It was a summer afternoon; the wheelbarrow stood before Mrs. Robin's
door; the street was empty of all traffic, for the heat was intense. I
sauntered languidly along on the shady side opposite the widow's
house, and noticed her boy bringing out some linen in baskets to put
on the wheelbarrow. I was surprised at the size of the baskets he was
lugging along the passage and lifting on to the wheelbarrow, and
paused to look at him. He pulled, and dragged, and then resting a
moment began again, and in the silence of the street, I heard him
saying something to himself. I half crossed the road. He was too busy
to notice me, and then, in a pause of his toil, I heard him gasp out,
"With a will, Joe." He was encouraging himself to a further effort
with these words. At last, bringing the large basket to the curbstone,
he ran in and got a piece of smooth wood as a lever; resting one end
of the basket on the wheelbarrow, he heaved up the other end, and
saying a little louder than before, "With a will, Joe," the basket was
mounted on to the wheelbarrow.
As he rested, and looked proudly at his successful effort, he saw me,
and his round, red face, covered with perspiration, became scarlet for
a moment, as I said, "That's a brave boy." The mother's voice sounded
in the passage, "I'm coming, Joe," and out she came as the child,
pointing to the basket, said, "I've managed it, mother." It was a
pretty sight, the looks of the widow and her willing boy. Though no
further word was spoken, the sense of satisfaction on each face was
very plain, and I have no doubt in each heart there was a throb of
pleasure that words have no language for.
I went on my way, but the saying, "With a will, Joe," went with me.
How much there was in that simple phrase, "With a will!" How different
is our work according as we do it with or against our will. This
little fellow might have cried or murmured, or left his mother to do
the work, and been dissatisfied with himself, and a source of
discontent to his mother, but he had spurred himself on to toil and
duty, with his words, powerful in their simplicity--"With a will,
Joe."
Often since have I recalled the scene and the saying. When some young
lady complains to me, "I have no time to give to doing good. I've
visits to make, and shopping to do, and embroidery to finish, how can
I help the poor when I'm so pressed for time?" I am apt to say
mentally, "How different it would be with her, if she had ever said to
herself, 'With a will.'"
Yes, with a will we can do almost anything that ought to be done; and
without a will we can do nothing as it should be done. To all of us,
whatever our station, there come difficulties and trials. If we yield
to them we are beaten down and conquered. But if we, ourselves,
conquer the temptation to do wrong, calling the strength of God to aid
us in our struggle with the enemy, we shall grow stronger and more
valiant with every battle, and less liable to again fall into
temptation. Our wisdom and our duty are to rouse ourselves,--to speak
to our own hearts as the child did in his simple words, "With a will,
Joe." When there is any wrong thing that we want to do, our will then
is strong enough. The _Evil One_ comes with his temptation, and helps
us to our ruin, with his strength.
The times when we flag are when we want to do right. "When I would do
good, evil is present with me," was the testimony of the apostle of
the Gentiles, and it is the experience of all, unless they go to Him
who can make our wills obedient to his will. Our prayer should be,
"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit [will]
within me."