THE PRAYERLESS DAY

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Oct 28, 1880

THE PRAYERLESS DAY.

MRS. MASON was tired; the day's busy cares and perplexities had pressed their labor-soiled fingers upon her comely face, leaving traces of their visits in the wrinkled forehead, the closely set mouth, and the deepened lines about the eyes. Mrs. Mason was preparing for her nightly rest; the last little prattler had long ago been tucked away in the cozy bed; the rosy, crowing baby, was sleeping sweetly in the cradle; the work-basket was relieved of its weekly load of patching; and for the first time that busy day, Mrs. Mason was free from the planning and arranging that had all the day long lingered in her active brain.

It had been a long, hard day; this much Mrs. Mason felt both bodily and mentally. Not only had hands and feet been busy, but the burden of housekeeping and child-watching had pressed home upon her with an unusual weight.

"I have too many cares," she said, half aloud; "it is enough to craze any woman; five noisy, restless children to look after, and not a soul to lift a finger towards the work but myself; the only wonder is, that I bear up beneath the burden so well;" and again Mrs. Mason's mental vision reviewed the scenes of the day just dropped into eternity. Alas! now that the hurry, and worry, and bustle, were over, how many acts could she see to deplore; the cross answers to the many questions; the impatient shake given in the ferment of the moment to a restless child; the denial of harmless petitions, and so on to the close.

Mrs. Mason meant to be a faithful, earnest mother; she also meant to be more—a sincere Christian. Her aims were too high, her aspirations too pure, to allow peace and joy to dwell in her breast as she took a retrospect of the last few waking and working hours. This day, she keenly felt, had not been a golden link in the long chain of earthly days that was winding around her mortal life; rather was it a cold, hard, dull link of iron.

"It must not be so to-morrow," was her mental resolve; and as she stepped to the stand to extinguish the light, her eyes fell upon a small copy of Thomas a Kempis' "Imitation of Christ." She took the book up half thoughtfully—it was a gift from her mother; yet, although it had lain for nearly a year upon the little stand, very, very few of the ancient meditations had entered Mrs. Mason's understanding.

How could she ever find time to read—she with so much care? As she lightly turned the leaves, wishing sadly that she were not too tired to read a few pages, her eyes fell upon these words: "As long as thou livest in this world, thou wilt have need of the 'whole armor of God.'"

"The whole armor of God," said Mrs. Mason; "have I worn it to-day?" And quickly her thoughts ran over the inspired words that St. Paul used to describe the panoply that should ever encase the fighting Christian. Mrs. Mason knew them well; she had known them from a child, and as the closing words ran through her mind, her thoughts lingered upon these: "Praying always, with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit." "Ah!" said Mrs. Mason, "I see the cause of all this wrong; this has been a day begun without prayer. It's no marvel that I have wandered in a tangled way!"

Ere Mrs. Mason went to her bed, her evening prayer rose to the throne of the Most High, and a new resolve was also taken, that the work of the day should never again be commenced till strength to perform it had been sought from Him who giveth, "upbraiding not."

Mother, do the days bring you weariness? Are they filled with cares, crosses, anxieties? How is it then with you? Do any prayerless days steal upon you with their blackness, their deformity, marring with their hideousness the fair proportions of your Christian life?—Mother's Journal.