It is so easy to state an opinion that is not based upon a sufficient number of facts to warrant its assertion.
What has happened to me in the matter of sunshine and storm, in this weather-beaten world, happened to "Dodd" Weaver in his religious experience.
He started out boldly in his new life. He hoped and trusted that he had entered into a physical, mental, and spiritual condition in which all that he had been he might not be; all that he should be he might become; all that he ought to hate he would hate; all that he ought to love he would cherish. He longed to believe and he tried to believe, that he had entered into that land of perpetual sunshine which had been promised him by the minister and his friend. He hoped, and really expected, to dwell there henceforth, beyond the reach of clouds, and storms, and tornadoes.
But everybody knows that there were no good grounds for his expecting such continuous, perpetual, and unbroken fair weather in his formerly storm-swept sky. The question strikes one, then, why should he have been promised this, and why led to hope for and expect it? See what came of this too generous inducement held out to an anxious soul.
For some days, while "Dodd's" newly developed fervor ran high, he lived in the blessed light. For this light is blessed, and it shines with a divine warmth into the souls that are open to receive it. The fact remains, however, that clouds and storms—but I need not trace the figure further; you all know about it. So, almost before the young man was aware, he was under a cloud. It happened on this wise:
For many weeks he had been drinking freely and both smoking and chewing tobacco to excess. The first thing he did, after his hopeful conversion, was to quit all these stimulants at once. His intense religious zeal held him up for a few days, but at the end of that time his strongly formed appetites assorted themselves. He could scarcely sleep, so hungry was he for a chew, or a smoke, or a drink! These were the weaknesses that had driven him to seek for help through the consolations of religion. He had been promised this help, and in no equivocal terms either. He had been told, even from the pulpit, that if he would put his trust in the Lord all these temptations would depart from him. He had done this as well as he knew how to. He had at least made an honest effort in that direction. His lips were parched for liquor, and his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth with a longing for a quid of fine-cut.
And so the clouds overspread "Dodd's" sky—clouds of doubt and distrust, out of whose lurid depths leap lightnings that blast like death!
He doubted, first of all, the honesty of the men who had promised him more than he found himself the possessor of. We always begin by doubting some fellow-mortal. As the process progresses, it leads us, ultimately, to doubt God.
But these men had meant to be honest—there is no doubt about that. They had told the young sinner of that which they believed would help him. They knew, of course, that he would have trouble with his old habits, after a while. Perhaps they hoped that he would get over them somehow. Perhaps they did not think very much about it. In either case, they said nothing. The patient was suffering. They gave him medicine that would afford him the quickest relief, without regard to the permanency of the apparent cure. What an amount of such doctoring has been done through the ages. Stand up in your graves, you armies of dead men that have thus been dealt with, and nod a "yes" with your grinning skulls!
The clouds grew thicker. "Dodd" went to his newly formed friends and told them frankly of his condition. The minister advised him to be much alone and in prayer. The young man told him that there was no need of his suffering from such appetites, because, he himself—the young man aforesaid—could keep from such evil practices easily enough, and if he could, "Dodd" could.