ALBERT B. had been married but a few years, when ill-health compelled him to leave his happy and beautiful cottage, with the young partner of his life. After some years of fruitless health-seeking, they were staying at a hydropathic establishment. The last day of their sojourn arrived, and they were returning from the physician’s house. They dared not look each other in the face, knowing well that grief was too plainly and sternly looking from their eyes; and so they left the physician’s door without a word and with averted looks, fearing lest the least sight of each other’s grief should cause the pent of tears to start forth.
Poor hearts they would have comforted each other, but could not. The young wife now thought of their early and more prosperous days, of the sweet, bright home which they had been compelled through the ill-health of her husband to forsake, and of the sources of help which they then had, now closed, as it seemed, forever. And what could they do? Her husband’s only chance of restoration was to stay where they were for at least two years, but with their now limited means this was utterly impossible, and the poor wife’s heart was very sad, too sad for even tears.
That which made the disappointment the more bitter was, that they had been encouraged to hope, that a few months’ stay might possibly restore the long-lost health. The physician’s words now, however, robbed them of all hope, and overwhelmed them with grief.
As they slowly and silently wended their sorrowful way, their little girl, of about three and a half years of age, suddenly spied a daisy, on a sloping bank, half hidden in the snow, for it was a cold December day. With great surprise and delight she called the attention of her sad and desponding mother to it, who looked at this little flower, and the care with which it had been shielded through the wintry storm suggested to her mind the all-sufficiency of God her Father. She felt, “If indeed God cares for this little daisy, and preserves it, and makes it flourish without human aid in the midst of this winter of death, will He not preserve us and help us, even in this great winter of our present desolation, still to rejoice and to glorify His name?” Thus, with her eyes brightened, and her poor heart cheered, she dared again to look at her husband’s face, wan and depressed as it was. And when he said, half pettishly and despondingly, “I think it very cruel of the doctor to tell us what he has, knowing as he does our circumstances,” she replied, “Well, dear, but you know our loving Father in heaven is all-sufficient, and is above all means, and can, if it be His will, as easily restore you without them as with them. We have done all in our power, and must now trust Him, and leave ourselves in His hands.”
These wise and trustful words were blessed to restore the husband’s peace. He did not, however, recover from the disease, but lingered under its influence for some years. His mind was so richly sustained by his Saviour that just before he died he said, “I have been seven years dying, but they have been the happiest of my life, and I owe it all to the blessed gospel of Christ.”
Believer, has some great sorrow overtaken thee―some trying dispensation, stripping thee of much which thine heart has held dear, and leaving thee poor in circumstances, and all but helpless?
“Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust His promised grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.”
Remember thy faith has to do with One of whom it is written that He “is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think.” To His feeblest child He says, whatever the circumstances and trials may be, “Ask of Me great and mighty things, and things thou knowest not of,” and He “will bring the blind by a way they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight.”
In relation to over-carefulness, dear reader, hear His voice to thee through the Son of His love, “Consider,” He says, “the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?”
However tried, therefore, dwell not upon thy sorrow, nor look to thine own wisdom and resources, but to the love and faithfulness of Him who can, if He will, restore what thou hast lost—turn thy very adversity to blessing, and enrich thy spirit. W. P. B.