THE ANNUAL BOARD MEETING-RESULTS.
I have mentioned the fact that the nature of the work of Beth-Adriel
had so changed that many applicants were, for certain reasons, debarred
from the home. One day whilst I was calling upon one of the board
members my soul was greatly grieved; for a girl who came and appealed
for admission was refused--kindly but firmly refused, on the grounds
that her physical condition would be detrimental to the welfare of the
many mothers and babes with whom Beth-Adriel was now well filled; _and
yet it had never been incorporated for a maternity home_.
What was I to do? God knew how hard I had Worked. The property was now
more than half paid for. What was I to do?
As the holidays, which always caused a temporary cessation in
fund-raising, were approaching, I busied myself in making little gifts
for each member of the family. Whilst so doing I prayed unceasingly to
know the mind of God's Spirit and to be definitely led of him.
Can I ever forget that first prayer-meeting of the new year, 1907? It
being a wet night, there was nobody present besides the members of the
family, the matron, and her husband, except Brother Norton, his son,
and I. We had had the usual songs, prayers, and Scripture-reading, and
we were now testifying. I had testified, as also had most of the
family, when one of the young mothers suddenly said:
"Mrs. Roberts, I've something to ask you. When you persuaded me to come
to this place, didn't you tell me I need give only my first name?"
"I did, Amelia," I answered.
"Didn't you say that no questions that might embarrass me would be
asked?"
"I certainly did."
"Didn't you say no girl had to sign any papers here, and that if she
had no money, the home was free to her?"
"Most assuredly."
"Then--you--lied."
Reader, that poor girl dealt me a blow that I can not say I have yet
fully recovered from. Then I knew that modern Tobiah and Sanballat and
Geshem (Neh. 2:9) had interfered and intercepted the building of God's
work. I felt brokenhearted and could not be comforted. That night I
spent in tears, nor could I pray as I desired to pray. The next evening
as I was kneeling by my bedside, worn out with sorrow, I chanced to
look up, and I found my gaze riveted on a little wall-motto containing
these precious words: "_Rest in the Lord._"
(It hangs here on my wall as I now write. It is a priceless
possession.) Instantly I said, "I thank thee, O my Lord, I thank thee,
for reassurance." Somewhat comforted, I then wrote the following
verses:
I was kneeling in prayer by my bedside,
Beseeching a comforting word,
When I opened my eyes on this motto,
Simply telling me, "Rest in the Lord."
It hangs where I ofttimes can see it,
This message direct from our God.
As I ponder, my load seems to lighten,
I'm resolving to rest in my Lord.
For, oh! I was troubled and weary,
And dark seemed the road that I trod;
Of this I was telling my Savior,
When he showed me, "Rest thou in the Lord"
I wonder why I should forget this
And weight myself down with a load;
Why don't I depend more on Jesus,
Who loves me, and rest in my Lord?
I'm persuaded this message from heaven,
Direct from his throne, will afford
Perfect peace under trying conditions
To all who will "rest in the Lord."
For, oh! if his yoke is upon us,
Our strength is renewed and restored;
And the burdens, so heavy, are lightened
If we only will "rest in the Lord."
I thank thee, dear heavenly Father,
When I prayed for thy comforting word,
For directing my eyes to that motto
'Tis enough. I will rest in my Lord
Beth-Adriel cottage, 9:30 P.M., January 4, 1907.
It was enough. I was comforted, and I was determined, like Paul of old,
that 'none of these things should move me.'
The annual meeting of the board for the election of officers for the
ensuing year was about to take place. Before the board convened, I
asked God for a test, promising him to abide by it even though he
required me to give up this hard-earned home if necessary; then I
quietly "rested in my Lord."
The day arrived. The rain poured in torrents all morning. I besought
the Lord for a clear afternoon and also for the presence of every
member. He answered my prayer. When it came to the reelection of
officers, my election was _not unanimous_. As the test I had besought
was that if the Master intended I should continue with them, he should
cause my reelection to be unanimous, I read my resignation. Thus ended
the annual board meeting of 1907. (My resignation was never legally
accepted.)
With scarcely an exception, "they all forsook me and fled" (Mark
14:50). I walked out of Beth-Adriel unattended--one of the loneliest
beings on earth, yet in the "secret of His presence." This created
considerable newspaper notoriety; but though my resignation had cost me
all, my conscience was "void of offense toward God" (Acts 24:16).
Soon I busied myself looking for other quarters. Even they were
providential; for a friend met me in the post-office and proffered me
her beautiful studio, then in disuse, for a merely nominal rent. There
I rested and wrote for three months, intending that the proceeds of the
book entitled "The Autobiography of an Autoharp" should start another
home. But God willed otherwise, as you will presently learn.
Was the rescue work that I so dearly loved, at a standstill? Oh, no
indeed. Not for one day was I idle; neither was Beth-Adriel. The name
"Beth-Adriel" was soon dropped, and the place became one of the chain
of Florence Crittenton homes. I have often sent there poor unfortunates
that needed a refuge of that nature.
It was marvelous, the strength and the courage that the blessed Lord
gave me during those trying days, even to the turning of my other cheek
(Matt. 5:39).
Soon I received unanimous reendorsement and much encouragement from the
pastors' union and other sources; but I was advised to try for a
training-school and home for orphans at the limit age (fourteen) and
also for juvenile court dependents and delinquents. As is my custom, I
inquired of the Lord. I received so strong an impression regarding "an
ounce of prevention," etc, that I said, "Yea, Lord, it is worth one
hundred thousand pounds of cure." In a short time beautiful and
practical plans were drawn up and presented to me by one of San Jose's
best architects, Wesley W. Hastings. Before this took place, however,
several very striking incidents occurred, in a few of which, I feel
sure, you will be interested. One was a case of casting bread upon the
waters and finding of it after many days (Eccl. 11:1).
Since my coming to San Jose it had been my habit to attend frequently
the mission then situated on Fountain Alley. One night a poor, forlorn
drunken man came to the altar and "got salvation." After rising from
his knees, he said, "Lady, will you trust me with a quarter? I want to
get a bath and bed and breakfast with it."
"You can not get all three for a quarter," I replied.
"Oh yes, I can," he said. "Down at the Salvation Army lodging-house for
men."
One of the workers whispered, "Don't do it He'll only spend it for
liquor."
He evidently surmised what the worker told me, for he quickly said:
"Don't be afraid to trust me. I promise you you shall never regret it."
I gave him what he had requested, and, in consequence, received rebukes
from several of the other workers.
The next night he came in looking fairly neat, but surely clean. At the
close of the meeting he returned the money, remarking that he had
earned fifty cents that day mowing lawns and chopping wood. He
continued to frequent the mission, a changed man. After moving to the
studio I lost sight of him almost entirely, but often wondered what had
become of him.
There came a time toward the close of my sojourn in San Jose when I was
financially down to bedrock. Money and provisions were all gone. My
rent, to be sure, was paid up to the first of the month (three weeks
hence), but my cupboard was bare. A friend partook with me of my last
meal. Little did she realize it, or she would never have stayed at my
invitation. _I told only my heavenly Father._ After supper I went home
with her, about three blocks distant. It was a beautiful moonlight
night, and as I came up the garden walk on my return, I noticed a
good-sized box resting on my steps, but simply thought the children
must have been playing there and had failed to take it away after they
had finished. I attempted to thrust it to one side, but discovered that
it was too heavy. Looking more closely, I could read my name on a card.
With considerable effort I lifted it into the room, pried off a portion
of the cover, and was soon reading a note which said:
Dear Friend:
Please accept a slight token of appreciation from one who is
Your true friend.
From whom did this come? The crude handwriting was not at all familiar.
I wondered, but in vain. Then I lifted up the paper cover. The box was
filled with groceries. Not even butter and bread had been forgotten;
also there were some fruit and vegetables. I fell on my knees, the
tears falling fast as I humbly thanked God and prayed him to bless the
donor. I had told no one. Who could have sent it? Inquiry the next day
of several groceries failed to throw any light on the matter. I had to
give it up, but oh, how I appreciated and enjoyed the contents of that
box, which lasted me until my time at the studio expired.
I stored my few effects with a friendly furniture man. Whilst walking
down Santa Clara Street near Market, I came face to face with Brother
Louis, the converted drunkard. He certainly was looking his best. As he
greeted me, he said:
"Mother Roberts, I was on my way to call on you."
"I've moved this very day, Brother," I replied, "but I'm so glad I met
you. Where have you been?"
He had been working out of town. To honor God and also to help
strengthen his faith, I related His care for me through all the trying
times. I spoke about my being out of provisions and then finding them
on my doorsteps, adding:
"To this day I haven't found out who sent them."
The expression that came over his countenance instantly betrayed him.
"Brother Louis," I said, "you sent that box."
"No, Mother Roberts, I didn't," he replied; "I brought it, and I'll
tell you why. I read in the paper that when you quit Beth-Adriel you
only had sixty dollars of your own. I calculated that couldn't last
very long. I knew you wouldn't take money, and I wanted to express my
gratitude in some way; so I decided groceries would not come amiss to
one who was doing light housekeeping. I didn't knock on your door,
because I thought you were in and what a surprise it would be when you
opened it in the morning. I hope you aren't offended at what I did"
"Brother Louis, don't you realize that God used you to answer my
prayer?" I rejoined. "He knew my needs, and laid it on your heart to
supply them."
I do not know where he now is, but I earnestly pray that God may bless
and prosper this kind-hearted man and finally receive him into glory.
Still farther down the street, near Second, I suddenly thought I heard
some one calling my name. Again it was called, and I turned to find a
Mr. Parkhurst, an old gentleman, endeavoring to overtake me. He wished
to let me know that his wife, one of my valued friends, was very ill,
and to inquire if I knew of any one who could come to their home and
care for her a few days, at least until she was somewhat recovered.
Instantly I felt that God was providing a temporary shelter for me;
therefore I unhesitatingly replied:
"I myself will go, Mr. Parkhurst."
"What you! But are you not too busy?" he asked.
"Not just at present," I answered. "Besides, I gave up my studio this
very day and therefore am quite free to go."
Their appreciation was such that a few days later I was invited to make
this lovely home mine, or at least headquarters, which very kind offer
was, in the name of our wonderful Provider, gratefully accepted.