Chapter XII
IN the 2oth of November we started for Wilmington, Ohio, where the First-day School Conference was to be held. We reached there the next day. Some other young Christians, who also knew this blessed ’ rest of faith,’ were of the party, and Frank greatly enjoyed the sweet fellowship they all had with one another, as they travelled on together.
The Conference was a deeply interesting and stirring time to all who were present, and Frank entered with great earnestness into all the various meetings, and enjoyed exceedingly the discussions on the subjects connected with and growing out of Sunday School work. His principal enjoyment, however, was found in the little side-meetings for the promotion of Christian holiness, which were held between the regular sessions of the Conference. He had so sweetly realized in his own consciousness the blessedness of the rest of faith, that he rejoiced in every means taken to bring his fellow-Christians into the same happy experience; and it was always a very precious help to me, when laboring in these meetings, to look into the happy, peaceful face of my son, and to know that he himself was a living proof of the truths we were trying to teach. He took some little part in these meetings, but felt that his place there was rather that of a learner, to gather strength and wisdom for his work at Princeton, and among his young friends. It was a time of great blessing to him, and he thus wrote to his ‘’Aunty Lill,” soon after his return:
‘’It seems to me that the Conference at Wilmington must have been a wonderful blessing to a great many. I know it was to me. I never had such entire trust before. That beautiful text, ‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee,’ has been ringing in my ears ever since my return, and has really been my experience most of the time. Once or twice, I am sorry to say, I have let in some worry, and have destroyed my peace for awhile. But Christ has restored it to me again. Oh what a Saviour He is! It does seem like asking so much to have Him take us with all our frettings, and worryings, and doubts; but He has promised.
“I spoke in our class prayer-meeting last Second-day about this perfect peace, and confessed that I enjoyed it. It did not seem to make much impression, but still I believe it was right for me to do it; and I do pray that the Holy Spirit will give some one a longing for it. I do so want to do some work for Christ who has done so much for me.”
The year 1872, destined to be the last of his life, though we little dreamed it then, opened thus peacefully on our precious boy, and from this time forward the text he quoted to his aunt seemed to have become the sweet undertone of his life. To his friend C. H. he also referred to it, in a letter written at this time;
“As to my own religious experience, it has been wonderfuL This text has been my watchword ever since I came back from the Conference; * Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee.’ I never had such trust, such peace, and such a feeling of the nearness of Christ before. I don’t worry about the future, God will take care of it; for the present I am trusting. I often remember you in my prayers, and ask that you may continue to find this blessed, thrice blessed peace and joy.”
Having thus found such perfect rest in his own soul, Frank began to feel more than ever anxious to work for others, and he was greatly grieved when he found that for a little while his natural reserve and timidity seemed to stand in his way. His father wrote to him in reference to this as follows:
“• My Dear Son:
“I want thee to feel the weight of debtor, that thee owes to the students around thee; for * we are debtors to all men,’ says the Apostle. Let thy light shine; Christ is thy light. Do not cover up or hide the precious things taught thee; the ice once broken, it is the most delightful thing to talk of Jesus and His grace. A habit of unhappy reticence continued in now, may blight all thy future life. The hiding of the talent means something! Thee has learned to trust
Jesus for victories over sin and self; now, in the same way, trust Him to enable thee to speak for Him joyfully and easily. Tell me, if thee can, that faith has conquered thy natural reticence; few things are more longed for now by me. Lovingly,
“Thy Father.”
On his return to College, after the Christmas holidays, Frank wrote to me, on the 14th of January, on this subject:
“Dearest Mother:
*’ I am all settled now, and am just as comfortable and snug here in my new room as a ‘bug in a rug.’ And I am very happy. But I am troubled that I do not make more efforts to work for Christ, at the most only a spasmodical one here and there. Why is it that I can’t seem able to work? Yesterday, as I was taking a walk, I thought, ‘Why can’t I on my walks distribute tracts? ‘But I shrank somewhat from the idea; I thought I was more given up than that. I am willing enough to speak twice a week in my class prayer-meeting, — my reluctance to that I gave up long ago; but when it comes to speaking in private to a few fellows, who I feel sure are not interested, my faith seems to give out, and I can’t find words. And the idea of distributing tracts, or of speaking in the College prayer-meeting, seems equally hard. And I do not know what to do. What shall I? Pray? I do pray. Trust? I thought I did; but when the time for work comes, I am found wanting.
“It seems almost wrong for me to say I am living the higher Christian life, until I can record some efforts to further Christ’s cause. That the Lord does keep me wonderfully from sins of commission, I know, and I feel most thankful for it; but my faith does not seem to get the victory over my weakness in Christian work; and this is this week’s confession.”
In my reply I said:
*’ As to thy work for the Lord, I wish thee could get into that happy place about it, where thee would find it thy greatest joy. I think if once thee could just give all up, and dash into things, and come out boldly as a Christian, so that Christian work would be expected of thee, thee would find great liberty in it. I do not believe thee can be happy in any other way. The Lord has done too much for thee, and thy light is too great for thee to keep it always under a bushel. Commit thy ways in this unto the Lord, dear boy, and He will direct thy steps. Ask Him to make thee willing to work, for He can, and He only. But do not stop claiming full salvation, because of this weakness in service; that would be a fatal way of remedying it. Claim it by faith more boldly than ever, for only in this very salvation can thee find any deliverance from thy weakness.
‘’ One thing more. Do not be troubled by any indefinite charges of unfaithfulness, as though thee ought to have done a great deal, but yet thee does not know what. Only be troubled when thee can recall some definite act, when the Lord called and thee refused to obey. Satan makes a great gain when he succeeds in discouraging us with these vast inde-
fat. 17.] THE RECORD OF A HAPPY LJFB. 155
finite charges. The Holy Spirit is always definite, and condemns only for definite disobediences or failures. And if nothing has been suggested to thee to do during the day, don’t be distressed at night, because thee has done nothing. If God wants thee to do anything, He will tell thee so.”
In Frank’s next letter, he wrote:
I don’t feel any doubt but that if I should do as thee says, come out so boldly on the Lord’s side that Christian work would be expected of«me, I should be much happier; but it does seem as if I could not. When I am praying, it seems as if I could do anything, because then I am definitely trusting. But, somehow, when I go out I get interested in studying or exercising, and it seems to become indefinite. Once in a while I am enabled to say a word for Christ, but it seems to have no effect, and this discourages me. Perhaps I ought not to look for fruits, but just trust to the Holy Spirit to guide me, and do as He directs. I will try this, and never mind if my labor does seem fruitless, but just go ahead.
“I am glad thee spoke about those indefinite charges. I have been troubling myself a great deal about them; but now I will not be troubled until some definite act comes before me. To-night, in our College prayer-meeting, I felt that I ought to pray, and I was helped to do it, although it did come rather hard, and I could not have done it without help. So I believe I will give it all into Christ’s hands, and I can then trust it will be all right.”
About the same time, he wrote to his aunt:
*’ Dear Auntie:
“... I am very nicely fixed in my new room m College. The pictures are hung around to suit my taste, and quite set off the white-washed walls. And here I live all alone, ‘monarch of all I survey,’ with a bright fire, three easy-chairs, a great big sofa, plenty of closet-room, and everything nice and cosy. I would not want to be more comfortable. What kind of plants would be suitable to have in my room?
“... I have been very much troubled lately about my not doing any work for Christ; and as of course it is a fault in myself, I have tried to remedy it by consecrating myself more fully than ever to the Lord. And I feel sure He will guide me into the right position about it, and will enable me to trust Him to show me when, and where, and how He wants me to speak for Him. Oh, it is such a wonderful relief to be able to cast all my burdens on Him!
On the 28th of January, he wrote again to his atint in reference to her little Sabbath-school, in which he always took the deepest interest:
“I do not see how thee can say, aunty, that thee is at all discouraged about thy school, for it has been so wonderfully blessed ever since thee has had it. There have been so many conversions, and the children have all been so much interested. 1 have always felt sure thee must have a great deal of power with thee there. I pray that thee may. very frequently.
Mtat. 17.] TILE /RECORD OF A HAPPY LIFE. 1 57
*’ I do often pray that I too may be able to work acceptably, but sometimes I feel afraid I may have a selfish motive in it. Still I am sure the Lord can manage this.
*’I find it harder to keep trusting, and to keep putting my whole dependence upon Christ in prosperity, than in adversity; that is, it is harder when some one tells me of the good influence I have had over him, than when my faults are shown up to me. It is a great lesson to learn that we are most apt to fall when we feel most secure. I am very sorry to
hear that about poor ‘-. He must be leading a
wretched life, half trusting and half doubting. I don’t think there can be any life more wretched.’
> >
To me, he wrote on the same date:
‘’We had a splendid time on Sixth-day evening. About five o’clock, four of us started to skate on the Delaware to Trenton, about ten miles. The ice was superb; it was full-moon, and altogether just jolly. The only drawback was that one fellow gave out about three miles from Trenton, and we had to pull him the rest of the way. For about one mile I pulled him alone, as the rest gave out also. We reached Trenton a little ’ before nine, got our supper, and lodged at an hotel, as all, except myself, were too tired to skate back that night. Next morning we skated back, and reached Princeton in time for breakfast and chapel. Every one was worn out excepting me, so I, with a party of stronger fellows, started at two on Seventh-day, and went down again, this time in an hour and eighteen minutes, and came back on the cars for supper. Altogether, it was just splendid fun.”
From this it will be again seen that Frank’s earnest interest in religious subjects, and his deep Christian experience, did not abate in the least his enjoyment of all the sports belonging to his age, nor weaken his energy in heartily carrying them out. And his well-developed manly form, and healthy color, Ijore witness to the good effects of his fondness for outdoor pursuits. Even when he was taken sick, it seemed almost impossible to believe that so much young life and energy could so suddenly be laid low. And to the very last, death looked as if it must be at least a great way off, even though we were forced to believe it was surely approaching.
In this same letter, quoted above, Frank spoke of his eyes being very weak, and of the idle evenings he was obliged to spend, in consequence of not being able to read or study, and he asked us if he could not hire an organ, that he might amuse himself learning to play and sing. We consented gladly, thankful for an opportunity of gratifying our noble good boy.
On the 4th of February, he went to Trenton to try and hire one, at the same time visiting the family of a dear cousin who resided there. But he found it impossible to accomplish his object, and his father, consequently, bought an organ and sent it up to him, to his great delight.
On the nth of February, he wrote:
“Dearest Father and Mother:
*’I am perfectly delighted with my organ. It is such a sweet-toned one, and so handsome. I don’t think I ever had anything I enjoyed a quarter as much. There were seventeen fellows up to see it last night, and every one agreed it was a very fine one. Six of the best singers in the College were up here singing and playing, and, I can assure you, there was some delightful music. Surely I can say my cup is running over. I am blessed in almost every way imaginable, especially in having such kind, loving parents. I truly ought to be good.
“I had an elegant time at Trenton, at Cousin
B ’s, last week. In the evening we had a very
strengthening talk, and I came back here with a much stronger faith. And on Second-day evening I was helped to come out pretty boldly in our prayer-meeting; I spoke on the text in John xvii., ‘I pray not that thou shouldst take them out of the world, but that thou shouldst keep them from the evil; ’ and said I knew for myself that God would answer that prayer, just so far as we had faith to trust Him. After the meeting a fellow came up to my room, and we sat and talked a good while about our experiences. He had not the assurance of faith, and I tried to show it to him, and I think he entered into it.”
In Frank’s next letter, he touches upon a difficulty very common to young Christians, who feel that unless they are consciously thinking about the Lord all the time, they are doing wrong, and are wandering l6o THE RECORD OF A HAPPY LIFE. [^tat. 17.
away from Him; forgetting that the mind cannot be occupied with more than one thing at a time, and that when engaged in studying or playing, it cannot be that we should also be thinking directly on religious subjects. Frank wrote:
“I have come to the conclusion that my character is not worth much; as soon as I get away from a warming influence, I immediately get cold. I should like to be a bold, strong Christian, but it seems as if, when I stop praying or reading the Bible, I forget about Christ, and become so much interested in what I am doing — studying, reading, or playing — that I do not think of anything religious again all the while. I do not think 1 do anything wrong particularly; the Lord keeps me to a very great degree from this; but still I do not seem to be an earnest Christian.”
In my reply I told Frank, that he was demanding too much from himself; that he could not expect to be always consciously thinking of Christ, when he was busy about other things; that a husband does not cease to love his wife, nor does he care any less to please her when he is busy about his daily occupation, although for hours together perhaps he may scarcely have a thought or remembrance of her; and I urged him to commit himself in this to the Lord, trusting Him to govern his thoughts, and to bring to his remembrance such things as it was His will he should recollect.
To his darling little sister he wrote, on the sane day:
**My precious Sister Mary:
“So thee is eight years old, is thee? I am only a little more than twice as old. Hurry up, and maybe thee will catch up to me. Think thee could? I am very much obliged to thee for thy two letters, and I expect thee thinks I ought to have answered them before. Well, so I ought; but I will do it now instead.
*’ How many Valentines did thee get? I know where one came from. Can thee guess?
“Yesterday two boys came into my room here, and we took off our coats, and pulled the mattress down on to the floor and then turned somersaults on it, like this picture I send thee. Would not thee like to have seen us?
*’ Do write again to thy loving * bubba,’
“Frank.”
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