Children’s Story

Children’s Story — The Strength of Clinton

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When Clinton Stevens was eleven years old, he was taken very sick with pneumonia. During convalescence, he suffered an unexpected relapse, and his mother and the doctor worked hard to keep him alive.

“It is ten to one if he gets well,” Said Dr. Bemis, shaking his head. “If he does, he will never be very strong.”

Mrs. Stevens smoothed Clinton’s pillow even more tenderly than before. Poor Clinton! Who had always been such a rollicking, rosy-cheeked lad. Surely it was hard to bear.

The long March days dragged slowly along, and April was well advanced before Clinton could sit at the window, and watch the grass grow green on the slope of the lawn. He looked frail and delicate. He had a cough, too, a troublesome “bark,” that he always kept back as long as he could.

The bright sunlight poured steadily in through the window, and Clinton held up his hand to shield his eyes. “Why, Ma Stevens!” he said, after a moment, “just look at my hands! They are as thin and white as a girl’s, and they used to be regular paws. It does not look as if I would pull many weeds for Mr. Carter this summer, does it?”

Mrs. Stevens took his thin hands in her own patient ones. “Never mind, dearie,” she said, “they will grow plump and brown again, I hope.” A group of schoolchildren were passing by, shouting and frolicking. Clinton leaned forward and watched them till the last one was gone. Some of them waved their caps but he did not seem elated.

“Mother,” he said, presently, “I believe I will go to bed if you will help me. I—I guess I am not quite so—strong—now as I used to be.”

Clinton did not pull weeds for Mr. Carter that summer, but he rode around with the milkman, and did a little outdoor work for his mother, which helped him to mend. One morning in July he surprised the village by riding out on his bicycle; but he overdid the matter, and it was several weeks before he again appeared. His cough still continued, though not so severe as in the spring, and it was decided to let him go to school in the fall.

Dr. Bemis told Mrs. Stevens that the schoolroom would be a good place to test Clinton’s strength. And he was right. In no other place does a young person’s strength develop or debase itself so readily, for honor or dishonor. Or course, the doctor had referred to physical strength; but moral strength is much more important.

Clinton was a bright lad for his years; and, although he had not looked into his books during the summer, he was placed in the same grade he had left when taken sick. He did not find much difficulty in keeping up with any of his studies except spelling. Whenever he received a perfect mark on that subject, he felt that a real victory had been won.

About Christmas time the regular examinations were held. The teacher offered a prize to each grade, the pupil receiving the highest average in all studies to receive the prize. Much excitement, no little speculation, and a great deal of studying ensued. Clinton felt fairly confident over all his studies except spelling. So he carried his spelling book home every night, and he and his mother spent the evenings in wrestling with the long and difficult words.

Examination day came at length, and the afternoon for the seventh grade spelling was at hand. The words were to be written, and handed in. Across the aisle from Clinton sat Harry Meyers. Several times when the teacher pronounced a word, Harry looked slyly down into the palm of his hand. Clinton watched him, his cheeks growing pink with shame. Then he looked around at the others. Many of them had some dishonest device for copying the words. Clinton swallowed something in his throat, and looked across at Billy Matthews, who pursed up his lips and nodded, as if to say that he understood.

The papers were handed in, and school was dismissed. On Monday, after the morning exercises, Miss Brooks gave out the prizes to the three grades under her care. “I have now to award the prize for the highest average to the seventh grade,” she said. “But first I wish to say a few words on your conduct during the recent examination in spelling. I shall censure no one in particular, although there is one boy who must set no more bad examples. No one spelled all the words correctly—Clinton Stevens the least of any—making his average quite low; yet, the prize goes to him. I will tell you why” as a chorus of Oh! Oh! greeted her ears. “Spelling is Clinton’s hardest subject, but he could easily have spelled more words right had he not possessed sufficient strength to prevent him from falling into the way followed by some of you.”

As Clinton went up the aisle for his prize, he felt like crying, but he managed to smile instead. A few days before, Harry Meyers had ridiculed him because he was not strong enough to throw a snowball from the schoolhouse to the road; now the teacher had said he was strong!

Clinton’s Aunt Jennie came to visit the family in December, bringing her little daughter Grace with her. Now Grace had a mania for pulling other people’s hair, but there was no one in the Stevens family upon whom she dared operate except Clinton. She began on him cautiously, then aggressively. Clinton stood it for a while, and then asked her, politely but firmly, to stop. She stopped for half a day.

One night Clinton came home from school pale and tired. Some of the boys had been taunting him on his spare frame, and imitating his cough, which had grown worse as the winter advanced. Sitting down by the window, he looked out at the falling snow. Grace slipped up behind him, and gave his hair a sharp tweak. He struck out, hastily, and hit her. She was not hurt—only very much surprised —but she began to cry lustily, and Aunt Jennie came hurrying in, and took the child in her arms.

That night after supper Clinton went into the sitting room, and called Grace to him. “I want to tell you something,” he said. “I am sorry that I hit you, and I ask your pardon. Will you forgive me, dear?” Grace agreed quickly, and said shyly, “Next time I want to pull any one’s hair, I will pull my own.”

Aunt Jennie was in the next room and overheard the conversation. “It strikes me, Sarah, she said to Mrs. Stevens later, “that Clinton is a remarkably strong boy for one who is not strong. Most boys would not have taken the trouble to ask a small girl to forgive them, even if they were very much in the wrong. But Clinton has a strong character.”

The year Clinton was thirteen the boys planned to have a corn roast, one August night. “We will get the corn in old Carter’s lot,” said Harry Meyers. “He has just acres of it, and can spare a bushel or so as well as not. I suppose you will go with us, Clint?”

Clinton hesitated, “No,” said he, “I guess not; and I should think if you want to roast corn, you could get it out of your own gardens. But if Mr. Carter’s corn is better than any other, why can you not ask him—” “Oh, come now,” retorted Harry, “do not let it worry you! Half the fun of roasting corn is in—in taking it. And don’t you come, Clinton. We wouldn’t have you for the world. You are too nice, Mr. Coughin.”

Clinton’s cheeks flushed red, but he turned away without a word. When Mr. Carter quizzed Billy Matthews, and found out all about it, Clinton was made very happy by the old man’s words: “It is not every chap that will take the stand you took. You ought to be thankful that you have the strength to say No.”

In the fall, when Clinton was fifteen, his health began to fail noticeably, and Dr. Bemis advised a little wine “to build him up.”

“Mother,” said the boy, after thinking it over, “I am not going to touch any wine. I can get well without it, I know I can. I do not want liquor.” He continued. ” ‘Wine is a mocker,’ you know. Did you not tell me once that Zike Hastings, over in East Bloomfield, became a drunkard by drinking wine when he was sick?”

“Yes, Clinton, I believe I told you so.” “Well, then, I do not want any wine. I have seen Zike Hastings too many times.” In December, Aunt Jennie and Grace made their annual visit. With them came Uncle Jonathan, who took a great liking to Clinton.

“My boy,” said he one day, placing a big hand on the lad’s shoulder, “early in the new year Aunt Jennie and I start for the Pacific Coast. Should you like to go with us?”

“Well, I rather guess I should!” gasped the surprised boy, clasping his hands joyfully. “Very well, then, you shall go,” returned Uncle Jonathan, “and your mother, too.”

Clinton began to feel better before they were outside of Pennsylvania. When they had crossed the Mississippi and reached the prairies, his eyes were sparkling with excitement. The mountains fairly put new life in him. Uncle Jonathan watched him with pleasure. “Tell me,” he said one day, when they were winding in and out among the Rockies, “what has given you so much strength of character?”

“Why, it was this way,” said Clinton, bringing his eyes in from a chasm some hundreds of feet below: “one day when I was beginning to recover from that attack of pneumonia, I saw a lot of the boys romping along, and I felt pretty bad because I could not romp and play, too. Then I thought that if I could not be strong that way, I could have the strength to do right; so I began to try, and—”

“Succeeded admirably,” said Uncle Jonathan, approvingly. “And, really, my boy, I see no reason why you should not shout and play to your heart’s content in a few months.”

And Uncle Jonathan’s words proved true; for Clinton, in a sun-kissed California valley, grew well and strong in a few months. But through all his life he will have cause to be glad that he learned the value of the strength that is gained by resisting temptation, controlling one’s spirit, and obeying the Lord’s commands.

Taken from Stories Worth Rereading, Review and Herald Publishing Assn, Washington, D.C. 1919

 

Children’s Corner – Three in a Row, Part 1

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She looks awful white today, and thin,” said Hiram, dejectedly, at the same time cleverly tying a knot in a broken suspender. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with her. She’ll die, maybe,” and the boy stopped with a sudden gulp.

Nettie’s blue eyes grew large and pathetic under her pink sunbonnet. “She’s hungry, I guess,” she remarked sagely. “Sick folks can’t eat such coarse food as we have. She told me one day”—here her voice dropped to a whisper and she glanced half guiltily toward the door of the little cabin—“that she wanted a piece of rich cream toast dreadfully; said she dreamed about it. But she wouldn’t ask Pa to get her cream. ’Twould only make him feel bad because he couldn’t, she said. He can hardly get us enough to eat, anyway, and cream costs a lot. But seems as if Mother ought to have it.”

Little Tony said nothing, only dug his toes into the gray dust. He was only six, and small for his age.

The three children were sitting near a small hut, or cabin, which clung to the side of one of the great mountains looking down upon the mining town of Silver Plume, Colorado. Half a mile from them on one side was a mine, where their father toiled from morning till night. In the other direction lay the town and the church and Sabbath School. Above and around them were the rocky, towering mountains. Beyond these boundaries their knowledge of life was very small.

“Hiram!” called a tremulous voice from somewhere within the cabin. “Children!”

The three rose and looked at one another.

“She wants us,” said Tony, “Come on.”

“Once more—sing that once more,” she called faintly, and they sang again, “There’ll be no dark valley when Jesus comes,” while the tears rolled down over the white face.

“Well, good-bye, Mother,” said Hiram later, cheerfully putting his head in at the bedroom door again. “It’s almost train time. We’ll try to get some pennies, and we won’t stay long. Don’t you be lonesome till we get back. Perhaps,” he added hesitatingly, “you can go to sleep.”

Outside, the trio halted, holding their wooden boxes filled with minerals—“speciments” they called them—doubtfully in their hands.

“ ’Tain’t a bit of use,” said Hiram mournfully; “there’s too many selling, and folks have got enough of them anyway. But just to satisfy Mother . . .”

“Say, Hi,” broke in Nettie, speaking slowly, as if in surprise at her own thought, “you don’t suppose we could sing for the train folks? Mother likes to hear us; perhaps they would too.”

The boy turned sharply about and stared at his sister with a kind of startled admiration. “You’re the greatest!” he exclaimed. “How’d you think of it? They have to sit in that car and wait two hours, some of them. Can’t get out and walk, it makes them puff so. We’ll try it this very morning just as we do for Mother, you know. We’d better stand in a row,” he mused, “Net in the middle, and we’ll sing about three songs. Tony, will you sing up good and loud to the car folks? Maybe they will give you a penny.”

To be continued . . .

Children’s Story – The Lamp in the Window

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Swish-swish!” went the rain. “Boom-boom!” crashed the thunder. And all round the car the wind whistled and moaned. Rudy crouched down in the back seat. “Is it much farther to Grandmother’s?” he asked.

Daddy, who was driving very slowly, answered, “I don’t think so, but I’m not certain just where we are.”

Rudy blinked as he tried to see out into the rainy darkness. “Can’t you see by the headlights?” he asked.

“Not in this downpour!” exclaimed Mother, wiping the windshield in front of her with her handkerchief. “I can’t even see the ditches.”

“I can see them all right.” Daddy shifted gears cautiously. “I’m just hoping we don’t slide into one.”

“Me, too,” added Rudy. How he wished he was safe inside Grandmother’s warm kitchen.

Rudy and his parents lived in the United States, but they had come to England to surprise his grandmother with a visit. At the airport they had rented a car to drive into the country to Grandmother’s house, but they hadn’t counted on the rainstorm that was almost making them lose their way.

Thinking about his grandmother made Rudy hungry. “Wouldn’t a big bowl of Grandmother’s potato soup taste good!” he exclaimed.

“It certainly would,” Mother agreed, but an extra-loud crash of thunder muffled her words.

The thunder was followed by a brilliant flash of lightening that made Rudy duck his head. What happened next neither Daddy, Mother, nor Rudy knew exactly. Rudy didn’t feel the car turn, but when he looked up he could see the fence posts right up against the front headlights.

“Daddy, is there a fence in the middle of the road?” Rudy cried.

“No,” said Daddy, rolling down a window. “We skidded. The car is sitting crosswise in the road.”

“Can you turn around?” asked Mother.

“I can try,” answered Daddy. He began backing up, but the car wheels spun in the soft mud, round and round. The car rocked back and forth for a while, then the engine stopped.

“It’s no use,” said Daddy. “We’re on high center. The wheels have sunk down to the axles in the mud. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way to Grandmother’s.”

Rudy looked into the rainy blackness and swallowed hard. “How can we see to walk?” he managed to ask.

“I have the flashlight,” said Daddy. “We can follow the road. I don’t think it’s much farther.”

Rudy buttoned his coat and stepped out of the car into the rain and mud. Daddy took his left hand and Mother took his right.

“Just follow me,” said Daddy, “and keep your head down. That way the rain won’t beat into your face.”

For a while Rudy kept his head down, but soon he looked up to see where they were walking. In the beam of the flashlight he could see an open field.

Puzzled, he stopped. “Daddy!” he cried suddenly. “There’s no field near Grandmother’s house, is there?”

Daddy stopped walking too. “No, son, there isn’t,” he said in a tired voice. “We’ve missed the road some way.”

For a moment Rudy stood listening to the storm around him and his parents. Then he asked, “Daddy, don’t you think we should pray? Maybe Jesus will help us get to Grandmother’s house.”

“Yes, I think He will.” Daddy turned off the flashlight and put it in his coat pocket so that he could fold his hands.

Then he began his prayer. “Jesus, my family and I are lost. Without Your help, we will never be able to reach my mother’s house tonight. Please allow Your lamp to guide us.”

Soon after Daddy had finished his prayer the rain slowed to a heavy mist and the wind died.

“We can see better now,” said Daddy, “and the rain won’t beat in our faces so badly.”

Rudy found he could walk better, too, without having to hold his head down. He tried to see through the darkness beyond the beam of Daddy’s flashlight, and presently he saw an orange-colored glare.

“Daddy, I see a light!” Rudy cried happily.

“I see it, too,” said Mother. “I think it is a light from a window, but it looks a little strange.”

Daddy was laughing at Mother’s bewilderment. “It’s Grandmother’s kerosene lamp,” he explained. “She always turns the electricity off during a storm, but it is odd that we can see the lamp so plainly.”

Everyone walked faster now, and in a few minutes they were happily inside Grandmother’s warm kitchen. The first thing Rudy saw after he had greeted his grandmother was the kerosene lamp sitting on a chair by the window.

“We saw your lamp, Grandmother!” he told her excitedly.

His grandmother looked at the lamp and shook her head in a puzzled way. “It is strange,” she said, “but about ten minutes ago I was sitting here reading when all of a sudden I had a feeling that maybe someone needed to see my lamp. So I moved it from the table and put it on that chair by the window.”

Daddy and Mother and Rudy looked at one another. Then Daddy smiled. “That must have been about the time we were praying.”

“And you asked Jesus to be our lamp to guide us to Grandmother’s house,” Rudy added, remembering every word of Daddy’s prayer.

There were happy tears in Grandmother’s eyes as she listened, and she repeated a verse from the Psalms, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path” (Psalm 119:105).

Grandmother looked at Daddy and added softly, “Jesus heard your prayer and told me to move my lamp.”

“He certainly did,” agreed Daddy, “so let’s all thank Him right now.”

What a happy moment it was as everyone knelt to thank Jesus for the kerosene lamp in the window that had brought the family safely out of the storm.

Heaven, Please! Helena Welch, 48–53.

Children’s Corner – Who I am I?

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This puzzle was written by a lady who lived in California during the year of 1890, in response to an offer from a gentleman residing in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, who claimed he would pay $1,000 to anyone who could write a puzzle he could not solve. He failed to solve it and paid the lady $1,000. The answer is one word, and it appears only four times in the Bible. There are five letters in the word. An eight-year-old boy figured it out.

Adam, God made out of dust,

but thought it best to make me first.

So, I was made before man

to answer God’s most holy plan.

A living being I became,

and Adam gave to me my name.

I from his presence then withdrew,

and more of Adam never knew.

I did my Maker’s law obey,

nor ever went from it astray.

Thousands of miles I go in fear,

but seldom on earth appear.

For purpose wise which God did see,

He put a living soul in me.

A soul from me God did claim

and took from me the soul again.

So when from me the soul had fled,

I was the same as when first made.

And without hands or feet or soul,

I travel on from pole to pole.

I labor hard by day, by night

to follow man; I give great light.

Thousands of people young and old

will by my death great light behold.

No right or wrong can I conceive;

the Scriptures I cannot believe.

Although my name therein is found,

they are to me an empty sound.

No fear of death doth trouble me;

real happiness I’ll never see.

To heaven I will never go,

or to hell below.

Now when these lines you slowly read,

go search your Bible with all speed,

For that my name is there

I do honestly to you declare.

Answer will be given next month.

Children’s Corner – A Little Child Shall Lead Them

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Many years ago, in the Wild West, in the days when the train was the main way of travel, a minister and his wife were traveling with their little boy. They tucked him into bed in the sleeping car, all dressed warmly in his little, red nightshirt, and kissed him goodnight. They then went up to the observation car to watch the stars in the quiet night.

Now, on this same train was a man known as Gambler Jim. He was rough and untaught, making his living off the only skill he had—playing cards. Down in the club car dealing a game, he was about to come face to face with destiny.

After the preacher and his wife had been up in the observation car for about an hour, a rough-looking fellow suddenly made his way into the car.

“Anybody here got a kid what’s dressed in a red nightgown and sings like a bird?” he demanded awkwardly.

The father and mother sprang to their feet, gasping in fear.

“The’ ain’t nothing the matter of him,” the man reassured them, then went on with deeper embarrassment. “The matters with us. You’re a parson, ain’t you? The kid, he’s been singin’ to us an’ talkin’. If you don’t mind, we’d take it mighty good of you to come with me. Not you, ma’am. The kid’s all safe, an’ the parson’ll bring him back in a little while.”

The parson followed through 13 cars to the smoky club car, near the front of the train. There they stopped to listen. Up on a table stood the tiny boy, his face flushed, his voice shrill and sweet.

“Is you ready?” he cried insistently. “My papa says the Bridegroom is Jesus, an’ He wants everybody to be ready when He comes, just cause He loves you.”

Then with childish sweetness came the song which had evidently made the deepest impression on the child’s mind, “Are you ready for the Bridegroom when He comes?”

“He’s sung it over and over,” whispered the gambler, “And I couldn’t stan’ no more. He said you’d pray, Parson.”

As the two approached, the boy lifted his sweet, serious eyes to his father’s. “They want to get ready,” he said simply. With his boy snuggled childishly in his arms, the minister prayed, as he had never prayed before, for the men gathered around the child.

In a few minutes, the father took the child to his anxious mother, and then returned to talk with the men, four of whom that night decided to “get ready.” Among them was the rough man, Gambler Jim.

To this day, it remains a mystery how the child succeeded in reaching the smoky club car unnoticed and unhindered. As for the little fellow himself, his work was early done, for a few weeks later, upon the return trip, he was stricken with a swift and terrible disease and fell asleep in Jesus.

But what of Gambler Jim? He gave up his old life that night and served the Lord from that day onward. He sought an education and became a preacher. Preacher Jim loves to tell the sweet story of the little child that led him to Jesus.

Children’s Corner – The Right Decision

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It as the beginning of vacation when Mr. Davis, a friend of my father, came to see us, and asked to let me go home with him. I was much pleased with the thought of going out of town.

The journey was delightful, and when we reached Mr. Davis’ house, everything looked as if I would have a fine time. His son, Fred, was a boy about my own age, and all the family soon seemed like old friends.

“This is going to be a vacation worth having,” I said to myself several times during the evening, as we all played games, told riddles, and laughed and chatted merrily.

At last, Mrs. Davis said it was almost bedtime. Then I expected family prayers, but instead, we were very soon directed to our bedrooms. How strange it seemed to me, for I had never before been in a household without the family altar.

“Come,” said Fred, “mother says you and I are going to be bed fellows,” and I followed him up two pair of stairs to a nice little room. There he undressed first and jumped into bed. I was much longer about it, for a new set of thoughts began to rise in my mind.

When my mother told me good-bye, she said tenderly, in a low tone, “Remember, Robert, that you are a Christian boy.”

I knew very well what that meant, and I had now just come to a point of time when her words were to be minded.

At home I was taught the duties of a Christian child; abroad I must not neglect them, and one of these was evening prayer. From a very little boy, I had been in the habit of kneeling and asking the forgiveness of God, for Jesus’ sake, acknowledging His mercies, and seeking His protection and blessing.

“Why don’t you come to bed, Robert?” cried Fred. “What are you sitting there for?”

I was afraid to pray, and afraid not to pray. It seemed that I could not kneel down and pray before Fred. What would he say? Would he not laugh? The fear of Fred made me a coward. Yet I could not lie down on a prayerless bed. If I needed the protection of my heavenly Father at home, how much more abroad!

At my hesitation, Fred finally cried, “Come on, come to bed.”

I mustered courage, and replied, “I will kneel down and pray first; that is always my custom.”

“Pray?” said Fred, as he turned over on his pillow and said no more.

His propriety of conduct made me ashamed. Here I had long been afraid of him, and yet when he knew my wishes, he was quiet and left me to myself. How thankful I was that duty and conscience triumphed.

That settled my future course. It gave me strength for time to come. I believe that the decision of the “Christian boy,” by God’s blessing, made me a Christian man; for in after years I was thrown amid trials and temptations which could have drawn me away from God and from virtue, had it not been for my settled habit of secret prayer.

Let every child who has pious parents, read and think about this. You have been trained in Christian duties and principles. When you go from home, do not leave them behind.

Carry them with you, and stand by them; then, in weakness and temptation, by the help of God, they will stand by you.

Children’s Corner – One Minute More

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clockOn a bright sunny day while Ned sat at the breakfast table, he tried to get his mother or sister to tell him where they were all going.

“I’m as much in the dark as you are,” said Carolyn. “I think that mother was afraid I would let out the secret, for she sometimes calls me her little chatterbox. We’re to be ready at ten o’clock sharp.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll know in a few hours. Look, here comes Charley Wood. I promised to show him something in my workshop.” Away ran Ned.

The boys played together until after nine o’clock; and then, instead of going directly to the house, to be on hand promptly at ten o’clock, Ned thought: “Oh, there’s time enough for me to finish my kite.”

Two or three times his eyes were upon his watch; but there were a few minutes to spare, he thought. When he looked again, he was startled to find that it was three minutes past ten. By the time he rushed to the front room, he was five minutes late, and no one was there.

He could not believe that his mother would disappoint him for such a little delay, so he called for Carolyn. Then he ran to his mother’s room to see if she was there, then out the front door, but no one was to be seen.

“Why did mother not tell me where she was going? Then I might have overtaken her. Now I don’t know in which direction to go,” mumbled Ned.

It was because of this that his mother had not told Ned where she was going. He was in the habit of trying to make up lost time by hurrying at the last minute.

Mrs. Gray had planned a visit to her sister, who lived on a farm. Ned and Carolyn had once visited there, and they often begged mother to take them again; but she had many home cares and could not get away.

Poor Ned! When he found his mother and sister gone, he was a disappointed boy. Half ashamed to have Jane, the maid, see his tears or know how miserable he was, he went back to his play. He knew that if his mother returned, Carolyn would be sure to run out to the play house in search of him, so he stayed out there by himself until dinner-time.

Jane called Ned to dinner. She had lived in the Gray home a long time and knew Ned’s one failing. She had promised Mrs. Gray not to tell him where his mother and sister had gone, until dinnertime. Seeing the table set for only one person, Ned was surprised, for his mother rarely stayed away all day.

The boy sat down to his lonely meal, and when Jane came in with a piece of pie, he asked why his mother was not home to dinner.

“Oh, Ned,” she replied, “your mother won’t be back today, or tomorrow either—no, not until Monday morning. She and Carolyn have gone to visit your Aunt Mary.” This was too much for Ned. Dropping knife and fork, he rushed upstairs to his room, where he flung himself on the bed and cried bitterly.

When he had recovered from the first burst of tears, he remembered his mother’s request “not to forget,” that she should expect him “in the front room at ten o’clock precisely.” Now he understood that she must have started with Carolyn to the station at the very moment the clock hands pointed to the hour. It was a good lesson. He knew his mother had not meant to be cruel to him, and he resolved to improve in promptness.

Children’s Story – Walk of Faith

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Although it was obvious that the gathered crowd was yelling and clapping, the roar of 6 million cubic feet of water per second pouring over the precipice muted their cheering, oddly resembling a silent home video. Standing on the edge of Niagara Falls was the subject of their excitement. Charles Blondin turned his back to the water and faced the crowd, still dangerously close to the lip of the drop-off. Making eye contact with the people gathered a safe distance off, he slowly stepped backward, and with quiet amusement, saw the faces gasp in unison. The tightrope under his feet gave way slightly under the weight and he took several more quick steps back, now far out from the safe reach of solid ground. He swayed dangerously to one side, arms swinging wildly in a seeming attempt to regain his balance… but it was only for show. Charles Blondin, or better known as the Great Blondin, was rumoured to be more capable on a tightrope than most people were on flat earth. Confidently, he balanced again and walked the rope back to the cliffs, and over to the crowd. The cheering resumed, louder this time.

Raising his hand for quiet, Blondin yelled above the din of the waters. “How many of you believe that I can cross the falls while carrying someone on my back?”

After a brief instant of incredulous silence, someone began an encore of affirmation, “Blon-din, Blon-din, Blon-din!” The cheer spread through the crowd like wildfire, until every single person gathered was verbalizing their confidence in the crazy idea.

Once again motioning for silence, Blondin asked, “Which one of you would like to be that someone?” The question had the same effect as a pin on an inflated balloon. Heads shook in utter astonishment, rejecting their own professions of faith. The Great Blondin had already crossed the falls several times, and once even while blindfolded. After several minutes of staring down individuals in the crowd, a familiar face pushed through the sea of bodies, “I was first to profess confidence in the Great Blondin. Here is my show of faith.”

As the duo walked back to the edge of the falls, Blondin’s manager, Harry Colcord, wished he could pour confidence into his shaking boots. Hopping onto Blondin’s back, Colcord, braced himself for the quarter mile trip across the falls, hoping he would not share the same fate as the water tumbling 110 feet down to the rocks at the bottom. As they stepped out onto the thin thread that stretched from Canada to the United States, what little courageous blood was flowing through his veins drained from him and his face took on the pallor of crisp, white hotel sheets, but it was too late for a change of mind. His ride took one step in front of another, and yet it seemed to Colcord that they must be walking in place. What seemed a lifetime later, they reached the first guy-rope and rested in relative safety before continuing. Then, midway between the first and second safety ropes, their lifeline began to sway violently. Trying desperately to counteract the unpredictable movements of the tightrope, Charles also was battling the terrified attempts of his companion to correct their balance. Charles took off at a relative run across the swaying rope for the next guy-rope. Reaching it safely, he spoke solemnly to his frightened passenger. “If we are going to make it the rest of the way across, my friend, you will have to cease to be Harry Colcord, and become a part of me. You must do nothing apart from me. Rely on me completely or you will not make it to the other side.” Colcord did as he was instructed, trusting in the professional to do the work and get them to safety. The two men found their feet once again on solid ground and were never more grateful for the dirt beneath their feet.

While it is certainly not advisable to attempt a daring feat like this at home, there is indeed something that we ought to try at home, work, and play—the complete reliance upon the one and only Man who can help us safely to the other side. In acting on our own accord rather than trusting completely in Jesus and acting in faith with Him, we accomplish nothing but our own destruction.

Memory verse: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” Proverbs 3:5, 6.

Children’s Story – Reap also Bountifully

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Ignacy Paderewski!” The whisper came out more like a muffled scream drawing attention from several other students who made it obvious through their glares that they wanted to concentrate on the lecture. Toning his voice down a little, he looked again at his classmate, “That’s great! I can’t believe it!”

“Yah! And he’ll be here at the University!” his friend replied. “I want to organize a concert before he leaves town again. Wouldn’t it be amazing to hear a true master at the piano?”

The side-talk soon drew the attention of their professor and the excited banter was put on hold for the time being. But that did not necessarily mean that their minds were reverted back to their class. Who could possibly concentrate on a lecture about plate tectonics in geology class when you have a world famous Polish concert pianist and statesman coming to town!

Their professor let up eventually and the session dismissed. The two young men walked out of the lecture hall of Leland Stanford University excitedly chattering about their plans to organize a concert with Paderewski.

Unfortunately, however, their town did not share their enthusiasm. Their carefully laid plans turned out to be a disaster. So few people were in attendance that the two young men were not even able to pay the booking fee, that was arranged with Paderewski’s manager, let alone the rental for the concert hall and their own personal expenses for advertising and other allowances that they had taken. It goes without saying that these young men were beyond embarrassed when they approached Paderewski with the paltry amount that their excited endeavors had brought in, well short of the contract amount!

“Sir, we will make up the remaining balance through the summer’s work,” they said handing him a promissory note.

Smiling at the two young men Paderewski tore the note into tiny pieces. “Boys, take ten percent of the money each for your hard work, and give the remaining money to me. I will pay the cost of the concert hall. I will do this under one condition—that you think no more of it.”

Both relieved and still feeling more than sheepish, the two tripped all over themselves with gratitude. The man’s kindness was far from expected, which made it all the sweeter. They promised to make it up to him, which he disregarded with a wave of his hand.

The year is now 1919, 27 years after the disastrous concert. Paderewski has since been elected as the first Prime Minister of Poland. It was a devastating time to be in office. He had just seen his country through World War I and the country’s economy was devastated, and starvation was rampant. With most of the European countries also struggling to regain their balance after the war, there was only one man in the entire world who could be of service to him in this time of crisis—the president of the United States, Herbert Hoover, the same man, who years ago had tried to arrange a benefit concert with such disastrous results.

The two men had maintained a friendship since their meeting at Stanford University and President Hoover finally had the opportunity to return the kindness shown to him so many years before. Launching the largest relief effort ever in Europe, thousands of tons of food and supplies were given to Poland feeding over 1.5 million people in Poland alone.

Memory Verse: “But this I [say], He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.” II Corinthians 9:6.

Children’s Story – Maggie and Her Lost Cat

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Maggie had eight cats that she loved very much. She didn’t have many friends, so she thought of her cats as her friends. They were very special to her, and she would often spend time playing with them.

One day while she was outside feeding them she noticed one was missing. Buddy, one of her favorite cats, was gone! Maggie loved to hold him and play with him. She thought that he might be nearby, so she called for him, “Kitty, kitty, kitty,” but he didn’t come. She started to worry and after she had prayed for Jesus to help her find him, she started looking.

She searched everywhere she could think of, all over the yard, in small places and large places. She looked in a shed and in her playhouse too, but there was no sign of Buddy. Maggie had to go off to school, but she prayed the whole day for him to come home.

After school the search was on again but there was no sign of Buddy. Maggie’s parents went with her to enquire of the neighbors nearby, but no one had seen him. Maggie was so sad that he was gone, but it was getting too dark to keep searching. That night Maggie read a verse out of her Bible, and it said, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” Matthew 7:7.

She was much happier now and had hope. She trusted that Jesus would help her. She had done all she could do and now would wait for Jesus to answer her prayer in His time. Seven days had passed and Maggie still prayed and hoped that Buddy would come home. She trusted Jesus and she called for Buddy every day.

It was getting darker outside on the eighth day and she knew she needed to go inside but decided to take one more look before retiring for the night. She looked in a nearby shed. No Buddy!

As she started walking back to the house she heard the faint meow. Her heart filled with joy and as she walked closer to the food bowl she saw that it was he. Buddy had come home! She was so happy, and hugged him so tight and immediately prayed and thanked Jesus for the wonderful miracle of bringing Buddy home!

Buddy had a hurt leg and tail, and he was very skinny, but now he was safe at home! As Maggie grew older, she often wondered where Buddy had gone and why Jesus wanted her to wait so long for him to come home. Maybe it was a lesson for her to learn to trust Jesus and to have faith in Him, and to learn patience.

Jesus is the good Shepherd. (John 10:14.) Jesus looks for His lost sheep to bring them home to Him. It says in the Bible, “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?” Luke 15:4.

Just as the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to look for the one sheep that is lost, Jesus looks for us if we are lost, or fallen into some trap that Satan has set. Jesus calls and searches for us until He finds us and brings us home again safely!

We need to trust Jesus and to be like Him. We need to be witnesses for Jesus and search for the sheep that are lost. These lost sheep are the people who may not know of Him and His love. Maggie was so happy when Buddy was safely back home in her care. How much more would Jesus be to have his lost children back home safely in His care again.

Danielle Gerber is 16 years old. She loves animals and currently has 2 birds, 4 cats, 8 dogs, and 1 horse. She lives in a small town in Nebraska and works with her parents raising Golden Retrievers, mostly taking care of the puppies. She loves to write for the Lord. Thank you Danielle for this lovely story.