Untitled article by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Aug 30, 1905

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 31, No. 35.

EDUCATION IN THE HOME. NO. 16.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

BY MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.

LITTLE Beth crept a bit closer to grandma's side, and laid her curly head lovingly in her lap, while Josie and Mattie settled themselves comfortably among the cushions on the couch, in anticipation of a real treat.

"It all happened very many years ago—more than half a century, in fact," began grandma, while her soft blue eyes took on a dreamy look. "We were very young then,—your grandpa and I, and lived in a cosy log cabin in the Michigan woods. Four little children had come to gladden our home,—"

"Was papa one of them, grandma?" asked Beth.

"Yes, dear, the youngest. We did not belong to any church at the time, tho we read our Bible and tried to persuade ourselves that we were sure of heaven; because we accounted ourselves as good as many of our friends who were church members. About this time there came to our neighborhood a very young man—a minister—and his wife, who gave out word that they would hold a series of meetings in the old log school-house about a mile from our home, through the woods. This man began preaching the coming of Christ,—the visible, personal advent of our Lord,—and declared that if His people were to be ready to meet Him, they must keep the true Sabbath, which he affirmed to be the seventh day. I did not pay much attention to these reports for some time, but was very bitterly prejudiced against the young couple and their silly doctrine—as I called it—which I had somehow come to believe was very similar to the Mormon, and fully as pernicious. My husband had gone on several occasions, when, one evening on his return from meeting, as he sat by the little fireplace warming his hands over the embers, he said very earnestly:

"'I tell you, wife, I have listened to most wonderful words to-night; these people are preaching truths that cut me to the very heart.' Then he asked me if I would not go with him the next evening. Instantly my heart seemed filled with a hatred and venom such as I had never felt before, and I answered hotly:

"'No; I will none of it. Because you choose to belittle yourself by attending the services of these fanatics, is certainly no sign why I should do so, and I warn you, don't bring that proselyting couple home with you—I will not have them in the house!'"

"It seemed that the more I gave way to my unreasoning anger, the more angry I became; until I had almost closed my heart to the divine pleading of the Holy Spirit, and for the time being, allowed my will to be dominated by the powers of darkness. All this time my husband answered me mildly, and kindly insisted that I should attend services with him the next evening.

"'I see what you are intending,' I cried, 'you are going to become a convert of this Saturday man, are you? But I warn you,' I continued, in unreasoning anger, 'I warn you, I will make life unendurable for you on that day; I shall bake and mop and cook and brew and wash!—O, I warn you! Why do you ask me to go with you? you well know it is impossible for me to leave our little ones,' I said.

"'But we can put them in bed, and I am sure they will be safe,' he argued. And so, not because I desired to learn more truth, but because I wished to fill my mouth with arguments against him, I went with my husband."

"It does not seem a bit like you, ma'am," ventured Walter Grey.

"Really, I don't understand what can have possessed grandma," declared Elsie.

"Why, grandmother?" protested John, "you never scold a fellow even when he needs it. I guess it made grandfather astonished enough."

"I presume it did, and that it made his dear heart very sad indeed. But he offered not a single word of censure. How well I remember the quiet walk through the woods over the winding path to the old log school-house. The children had been laid, carefully, crosswise of the bed in the little, two-roomed log cabin, and bidden not to get up until we returned,—and, above all, not to touch the fire, which was left smouldering in the open fireplace."

"Did they mind what you bade them, grandma?" asked Beth.

"O yes, dear, for ours were obedient children. But never can I forget my impressions as I entered the little building where already were assembled many of our neighbors and friends. There, in the rude pulpit sat the offending minister and his young wife, and it seemed to me, in my blind prejudice and folly, that I had never seen so inferior and unpolished people in my life. I regarded them in bitter, contemptuous silence. May the Lord forgive me! Well," continued grandma, as she carefully wiped her glasses, "in a few moments, the minister and his wife arose and began singing a hymn. Instantly I was spell-bound. Such singing I had never heard, as, to the sad, sweet old tune, 'Jamie's on the Stormy Sea,' they sang such beautiful words! To this day I can never hear them sung without feelings of deep emotion,—not without seeing, in fancy, the same old log school-house, and the same familiar faces of yore;" and grandma sang in a tremulous voice:

"Mark that pilgrim, lowly bending At the shrine of prayer, ascending Praise and sighs together blending From his lips in mournful strain. Glowing with sincere contrition, And with childlike, vast submission, Ever riseth this petition: 'Jesus come, O come to reign!'"

"And as they sang on and on," continued grandma, "such a revulsion of feeling surged over me, as I can not describe."

Grandma's listeners were deeply interested by this time, and as the dear old lady paused for a moment, they begged her to go on. Mrs. Wilber leaned forward in her chair, with a rapt expression in her face, as if fearful of losing a single word, while Billie Black had risen softly and taken a seat close to grandma's side.

"Yes," she continued, "I thought, 'how can it be possible that people who can sing like that, with so much of the Spirit of the Lord, can be bad people? I have certainly been mistaken; and I have grossly misjudged and maligned the anointed of the Lord.'"

"Then, the sermon that night was a revelation. O, how plain the Sabbath truth shone from God's Book! I wondered that all my life I could have overlooked such unanswerable texts of Scripture as Matt. 28:1, and Luke 23:56 and 24:1 and kindred passages. Suffice it to say, that before the close of that night's sermon, I had fully decided that, with God's help, I had broken my last Sabbath."

Again grandma's feelings overcame her, and she paused for a moment.

"But how did you fix it up with grandfather?" asked John roguishly.

"Yes," exclaimed Mrs. Wilber, "pray, how did you fix it up with your husband?" (To be continued.)