Steps to Life

WEEKLY

# 29

Sanctified Homes

Dear Friend,

Today we want to discover what the Scriptures tell us about a special institution given to mankind at creation marriage. God created woman from the man, to be a companion, and a helpmeet for him, to be one with him, to cheer, encourage, and bless him. He in his turn is to be her strong helper. United, they make a home which is to be a little heaven on earth, a place where tenderness and sympathy between husband and wife, parent and child, are cultivated.

But like every other gift given to man by God, marriage has been perverted by sin. As we look at the condition of society today, we see the painful results of this perversion. What is the answer to this problem? In the days of Noah, God's answer was to send a flood to wash away man's wickedness. Today, it is the purpose of the gospel to restore marriage to its original purity and beauty. The grace of Christ alone can make marriage what God designed it should be an agent for the blessing and uplifting of humanity.

Our stories today illustrate how the words we speak and the way we act can affect our relationship with those we live with. Our words can work for good or for ill, for blessing or cursing. The results are often tragic, as shown in our first story. But good can also result, as our second story illustrates, by making a bitter and disappointing relationship into one that is rewarding. Every situation and marriage are different there come times when a situation, because of the unfaithfulness or total hatefulness of one or the other of the spouses, makes the marriage impossible. Jesus recognized the rightness of being able to divorce and remarry in the case of unrepented unfaithfulness. Even in these situations, God has promised to strengthen and uphold the wounded ones. Many a lovely and crushed spouse has found comfort in Isaiah 54:5, "For thy Maker is thine husband; the Lord of hosts is his name. . ." Many a man has found comfort in Jeremiah 31:3, "Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love. . ."

***

Learning Her Value

"Just what I have been expecting for about seven years," said Miss Pauline Worthington, looking from an open letter in her hand.

"Is not your letter from Herbert, Lina?" questioned Mrs. Worthington, a tiny, silver-haired old lady with gentle expression.

"Yes, Mother. Essie is very ill with low, nervous fever, and they want me to come and stay until she is better. The carriage will be sent at three o'clock." Miss Pauline's eyes snapped, "I think it is about time Bert's tyranny over that little martyr was ended. He's killing her."

"Lina! He is your brother."

"I can see his faults even if he is."

"I never heard Essie complain."

"She never would. But look at her. Nine years ago when she was married, she was a lively sunbeam, so bright and pretty. Now, pale, quiet and reserved, her voice is seldom heard, her smile seldom seen. A wintry shadow of her former summer brightness! You have not seen her at home, but surely when she is here you see the change."

"Yes, dear, she has changed; but family cares "

"Has Louie changed so? She has been twelve years married." Mrs. Worthington was silent. Louie was her oldest child, and presided over the home in which her mother had been a crippled prisoner for fifteen years. She took all the household care, and had five children, and yet Louie had gained in beauty and cheerful happiness, since her marriage.

"Henry appreciates Louie," said Lina; "there lies the difference between her happiness and Essie's dejection. If there is any domestic trouble, Henry and Louie share it, while Herbert shifts it all upon Essie. He is a habitual faultfinder."

"Perhaps, dear, Essie is not as good a housekeeper as Louie. Herbert may have cause to find fault."

"Once in ten times he may. I never saw a faultless house or housekeeper; but Essie and her house are the nearest approach to perfection I ever did see."

"You never spoke so before, Lina."

"Because Louie and I thought it best not to worry you with trouble beyond your help. But firmly believing as I do now, that Herbert is actually worrying his wife into the grave, I intend to give him a lesson; that is, if you can spare me to go?"

"You must go, dear. I can get along nicely." So when Herbert Worthington sent his carriage, Lina was ready for the fourteen mile drive to her brother's house. It was a place where no evil spirit of repining and faultfinding should have been found. Spacious, handsomely furnished, with well-trained servants and all the comforts wealth could furnish, it seemed a perfect paradise to visitors. But a very demon lurked there to poison all, and this demon Lina had come to exorcize.

For the first two weeks Essie took all of Lina's time and care. Herbert snarled and fretted over domestic shortcomings, but Lina peremptorily forbade all mention of these in the sickroom. When convalescence commenced, Lina sent Essie to visit old Mrs. Worthington, and took control of Herbert, the children, and the household, fully determined to show her brother how far he carried his absurd habit of faultfinding.

The first dinner saw the beginning of the lesson Lina meant to teach, by practically illustrating some of Herbert's absurdities. Herbert entered the dining room, his handsome face disfigured by a frown.

"Soup," said Herbert, lifting the tureen cover; "perfect dish-water!"

"Susan," said Lina sharply, before Herbert could lift the ladle, "take that tureen to the kitchen and tell Jane the soup is not fit to eat."

Susan promptly obeyed. Herbert looked rather ruefully at the vanishing dish. He was especially fond of soup. Essie would have had some gentle excuse for it she never whipped off his dinner in that way. All dinner time Lina kept reminding Susan about that abominable soup, till Herbert heartily wished he had said nothing about it. Then his imagination detected a burnt flavor in the pudding, and before he could remonstrate, that dish followed the soup.

"I'll get this house in some sort of order before I leave it!" said Lina. "Before you leave it," said Herbert, sharply. "Do you suppose you are a better housekeeper than Essie? Why, I have not a friend who does not envy me the exquisite order of my house and my dainty table."

"Herbert, you do surprise me. Only yesterday I heard you say you did wish there was ever anything fit to eat on the table."

"I don't expect every word to be taken literally," said Herbert, rather sulkily. An hour later, finding a streak of dust in the sitting room, he declared emphatically it was not fit for a pig to live in! Coming into it the next morning, he found the curtains torn down, the carpets taken up, the floor littered with pails, soap, and brushes, and Lina in a dismal dress, directing two women, scrubbing vigorously.

"Goodness, what are you doing?"

"Cleaning this room."

"Why, in the fall Essie had the whole house cleaned until it shone, and didn't make half the muss," he added contemptuously.

"Well," said Lina, "I thought this room a marvel of neatness myself, but when you said it was not fit for pigs, I supposed you wanted it cleaned."

"The room was well enough," was the curt reply. "For mercy's sake, don't turn any more of the house upside down."

At breakfast a tiny tear in Louie's apron caught her father's eye. Because of his own angry statements: "She never had a decent stitch of clothes, and he did wish somebody would see to her," two days later a formidable dry-goods bill was presented at the store. Lina explained it to him in this wise: "You said, Herbert, that Louie hadn't a decent stitch, and you wished somebody would see to her, so I bought her a complete outfit. I could not see any fault myself, but of course I got more expensive articles, as you did not like those already provided. I am glad you called my attention to the poor neglected child."

"Poor, neglected child!" echoed astonished Herbert. "Why, Lina, Essie fairly slaves herself out over those children. I am sure I never see any better dressed or neater."

Lina merely shrugged her shoulders. A month passed. Essie gained strength in the genial atmosphere surrounding Louie and her mother, while Lina ruled Herbert's home with a rod of iron. Herbert began to experience a sick longing for Essie's gentle presence. Lina took him so very literally in all he said, and yet he could not rebuke her for doing exactly what he openly wished.

A chair with a tiny spot of dirt being declared absolutely filthy, was upholstered and varnished at a cost of eight dollars. A dozen new shirts, Essie's last labor of love, being said to "set like meal bags," were bestowed upon the gardener, and a new set sent from the furnishing store. Every window was opened after a pettish declaration that the "room was as hot as an oven," and an hour later the stove was fired up to smothering heat because he declared it "cold enough to freeze a polar bear." In short, with apparently an energetic attempt to correct all shortcomings and put the housekeeping upon a perfect basis, Lina, in one month, nearly doubled her brother's expenses, and drove him to the very verge of distraction, keeping account of every complaint.

But Essie, well and strong again, was coming home. On the day of her expected arrival, Lina, with a solemn face, invited her brother into the sitting room for a few moments of private conversation.

"Herbert," she said gravely, "I have a proposition to make to you. You are my only brother, and I love you very dearly. It really grieves me to the heart to see how much there is to find fault with in your beautiful home."

Herbert twisted himself uneasily in his chair, but Lina continued:

"You know that mother is very dependent on me, Louie having the house and children to care for, but I think she would sacrifice her own comfort for yours. So, if you wish, Herbert, I will come here permanently, to keep things in order for you."

"You are very kind," he faltered, the instincts of a gentleman battling with the strong desire to tell Lina she would certainly drive him to a lunatic asylum by six months more of her model housekeeping.

"Not at all. A man who has made an unfortunate marriage certainly needs all the aid and sympathy his family can give him."

The last straw was laid upon the camel's back. Herbert spoke hotly:

"You are entirely mistaken, Lina! I have not made an unfortunate marriage. If ever a man was blessed in a wife, I am that man."

"You amaze me, Herbert," Lina cried out in well-feigned astonishment.

"I do not see why you should be surprised. Essie is gentle, loving, orderly, a model housekeeper, and a perfect home angel God bless her."

"Herbert, is that true?"

"Certainly it is true."

"I cannot believe it," was the slow, hesitating response.

"Cannot believe it! Why?"

"Because" and Lina dwelt impressively upon every word "during the nine years of your married life, though visiting here frequently, I never heard you speak one word of encouragement or praise to Essie. I never saw one look of approbation upon your face or appreciation of any effort she made for your comfort. Continual faultfinding and constant blame have changed her from a happy, winsome girl to a pale, careworn woman. Even her last illness was but the unbroken despair of a heart crushed under a load of daily censure and constant striving for the approbation never given. And you tell me now she has never failed in her duty to you. There is a grave error somewhere."

The sadly earnest tone, the face of thoughtful gravity, sent every word home to Herbert's heart. He spoke no word of self-defense as Lina slowly left the room. In the silence that followed, conscience reviewed the past, and he knew that his sister had only spoken the truth. The habit of fault-finding meeting no resistance in Essie's gentleness, had gained in force till all its enormity stood revealed in the experience of the past month.

In the days when Essie lay dangerously ill there had been no self-reproach like this in her husband's sorrow. He had given his wife a fair home, an ample income, frequent social pleasures, many costly gifts, and loved her faithfully, while poisoning her whole life.

"God help me," he whispered, "to conquer this fault. Essie shall hear no more faultfinding, and if I see her drooping I will send her to Mother and have Lina back again."

Never had wife and mother warmer welcome than greeted Essie. The children were unchecked in their loudest exhibit of delight. Lina had to rush into the hall to hide her merry eyes when Herbert, kissing Essie, said: "We must let Mother have Lina now, dear; she has been very kind and worked hard for my comfort; but there is no home-fairy like my Essie."

The quick, glad look in his wife's soft eyes told Herbert that one step had been taken in the right direction. As the days glided by, and Essie found appreciation meeting every effort to home comfort, a word of praise for every little triumph of cookery or needlework, her pale face grew bright with untold happiness. Gradually the careworn expression was replaced by one of sweet content, and Herbert found his own heart lighted by the cheerful voice, the sunny smile, the bright eyes of the Essie he had wooed years before.

Lina, making a visit six months later, told her mother on her return, "Herbert has learned his lesson by heart, Mother, he appreciates Essie now at her value, and he lets her know it."

***

Four Magic Words

Robert and Eleanor Ashfield sat at the breakfast table. "You had no right to say what you did!" she cried, stormily. It might have been their sixteenth or their sixtieth quarrel; he had long ago lost count. As it reached its unendurable climax he arose from the daintily set breakfast table, his food scarcely touched. Eleanor rose as soon as he had done so, saying bitterly, "I suppose you're going off without your breakfast just to annoy me!"

He flung back some violent answer, much like hundreds of others he had made before in those frequent recurring disturbances which well-bred people so scrupulously save for their nearest and dearest. Then he stalked from the room, and went to his office. The day was a miserable one.

Being a lawyer, he forced himself into his usual kindly professional air, and into an apparently personal interest in the woes of his clients.

In this way the morning passed; then came a tasteless luncheon, and the afternoon opened with more clients to the same assumed interest. When he found himself facing the last one of the day, it was with a feeling half of relief that the work for the day was over, half of wretched distaste that he must go home and finish out the quarrel he had left. He knew perfectly well it would come up again in some way that very night.

This sort of thing had been going on now for three years; they had been married five. Applied maxims as to the folly of getting angry with a woman had all failed him. He became conscious that he was thinking too much of his own affairs, that he was staring too absently at his last client. The latter, his law matters satisfactorily adjusted, was indulging in some personal memories induced by Ashfield's kingly manner.

"It's for her sake I'm after bein' so glad I won," the old man was saying, happily.

"Thirty years of good times we've had togither, Rosy an' me. She's made this world so pleasant to me that I'm after fearing' I'll never want to leave it, barrin' she should go first."

The lawyer was conscious of a sudden, genuine interest, "You are talking of your wife?"

"Of who else could I be talkin?"

"You say you've had thirty years of happiness with her? I suppose she's one of these yellow-haired saints."

"No, sir. Rosy an' her folks have all been redheaded, an' by the same token, had the highest of tempers."

"An you have been happy with her?" asked the lawyer, skeptically.

The old man answered, frankly, "Neither of us was happy the first five years. Trouble began almost in our honeymoon. It was just six months after we married that Rosy flung a fryin' pan at me and after just seven months I beat her. We scandalized the neighbors!"

"What changed it?" the lawyer asked, more skeptically still. "Did you get afraid of each other?"

"There's no scrap of 'fraid in either of us, Sir. Things was goin' from bad to worse. Me gittin' so I couldn't do me ditchin' decent because of thinkin' over the quarrels, when it come to me I might take counsel of Johnny Milligan, the very wise old man that lived behind us on the hill.

"Tis said the woman should be the peacemaker," I growled to Johnny when I finished me tale to him.

"Tis said wrong,"says Johnny. "Tis the man should handle all situations. There's four magic words which control an' subdue women, no matter what temper they are in; same as certain magic sounds will quiet a frantic horse. These four words, they never fail; they are hard to pronounce when a row is on, unless the man remembers how he is the superior, and 'tis his own fault if he doesn't say them.'

"Give me the words," says I.

"Use them when ye're angriest," says Johnny. "Use them when they strangle ye. Cough 'em out! Choke 'em out! But out they must come!"

"So old Johnny wrote them four words on a piece of paper for me. When I'd puzzled them out, me jaw dropped, and I'd no faith at all, rememberin' the fryin' pan and what Rosy was when she fell into a rage.

"For an exception, we had no quarrel that night, an' time mornin' come, I was more doubtful than ever of Johnny's prescription. The next evenin' when I came home, we both flew into a rage over how much buttermilk the pig ought to have you wouldn't believe what small things we would quarrel over. I was about to say the worst things, when I remembered old Johnny and what he'd wrote out for me, an' how he said they'd be hard to say in a quarrel an' they was hard! But I looked Rosy full in the eye, an' I said them out loud and distinct. She stared at me, flushed, and hesitated. I seen me advantage and I said them again. She tucked her head down and sidled away from the pigpen towards me. `Oh, Tim,' says she, `I didn't mean to be nasty! Feed the pig as much buttermilk as ye like.'

"Well, I must be goin', Sir."

"No hurry, Ryan," said the lawyer. "Did they always work the words?"

"Always, Sir! An' I've been no miser with the prescription, I give it to more than one fella in difficulties with his wife." They both arose. The lawyer blushed, but he said with a dry little smile, "Give me the words?"

That night, business sent Ashfield to a place five hundred miles away. He returned a week later, the story of old Johnny only a hazy memory.

Eleanor's nerves and temper, the smoother for his week's absence, kept sweet the day of his return until that night when a difference of opinion concerning a rug she had purchased (of a color he especially disliked) brought on a storm that was the fiercest of their whole married life.

They stood in their attractively furnished library, their feet on the offending rug, their tall, distinguished figures drawn up to full height, the woman passionately resentful, the man white with anger.

Suddenly, born apparently out of nowhere, a few sentences flashed vividly before him, "These four words they are hard to say when a row is on, but they never fail. Tis the man's own fault if he doesn't use them." Ashfield shook himself; his hands clenched. He made a wild effort, but his lips were soundless. The bitter powers inside were murdering the magic four. Then suddenly, impetuously, looking the angry woman before him straight in the eyes, he desperately flung out the sentence they made. They sounded grotesquely out of place in the midst of this wild quarrel; but he heard himself saying them clearly and distinctly, "Dear, I love you."

As the unexpected sentence fell on her ears, she stared; then she flushed. It sounded strangely sweet to her, strangely powerful; that sentence, flashing out in sheer gold from the base metal of their quarrel. Sudden remorse brought tears into her eyes. She had just wounded him all she could over a foolish thing like a rug! And yet, even in the midst of their mutual anger, he could say the sentence most beloved by every woman!

Like calming music, the words sang in her soul; her anger receded before them, then died utterly. Bowing her head, she said, "Oh, Robert! After all, why should I fuss about the hateful old rug? Let's send it back and exchange it for some color we both like."

He held out his arms mutely, then smiled down on the tear-wet face she lifted, and bent to kiss it.

***

The story is told of a sweet young Christian wife whose husband was a drunkard. Night after night he would frequent the local bars, socializing and drinking with his buddies. On many an occasion he would brag about his wife, how sweet and considerate of him she was.

One evening, his buddies decided to find out if his boasts were true and asked if they could go home with him for an evening meal. It was already past midnight, but the husband was so sure of his wife's response to such a request, even at such an hour, that he immediately complied and led them to his home.

Upon arriving, they found his wife had already retired for the night. The husband woke her and let her know of his request. She quickly dressed and went into the kitchen to prepare a meal. And what a meal it was! No sandwiches roughly thrown together and tossed upon an empty table. The table was set as if for honored guests and the meal served was fit for a king.

The husband seated his friends around the table, beaming at the meal prepared by his lovely wife, satisfied that he had been proved right to his buddies. All during the meal his wife hovered near, waiting to see if any of them should like or need any thing further.

The husband began to realize what was happening. It finally occurred to him just how late it was getting, and just how tired his wife must be. Still, she smiled and complied with every wish that anyone made. Never did she speak a harsh word or give an impatient look to him or any of his guests.

When the meal was over and his friends had gone, he sat in the kitchen as his wife washed the dishes. As he watched her, a question keep gnawing at him. Finally he asked her, "Dear, why do you treat my friends and me in such a kind and sweet manner, especially at such a late hour?"

She looked at her husband with love in her eyes and replied, "Because this is the only world you will ever enjoy. I want you to at least be happy here."

Upon hearing this, his heart melted and he determined to surrender his life to the Lord. If his wife could have such love for him, then what love God must have for him also!

***

In our study today we will see that Christ came, not to destroy the institution of marriage, but to restore it to its original sanctity and elevation. He came to restore the moral image of God in man. Won't you determine to allow God to work this restoration in your home and family?

With Love,

From your friends at Steps to Life