p. 12 | IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, Cal. · Nov 21, 1906

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 32, No. 45.

'IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS.'

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

IT was the day before Thanksgiving. Steadily the great flakes of snow came down. Already they had heaped high, billowy drifts against the tiny cottage across the field, until they had crept almost halfway to the little chimney that peeped timidly out like the head of a big black turtle. The whistling wind shook the shaggy coats of the old pines and sent the flakes whirling in every direction.

In another cottage, but little better than the one described, and just opposite, sat a woman considerably past the prime of life, watching the storm. Her hands were hard and brown, and her dress poor; but in her eyes was a look of patient endurance, and on her brow was stamped the peace of God. Still, somehow, to-night, her thoughts go back over the years—years filled with constant service for others—years of weariness and anxiety, of poverty and monotonous toil. Hanging over the tiny window in the little bedroom is a motto. It catches Aunt Lisbeth's eye as she wearily raises her head:

'In Everything Give Thanks.'

'I've always tried to do it,' she mused, 'but somehow to-night it just seems as if life isn't hardly worth living. I s'pose the Lord wants us to learn some lesson that we're awful slow about learning—don't you think so, father?'

Uncle Toby had just stepped inside, and was just shaking the snow from his threadbare coat.

'Why, yes, Lisbeth, I s'pose so,' he replied wearily, 'tho I did hope the Lord was going to give us something for our old age, since we found out that that coal vein runs right through the back lot. But I guess it's no use hoping. The men said to-day that it wasn't noways likely it would ever be any good. I tell you, Lisbeth, the ways of the Lord look pretty hard, that's a fact. I can't understand it; we've always tried to serve Him.'

'Don't give up hope, father, the Lord'll provide somehow, He always does; I've tried all my life to live up to that little motto hanging up in the bedroom, and I don't mean to give it up now, if everything does look gloomy.

'I guess I'll get ready now and run over to brother Henry's, he probably wants his supper by this time—poor fellow;' and Aunt Lisbeth pinned her shawl over her head, put on a pair of heavy boots, and started on her errand of mercy—the third she had made since morning—to the little house across the way, of which the reader has already had a peep.

We will follow her as she struggles wearily through the drifts, until she stands in the little room, dimly lighted by one window.

'Lisbeth, Lisbeth, is that you? Have you come?' calls a weak voice from the corner. 'I've been thinkin', sister, to-morrow's Thanksgiving'—the ground's all white, I'm thinkin'. Will you give me a little more gruel, sister? I ain't goin' to trouble you much longer—I'll not see another Thanksgiving Day. It's a bad time for a burial, just now, Lisbeth, but if it's God's time, I trust I'm ready.'

'No, no, brother, cheer up; this storm makes us all a bit gloomy, I imagine. But come, now, let's you and I count our mercies, since Thanksgiving's so near; there's many a mercy the Lord has shown us if we are poor; first, I'll make your gruel, and then we'll have a word of prayer.'

The voice of prayer was often heard in the little room, but never had the listening angels bent nearer than on this Thanksgiving evening, in that snow-covered cabin among the old pines. Many a year Aunt Lisbeth had tenderly ministered like a guardian angel to her invalid brother; but, tho the passing years had left their mark on brow and form, they had left no bitterness in the tender, trusting heart. 'In everything give thanks' had always been her motto; and so on this night the gentle voice is lifted in a prayer of thanksgiving for the infinite gift of God's dear Son, and for His Holy Spirit. She thanks Him for His priceless Word, and that she is able to read and understand His rich promises; that strength has been given her these years to minister to her brother, and that, tho poor in this world's goods, their bread and water has been sure.

'Amen,' faintly murmured the sick man. 'Now, Lisbeth, I'm goin' to sleep; good night.'

An hour later, Aunt Lisbeth peeps in again, but the restless form under the faded coverlet is quiet now, and the trembling fingers are still.

For many years Aunt Lisbeth had been mother, as well as sister, to the crippled brother for whom life had held but few joys. Patiently and uncomplainingly she had shared her few comforts with him, thankful to be able to minister to 'one of the least of these.' The winter snows were never too deep, nor the stinging frosts too cold to keep Aunt Lisbeth from faithfully performing her self-appointed tasks. The neighbors had feebly remonstrated at first, and some of the members of the church had suggested the poorhouse. But Aunt Lisbeth had listened in tearful silence.

'Well,' remarked the nearest neighbor, Mrs. Black, to her friend, Mrs. King, after the funeral, 'I hope now that Aunt Lisbeth can have a rest. That poor soul has just lifted, and tugged, and sacrificed for that sickly, unfortunate brother of hers, till she's just about given up the best of her life,—never could go anywhere nor do anything,—beats all!'

'Yes,' agreed Mrs. King, 'and she's patient as Job; and Uncle Toby's just as patient as she is; and if ever I took to sympathize with her, sure's you live, tears would come into her eyes, and she'd point up to that motto of theirs hangin' over the door:

### 'In Everything Give Thanks.' So I learned to keep still.'

One day about a week after the funeral, Uncle Toby brought a letter from the post-office; letters were quite scarce at Uncle Toby's, and Aunt Lisbeth opened it with a little flutter of hopeful anticipation.

'Look here, Tobias,' she whispered, 'do you s'pose maybe those coal men are going to pay you something for that coal vein on the back lot, after all?'

Her voice trembled for very eagerness. But Aunt Lisbeth had not noticed the post-mark, or she would have known better at once. 'Why, Tobias, see here; this letter's from Sara Ann out in Texas,—poor thing,—let me read it; and this is what she read, with dim eyes filled with sympathetic tears:

'DEAR LISBETH:

'I'm coming to live with you—and to die with you, too, maybe. Nobody else'll have me. Ellen and Jim are moving away, and they don't want me—so I'm coming. I'm sick all the time—so I won't eat much, that's one good thing, for I s'pose you're poor as ever—'

Lisbeth did not finish the letter at once. She bowed her tired head on her toil-hardened hands, and cried; but hers were not tears of selfish sorrow.

'Do you feel called on to give thanks, Lisbeth?' gravely questioned Uncle Toby.

'Yes, yes, Tobias, 'In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus, concerning you,' murmured Lisbeth reverently; only,—only I do wish, Tobias, that coal money'd come, wouldn't I get Sara Ann something good to eat and some nice, warm clothes for winter? she was never kept half warm enough, and that's what makes her rheumatiz so bad, I believe.' And so Sara Ann came; the neighbors said Uncle Toby would have remonstrated, but he knew it would do no good. 'The Lord must love Aunt Lisbeth most as well as he did Job, I do believe,' declared Mrs. Black

when she saw the invalid drive up. "I declare there's another instalment of work and self-denial for Aunt Lisbeth."

And so it was; the days wore away, one after another, but instead of the kind and gentle old brother who had passed away and whose burdens she had so long carried, Aunt Lisbeth's loving hands must minister to a peevish, ill-tempered old woman. Sometimes Lisbeth would look tearfully over to the old house, and long to hear the soft, gentle voice of the dear old man, instead of the cross, fault-finding words which were now her constant reward. And yet, with the loving heart of true faith, she never murmured. Sometimes Uncle Toby would notice her looking wistfully at the motto that had been her daily guide for so many years. But the blessed Lord has His eye upon His jewel; and that Eye never slumbers nor sleeps. She was learning the lesson of faith and patience in the school of Christ.

The Thanksgiving days came and went. But the slow years left no trace on Aunt Lisbeth, except a few more white hairs about the temples, a little deeper lines on the calm brow,—that was all. She had learned to make every day a thanksgiving.

At last there was another funeral at Uncle Toby's. The poor, peevish invalid was laid to rest, and it was the gentle hands of Aunt Lisbeth that prepared the wasted body for burial. "Now," every one said, "Aunt Lisbeth and Uncle Toby may rest from their labors. But the increased expense of the past few months had made sad inroads in the little savings, and Uncle Toby was getting hardly able to care for the little garden. Aunt Lisbeth noticed it, but her faith in the Lord never wavered, but her favorite text was quoted oftener than ever.

At last another Thanksgiving morning dawned, cold and cheerless; but there was a bright fire on Uncle Toby's hearth, and a cheery voice in the kitchen was singing: "O praise ye the Lord in the beauty of holiness."

"I wish, Tobias, you'd read the fifth chapter of Second Chronicles this morning for worship,—you know it was while the singers were praising the Lord that He came down, and His glory filled the temple. Maybe He's got something real good for us,—some good news, or something—and He's waiting for us to praise Him."

And so the chapter was read, and the praise was offered.

"Good morning, Uncle Toby, here's a letter for you," said a good-natured voice at the door.

"You read it, Lisbeth,—my eyes aint so good as yours."

Somehow, Aunt Lisbeth's hand trembled, and such a mist gathered before her eyes that she could hardly read:

"Tobias! Tobias! the coal men are going to buy the back lot at last—at last! Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless His holy name." "In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you."

Sanitarium, Napa Co., Cal.