WORK IN THE SOUTH.
During my visit North last summer a friend asked: “Haven’t you had enough of life and work in the South? Aren’t you ready to come back and take hold of the Home Missionary work again?” The friend looked so incredulous at my expressions of satisfaction, and even of desire to get back into the work again as soon as the extreme heat was over, it occurs to me that a little glimpse of the past few days of life and labor in this especial corner of the great field might convince a good many that the work is not only very hopeful, but also exceedingly interesting. Previous to my restful vacation North, I had not been able to visit our people in their homes, but now, with renewed strength, I ventured a long, rough walk, leaning on my husband’s arm, to the home of one of our women, who was very sick. Down a steep, long hill, over deep ravines worn by swift-running brooks, with slender poles thrown over to serve for bridges, up the long hill beyond, and we had reached the little house where the sick one lay. We cheered her as best we could with sympathy and comforting words, spreading out the little delicacies we had brought to tempt her appetite, admired the new baby, and won the hearts of the other little people standing shyly back with the gingersnaps we had brought for their special comfort.
Just as we were leaving we noticed a young girl crouching near the door. “My sister Mag,” said the sick one. We shook hands cordially, said a few pleasant words to her, then came back to our home tired, so very tired, that the rest of that day and the next, which was the Sabbath, was full of weariness and pain.
Did it pay? Yes, a hundred-fold! Early Monday morning there was a tap at the door, and there stood “Mag,” neatly dressed, with a smiling face, and a basket of vegetables for me. It flashed instantly over my mind what I had heard concerning her. She had once been a Christian, was still a member of our little church, but for a long time past had seemed possessed with every evil spirit of sin and mischief that could possibly find lodgment in her heart. Nothing could induce her to set her foot inside the church door. She invariably vanished whenever the minister tried to see her, and she had long ago been given up as an utterly hopeless case.
With a swift thought of prayer to Heaven for wisdom, I greeted her most cordially, made her feel quite at ease, then led her on carefully step by step, until, before she knew it, she was actually confessing her sins to me, and I was talking kindly but most faithfully to her. Still she stayed on, with a wistful look in her eyes, and the thought came: “God surely sent her to me! I’ll do all I can for her!”
Rising suddenly I closed the door, went directly to her and said, “Mag, I want to pray with you.” I put my arm around her, drew her to her knees beside me, and poured out my whole soul in prayer for that poor child of sin.
When we rose from our knees her eyes were tender and full of tears. She clasped my hand tightly for a moment and was gone.
I sought out other homes that very day, where God permitted me to carry little gleams of comfort and strength to sad hearts.
Yesterday was the Sabbath. At four o’clock a white flag was fluttering at our gate. Five minutes after, fifty young people and children suddenly appeared, as if by magic, from the lovely grove near by, and came pouring into my largest room, filling every chair and bench, finally taking seats on the floor in the small space left about my chair. They were such a bright, eager looking company—at least a third of them young men and young ladies, ranging down to half a dozen little fellows at my feet.
How I blessed the Master for the gift of story-telling when I saw the eager faces, the almost breathless interest with which every one, from the oldest down to the least of all, listened to me as I carefully blended story and lesson with all the grace and power I possessed, until I had the joy of seeing the bright eyes grow tender and moist, and knew the dear Saviour was with us, laying big hands in blessing upon us all. Then all stood with bowed heads while I commended them to God’s mercy and loving care in an earnest petition in which all could join. After this, I sat down to the organ—a poor, wheezy little thing—which is, nevertheless, a great comfort and help. They gathered close about me while we sang together a beautiful new song, then went quietly away to their homes.
To-day the little white flag again fluttered at the gate, and one by one, or in little groups, the mothers came. I knew how tired they would be, what effort it must cost them to leave their work on Monday, to come to a meeting like this; so all day I had been asking the Lord for some specially helpful, comforting message for them. It would be simply impossible to describe the tender spirit that brooded over us. The Saviour was so manifestly with us that the room seemed the very gate of Heaven.
The Scripture lesson I had chosen grew so, unfolded itself with such hidden strength and sweetness, it was like a new revelation. The prayers that followed were wonderful to hear, coming as some of them did from lips untutored, ignorant in book lore, but wise in the hidden wisdom taught them by God himself. Beautiful prayers, full of deep feeling, of humble confession, of earnest pleading.
There were two strangers with us for the first time, who knelt with us in prayer, and manifested the deepest interest in all that was said. After the meeting there were hearty handshakings, kindly greetings to the new comers, who promised to come again; then they went away with shining faces, with hearts uplifted and strengthened for their hard, toilsome life.
Alone in the twilight, I returned thanks from a full heart to the dear Lord, who had honored our little gathering with His presence and blessing.
Does it pay? Yes, a thousand-fold!