Influence and Responsibility of Mothers
By Mrs. L. D. A. Stuttle
By MRS. L. D. A. STUTTLE. X. TRAINING TO REVERENCE.
HOW can parents expect their children to exhibit qualities which they do not themselves cultivate. There was never a truer saying than the trite one about example being better than precept. "O, but you are harping on the same old string," some one exclaims. "Will you never cease insisting that mothers and fathers are responsible for everything the children do?" I do not take quite so extreme a view of the matter as that, but I must always believe that parents are responsible for the bringing up of their children, and that it is a responsibility which must not—can not—be shifted to other shoulders. Ah, when mothers and fathers cry from their hearts constantly: "How can I go up to my Father and the lad be not with me?" there will be less disposition to shirk the solemn responsibility which parents must assume as soon as the little ones are placed in their arms. And the children should not be censured too severely if they follow the example of their parents. Brother and Sister A come home from church, and discuss the weak points of the sermon at the dinner table in the presence of John and Mary. "I declare," says Sister A, "Elder B grows more and more tedious every Sabbath." "Yes," says Brother A, "I came very near going to sleep myself." Not a word said about the solemn and important truths to which they had listened; and yet Brother and Sister A are shocked when Mary and John speak of going to a picnic the next Sabbath, on the ground that the minister is so tedious they don't want to go to church. I tell you there is a responsibility resting upon parents which is not half appreciated. I am thinking as I write, of a young lad I know so well. Every Sabbath morning I used to see Frank and his father, hand in hand, hurrying to Sabbath-school. What a dear boy he was; cheeks as red as roses; eyes dark and tender and loving and true. "He has in him the promise of a noble and useful manhood," we used to say. But time passed on. The father began to drift into the ways of the world. The mother learned to love the lodge meeting better than the prayer-meeting. By and by a lucrative position was offered the father. The salary was large, the position one of worldly honor. Christ or the world, which? The temptation was too great. The glitter of the yellow gold dazzled his eyes. He chose the world. To-day the young lad who used to walk hand in hand with his father to Sabbath-school is a fugitive from justice—his name gone, his character blotted. Without friends, without hope in Christ, he stands before the world—the world for whose favor his parents had sold their hope—a miserable thief. The father was willing to break one commandment for the sake of gold. The son had chosen to break another. Whose is the responsibility? But I digress. How shall we teach the children to be reverent?—By being reverential ourselves. Do you think it reverential, on the smallest pretext, to leave your seat in the house of God, drawing the attention of the other worshipers, and confusing the speaker? Again, can we teach the children to regard the Bible reverently, if we indulge in light jokes and witticisms concerning it? Can we expect our sons and our daughters to regard as sacred that which we lightly esteem and mention carelessly and irreverently? By our own godly example we must teach our children the difference between the sacred and the profane. "Well," says some worried mother, "I have no trouble teaching Robert to be reverential toward the Bible, or to be careful about speaking the sacred names of the Deity, but I can not teach him to be respectful toward the aged! He always sees something funny or ugly about them, and truly he makes me ashamed very often. There is old uncle Blake; he is very ugly looking, and he is so deformed that really it is quite funny to see him try to walk; sometimes it makes me smile, myself. He is a good old man, I suppose, but I can't make my Robert treat him respectfully." Pardon me; but by your own admission, I can not wonder. If the poor old man arouses feeling of mirth in your own heart instead of a sense of sympathy and pity, God help you, then, I say. Have all the fountains of human love and sympathy dried up in your heart? Most likely your boy Robert has seen you smile sometimes, and children are quick readers of human nature. No wonder he laughs at the poor man and ridicules his deformity. You "didn't mean any harm?"—no; but I beg you to get down on your knees until you have enough of the Spirit of Christ to pity and aid the suffering, the aged, and the unfortunate.