A Teacher in God's School
Od keeps a school for His children here on earth; and one of His best teachers is named Disappointment, He is a rough teacher; severe in tone and harsh in his handling, sometimes, but his tuition is worth all it costs us. We do not pretend to be a very apt learner, but many of our best lessons through life have been taught us by that same stem old schoolmaster, Disappointment.
One lesson we learned was, not to be selfish, or imagine that this world was all made for us. If it had been, the sun would have shone just when our hay needed tedding, and the rains would have fallen only when garden thirsted for water. But we found that God ordered things to please Himself, and not us. And when our schemes were broken up, and our journey spoiled by the storm, the stem schoolmaster said, “The world was not made for you alone. Do not be selfish. Your loss is another’s gain. The rain that spoils your hay makes your neighbour’s corn grow the faster. The fall in wheat that cuts down your profits will help the poor widow in yonder cottage to buy bread for her hungry little mouths, next winter. The working Christian that removed from yovx church, and almost broke some other pastor’s vineyard glad. Your loss is another man’s gain. Don’t be selfish.”
On a grand scale, sometimes, this lesson is taught. When a certain ambitious self-seeker once clutched at the dominion of all Europe, stem Disappointment met him in his path of invasion, flung a Russian snow-storm in his face, and out of the tiny snow-flakes wove a white shroud to wrap the flower of French chivalry. The lesson that the proud usurper would not learn at Aspem and Eylau was taught him in the agonies of Borodino, and in ghastly blood-prints on the frozen banks of the Beresina. His successor, the third Napoleon, has also been taught, lately, the same lesson: “All Europe does not belong to you.’* So, too, have we, in the defeat of our humbler plans of self-seeking, been made to hear the sharp teacher say, “Do not be selfish. God did not make this world just for you. Other people have rights as well as yourself” This lesson was worth all it cost us.
A second lesson which disappointment has taught us is, that our losses are not only gains, sometimes, to others, but are very often the richest gains to ourselves. In our short-sighted ignorance, we had “devised a way,” and set our hearts upon it Had we been allowed to pursue it, we must have been led by it to ruin. The railway train we were disappointed in not reaching was dashed into fragments down an embankment; the steamer that we were too late for was burned to a wreck. At the moment we scolded bitterly; but, by and-by, we iound ou. li!cva.. God coviLd
A Teacher in God’s School, “jj
not have sent a more fatal judgment upon us than simply to have let us have our own way. That seemed right unto us, but the end thereof was death.
A hundred illustrations of this truth occur to us. A “first honour” in college has turned more than one young man’s head; the disappointment of losing it has goaded on another to higher distinctions than he had lost. More than one covetous merchant has been so thwarted in his enterprises for money-making that he has been enraged with mortification. But his heavenly Father knew the dangers of success to him, and saved him from sorer sorrows. A young lawyer, heart-broken by the early death of the sweet girl he loved, turns away for solace to sacred studies and doing good. He becomes a successful winner of souls in Christ’s ministry. The pecuniary crash of 1857 threw thousands into bankruptcy; but many a man was made richer in the priceless treasure of a Christian hope.
A dark door did Disappointment open that year, but it led thousands into the pathway to heaven. A
dark doorway, too, did Death open to my friend B
and his young wife, when their child went from them so suddenly; but their hearts went after the departed lamb up to the Divine Shepherd. The death of their darling was the means of their souls’ conversion. During our twenty-five years’ ministry we have known more souls converted or especially sanctified through the loss of little children than from any other providential discipline.
The record-book of every Christian’s life has some pages in it which were written at the bidding of that severe teacher, Disappointment. Tears may have blotted and blurred the page at the time. But as we turn over to that page now, and read it in the light of experience, we can write beneath it: “Thank God for those losses! they were my everlasting gain. Thank God for those bereavements! they have saved my soul from being bereaved of heaven. All things work together for good to them that love God; to them who are the called according to His purpose.” *
My friend, if you and I ever reach our Father’s house, we shall look back and see that the sharpvoiced, rough-visaged teacher, Disappointment, was one of the best guides to train us for it. He gave us hard lessons. He often used the rod. He often led us into thorny paths. He sometimes stripped oflf a load of luxuries; but that only made us travel the freer and the faster on our heavenward way. He sometimes led us down into the valley of the death-shadow; but never did the promises read so sweetly as when spelled out by the eye of faith in that very valley. Nowhere did he lead us so often, or teach us such sacred lessons, as at the cross of Christ. Dear, old, rough-handed teacher 1 We will build a monument to thee yet, and crown it with garlands, and inscribe on it: Blessed he the memory of Disappointment.