LOVE IN THE HOME by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 24, 1904

LOVE IN THE HOME.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

LOVE is mighty; it is all-powerful; it is all-conquering—because it is the name of the Eternal. It is the opposite of selfishness; it is the embodiment of every virtue. The wise man says there is a time to love. Surely, then, there must be a place in which it is laudable and appropriate to manifest that love; and, certainly, if there is one place above another where the truest and tenderest love ought to reign, and where it should be manifested in all its sovereign beauty every hour of the day, that place is at home.

In our common translation of the Bible this love is sometimes called "charity." "What!" somebody says, "how can I have charity at home? I supposed charity was only to be exercised toward my neighbors." No greater mistake can be made. Love suffereth long, and still forgets not to be kind.

When the mother is weary and nervous from overwork; when baby is unusually fretful; when the bread has refused to rise, and the cake is burned,—then is the time for the exercise of that beautiful love which is kind even tho it has suffered long, and which thinks only of others in its own sweet self-forgetfulness.

Love takes no notice of the mistakes of loved ones; love will not upbraid and torture the sensitive child because of some trifling blunder. "In honor preferring one another," is the blessed motto of charity.

Nor will true love forget to speak a word of kindly cheer to the aged. Grandpa and grandma are perhaps very near the last mile-stone. The road grows more lonely as the dim sight fails to discern the flowers along the way, and the dull ear no longer hears the music of the bird songs. O, the loneliness of old age where there is no love to cheer, and where the kiss of affection is not often stamped on the furrowed brow!

Then there are the children. God bless the little ones! Happy indeed is that home where the innocent prattle of childish voices is heard. Suppose the floor is strewn with playthings when the elegant Mrs. Blank comes to make her first formal call. Suppose baby John has a few chairs harnessed to serve in the capacity of horses when papa brings a strange gentleman home to dinner. Is this any reason for the exhibition of impatience and ill-temper, or for those telltale lines between the brows to grow deeper? Shall the sharp word cause the sweet baby lips to quiver, and the loving, innocent eyes to fill with tears? O, how sad that we should forget so often that the baby fingers which cause us so much annoyance may be "stiff and cold to-morrow"!

Then, there are the boys and girls, who demand, and by right should have, a large inheritance of love. If the mother refuses this sympathy,—this love,—be sure the girls and boys will seek it elsewhere. And sometimes, in their heart-hunger, they mistake passion,—selfish, cruel, corrupt, vile,—for love, pure and holy,—love, of which passion is the counterfeit.

God pity the boys and girls,—and there is an army of them,—upon whose young lips no mother's kisses are pressed morning and evening, and upon whose head no father's hands have rested in benediction. Then, what an opportunity is presented in the home life for the exercise and cultivation of love between brothers and sisters.

Have you ever thought what a sad life must have been led by poor Joseph—the young dreamer, envied and hated by his brothers, and sold into cruel slavery by those of his own blood, and that at a time when he was taking great pains to make them a visit and bring them a message from home? Think of the homesick boy—a mere lad—lost and bewildered, wandering in the fields in search of those brothers whose superior age and strength should have constituted them his guardians, but whose perfidy consigned him to years of bondage and imprisonment! What a cruel welcome they gave him! "Behold, this dreamer cometh!" Hungry for the love that was his by right, but which in all his boyhood had never been granted him, save by his aged father, he undertook the long journey from Hebron to Shechem, hoping, without doubt, that the stony hearts of his brethren might be melted. How often we read the story, and in our hearts condemn the cruel brothers of the innocent dreamer. But when we apply this story to our own lives, are we sure we are guiltless? Have we always manifested the love and appreciation to our own, which were their rightful heritage?

Then we read the story of David and his elder brother, and how we despise the envy of Eliab, as that sarcastic, sneering question comes ringing down the ages, "Where are those few sheep in the wilderness?" But are we certain that our own hearts have never cherished envy toward those for whom we should ever feel the warmest love?

O ye fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters! let us not only cherish love in our hearts for our own, but let us so manifest it that there can be no doubt about it in the minds of our loved ones. Let us not be ashamed to bestow the kiss of affection upon those who would prize it more than riches. Then, from the home, let us allow our love to branch out and widen and widen, until the whole perishing world, hungry for the grasp of friendship and the tender word of cheer, shall be included in the benediction of our prayers. Then shall we be better prepared to dwell forevermore in that home of perfect love which our Elder Brother is preparing for us.