving place to the glorious sun; "rosy light sprinkled the dewy lawn," and all nature revived in beautiful array. Birds sang blithely, not with the sleepy twitter of twilight, but with a full gush of pent-up melody they arose to greet the world. Green trees and shrubs waved gently in the morning breeze, while the sun rose higher and higher, until the triune rays of color and heat blended into one glorious white ray, that rested upon the world like a benediction.

Jennie had seen all this many times before, but that day she awoke to a special consciousness of these pleasant surroundings—her eyes were illumined from within. Not able to rise even to a sitting posture, something seemed to be quickening her heart, her brain, her soul. What did it mean? Instead of fretful and impatient waiting and longing, while words of repining were ready to spring to her lips, as a morning greeting to the household, she lay contented, a song of rejoicing and melody in her heart, with the constantly recurring refrain, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?"

Heretofore the only question had been, "How long must I suffer and be useless?" Now she realized that, although she could not be of those who assist in drawing water from the "Pool of Siloam," or engage in lighting the great "candelabra" in the court of the tabernacle, she might in great measure be refreshed from the Living Fountain, and stand in the full blaze of the Light of the world.

That lovely morning the "Sun of Righteousness had risen with healing in his wings." Not physical healing. No, no, her helpless body was not stronger, nor more comfortable than yesterday; but some impulse had set her little bark afloat on calm, restful waters, and she was enabled to forget self, and pain, and regret, while she watched and waited to cheer with a smile or help with an oar some fellow-voyager. When her sister came to the bedside, she was surprised with a cheerful smile and pleasant greeting. "Fanny," she said, "I wonder if I may not yet be able to work a little—to do something for others?"

"Work; why, Jennie, nobody expects you to work. What could you do?"

"I don't know yet; but at least I am determined to be more patient, and that will help a little to make others happy."

"Yes, indeed," Fanny tenderly replied. "That will help all of us, and after a while we will talk about your work, and see what may be done."

Jennie was deeply in earnest, and began at once to recall long-forgotten accomplishments with the needle. She soon found her fingers could follow, at first awkwardly and finally with skill and beauty, the mazes of crochet and knitting—then she took up her pen and succeeded in writing an occasional letter. One day she saw a newspaper article which riveted her attention. It spoke of a society entirely of invalids, called "The Shut-in Society." The members were those who would never get out of the house to enjoy walks and talk with friends, but they had established a correspondence with all such invalids throughout the country, and thus a bond of sympathy united and cheered the sufferers.

There was something for her to do. She was well educated, intelligent, and full of humor. This opened a new, interesting field, and has proved a source of real pleasure and comfort to many. Presents as well as words of love have been exchanged, and an electric chain connects this insulated circle of sympathetic invalids.

She looked about upon her comfortable, neat home, thought of the ready, loving attendance that sought to make her forget pain and prevent ennui, that gathered around her the beautiful in nature and in art, while friends and acquaintances cheered her daily life—all this, instead of squalor, unwilling service, and the bare necessities of life grudgingly furnished. Such might have been her lot, she reflected, and with a burning blush of self-reproach, she prayerfully acknowledged that "God had never forgotten to be gracious."

Her light could not be hid. She was known to many as a wise counselor, and her advice was constantly sought.

An important charity had just been inaugurated. Jennie was urged to become the president. At first thought this seemed to be impracticable; but she finally accepted the position, and for several years has fulfilled the duties, and, by means of marvelous executive ability, she works as well through other hands and feet as if her own could do the bidding of her heart. About a year ago a world-renowned violinist came to this city. He heard of the invalid girl who had not left her room nor taken a step for years, and, with characteristic charity, he determined she should not lose the pleasure of hearing his violin. He went to her home and waked the sweetest strains, and poured forth a flood of melody that made her pale cheek and dim eye glow with unwonted luster. The great artist did more. He promised a public concert at no distant day, for the benefit of "The Flower Mission," of which she was president. A pleasant correspondence with the cheery, warm-hearted foreigner brightened the intervening months. The time for the concert approached; and now mystical, unseen hands seemed to be weaving threads of sympathy all over the city. Everybody was interested to make the evening a success, that the "Mission" might be benefited, and the brave Christian worker made happy on her bed of pain. The governor of the State responded to the invitation to be present. The mayor and the board of trade, the churches, the citizens, all came forward to do their part. A committee waited upon the invalid with a request to place a telephone in her room that she too might enjoy the music in the hall nearly a mile distant. This touched her almost to tears. She replied:

"Thank you, gentlemen; I may not be able, through nervous anxiety, to listen to the good artist's violin; but your thoughtful kindness is more grateful than the music to my ear."

She did hear and enjoy it all, however, and the proceeds from that evening's entertainment were placed in the thin, transparent hands, to be distributed among the poor and the sick, bringing comfort, warmth, light, and health to many a household during the dreary winter months.

This is a true story of suffering and triumph. Whence this patience and cheerful activity? For answer we must go back to the morning without clouds, when the suffering Christian hearkened to a voice which said: "Cast thy burden on the Lord. He will sustain thee."—N. Y. Observer.