January» 1941
THE! K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
S
How the Army Grows Although it reads like fiction, the fol lowing account is true in its every detail
F i r s t
w
in a M G rou p
o f CHARACTER SKETCHES •
Why did they live? Why did he live? He wondered. He did not know. Nelson stopped a t his superinten dent’s home to eat. Pungent odors were issuing from the little kitchen. A nor mal boy in the mountains has an apall- ing appetite, and Mrs. McDowell had cooked a hearty meal. Nelson disposed of his share with hungry dispatch be fore going on to his own little cabin. The evening was his. He pulled a chair up to the table by the window facing the dark outdoors—dark in con trast to the lighted room, light in con trast to the darkness of his heart. He reached for the book—his cherished birthday book of Schopenhauer’s essays, the book that might a t long last lead him to the truth. Truth! How his young heart yearned for it! For hours he read, fascinated, enthralled. He turned the philosophic pages, sucking up the poi son of despondency, sucking it up as he had a t every free moment of his mountain stay. There were but two elements in life, pain and boredom: pain for the lowly, boredom for the rich. The more the intellect could expand, the more the boredom would decrease. Nelson was neither low nor rich. Where did he fit in? Pain he had felt. Boredom he knew. His intellect was growing, developing in strength and power. But boredom only grew as well. What was life ? The young man pushed on to the last page, ever looking for the answer. Life was but a mystery. There was no goal. There was no hope. Soul-sick, disappointed, he shoved the book away and dropped his head on the table. With all the urge to something higher, something to achieve, was there no goal? He thought of Aunt Flo. She had had a faith he knew not. There had been a radiance, almost sacred, about her passing to the great beyond. Was there no hope for her ? For him ? Was Schopenhauer right? Again he did not know. Somehow he found his way to bed, only to sob out his disappointment to the unresponsive night. He thougK back over the varied circumstances in
which this strange thing called life had found him. Born into a home where God had no place, taught in schools which ridiculed His Word, this boy had grown to ‘•manhood, maturing in body, maturing in mind, a mind that was formed for high attainments. But his spirit was stunted, stained, groping in the dark. As he had left high school and en tered the university, he had begun to do .some serious thinking. He must choose a career. He must choose one which would make him financially secure. Civil service with the United States Bureau of Fisheries had appealed to him. He had selected a zoology major and thrown ail his untamed energies into study. Never doubting his professors, he had been soaked in evolutionary, atheistic teachings. He had had a friend. Bob West was his name. They had been real pals— that is, until Bob had spoiled it all in their sophomore year by accepting Christ as Saviour, as he had explained it. To Nelson, it was apparent that Bob had gone to seed on that obsolete thing called th* Bible. He had had a one- track mind from then on. Constantly he had quoted from that Book. Per sistently he had urged his friends to follow his belief. Nelson was disgusted. He began to avoid Bob. Poor, deluded Bob! Yet Nelson was impressed. It was good to have an established philosophy of life. He would search for one him self. Never a boy to do anything by halves, Nelson had made the search in earnest, his inward yearnings ever growing more intense. He would learn the mystery of life. He would seek its goal. He would find a philosophy that satisfied. He had devoured the works of Plato the Greek, Spinoza, Clarence Darrow, H. G. Wells, Van Dyke, and many others. They had stimulated thought but confused his soul. He had gone to fellow students and professors—they did not agree among themselves. No one ceuld help him. Schopenhauer had been his last re sort. If he failed then Nelson knew not
indicating the background from which the Lord has enlisted recruits for His “training camp” at the Bible Institute of Los An geles. S UNSET CLOUDS and woodland was the most restful spot in all the north of Washington—a t least so it seemed to Nelson Crash* as he gave the tiny fish their last feeding for the day. Two weeks of mountain air and out-of-door work had erased the tell-tale marks of strain left by his final year a t college. He walked back to the rustic cabin with the spring of youth and anticipation in his stride. Just a few more weeks, then he would be sailing over the waves to Hawaii— his summer’s earnings would pay the fare. There he would plunge into a whirl of activity, fun a t the beaches, work a t the university, as he would learn and teach and earn his master’s hood. His friends said it was sheer luck to fall into a place like that. A shadow crossed the strong young face. There was a weight on his heart of something he could not understand —not that he believed in sin. (Sin was nothing more to him than a breach of social relations.). His conduct had al ways been above reproach, yet there constantly returned to him a sense that he was guilty. Guilty of what? Before whom? He did not know. ' He thought of the young fish he had just been handling—wee silver specks of life. He never touched the tiny wonders without thinking, questioning in his heart, wondering in his soul a t the mir acle of LIFE. Was his own life bound up in the same bundle with those little living things ? Some one must have made them—yet the books said, “No.” * Actual names of persons and small towns mentioned tn this article have been w ithheld from publication.
scents cast a spell of magic about the mountain clearing that was known as Crest View Fish Hatchery.* It
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