MY mother, when I was a little child, used to bid me kneel beside her and placed her hand upon my head while she prayed. When she died, and I was left much to myself, like others I was inclined to evil passions, but often felt myself checked and drawn back by the remembrance of that soft hand on my head. When as a young man I traveled in foreign lands, I was exposed to many a temptation, and should have yielded, but that God used the memory of that hand upon my head. I seemed to feel its pressure as in the days of my infancy, and there came with it a voice to my heart—a voice that must be obeyed— “O, do not this wickedness, my son, nor sin against thy God.”
ML 12/15/1918