ly, Mrs. Green pours out the agony of her heart: her dread o f the future, the mysterious emptiness, the futility in the midst o f incessant activity, the aching anguish for a son who is for ever in and out of trouble. Then suddenly she is aware that she has done what is always reluctant to do: she has unbolted the steel door of her heart. Quickly she regains her com posure. Then, forcing h e r familiar smile, she says, “ Well, after all, I’m doing the best I can with what I have —that’s all anybody can do.” But the tragedy is this: To do the best we can with what we have is never, never enough! It is only when God takes over, when we permit Him to do the best He can with what we have that the clanging discords give way to a clear melody. Eugenia Price expresses it so mag nificently: “ God does not expect us to do the impossible. He only expect us to expect Him to do the impossible.” He alone can put a new song in our lives, and the melody can be vibrant and clear—even in the midst of crash ing crescendos! By Ruth Calkin TRIED IN THE FIRE He sat by the fire of seven-fold heat, A s He watched by the precious ore, And closer He bent with a searching gaze, A s He heated it more and more. He knew He had ore that would stand the test, And He wanted the finest gold, To mold as a crown for the King to wear, Set with gems of price untold. So He laid our gold in the burning fire, Though we fain would have said Him "nay," And He watched the dross we had not seen, And it melted and passed away. And the gold grew brighter and yet more bright, But our eyes were so dim with tears, We saw but the fire— not the M as ter's hand, And questioned with anxious fears. Yet our gold shone out with a richer glow. A s it mirrored a Form above That bent o'er the fire, though unseen by us, W ith a look of infinite love. Can we think that it pleases His loving heart To cause us a moment's pain? Ah, no; but He saw through the present grief The bliss of eternal gain. So He waited there with a watchful eye, With a love that is strong and sure, And His gold did not suffer a bit more heat Than was needful to make it pure.
Over c ^ % > O f
Coffee T he other day I read: “ Scientists know only what love does. Love, properly applied, could virtually empty our asylums, our prisons, our hospitals. Love is the touchstone o f psychiatric treatment. Love can be fostered, ex tended, used to subjugate hate and thus cure diseases. More and more clearly every day, out o f biology, anthropology, sociology, history, economics, psycholo gy, the plain common sense, the neces sary mandate of survival — that we love our neighbors as ourselves — is being confirmed and reaffirmed. Christ gave us only one commandment— Love. . . . Now to the laboratory with love!” I’ve been thinking since then about living and loving in the laboratory of life, and I’ve been looking for a prac tical demonstration o f loving. During the time of mourning fo r the late Senator Kennedy a few months ago, a commentator related the follow ing story. When Jack Kennedy was President and Bobby was the Attorney General, it was pre-arranged that when there was a success, it would be credited to the President; when there was a fail ure, it would be blamed on the Attorney General. What struck me the most about this statement was that it was “ pre-arranged.” The two brothers, in great love—almost a vicarious kind of love— agreed in advance that success would be handed to the President by the very virtue o f his office and with out malice, hurt feelings, or any bitter ness, the Attorney General would bear the blunt of failure. All this done in love—real, truly real love. This story has caused me to do some real soul-searching in my own life in regard to love. 1. Do I love my husband and family with this kind o f sacrificial love? 2. Do I love my brother and sister with this kind o f sacrificial love? 3. Do I love my neighbors and co workers with this kind of sacrificial love? I wonder? Would I be willing to take the blame even at the time fo r some one else, much less ahead o f time? I must remember the old adage, “ We like someone because. We love someone although.’’ The most vicarious love o f all was shown by our Saviour as He died for us—taking all the blame, shouldering all the fault, and doing it without bit-
by Joyce Landorf
temess and resentment. In fact, He did it out of great, eternal springs of love and fountains o f joy ! How can we ever resist such love? The Kennedy brothers and their loyal love have spoken deeply to this heart of mine, fo r I have learned a lesson in loving. Someone once wrote: “ Come what may, hold fast to love! Though men should rend your heart, let them not embitter or harden it. We win by ten derness; we conquer by forgiveness.” “ I DON’T HEAR THE MUSIC . . It was a rather difficult piece of music and Janie was struggling labor iously—note by note, measure by meas ure. She was obviously frustrated over an uncanny number o f accidentals and a left-hand melody. Finally— w i t h eight-year-old desperation— she pressed her fists into her cheeks and said, “ Mrs. Calkin, I know I’m playing the right notes, but I just don’t hear the music!” Long after Janie’s lesson was over, I thought of the vivid word picture she had sketched of our own hurried, har assed, do-it-yourself lives. Often, we too are playing the right notes but we don’t hear the music! We live in the right houses, we socialize with the right people, we give to the right charities, we read the right books, we sit in the right church pew, we vote for the “ right” man — all the while achingly aware that the music is miss ing. We long for a clear, singable mel ody. We hear instead a jangle o f un related accidentals! Take Mrs. Green, for example—or call her Mrs. Brown, if you prefer. You know her quite well. She’s the charming, vivacious woman who lives in the rambling house at the top o f the hill. It’s a pleasure to be with her. Her conversation is fresh and stimulating. Her clever table centerpieces are simp ly “ out o f this world.” She is beautifully groomed, personally poised, and always “ Just fine, thank you.” Frankly, you push back twinges o f secret envy at her good fortune. But one day a close friend visits with Mrs. Green over a cup o f coffee. Her concern goes beyond Mrs. Green’s per sonal achievements. Her love is genu ine as she asks, “ How are you, really?” The question comes like a rainbow in the midst o f a storm. Little by little, at first hesitantly and then more free
20
THE KING'S BUSINESS
Made with FlippingBook flipbook maker