Children’s Story

Children’s Story – The Little Outcast

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“May’nt I stay ma’am? I’ll do anything you give me—cut wood, go after water, and do all your errands.”

The troubled eyes of the speaker were filled with tears. It was a lad that stood at the outer door, pleading with a kindly-looking woman, who still seemed to doubt the reality of his good intentions.

The cottage sat by itself on a bleak moor, or what in Scotland would have been called such. The time was near the latter end of September, and a fierce wind rattled the boughs of the only two naked trees near the house, and fled with a shivering sound into the narrow doorway, as if seeking for warmth at the blazing fire within.

Now and then a snowflake touched with its soft chill the cheek of the listener, or whitened the angry redness of the poor boy’s benumbed hands.

The woman was evidently loth to grant the boy’s request, and the peculiar look stamped upon his features would have suggested to any mind an idea of depravity far beyond his years.

But her woman’s heart could not resist the sorrow in those large, but by no means handsome grey eyes.

“Come in at any rate till the good man comes home. There, sit down by the fire; you look perishing with cold;” and she drew a rude chair up to the warmest corner; then, suspiciously glancing at the child from the corners of her eyes, she continued setting the table for supper.

Presently was heard the tramp of heavy shoes; the door was swung open with a quick jerk, and the “good man” presented himself wearied with labor.

A look of intelligence passed between his wife and himself; he too scanned the boy’s face with an expression not evincing satisfaction, but, nevertheless, made him come to the table, and then enjoyed the zest with which he dispatched his supper.

Day after day passed, and yet the boy begged to be kept “only till to-morrow;” so the good couple, after due consideration, concluded that as long as he was so docile, and worked so heartily, they would retain him.

One day in the middle of the winter, a peddler, long accustomed to trade at the cottage, made his appearance, and disposed of his goods readily, as if he had been waited for.

“You have a boy out there splitting wood, I see,” he said, pointing to the yard.

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I have seen him,” replied the peddler evasively.

“And, where? Who is he? What is he?”

“A jail-bird;” and the peddler swung his pack over his shoulder. “That boy, young as he looks, I saw in court myself, and heard his sentence—‘ten months.’ He’s a hard one. You’d do well to look carefully after him.”

Oh! there was something so horrible in the word jail—the poor woman trembled as she laid away her purchases; nor could she be easy till she called the boy in, and assured him that she knew that dark part of his history.

Ashamed, distressed, the boy hung down his head; his cheeks seemed bursting with the hot blood; his lips quivered, and anguish was painted as vividly upon his forehead as if the word was branded into the flesh.

“Well,” he muttered, his whole frame relaxing, as if a burden of guilt or joy had suddenly rolled off. “I may as well go to ruin at once—there’s no use in my trying to do better—everybody hates and despises me—nobody cares about me—I may as well go to ruin at once.”

“Tell me,” said the woman, who stood off far enough for flight, if that should be necessary, “how came you to go so young to that dreadful place? Where was your mother—where?”

“Oh!” exclaimed the boy, with a burst of grief that was terrible to behold. “Oh! I hain’t no mother! Oh! I hain’t had no mother ever since I was a baby. If I’d only had a mother,” he continued, his anguish growing vehement, and the tears gushing out from his strange-looking grey eyes, “I wouldn’t ha’ been bound out, and kicked, an’ cuffed, an’ laid on to with whips. I wouldn’t ha’ been saucy, and got knocked down, and run away, and then stole because I was hungry. Oh! I hain’t got no mother. I ain’t got no mother—I haven’t had no mother since I was a baby.”

The strength was all gone from the poor boy, and he sank on his knees, sobbing great choking sobs, and rubbing the hot tears away with his poor knuckles.

And did that woman stand there unmoved? Did she coldly bid him pack up and be off—the jail-bird? No, no; she had been a mother, and though all her children slept under the cold sod in the church-yard, she was a mother still.

She went up to that poor boy, not to hasten him away, but to lay her fingers kindly, softly on his head, to tell him to look up, and from henceforth find in her a mother. Yes; she even put her arm about the neck of that forsaken, deserted child; she poured from her mother’s heart sweet, womanly words, words of counsel and tenderness.

Oh! how sweet was her sleep that night; how soft her pillow! She had linked a poor, suffering heart to hers, by the most silken, the strongest bands of love; she had plucked some thorns from the path of a little, sinning, but striving mortal. None but the angels could witness her holy joy, and not envy. Did the boy leave her? Never! He is with her still; a vigorous, manly, promising youth. The once poor outcast is her only dependence, and nobly does he repay the trust.

The Youth’s Instructor, vol. 1, No. 6, March 1853.

Children’s Story – Dangerous Doors

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“Oh, Cousin Will, do tell us a story! There’s just time before the school-bell rings.” And Harry, Kate, Bob, and little Peace crowded around about their older cousin until he declared himself ready to do anything they wished.

“Very will,” said Cousin Will. “I will tell you about some dangerous doors I have seen.”

“Oh, that’s good!” exclaimed Bob. “Were they all iron and heavy bars? And if one passed in, did they shut and keep them there forever?”

“No; the doors I mean are pink and scarlet, and when they open you can see a row of little servants standing all in white, and behind them is a little lady dressed in crimson.”

“What? That’s splendid!” cried Kate. “I should like to go in myself.”

“Ah! It is what comes out of these doors that makes them so dangerous. They need a strong guard on each side, or else there is great trouble.”

“Why, what comes out?” said little Peace, with wondering eyes.

“When the guards are away,” said Cousin Will, “I have known some things to come out sharper than arrows, and they make terrible wounds. Quite lately I saw two pretty little doors, and one opened and the little lady began to talk like this: ‘What a stuck-up thing Lucy Waters is! And did you see that horrid dress made out of sister’s old one?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said the other little crimson lady from the other door, ‘and what a turned-up nose she has!’ Then poor Lucy, who was around the corner, ran home and cried all evening.”

“I know what you mean,” cried Kate, coloring (blushing).

“Were you listening?”

“Oh, you mean our mouths are doors!” exclaimed Harry, “and the crimson lady is Miss Tongue; but who are the guards, and where do they come from?”

“You must ask the Great King. This is what you must say: ‘Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth: keep the door of my lips.’ Then He will send Patience to stand on one side and Love on the other, and no unkind word will dare come out.”

The End

Children’s Story – A Boy who Lived Again

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Elisha went about through all the land, teaching the people, but especially teaching the students in the schools of the prophets. There were many now who turned to the Lord, and Elisha was greatly encouraged. He journeyed here and he journeyed there, and everywhere he came to be known as a great prophet.

Elijah had fought against the evil worship of Baal, brought in by Jezebel, when it threatened to overwhelm all the worship of Jehovah; and the road that Elijah trod was a hard road. But now the worship of Baal was lessening, though many followed after the gods that Jeroboam had set up. So the way of Elisha was easier, but not easy. He was highly honored in Israel, both by the king and by the people.

One of the places that he used to stop as he went on his journeys was in the city of Shunem at the house of a good and great woman. After several visits, the woman said to her husband, “I see this is a holy man who stops and eats with us sometimes. Let us build a room for him on the side of the house, and put in it a bed and a table and a stool and a lamp, and let it be for the man of God only, when he comes.”

Her husband said, “All right; let’s do.” So they built the room and furnished it. When Elisha came, she took him up and showed him the room, with all its good furniture and he was glad. So he asked her what she wanted, but she said, “Nothing!” However, when she was gone, he asked his servant, Gehazi, what he might do for the good woman. And Gehazi said, “I’ll tell you, master. She has no child of her own, and she does so much wish for a son.”

Then Elisha called her back and said, “Listen! Next year about this time you shall have a baby boy born to you.”

She was so thrilled she could hardly believe it. And she said, “O my lord, don’t tell me any lies.”

“No, indeed!” said Elisha. “Truly, you shall have a son.”

And so it came to pass. For the next year there was born to her a baby boy. How she loved him! He grew to be quite a lad. When he was perhaps five years old, one day he followed his father out to the wheat field. The sun was hot, and it beat down on the little boy’s head and made it ache. He went to his father and said, “My head! My head!”

His father said to a big boy, “Take the little chap up and carry him to his mother.” So the big boy carried the little boy to his mother. She took him in her arms and sat down with him and rocked him. But he grew sicker and sicker, until at noon he died.

She took him up in her arms and laid him on the prophet’s bed and shut the door. Then she called to her husband and said, “Have the ass saddled for me. I want to go to the prophet.”

“Why do you want to go to the prophet?” he asked. “This isn’t new moon or Sabbath.”

She didn’t tell him the little boy was dead. She just said, “It’s for the best.” So he had the ass saddled.

And she said to her servant, “Go behind and drive fast and faster.” And she rode to Mount Carmel, where the prophet Elisha was. He saw her coming, and he said to his servant, “Here comes this Shunammite woman. What can be the matter?”

When she came up to him, she fell down at his feet, and she cried, “Did I ask for a son? Did I not say, ‘Tell me no lies’?”

Then he knew her little boy was dead. And he said to Gehazi, “Take my staff, and go ahead and lay it on the face of the child.” So his servant took his master’s staff and went ahead. But the mother said to Elisha, “I’ll not go unless you go with me.” He arose then and went with her. On the way they met Gehazi, and he said, “I laid the staff on the face of the lad, but he is not awaked.” So they went on till they came to the house.

Elisha went up to the room alone, and opened the door. There lay the little dead boy. Elisha looked at him; then he walked up and down in the room and prayed to God. Then he went and laid himself on the little boy. He put his mouth on his mouth, and his eyes on his eyes, and his hands on his hands; and the little boy’s flesh grew warm. Again Elisha walked up and down and prayed to God. And again he went and laid himself on the little boy, eyes to his eyes, mouth to his mouth, hands to his hands. And the child sneezed seven times, and he opened his eyes, and he was alive!

Elisha summoned his servant, and said, “Call this Shunammite.” And when she came, he said to her, “Take up your son.”

She looked over to the bed where she had laid her little dead son. But now his eyes were open! He smiled at her and stretched out his hands to her. She fell at the prophet’s feet and thanked him. Then she took up her little boy and carried him out, more thankful for him now than when first as a little babe he had been laid in her arms. (You can read this story in the Bible in II Kings 4:8–37.)

Arthur Whitefield Spalding, Golden Treasury of Bible Stories, Southern Publishing Association, Nashville, Tennessee, 1954.

Honesty – The Vision of the Missing Hairnet

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It all happened many, many years ago in Northern California. Mrs. Ellen G. White, the Lord’s messenger, was living at Healdsburg only a few blocks from our new college. Since her husband, Elder James White, was now dead, Sister White invited several young ladies to live in her home as they attended school. Among these was one young lady of considerable ability who did some teaching at the school.

How this young lady enjoyed living in Sister White’s home! It was a large, white, two-story, frame house, surrounded with garden and orchard. Sister White was a big-hearted, understanding mother to the girls who lived with her. All went well for a few months. Then it happened. As this girl went through Sister White’s bedroom on some errand, she saw something on the dresser she wanted very much. She stopped and looked at it. The longer she lingered, the more she felt she just had to have it. She looked this way and that, and seeing no one around she reached out her hand and took it.

And what was it? A watch, or something valuable, you think? No. It was just a hairnet. The women at that time often wore a net over their hair. True, it was a well-made, silk hairnet. Sister White would not miss it, she thought, and it was just what she so much wanted.

Leaving Sister White’s bedroom, with the hairnet in her closed hand, the young lady went to her bedroom and opening her trunk, put the net in the corner of the tray. She closed the trunk and went about her duties. But there was no song in her heart now. You know why.

A few hours later in the day, Sister White was preparing to go out, and entering her bedroom to get ready, she brushed her hair, and thought to put on the net, as was the custom of that day. But she could not find the net anywhere. It was not on the top of the dresser. She looked back of it, she looked under it, but could not find the missing article anywhere. Giving up, she did without it.

That evening at worship time the girls gathered with Sister White around the open fireplace. Often Sister White, in connection with the worship, told a story of the early days. How they did enjoy these stories! But this evening, Sister White had a question to ask the girls.

“Have any of you seen my hairnet?” she asked. Continuing, she said, “It was right there on my dresser in the bedroom. When I went to get it, it was gone. It must be found. It could not go away by itself.” But no one seemed to know about the hairnet, for no one responded. There was one girl there, however, who wished Mrs. White would not say anything about a hairnet. The matter was dropped.

A day or two later, as Sister White was passing through this girl’s room, a voice spoke to her as she passed the trunk, “Lift the lid of that trunk!”

But it was not Sister White’s trunk and she would not think of looking into someone else’s trunk.

Again the voice spoke to her, “Lift the lid of that trunk.”

Now she recognized the voice to be that of an angel, and she obeyed and opened the trunk. In the tray was the missing hairnet. She left it there, closed the trunk, and went about her tasks.

That evening, as the family came together again for worship, the hairnet question came up. “Does anyone know where the hairnet is?” Sister White asked. “I am sure it can be found. It could not go away by itself.” But there was no response, and [as] no one seemed to know anything about the hairnet, Sister White did not press the matter further. One girl was worried and in her heart she determined to destroy the hairnet, lest Sister White should discover that she had taken it. How ungrateful this would seem!

A few days after this, Sister White was seated in the living room in front of the fire in the fireplace, busy with her writing. It may have been a personal testimony she was writing to someone, or she may have been working on some of the last chapters of The Great Controversy. For several hours she had been busy with her pen and her hand was tired, her mind was tired, and her eyes were tired. She laid her pen down and looked into the fireplace, and then just for a moment she was in vision. This was one of the shortest visions ever given to Sister White.

In this vision she saw the hand and arm of a girl. In the hand was a hairnet. She also saw on the table a kerosene lamp which was burning. She saw the hairnet held over the lamp and then lowered until the net touched the flame. In a flash of light, the silk net burned, and it was gone. The vision was over, and Sister White found herself in the living room by the open fire. Now she knew what had happened to the missing hairnet.

That evening when the family was together around the fireplace, Sister White again asked about the hairnet. Did not someone know what had happened to it? Someone must know about it. But nothing was said; no one seemed to know. Sister White dropped the matter.

A little later Sister White called aside the girl in whose trunk she had seen the hairnet. She told her about the voice that spoke to her. She told her what she saw when she opened the trunk. Then she told her about the short vision and of how she saw the hairnet burn up over the lamp.

The girl broke down in tears. “Yes, Sister White, I took it,” she confessed. “I wanted it so much, and I did not think you would miss it, but when you began to press the matter I feared you would find out that I had taken it, so I held the net over a lamp and burned it up, just as you saw in the vision, and I said to myself, ‘Now no one will ever know about the hairnet.’ ”

But someone was watching from up in heaven. The angels made a record of what took place, and God sent His angel down to this world with a vision for Sister White just about the hairnet. It was such a small thing for the Lord to bother about. God who created the earth and guides the planets, sent His angel down to this world with a vision for Sister White just about a hairnet a girl had taken. But it was a matter much more important than the value of the hairnet. Here was the soul of a young lady at stake.

She was a member of the church. She went to Sabbath School and to church. She was a Seventh-day Adventist, and she felt that she was all right. She did not realize that there were little sins in her life—sins which led her to steal and to deceive. But when she saw that God loved her so much that He sent His angel down to this world with a vision for Sister White just about the hairnet, then she began to see some things differently. Some of the seemingly little things now seemed much more important. How much the Lord must love her; how important the little things were!

Not only did this girl confess her sin of stealing and make the matter right with Sister White and with the Lord, but this experience became the turning point in her life.

This young lady gave her heart anew to God, and she lived a sweet, consistent Christian life. And that was why the vision was given to Sister White. It was to help men and women, and boys and girls to live sweet, consistent Christian lives that so many visions were given to Sister White. And the counsels were written out in the Spirit of Prophecy books to help everyone live good lives, and to get ready to meet Jesus.

Campfire Junior Stories from the days of Seventh-day Adventist Pioneers, 9. Ellen G. White Estate, Review and Herald Publishing Association.

Children’s Story – What Love Can Do

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It was a sunny day outside, but clouds seemed to hang over Harold. In fact, the afternoon atmosphere in the kitchen seemed to change when Harold brought in the wood and kindling.

Mother turned off her iron and followed him to the kitchen door. She laid a hand gently on his shoulder and turned him around so that their eyes met. “Harold, my boy, what is the trouble?” she asked. “What has happened to make you so miserable? Tell me about it; perhaps I can help.”

“It’s all over now, and I don’t see as there’s anything more to be done.”

“Tell me about it. Can’t you trust me not to speak of it to anyone?”

“Oh, it’s no secret. Everybody in the school knows about it. Teacher gave me a scolding; and I’m not saying I didn’t deserve it. This is what happened: After lunch Jack and I were playing catch with my new ball, when Tom came to bother us. When Jack missed the ball, Tom got it and ran. I took after him, and when I finally caught him he refused to give it to me, so we had a fight. Of course, I don’t think Tom had any right to take my ball; but I know I shouldn’t have got angry, either.”

Mother’s face was happy as she greeted her husband that evening. “I’m so glad you came home early tonight,” she said, as she kissed him.

At worship time father read the story of Christ’s suffering and death on the cross. When the chapter was finished, mother asked, “What was it that touched the heart of the thief and made him want to be with Jesus in heaven?”

Harold was the first to answer, “It was the prayer of Jesus, ‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.’ ”

Handing Harold the open Bible, mother said, “Will you read the words that Peter wrote to some of his Christian friends who were mistreated because they loved Jesus?”

Harold read: “ ‘For even hereunto were ye called: because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow His steps: who did no sin, neither was guile found in His mouth; who, when He was reviled, reviled not again; when He suffered, He threatened not; but committed Himself to Him that judgeth righteously.’ I Peter 2:21–23.”

“That means that when someone did something mean to Jesus, our Saviour did not do anything mean back. He was kind and loving always.”

Harold thought how unlike Jesus he had been at school. Father remembered the harsh letter he had written that day, and he decided he would not send it.

After prayer, the family gathered around the piano and sang “More Like the Master I Would Ever Be.”

Harold whispered in mother’s ear, “I’m going to let Tom play with my ball. I feel sorry for him; his parents are not Christians. And mother, would it be all right to invite him to our home sometime?”

Ella M. Robinson, Happy Home Stories, TEACH Services Inc., Ringgold, Georgia, March 2005, 11–14.

Children’s Story – Amazing Rescue

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If the one who experienced this almost unbelievable battlefield bewilderment was not known for his extreme truthfulness and reliability, this would be too much to believe.

The Somme River rises above St. Quentin, near the Belgian border in northern France, and flows into the English Channel. In what was once a rich farming area near the river, the astounding scene took place.

Before the war, this man was an irreligious man. He had attended some evangelistic meetings once but did not become a Christian. After entering the war he was shipped to France. As he was crossing an open field, shrapnel struck him down. His fellow soldiers left him as they deemed him dead.

“I could hear the battle,” he related, “and the humming of bullets was all about me. I saw that I was bleeding and hoped that a corpsman would find me. But night came without one person coming near by the bit of a hollow where I fell.

“The next morning I was very weak from the loss of blood and from hunger. I had a little food in my knapsack but was unable to turn over or to unbuckle my straps to get it. I realized that I was lying in my own blood. I was helpless and giving myself up to die.

“Five days later, the medical corpsmen were out in the field searching for any one who could possibly still have life in him. I saw them come closer and closer. I tried to call to them, but they were too far away to hear my weak voice.

“Closer and closer they came. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, one of them stopped, cupped his hand to his ear, and heard my plea for help. After administering some first aid, he called to a companion to get a stretcher. When the two of them started to take me off, I asked them to look around and see if they could see what had saved my life. Puzzled and thinking I was delirious, they started on with their task.

“Wait,” I cried, “at least look at the evidence of what has happened.” After seeing those ten definite objects of proof that I had miraculously been preserved from starvation, we made our way to the mobile army surgical hospital.

“In the portable hospital tent, I had time to reflect back on the astounding way in which that God I had rejected in those evangelistic meetings had not rejected me. I gave my heart to Him and vowed to go back home, look up the people who held those meetings, and allow them to help me become a real bonafide Christian.

“My testimony of God’s stunning battlefield protection was confirmed by the two medics so that no one would miss out on the power of it all through doubt or disbelief.

“You see, when I could not turn over or unbuckle my strap with my one free arm so that I could eat the meager provisions of my K-rations, the Lord interceded.

“Lying there the morning after my being wounded, I first thought I was having an hallucination, because standing near the very tip of the five fingers of my one free hand was a real, live hen!

“What’s more, the hen laid an egg right then and there!

“I broke the egg, cupping most of its contents in one half of the shell, and swallowed it. It was not much, but it was enough to keep me alive until the next day.

“What’s even more wonderful is the fact that this same hen that I saw walk slowly away after laying that first egg came back to almost the very same spot the next day to lay another egg.

“The hen came from a nearly shelled farm house, an orderly told me later. But it came five days in a row. And the corpsmen saw the ten halves of the five eggs broken by my body.

“From this day forward I will never be able to eat chicken. The chicken means life to me, and I can’t ever take one’s life again.”

W.A. Spicer and Helen Spicer Menkel, The Hand That Still Intervenes, Concerned Publications, Inc., Clermont, Florida, 1982, 33–35.

Children’s Story – Peter’s Escape

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When Herod the king began to persecute the members of the church he killed James, the brother of John, with the sword. He saw that this pleased the Jews so Peter was arrested and put in prison. Herod planned to bring him out to the people after the Passover so to prevent his escape, four bands of four soldiers (16 soldiers) were assigned to watch over him.

While Peter remained in prison, the members of the church prayed earnestly to God for his deliverance. On the very night before the day that Herod meant to bring him up for trial, Peter slept peacefully between two soldier guards. As well as being fastened to soldiers with two chains, Herod had also placed watchmen to stand on guard at the doors. Every precaution was taken to make sure Peter was secure and had no way of escape.

All of a sudden a light shone brightly in the jail cell and an angel of the Lord stood by him. Peter must have been sleeping very soundly because the angel had to strike Peter on his side to wake him, saying, “Get up quickly” (Acts 12:7). Immediately the chains fell off in his hands.

The angel said to him, “Put on your belt and your sandals.” And Peter did so. “Throw your coat around you, and follow me” (verse 8). So Peter went out with him not knowing if it was really true or he was dreaming. They went past the first lot of guards and then the second guards and as they approached the iron gate that led into the city, that opened to them by itself.

Out they went passing through one street after another and as quickly as he had come, the angel left him. Peter found himself alone, “And when Peter was come to himself, he said, Now I know of a surety, that the Lord hath sent his angel, and hath delivered me out of the hand of Herod, and from all the expectation of the people of the Jews.” Acts 12:11.

After he had thought about what he should do, he went to the house of Mary, the mother of John Mark. Many people had gathered together there for prayer and when he knocked at the door a girl named Rhoda came to answer. Upon hearing Peter’s voice, she got so excited that she forgot to open the door, but ran in and told everybody that Peter was standing outside. They said to her, “You are mad, or out of your mind.” But she insisted that it was so.

They said, “It is his angel” (verse 15). Peter kept on knocking and when they opened the door and saw him standing there they were amazed. He motioned to them with his hand to be silent and told them how the Lord had brought him out of prison. He said, “Go and tell James and the other brothers” (verse 17). Then he left the house and went to another place. Now as soon as it was morning, there was great excitement among the soldiers as to what had become of Peter. After Herod had searched for him and had failed to find him the guards were questioned and then he commanded that they should all be executed. What a cruel King he was!

How different is our loving Saviour who is a forgiving King who always knows where we are and watches over us and takes care of us. Even while he was in prison Peter trusted in Jesus. (See Acts 12.)

Children’s Story – The Unbeliever

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The foreman glanced at his pocket watch and listened intently in the chilly early-morning air. The metal rails gleamed faintly in the bluish light. The sun began to flood the tops of the mountains. Then he heard it—the wail of an approaching train. The rest of the work crew turned their attention from the writhing flames of burning railroad ties and stared down the track. In a few moments they spotted the yellow eye of the headlight atop the rumbling gray bulk of the engine.

Black smoke spewed furiously from the smokestack and drifted back along the length of the train and across the plain. The workmen leaned on picks and shovels and watched as the locomotive slowed before it reached the section of the track where the men were working. The air brakes hissed the train to a crawl. The smell of pinewood smoke filled the air. Sticking his head out of the cab window, the fireman waved to the men along the track. They returned his greeting as the olive-green Southern Pacific cars rocked past. A child pressed his face against a coach window, wide-eyed, wondering what the men were doing out on the lonely plain. The train began to gather speed, and seconds later—with a blast from the whistle—the Southern Pacific limited vanished in the distance, heading for Chicago. A lantern still burned on its observation car.

Mrs. Ellen White drowsed in her seat, one cheek laid against the plush mohair upholstery. The jolt of the slowing train had awakened her, and she watched the silent figures of the track crew slide past her window. A voice from the rear of the coach attracted her attention. She could by listening carefully make out the man’s words above the rattle and clatter of the coach wheels on the track. He seemed to be talking about religion. She turned around to see who he was. The conductor had extinguished the Pintsch gas lamps. Not too much light filtered into the coach yet. The varnished walnut wood of the car’s walls and ceiling made it seem even darker inside. But she located the person she had heard. He was talking to another man, a man who looked as though he wished he were by himself in the dining car, eating breakfast. Instead he feebly argued with a stranger who seemed to enjoy attacking religion.

When the unbeliever saw that his seatmate no longer wanted to talk, he looked for another victim. Not all of the seats were filled, and he easily found a seat beside someone willing to talk to him. For a couple of hours he went from one person to another in the coach, criticizing and condemning Christianity. Some of the passengers agreed with his statements, laughing at his clever arguments and manner of gesturing. Others tried to defend Christianity, but soon gave up when he defeated their every attempt.

The unbeliever knew that everybody in the car was listening to him, and he enjoyed the attention. Some of the more devout Christians in the coach wished that someone would silence his ridiculing and boasts, but they could only sit helplessly in their seats or go into another chair car. With pride and triumph on his face, he walked up and down the aisle and swayed back and forth as the engineer tried to make up for lost time and regain his fifty-mile-an-hour average speed.

Spotting Mrs. White with a Bible in her hand, the man sat down in the empty seat beside her and began a tirade against Christianity. Religion, he said, reminded him of someone juggling balls. It was all a form of trickery with nothing real behind it. He compared it to sorcery and superstitious magic. On and on he ranted and raved. Mrs. White said nothing.

Still talking loudly, the man knew he had the complete attention of the passengers. His voice boomed down the length of the coach. Many wondered what Mrs. White would say to the atheist, but she remained silent. She made no attempt to argue with him. Finally the man stopped from sheer exhaustion. Turning to face him, Mrs. White quoted, “This is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.” John 17:3.

Briefly she told the man about her own conversion and life. “You call religion sorcery,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “But we have ‘a more sure word of prophecy’, a promise ‘whereunto ye do well that ye take heed’ (11 Peter 1:19).” She raised her voice so that everybody could hear.

The unbelieving man objected vigorously to her reply. Trying to regain what he thought had been his advantage, he asked if she had ever read books by certain authors. Some of the books tried to find mistakes in the Bible and prove it was nothing but a collection of myths. Others were about ancient philosophy. If she answered that she hadn’t read them, he hoped to make her look ignorant in front of the other passengers.

Ignoring his attempt to make her look foolish, she answered simply, “No, I have not.”

“There. There, you don’t know,” he sneered. “Since you haven’t read even these books, you don’t know the first thing about the subject.”

“I don’t want to know,” she declared firmly. “I have no time to read such trash.” All the wisdom of the secular philosophers, she explained, came as a gift from God. Instead of using it in God’s service, they had perverted their intelligence and twisted it to satisfy human pride and ideas. Anything worthwhile such men wrote or said came as inspiration from God. All true knowledge came from Christ, and the world’s greatest men only reflected its Source as the moon reflects the light of the sun. Carefully Mrs. White explained that man could find truth only with Christ’s help. She talked more to the other passengers than to the man in the seat beside her. Everybody listened, clearly hearing her above the rhythmic click of the wheels on the rails.

Angry at the way Mrs. White had gotten control of the conversation, the man muttered and mumbled under his breath. He turned in his seat and sat in sullen disgust. The other people in the coach, seeing how tiny, elderly Mrs. White had silenced his boasts, burst into laughter. After taking the laughter for a few minutes, the unbeliever hurried down the aisle and crossed the swaying open vestibule to another coach.

Mrs. White had not used any complicated arguments with the scoffing man. To have done so would have given him a chance to twist the discussion to his own advantage. Instead she exposed the man’s ignorance by revealing to the other people in the coach that he knew nothing about God. He could not hide that fact by quoting statements from books he had read. The Spirit of God took Mrs. White’s simple defense and stabbed it into the agnostic’s heart, humiliating his pride. She showed that she knew true wisdom.

Angel Over Her Tent and Other Stories, D. A. Delafield and Gerald Wheeler, Review and Herald Publishing Association, Hagerstown, Maryland, 2000, 92, 95.

Children Story – Love Your Enemies

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“ Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you.” Luke 6:27.

The slave, known as Elijah, had been born a free man in Africa. He was a grown man when slave traders, led by a traitor, a small African man, attacked his village and snatched up all able-bodied young men and dragged them off in chains to the slave ships. He soon forgot the faces of the white traders, but resentment burned within him against the African who had grown rich from the bodies of his own people.

The fact that while in America he could never gain revenge, it grew into a bitter hatred. He took his wrath out on his master, a small man, who even though white, reminded him of his enemy. He slouched around, snarled, threatened and did no more work than he absolutely had to. He opposed his master in every way until, because of the seething rebellion on the plantation, the man was afraid to venture out alone at night.

Then the bitter man came under the influence of Christian slaves, and he met and fell in love with our lovely Jesus. A change came over him, and he helped the weaker slaves. He took care of his master’s interests, until it came to be that, like Joseph of old, his master trusted him with most of the running of the plantation.

The day came when the master went into town to purchase some more slaves, and he gave Elijah full authority to pick who he wanted for the work. He had chosen several when he came to an old man, thin and bent. He looked at him for a few moments and indicated him to join the group he was buying.

“Not him,” his master snapped. “But you said I could have who I want and I want this slave!” Elijah answered.

The dealer spoke quickly, “Since you have bought all these, I’ll throw the old man in free.” The deal was settled.

Elijah took the old man and gave him a place in his own hut and fed him with his food share. After his plantation work was done, he sat up to make clothes for the old slave. He gave him only easy work to do. But the man was old, and one day the master noticed Elijah hurrying in from the fields to his hut every so often, then returning and working as hard as he could to make up for the lost time. Finally the master followed him to the hut to see what was going on.

There he found Elijah sponging the face of the old man with a cool cloth as he lay moaning on a bunk, deathly ill. Anger filled the master and he snapped, “This man is no slave, he’s useless! I told you not to get him!”

“Yes, Massa,” Elijah replied, “But he is a man, a sick man, and he needs my help. I’ll be back to the fields as soon as I cool his face.”

The master snarled, “Who is this slave, anyway? Why are you so anxious to care for him; is he your father?”

“No, he not be my fader.”

“Then he must be your brother, or your uncle.”

“No, Massa, he not my brudda or my uncle.”

“He’s a friend then?”

“No, Massa, He not my friend, He my enemy.”

“Your what?”

“Yes Massa, he my enemy, an’ Lord Jesus, He say to love our enemies an’ do dem good.” Elijah paused. “This slave, he be de man that sold me to the slave traders many year ago when I am a free man in my village in Africa. Now I finds him an’ does him good, like the Good Book say.”

Speechless, the master walked away!

Children’s Story – Something Better: The Story of a Shrine

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Miss S was in need of a strong man to draw her jinrikisha as she made her daily rounds, visiting and superintending the work of the daily schools under her care. Our faithful cook, who had become an earnest Christian since coming to work for us, had undertaken to find a suitable man.

“Sensei,” he said, returning one day from a tour of investigation, “I have found a young man who would be just the one for the place I think, but one thing makes him hesitate.”

“And what is that?” asked the missionary.

“Well,” he replied, “he is only just married and he and his wife would be glad to come here to work but his mother, who is old and dependent upon him for support, is very faithful in the worship of her gods, and especially of her husband’s spirit. And as her worship is her only satisfaction in life now, her son is afraid to go and live at a Christian place, for fear she would not be allowed liberty in her religious worship. As for himself and his wife, he said they were not particular about such things; but it was different with his old mother, and he could never consent to anything that would interfere with the happiness of her last days. I told him,” continued our cook, “that if they came to live here, he and his wife, being servants in the household, would be expected to attend morning worship daily, but that I was sure his old mother would be allowed perfect freedom to worship as she pleased in her own room.”

“You are right,” replied the missionary. “See the man again, and tell him that as we are not engaging his mother to work for us, she will be entirely at liberty to worship as she pleases, and never obliged to attend our Christian services. Only we can not permit the display of the emblems of her religion outside her own room or on our gateposts, of course.”

So they came, and took up their abode in the gatehouse. The tiny, wrinkled old lady who claimed the dutiful Cho as her son, evidently shrank in awe from the big, fearsome, “Foreign teachers”—specimens, to her, utterly foreign, truly, to everything she had ever known.

At a stated hour each morning the servants of the household were gathered together for instruction in the things of God. Miss S was the faithful and efficient teacher of this daily class, carefully explaining the word of God and the way of salvation, and leading these darkened souls into the light. Cho and his wife were regular attendants at the morning service, and after we had smiled a cheery “Good morning, O Baa San!” often enough to the dear, wee little woman sitting on the mats in her room by the gate, so that she was accustomed to the sight of us, as we daily passed by, and was losing her fear of us, an invitation was sent her to come with Cho and listen to the teaching. However, invitation after invitation was declined, and the missionaries quietly waited for the Spirit of the Lord to woo and win her.

Meanwhile Cho’s interest was awakened, and developed until at last he took Jesus to be his own Saviour, and erelong sought and received baptism. He gave up smoking, and began to live a quiet, consistent Christian life.

One morning, just as the morning service was beginning, in slipped the little old mother, quiet as a mouse, and dropped on the mats beside her son. No notice was taken of her, and the service went quietly on to the close, and then, as the members of the class bowed low with their heads to the floor—as is Japanese custom before taking one’s departure—the missionary said, quietly but cordially: “We are glad to see you here this morning, O Baa San.” Thereafter she came regularly to hear the “Jesus doctrine,” always quietly dropping in, the last one, at the little gathering, silently listening, and as silently slipping away again at its close. Whether or not any impression was being made upon the heart so long shrouded in the darkness of heathendom we had no means of knowing. But we prayed on.

Cho’s wife was getting supper ready for the little family in the gatehouse one evening. A baby daughter had come to cheer their home, and had been the unconscious means of drawing the delighted grandmother and the sympathetic foreign teachers nearer together. Just now, however, the wee treasure was tucked away in her quilts in a corner of the room, fast asleep, while Kinu, the young mother, was boiling rice, preparing the fish, and slicing the highly odoriferous pickled radish for the evening meal. A diminutive oil lamp dimly lighted the small apartment. It was early autumn, and the night was cool and clear, and the stars shone brightly down upon the quiet, temporary home of the Bible Training School, their light filtering down through the branches of the weeping willow that stood by the well, and resting tenderly upon the figure of a dear little woman, so small and so frail standing there in the shadows, with clasped hands and upturned face. “O God!” she pleaded, “if there be one true God, who has done so much for my son Cho, reveal thyself to me also.”

Presently one of the sliding doors of the gatehouse was quietly pushed aside from without and Kinu looked up inquiringly: “Where have you been, mother? I have noticed of late that you frequently slip outdoors of an evening. Isn’t it cold?” And to the amazement of the daughter-in-law came the quiet earnest reply: “I have been praying to Cho’s God.”

In the old lady’s face there was a new light, and in her heart a strange, deep, sweet peace—the answer from the unseen Lord.

We heard with great joy that this precious soul, so near the end of a weary lifetime, had at last found rest and peace, and we watched quietly to see the Spirit of the living God still further teach and lead on the soul so newly awakened.

Nothing was said about the old idol worship, nor about the worship of the husband’s spirit—ancestral worship, ever the strongest link in the chain that binds souls in the kingdom of darkness. But daily Miss S expounded the word of the Lord, and, all unseen to human sight, the good seed took root and grew up and bore fruit. Erelong our dear little lady asked to be baptized, and her request was granted.

One day we were both sitting at our desks in the one room that served us then as offices, dining and reception room, when there came a knock at the door. In answer to our “Come In!” the door opened and in came our wee O Baa San. Approaching the table, she placed upon it a small wooden shrine, the shrine at which she had so long and so faithfully worshipped the spirit of her deceased husband.

“Semsei,” she said turning to Miss S “you may have this shrine. I don’t need it any more I have SOMETHING BETTER.”

The End