I said to my little family, one morning, a few weeks before the
Chicago fire, "I am coming home this afternoon to give you a ride."
My little boy clapped his hands. "Oh, papa, will you take me to see
the bears in Lincoln Park?"
"Yes."
I had not been gone long when my little boy said, "Mamma, I wish you
would get me ready."
"Oh," she said, "it will be a long time before papa comes."
"But I want to get ready, mamma."
At last he was ready to have the ride, face washed, and clothes all
nice and clean.
"Now, you must take good care, and not get yourself dirty again," said
mamma.
Of course, he was going to take care; he wasn't going to get dirty! So
off he ran to watch for me. However, it was a long time yet until the
afternoon, and after a little he began to play. When I got home, I
found him outside, with his face all covered with dirt.
"I can't take you to the park that way, Willie."
"Why papa? you said you would take me."
"Ah, but I can't; you're all over mud. I couldn't be seen with such a
dirty little boy."
"Why, I'se clean, papa; mamma washed me."
"Well, you've got dirty again."
But he began to cry, and I could not convince him that he was dirty.
"I'se clean; mamma washed me!" he cried.
Do you think I argued with him? No. I just took him up in my arms, and
carried him into the house, and showed him his face in the
looking-glass. He had not a word to say. He would not take my word for
it; but one look at the glass was enough; he saw it for himself. He
didn't say he wasn't dirty after that!
Now, the looking-glass showed him that his face was dirty--_but I did
not take the looking-glass to wash it_; of course not. Yet that is
just what thousands of people do. The Law is the looking-glass to see
ourselves in, to show us how vile and worthless we are in the sight of
God; but they take the Law and try to _wash_ themselves with it,
instead of being washed in the blood of the Lamb.