CHILDREN’S PAGE.
Dear Little Ones:
I know you would all like to hear about a sweet little girl who moved a big, big mountain out of my way a few days ago.
“How did she do it?”
“Was it a real mountain?”
“Who was she? and, and ——”
If you all keep asking questions, how can I get a chance to answer them? And then you don’t begin at the right end with your questions. Who was she? ought to have been the first, and it’s the very last. Never mind, we will take them backwards. Let’s see how many there are. There are three, counting either way. Now if you all sit as still as nine little white mice all in a row, I’ll answer every question. First, who is she? Her name is Clarissa Smith, and she is as black as a little blackbird, and has to look just as the wee birdies do to our dear Father in Heaven for her daily bread. I am sorry to say that she is not pretty to look at, but it’s a fact. Her clothing is old and ragged, she has no shoes and no hat, though the round basket she carries on her head, peddling berries or vegetables, makes a broad enough one, for that matter.
Now for question number two, Was it a real mountain?
Yes, it was a real mountain; far more real than one of earth and stones. It was one that has a habit of getting between us and the light of God’s sweet love, and its name is Discouragement. Sometimes it gets between little girls and their sewing and makes them say, “Oh, dear me, I can’t do it!” Sometimes it piles itself upon a little boy’s book and makes him say, “I never can learn this lesson.”
The third question is, How did she do it? With a song. How was that? Well, upon this particular morning I was feeling it weighing down upon my heart and making me wonder whether it was any good to visit people who were hungry and full of care, unless I had the money to relieve their wants. You see, the mountain had made every thing so dark that I couldn’t see Jesus. Now, as I walked on I heard a child’s voice behind me calling, “Strawberries——sweet, ripe strawberries——fresh, ripe strawberries,” going by; and then, after an instant’s pause, the voice came again, but this time it said:
“More love, O Christ, to Thee;
More love to Thee.”
I waited until she came up to me; and then, after we had spoken and shaken hands, I asked her as we walked together, why she put those few lines in her call.
“Cause it helps me and ’members me of Jesus,” was her answer.
“Why do you want to be reminded of Jesus?” I asked.
“Cause Him died so I could go to Heaven.”
“Why do you want to go to Heaven.”
“To see Jesus,” was the prompt reply.
We parted at the corner of the street, Clarissa going on, and I standing to listen until her song died away in the distance. Then I turned to find the ugly mountain gone and beautiful Faith resting where it had been so lately.
How many of you, I wonder, are going to become mountain movers from to-day? Remember, a loving word, a gentle act, a little bit of self-denial on your part, may move some ugly mountain out of your brother’s or sister’s or companion’s road, and make the holy angels glad because you love Jesus.
Do not forget, when you kneel down to pray, to ask Jesus to bless me, and give me every day more love to himself, so that I can have more and still more for all of you.
Lovingly your friend,
Lillie E. Barr,
Missionary of the American Missionary Ass’n.