Chapter 8

Meanwhile something unseen by human eye was going on in the very last pew. Back there, sitting alone, was a little girl of a poor family. She had met with a misfortune which left her crippled. And her whole life seemed so dark and hopeless. But some kind friends in the church, pitying her condition, had made up a small fund and bought her a pair of crutches. And these had seemed to transform her completely. She went about her rounds always as cheery and bright as a bit of sunshine.

She had listened to the sermon, and her heart had been strangely warmed by the preacher's story of need. And as he was finishing she was thinking, "How I wish I might give something. But I haven't anything to give, not even a copper left." And a very soft voice within seemed to say very softly, but very distinctly, "There are your crutches." "Oh," she gasped to herself as though it took away her very breath, "my crutches? I couldn't give my _crutches_; they're my _life_." And that strangely clear voice went on, so quietly, "Yes--you _could_--and then some one would know of Jesus--if you did--and that would mean so much to them--He's meant so much to you--give your crutches." And her breath seemed to fail her at the thought. And so the little woman had her fight all unseen and unknown by those in the church. And by and by the victory came. And she sat with a beautiful light in her tearful eyes, and a smile coming to her lips, waiting for the plate to get to her pew.

And the man with the plate came down the aisle to the end. It seemed hardly worth while reaching it into the last pew. Just little Maggie sitting there alone, with her one foot dangling above the floor. But with fine courtesy he stopped and passed the plate in. And Maggie in her childlike simplicity lifted her crutches, and tried rather awkwardly to put them on the collection plate. Quick as a flash the man caught her thought, and with a queer lump in his throat reached out and steadied her strange gift on the plate.

And then he turned back and walked slowly up the aisle toward the pulpit, carrying the plate in one hand and steadying the crutches on it with the other. And people commenced to look. And eyes quickly dimmed. Everybody knew the crutches. _Maggie_--giving her _crutches_! And the banker over here blew his nose suddenly and reached for his pencil, and the merchant reached out to stop the man returning up his aisle.

As the pastor stood with his eyesight not very clear to receive the morning's offering, he said, "Surely our little crippled friend is giving us a wonderful example." Then the plates were called back toward the pews. And somebody paid fifty dollars for the crutches, and sent them back to that end pew. When the offering was counted up it contained several hundred dollars. And the little girl, crippled in body but not in any other way, hobbled out of church the happiest little woman in the world.

She had recognized and obeyed the inner voice. That was the simple explanation of her giving. And her gift, small in itself, _touched with sacrifice_, became worth several hundred dollars in its earning power. And the original investment was returned for its usual service. And her gift has been increasing in its earning power as its recital has reached other hearts, and the end is not yet. I do not know just where Maggie is now. But I do know that she will be a greatly surprised woman some day when she finds out what God has done with her sacrifice-hallowed gift. She recognized and obeyed the inner Voice. That is the one law of giving, as of all living.

Worry: A Hindrance to Service.

Fear Not. A Fence of Trust. A Lord of the Harvest. Do Your Best--Leave the Rest. Anxious for Nothing. Thankful for Anything. Prayerful about Everything. A Steamer Chair for His Friend. He Has You on His Heart. Paul's Prison Psalm. He Touched Her Hand.

Worry: A Hindrance to Service.

(Psalm xxxvii:1-11; Matthew vi:19-34, Philippians iv:6-7. American Revision.)

Fear Not.

There is nothing commoner than worry. Everybody seems to worry. Men worry. Women worry. It is commonly supposed that women worry more than men. I doubt it. After watching both pretty closely under all sorts of circumstances I doubt it. Yet if it be true that woman does worry the more, I think it is because, being more sensitively organized, she is more keenly alive to the issues involved and to the responsibilities of life. Poor people worry. Those with enough money to be easy worry. And those with the largest wealth seem to worry too. Busy folks worry. And so do the idle. The cultured and scholarly touch elbows with the ignorant here.

Americans are supposed to be specialists in worrying. The name Americanitis has been given to a certain run-down condition of the nerves. Well, we may possibly have set the pace, and may be making new records. But certainly there are plenty of pushing followers. Our Canadian neighbors seem not to be wholly strangers to worry. Nor our British and Dutch forbears. The European continentals, and those of the East nearer and farther off seem to be good or bad at worrying. It is a characteristic of the race everywhere, the difference being merely in the degree. It seems inbred in man.

There are two "don't-worry" chapters in this old Bible, one in the Old Testament and one in the New. In the Old Testament is the Thirty-seventh Psalm with its oft-repeated "fret not." The word under that English phrase "fret not" is significant. It is so blunt as to sound almost like a bit of American slang. Literally it means "don't get hot." The New Testament has the sixth chapter of Matthew with Jesus' own words. One should be careful here to note the better reading of the revision. The old version says "take no thought," and that has been misunderstood by many who have not thought about its meaning. The newer translations are truer to the meaning on Jesus' lips. Do not take _anxious_ thought, "be not anxious." But apart from these two chapters there is a phrase running through these pages clear through the whole Book, a phrase shot through, piercing everywhere, even as the glorious sunlight pierces through the thick cloud and fog. I mean the phrase "fear not." All worry roots down its tenacious tendrils in fear.

A Fence of Trust.

It will help to understand just what worry is. It is always an advantage to get an enemy clearly defined and keep it so, so you can hit it harder, and make every blow tell on a vital part of its anatomy.

Worry is not concern, but distress of mind. Some one said to me at the close of a talk on worry, "some folks ought to worry more." Of course he meant that some people should bear their share of the responsibilities of life, instead of selfishly and lazily shirking them. There is a proper concern about matters for which we are responsible. A man never makes a good speech unless there is a feeling of concern, of apprehension lest there be failure in that for which he is pleading. A strong sensitive spirit feels the responsibility and does the best to meet it. Worry is mental distress. It is sinking under the sense of responsibility. It is _yielding_ to the fear that there may be failure, instead of gripping the lines and whip and determining to ride down the chance of its coming.

Sometimes worry is carrying to-morrow's load with to-day's strength; carrying two days in one. It is moving into to-morrow ahead of time. There is just one day in the calendar of action; that's to-day. Planning should include a wide swing of days; wise planning must. But action belongs to one day only, to-day.

"Build a little fence of trust Around to-day; Fill the space with living work And therein stay; Look not through the sheltering bars Upon to-morrow; God will help thee bear what comes Of joy or sorrow."

"Live for to-day, to-morrow's sun To-morrow's cares will bring to light, Go like the infant to thy sleep And heaven thy morn shall bless."

A Lord of the Harvest.

Sometimes worry is carrying a load that one should not carry at all. I think it was Lyman Beecher who said that he got along very comfortably after he gave up running the universe. Some good earnest people are greatly concerned about the way things in the world are going, I'm obliged to confess to some pretty serious blunders there. It seemed to me that there was so much to be done, so many people needing help, so much of wrong and sin to fight that I must be ever pushing and never sleeping. I had to sleep of course; but all my burden, which meant the burden of the world's need as I saw it, was lugged faithfully to bed every night. There was a lot of pillow-planning. But I found that the wrinkles grew thick, and the physical strength gave out, and yet at the end of vigorous campaigning there _seemed_ about as much left to do as ever.

Then one day my tired eyes lit upon that wondrous phrase, "the lord of the harvest." It caught fire in my heart at once. "Oh! there is a _Lord_ of the harvest," I said to myself. I had been forgetting that. He is a Lord, a masterful one. He has the whole campaign mapped out, and each one's part in helping mapped out too. And I let the responsibility of the campaign lie over where it belonged. When night time came I went to bed to sleep. My pillow was this, "There is a _Lord_ of the harvest."

My keynote came to be _obedience_ to Him. That meant keen ears to hear, keen judgment to understand, keeping quiet so the sound of His voice would always be distinctly heard. It meant trusting Him when things didn't seem to go with a swing. It meant sweet sleep at night, and new strength at the day's beginning. It did not mean any less work. It did seem to mean less friction, less dust. Aye, it meant better work, for there was a swing to it, and a joyous abandon in it, and a rhythm of music with it. And the undercurrent of thought came to be like this: There is a _Lord_ to the harvest. He is taking care of things. My part is full, faithful, intelligent obedience to Him. He is a Master, a masterful One. He is organizing victory. And the fine tingle of victory was ever in the air.

Do Your Best--Leave the Rest.

I knew a mother one of whose sons was not a Christian man, and not of good habits. She was a devoted true Christian woman, bearing her part in life's service with fine faith and a keen sweet spirit. The children were all Christians but this one, her first-born, the beginning of her strength. The thought of him troubled her much. She prayed fervently, and used her best endeavor, and the years grew on without change. And her face showed the burden upon her fine spirit. We would talk together about her son, and pray together, but her brow remained clouded.

Then I marked a change. The lines of tension in her face relaxed. A new quiet light came into her eye. There seemed a gentle intangible, but very sure, peace breathing about her. And I knew there was no change in him. So one day in conversation I ventured to ask about the change. And I shall always remember the gentle voice and the quiet strength with which she said, "I have given him over to my Father. And I know He will not fail me. I am still praying, of course, as ever, and I am _trusting_ for him." She had been carrying a load that she should not have been carrying. And now while the mother-heart was still concerned as much as ever, the sense of assured victory brought the change in her spirit.

Sometimes worry is fretting over past mistakes; it is chafing about what we do not understand, or about plans of _ours_ that have failed. A good deal of worry comes from pride and over-sensitiveness. The roots here, it will be noticed, of all alike are down in our own failures, our own selves. And there would be cause for more worry if we had only ourselves. But we have _a Father_.

A very great deal of worry is wholly due to physical causes. Overworked nerves always see things distorted. Huge phantom shapes loom up before us. Overwork always makes a sensitive spirit worry, and worry usually makes us overwork until we drop from exhaustion. When the cause is here, there are some simple _human_ helps. Some--a good bit--of _God's_ fresh air will work wonders. Even good people seem unchangeably opposed to _God's_ air, and insist on breathing old, worn-out, used-up second-hand air. God would be greatly glorified if housekeepers and church sextons were given a practical course in the use of fresh air, God's air. With that should be simple food, and simple dress, and abundant sleep, and simple standards of life.

Worry is utterly _useless_. It never serves a good purpose. It brings no good results. "Which of you can by being anxious add a single span to the measure of his life?" Jesus asks in that sixth of Matthew. But much more can be said. _It brings bad results_. The revision brings out the clear, simple meaning of the Thirty-seventh Psalm, eighth verse. The old version seems a bit puzzling, "Fret not thyself in anywise to do evil." The revision reads, "Fret not thyself, it tendeth only to evil doing." The results of worrying are always bad. The judgment is impaired. One cannot think so clearly nor see so clearly. The temper is ruffled. The door is quickly opened to worse things.

It is _sinful_ to worry. For the Master repeatedly commands us, "Be _not_ anxious." It helps to get a habit labeled correctly. Here to tack on "sinful" in block letters, black ink, white paper, so as to get greatest contrast is a decided help. And worrying is a reproach upon Jesus. Let the Gentiles, the outsiders, the people who have not taken Jesus into their lives, let them worry if they _will_. But _we_ must not. For we have _Jesus_. Let these who leave Him out grow crow-toes, and deeply-bitten wrinkles, and turkey-foot markings. Without Him how can they help themselves? But we folk who have _Jesus_ should have smoothly rounded faces, the lines all filled up and ironed out. It reproaches Jesus before folks for us to be as they are in this regard.

Out of the midst of a great pressure of work, with a body tired out, Dr. Charles F. Deems, the busy pastor of The Church of The Strangers in New York City, wrote these lines years ago:

"The world is wide, In time and tide, And God is quick; Then _do not hurry_.

"That man is blest, Who _does his best_, And _leaves_ the rest; Then _do not worry_."

A man should do his _best_. There should be no _shirking_. Yet I need hardly say that here, because shirking people, lazy people do not worry. They haven't enough snap about them to worry. But it steadies one to put the thing just as Dr. Deems put it. "_Do your best, and_, then _leave_ all the rest to God." And when sleep time comes, sleep.

Anxious for Nothing.

Likely as not some one will say, "We knew all that before. But how are we going to quit worrying? That's what we need to be told." Well, I can tell you. Sometimes a man speaks cautiously, but here one can speak with great positiveness. There are three simple rules how not to worry. They are infallible. I heard of a society whose purpose it was to cure worry. There were _thirty-seven_ rules, I think. It would worry some of us a good bit to memorize any such length of instruction as that. The remedy seems to be on a high shelf. And in standing up on a chair and reaching there is some danger that the chair may tip over and the last state not be an improvement on the first.

But here are three very simple rules, easy to follow, and they will never fail. They are not my rules, that is, not of my making, or I might not be speaking so positively. They are given by the blessed Holy Spirit, through our dear old friend Paul. In Philippians, chapter four, verses six and seven, are the words that contain the rules: "In nothing be anxious; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus."

The first rule is this, _anxious for nothing._ In other words, _don't_ worry. Deliberately refuse to think about annoying things. Set yourself against being disturbed by disturbing things. Say to yourself, it is useless, it has bad results, it is sinful, it is reproaching my Master, I _won't._ That is the first simple rule.

Thankful for Anything.

The second helps to carry out the first. It is this, _thankful for anything._ Thanksgiving and praise are always associated with singing. When you feel the worry mood creeping on--it is a mood that attacks you--when it comes sing something, especially something with Jesus' name in it. These temptations to worry are from the Evil One. He can come in only through an _open_ door. Remember that. Yet the open doors seem plenty. Even when we trustingly and resolutely keep every door of evil shut the circle in which we move will open doors upon us. Singing something with Jesus' name in it sends him or any of his brood off quickly. They hate that Name of their Conqueror. They get away from the sound of it as fast as they can.

A friend was calling upon another and began pouring out a stream of personal woes. This had gone wrong, and this, and this other would go wrong. Everything was wrong. And her friend, who knew her quite well, had her get a pencil and paper and asked her if possibly there was _one_ thing for which she could be thankful. Reluctantly from her lips came the mention of some particular thing for which she felt indeed grateful. Then a second was gradually recalled, and then more. And as the train of thought grew on her she suddenly asked, "Why was I so despondent when I came in? Everything seems so changed."

It's a fine thing to go about one's work singing some hymn with praise in it, and with Jesus' name in it. And if singing may not always be allowable under all circumstances, you can _hum_ a tune. And that brings up to the memory the words connected with it. I know of a woman who was much given to worrying. She made it a rule to sing the long-meter doxology whenever things seemed not right. Ofttimes she could hardly get her lips shaped up to begin the first words. But she would persist. And by the time the fourth line came it was ringing out and her atmosphere had changed without and within.

This was David's rule. He said: "Thy statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage."[18] He is not speaking of the time when he was acknowledged king over both Judah and all Israel, when the fortress of Jerusalem was his own capital. No, he is talking of the earlier days of his _pilgrimage_. When he was being hunted over the Judean fastnesses by King Saul. When with his band of faithful men he was ever fleeing for his life. He slept in caves and dens or out in the open, and always with one eye open. There he used to sing God's praises. A messenger would come breathlessly in some morning with the news that Saul was just over yonder ravine with a thousand men. And as David planned what best to do, and arranged his men, he would be singing.

Maybe he would sing that Twenty-third Psalm:

"For Thou art with me; and Thy rod And staff me comfort still."

Or, maybe sometimes,

"To Thee I lift my soul; O Lord, I trust in Thee: My God, let me not be ashamed Nor foes triumph o'er me."

Or, likely, he often sang:

"The Lord's my light and saving health; Who shall make me dismayed? My life's strength is the Lord; of whom Then shall I be afraid?"

Or if perhaps Ezra wrote this psalm it takes one back to his weary, dangerous journey over from Babylon to Jerusalem and the very difficult work he was undertaking in Jerusalem in reorganizing the life of the people again. He used to sing on the way, and through all his difficulties.

It is a great rule.

"When the day is gloomy Sing some happy song; Meet the world's repining With a courage strong."

Some one asked me if whistling would do. She was a busy housewife and said that was her rule. I have gone to singing myself. But maybe whistling is just as good. I'm inclined to favor giving it a place within the range of this rule.

There's a bit of deep, simple philosophy here. Music is divine. There is no music in the headquarters of the enemy. He has used it a great deal on the earth. That's a bit of his cunning. But he always has to steal it from God's sphere, and work it over to suit his own crafty purposes. Music, singing, is an open doorway for the Spirit of God to come in, and come in anew and move freely. Its sweet harmonies found their birth in the presence of God where sweetest harmonies reign. Lovers of music should be lovers of God, for He is the one great Master-musician.

When Elisha was asked to prophesy victory for Israel over the enemy at one time, he refused. He was not in harmony with this king nor his associates. His spirit refused to respond to their request. But at their urgent request he yielded, and called for a musician. And as the strains of music fell upon his ear and entered into his spirit he felt the divine presence and influence anew. We should use the musician more in our days of battle. And God has wonderfully provided every one of us with a music-box of sweet melodies. If we would only open the lid, and let frequent use wear off the rust, and sing His praise more. In music God speaks to us anew with great power. This is the second rule, _thankful for anything_.

Prayerful about Everything.

The third rule helps to make both first and second effective. These three are closely interwoven. They always work together. Each suggests the other two. They are an interwoven trinity. The third is this, _prayerful about everything_. There are some unusually fine bits from the old Book to help here. Referring to the discipline which God's love makes Him use, David says: "For His anger is but for a moment: His _favor_ is for _a lifetime_. Weeping _may_ come in to lodge at even, but joy cometh in the morning."[19] There _may_ be weeping. There _shall_ be joy. Weeping won't stay long.

There's a morning coming, always a morning coming, with the sunshine and the chorus of the birds. Love's discipling touch that seems at the moment like anger is only for a moment. (The printer wanted to change that word discipling to disciplining; but God's tenderness comes to us anew when we realize that _disciplining_ with its sharp edge means the same as _discipling_ with its softer warmer touch.) The loving favor is for always, a lifetime of eternal life.

Again David says, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall _sustain_ thee."[20] The margin explains that the thing that weighs as a burden is something God has given us. He has sent it or allowed it to come. He has strong purpose in all He does. Here the promise is not that the burden will be removed, but that He will pick up both you and your burden into His arms and carry both. Many a man has praised God for the burden that made him know the tender touch of strong arms.

The same thing is repeated in the Sixty-eighth Psalm[21] with tender variations. "Blessed be the Lord who day by day beareth our burden." Probably Peter knew a good bit about this subject. His temperament was of the impulsive sort that knows quick squalls at sea. But he had learned how to ride through them undisturbed to the calmer waters. He says, "Casting all your anxiety upon Him because He careth for you."[22] The force of the French version is said to be "_unloading_ your anxiety upon Him." Back the cart up, tilt it over, let down the tail-board, let it all slip out over upon Him. The literal reading of that last half is, "_He has you on His heart_."

"Is not this enough alone For the gladness of the day?"