Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  But, along with the joy of reunion with his family, there came to Chad an uneasiness about the state of his own soul. So many things about the farm reminded him of his idolized father, who combined care of souls and bodies in one ministry of healing, and who talked freely to his two sons about his ideals for manhood as he busied himself at farm tasks between calls on his patients.

  Driving the tractor across the fields one sunny morning, Chad pondered one statement of his father’s that kept recurring to his mind: “A man isn’t fit to be a doctor who can’t doctor souls as well as bodies. Sometimes if you cure the soul, the body will take care of itself.”

  “If Dad were here he’d say I’m not fit to be a doctor, then,” Chad told himself. “My soul certainly needs some doctoring before I can do anything for anyone else’s. I couldn’t even take care of the soul of a … a cow! All the folks here think I’m wonderful, but if they only knew the spiritual mess I’m in!”

  One event after another drove barbs into Chad’s tender conscience. On Saturday night Bob seemed troubled. “What’s the matter, old boy?” Chad asked him. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “You could, but I don’t know if you would,” replied Bob hesitatingly.

  “If it’s within my powers, I promise it in advance.”

  “Well, it’s my Sunday school class that I’m concerned about at present.” Bob smiled at the look of dismay that crept over Chad’s face. “You asked for it, remember. Will you teach it for me until I’m back on my feet?”

  “I promised—and I will. But I fear I can’t do a very good job of it.”

  “You’ll have to get the Lord to show you how. I couldn’t teach them at all if He didn’t map out everything for me in advance.”

  Late that night Chad’s head was bent over his Bible and the quarterly. But, he thought, the Lord isn’t showing me how. Bob must have a better acquaintance with Him than I have.

  On Sunday afternoon Connie said, “Chad, I have charge of the meeting tonight, and just for a little variety, how would it be if you took fifteen minutes or so to tell us country young’uns about mission work in the big city, and about some of the big churches you have visited there?”

  “Mission work?” Chad asked blankly.

  “Yes, you know—some of the well-known rescue missions, neighborhood houses, or wherever you’ve been. We’d like to hear about it,” Connie said eagerly.

  “Con,” said Chad with a show of assurance he did not feel, “I’ve never been to any of them. They really work us at school, you know. As for big churches, I’ve visited a few, but that was a long time ago, after I first went down there, and I couldn’t describe them very well now.”

  “Oh, all right,” replied Connie in disappointment. “I suppose you are busy. But if I were right there in the same city, I’d make time to see some of the things people are doing for the Lord.”

  Chad retired behind a book he had picked up from the table and did not answer.

  Mary Lou was Chad’s faithful follower all through the day, devoting to him as much time as she could squeeze in between her little household duties, always faithfully performed. Even when he struggled at night over the family bookkeeping, Mary Lou sat at his elbow perfectly quiet, now and then patting his arm or running to get him a sharp pencil at his request.

  One day she stood in the barn watching him milk. He looked up to see a troubled expression on her face.

  “What’s the matter, Susie?” he said. “All the troubles of the world dumped on your little gingham shoulders?”

  “There’s something that’s bothering me,” she replied seriously, “and I wish someone would help me.”

  “Suppose you tell Brother,” he suggested. “If it’s what to name the kittens or whether to make your doll’s dress pink or blue, I’m not sure I can help you, but I’ll try.”

  Mary Lou smiled. “It’s nothing like that. You’re so funny sometimes. This is something the minister said that I don’t understand.”

  Chad’s face lost its laughing look. “I’ll help you if I can, Mary Lou. But I can’t do anything for you until you tell me what it is.”

  “Well, I don’t understand at all how God could be in heaven and still be in Jesus Christ, like the Bible says. If all of God was in Christ, was He out of heaven?”

  Chad whistled softly. “Whew! What a little theologian we are turning out to be!”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Mary Lou said soberly.

  “A theologian?”

  She nodded.

  Chad’s eyes twinkled. “A theologian, my little sister, is an individual who devotes the majority of his time to an endeavor to acquire an adequate and practical and thorough knowledge of the Infinite and Almighty.”

  Mary Lou looked amazed but simply said, “Oh,” politely. Then she said eagerly, “Well, what’s the answer to my question?”

  “Why don’t you ask the minister?” Chad evaded.

  “I would, but I’m afraid it would hurt his feelings to think I didn’t understand his sermon.”

  “I would advise you to try and see.” Chad smiled. “Bigger folks than you don’t always understand what he is talking about, and he knows it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Do I what?” he parried.

  “Always understand what he is talking about?”

  “To tell you the truth, no,” Chad admitted. “Some of it goes right over my head too.”

  “Well, I thought they taught you everything in college,” said Mary Lou in a disappointed tone.

  “Honey, they don’t have time for everything, so they just squeeze in the most important things,” Chad said carelessly.

  “God is the most important,” Mary Lou rebuked him.

  “I mean, for a doctor to know.”

  “You said Daddy said God is the most important for a doctor to know too.” The blue eyes were searching him gravely.

  “Little sister,” said Chad, rising, “don’t ever change. Now let’s go into the milk house with this nice fresh milk.”

  All that night he saw a pair of solemn blue eyes looking straight at him and heard a serious little voice saying, “God is the most important.”

  Every evening after the day’s work was done Chad would drive to the hospital and there tell Bob all the news of the farm, ask for his advice on various procedures, and try to cheer up the restless lad as he fretted at his confinement. One night he found Bob with a white face and hands that trembled as he took the daily paper Chad had brought.

  “What’s your trouble, old fellow?” asked Chad, setting down the basket of summer apples he had picked that day. “You look a bit unsteady.”

  “Listen, Chad,” he said uncertainly, “what if these doctors aren’t telling me the truth? This leg ought to be well by now. What if I never walk again? Am I going to be a cripple? Have they told you anything you’re keeping from me?”

  “Not a thing, Bob,” was the cheerful answer. “You’ll be frisking around like a spring lamb in just a few weeks now.”

  “Maybe they’re not telling you, then, either. Every day they come around with that same old cheerful line, and I’ll bet if I were dying they’d pat me on the back and say, ‘Coming along fine, Stewart’!”

  “Well, what do you want them to do?” Chad smiled. “Pull a long face and tell you in a sepulchral tone that you are marked for an early grave?”

  “No, but—oh, if they’d just tell me some of the actual facts in the case I’d feel better. They don’t tell me anything! They just smile those eternal smiles, and all the time I can feel they are thinking, ‘Poor fellow! He’ll never walk again’!”

  “Bob, you’ve been alone so much you’re brooding,” said Chad earnestly. “Now you mustn’t think these things. Believe me, I know what I say when I tell you this leg is going to be helping you climb into the tractor in a few weeks now.”

  Bob clutched his brother’s hand pleadingly. “Chad, won’t you pray with me? I’ve been lonesome for Dad all day and thinking how he used
to pray with us when we were in trouble. Won’t you take his place tonight?”

  Chad was ashamed and perplexed. Clearly Bob did not realize that he had grown away from many of the family customs and habits, for he was now waiting expectantly for him to begin. He knelt by the bed and began in a faltering voice.

  “Our Father, which art in Heaven, be with us here tonight. Help us to feel close to Thee. If we have grown away from Thee at all, bring us back again. Father, please help Bob to trust Thee to bring him back to health and strength in Thine own time and way. And Lord, wilt Thou heal him as quickly as possible? Forgive us our sins, we pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Amen” echoed from the bed.

  As Chad rose from his knees, he could see that Bob’s troubled brow was clear again. He clasped his hand, said quietly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, old man,” and quickly stepped from the room, his feelings in a turmoil. But his prayer had been sincere, and if God had heard it He would straighten him out spiritually.

  The best part of Chad’s summer was the opportunity to be with his mother again. Mrs. Stewart was a busy woman, for the big house had four or five convalescent boarders all the time, people needing rest and special care. Even though there was a woman to do the kitchen work, and Uncle John (once a patient) was the indispensable handyman, Mother and the two girls were busy from morning until night. Yet somehow she managed many a quiet time to talk with this big boy, her firstborn.

  During these quiet talks, Mrs. Stewart’s discerning heart soon discovered that Chad’s joy in fellowship and service for his Lord had been dulled, that the new interests and the work of college had crowded out the Savior who had bought him. She had spent many hours on her knees in prayer for Chad while he was away, and now realized that God had sent him back to her for a while to have his spiritual experience refreshed, to give him an opportunity to rededicate his life to the service of Christ.

  One evening Chad and Mrs. Stewart walked together to the quiet graveyard where Doctor Dad lay. It was a small plot of ground on a hill behind the church. In one corner under a great elm was a rustic seat, and here the tall son and the gray-haired mother sat down after having stood at the grave for a few reverent moments.

  “Precious unto the Lord is the death of His saints,” Chad quoted from the simple tombstone. “The Lord certainly must have loved Dad dearly. He was one of His saints, wasn’t he? I don’t ever expect to meet a better man.”

  “Dad was no more of a saint than you are, Son” was the quiet reply.

  “I? Why, I’m no saint at all, Mom.”

  “Aren’t you a Christian, Chad?”

  “Why, of course! You know that when I accepted Christ years ago I meant it.”

  “Any saved person—any child of God—is a saint. But I must admit that we sometimes forget that. Dad didn’t forget, Chad. Every hour of every day he lived completely for his Lord, joyously yielding his life to his Master’s control. You children have a wonderful heritage in that.”

  Her quiet voice broke with the last words as if memory had brought fresh realization of loss. Chad patted the work-worn hand that lay on his knee, and the two sat in silence for several minutes. Mrs. Stewart lifted her heart in prayer for guidance before she spoke again.

  “How is it with you and the Lord, Son? I have been watching you all summer, and I don’t believe you are happy in your Christian life. I am sure of your salvation, but I believe you have lost the joy of it since you left us for school. Am I right?”

  “What makes you ask that?” he parried.

  “Oh, mothers have eyes and ears, and their hearts are tuned to any little disturbances in their children’s lives. What has come between you and your Lord?”

  Chad had picked up a large twig and was now trimming the tiny stems from it. His answer came slowly. “I don’t know—honestly, I don’t, Mom. I didn’t realize there was anything wrong until I got home here. Now everything seems to be pointing accusations at me. There are so many things here that remind me of Dad and bring his training and teachings to mind that I am realizing more every day how different I am from the man he would have wanted me to be. Then Bob asked me to teach his Sunday school class, and I found out how rusty I’d become on my Bible study. And once, when he asked me to pray with him, I found I didn’t enjoy doing it anymore. It embarrassed me to pray with him. Con and Mary Lou have both said things quite innocently that showed me where I stand, and … and … I am beginning to realize I am an absolute spiritual heel!”

  Mrs. Stewart had to smile at the boyish ending of the confession, but her heart was gladdened at the sincere repentance that she knew was behind it.

  “But, Mom,” Chad went on to say, whittling faster as he talked, “what bothers me is that I don’t know how I got this way. I don’t know where the trouble lies. I used to love my Bible, and I used to pray. I’d like to again. I’d like to have a real live Christian experience like the rest of you have. What’s the matter with me that I don’t?”

  Mrs. Stewart looked straight at the perplexed blue eyes and said simply, “Surrender.”

  Chad thought this over a minute, then he continued, “No, I don’t think that’s it. I’ve surrendered my life to Christ. I don’t drink or smoke, I don’t even dance or go to the shows like most of the fellows do. I don’t—”

  “I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all I possess.” His mother smiled, and Chad smiled, too, in spite of himself. “But did he go down to his house justified because of it?”

  “No—I remember that from Sunday school. The one who was justified was the one who said, ‘Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ But I’ve done that, too, Mom. I’m not trusting in my own works. But having asked for and received forgiveness, then having lived apart from the things that are called worldly, why don’t I find the joy I seek?”

  “Worldly is an ambiguous term, Son. Most folks think of it in connection with pleasures and amusements. But I’ve always thought that work and care and ambition can be just as worldly. Anything that ties us to the world rather than drawing us closer to God is worldly. Is there something that you are putting ahead of God in your life, Chad?”

  “Well … I don’t know. When a fellow sets out on such a program as I’ve outlined for myself, he has to give practically his whole time and attention to it.”

  Mrs. Stewart realized that he had evaded her question, but said nothing further. Instead, she opened her shabby handbag and took out a small New Testament. Opening it and laying it on her lap, she said, “It seems to me that the key to the whole situation is found in the third chapter of Colossians. We have there the picture of the believer who has found the secret of real joy. Listen, dear. ‘If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above.’ Have you been seeking those things which are above, Son? Or have your best interests and hopes centered on what the world has to offer you? I am sure you haven’t been guilty of what the world calls the grosser sins, but have you not been guilty of withholding from Him that which is rightfully His? Listen again.

  “‘Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.’ Have you given Him your heart’s best love, or is your profession—your desire to succeed in your calling—dearer to you than He is? Is your life hid with Christ in God?”

  Chad did not answer, so his mother turned again to the Book and quoted the well-known verses that picture the believer’s joyful union with Christ and the assurance of the peace that God gives in hearts that are yielded to Him. When she had finished she sat in prayerful silence. Chad was staring at the gravel at his feet, and his hand clasped tightly the watch he had drawn from his pocket. Finally he spoke hesitantly, as if he hardly knew how to express the thoughts that troubled him.

  “Mom, a Christian should love Christ more than he loves anyone else, should he not?”

  “Yes, Son.”

  “How could you love Him more than you loved Dad? I always thought that you loved Dad with all your being.”

  “I did, dear. I loved him so much that I have neve
r fully lived since he left me. But I love Christ more than that. Some day you will understand what I mean. Loving a dear one here on earth doesn’t come between us and Christ at all. In fact, I know I loved Dad better because we both loved our Lord. And I know that my Lord was dearer because of the love of my husband.”

  Chad was silent, and she spoke again. “Is there one so dear to you, Son?”

  His voice broke as he answered, “Yes. I’ll tell you all about her someday when I can show you her picture. I don’t want you to think that she has come between me and the Lord, Mother, for she hasn’t. She is sweet and good, and I know I am better for having loved her. In fact I’m not half good enough for her.”

  “I know she is good and sweet or my boy could not love her. But she must not come before your Lord, dear. Come now, it’s growing late. We must be getting back.”

  They walked to the farm in silence. Above them the August sky was full of stars, and as Chad looked at them it seemed to him that they were nearer to him than Ellen was. He longed unutterably for her presence and wished that the two of them could kneel together that night and settle their relationship to God. But she was not there, and his conscience urged him to immediate action. He must get right with his Lord himself; then he would be better able to help Ellen when he saw her again.

  Mrs. Stewart’s heart longed to help this tall son who still seemed so like a little lad to her, but she had learned through long years of close walking with her Master that it is often better to pray than to talk. So they walked on, over the bridge, up the hill, down the dusty road, and across the dewy lawn. As Chad was about to go to his room, she laid her hand on his arm and said, “Will you do something for me, Chad?”

  “What is that, Mom ?”

  “Read the third chapter of Colossians again, and pray over it before you go to bed.”

  Chad gave her arm a squeeze. “That’s just what I was going to do.” Then he stepped in and closed the door.