HOME AND FIRESIDE by Clara Edna Rosencrans

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Nov 28, 1911

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 38, No. 47.

HOME AND FIRESIDE

By Clara Edna Rosencrans

Wash-Day

It was wash-day at the "Home." Or rather it was a succession of wash-days; for when our family is very large we divide our washing, doing the white clothes on one day and the colored ones the next. All day, since early morning, the boiler had steamed on the stove. The soiled clothes lay in windrows on the laundry floor, while the big basket slowly filled with those that had been cleansed, as the boys turned the washer and wrung them out. My back began to ache, as I leaned over the tub scrubbing the dirty little petticoats and overalls; for we had had a wet spell, and our little folks show a remarkable fondness for sitting down in mud puddles and generally demoralizing their wardrobes. And as I worked, I began as usual to moralize on the spiritual significance of wash-day. These precious children—how we love them! and yet what a care they are! How often, when they have been bathed, and dressed throughout in pure white garments, they come to me with dirty hands and faces, the immaculate little garments soiled and stained, and say with bitter tears, "I got my clean clothes all dirty"! Over and over the tiny rosy faces and hands must be washed, over and over the dresses must go through the cleansing process. And I thought, How like the work of our High Priest in the heavenly sanctuary! Our Lord gives us, when we come to Him, cleansing from sin, and a robe of spotless purity. He tells us, just as we tell the children, not to go near the miry spots, which will defile our white garments, and take away that personal purity without which no man shall see God. And we say "Yes," just as the children do; "I'll keep clean. I got dirty before, but I'll be more careful this time." And we think about it all the time for a while. "The Lord Jesus has given me a clean dress," we keep repeating, "and I must keep out of the dirt." But again, like the children, we forget! A little way beyond us lies a path where flowers bloom, and where light and shadow alternate in pleasing contrast. It is beautiful there, and we long to pluck the bright flowers, and to breathe their rich perfume. But between us and the beautiful vision lies a slimy pool. Its dark, fetid waters exhale a foul odor; but we do not even see it, so intent are we upon the flowers, so fair is that pathway that lies beyond. And like the children, we rush forward to gain the prize, when, alas! before we are aware, our feet sink in the mire, and it is only by painful effort that we drag ourselves out, to find that the purity and whiteness of our robes is gone. And we have to return to our sin-bearing, sin-pardoning Saviour, with bitter tears of repentance, and a knowledge of our own unworthiness, our weakness and failure, that we never had before. Then we say: "Lord, I didn't mean to get dirty. I was reaching for the flowers, and didn't see the mud." And as He lifts us and wipes our falling tears, His kind voice trembles as it murmurs: "Ah, child, you do not realize what it cost Me to wash your clothes. But come and get clean ones, and be more careful next time." Then He takes away our filthy garments, and gives us change of raiment, and we come forth from the presence-chamber of this Mighty One dressed in a robe of spotless purity, clothed, too, with an experience that will go far toward helping us not to fall again. We often wonder why our Lord lets us fall. I wonder would we ever know our own inability to stand alone, if we did not fall. What a world of hard work it would save us, if, having washed our clothes, they would stay clean! What a world of sorrow it would save our Lord, if, having washed us, we would sin no more! And as each soiled and discolored piece of clothing that is thrown into the closet adds to the labor of wash-day, and takes a longer time to finish, so each sin laid at Jesus' feet will delay yet longer that glorious consummation which has been the hope of the ages. If our sins keep on piling up, how can the sanctuary ever be cleansed? If the washing kept on coming, when would it ever be done? Brethren and sisters, we must put away from us this constant sinning and repenting. We must find a consecration that lasts. That reminds me of a conversation I once held with a good old minister, now fallen asleep. He was talking to me about personal holiness. "But, Brother W——," I said, "how am I going to get a consecration that lasts? I give myself to the Lord, and lay all on the altar, and I leave it there for a week or a month. Then I go back and take the gift away." "O, my!" he said. "You must leave it there. You haven't made a full surrender, my sister. The altar sanctifies the gift. After you place it on the altar, it is yours no longer. You must pile yourself and all you have on the altar—and leave it there." The homely phraseology of my good old friend stuck in my mind. We give ourselves to the Lord, but we don't "pile everything on the altar." We go to Jesus for cleansing; but we keep back some little thing which we think too small or insignificant to be given into His hands, and so we lose the blessing. O, we must be pure, clean and white in our inmost thought, if we would see God. No superficial cleansing, to be done over and over every week, like the family washing, will answer; for the account may be closed up at any time, and our hearts be left attainted and uncleansed. Sad would it be for us if our gentle, long-suffering Master should come to the end of that wondrous patience which has been the marvel of men and angels, and should proclaim, "He that is filthy, let him be filthy still." O, can we afford to risk the inevitable doom?