A DRY frosty morning on the 26th December, 19o4, made a four-mile walk from Market Deeping to Glinton, a pleasant and healthy exercise. The hedgerows, whitened with frost crystals, reflected the skill of Him who questioned Job concerning the “hoary frost of heaven; who hath gendered it”? Sheep, clad in their thick woolen overcoats, were peacefully grazing on the frosted herbage. A plowman was taking advantage of a favorable morning to prepare a good tilth for the spring corn. The autumn-sown wheat was showing its drills above ground, reminding us of “first the blade,” the infancy of its life. The trees, stripped of their foliage, revealed their limbs, branches, and twigs, budded for the return of spring to expand into leaf and flower. Each field had a feature more or less interesting, speaking the fact, that the country has a voice in the winter as well as in the summer. The latter with its charms rises into the lofty strains, whereas the former sinks into the lower notes, deepened in tone, but indispensable to give melody to the voice of all God’s works, which praise Him from the least of them to the greatest.
The main object, however, of our morning walk to Glinton, was not to descant upon creation, but to visit an afflicted friend, one of God’s jewels, whom we found on the ground floor of an old thatched building, invalided in bed, where for the past five years she has been more or less confined through an affliction of the spine, quite unable to raise herself, or stand upon her feet when lifted out of bed. The first month of the attack from which she now suffers, was ushered in with unconsciousness, during which time she was kept alive by passing liquid food through her nasal passage.
After exchanging a few words of greeting and some reference to her family, she remarked in substance, that her path of sorrow was attended with soul profit, for it gave her the cry unto the Lord. Her affliction certainly is not joyous, and sometimes seems more than she can bear, and then she is tempted to rebel against God; but there are seasons when the word of God yields her comfort and support, and she can lie passive in the Lord’s hands with sweetness. She contrasted her case with some of God’s people who are less tried, in the language of Mr. Hart:
“How hard and rugged is the way
To some poor pilgrims’ feet;
In all they do, or think, or say,
They opposition meet.
Others again more smoothly go,
Secured from hurts and harms;
Their Saviour leads them gently through,
Or bears them in his arms.”
Her countenance is by no means sorrowful, but evidences that she was once a very cheerful, active person; and notwithstanding that she is now confined to her bed or her room, she takes as much interest in control of her household as is possible for her in her circumstances to do. She told us that when a child she felt enmity in her heart against religion, and when Mr. Burch of Cranbrook used to visit her father, Mr. Clifford, who was also a minister, she would show such dislike to him, that he discerned it, and gently reproved her on one occasion.
Before taking our leave of her, we read and commented on Psalm 27, and engaged in prayer, which we believe was as a cup of cold water to her, for she remarked how refreshing it had been.
Her husband, Mr. W. Pridmore, accompanied us on our return journey for about a mile; and referring to his trials during the past year, related two instances wherein he had seen the Lord’s goodness. The first had reference to three acres of mustard which was springing up early in the season. Walking over it one day, he felt a spirit of prayer come upon him, that the Lord would cause it to grow even as we read in the Bible, that the birds of the air might lodge in its branches; and he said it was remarkable how it afterward grew and flourished, so much so, that his neighbors remarked upon the luxuriance of the crop. The other instance he related referred to an anxious time he had in the spring, waiting for an opportunity to sow a field with peas. At length there came a day or two of dry weather, when he got the seed in as best he could. To his surprise it came up well, and bid fair for an abundant crop; but about the flowering time a blight came, which seemed likely to blast the crop. But he saw God’s goodness, for the insects only attacked it in patches, and when harvesting time came he had a very fair crop.
We were pleased to hear him speak of God’s goodness, and the lessons we gathered that morning were not without interest and instruction. It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting. God’s afflicted people are his witnesses, and testify to the truth of his word: “I will also leave in the midst of thee an afflicted and poor people, and they shall trust in the name of the Lord.”
“The rod and reproof give wisdom,” not only to the one who smarts under it, but is the voice of wisdom to others; as saith good Brooks: “When the Lord smites another, He warns thee.”
“Although affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground; yet man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward.” Therefore the Apostle Peter says, “Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try your as though some strange thing happened unto you.”
And the epistle by James bids us to count it all joy when we fall into trials. Mr. Hart gives one good reason for affliction thus:
“Afflictions make us see
What else would ‘scape our sight;
How very foul and dim are we,
And God how pure and bright.”
John Newton on the same subject speaks as for the Lord:
“These inward trials I employ,
From self and pride to set thee free;
And blast thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou mayest seek thy all in me.”
The night of affliction in this world will be succeeded by the eternal day of happiness hereafter. This will be the portion of all God’s jewels. Will it be your portion, dear reader?
New Cross.
S. B.