(Author Unknown)
I remember a day one winter that stands out like a boulder in my life. The weather was unusually cold, our salary had not been regularly paid, and it did not meet our needs when it was. My husband was away much of the time, travelling from one district to another. Our boys were well, but my little Ruth was ailing, and at best none of us were decently clothed. I patched and re-patched, with spirits sinking to the lowest ebb. The water gave out in the well, and the wind blew through the cracks in the floor.
The people in the parish were kind and generous too; but the settlement was new, and each family was struggling for itself. Little by little, at the time I needed it most, my faith began to waver.
Early in life I was taught to take God at His word, and I thought my lesson was well learned, I had lived upon His promises in dark times, until I knew as David did, "who was my Fortress and Deliverer." Now a daily prayer for forgiveness was all that I could offer.
My husband's overcoat was hardly thick enough for October, and he was often obliged to ride miles to attend some meeting or funeral. Many times breakfast was Indian cake, and a cup of tea without sugar. Christmas was coming; the children always expecting presents. I remember the ice was thick and smooth, and the boys were each craving a pair of skates. Ruth, in some unaccountable way, had taken a fancy that the dolls I had made were no longer suitable; she wanted a nice large one, and insisted on praying for it. I knew it seemed impossible, but oh! I wanted so very much to give the children the presents they each longed for. It seemed as if God had deserted us, but I did not tell my husband all this. He worked so earnestly and heartily. I supposed him to be as hopeful as ever. I kept the sitting room cheerful with an open fire and tried to serve our scanty meals as appealing as I could.
The morning before Christmas, James was called in to see a sick man. I put up a piece of bread for his lunch -- it was the best I could do -- wrapped my plaid shawl around his neck, and then tried to whisper a promise as I often had, but the words died away upon my lips. I let him go without it.
That was a dark, hopeless day. I coaxed the children to bed early, for I could not bear their talk. When Ruth went to bed, I listened to her prayer. She asked for the last time most explicitly for her doll, and for the skates for her brothers. Her bright face looked so lovely when she whispered to me. "You know I think they'll be here early tomorrow morning, Mama." I thought then that I would move heaven and earth to save her from the disappointment. I sat down along that night and gave way to the most bitter tears.
Before long James returned, chilled and exhausted. He drew off his boots: the thin stockings slipped off with them and his feet were red with cold.
"I wouldn't treat a dog this way, let alone a faithful servant!" I said bitterly. Then as I glanced up and saw the hard lines in his face and the look of despair, it flashed across me -- James had let go, too.
I brought him a cup of tea, feeling sick and dizzy at the very thought. He took my hand and we sat for an hour without a word. I wanted to die and meet God, and tell Him His promise wasn't true; my sould was so full of rebellious despair.
To be continued...
The Box...Part 2
To read other articles from the No Greater Joy magazine (Nov-Dec 2012) click here.
No Greater Joy Ministries Inc.
1000 Pearl Road
Pleasantville, TN 37033
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