I T seems a sad comment upon human depravity—and parental depravity in particular—that it should seem necessary to speak loudly in condemnation of favoritism in the home.
Among the different nations of earth there has always been favoritism from the time it was said unto Canaan: "Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren." And so, even tho of one blood, God has made all the inhabitants of the earth, and all are brethren, and children of one Father; still, in the hearts of many professed children of God, there exists a strange and unaccountable feeling of superiority over some of their brethren, solely on account of nationality; and instead of that universal and all-embracing love which alone should find place in the heart of a Christian toward any and all his fellowmen, there is, all too often, a feeling of contempt and scorn. But if favoritism is odious in the sight of our Father when manifested between nations, how must He, who is no respecter of persons, regard the same evil in the home, between parents and children, brothers and sisters? And yet Satan has from the very beginning accused the Almighty of partiality. But the sublime answer comes ringing through the ages: "O house of Israel, are not My ways equal; are not your ways unequal?"
How strange it is that parents will allow themselves to be influenced from a straightforward course of justice and right by some especially favored child,—favored, many times, not on account of the obedience and faithfulness of the child, but solely on account of the little one's attractiveness and beauty, which has taken such a hold on the vain mother's heart, that she finds it almost impossible to refuse a request.
"I know I ought not to have let Minnie go to the party," said an unwise and partial mother, "but she asked to go in such a sweet, cunning way, I just could not refuse her."
"Did you allow Jennie to go, too?"
"Jennie? O no; Jennie never teases me,—and, well—the fact is, she's not the baby, you know. Of course a mother always allows the youngest extra privileges."
Foolish mother!
Maybe we all remember reading the story of two little girls,—children of the same mother. Elsie was petted and idolized, babied and indulged enough almost to insure her ruin,—and solely on account of her superior beauty. The other, Mary, a plain, sensitive little creature, often longed for a little share in the caresses so freely lavished upon her sister. One day after dressing Elsie for a ride—in which poor little Mary had vainly begged to share, the mother heard footsteps pattering down the stairs. Supposing it to be her favorite child, she called pleasantly: "Are you coming, darling?" Her only answer was the sad voice of little Mary, who replied between her sobs:—
"It's not 'darling,' mama; it's only me!"
It is needless to say that the foolish and one-sided mother acknowledged the justice of the rebuke, and, let us hope, profited by it.
A long, long time ago, there lived an old man, his wife, and two sons—twins, tho they looked not at all alike, neither were they alike in disposition and character.
Still, everything would undoubtedly have moved along smoothly enough, had it not been for the weak spirit of favoritism, which, from the very infancy of the boys, had made itself felt in many ways, and upon many occasions. The mother especially favored one of these brothers—the handsome young man who was constantly by her side. The other son, tho probably not as prepossessing in appearance as his brother, still contrived to win the heart of his doting and aged father, not on account of any superior merit, but because he was a "cunning hunter," and his savory dishes which he had learned to prepare, especially appealed to his father's appetite! What a strange reason this seems for the manifestation of favoritism!
But Esau was not only a cunning hunter, but a cunning diplomat as well. He knew his aged father's weakness, and altho he had already foolishly sold his birthright, which had never been duly appreciated by him, still he hoped, by ministering to his father's appetite, to secure the coveted blessing.
One day the father called his favorite; but the mother's ears were open, and she determined that her favorite son—the handsome young man who was her constant companion—should not fall a victim to what she regarded as his brother's selfishness.
"Esau, my son," said the father "Go into the fields and take me some venison; dress it, and make me such a savory dish as you are accustomed to; then I will give you my blessing."
Ah, that is just what Esau wanted. His brother had the birthright, but he should not have the blessing.
Over the hills hurried the young hunter, his heart beating high with ambition, and eager hope. Is he not the one upon whom heaven has bestowed the greatest mark of preference—the highly favored firstborn? Well he knows he is his father's favorite, and well he knows how to appeal to his feelings and prejudices.
We know the come-out of the narrative; we remember, with never-ceasing astonishment the deceit and double-dealing of the foolish mother. But what a sad ending! It is one of the most mournful stories of the Bible,—this story of favoritism. The coveted blessing is obtained, but under what sad circumstances, and at what a cost! Poor mother! as the long, long years went by, how must her heart have yearned for her darling son, whom she is destined never again to see on earth.
Well, is the fruit of favoritism pleasant to the taste?—Nay, verily; and it is no more pleasant today than it was in the days when poor Rebecca tasted it in the bitterness of her soul.
"But" says some mother: "My Fred is getting incorrigible. Positively, I can do nothing at all with him. He has learned to smoke and chew and use profane language,—tho where he learned it all is quite a mystery. Now tobacco is so offensive to me that I can not endure to have the boy around; so I have told him so, and, well—he has gone away from home. I told him if he preferred his tobacco to his home and his mother, he would have to go. Now my other boy, Charlie, is so different. He has no bad habits. It is a pleasure to have the boy around, and always has been. But some way Fred has been the 'black sheep' ever since his childhood, and when he went away, I just told him so. I suppose every family has its black sheep."
What! is it possible that you ever talked to your own son in that way—you, his mother? Ah, I am making a plea for the "black sheep" in the family.
Do you forget that when a young man's own mother turns her back to him with only reproaches, his road to perdition is very short? You would not have him about, because he uses tobacco, which is offensive to your delicate nerves! Woman! do you think tobacco is any more offensive to you than sin of any kind is to your God? And yet He is kind enough to bear with you much longer than you have with poor Fred. How can you draw comparisons between your own sons to the disparagement of one of them? In the day of judgment, I fear you will have to answer to the charge of neglect and favoritism—and all mothers like you—before Him who "maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust."