The Building of a Home by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Association

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 33, No. 49.

The Building of a Home

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Acquaintance and Friendship—Proprieties.

WE all remember the quaint proverb about "birds of a feather," and we must acknowledge that it is generally true that "a man is known by the company he keeps." Yet if this were always true, without exception, and if men and women must always be governed by this principle, our old world would be robbed of much that makes life beautiful. Where would be the Florence Nightingales and the Clara Bartons, and all that noble army of devoted men and women who, leaving their pleasant homes and warm firesides, go out into the highways and hedges to seek and to save the lost?

The proud and bigoted Pharisees complained loudly at the Sinless Man because He ate "with publicans and sinners."

Shame on the exclusiveness and conservatism which talks about "our set," and refuses to associate on terms of equality with those whom fortune has denied as long a purse or as fine a dress as their own! Shame, I say, on those white-skinned heathen who call themselves "Christian," and yet talk about class distinction, and set themselves upon a pedestal above and out of the reach of those "common people" who heard the Master gladly.

What is the difference between these people and their darker skinned brothers on the other side of the water, who talk loudly about "caste"?—The only practical difference is the color of their skin; both are alike displeasing in the eyes of Him who is no respecter of persons and who "formeth their hearts alike."

"Well," says one, "I have no patience with the snobbishness which scorns the poor because of his poverty. Now I am not like that; as long as a person is intellectual, as long as he is well-read and well-bred, if he can converse intelligently, in short, if he is bright, I don't care how poor he is, he's just as good as I am, and I wouldn't slight him or look down on him for anything."

How virtuous you are, indeed, my friend!—No; you are every whit as exclusive and every whit as culpable as the man who haughtily turns away from the humble day-laborer clad in his workman's clothes, or the woman who disdainfully gathers the skirts of her costly robe closer about her lest they come in contact with the coarse garment of her humble neighbor. So you are willing to treat a man as a brother and an equal if he is only "bright" enough! Ah, me; the vanity of us poor, groveling worms of the dust! How "bright" do you suppose we frail, puny creatures, creeping about on the surface of this little globe, appear—even the best of us—in the eyes of those heavenly beings before whom the iron-hearted Roman guard fell as dead men? Is the reflection a pleasing one?

"But there are particular friendships," you say, "and there are certain proprieties to be observed."

Indeed, you are right. Already I imagine I can see some ultra-sensitive little woman begin to breathe easier after this admission on my part. And I repeat: There are particular friendships—and that is right. We are not all dispositioned alike. Some of us are loving and sensitive and tender, and some of us, alas and alas, seem to have the skin of a rhinoceros, or at least to have been cast in a coarser mold than our brethren.

We always know where to look for John the Beloved, and we never fail to find him not far from the Master, generally leaning upon His bosom. Blessed friendship! sacred relationship! And we never read any instance of the Master's reproving him for this intimacy, or of sending him away; no, and he was known as "that disciple whom Jesus loved." But had He no tender regard for the others?

Lazarus was another of those intimate friends of the Master's; Martha and Mary were still others. But that did not exclude all the rest from freely sharing in that wonderful love which embraced the whole sin-sick world; it did not exclude Judas from mingling freely with the chosen twelve, nor prevent the blessed Master from washing the feet of a traitor.

And so, because we have our particular friendships and our "dearly loved," we need not become so exclusive as to hide ourselves from all others or hold ourselves aloof from those to whom we consider ourselves intellectually superior; for "what hast thou that thou didst not receive?"

Did you ever stop to think how wide was the gulf which separated the divine Nazarene, with His godlike wisdom, His incomparable keenness of vision and judgment, His wonderful conversational powers, His divine foresight, and His matchless courage, which feared not even the wrath of a Caesar—did you ever realize how wide was the gulf that separated this Man from those humble fishermen whom He chose as His companions?

And yet, O thank God, and yet love, matchless, infinite love, bridged the gulf!

Then there are the proprieties of life to be observed. Yes, the Master Himself did that, and so must we. How inappropriate and improper it is for a young woman to manifest an undue familiarity toward strangers, especially toward men. What a rare jewel is genuine modesty—I had almost said, old-fashioned bashfulness. But this need be no hindrance to her in ministering to any one who is in distress—the unfortunate, the sick, the desponding, or the aged; for even thus did the Master.

Finally, as an appropriate and beautiful conclusion, let me quote the words of the poet:

"Upon thy mother's breast, a new-born child, Thou laidst, and wept when all around thee smiled; So live that, sinking in thy last long sleep, Thou mayest smile while all around thee weep."