I don’t see why.
I know a little girl who has a very pleasant home, and the very kindest of parents, and who is yet often discontented and unhappy. She pouts her lips, and throws her arms about, and sulks, and stamps with her feet, and makes a strange noise in her throat, between a growl and a cry. It is not because she has not enough to eat of good, wholesome food; nor because she has no time to play, and playthings in abundance, and brothers to play with her. She is not blind, nor lame, nor deformed in any way, but has health and strength, and everything which any little girl could wish, to make her happy in this world, but a good heart.
What was it, then, that made her fretful? Why, she had a kind mother, who told her what she must do, and what she must not do. I will tell you what I heard one day.
“Caroline, you must not take my scissors, my dear.”
“Why, mother? I have no scissors to cut off my thread,” said Caroline, pettishly.
“Well, my dear, I will give you a pair, but you must not take mine.”
“I am sure I don’t see why; it’s only just to cut my thread.”
Now, these scissors were of the finest kind, and highly polished, and Caroline’s mother knew that it would soil them if she should handle them; and that if she had them once, she would want them again. Caroline’s duty was to obey cheerfully, whether she saw the reason why, or not.
“Caroline, my dear, you must not climb upon the chair to reach your work. You must ask some one to get it for you.”
“I am sure I don’t see why. It is less trouble to get it myself than to ask anybody for it.”
“Very well, my child, you shall do it in your own way, and see.”
That very afternoon, Caroline mounted on a chair to get her work. She reached too far, and over went the chair, and Caroline with it. Her work was scattered over the floor—the needlebook in one direction, and the thimble in another, and the spools in another; and, what was worse than all, her head struck the edge of the door, and a gash was cut in her forehead. She cried sadly, and did not get over the hurt for weeks. Was it less trouble to get it herself?
If she had trusted her mother, she would have saved herself all this pain; but for the sake of knowing the reason why she could not get upon the chair, she cost herself a severe wound, and a great deal of shame and sorrow.
It is a good rule, through life, to do what God requires of us, whether we see why or not. One of the things he requires of us to do, is to obey our parents. (Eph. vi. 1. Col. iii. 20.)
There is a chapter in the Bible, of which you cannot read three verses without crying.—What chapter is it?