There is an endearing tenderness in the love of a mother to a son, that
transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be
chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by
worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every
comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his
enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity; and
if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her by misfortune;
and if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish
him; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the
world to him.--[Washington Irving.
The current of my life flowed on in the heavenly ways, until the months
began to lengthen into years and my daily studies ascended higher in
the scale of celestial mysteries. I never wearied of study, though
much was taught and gained through the medium of observation in the
journeys that I was permitted to take with my brother into different
parts of the heavenly kingdom. I never lacked time for social
pleasures and enjoyments, for there is no clashing of duties with
inclination, no unfulfilled desires, no vain strivings for the
unattainable in that life, as in the life of earth. Many precious
hours of intercourse were spent in my dear father's home, and sometimes
on rare occasions I was permitted to accompany him to his field of
labor and assist him in instructing those lately come into the new life
with little or no preparation for its duties and responsibilities. On
one occasion he said to me:
"I have the most difficult problem to deal with I have ever yet met in
this work. It is how to enlighten and help a man who suddenly plunged
from an apparently honorable life into the very depths of crime. I
have never been able to get him to accompany me to the river, where
these earthly cobwebs would be swept from his poor brain; his excuse
being always that God's mercy is so great in allowing him inside
heaven's gates at all, that he is content to remain always in its
lowest scale of enjoyment and life. No argument or teaching thus far
can make him alter his decision. He was led astray by infatuation for
a strange woman, and killed his aged mother in order to secure her
jewels for this wretched creature. He was executed for the crime, of
which in the end he sincerely repented, but he left life with all the
horror of the deed clinging to his soul."
"Has he seen his mother since coming here? Does she know of his
arrival?"
"No; she is entirely alone in this world, and it was not thought wise
to tell her of his coming till his soul was in a better condition to
receive her. He was an only child, and does not lack the elements of
refinement, but he was completely under the control of this vile though
fascinating woman. It is said she drugged his wine and incited him to
do the dreadful deed while under its influence, because of her hatred
for his mother, whose influence was against her. When he came from
under the influence of the wine, he was horrified at what he had done,
and his infatuation for the woman turned to loathing--but, alas, too
late! He would not see her during his entire incarceration."
"How long was he in prison?"
"Almost a year."
"Has he seen the Christ?"
"No; he begs not to see him. He is very repentant, and grateful to be
saved from the wrath he feels was his just punishment, but though he is
conscious that his sin is forgiven, he does not yet feel that he can
ever stand in the presence of the Holy One. And here, as upon earth,
each must be willing to receive him. His presence is never given
undesired. I have not yet appealed for higher help; my ambition is to
lead these weak souls upward through the strength entrusted to me. Can
you suggest anything that would probably reach him?"
"His mother. May I bring her?"
He thought a moment reflectively, then said: "A woman's intuition.
Yes, bring her."
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[Illustration: "O sweet and blessed country,]
"O sweet and blessed country,
The home of God's elect!
O sweet and blessed country
That eager hearts expect!
There stand those halls of Zion
All jubilant with song,
And bright with many an angel,
And all the martyr throng."]
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I soon was on my way. I found the poor woman, laid the facts gently
before her, and waited her decision. There was no hesitancy upon her
part; in an instant she said, "My poor boy! Certainly I will go with
you at once."
We found my father waiting for us, and went immediately to the great
"Home" where these "students"--would we call them?--stayed. It was a
beautiful great building in the midst of a park, with shaded walks and
fountains and flowers everywhere. To one just freed from earth it
seemed a paradise indeed; but to those of us who had tasted heaven's
rarer joys, something was wanting. We missed the lovely individual
homes, the little children playing on the lawns, the music of the angel
choir; it was tame indeed beside the pleasures we had tasted.
We found the young man seated beneath one of the flower-laden trees,
intently perusing a book that my father had left with him. There was a
peaceful look on his pale face, but it was rather the look of patient
resignation than of ardent joy. His mother approached him alone; my
father and I remaining in the background. After a little time he
glanced up and saw his mother standing near him. A startled look came
into his face, and he rose to his feet. She extended her arms toward
him, and cried out pathetically, "John, my dear boy, come home to me--I
need you!" That was all.
With a low cry he knelt at her feet and clasped her knees, sobbing:
"Mother! mother!"
She stooped and put her tender arms about him; she drew his head gently
to her breast and showered kisses on his bowed head. Oh, the warm
mother-love, the same in earth and heaven! Only the Christ-love can
exceed it. Here was this outraged mother, sent into eternity by the
hands of him who should have shielded and sustained her, bending above
her repentant son with the mother-love with which her heart was
overflowing shining upon him from her gentle eyes. I saw my father
turn his head to conceal his emotion, and I knew that my own eyes were
wet. My father had explained to the mother that the first thing to be
accomplished was to get her son to the river, so we now heard her say
caressingly:
"Come, John, my boy, take the first step upward, for your mother's
sake, that in time I may have the joy of seeing you in our own home.
Come, John, with mother."
She gently drew him, and to our great joy we saw him rise and go with
her, and their steps led them to the river. They walked hand in hand,
and as far as we could see them she seemed to be soothing and
comforting him.
"Thank God!" said my father fervently. "There will be no further
trouble now. When they return he will see with clearer vision." And
so it proved.
After this, by divine permission, I became much of the time a
co-laborer with my father, and thus enjoyed his society and his
instructions much oftener than otherwise I could have done.