18. GOOD NEIGHBORS
The Good Neighbor policy was in full operation up our way seventy-five years ago. When new comforters were to be made for winter use, the ladies came together to sit and sew and talk around the quilting frames. Now and then someone would take out her snuff box. Conversations covered such important matters as the number of jars of blueberries, blackberries, and other preserves put up for winter use. Ideas were exchanged about the making of mince pies, sausage meat, and the smoking of hams. As the womenfolk of that day did not see each other as frequently as they might now, there was much friendly curiosity concerning household matters and neighborly doings.
Of course, when children were not around the ladies spoke in low voices of the stork and when he might be making his next trip to our valley, but keen little ears often heard what was said. Doctors were never called on for their skill in directing baby traffic, for local midwives were more than willing to help each other. Sometimes the quiet of the night would be disturbed by the rapid steps of a horse and the rattle of a buggy past our door; and the next day we would learn of a new occupant for the old wooden cradle. To the credit of the midwives, it should be recorded that the thirty-three tiny tots who came to live in the four houses on what was erroneously called a ”dead-end” road were all born healthy and husky. The mothers fared just as well.
Back in those days men helped one another put up the framework of their buildings; and the cooperative efforts, called “bees,” led to such a friendly spirit that the hard lifting and pulling went easily. Trees that had been cut down and hewed into long, heavy beams and girders were matched together with amazing skill. And the work of the women, in providing a feast, fully matched the feats of the men. The oven-baked pork and beans, chicken and berry pies, honey and maple syrup afforded a banquet that supported both muscle and morale. Bill Bentley, who was present when our barn took form, confessed to me seventy years afterward that he ate so much honey and bear meat on that occasion that he had to get down on the ground and roll to ease his stomach.
With the nearest grocery store seven miles away, it was not uncommon for a family to run out of sugar, salt, spices, flour, or tea just as unexpected company came. However, it was quite in order to send one of the children to the next house, which might be a half-mile away, to borrow.
Holding firmly that unless our righteousness exceeds that of the Pharisees we will in no wise enter the Kingdom of Heaven, Father believed that good works should accompany faith. He shared his animal oils and other home remedies with anyone in need without charge. If anyone happened to be seen going by our house at meal-time, Father would hail him to come in and eat with us. Some wives might have been annoyed at Father’s hospitality, for at times there was considerably less than five loaves and two fishes to share. However, Mother always did her part. Canned preserves, honey, and maple sweets could be brought from the pantry at a moment’s notice, and thus she performed her own miracle of multiplying food for hungry mouths. From experience, Father had learned to have confidence in the ability of the Lord and mother to provide in times of necessity.
On one occasion, when our supper had long been finished, a man and his son arrived from Vermont to go on a bear hunt with Father. Mother cheerfully prepared a late supper for the two visitors, while Father entertained them with stories of his experiences. Though I had heard these stories many times, my ears were as attentive as those of the elderly visitor, who expressed his interest by frequently saying, “I swan,” and “I want t’know,” in a low incredulous voice. Within a few days the father and son from Vermont were able to return home with substantial proof that they had been with a skillful hunter, for Father helped them bag a big black bear.
During the summer many vacationists came to our house to see the white bear skin and to hear bear stories. Father not only obliged but also talked to them about the Bible and the love of God. As proof of his friendliness, he made it a practice to offer his guests honey or pieces of maple sugar.
Father’s good will and sense of brotherhood went even further. A man who was addicted to strong drink came to live on a farm that adjoined ours, and when an infant child died in his home, he asked Father to conduct a funeral service since there were no regular preachers close by. A few days later, the bereaved man visited us to talk about heaven. He was always eager to converse on religious themes after he had been drinking. His idea was that the hayfields in heaven would be so free from stones that one could mow all day without dulling one’s scythe. He also visualized acres of corn and potatoes so clear of weeds and pests that farmers could sit in the shade all day and watch things grow. He was sure, too, that there would be no more debts and taxes. Because of his drinking and lazy attitudes, this man was no credit to the community, but when he became ill Father and a group of neighbors saw to it that he had enough to eat, and cut up a big pile of wood for him.
***
Some years later, when I was camping with my family at Pharaoh Lake, a Mr. Bixbie, who frequently came over from Lake George to fish for the Pharaoh trout, rowed over to our island to leave us some extra treats and supplies, as was the custom when anyone was going out. As we talked he said that he remembered my father very well. He explained that once when the Bixbie family was spending a vacation at Pharaoh, they had forgotten to include potatoes with their supplies. Father, who happened to hear of this, walked ten miles, coming and going, over the rugged mountain trail to bring back a peck of potatoes. It was one of Father’s typical acts of kindness, and it was good to know that it had been so well remembered.
19. BIBLE PROBLEMS
Some of our teachers endeavored to teach us a few songs, but beyond being able to repeat the words in a singsong fashion, I am sure that none of us became musical. The only time that we heard an organ was when someone brought one from the village for the funeral service of an outstanding person. For a long time I associated all organ music with funerals, and the louder it was the more mournful it sounded to me. To be sure, we children owned a few mouth organs among us, but we did not know how to play them; we merely used them when we felt like making some extra noise.
Mother sang at times, as she did her work about the house, and I thought her voice was beautiful; but I was told that the only time Father was ever heard to break forth in song was when his first son was born. At that time someone overheard him trying to sing “Happy Day.” I must have inherited my musical disability from my father, for notes and tunes have no meaning for me. To overcome this lack, I once visited a teacher of singing who, after trying me out on a few notes and finding that I did not have the slightest conception of tone, gave me up as impossible. I must have been in the class with Adam, of whom Mark Twain has Eve reflect: “It is not because of his singing that I love him, for when he sings it sours the milk.”
Although weak in music, and with no library within many miles of us, we did have the Bible, Pilgrim’s Progress, The Green Mountain Boys, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Memoirs of General Grant, and the two volumes by Stanley, How I Found Livingstone and In Darkest Africa. As a gift from sister Anna, The Christian Herald came to our house every week from the early nineties on.
As soon as I was able to read well enough, Mother encouraged me to read aloud the sermons by the famous Doctor Talmadge. Undoubtedly it was these sermons, and an occasional one by D. L. Moody, that first gave me the idea of becoming a minister. So deeply was I impressed by one sermon that I went out into the pasture and endeavored to reproduce it. Selecting a rocky ledge for my pulpit, and the cattle and sheep for my congregation, I announced the test, “Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs or thistles?” and proceeded to emphasize the main thoughts of this challenging theme. No converts resulted, but I became more fully convinced that the good fruit of the Bible proves this book to be God’s special message to man.
As stated before, with two chapters a day for our instruction and inspiration, we lived with the Bible. Indeed, it was not Father’s fault if we did not meditate upon its precepts day and night, and make it a light to our pathway. From the time we were old enough to sit in chairs we were taught to remain quiet while the sacred book was being read. Likewise, after the readings, we were trained to ignore the rough knots in the hard spruce floor as we kneeled during the lengthy prayers. Even if Father returned from his trapping after we had all retired for the night, he never failed to read and pray aloud before going to bed. When urgent tasks had to be attended to in the morning, we got up earlier than usual, so that there would be plenty of time for our devotions. In this methodical manner, we proceeded from Genesis to Revelation, from the Garden of Eden and the sin of man to the vision of the glorious city of God.
Not considering it sufficient that we listen to Father’s slow reading and frequent comments, we were encouraged to read the Holy Book for ourselves. As soon as we were able to read, we were presented with small, fine-print Bibles, which we read from cover to cover. As for myself, I think that I read my black-bound, pink edged pages from beginning to end at least twice. While it was tedious to pronounce some of the longer words and to blaze a trail through lengthy chronology, I came to think of the experience as a trip through a desert in which I found occasional oases with bright springs of water and fruitful trees. Eventually, of course, I came to the richer portions which were like promised lands flowing with milk and honey; and I enjoyed them all the more because of the contrasts.
Father believed that the Bible is like a road map, revealing God’s will for our future, and that not a single Bible prophecy will fail. Before the First World War, it was comfortable to believe that the human race was making progress toward a goal of peace and good will. At a church service, when an earnest young pastor explained that God had things working so well in the world that miracles are no longer needed, Father did not agree with such optimistic predictions. He expected the terrible wars which have been fought in recent years, and his grounds were the word of St. Paul to Timothy: “This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. . . . evil men and seducers shall wax worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived.”
At the same time that he predicted the destruction which hangs over us today, Father held that God’s people should not be anxious or fearful, for the Psalmist has said: “Fret not thyself because of evil-doers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity. For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb. Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.”
Years ago Father predicted that men would learn to fly. He based his convictions on the words of Isaiah: “Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as doves to their windows?”
He had read also from the Prophet Nahum: “The chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall jostle one against another in the broad ways: they shall seem like torches, they shall run like lightnings,” and he believed the passage foretold the invention of the automobile, with its marvelous speed and gleaming headlights. Father had no prejudice about riding in an auto, and though he had done most of his riding behind oxen, he showed no fear when we once rode quite rapidly in a Model T Ford over a bumpy road to catch a train.
Although I never heard my parents express a single doubt about the authority of the Bible, the existence of God, and everlasting life in heaven, I wondered about the how and why of all things. One morning, after hearing the story of creation read to us, I asked, “Who made God?” When it was explained that God is “from everlasting to everlasting,” I found this difficult to comprehend. I knew that we planted seed to raise our corn and potatoes, but I could not see how anything could grow when there was no one to plant the seed. It occurred to me, though, that some things such as fungi, which I had seen growing on decaying trees, seemed to spring forth of their own accord, so I reasoned that God might have come into being in a similar way. I did not at that time consider the mystery of the trees themselves.
At a later date I inquired about the origin of the devil, who has made such a havoc in the home and church and state. I was told that once upon a time, when the angels were free to do good or evil, some of them rebelled against God, and their leader became the archenemy of God and man. Knowing that my father caught destructive bears, I wanted to know why God did not catch the devil and put an end to his evil doings. My father replied that since man was created in the image of God—with freedom to choose obedience or disobedience, good or evil—it was his work to cooperate with God until every enemy has been cast out and destroyed. Not being able to realize fully the value of struggle, I was skeptical of the idea that it is for our own best interest to have the devil around to tempt and trip us at every turn. The age-old, baffling problem of evil was not easily solved for me, but it made me think.
The Bible not only raises many questions about the universe, life death, eternity, and God, but it also suggests how those questions can be answered. It teaches us to study, to seek, to practice, and to persevere until we know the truth—and the freedom which the truth brings. Moreover, it gives us certain rules, such as the Golden Rule and the Ten Commandments, to guide us along the way. When we encounter people who do not see eye-to-eye with us, we are not to beat out their brains, but, realizing that there may be a few beams in our own eyes, aim to be of greater service to one another by a kindly exchange of thoughts. There is a real point to the story of the Negro clergyman who, when asked to explain the difference between the cherubim and seraphim which he had so eloquently mentioned in his sermon, paused only a moment to collect his wits, and then replied, “There was a difference between them but they made it up.”
If there are two sides to all questions, I had a chance to hear them presented when neighbors and friends engaged in spirited biblical discussions at our house. Whenever the exchanges of ideas in our home threatened to become like the wind-swept sea of Galilee, Mother had a way of bringing peace and calm to the troubled waters. By serving her famous golden-crusted rolls, and a dish of fragrant honey, she could turn a tense situation into a feast of happy harmony. The resulting fellowship made it easy for all to agree that, “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one for another.”
***
After hearing the Bible read so regularly, and as I began reading it for myself, I was impressed with the idea that I ought to take my stand as a Christian, but it was no easy task for me to do this. I was a times on the verge of making a prayer immediately after Father concluded his very comprehensive morning prayer; but, conscious of the presence of my older brothers who did not pray, I always lost my courage. On my way to the hay field one morning, I confessed to Father that I should like to be a Christian. He quoted me the words of Jesus, “Believe that ye receive, and ye shall have.” However, as simple as the way of faith should be to us, it seemed baffling to me. Father was undoubtedly acting on the principle that the best way to teach someone to swim is to throw him into deep water where he will have to swim or sink. There may be something to this theory, but when someone tried it with me I came near drowning, and remained fearful of deep water. I had to learn to swim gradually in shallow water. The way of faith also had to be grasped by me in low speed. My experience was also much like that of Bunyan’s pilgrim who found the way to Mt. Zion beset with miry sloughs, steep hills, dark valleys, doubting castles, and a host of hostile forces.
My older sisters claimed that it was easy for me to be good, but they did not know my heart. I had a temper, and a rebellious spirit. A stone on which I stubbed my toe as a bare-footed boy often got a bang from another stone, and I recall a time when I was bringing a pail of water from the brook and a bar in the gate through which I had to pass fell upon me. Setting down the heavy pail, I gave the bar a beating before lifting it back in place.
I was furious at my two older brothers when they told me that I was too young to go fishing with them. As may be expected, my greatest friction was with my brother Ruel, who was nearly three years older. He was more robust and stronger, and liked to lord it over me. When I retaliated in any way, I came out less than second best. I admit that my feelings were riled the most when I received a switching which, as I saw it, should have been given to Ruel, who had irritated me to the point of blows.
In spite of my fiery nature, I did not fight with our neighbors’ children, except on one occasion. This occurred when I found a clump of large blueberries on a mountain peak where the picking was usually poor. An older boy, seeing my good luck, took his hat and began to beat the bushes before my face. Being far from perfect, such a spirit of indignation arose in me that I reached for sticks and stones to help me defend my property. The older boy retreated and we soon forgot the incident and remained friends. However, I saw the need for greater self-control.
At the times when I had to be punished, I would go out of the house, put my head against the clapboards, and say all manner of bad words against everybody. Once I was so angry that I took the hatchet and started to chop down the house. My bare legs got another switching for that folly. In school I committed my share of misdemeanors. Instead of studying geography one afternoon, I used a long pliable root to snare the feet of an older boy who sat in front of me, and thus prevented him from going to class. That prank didn’t turn out to be as funny as I thought it would be, since we were both brought up before the class and given a good shaking.
In addition, as if the poison of the old Adam within us did not furnish us enough resistance against character formation, there was one boy at school more advanced than the rest of us in knowledge of the facts of life and their fascinating possibilities. Naturally he was eager to impart his information, and eventually the stories passed down the line to the younger boys. While no male in our family was influenced to engage in undue indiscretions, the teaching of Jesus about the wickedness of carnal thoughts convinced us that we needed more than fig leaves to hide our hearts from the eyes of God.
And I shall never forget the time when Father found me back of the hog pen, playing housekeeping with a girl. We had marked off on the ground an imaginary building, and were just about to retire for the night when Father came upon us with his ox whip in hand. Perhaps fearing that we might be tempted to carry our idea of housekeeping too far, he put an end to it altogether.
So far as my temper was concerned, the Bible reading of Father, with such verses as, “He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty. . .” and “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath,,” were bound to sink into my mind and heart, and bring forth good fruit in the place of thistles and thorns.
It was undoubtedly this home teaching which later led me to write a verse for two old friends who, while they had long been companions, often argued violently when they played cards or pool or golf. Frequently they would hurl insults at each other until these incidents began to mar their friendship. I wrote:
Tempers and tongue, like prancing steeds,
Were meant to serve our daily needs.
The Golden Rule will help you find
A kindly way to speak your mind.
One of these friends admired the verse so much that he had an enlarged copy hung in his game room. When he met this chum again for a game of cards, he said, “I think we should be a little more courteous to each other than we have been.” I trust that I myself have made some progress in practicing what I preach.
20. THE LORD’S PRAYER IN A RUNAWAY CART
During my thirteenth year I experienced a shake-up which I must relate. My brother John and I had finished our day’s work at a back-lot meadow, had hitched the oxen to the two-wheeled cart, and were headed for home and a warm supper. As John stopped to close a gate behind us, the creaking of rusty hinges must have frightened the team, for suddenly the usually placid animals broke into a wild run. I was sitting on the right, front end of the rickety hay rack, and just behind me the loose floorboards were our scythes, rakes, and pitchforks. The start was so quick and the speed so rapid that the only thing I could do was hang on for dear life.
The road over which the heavy cart began to bump and bounce had been washed out by rains, until only cobblestones and holes remained. Consequently, the jolting seemed sufficient to shake the rings from Saturn. To make matters worse, the poor apology for a road led down a steep grade and along the brink of a deep ravine. Realizing the danger of my situation, I did what so many people do under similar circumstances. I turned toward God for help. I knew of no prayer for such a predicament as mine, but I had been taught the two prayers, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and “Our Father which art in heaven.” As it was no time to think of sleeping, I began to repeat the prayer which our Lord taught his disciples on the Mount.
While I am not positive of the manner of my praying, I presume that I spoke aloud, as was the custom in our home. In the language of the Psalmist, “I cried unto the Lord in my distress.” Regardless of my uncomfortable seat, I said, “Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.”
As I think back now, it is clear that the various sections of the petition were much more appropriate than anything that I might have been able to conjure out of my own limited vocabulary. The Divine Kingdom is one of peace and joy, and I was desperately in need of just that. Perhaps, too, it is God’s will that we be shaken out of our complacency, and made to realize our need of help from above. “Give us this day our daily bread,” was timely, for I was hungry—and growing more so every second; and “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors” was appropriate, for it is a law of heaven that to be forgiven, we must forgive.” “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil” was fitting, for though I was not on the verge of breaking any of the Ten Commandments at the time, there was the danger of breaking my neck had I yielded to the temptation to get off the bounding cart. Certainly, I needed to be delivered from the evil of a broken skull.
In fact, as I rode on, I was aware that there were special dangers down the road. Just ahead there was a sharp turn to the right, then another to the left across a rickety log bridge. In a sort of snap-the-whip fashion, I negotiated the first corner without a tip-over, though all the floorboards and haying implements were shaken off, leaving me only a three-inch-in-diameter crosspole of the hayrack to sit on. Although in this position I was decidedly more uncomfortable than when kneeling on our hard floor, I finished the entire prayer: “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.” Miraculous as it may seem, at the word “Amen” the oxen stopped. Perhaps they had heard Father finish his prayers and knew it was time for a pause, or else they had seen an angel before them. At any rate, I had a chance to dismount from my perilous perch. Then the bovine racers started on again.
Now I am aware that prayers should not be rattled off in a hurried manner, and probably few prayers have been accompanied with as much rattle as was mine, during that wild ride. The result, however, was very satisfactory. The runaway team was presently intercepted by a neighbor who had heard the commotion of iron wheels bumping over stones, and my only misfortune was the need of a cushion for my fundament when I sat down.
The Good Neighbor policy was in full operation up our way seventy-five years ago. When new comforters were to be made for winter use, the ladies came together to sit and sew and talk around the quilting frames. Now and then someone would take out her snuff box. Conversations covered such important matters as the number of jars of blueberries, blackberries, and other preserves put up for winter use. Ideas were exchanged about the making of mince pies, sausage meat, and the smoking of hams. As the womenfolk of that day did not see each other as frequently as they might now, there was much friendly curiosity concerning household matters and neighborly doings.
Of course, when children were not around the ladies spoke in low voices of the stork and when he might be making his next trip to our valley, but keen little ears often heard what was said. Doctors were never called on for their skill in directing baby traffic, for local midwives were more than willing to help each other. Sometimes the quiet of the night would be disturbed by the rapid steps of a horse and the rattle of a buggy past our door; and the next day we would learn of a new occupant for the old wooden cradle. To the credit of the midwives, it should be recorded that the thirty-three tiny tots who came to live in the four houses on what was erroneously called a ”dead-end” road were all born healthy and husky. The mothers fared just as well.
Back in those days men helped one another put up the framework of their buildings; and the cooperative efforts, called “bees,” led to such a friendly spirit that the hard lifting and pulling went easily. Trees that had been cut down and hewed into long, heavy beams and girders were matched together with amazing skill. And the work of the women, in providing a feast, fully matched the feats of the men. The oven-baked pork and beans, chicken and berry pies, honey and maple syrup afforded a banquet that supported both muscle and morale. Bill Bentley, who was present when our barn took form, confessed to me seventy years afterward that he ate so much honey and bear meat on that occasion that he had to get down on the ground and roll to ease his stomach.
With the nearest grocery store seven miles away, it was not uncommon for a family to run out of sugar, salt, spices, flour, or tea just as unexpected company came. However, it was quite in order to send one of the children to the next house, which might be a half-mile away, to borrow.
Holding firmly that unless our righteousness exceeds that of the Pharisees we will in no wise enter the Kingdom of Heaven, Father believed that good works should accompany faith. He shared his animal oils and other home remedies with anyone in need without charge. If anyone happened to be seen going by our house at meal-time, Father would hail him to come in and eat with us. Some wives might have been annoyed at Father’s hospitality, for at times there was considerably less than five loaves and two fishes to share. However, Mother always did her part. Canned preserves, honey, and maple sweets could be brought from the pantry at a moment’s notice, and thus she performed her own miracle of multiplying food for hungry mouths. From experience, Father had learned to have confidence in the ability of the Lord and mother to provide in times of necessity.
On one occasion, when our supper had long been finished, a man and his son arrived from Vermont to go on a bear hunt with Father. Mother cheerfully prepared a late supper for the two visitors, while Father entertained them with stories of his experiences. Though I had heard these stories many times, my ears were as attentive as those of the elderly visitor, who expressed his interest by frequently saying, “I swan,” and “I want t’know,” in a low incredulous voice. Within a few days the father and son from Vermont were able to return home with substantial proof that they had been with a skillful hunter, for Father helped them bag a big black bear.
During the summer many vacationists came to our house to see the white bear skin and to hear bear stories. Father not only obliged but also talked to them about the Bible and the love of God. As proof of his friendliness, he made it a practice to offer his guests honey or pieces of maple sugar.
Father’s good will and sense of brotherhood went even further. A man who was addicted to strong drink came to live on a farm that adjoined ours, and when an infant child died in his home, he asked Father to conduct a funeral service since there were no regular preachers close by. A few days later, the bereaved man visited us to talk about heaven. He was always eager to converse on religious themes after he had been drinking. His idea was that the hayfields in heaven would be so free from stones that one could mow all day without dulling one’s scythe. He also visualized acres of corn and potatoes so clear of weeds and pests that farmers could sit in the shade all day and watch things grow. He was sure, too, that there would be no more debts and taxes. Because of his drinking and lazy attitudes, this man was no credit to the community, but when he became ill Father and a group of neighbors saw to it that he had enough to eat, and cut up a big pile of wood for him.
***
Some years later, when I was camping with my family at Pharaoh Lake, a Mr. Bixbie, who frequently came over from Lake George to fish for the Pharaoh trout, rowed over to our island to leave us some extra treats and supplies, as was the custom when anyone was going out. As we talked he said that he remembered my father very well. He explained that once when the Bixbie family was spending a vacation at Pharaoh, they had forgotten to include potatoes with their supplies. Father, who happened to hear of this, walked ten miles, coming and going, over the rugged mountain trail to bring back a peck of potatoes. It was one of Father’s typical acts of kindness, and it was good to know that it had been so well remembered.
19. BIBLE PROBLEMS
Some of our teachers endeavored to teach us a few songs, but beyond being able to repeat the words in a singsong fashion, I am sure that none of us became musical. The only time that we heard an organ was when someone brought one from the village for the funeral service of an outstanding person. For a long time I associated all organ music with funerals, and the louder it was the more mournful it sounded to me. To be sure, we children owned a few mouth organs among us, but we did not know how to play them; we merely used them when we felt like making some extra noise.
Mother sang at times, as she did her work about the house, and I thought her voice was beautiful; but I was told that the only time Father was ever heard to break forth in song was when his first son was born. At that time someone overheard him trying to sing “Happy Day.” I must have inherited my musical disability from my father, for notes and tunes have no meaning for me. To overcome this lack, I once visited a teacher of singing who, after trying me out on a few notes and finding that I did not have the slightest conception of tone, gave me up as impossible. I must have been in the class with Adam, of whom Mark Twain has Eve reflect: “It is not because of his singing that I love him, for when he sings it sours the milk.”
Although weak in music, and with no library within many miles of us, we did have the Bible, Pilgrim’s Progress, The Green Mountain Boys, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Memoirs of General Grant, and the two volumes by Stanley, How I Found Livingstone and In Darkest Africa. As a gift from sister Anna, The Christian Herald came to our house every week from the early nineties on.
As soon as I was able to read well enough, Mother encouraged me to read aloud the sermons by the famous Doctor Talmadge. Undoubtedly it was these sermons, and an occasional one by D. L. Moody, that first gave me the idea of becoming a minister. So deeply was I impressed by one sermon that I went out into the pasture and endeavored to reproduce it. Selecting a rocky ledge for my pulpit, and the cattle and sheep for my congregation, I announced the test, “Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs or thistles?” and proceeded to emphasize the main thoughts of this challenging theme. No converts resulted, but I became more fully convinced that the good fruit of the Bible proves this book to be God’s special message to man.
As stated before, with two chapters a day for our instruction and inspiration, we lived with the Bible. Indeed, it was not Father’s fault if we did not meditate upon its precepts day and night, and make it a light to our pathway. From the time we were old enough to sit in chairs we were taught to remain quiet while the sacred book was being read. Likewise, after the readings, we were trained to ignore the rough knots in the hard spruce floor as we kneeled during the lengthy prayers. Even if Father returned from his trapping after we had all retired for the night, he never failed to read and pray aloud before going to bed. When urgent tasks had to be attended to in the morning, we got up earlier than usual, so that there would be plenty of time for our devotions. In this methodical manner, we proceeded from Genesis to Revelation, from the Garden of Eden and the sin of man to the vision of the glorious city of God.
Not considering it sufficient that we listen to Father’s slow reading and frequent comments, we were encouraged to read the Holy Book for ourselves. As soon as we were able to read, we were presented with small, fine-print Bibles, which we read from cover to cover. As for myself, I think that I read my black-bound, pink edged pages from beginning to end at least twice. While it was tedious to pronounce some of the longer words and to blaze a trail through lengthy chronology, I came to think of the experience as a trip through a desert in which I found occasional oases with bright springs of water and fruitful trees. Eventually, of course, I came to the richer portions which were like promised lands flowing with milk and honey; and I enjoyed them all the more because of the contrasts.
Father believed that the Bible is like a road map, revealing God’s will for our future, and that not a single Bible prophecy will fail. Before the First World War, it was comfortable to believe that the human race was making progress toward a goal of peace and good will. At a church service, when an earnest young pastor explained that God had things working so well in the world that miracles are no longer needed, Father did not agree with such optimistic predictions. He expected the terrible wars which have been fought in recent years, and his grounds were the word of St. Paul to Timothy: “This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. . . . evil men and seducers shall wax worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived.”
At the same time that he predicted the destruction which hangs over us today, Father held that God’s people should not be anxious or fearful, for the Psalmist has said: “Fret not thyself because of evil-doers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity. For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb. Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.”
Years ago Father predicted that men would learn to fly. He based his convictions on the words of Isaiah: “Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as doves to their windows?”
He had read also from the Prophet Nahum: “The chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall jostle one against another in the broad ways: they shall seem like torches, they shall run like lightnings,” and he believed the passage foretold the invention of the automobile, with its marvelous speed and gleaming headlights. Father had no prejudice about riding in an auto, and though he had done most of his riding behind oxen, he showed no fear when we once rode quite rapidly in a Model T Ford over a bumpy road to catch a train.
Although I never heard my parents express a single doubt about the authority of the Bible, the existence of God, and everlasting life in heaven, I wondered about the how and why of all things. One morning, after hearing the story of creation read to us, I asked, “Who made God?” When it was explained that God is “from everlasting to everlasting,” I found this difficult to comprehend. I knew that we planted seed to raise our corn and potatoes, but I could not see how anything could grow when there was no one to plant the seed. It occurred to me, though, that some things such as fungi, which I had seen growing on decaying trees, seemed to spring forth of their own accord, so I reasoned that God might have come into being in a similar way. I did not at that time consider the mystery of the trees themselves.
At a later date I inquired about the origin of the devil, who has made such a havoc in the home and church and state. I was told that once upon a time, when the angels were free to do good or evil, some of them rebelled against God, and their leader became the archenemy of God and man. Knowing that my father caught destructive bears, I wanted to know why God did not catch the devil and put an end to his evil doings. My father replied that since man was created in the image of God—with freedom to choose obedience or disobedience, good or evil—it was his work to cooperate with God until every enemy has been cast out and destroyed. Not being able to realize fully the value of struggle, I was skeptical of the idea that it is for our own best interest to have the devil around to tempt and trip us at every turn. The age-old, baffling problem of evil was not easily solved for me, but it made me think.
The Bible not only raises many questions about the universe, life death, eternity, and God, but it also suggests how those questions can be answered. It teaches us to study, to seek, to practice, and to persevere until we know the truth—and the freedom which the truth brings. Moreover, it gives us certain rules, such as the Golden Rule and the Ten Commandments, to guide us along the way. When we encounter people who do not see eye-to-eye with us, we are not to beat out their brains, but, realizing that there may be a few beams in our own eyes, aim to be of greater service to one another by a kindly exchange of thoughts. There is a real point to the story of the Negro clergyman who, when asked to explain the difference between the cherubim and seraphim which he had so eloquently mentioned in his sermon, paused only a moment to collect his wits, and then replied, “There was a difference between them but they made it up.”
If there are two sides to all questions, I had a chance to hear them presented when neighbors and friends engaged in spirited biblical discussions at our house. Whenever the exchanges of ideas in our home threatened to become like the wind-swept sea of Galilee, Mother had a way of bringing peace and calm to the troubled waters. By serving her famous golden-crusted rolls, and a dish of fragrant honey, she could turn a tense situation into a feast of happy harmony. The resulting fellowship made it easy for all to agree that, “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one for another.”
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After hearing the Bible read so regularly, and as I began reading it for myself, I was impressed with the idea that I ought to take my stand as a Christian, but it was no easy task for me to do this. I was a times on the verge of making a prayer immediately after Father concluded his very comprehensive morning prayer; but, conscious of the presence of my older brothers who did not pray, I always lost my courage. On my way to the hay field one morning, I confessed to Father that I should like to be a Christian. He quoted me the words of Jesus, “Believe that ye receive, and ye shall have.” However, as simple as the way of faith should be to us, it seemed baffling to me. Father was undoubtedly acting on the principle that the best way to teach someone to swim is to throw him into deep water where he will have to swim or sink. There may be something to this theory, but when someone tried it with me I came near drowning, and remained fearful of deep water. I had to learn to swim gradually in shallow water. The way of faith also had to be grasped by me in low speed. My experience was also much like that of Bunyan’s pilgrim who found the way to Mt. Zion beset with miry sloughs, steep hills, dark valleys, doubting castles, and a host of hostile forces.
My older sisters claimed that it was easy for me to be good, but they did not know my heart. I had a temper, and a rebellious spirit. A stone on which I stubbed my toe as a bare-footed boy often got a bang from another stone, and I recall a time when I was bringing a pail of water from the brook and a bar in the gate through which I had to pass fell upon me. Setting down the heavy pail, I gave the bar a beating before lifting it back in place.
I was furious at my two older brothers when they told me that I was too young to go fishing with them. As may be expected, my greatest friction was with my brother Ruel, who was nearly three years older. He was more robust and stronger, and liked to lord it over me. When I retaliated in any way, I came out less than second best. I admit that my feelings were riled the most when I received a switching which, as I saw it, should have been given to Ruel, who had irritated me to the point of blows.
In spite of my fiery nature, I did not fight with our neighbors’ children, except on one occasion. This occurred when I found a clump of large blueberries on a mountain peak where the picking was usually poor. An older boy, seeing my good luck, took his hat and began to beat the bushes before my face. Being far from perfect, such a spirit of indignation arose in me that I reached for sticks and stones to help me defend my property. The older boy retreated and we soon forgot the incident and remained friends. However, I saw the need for greater self-control.
At the times when I had to be punished, I would go out of the house, put my head against the clapboards, and say all manner of bad words against everybody. Once I was so angry that I took the hatchet and started to chop down the house. My bare legs got another switching for that folly. In school I committed my share of misdemeanors. Instead of studying geography one afternoon, I used a long pliable root to snare the feet of an older boy who sat in front of me, and thus prevented him from going to class. That prank didn’t turn out to be as funny as I thought it would be, since we were both brought up before the class and given a good shaking.
In addition, as if the poison of the old Adam within us did not furnish us enough resistance against character formation, there was one boy at school more advanced than the rest of us in knowledge of the facts of life and their fascinating possibilities. Naturally he was eager to impart his information, and eventually the stories passed down the line to the younger boys. While no male in our family was influenced to engage in undue indiscretions, the teaching of Jesus about the wickedness of carnal thoughts convinced us that we needed more than fig leaves to hide our hearts from the eyes of God.
And I shall never forget the time when Father found me back of the hog pen, playing housekeeping with a girl. We had marked off on the ground an imaginary building, and were just about to retire for the night when Father came upon us with his ox whip in hand. Perhaps fearing that we might be tempted to carry our idea of housekeeping too far, he put an end to it altogether.
So far as my temper was concerned, the Bible reading of Father, with such verses as, “He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty. . .” and “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath,,” were bound to sink into my mind and heart, and bring forth good fruit in the place of thistles and thorns.
It was undoubtedly this home teaching which later led me to write a verse for two old friends who, while they had long been companions, often argued violently when they played cards or pool or golf. Frequently they would hurl insults at each other until these incidents began to mar their friendship. I wrote:
Tempers and tongue, like prancing steeds,
Were meant to serve our daily needs.
The Golden Rule will help you find
A kindly way to speak your mind.
One of these friends admired the verse so much that he had an enlarged copy hung in his game room. When he met this chum again for a game of cards, he said, “I think we should be a little more courteous to each other than we have been.” I trust that I myself have made some progress in practicing what I preach.
20. THE LORD’S PRAYER IN A RUNAWAY CART
During my thirteenth year I experienced a shake-up which I must relate. My brother John and I had finished our day’s work at a back-lot meadow, had hitched the oxen to the two-wheeled cart, and were headed for home and a warm supper. As John stopped to close a gate behind us, the creaking of rusty hinges must have frightened the team, for suddenly the usually placid animals broke into a wild run. I was sitting on the right, front end of the rickety hay rack, and just behind me the loose floorboards were our scythes, rakes, and pitchforks. The start was so quick and the speed so rapid that the only thing I could do was hang on for dear life.
The road over which the heavy cart began to bump and bounce had been washed out by rains, until only cobblestones and holes remained. Consequently, the jolting seemed sufficient to shake the rings from Saturn. To make matters worse, the poor apology for a road led down a steep grade and along the brink of a deep ravine. Realizing the danger of my situation, I did what so many people do under similar circumstances. I turned toward God for help. I knew of no prayer for such a predicament as mine, but I had been taught the two prayers, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and “Our Father which art in heaven.” As it was no time to think of sleeping, I began to repeat the prayer which our Lord taught his disciples on the Mount.
While I am not positive of the manner of my praying, I presume that I spoke aloud, as was the custom in our home. In the language of the Psalmist, “I cried unto the Lord in my distress.” Regardless of my uncomfortable seat, I said, “Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.”
As I think back now, it is clear that the various sections of the petition were much more appropriate than anything that I might have been able to conjure out of my own limited vocabulary. The Divine Kingdom is one of peace and joy, and I was desperately in need of just that. Perhaps, too, it is God’s will that we be shaken out of our complacency, and made to realize our need of help from above. “Give us this day our daily bread,” was timely, for I was hungry—and growing more so every second; and “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors” was appropriate, for it is a law of heaven that to be forgiven, we must forgive.” “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil” was fitting, for though I was not on the verge of breaking any of the Ten Commandments at the time, there was the danger of breaking my neck had I yielded to the temptation to get off the bounding cart. Certainly, I needed to be delivered from the evil of a broken skull.
In fact, as I rode on, I was aware that there were special dangers down the road. Just ahead there was a sharp turn to the right, then another to the left across a rickety log bridge. In a sort of snap-the-whip fashion, I negotiated the first corner without a tip-over, though all the floorboards and haying implements were shaken off, leaving me only a three-inch-in-diameter crosspole of the hayrack to sit on. Although in this position I was decidedly more uncomfortable than when kneeling on our hard floor, I finished the entire prayer: “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.” Miraculous as it may seem, at the word “Amen” the oxen stopped. Perhaps they had heard Father finish his prayers and knew it was time for a pause, or else they had seen an angel before them. At any rate, I had a chance to dismount from my perilous perch. Then the bovine racers started on again.
Now I am aware that prayers should not be rattled off in a hurried manner, and probably few prayers have been accompanied with as much rattle as was mine, during that wild ride. The result, however, was very satisfactory. The runaway team was presently intercepted by a neighbor who had heard the commotion of iron wheels bumping over stones, and my only misfortune was the need of a cushion for my fundament when I sat down.