p. 10 | The Secret of Life

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jun 7, 1864

The Secret of Life.

"Nellie, don't put your spoon into your cup in that way. Drink your milk as your mother has always told you to do."

"No; I'd rather dip it up;" and little Miss Independence raised her black eyes saucily to her aunt's face, and went on as before.

"It is no matter what you had rather do; do as you are bid, or you shall leave the table," rejoined her young aunt sternly.

"Don't speak so cross to the dear child, Emma," interposed the grandmother from behind the tea-tray; "you'll spoil her temper. Nellie, darling, drink your milk for grandma, wont you?"

"No," said the child, stoutly, encouraged to her willfulness; "I lite to dip it up so best, and I'm doin to do it."

"But, pretty, you're spilling it on your apron."

"I don't care," was the cool reply; and the young aunt rose impetuously, lifted the child from her high chair, and put her outside of the dining-room door where she stood screaming at the top of her voice.

A sharp discussion ensued, when the two ladies rose at once; the elder to bring back to her place the screaming child, the younger to rush up to her own room, and bury her face in her pillow in an agony of mortification, anger, and injured feeling. It was a sad scene, especially for Sabbath morning; but such scenes were too frequent of late in this once peaceful household. The father and the mother were both absent for a month, and the children had been left under the joint care of the father's mother, and the mother's sister. Each of these had their own views of government, and they differed very widely. A little conciliation on either side would have done much toward making the family machinery work smoothly, but neither was ready to yield her own opinion. Miss Emma knew that a hasty temper was her besetting sin; many a time she was angry with herself for having indulged it, and would pace her chamber to and fro, thinking of the lack of self-control and dignity she had shown.

It was some time in the morning before she could subdue herself to any degree of composure; but at length the sound of the church bell roused her. She bathed her flushed face, put on her bonnet, and joined "the multitude of those who keep holy-day;" for poor Emma, in spite of her faults, was a Christian girl, and loved "the courts of the Lord's house."

The opening services, the earnest prayers, the solemn songs of praise, had a soothing effect upon her troubled spirit; and when the sermon began, she was in a fitting frame to profit by it. It was the story of the woman of Canaan, Matt. xv, 21; and though Emma had heard it over and over again, it came to her that day with new force, and fuller meaning. "Grievously vexed with a devil." And so was she. What was this proud, passionate, hasty temper of hers but an "evil spirit" in truth? An evil spirit that tormented her, and roused others like itself in the bosom of those with whom she dwelt. A little gentleness on her part would have prevented all the sinful scéne of the morning. Oh that she too might be rid of her tormentor. But was she willing to do as this faithful, humble woman of Canaan had done—follow the Master with unfaltering perseverance, in spite of his seeming coldness, his denial? Could she, like her, throw herself at his feet with that imploring cry which would reach his ear? Could she have accepted what seemed such cruel words, with such touching faith and humility? Could she plead for but the crumbs of divine grace?

Ah, there had been the trouble; she had been too proud, too impatient; her very prayers had been impulsive and passionate. She had not truly humbled herself at the Master's feet, willing to wait his own time, and accept his own measure of grace; and hence the evil spirit had only been thrust out of sight for the time, not driven from her breast.

She saw it all now as she listened to the simple earnest words of the minister, bringing home the lesson of his text to her heart; and when the congregation knelt in prayer, it was in truth the cry of the poor woman of Canaan, "Lord, help me!" that went up in humblest pleading from Emma's soul. She knelt again in the solitude of her own apartment when she reached home, and pleaded with her Master as one who would be heard. And she was heard and answered. Not that a miracle was wrought in her; not that she was suddenly and forever rid of her enemy; but grace was given her to overcome it now, and the sweet assurance that larger aid would be given when needed. In learning to "pray aright" she had got the secret of a consistent godly life. From this time forward no one had occasion to bid her "conquer her temper;" for all saw how faithfully and successfully she was striving for that object, and sought to aid, rather than hinder her in the work.