so black that I try to erase them from my mind.” For a time Mr. Nicholson seemed to improve and was able to walk about his room a little. But other attacks followed—six in all. He grew worse; although there was other help, his wife scarcely left his side. She dared not lie down lest her body stiffen so that she could not answer when he called. The last five nights she sat up until three. But during those dark hours, the hope of the coming of Christ loomed brighter and brighter. Every night for a year, ere he slept, Mr. Nicholson would whis per to his wife: “ Goodnight, Sweetheart. Perhaps tonight. Leave your little hand out, and if He calls, I’ll come that way, and take your hand, and we’ll go up to gether.” Even on the last night of his life, he repeated those words. For, incredible as it may seem, it pleased God to take the strong man and leave the frail handmaiden. On April •22, 1948, the difficult breathing stopped, the weary heart was still. Mr. Nicholson went quickly without great pain as his wife had prayed that he might. And to day the little poem that God gave Mrs. Nicholson in those last days of her hus band’s life, she must apply to her own lonely heart: Do not fret; God lives yet; Do not try to understand. Of her husband’s home-going, Mrs. Nicholson writes: “ Of course, it is des perately, bitterly hard; it is desolate be yond words. Until we are together again, I shall be only half a person. But when it becomes well-nigh unbearable, I think of his happiness, of his freedom from pain, of his rapture in being in the very presence of the Lord. I find myself ut terly unable to think of him as dead. If I ever did, I should die too. And he is not dead, for he is only living in another place, a place that has been dear and familiar to me for years. So always in spite of the loneliness and longing, there is a singing joy in my heart over his safety. I never need to worry about him any more. And I am glad it was he who went and I who stayed, so that he does not have to go through this. I know the ageless eternities we shall spend to gether, and so shall we ever be with the Lord.” While Mrs. Nicholson was the one to whom beauty of expression came easily, yet there are evidences that her hus band did not lack literary gifts either. And his was an impressive Christian witness as well. This is illustrated by the following letter which Mr. Nicholson wrote Mrs. Arthur I. Brown upon the occasion of the accidental death of the beloved Dr. Arthur I. Brown who was a close friend of the Nicholsons: “Martie and I have been living in close contact with death for years. We have looked him in the face and defied him, until he has no further terrors for T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S Only rest — That is best, In. the shadow of His hand.
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THE STORY O F THE N IC H O L SO N S
By Betty Bruechert
S CARCELY ever in actual human ex perience, and certainly never in the pages of fiction, does one come upon such a moving narrative as the real life story of Howard Wren and Martha Snell Nicholson of Wilmington, Califor nia. Theirs is a tale of tender romance, of sacrificial love, of unspeakable pain, and indescribable heartbreak. But, above all, it is an outstanding example of the grace of God manifested to two people chosen and honored by Him to be led through the blazing fires of the furnace of affliction. It is a modern illustration of the kind of triumphant faith ex pressed by God’s servant Job when, in the midst of his sufferings, he cried out, “ Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.” The name of Martha Snell Nicholson has become familiar to the Christian public through her poignant poetry in leading evangelical magazines and her four volumes,- Wings and Sky, Threshold of Heaven, In Heaven’s Gardens, and Ivory Palaces. As the titles of these books indicate, her verse has a message of comfort and inspiration for the Christian. She has made real to the be lieving heart “ the land that is fairer than day,” where pain shall be no more. Her poems have been blessed to thou sands of hearts because they were first lived by the author. For it has been given to Mrs. Nicholson, in the provi dence of God, to know’ by experience the full meaning of suffering. Beginning with a,n onslaught of tuberculosis when she was but a young girl, her life has been an almost continuous experience of physical pain. Early, arthritis took its toll of her erect, young body, twisting it to such an extent that her height was reduced from five feet six to four feet nine. Weighing only eighty pounds, pale and thin, her spine completely ankylosed, encased in a heavy steel brace, she gets about painfully on crutches. And now it is believed that she has internal cancer as well. Out of this dreadful experience, her heart touching poems have been produced, many being written while she was suf fering intensely; one of her best, “ The Red Sea,” was composed when she had a temperature of 104°. But Mrs. Nich olson’s spirit has not been broken nor has she become embittered. A joyful Christian, possessing a keen sense of humor as well as a love of beauty, she has a radiant smile and a glad testimony for Christ. Page Six
But what is not generally known, and what has contributed most to her hap piness, has been her joyful married life. Back of this gifted invalid has been the quiet, but strong personality of her godly husband. It was upon his arm that she leaned, and upon his heart that she rested. Kind, patient, tender, intel ligent, industrious, Mr. Nicholson not
Mr. and Mrs. Nicholson only provided a home and a living, but he made a great Christian literature ministry possible. Together the Nichol sons mailed out one and one-half million tracts, all of them Mrs. Nicholson’s poems and prose. Of her husband, Mrs. Nicholson states: “ In all the years of our marriage he never thought of himself or his own wishes, always of mine, and of my welfare. Only a strong man can know such love as his.” With business, the care of his wife, the tract and book ministry, Mr. Nicholson worked day and night, but he was physically so powerful that what might have seemed a tremen dous burden to another man was borne lightly by him. Then, suddenly, unaccountably, in Feb ruary, 1947, he was stricken with that dread killer, coronary heart disease. The vigorous, outdoor man was confined to bed, forced to lie in pitiful weakness and to be ministered unto as he himself had ministered. Mrs. Nicholson says, “ Some of those weeks and months were
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