GOD, MY EXCEEDING JOY
A heavy cloud hung over the house for days. Mr. Gray was silent and
sad. All attempts to renew the conversation of that painful Thursday
morning were waived aside. Hubert was at a loss to know how to proceed
with his project, but he and Winifred gave themselves to diligent
prayer. As to the latter, sharp as was her grief at the thought of
parting with her brother, her love for God was stronger, and she did
not hesitate for a moment in her consent that he should go.
"I do not know any other answer to give to God," she said. "Surely I
have nothing too precious for Him, when He has given all to me. And
you know," she said with a radiant smile, "Hubert and I can never lose
each other! We cannot lose what is in Christ!"
She made these remarks to Adèle Forrester, to whom the matter of
Hubert's call to foreign service was communicated. Her friend listened
very quietly.
Adèle had been steadily growing in God's grace since the day when His
way of salvation dawned so brightly upon her. She was the same
merry-hearted young woman as before, but a certain womanly sweetness,
never really lacking beneath the gay exterior, developed in
ever-increasing winsomeness. A capacity for intense enjoyment found
new sources for its filling in the knowledge of Jesus Christ, and she
pursued faithfully and happily the ways she saw of serving Him. To-day
she received Winifred's news with evident sympathy, but with a reserve
of feeling not expressed.
"Our Bishop preached a splendid missionary sermon two weeks ago," she
remarked. "He made things very plain indeed. I think we all felt that
we had been almost traitors in not rallying to the Lord's standard
better than we had done. Even Dick paid some attention, for he said
after church--you know what a tease he is--'_now_ I hope you see where
you ought to be!'"
"Oh, Adèle," said Winifred, "I haven't thought to ask you in months how
the choir is getting along. The mention of Dick reminds me. Do you
still enjoy your singing?"
Adèle laughed. "My 'occupation's gone,'" she said. "We are supplanted
by a boy choir. The present minister likes that better. A saucy
little fellow who brings our evening paper and fights his business
competitors once in a while is one of our successors. He looks quite
cherubic in a surplice."
"And you?"
"I sing praises in the congregation, and what is left over I sometimes
offer in the mission."
"So you still keep up your service at the mission?"
"Oh, yes!"
Adèle did not add how much appreciated were those services, nor how she
had added visitation amongst the families represented at the mission to
the evident blessing of not a few.
Their conversation drifted back to the subject of Hubert's leaving, and
Adèle entered a compact of prayer for the right development of all
things relating to it.
Gradually the Spirit of God wrought in the heart of Robert Gray. He
was led to think of the darkness of unbelief out of which his son had
been brought, and to consider how fitting a thing it was that a life
thus renewed should be held at the command of God. But it was hard to
think of him as a foreign missionary! Mr. Gray had believed
theoretically in the cause of missions and had given a yearly
subscription to the society representing it. But to give his son--ah,
that was a different matter! At the first shock of the thought he had
recoiled, and a naturally stubborn heart kept the question at bay for a
time. But he could not long fight with God. The fellowship lost while
he steeled his heart against the unwelcome demand was too great a price
to pay. Gradually it came to him that the greater weight that bowed
his soul and took the joyous spring from life was not Hubert's proposed
leaving, but the hiding of God's face.
"In thy favor is life," he prayed. "Any bereavement would be better
than for Thee to hide Thy face from me."
And the Face shone out again as his softened will loosened its
tenacious grip of that it held. But still he was a man of strong
opinions, and slow to be convinced that his clear-headed, business-like
son was the one to follow the still hazy-seeming, far-off life of a
missionary.
It was a happy day when the ban was lifted from the subject and Hubert
was free to discuss it with his father and arrange business matters for
a separation. A new element in the matter taxed the sympathy of the
hard-headed business man, when it became apparent that his hitherto
practical son intended not only withdrawing his active partnership from
the firm of Robert Gray & Son, but to sell his interest in the concern,
liberating the proceeds for the use of God.
"What folly!" said the elder man frankly.
"Do you remember our discussion of the Scripture about it?" replied
Hubert, smiling. "I think I submitted to you the conclusions drawn
from a study concerning it. I might as well act upon my convictions,
or I shall lose them. You know what James says about the 'hearers
only' of the word?"
"Yes, I know what he says," said his father a little testily. "But
about this money question there must be a sensible middle course
somewhere between a fanatical giving away everything you have and a
close-fisted holding on to it all. Give to the Lord of your first
fruits, certainly. That is a good thing. But a man ought to look out
for himself."
"Yes," said Hubert, "I believe there is a rational course to be
followed, and perhaps the Lord may not wish to hereafter provide for me
miraculously that which I now have in hand naturally. I do not see all
the details clearly yet. But certainly over and above my own
necessities--which will be simple--there is something to lay at once at
the feet of the Lord. I am glad I have so much for Him."
"Don't let your enthusiasm run away with your common sense. Try to be
practical."
"I think I am practical," said Hubert, smiling again, "although it is
hard for a man to judge his own actions. It seems to me the practical
way to give is to give. The people whom I consider impractical are
those who, having an abundance for themselves, dole out pittances for
the Lord and regret they are so little! The poor, perplexed ladies in
the missionary society vex their brains in planning how to 'raise'
something for Him. They take mite-boxes themselves, and they encourage
the gifts of the poor, the children, the babies--and even the dolls, I
am told! It is very pathetic. But why does it never occur to them--to
those who can afford it, I mean--to _give_? That is what I should call
practical. I suppose Mrs. Greenman did not find much difficulty in
'raising' enough money to pay for her swell reception the day after the
missionary meeting, I saw the street lined with carriages and heard an
orchestra playing inside as I passed. We can imagine the decorations
and the fine gowning. Now that was practical. What she wanted was a
fine display, and she practically put her hand in her pocket and paid
for it. But she says they cannot all do what they would like for
missions! Why do they plead poverty there? Mrs. Greenman would not
like to have her husband poorly rated in Bradstreet's, and I am sure
she did not wish to have her guests the other day think of poverty.
But before the Lord--ah, maybe that is what they think it is to be
'_poor in spirit_!' But if they would be honest! If she should say,
now, in the missionary meeting: 'The amount raised is not what we might
have given, but it is all we really wish to give in view of the
luncheon parties, fine dresses, and all that sort of thing, that we
find more important,' I think that way of putting it would be
practical, and honest withal."
Mr. Gray actually laughed, and the sound was music to his son's ears.
"Very good, Hubert," he said. "You had better give them a lecture."
"Had I not better give them an object lesson?" Hubert suggested instead.
"There is one thing you cannot do," Mr. Gray said with a sly triumph.
Hubert looked at him inquiringly. "You cannot give away your mother's
legacy. The terms of the will provide for that. The property cannot
be alienated."
Hubert looked at his father blankly for a moment. The fact stated he
had quite forgotten.
"You are right," he exclaimed. Then his brow cleared of its blank
surprise and he laughed. "That settles it about the rest," he said.
"The income from that property will amply support me and any poor
interests a humble missionary may have."
"Just so," said his father. "Or it might maintain a poor fool who had
missed his calling and was sent home."
Hubert laughed again. "Quite so," he assented.
And so the clouds broke away from over the house of Gray. A restored
mutual understanding gave relief amounting to joy even in the face of
coming separation.
Hubert's enterprise, like a great ship, could not be launched hastily.
Months of preparation passed in which the business matter was finally
settled and other affairs adjusted. It was finally concluded that the
entire business of Robert Gray & Son should be sold, as the senior
partner did not wish to carry it on without his son.
"It is not a question of the poor-house if you do give it up now,
father," Hubert said to him, and he assented.
The missionary-to-be found himself called to many places to speak on
behalf of the cause, and he did so with great readiness. His intense
ardor caused his words to burn their way into many hearts. Again and
again his own heart was overwhelmed within him by the greatness of his
theme. Cold figures became burning facts as he looked at the wide
areas untouched by the Gospel. The slighted wish of his Lord became an
anguish in his soul. That men and women should call themselves by His
name and still live unto themselves, never grieved by His message
undelivered, His errand of love undone, was a shame intolerable.
Sometimes when the passion for his Lord's will swept his soul, and he
beheld in contrast the idle hands of the church, paralyzed by pleasure
or filled with self-interests, in secret he cast himself upon his face
and wept as only a strong man, unused to tears, can weep.
The heart of Robert Gray turned with increasing fondness to his
daughter who still saw her place to be at his side. A great comfort
was she to him in these days of trial. For herself, Winifred was
finding out afresh "the sweetness of an accepted sorrow." The joy of
the Lord was inexpressible. She could scarcely understand the gladness
that filled her soul after sacrifice "more than when their corn and
their wine increased."
"Why are you so radiant?" Adèle asked in one of their many conferences.
"I do not know," she answered, blushing at being surveyed so
admiringly. "But do you remember that Psalm, Adèle, that says:
"'O send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me,
Let them bring me unto thy holy hill'--
"that is getting very near to God, Adèle--
"'And to thy tabernacles.
"That is nearer still; but listen to that that comes next:
"'Then will I go unto the altar of God,
Unto God my exceeding joy.'
"I think this is the reason why I am so happy. His light and His truth
have led me to His holy precincts and I have gone to His altar--to the
altar of burnt offering. And, Adèle,"--her eyes filled with tears of
an inexpressible gladness--"it is _there_ we find Him to be our
'exceeding joy.' I cannot explain it--I cannot even tell it--but He is
'_my exceeding joy_!'"
"I know," said Adèle, her own eyes filling. "I have found Him there.
And I think one reason why so many Christians seem to have no joy is
because they have not come to His altar in the sense you mean. Perhaps
they have seen Christ there for them in some sense, but have never
quite taken their place there with Him. Do you remember, too,
Winifred, that it was when the burnt offering began on that great
occasion in Hezekiah's time that 'the song of the Lord began also?'"
"Oh, yes!" Winifred responded. "'The song of the Lord!' It has surely
begun here, Adèle."
And so it had, indeed. That evening as Hubert returned from a busy day
in town he found his sister singing;
"'O joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.'"
"Singing, little sister?" was his greeting.
"Yes, Hubert. That has been much of my occupation to-day."
"That is good," he replied. "By the way, I heard some news in town
to-day." He endeavored to speak carelessly, but looked at her
apprehensively.
"Yes? What is it?"
He walked to the window and examined a flower with apparent interest.
"I hear that George Frothingham's engagement to Miss Randolph, the
banker's daughter, is announced."
"Yes," said Winifred calmly, "I saw that in the morning paper. You
need not have been afraid to tell me, Hubert. His engagement is a
matter of perfect indifference to me."
"Thank the Lord!" Hubert exclaimed impulsively.
"Amen," she responded, still calmly.
On another evening Hubert returned with still another piece of news.
He had gone to the Cleary Street Mission to speak, and was late in
returning. Winifred, who loved to hear accounts of all his meetings,
waited up for him. She was in her little sitting-room when he
returned. He came straight to her door and answered her ready "come
in" with a light step and glowing face. He plunged at the special
matter of joy at once.
"Winifred," he said, "I am not going to China alone."
The color changed in her face at the sudden announcement.
"Who--who is it, Hubert? Is it--?"
"Adèle."
"Oh, Hubert, I am so glad!" she cried joyfully, and kissed him in warm
congratulation.
Then suddenly the thought of her own loss intruded. Must she give her
up also? Her eager gladness turned to a burst of tears. How swept of
all whom she had loved, except her dear father, seemed the home scenes
now. She would gladly have restrained herself for Hubert's sake, but
the sudden grief was uncontrollable. She sobbed convulsively, as when
years ago some childish grief had broken in storms upon her and Hubert
had stood by in tearless but painful sympathy, suggesting boyish
consolations, ready to sacrifice any plaything or possession that might
mend her broken heart. Now he stood helplessly before this passionate
outburst.
"Forgive me, Winifred," he said contritely, "it is cruel of me to take
her away."
"No, it isn't," sobbed Winifred. "It is just--what I--wished. Only--I
shall--miss her so!"
"Of course," he replied pitifully.
The storm subsided, and Winifred looked at her brother apologetically.
"I am ashamed," she said, still with long catches in her breath. "I
couldn't help it. I am not sorry--she is going--I am very glad!"
"You are very brave," he said.
"But it's true," she persisted. "It's all over now, Hubert. I shall
not cry like that again. Let us talk about it."
They talked about it till the small hours came. Winifred's face
cleared of every trace of sorrow, and she loved to think of the cheer
and help that Hubert would have in the far-off land. No braver heart
of all they knew could have been found to share his pilgrimage; and
they imagined how Adèle's keen sense of humor might turn many a sorry
happening into mirth. Also she had served an apprenticeship here among
the poor and outcast whom she had come to love and who loved her well.
"Winifred," said Hubert suddenly in the midst of their conversation,
"Gerald Bond is to preach for Dr. Schoolman next Sunday."
For some reason best known to himself he watched her countenance
narrowly as he made the announcement. But her fair face showed only
sweet unconsciousness.
"Really?" she said. "I am very glad."
"We must have him with us if we can. I long to talk with him about
these new things."
"Certainly. You must invite him, Hubert."
"Winnie," said her brother, "I seem to have a spirit of prophesy upon
me to-night. Almost I can see the path before us with some of its
lights and shadows. Oh, there will be compensations for all sorrows!"
"I know it," she said earnestly.
"You will say it is my own great joy that God has given that makes me
prophesy. Perhaps it is. But I see this, Winnie; He will never be in
our debt when we yield our all to Him. Sweet surprises, unlooked for
joys, will be thrown in all the way. Goodness and mercy shall follow
us all our days!"
"I believe it, Hubert, and then--we shall dwell in the house of the
Lord forever!"
He drew her to the low open window, and they stepped together into the
balcony. The lights of the city were still burning, but in the east a
flickering star was proclaiming the not distant advent of a greater
light.
"Do you see the parable in lights, Winnie? See how brightly the street
is lighted. No one need lose his way or bemoan the darkness, though it
is night. But yonder is a prophet of a fuller light. He is saying,
'The sun will come.' Here is my parable: It is night, surely, while
our Lord is still away. But He gives us light. No way will ever be
cheerless for you and me, little sister. I know He will give me as I
go numberless pleasures, fresh interests, and boundless consolation in
Himself for all that is left behind. And for you, Winifred, I almost
see some rare, sweet blessings over your dear head, just ready to fall
upon it."
"Yes," said Winifred, "I am sure it's true. I have been singing to-day,
"'Glory to Thee for all the grace
I have not tasted yet!'"
"These are like the lights in the city, Winnie, but there is a day-star
in our hearts that is foretelling the perfect day. Presently the grace
of the journeying shall give way to the eternal glory--to the
homecoming! Look, sister, do you see that impulse of the dawn, as
though the darkness pulsated with premonition of its coming?"
"Yes," said Winifred, with deep gladness in her voice. "The coming of
the Lord draweth nigh."