A Woman's Life-Work — Labors and Experiences of Laura S. Haviland. Laura S. Haviland
I thought it sounded like a Presbyterian discourse." Said another: "What ails Caleb to-day. I thought he preached like a Methodist." While these remarks were made I felt confident we had listened to a message from the Great Head of the true Church by his servant.
As he dined with our nearest neighbor, in company with his half-brother, Dr. Isaac Smith, and wife, we all walked in company nearly to our home, and the two young women invited me to call. I accepted, with the excuse, for a drink of water (hoping for an opportunity of telling that good man that I desired to have a talk with him, and for that purpose would call after dinner).
But while waiting for the glass of water, said Caleb McComber, "Child, how old art thou?"
The reply was, "Thirteen."
"I want thee to tell thy father and mother to come I here at three o'clock this afternoon, and I want thee to come with them."
I gladly performed my errand, and at three P. M. we were there. After a little space of silence he addressed the heads of families present, then directed his remarks to us (the two young women and myself), at first rather general. Then he said: "I want to say to one of you that thou hast passed through an experience far beyond thy years; thou hast known what it was to ask for deliverance from sorrow and darkness, and thou hast also known what it was to receive the answer of peace from thy Heavenly Father that the world knows not of. Hold fast that thou hast received, that no man take thy crown. Be faithful in the little, and more will be given. Bear in mind that little things are little things, but to be faithful in little things is something great."
With exhortations to faithfulness and encouragement, this was to me an undoubted evidence that He whose ear is ever open to the cry of his children had most signally answered prayer in this clear and definite searching of my heart. Very near and dear was that faithful nursing-father brought to this little child's heart. With all freedom, I could have related to him the obstacles that appeared in the way of duty with me. But at that hour my feelings were too deep for utterance. Instead of remaining longer, as was my impression, I returned home with my parents, with the view of returning for a more private interview when I could better command my feelings.
When about to return, I began to reason over the propriety of going back. Certainly that good man had said all I could ask, both in his sermon and in the religious opportunity in the family. And now there might be danger of going too far. And there are those two young women, who made sport of me in that prayer-meeting, where I knelt while others led in prayer. Now they would make more sport than ever, as there are so many there I could not speak to him without their knowing it, and I shrank from going. I feared John Bunyan's "lions in the way;" but if I had been faithful I would have found them chained, as were his. For it was hard for me to give up the more private interview, as I was very anxious to secure an interview between that minister and my dear parents, as I was sure he understood me much better than they. But I neglected my duty in this. O, how weak was human nature!
I had previously thought I would never again offend my loving Savior, but would follow him through evil as well as good report. O, how precious his cleansing blood appeared to me! It seemed as if the drops that fell in his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane possessed power to cleanse a world of sin and pollution. Yet I was not faithful in the little. Although my parents never after forbade my going to a Methodist or any other meeting, yet I saw it grieved them as I frequently attended those prayer-meetings, but never to the neglect of our own, and was often impressed to speak or offer prayer, but did not yield. I found, to my sorrow, that these omissions produced poverty of soul, and often cried, "O, my leanness! my leanness!" In secret many tears were shed over the loss of that joy that had been my experience.
Little by little the candle of the Lord that shone so brightly became dim, and at the close of one year I sought the society of the gay and mirthful, more effectually to drown my bitter regrets for having turned aside from the path so clearly marked out for me. I fully realized that the dark cloud overshadowing me was the result of disobedience.
In company with a few of my companions, I attended the funeral of an infant in our town. The service was conducted by a Baptist minister, who had just come into the place. There was nothing in his remarks that attracted my special attention. After the meeting closed, and people were leaving, the minister passed on a little distance, and turned back, as if something had been forgotten. Pressing through the crowd, he ascended the porch, and came directly to me, looking earnestly at me, as he reached his hand for mine, saying:
"I felt as if I could not leave this place without asking this young woman a few questions. Have you ever experienced religion?"
This came upon me like a clap of thunder, he, being an entire stranger, asking a question I never had occasion to answer. I hesitated, as I had never intimated a word of my experience to any human being. My first thought was to deny, but like a flash came the words of Jesus, "He that denieth me before men, him will I also deny before my Father and his holy angels. No; I can not—I will not, though I die. With this thought I frankly replied:
"I think I have."
"Do you now enjoy it?"
"I do not"
This relieved me from the dilemma of being a disgrace to the cause of Christ, as a number of my gay companions were with me, also those Christian young people to whom I had listened with interest in prayer and exhortations. But searching remarks from him followed. Still holding my hand, he said:
"You have known of earnest pleading for the pardon of sin; and you have known what it was to rejoice, as your prayers were answered. You have known your duty, and did it not, and have brought yourself into darkness. Do not occupy this dangerous ground longer. Return to jour first love. Do your first work over; and He who is abundant in mercy will again accept you. May God grant his blessing upon you! Good bye."
And he left me bathed in tears.
These earnest words reopened the many wounds that many neglected duties had made. I could not doubt but Elder Winchell was as truly sent from God to deliver this message as was Caleb McComber, for whom I prayed in my distress. But now the Holy Spirit had sought me out, unasked for, to warn me of the danger in the effort to occupy neutral ground, as I had concluded to do until I was of age. I saw more clearly that I was responsible to my Savior, who had done great things for me, whereof I did rejoice with exceeding great joy.
Again my Bible became my daily companion, with prayer for my Savior's directing hand. But my parents were again troubled, as those first impressions returned in full force. I intimated my condition of mind to my parents, but, with my natural timidity, not as freely as I ought. They still attributed these impressions to the influence of my Methodist uncles, and considered their duty was to place these restraints upon their child. Father and mother had requested to become members of the Friends' Society while three of their children were under seven years, and requested for us, making us equivalent to birthright members, according to the usage of our Society. From the time of my Christian experience, I was never in sympathy with the system of birthright membership. I believed it to be a source of weakness, instead of spiritual life in this or any other Christian body, and that all members of the Church militant should become united by a heart-felt experience. I fully realized the loss I was warned to shun by yielding to the earnest desires of my dear parents, who were conscientious in their restraint. They said, in after years, that they were laboring under a mistake, as was their timid child, in not more faithfully following those early impressions of duty. I was not faithful in the little, consequently more was withheld. My great mistake was the lack of faith, in not fully returning to my Father's house, where the little wandering prodigal would have been received, and the new best robe again granted, and the rough way would have been made smooth, and the impassable mountain that seemed to rise so high would have melted away before the life-giving beams of the Sun of righteousness. But I yielded to my timidity, and the conclusion was reached to live a quiet Christian life, with my Bible and secret communing with my dear Lord and Savior in secret prayer, as I could not give up a strictly religious life. But dimly did die lamp of life burn, compared with its former brightness.
The greatest source of retrograding in the divine life is unfaithfulness in the performance of known duty. Many of the clouds that overshadow us we bring