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JWeteh rfrtf 9 .no m eve. FIFTY-FOURTH YEAR. ORGAN OF THE NORTH CAROLINA CONFERENCE. NUMBER 27 RALEIGH, N. C, THURSDAY, AUGUST 13, 1908. AS IT SEEMS TO ME By a Prisoner of Hope, in Charlotte Observer Did you ever go about among your friends, seeking like old Diogenese, not for an honest man. but for a happy woman? No matter how you burnish your little lamp, how you trim its wick and feed its hungry flame, the light falls oft-times, most times, on faces that have not in them any shine of joy. Now it seems to me that the joy of living is our blessed birthright. The gift of life includes the gilt of gladness. Why should not all be well? It is not by our own desire that wea re here, crea lures, guests, children what you will of the l ower that creates and controls. "Some .call it evolution, And others call it God." That all is well with us seems to me not so much a matter of faith as of cool, clear reason. There is a beautiful faith that puts into the rea soning a wonderful life and beauty. There is no reason why God should not be meaning well by in. What could He be holding against us? There is the old, old story of Paradise Lost. Moses told it and Milton told it, and we all tell it when we make choice and set up a will that is not in har mony with God's will. And that is the trouble. Leaving religious sentiment out of the question, why should we be afraid to trust our interests to the Power that brought us into existence? Why are we unable to recognize the benefit of perfect harmony with the First Cause? As Christians, we call this the will of God. There is nothing of vital importance in a name. There is much in what the name stands for. That is what we need to find our way to. Some of the most religious people are the most unhappy. That is not the fault of religion. There are persons who insist upon walking straight out of Paradise the moment that they catch a glimpse of the way. They regard it as a family trait, a sort of weakness that must be lived down to. They get through their little interview with the tempter, taste the forbidden fruit, hide them selves from our Father and hurry into paths of their own seeking. But there lived a man who sent the tempter from him, a man of great power who dwelt al ways in the palace of peace, a place that lies in the heart of Paradise. It seems to me that we may each find this place and have it always for our own. I used to hear people talk about submitting to God's will. 1 never quite liked the idea. Sub mit, is such a weak, negative, passive sort of word. It seems so like a matter of policy, of ompulsion. We might submit to an operation in which we had little faith, or to a decision that we could not alter, or to authority that we dared not set aside. But how could anything of this sort help us Q j,e happier when it comes to the will of God? Wo have to submit whether we 'ke it or not. I am afraid there is no good to oine from just, giving up. That is why the idea f passive submission seems so very weak and feo It. is why those who should be in the palace waiting outside the walls. It seems to me that the whole situation is al tered when we accept the will of God as our own. When we put away the will that we had and trust God's. wiH. Trust is not passive. It is the dawn of faith. It implies a sort of testing, a kind of understanding. If you trust anything, you have cause to believe in its trustworthiness. Have you wwo good people say, "Thy will b don,' a if they were yielding themselves to the tortures of the inquisition? And then have you known "Thankful hearts that take The bread of pain, the bitter cup of woe, And dare to feel content for old joy's sake Among the thorns where roses used to grow, Since He who knoweth best has willed it so?" These are they who live even now in Paradise. The thorns are not evil. The hand that shaped and set them makes no mistake. None. We all know that there has been much maudlin talk about faith and love, and we can not deny that much that passes for eligion is a pitiful mix ture of sentiment and superstition. But God is and we are. A relation exists between Him and us. We recognize him as the source of all things. We find the law of a beautiful harmony every where. There is a sense of kinship. When in the silence our souls cry out there is response. We know that God is good. We feel the thrill of His love. He is our Father. Then all is well. The happy people are not those who have every wish gratified. We find some strange dwel lers in the palace of peace. Women who know all that sorrow means. Men who have knowledge of grief. Many who have laid down one by one beautiful hopes, darling ambitions, hearts' de sires. Has not this deep wounding hurt? God only knows how keenly. But through it all is a clear, pure joy. It must be right. It is a grand thing to feel sure, to know simply, as you know that you live, surely as you recognize your own identity that God has a will concerning you, that you are included in His plans, that He is taking care of you, of everybody, of everything, every where! Do the people who know this find much cause for complaint? It seems to me that we used to feel in duty bound to mourn and make great outcry when sor row came to us. Are we learning a better lesson now? When I was a little girl they took me, one day, to a funeral. The horror of it was some thing terrible. It was a woman who had died, a very lovely woman, and I had loved her. Her home was a beautiful old country place. On that dreadful day the pictures were turned with their faces to the wall. The tall mirrors were draped in linen sheets. All the clocks were still. The blinds were closed and every curtain drawn. Wo men, black-robed and shadowy, tip-toed about or sat in long, silent rows against the walls. Some times they whispered shrilly, and sometimes they sang hymns. In these hymns there was no note of joy. I had always been required to learn hymns on rainy days and Sundays, always except when the beautiful old lady begged me off. So I knew a. good many, and some of these shadowy, whispery women had heard me making brave ef fort to sing them. I have never been able to un derstand why they wished to add anything to the awful horror of theoecasion. But horror seemed to be what they were after. They found me cowering in abject, terror just inside the door way. I had never heard that a child might refuse to obey. Imagine a little trembling creature wail ing out: "And am T born to die. To lay this body down; And must my trembling spirit fly into a world unknown?" That was what they had me sing. The hymn grew more terrifying as its gruesome lines went Km, The MthU nk auivwed nn1 th en Id Uttv body shook with fear. Everybody was weeping bitterly. All this anguish we owed to the memory of the sweet woman who had died. It. was proper respect. When my ordeal was over I sat alone on the back steps. Out at the barn men were working. I remember the sound of the planes and the yel low curls that they cut from the cypress wood. They were making the coffin. I watched them with a strange fascination. There were little? groups of women at work upon the wfcjte lining. They were cutting little notches all iklong the edges of long, narrow strips. Piles of awful black stuff lay upon the work bench. Nobody spoke cheerfully. There was no smile on any face. It teemed, in truth, an awful thing to die. Now and then there came to me the sound of bitter weeping and wailing. There was a, room closely shut and the mourners were in it. T felt, that had once known these people, but they wmo strangers now. We stayed all night. Everybody stayed. The horror deepened. The dark was full of it. They sang weirdly, low and mournful hymns. The ris ing sun brought no better day. It was terrible beyond description. For many days the house was like a tomb. The children were dressed in black. The piano was closed. There was no mention of the sweet woman who had died. Is it any wonder that we learned to fear death? It seems to me that we are learning better now. Is there anything that we need fear? Is not all well? Shall we not be sure that everything is all right? Not my way, not thy way, but always and always the right way. What is a disappoint ment against the sure knowledge that all is well? Is it not reasonable, rational, logical? Is it not best to find our place in the great plan? To be in harmony with the Power that we call Right, Truth, Love, God! Surely this is wisdom. Of a truth is it strength. It seems to me a great pity that we are always afraid, that at every turning of the way we ex pect harm to come upon us. We are fearful of changes and before a mystery we are terrified. Disappointment undoes us and in the power of grief we are helpless. Trifles vex us and we bur den ourselves with many cares. It is as if we knew of no guiding, shielding, unerring hand. It seems to me that we are missing a great deal. Through the wilderness of our great unrest we shall be carried safely. But we might be resting along the way. We might be taking comfort and giving comfort. Tt is our right. We all know the woman who scarcely dares to acknowledge a happiness lest it be snatched from her. The woman who finds nothing just, right, who is sure always that there is worse to come. This is the woman who cannot be convinced that what she has is better for her, now, than what, she had. She wonders what evil each sun is to bring, what misfortune is folded in with the bom:; of every new day. She expects her friends t' prove false and her enemies powerful. She is sure of the worst that can be imagined. The other day I heard two women talking, and one was wise and the other was foolish. She who was wise had been telling of a new happiness that had come to her, and she who was foolish said: "Ah, but you don't know. It. may not last. I tell you, you can't be too careful in a world like this. It's an awful place. I have lived a long time, and I've been considered fortunate and greatly blessed, but it's a sorry game, this that, we call life, and not worth the candle." And I who listened heard wailing up from the past one of the hymns that even the beautiful old lady could not save me from: "We must suspect some danger nigh When we possess delight." The pity of it! What made them teach us such pessimistic foolishness? I wonder why? Shall we not forget it now that wo smith t it h(i IviuJw' ins lot.tui"?
North Carolina Christian Advocate (Greensboro, N.C.)
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Aug. 13, 1908, edition 1
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