LITTLE JOHN.
THE house was very still, the elder children at school, the younger laid down for his forenoon nap, when the dear boy, a child of four years, of whom I have been asked to give some reminiscences, came to the sitting-room as usual to play beside his mother, always a time of quiet happiness to both.
John's chief characteristic, I think, was love.
He had been playing under the table with a favorite wooden horse, minus the head and with but a very shabby tail, when suddenly rising and coming very close to me, at the same time laying his hand on my knee, he said with great seriousness, “Is God Jesus?" "Yes," was the reply. “And is Jesus God? “to which the same response was made.
Apparently satisfied, he went back to his play, while I kept the saying in my heart. Several days passed, again the quiet hour had come, when my child made an advance in his queries, “Does God ever die?” “No, God lives forever. He always was, and the time will never come when He shall not be," Then, with a very anxious expression, but not unbelieving tone, he said, "You told me Jesus died " I was deeply moved, and felt a process of thought had begun in his mind, not, I think, usual at so early an age, and I sent up a cry for help, “Put by words into my mouth.”
Taking the child on my knee, I told him of the birth of the Holy Babe in Bethlehem (of which he had often before heard), and in the simplest language possible spoke of the glorious mystery of the Incarnation; but overwhelmed by the impotency of words in such a connection, and to so young a child, I said, " Dear, I do not understand how it could be, but I believe it; will you?” My boy had never doubted his mother's word, but as if this “wonder of wonders" were too great to receive on my testimony, he said, "But who told you?”
“God," was the reply; " God made holy men write the wonderful story; and when you are able you will read it for yourself in His book, but just now you will believe it, won't you?” “Yes," with a beaming look, "when God said it." Feeling sure that the Holy Spirit was teaching my child, I kept silence, pondering these things in my heart, prayerful and watchful, and I was not disappointed.
Again some days passed, and now the practical issue of the process which had been going on was reached in the question, “Where did the blood go to that came from Jesus on the cross?” A great awe fell on me. "This is holy ground," I said; and again the cry went up, “Holy Spirit, speak through me." "That would depend on the quantity that would run down the limbs, and might reach the ground.”
“Oh," with something like a sob, "the dirty ground! how is it to wash me white?" I could not speak to "the little one" of God as a severe judge, demanding the life of His Son as the price of our redemption; but I dwelt on the love of God in Jesus Christ, in having given His Son for our salvation, and of His Son's love in putting our sins away by the sacrifice of Himself, telling him how we grieved that blessed Savior when we were naughty, and added to His joy when we loved and served Him, adding, "If you ask Him, He will make you white, pure, and holy, keep you all your life long, and take you at the right time to be with Him forever.”
His face literally "shone." The good news was real to John; but there was yet another pressing anxiety, "But will He do it now?" “Yes, darling, just now if you ask Him." And kneeling at my side, the simple prayer went up even to the highest heaven where He reigns, who waits to answer such, “Dear Jesus, wash me and make me white, keep me all my life, and take me at the right time to be with Thee forever." And then rising he went back to his play, as if completely satisfied; and his mother believes that then her child was made a new creature in Christ Jesus.
A few months passed, when John's life, "always happy," was made more so by the addition of little twin sisters. All the children were delighted, but to his intensely loving nature they were specially dear. What would he not have done for them?
What he could he did. Morning and evening he took his position by the bath, the basket by his side, ready to hand each little garment as it was required, watching his opportunity to give his aid in washing and dressing "the babies," who slept in a swing crib, one at each end, the climax of his delight being reached when they were laid down for their forenoon nap, and he had them in his own keeping as he imagined. Standing by its side humming some "bairns" hymns, all the while giving it a gentle push, he might be seen drawing aside the curtains, peeping now at one, now at the other, till the sweet eyes closed, and he turned with a sigh of satisfaction, his duty done, saying, " They are both sleeping now, muvver." It was about this time, I think, that I read to the older children, one quiet Sabbath afternoon, Mrs. Sewell's “Mother’s Last Words." All were interested and touched by the pathos of the story, but his mother will never forget the look in John's eyes, brimful of tears, as she read of the "wicked sprite," or the sigh of relief which passed his lips as the victory of good over evil was described: then he shared in the joy which is felt in heaven over one sinner that repenteth. For nine full weeks our cup of joy was brimming over; “our children were about us,' filling our home with glee, giving promise of yet deeper gladness, and then,—
“My Lord path need of those flow'rets gay,'
The reaper said, and smiled;
'Sweet tokens of the earth are they,
Where He was once a child.”
And two sweet buds from our family tree blossomed in the paradise of God. First to go was John, "the loved of all;" his illness lasted six days, days of intense suffering. When told that Jesus might be wanting him, and asked if he should like to go, his reply was, “I should like to stay with muvver a little while." At one time feeling very cold I had put a shawl over my head, which confusing him, brought out the plaintive cry, “Oh, you are not my muvver." “Yes, dear," I said, at the same time throwing it hastily aside,” I am your very own mother, and you love me, don't you? “I feel now that this was a selfish question, but can scarcely regret it in view of the response it elicited. "Yes, and favver, and J., and M.," adding all the "dear household names" successively, closing the list with that of his nurse; and then, as if this were not enough, saying with great difficulty, "I love everybody." So he did, and thus fulfilled the law. The last night was one of constant unrest, of awful agony, and I begged he might be lifted on my knees,—holding him, strengthening and cheering' him, would help me, and so it proved. Singing had always a great charm for John, and hoping it might soothe my child I ventured to try its power and so, during that sore night, many precious hymns were sung between such paroxysms of suffering as made our heartstrings quiver.
Night wore on, and as the day was breaking we saw that "the right time" was near. “Just a little patience, darling; Jesus is coming for you; would you like to go?" "Yes," was the answer, "it's better than here." And suddenly putting his arms round my neck, and drawing down my bead into his bosom, he kissed me passionately; then “favver too" gave him also this last expression of love. Again the awful agony, and now "Jesus has come, dear." How glad we were to know it true, and to tell it to our child, who looking up and out, with the wistful expression so often seen in eyes so near their closing, quickly, and for the last time turned his loving gaze on us, while, kissing his clear hand for "farewell," he passed into the "home” where "love reigns supreme." A week of anxiety and constant nursing, and then the lovely little brother joined him, who was always happier in having one of his "very own" as companion, and we could not but rejoice for his sake that it was so; but oh, the blank in our home! To the tender heart of their loving father the prospect of their loss came as an almost overwhelming blow, and his cry was, "My punishment is greater than I can bear." But his Heavenly Father was better to him than his fears, and when separated, as we necessarily were, from our other children, we knelt in prayer. The relief to the writer may be understood when the 116th Psalm was selected as the morning's portion, “I love the Lord, because he hath heard my voice and my supplication." Yes, we said together, "He hath done all things well.”
Just one little incident, and these reminiscences shall close. Four months passed ere we were able to resume the wonted custom of hymn singing on Sunday evenings. The winter following the removal of our darling boys was one of great anxiety and watchful care, illness reigned for long in the nursery; but at length, by God's grace, on a lovely spring evening we once again as a family sang the dear old hymns.
One of these was, “My God, my Father, while I stray." There were tears and sighs, but we sang it with its ever recurring prayer, " Thy will be done." No, not all, the dear eldest girl, the sister mother, a child little more than ten, was silent. At the time no notice was taken, but when the other children had left the room the remark was made, “You did not sing that last hymn with us, dear.”
“No," she replied, " I can sing it about Harry, but I can't about John." Ah, when the" Johns" are taken from us, then is the testing time, then we are tried. " Then you were quite right not to sing, don't force yourself; your Father knows all about it, wait and He will help you; ask Him to make you able and willing to do it." Some weeks had passed, nothing was said to her on the subject, but prayer was made for her, and we too waited, believingly and expectantly, and once again we rejoiced over our answered prayers. Bringing her school books as usual one evening to me that I might hear her lessons, she said, "I can say it now.”
Not realizing her meaning, my reply was, “Which shall I hear first." “Oh," she said, "it's not that; but I can say ' Thy will be done' now, God has helped me." I put my arms around her, how dear, how precious her confession, how comforting and cheering to my soul! Yea, verily, God had helped us.
“No affliction for the present seemeth joyous, but grievous; nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruits of righteousness to them who are exercised thereby." Well did the Psalmist say, and we can echo his words, "I was brought low, and he helped me. Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee."
“O God! it was a time divine,
Rich epoch of calm grace,
A pressing of our hearts to Thine
In mystical embrace.
The work of years was done in days;
Fights won, and trophies given;
For sorrow is the atmosphere
Which ripens hearts for heaven.”