p. 12 | AN ANSWERED PRAYER by Emma Graves Dietrich

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jun 21, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 25.

AN ANSWERED PRAYER.

By Emma Graves Dietrich

"O MAMA, come and see my kite!" screamed a babyish voice at the kitchen window. . . . Mother was busy with all the work that crowds in at the end of the week.

Fred was her only child and a sunbeam in the house; if he had been sick she would have left everything to wait upon him, but a kite—no, indeed—and quick came the hasty reply: "The idea! I've no time to waste on kites; don't you come bothering me with your foolishness."

With a crestfallen look Fred turned away, saying sorrowfully, "I've got it up so high, I wish you'd look;" but she didn't, and a few such lessons taught the boy that he could not be sure of mama's sympathy or interest in his pleasures.

A year or two went by, and Fred had grown from kites to baseball.

Rushing into the house one day, he said eagerly: "Say, mama, come with me this afternoon and see the ball game, will you? I want you to awfully. You see you can't care much for things you don't know about, and if you see a game you'll care more about it when I play; come now, say yes."

"Indeed, I'll not go a step, sir. I've more important work than going to ball games," was the mother's reply.

Fred went off muttering to himself, "When I ask her again she'll know it."

Is it any wonder that as the boy grew into young manhood regard and politeness were the substitutes for tender love and whole-hearted confidence?

And the mother said not long ago: "It is thankless work to bring up a boy; as soon as he gets old enough to be a comfort, he'll care more for everybody else than he does for his mother."

Where was the fault? Did it not begin away back in kite days, or before?

But perhaps you say, Do you think mothers ought to stop work and run at every call?—O, no; but what if mama had said, as her fingers flew over her work: "How nice of you to come and tell me. I can't come to see just now, for I really must finish my work, dear, but I dearly love to have you want me to see it." Or suppose she had said, "I mustn't take but a second, dear, for I've so much to do, but I'll have a peep," and then had run to the door and glanced up at the kite with cheery words of appreciation. Would it not have been an added bond between the two?

There were once two boys in a home I know, and after a few happy years one was taken.

. . . The two boys and their mother had always knelt together for the bedtime prayer, and each had offered a simple petition. The first night there were only two to kneel the sobbing voice of the lonely brother uttered but one sentence, "Dear Lord, keep mother and me intimate."

Said the mother, years after, "I consecrated my life to answer that prayer."

Did she have to give up anything?—Yes; receptions and calls were secondary matters when the boy's friends needed entertaining.

Embroidered doilies and hand-painted screens

were of no account whatever beside the cultivation of intimacy with her boy, and the answering of his prayer. "Always give me the first chance to help you, dear," she would say; and he did. Whatever was dear to his boyish heart found glad sympathy in her.

Perhaps mothers do not always realize how soon a boy begins to think toward manhood, and so they treat him like a child, to be watched and scolded instead of helped and trusted.

This mother's boy was just as impulsive and self-willed as you often find. But she had a few rules that helped wonderfully. Shall I copy them for you?

I will pray and work to be patient.
I will strive to grow in grace and in the knowledge of God.
No matter what happens, I will try to hold my temper and my tongue.
I will try never to scold and never to reprove or punish in anger.
I will listen patiently and tenderly to my boy's side of a grievance.

You will notice that these rules are to govern the mother instead of the boy, and is not that the secret of success? Mother, do you want to keep your boy? Then control yourself. Not the fashionable attempt at stoicism that says it is not "good form" to display emotion, but the real holding of one's self in hand.

Fashion would tie the mettlesome steed fast. Control harnesses him to life and lets Christ hold the reins.

This mother's boy made many a blunder; he had his days of waywardness and times of unreasonableness, but never a time when he was not sure that his mother was ready to listen, advise, and help. There were times when his impulsiveness made him sore trouble, but the first place he turned for help was to the tender, loyal "mother-friend," and he was sure of comfort. Do you think it paid? When she reads in the papers the theories on "how to get hold of the boys," she thanks God she has never lost her hold on hers. And in the answering of the boyish prayer, the mother has not only grown more and more intimate with him, but both have grown intimate with Christ.

Mother, you have no "charge to keep" half so sacred as the heart of your boy. Are you true to your trust?—Emma Graves Dietrich, in Christian Work.