was asked a question and each an swered, then another question was answer. Some questions ran like: 1. What is your favorite color and why? 2. If you could have ANYTHING to eat right now, what would you choose and why? 3. What do you like the most about your job and what do you dislike the most? When I ran out of run-of-the-mill type questions I asked, “ What is the most marvelous ability your wife (or husband) possess? Dr. Sutherland endeared himself to me forever with his answer. I can still see him that day as we drove along the Oregon coast. He leaned back, and since Eleanor, his wife, was not with us, it seemed he looked a trifle lonely. He got this sly little smile on his face and said, “ My wife — well, my wife has one GREAT trait. She knows when to talk to me and she knows when to just sit and be quiet and NOT talk to me.” Then he explained that sometimes in the pressured atmos phere of leading a college there were days when he needed her to prime him, talk out and hash over the events of the day. But her talent was in immediately sensing when a different set of pressures de manded silence from the whole house — including her. Then she would take out her book or sewing and quietly sit beside him, some times the entire evening. "Yes,” he ended, “ she’s always known when to be quiet.” He paid her a tribute and I mar veled that the man had been per ceptive enough to sense it in the first place. Being talkative comes quite easy for most of us; understanding and realizing when to be quiet is much more illusive. Sometimes a quiet, serene face with a gentle look of “ I care, Darling” is the loveliest gift we can give to a well-balanced marriage. Thank you, Dr. Sutherland, for all the great and glorious things you've done, but I thank you most of all for teaching me a lesson in love.
FEATURE jffl
Over ¿ ^ G û p 0J Goffe©
by Joyce Landorf
D oubtless many great and glori ous things will be said and written about Dr. Samuel H. Suth erland — especially now that he has resigned as president of Biola College (which brings me to wonder why people— including me— have to wait until someone retires to pay tribute to him). I shall not even try to write “ great and glorious" things about him because I care too much about him. His many years at Biola have established him as a man of prin ciple and steadfastness. Under his leadership the college and seminary have affected hundreds of thou sands of lives; only Heaven will produce the final tally. I love him because he’s my friend and because of a game we played one day several years ago. Al Sanders asked me to tour with the Biola team as the soloist for three weeks of Bible confer ences, one week at Mount Hermon, one at the Firs in Washington and a week traveling in between with a service each night. The week in between con fe rences was ANY THING but boring, but because we were all getting a little weary, I
started a game in motion. Each person in the car (there were nine — it was a large station wagon) A MOTHER’S PRAYER As I hold my own baby, So close to my breast, With the tiny soft fingers Like pink rosebuds pressed, Do I think of that Baby Of heavenly birth, Who came bringing hope To the mothers of earth? As I clasp my own baby, So close, with a prayer That the Saviour will keep us With all-watchful care, Do I think of the mothers Whose mute, nameless fears Bow them low to blind gods With dumb lips and deaf ears ? In my home where my child Is a gift from the Lord, Where the mother is honored, The baby adored, Do I think of far lands, Where at breaking of day, The unwanted babies Are carried away ? 0 Father, who gavest My baby to me, May the love of my child Bring me closer to Thee, May the children of earth Who know not Thy Son Be more precious to me Because of my own.
THE KING’S BUSINESS
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