Perhaps the suspense has been one of the most trying features of my case.Just as I have unclasped my hand from my dear Ernest's; just as I have let go my almost frantic hold of my darling children; just as heaven opened before me and I fancied my weariness over and my wanderings done; just then almost every alarming symptom would disappear and life recall me from the threshold of heaven itself.
Thus I have been emptied from vessel to vessel, til I have learned that he only is truly happy who has no longer a choice of his own, and lies passive in God's hand.
Even now no one can foretell the issue of this sickness.We live a day at a time not knowing what shall be on the morrow.But whether Ilive or die my happiness is secure and so I believe is of my beloved ones.This is a true picture of our home:
A sick-room full of the suffering ravages the body but cannot touch the soul.A worn, wasting mother ministered unto by a devoted husband and by unselfish Christian children.Some of the peace of God if not all of it, shines in every face, is heard in every tone.It is a home that typifies and foreshadows the home that is perfect and eternal.
Our dear Helen has been given us for this emergency.Is it not strange that seeing our domestic life should have awakened in her some yearnings for a home and a heart and children of her own.She has said that there was a weary point in her life when she made up her mind that she was never to know these joys.But she accepted her lot gracefully.I do not know any other word that describes so well the beautiful offering she made of her life to God and then to us.He accepted it, and as given her all the cares and responsibilities of domestic life without the transcendent joys that sustain the wife and the mother.She has been all in all to our children and God has been all in all to her.And she is happy in His service and in our love.
JUNE 20-It took me nearly two weeks to write the above at intervals as my strength allowed.Ernest has consented to my finishing this volume, of which so few pages yet remain.And he let me see a dear old friend who came all the way from my native town to see me-Dr.
Eaton, our family physician as long as I could remember.He is of an advanced age but full of vigor, his eye bright, and with a healthful glow on his cheek.But he says he is waiting and longing for his summons home.About that home we had a delightful talk together that did my very heart good.Then he made me tell him about this long sickness and the years of frail health and some of the sorrows through which I had toiled.
"Ah, these lovely children are explained now," he said.
"Do you really think," I asked, "that it has been good for my children to have a feeble, afflicted mother?""Yes, I really think so.A disciplined mother--disciplined children."This comforting thought is one of the last drops in a cup of felicity already full.
JUNE 2-Another Sunday, and all at church except my darling Una who keeps watch over her mother.These Sundays when I have had them each alone in turn have been blessed days to them and to me.Surely this is some compensation for what they lose in me of health and vigor.Iknow the state of each soul as far as it can be known, and have every reason to believe that my children all love my Saviour and are trying to live for Him.I have learned at last not to despise the day of small things, to cherish the tenderest blossom, and to expect my dear ones to be imperfect before they become perfect Christians.
Una is a sweet composed young girl now eighteen years old and what can I say more of the love her brothers bear her than this: they never tease her.She has long ceased asking why she must have delicate health when so many others of her age are full of animal life and vigor but stands in her lot and place doing what she can, suffering what she must, with a meekness that makes her lovely in my eyes, and that I am sure unites her closely to Christ.
JUNE 27.-It was Raymond's turn to stay with me today.He opened his heart to me more freely than he had ever done before.
"Mamma," he began, "if papa is willing, I have made up my mind-that is to say if I get decently good-to go on a mission."I said playfully:
"And mamma's consent is not to be asked ?"
"No," he said, "getting hold of what there is left of my hand."Iknow you wouldn't say a word.Don't you remember telling me once when I was a little boy that I might go and welcome?""And don't you remember," I returned, "that you cried for joy, and then relieved your mind still farther by walking on your hands with your feet in the air?"We both laughed heartily at this remembrance, and then I said:
"My dear boy, you know your fathers plan for you?""Yes, I know he expects me to study with him, and take his place in the world.""And it is a very important place."
His countenance fell as he fancied I was not entering heartily into his wishes.
"Dear Raymond," I went on, "I gave you to God long before you gave yourself to Him.If He can make you useful in your own, or in other lands, I bless His name.Whether I live to see you a man, or not, Ihope you will work in the Lord's vineyard, wherever He calls.I never asked anything but usefulness, in all my prayers for you; never once.
