INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY OF MOTHERS by Lillie D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Mar 7, 1906

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 32, No. 10.

INFLUENCE AND RESPONSIBILITY OF MOTHERS

By Lillie D. Avery-Stuttle

JUST across the street there is a badge of mourning upon the door. A widowed mother is bowing her gray head in anguish unspeakable; her firstborn—the beginning of her strength—has taken her own life. In shame and misery, her name a byword and a disgrace, she has sought refuge in the grave from the accusing eyes of the world.

Who can fathom the grief of that mother's heart? She can remember well enough the day when the poor outcast was pure and beautiful and innocent. What a little time it seems since those white lips first learned to lisp the sweet word "Mother." It seems like a horrible nightmare from which she must soon awaken to embrace once again her daughter, pure and fair as of yore.

How has it all happened?—Ah, sad memory goes back to the time when the little daughter first began to manifest those traits of character which at last have proved her downfall—her everlasting undoing. Gradually the little one had become more and more self-willed, and to need more and more the firm hand, mature judgment, and wisely-administered correction of the mother. But alas, and alas! the correction and reproof, if given at all, were tardy and ill-timed; and the conviction is forced upon the mother, that she has not half realized the weighty responsibility of motherhood. O, if she had only estimated rightly her own influence over the child she had loved so well!

This is no fancy sketch. All over this unhappy land—in the church as well as in the world—mothers, yes, and fathers, too, are reaping a harvest of blasted hopes, and weeping tears of unavailing regret. They have not been faithful in training and influencing the tender buds of promise entrusted to their care.

"Children are an heritage from the Lord," says the wise man. Webster defines "heritage" as an "inheritance." What does the world think of one who squanders or lightly values his inheritance? What does God think of such an one?

The case of Esau is an example; and of him it is written: "Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated." What was the trouble with Esau?—O, he didn't care very much about his heritage. He sold it for something to eat. He didn't stop to consider that his father would give him all the food he needed in his direful hunger, and yet he knew of his father's tender love for him—knew it well enough. It had been manifested in too many ways for Esau to doubt it. But he was hungry and impatient, and in his unreasoning folly he sold his birthright.

I wonder how many mothers, as they read these words, can see mirrored in their own lives the sad story of this foolish son of Isaac. How many, underestimating the priceless value of their heritage, have sold it for a mess of pottage! Troubled and careful about many things, like Martha of old, they forget that the Father above knows all about their needs, and has pledged His Word to be with them, even unto the end of the world.

"But I do try to do my duty by my children!" exclaims some busy mother whose hands are worn with toil, "please explain to me how I may sell my birthright, and what you mean by a mess of pottage."

Mother, when you spend more time putting the trimming on Mary's new dress than you spend in a whole month in teaching her the Bible reasons for the faith you profess to love, you are in grave danger of selling your birthright to the enemy of souls. When you give more thought and pains to the preparation of a dainty lunch with which to arouse the envy of the fashionable Mrs. A— whom you are entertaining, than to the study of the Sabbath-school lesson, or to the preparation of wholesome food for your children; when you hurry through your daily devotions, or neglect them entirely, that you may give more time to polishing the silver or finishing that new piece of embroidery,—then look out; for you are in danger; and remember, your little daughter will catch the spirit of worldliness and carelessness which her keen eyes discern in her mother.

Children are great imitators—did you ever notice it? A little girl's highest ideal is her mother. A little boy's greatest desire on earth is to be like his father. How do I know?

See Janie strut about the room in her mother's long kitchen apron; it impedes her walk greatly, and is far from sightly—never mind; is she not very much like mama?

What makes Johnny delight in wearing papa's hat and slippers, at vast inconvenience to himself?—Because papa must be imitated at whatever cost.

Mary and Annie are at play in the nursery: "See here, Annie," says Mary, "You be mama, and I'll be Susan. We'll play it's wash-day."

"O, don't let's play that," expostulated Annie; "mama just scolds and frets all day whenever Susan washes,—just scolds and scowls. I don't want to make my face all ugly puckers,—I'd rather play I'm mama when the minister comes; then she just smiles and smiles every minute." "Yes, and she has lovely cake and preserves for dinner. When I get big I'm going to have the minister come every day."

Ah, these little ones are wonderful imitators! Mothers, what would you like to see your daughters imitate? Vice, or virtue? smiles, or frowns? See to it that the pattern set for them be such as you will wish it had been, when your account must be rendered to the Master who has said, "Suffer the little children to come unto Me."