| Home Making |
Chapter 9 |
Page 5 |
There is a story of one who to his latest years was blessed by the memory of one incident in his childhood’s home. When only a few years old he was brought to his father’s death chamber to say good bye to him. The godly man spoke a few words of wise, loving counsel to the boy, then drew him close to the bed, gave him a tender farewell kiss, and then, laying his trembling hand upon his child’s head, uttered a blessing, solemnly giving him to God. “Remember,” Said he, “that your dying father kissed you, blessed you and gave you to God.” All through his life the memory of these solemn acts and words lingered with him. In his youth, when there came a temptation to do something wrong, the thought would flash: “No, I must not do this, for I am the boy that was kissed and blessed and given to God.” This memory saved him many a time from yielding to sin. He must keep his soul clean because he had been given to God.
When, later in life, burdens pressed and sorrows weighed heavily, and he was about to give way to discouragement, to doubt or despair, again there would rise up before him the scene in that hallowed death chamber, and the remembrance would sustain and support him: “I must not succumb to these sore trials. The Lord has not forsaken me. There must be something good yet to come out of all this darkness and bitterness. For am not I the boy that was kissed and blessed and given to God?” This memory was a star in the darkest midnights of his life, a morning star foretokening always the breaking of the day.
At last, in the sore stress of life’s burdens, his mind gave way, and he spent several years in a hospital for the insane. Sometimes, in his brighter moments, he would speak as to his daughter in a strain like this: “Here I am, shut away in this cheerless place, away from those I love. I am very lonely. I have no one now to play and sing for me, as you used to do,
‘Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly.’
Or,
‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.’
It all seems very dark and sad to me, and I cannot understand the mystery of this strange providence.” Then there would break upon his mind again the dear, sacred old memory, and he would add: “Yet it must be right, for I am the boy that was kissed and blessed and given to God.” Thus all through his years, through the darkest hours of his life, when every other bright things seemed to have vanished, this hallowed memory remained a sacred benison to the latest moment.
Page 5
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