VII. TRAINING TO UNSELFISHNESS AND GENEROSITY by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Sep 26, 1906

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 32, No. 37.

VII. TRAINING TO UNSELFISHNESS AND GENEROSITY.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

"Mama, O mama!" The childish voice was eager and full of sympathy. "Mama, Jamie Brown hasn't any mittens at all, and it's awful cold. I've got two pair, can't Jamie have one? his hands are just as blue." "Well, well, child, I can't buy mittens for every ragged boy in town; now run away and don't trouble me."

"But, mama, they're already bought, and Jamie needs 'em, and —"

"Don't argue with me, Arthur," said Mrs. Martin. "I tell you, you may need them yourself sometime. It's only yesterday you wanted to give away the nice ball Uncle Charlie bought you last year."

"Yes, but he gave me another this year, and I don't need both."

"Well, you'll never be worth a cent if that's the way you begin,—you'd give away the very bed from under you, if I'd allow it. Now I don't want any more trouble about it."

But it was not long before trouble of the same kind arose again, for little Arthur was naturally a child of generous impulses; this time it was over some red-cheeked apples, which the child proposed to divide among his friends, but Mrs. Martin insisted that he might need them all himself.

Time passed on till Arthur Martin was about twelve years old. By this time, his friends began to notice a gradual change in his behavior. Usually generous and warm-hearted, he was becoming selfish, greedy, and unsympathetic. "I can't understand it at all," complained his mother; "Arthur was always such an unselfish boy; what can be the matter with him? Why only yesterday I asked him to divide his orange with Jennie; but he scowled and whined and insisted that there was no more than he needed for himself."

Poor Mrs. Martin! Was she so blind that she could not see? or had she forgotten the years of training she had given her boy—training for a life of the utmost selfishness; until now it is an easy matter to predict the future of the lad. The coming years will bring him but few friends and many enemies; for who can love a selfish, close-fisted, miserly man? Who can love so unlovely and unlovable a thing as a human soul steeped in the bitter dregs of selfishness, and whose heart has grown too hard and callous to respond to the miseries of his fellow-men?

I am afraid there are many Mrs. Martins in the world to-day. Have you ever known any? Are you sure your own mirror does not reflect her image?

"Well, I'm happy to say that I always have taught my children to divide with others. Sometimes they don't like to do it, but I always insist upon it."

But "dividing with others" is not all there is to it, my friend. Right here, again, example is better than precept. Selfishness is manifested in so many ways! It buries its ugly root down deep in the unregenerate heart. It obtrudes its hateful countenance upon the most joyous occasions, and no hall of mourning is dark enough or sad enough to hide from sight its glaring and hideous plague spots.

But how shall we get rid of it? and how may the hearts of our children be purged from its vile stains?—Ah! "the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin." The blood of the supremely unselfish One, applied to the heart of the most supremely selfish, will purify and regenerate and—yes—it will recreate.

We may divide with others all our lives; we may even deny ourselves of comforts that we may share them with others; we may give liberally to the cause of Christ at home, and to the support of the missions abroad, and still our hearts may be as barren of the sweet blossoms of genuine love and unselfishness as the desert of Sahara is of the rose of Sharon.

Let us look very deeply into our inmost hearts; let us light a candle and peer into the dark depths.

"Well," says Sister A, "I never saw it in this light before, but I do believe that even my best deeds have been mixed very largely with selfishness. Last week I gave a new dress to poor Sister B. Of course I could hardly afford it, but Sister B was very needy—and, well, Sister B is such a hand to express her gratitude. Why the poor woman cried for joy, and said she could go to meeting now. She praised me for my generosity, and said the Lord would surely bless me; and, well, I must confess it did sound good to me. When I went home I told the children that I felt paid already, because Sister B was so appreciative."

So you told the children that, did you? I'm very sorry you did, for you could not have taught them a more effective lesson in selfishness if you had tried.

"I'm sure I don't know how that could be," declared Sister A with a smile of incredulity. "I'll admit I was selfish, but don't see how the children could see it. Why, I never saw it myself until now."

Probably not; and yet in less than five minutes after you had related this incident, your Johnie remarked that he had thought of giving poor little Paul Brown his last year's reader, but he was glad now that he didn't, for he was sure that Paul would not have appreciated it!

O how unlike the sinless, unselfish Pattern is all this! He came to His own and His own received Him not. He that did eat of His bread lifted up his heel against Him. Yet this deterred Him not for a moment. His great unselfish heart was touched with the feeling of our infirmities; and even for His murderers He prayed that wonderful prayer, "Father, forgive them."