THE K I N G ’ S BUS I NESS
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don’t have all of them; sometimes I wonder if I have any of them, but . . . ” “Those aren’t the fruits of the Spirit, Vera. Read it once more.” A little impatiently, Vera began to read again. Did Mr. Paxton think she was dumb?, ‘"But the fruit, of the Spirit is love,. . .’ ” “Stop there, Vera. Don’t you see it?” Vera shook her head, slowly. But she was interested now. She looked long at the verse, and then, suddenly, her brow cleared. “I see I was making a mistake in the verb, ‘The fruit of the Spirjt is love,’ but I still don’t see . . .” “ That’s right,” the minister broke in eagerly. “ ‘The works of the flesh are,’ but ‘the fruit of .the Spirit is.’ ” He paused a moment, then con tinued with infectious joy in his words. “From John 3:7, ‘Ye must be born again,’ to Romans 12:1, ‘Present your bodies a living sacrifice/ is a gap too few of us ever bridge. We want salvation, and when we have the confidence of that through our Lord, we are content to sit back and enjoy the good things God has given us. And we wonder why we are not happy. Only .those who make that complete surrender to God, asking Him for the daily infilling of His Spirit to empower them for service, only tfyose bear the fruit of the Spirit, whose composite flavor is ‘love, joy, p e a c e , long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temper ance’—the attributes of a life fully surrendered to God! Surely we will not be content with any less.” Vera sat Silently by as the ministér continued to point out God’s desire that all His children live a surren dered life. A number of emotions chased one another across her face, but she did not interrupt him. "Thank you for showing me that,” she said finally, in á small voice. “ I have been kicking against the pricks,” she said with something of her • old gayety. lighting her eyes. “But the battle is over now. Ybu were right, Sunday. I did not know what I was singing then, but I do now.” Slowly, so'ftly, the organ prelude filled the auditorium of the small church on the following $unday eve ning. Once more Vera stood before the congregation, waiting for her note. And then she spoke. Against the back ground of the music her voice sound ed, clear and musical. , “Tonight, I am singing ‘Is Your All on the Altar?’ and I would like for-it to be my own testimony. Some of. you may know of the conflict there has been in my heart recently. By His grace, my life is on the altar of sur render tonight. I have not been wlll- [ Continued on Page 77]
She was ready when Tuesday eve ning came. The minister went straight to the point, when Vera admitted him. “Pm sorry about Sunday morning if I said something to upset you, Vera. I-I’m somewhat confused, though. I haven’t the slightest idea what it could have been, but I want to apologize.” “I guess I was carrying a chip on my shoulder that morning, Mr. Pax ton;” Vera said honestly. “But when you asked me what the song meant to me and seemed to imply that I had not really meant the words, it angered me. Do you think I’m a hypocrite?” she asked suddenly. The minister looked at her in a long, searching glance. “I think you are kicking against the pricks, Vera,” he said softly. “I know what you’re thinking! Be cause I did not return to Bible School this year, because I am not going to South America with David, which every one seems to know, you' think I have lost my faith. Others do, too— I can see it in their pitying glances, and I won’t have it. There are lots of wiiys of serving God. We can’t all go to Bible School; we can’t all be mis sionaries. I can surely serve Him with my voice . . she paused a moment for control and then went on more quietly while1 the minister watched her with kind, understanding eyes. “I know I’m not perfect. But I do try. I haven’t all the fruits of the Spirit, I know. But am I to be blamed if God didn’t give me all the fruits?” The minister was silent for a mo ment, and when he spoke, the cadence of his words compelled her attention. “There are no fruits of the Spirit, Vera.” “No fruits of the Spirit?” she gasped. He shook his head and turned in his pocket Bible to Galatians 5:22.- “Read that and show me the fruits of the Spirit, Vera,” he said, with a tender smile. . “ ‘But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace i . .’ There they are—those are the fruits of the Spirit; love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, I
do you mean? What has upset you?” , He put out his hand to detain her until he could get to the root of this outburst, but Vera had turned and fled toward the door, with Mr. Paxton look ing after her, surprised and puzzled. “Verá,” it was the voice of her mother from the hall outside her room where Vera had spent the afternoon in seclusion with a headache as an excuse, “it is almost time for Christian Endeavor. How is your head?” “I’m not going to church tonight, Moms,” Vera stated when her mother had entered the room. “I don’t think I shall go there any more at all.” “Why, Vera! What’s wrong?” her mother exclaimed. “I don’t under stand.” “Doh’t you?” Vera asked wearily. “Didn’t you hear Mr. Paxton this morning? You heard him imply that I didn’t mean the words I sang. Per haps he didn’t mean it that way,” she hastened to add at her mother’s ex clamation., “But there are others, in the church who do .mean it. I had thought that before; but now I know some of them there think I’m a hypo crite. I suddenly understand a lot of things now. Well, they can gloat all they want to over my humiliation. I don’t havé to go back. There are other churches.’’ “Vera, are you feverish? I’ve never heard you talk like this before. Surely you are imagining all of this.” Vera suddenly collapsed against her mother, b u r y i n g her face in her shoulder. “Oh, Moms, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that and wor ried you. Maybe I’m crazy! What is the matter with me these days? I’m so miserable. I güess' you can’t break with the man you thought you were going to marry, without its upsetting you.” She felt her mother start, and hur ried to say, “I should have told you before. Moms, but Í know you like David and I hated to Worry you. I thought it might work out. But it won’t, now. He is going to South America ánd I’m not. Í have decided. I am going to New York and take Aunt'Myra’s offer. The only time I am happy any more is when I am sing ing. I guess that is my life.” ~ “Mr.- Paxton telephoned this after noon, but you were a s l e e p , ” her mother said, changing the subject, to Vera’s relief and gratitude. Moms could be counted on to understand and not probe for further confidences. “Mr. Paxton is coming over Tuesday evening and hopes that you will see him for a few minutes. You will, won’t you, dear?” Viera sighed. % suppose there is no point in refusing. I am not that rude. Yes, I’ll see him.”
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