“KITTY, do you always mean what you say?”
“Yes, Grace, I think so; at Last I try to be quite sincere. But of course words come to our lips so quickly that it is difficult to think about every one of them. But I really strive to be careful as far as I can. Why do you ask?”
“I ask, because I want to know whether other people find it as hard as I do to be thoroughly truthful. I believe that to speak the truth, and only the truth, is the very hardest thing in all the world.”
“I almost think it is. I am often tempted to color things a little when I am relating a fact that has happened. It seems rather dull and uninteresting if one tells it exactly as it happened.”
“Then it is better not to tell it at all Kitty.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“And yet I am not sure that the truth is really dull and uninteresting. It does not need any of our exaggeration. But we are apt to use words stronger than are really necessary.”
“Yes, we are; only this morning I told mamma that it poured, but really it only rained rather fast. I have seen rain come down much more heavily than it did then.”
“That is what I mean, It is so easy to say what is nearly but not quite true.”
“And yet I think it is very bad and disgraceful to allow ourselves to be untrue.”
“Yes, I feel that it is, Kitty. I wish we could be perfectly true.”
“I think we may, if we pray earnestly, and watch ourselves. But, Grace, I will tell you one way in which I am afraid we are often untrue, and that is in hymn-singing.”
“How can that be?”
“I will tell you what I did this morning. I sang several hymns over, because I like them so much, and the tunes are so pretty. Old Mrs. Clark heard me sing—
Jesus, the very thought of Thee
With sweetness fills my breast;
But sweeter far Thy face to see,
And in Thy presence rest;”
and Mrs. Clarke asked me if I really meant it. I was so surprised that I scarcely knew what to say. But she waited for an answer, so I told her that I had not thought of it before. ‘Had you not, my child?’ she said very gravely. ‘I hope you are not mocking Jesus by telling Him that His name is sweet to you, when you care neither for Him nor His name.’ It made me feel quite miserable, Grace.”
“I should think it would, too. I have never thought of it before, but of course it is a dreadful thing to sing words to Jesus that we do not mean. It is like telling lies to Him, and yet I am afraid I have often done it.”
“What can we do, Grace?”
“I do not know. I should not like to leave off singing hymns.”
“Neither should I, because I enjoy them so much. I wish—”
“What do you wish, Kitty?”
“That we could mean the hymns as well as sing them.”
“So do I, Kitty. I suppose we are not too young to love Jesus, and if we loved Him we could sing all our hymns quite sincerely. I have often wished I were a Christian.”
“So have I, but I do not know the way to become one.”
The two girls forgot Christ’s own words: “I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.”
The next day was Sunday. They both thought of what they had said when the hymns were given out.
The first was—
“Sweet is the work, my God, O, King,
To praise Thy name, give thanks and sing,
To show Thy love by morning light,
And talk of all Thy truth at night.”
Kitty felt as if she dare not sing it. “It is not true, and of course He, knows it,” she said to herself, “so I had better be silent.”
During the prayer Kitty knelt with the rest. But she did not pray. She was thinking of all sorts of things. She generally did on Sundays. The place was quiet, and there seemed nothing to do but think. But on this Sunday morning her thoughts were chiefly occupied with the subject of hymn-singing.
Suddenly, however, another thought came into her mind.
“It must be bad to kneel down and pretend to pray without really doing so.” Then Kitty felt quite unhappy.
“I did not think I was nearly as bad as I find I am,” she thought. “I wish I loved God, and liked to pray, then I should not let my thoughts wander about so, while other people were worshiping Him.”
And then Kitty did the best thing she could do, for she silently told God all about it.
“O, Lord, I want to love Thee, but I am afraid I do not. I want to mean the hymns I sing, and to like to pray to Thee. Please make me. Let me be changed into a better girl, and be a real Christian. Please forgive me, and bless me, and make me what I want to be, for Jesus Christ’s sake, Amen.”
It was very strange, but Kitty felt quite certain that her prayer was heard and answered, and it made her feel wonderfully happy, so happy that she could not help thanking God for the joy which He had given her.
When the minister finished his prayer the congregation sang the hymn,
“Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that. Thou bid’st me come to Thee,
O, Lamb of God, I come.”
Kitty sang with her whole heart, for she meant every word of it. And it was the same when the last was sung—
“How sweet the name of Jesus sounds.” You may be sure that as soon as possible she told her friend Grace about it.
“O, Kitty,” she said, “I wish it were the same with me.’
“It will be, Grace,” said Kitty; “ask God for it, and I will ask Him, too. You cannot think what a difference it makes when you sing the hymns to Him, instead of merely singing them because the tunes and words are pretty.”
But Grace soon knew for herself the joy of being a Christian, for she, too, came to Jesus, and you know He has promised to cast out none who come to Him.
It is not all girls who are such great hymn-singers as truth-loving Kitty and Grace. But I think it would be well for my little readers generally to ask themselves whether they mean the hymns they sing.
ML 10/29/1916