Part 2 (2/2)
Looking back at her life, I think how little those know of Calvinists who regard them merely as a cla.s.s of autocrats, conscious of their own election to glory, and rejoicing in the reprobation of all others; for I have never known such humble, self-distrustful people as I have found in that faith. Mother, whose life was full of wisdom and good works, doubted, even to the last, her own acceptance with G.o.d. She and I believed that ”a jealous G.o.d,” who can brook no rivals, had taken away our loving husband and father; our strong and brave son and brother, because we loved them too much, and I was brought up to think it a great presumption to a.s.sume that such a worm of the dust as I, could be aught to the Creator but a subject of punishment.
During the spring of 1831, mother said to me:
”Sabbath week is our communion, and I thought you might wish to join the church.”
I was startled and without looking up, said:
”Am I old enough?”
”If you feel that the dying command of the Savior, 'do this in remembrance of me' was addressed to you, you are old enough to obey it.”
Not another word was said and the subject was never again broached between us, but here a great conflict began. That command was given to me, but how could I obey it without eating and drinking d.a.m.nation to myself? Was mine a saving faith, or did I, like the devils, believe and tremble? I had been believing as long as I could remember, but did not seem to grow in the image of G.o.d.
The conflict lasted several days. Sleep left me. The heavens were iron and the earth bra.s.s. I turned to Erskine to learn the signs of saving faith, but found only reason to suspect self-deception. I could not submit to G.o.d's will--could not be willing that William should be lost--nay, I was not willing that any one should be lost. I could not stay in heaven, and know that any one was enduring endless torments in some other place! I must leave and go to their relief. It was dreadful that Abraham did not even try to go to poor Dives, or to send some one.
My whole soul flew into open revolt; then oh! the total depravity which could question ”the ways of G.o.d to man.” I hated Milton. I despised his devils; had a supreme contempt for the ”Prince of the Power of the Air;”
did not remember a time when I was afraid of him. G.o.d was ”my refuge and my s.h.i.+eld, in straits a present aid.” If he took care of me, no one else could hurt me; if he did not, no one else could; and to be accepted by him was all there was or could be worth caring for; but how should I find this acceptance with my heart full of rebellion?
One afternoon I became unable to think, but a white mist settled down over h.e.l.l. Even those contemptible devils were having their tongues cooled with blessed drops of water. The fires grew dim, and it seemed as if there was to be a rain of grace and mercy in that region of despair.
Then I preferred my pet.i.tion, that G.o.d would write his name upon my forehead, and give me that ”new name” which should mark me as his; that he would bring William into the fold, and do with me as he would. I would be content to spend my whole life in any labor he should appoint, without a sign of the approval of G.o.d or man, if, in the end, I and mine should be found among those ”who had washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.”
I fell asleep--slept hours--and when the sun was setting, woke in perfect peace. My proposition had been accepted, and wonderful grace, which had given what I had not dared to ask, a.s.surance of present acceptance. I should have all the work and privation for which I had bargained--should be a thistle-digger in the vineyard; should be set to tasks from which other laborers shrank, but in no trial could I ever be alone, and should at last hear the welcome ”well done.”
I arose as one from a grave to a joyous resurrection; but kept all these things in my heart. Personal experiences being altogether between G.o.d and the soul, were not considered fit subjects for conversation, and when I came before the session applying for church, members.h.i.+p, no mention was made of them, except as a general confession of faith.
Rev. Andrew Black addressed the table at which I sat in my first communion, and said:
”The Lord's Supper has been named the Eucharist, after the oath taken by a Roman soldier, never to turn his back upon his leader. You, in partaking of these emblems, do solemnly vow that you will never turn your back upon Christ, but that you will follow him whithersoever he goeth. Let others do as they will, you are to follow the Lamb, through good and through evil report, to a palace or to a prison; follow him, even if he should lead you out of the church.”
This was in perfect harmony with my private agreement, and no other act of my life has been so solemn or far-reaching in its consequences, as that ratification of my vow, and it is one I have least cause to repent.
However, it brought a new phase to an old trouble. How should I follow Christ? I could not do as he had done. I could not go to meeting every Sabbath, and society every Friday; and if I did, was that following Christ who never built a meeting-house, or conducted any service resembling those now held? I read the life of Jonathan Edwards, and settled back into the old Sabbath-keeping rut. Resolving to do my best, I prayed all week, for grace to keep the next Sabbath. I rose early that trial-morning, prayed as soon as my eyes were open, read a chapter, looked out into the beautiful morning, thought about G.o.d and prayed--spent so much time praying, that Elizabeth had breakfast ready when I went down stairs. While I ate it, I held my thoughts to the work of the day, wors.h.i.+ping G.o.d; but many facts and fancies forced themselves in and disturbed my pious meditations. After breakfast, I went back to my room to continue my labor; but mother soon came and said:
”Do you intend to let Elizabeth do all the work?”
I dropped my roll of saints.h.i.+p, and went and washed the dishes. Had I been taught that he who does any honest work serves G.o.d and follows Christ, what a world of woe would have been spared me.
CHAPTER VII.
THE DELIVERER OF THE DARK NIGHT.--AGE, 19-21.
Quiltings furnished the princ.i.p.al amus.e.m.e.nt, and at these I was in requisition, both for my expertness with the needle, and my skill in laying out work; but as I had no brother to come for me, I usually went home before the evening frolic, which consisted of plays. Male and female partners went through the common quadrille figures, keeping time to the music of their own voices, and making a denouement every few moments by some man kissing some woman, perhaps in a dark hall, or some woman kissing some man, or some man kissing all the women, or _vice versa_. Elders and preachers often looked on in pious approbation, and the church covered these sports with the mantle of her approval, but was ready to excommunicate any one who should dance. Promiscuous dancing was the fiery dragon which the church went out to slay. Only its death could save her from a fit of choler which might be fatal, unless, indeed, the dancing were sanctified by promiscuous kissing. If men and women danced together without kissing, they were in immediate danger of eternal d.a.m.nation; but with plenty of kissing, and rude wrestling to overcome the delicacy of women who objected to such desecration, the church gave her blessing to the quadrille.
My protest against these plays had given offense, and I chose to avoid them; but one evening the host begged me to remain, saying he would see that I was not annoyed, and would himself take me home. The frolic was only begun, when he came and asked permission to introduce a gentleman, saying: ”If you do not treat him well, I will never forgive you.”
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