HOME AND FIRESIDE by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Dec 24, 1912

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 39, No. 50.

HOME AND FIRESIDE

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

The Use of the Minutes in the Home

We have all of us heard the trite saying, that "Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do." We have heard this so often that it is quite possible that we may forget, and imagine that there can be no spiritual danger to our souls, if we only manage to keep our heads and our hands busy enough.

But I tell you, there was never a greater mistake.

This is an age of hurry and rush and excitement. There is something constantly demanding our attention, until sometimes we can hardly choose between the seemingly important duties of the hour. The wheels of life turn so rapidly, and the duties, either imaginary or real, demand our attention so constantly, that the calmest of us sometimes become caught in the whirlpool, and forget that real duty never calls in two directions at once.

But the necessity of making a wise use of every moment, can not be overestimated. Opportunities for doing good are constantly presented. "No man liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself." In other words, we each have an influence over some other soul, either for good or ill. It has well been said that we should

"Count that day lost whose low descending sun Views from thy hand no worthy action done."

We can improve our moments to better advantage, without undue haste. There is almost nothing so fatal to spirituality as a constant feeling of hurry. Hurry, worry, and impatience generally go hand in hand. We are too busy to read our Bibles; too hurried to commune with our God. But Martin Luther used to say that the more he had to do in a day, the more time he must spend in prayer.

Now if we all adopted these sentiments and lived up to them, there would be fewer days of hurry and nervous haste, and far fewer exhibitions of impatience.

But our lives are slipping away, moment by moment. The present hour is all that is assured us, and each should be spent as wisely, as usefully, as carefully, as intelligently, as prayerfully, as if it were the last which was to be granted us.

Some of us remember the story of the prisoner, who was sentenced to die on the very day when the supply of water, which was contained in a huge cask in his cell, was gone. Yet from this supply, he must draw all the water for his daily needs. Of course he was not informed whether the cask was full, half full, or nearly empty. Had the prisoner been a sensible man, with what care he would have calculated his needs, and with what infinite pains would he have husbanded every drop of the precious liquid.

Instead of this, however, one of his guards discovers him in the act of idly opening the faucet, and allowing the water to escape, simply for his own silly amusement.

Now let us beware how we condemn this foolish man, until we are certain that we are not—at least some of us—equally as foolish. A precious hour in the morning is spent in idle gossip with a friend; another in reading an unprofitable book; another in ministering to an inordinate love of display; another in the preparation of unhealthful and indigestible food; another in listening to, or repeating the latest scandal; another in reading the minute and harrowing details of the latest sensational murder.

All this is repeated day after day, month after month, year after year. One moment of hurried prayer to ease the conscience, preparatory to an evening spent at the bijou! Five minutes of Bible study, and half an hour in reading a silly story! One hour of useful labor, and many hours of frivolity!

And all this, while Death crouches in every doorway, and peeps at us through every window, and leers at us when we start upon our journey, and when we take our seat in the comfortable car or steamship.

"Ah, yes," we say; "but when we are safely home—when we cross our own threshold—he will depart. Surely the grizzly terror will go away then and leave us in safety."

No; he stands noiselessly by our chair as we seat ourselves in the pleasant sitting-room. When we enter the cozy dining-room, he is there.

He is only waiting. Perhaps the delicate little gatekeeper who so jealously guards the esophagus may for once become careless—just for a moment. If so, death waits for us. It may be that a particle of blood from one cause or another, may tarry too long in the brain. Who knows! Who knows when some part of the delicate machinery of these wonderful bodies of ours may become clogged, and refuse to do its work! We know the liability, and we know the result. A sudden fright, a hot spasm of anger, a little extra exertion, a little too much heat, a trifle too much cold, an unlooked-for accident—and the busy, laboring heart ceases to throb—the work is done.

"But," you say, "I do not expect to die. The Lord Jesus is coming very soon, and we need not be looking into the dark grave at all, but instead, up, into the waiting skies,—waiting only for the hands of the angels to draw aside the dark curtain which hides from view our blessed, coming Lord."

Even so; we are waiting, too. But while we wait for the King, we must not be waiting idly. Indeed the glorious prospect before us of seeing Him in His matchless beauty very soon, even as Enoch and Elijah saw Him, without tasting death, should stimulate us as nothing else could do, to put every moment to the best use.

Sometimes our hearts are fired with a longing to make a special study of, perhaps, music or botany or the languages or literature or some other particular line which appeals very strongly to us. "O," we say, "I have so long desired it, but alas, I have no time to spare. Sterner duties crowd thick upon each other, and I must minister to the needs of those about me."

Then, unless God gives us special grace, a feeling of deep sadness and unrest almost overcomes us, and we come very near murmuring. We are so sure that we have abilities and talents which should be developed.

Well, it may be so; but can we not trust the great Master Builder with the construction of His own building?

One day I was under a deep cloud of discouragement, and I cried out in sorrow, "Why has the Lord given ability without granting opportunity?" I complained that I was unfitted for the work which I must do, and that I was fitted for an entirely different work, which came not. I said: "A carpenter would not undertake to plane a board with a chisel, nor to smooth a surface with a saw. Why then does the Master thus deal with me?"

The question puzzled me, and lay on my heart day by day. At last the Lord gave me an answer:

"The Master gives to every man his work. He is not using the wrong instrument,—only sharpening the edge. When it is ready to do the work for which it was made, the work will be given."

Ah, the Master knows better than we, what work we are best fitted for. It may be He is only waiting for us to develop a patient, tractable spirit, and a humble heart. He knows. And if we seek to improve every hour to His glory, and to the betterment of our fellow men, He will say to us finally: "Well done; thou hast been faithful in the use of a few years of earth life, enter thou into the joys of an eternity of happiness."