Then I began to hem those handkerchiefs mother asked me to finish a month ago. But I could not think of anything to do for God. I wish I could. It makes me so happy to think that all this time, while I was caring for nobody but myself, and fancying He must almost hate me, He was loving and pitying me.
Feb. 15.-I went to see Dr. Cabot again to-day. He came down from his study with his pen in his hand.
"How dare you come and spoil my sermon on Saturday?" he asked, good-humoredly.
Though he seemed full of loving kindness, I was ashamed of my thoughtlessness. Though I did not know he was particularly busy on Saturdays. If I were a minister I am sure I would get my sermons done early in the week.
"I only wanted to ask one thing," I said. "I want to do something for
God. And I cannot think of anything unless it is to go on a mission.
And mother would never let me do that. She thinks girls with delicate
health are not fit for such work."
"At all events I would not go to-day," he replied. "Meanwhile do everything you do for Him who has loved you and given Himself for you."
I did not dare to stay any longer, and so came away quite puzzled.
Dinner was ready, and as I sat down to the table, I said to myself:
"I eat this dinner for myself, not for God. What can Dr. Cabot mean?" Then I remembered the text about doing all for the glory of God, even in eating and drinking; but I do not understand it at all.
Feb. 19.-It has seemed to me for several days that it must be that I really do love God, though ever so little. But it shot through my mind to-day like a knife, that it is a miserable, selfish love at the best, not worth my giving, not worth God's accepting. All my old misery has come back with seven other miseries more miserable than itself. I wish I had never been born! I wish I were thoughtless and careless, like so many other girls of my age, who seem to get along very well, and to enjoy themselves far more than I do.
Feb. 21.-Dr. Cabot came to see me to-day. I told him all about it. He could not help smiling as he said: