The next afternoon Grandma was folding a small mountain of wash on the family room table when Josh arrived home from school. Something was wrong—no spring to his step no “I’m starved. What’s to eat?” He flung himself on the couch and slouched, the picture of dejection.
“Well, I really blew it, Grandma! I mean really. Dad will ground me for a year!” With that he threw a small piece of folded paper onto the table. Glancing at it, Grandma immediately knew it was a TICKET ‒ traffic violation of some kind.
“What happened, Josh? I’m ‒ truly sorry.”
“Oh this punk kid ‒ I mean boy ‒ lives down the street ‒ begged and begged that I’d ride him home on back of my motorcycle. I gave in ‒ and I shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, dear! Did he fall off or something?”
“No, worse than that. I wouldn’t mind if he—oh well. No, this cop stopped me. He said he was checking my registration. That was okay, but then he had to ask this kid how old he was. Since he was only 14½ and had no helmet, I got the ticket. The law says you can’t ride anyone under 15½. So! I sure wish I’d kept my mouth shut,” he went on dejectedly.
“Oh, no! Josh, you didn’t talk back to the policeman did you? That’s bad.”
With a bitter little laugh Josh replied, “Oh, not that, Grandma. It’s just that I can hear Ginger now. ‘It’s so remarkable how our dear brother Josh keeps out of trouble!’ “
“You’re right. I can hear her too! Well___”
At that moment the front door was flung open by Ginger and her neighbor friend, Kristie. “I’m telling on you, like I said!” Kristie was saying. Ginger was a study in feminine fury.
“Oh, Mrs. Ra ‒ I mean ‒ Grandma, Ginger’s been bad! She pushed this boy over on the way home and ‒ and ‒ she won’t share her Barbie doll clothes or anything!”
“Oh, really! Well, I guess she can’t play now, Kristie. Good-bye for now.”
“GOOD-BYE! Big tattle tale!” fumed Ginger.
Josh had perked up remarkably. “Sounds like you’ve had a bad day, Sis,” he sympathized. “Well, kid, we all fail—lose our tempers and all that. Cheer up.”
Ginger’s mouth dropped open. He sort of—looked like he meant it.
“Thanks, Josh. I’m a terrible spit-fire, I guess. That boy has bugged me for days. I’m sorry, Grandma.”
“You can’t give him the gospel after today, can you, Ginger? Nor is he likely to ‘ask of the hope within you’,” replied Grandma, marveling at this turn of things.
Mark had quietly come home and had been observing and listening. “Something sounds unreal here, downright fishy. What’s going on, anyway?”
Josh tossed the ticket to Mark who studied it a moment, then he said slowly, “Yeah, and I heard about Ginger’s ‒ fight ‒ and well, now, it all figures.”
“Yes,” Grandma added, “We’re getting some real mutual understanding here—and ‘bearing of one another’s burdens’!”
Even Josh smiled wanly and added, “At least, I can go to traffic school and keep it off my record!”
A rather subdued and somewhat depressed little group awaited Grandma as she found her glasses after dinner that night at story time. Even little Betsy, who was missing Mommy and Daddy by now, wanted the comfort of Grandma’s lap. As she snuggled sleepily, the thumb came out long enough to remark, “Ack-shly, I wish your child was ho’ding me.” (`Your child’ was Betsy’s quaint way of sometimes referring to her mother in conversation with Grandma.)
“Well, I sure hope Annie has a better time of it than I did today,” Josh sighed.
“Me, too, Grandma. But I don’t ‘spect she lost her temper like old spit-fire me.” This from Ginger.
“Oh, so you think those old-fashioned girls didn’t have bad problems such as you have? Well, if you remember, the children of Israel are a picture of us in our Christian experience. Have you kept your ears open at the reading meeting? Some people seem to think that life for the Christian is all joy and victory. But not so! Israel had enemies to drive out in real battles when they got to Canaan. Likewise, we have conflicts. Satan cannot take our salvation from us, but he can spoil our testimony, making us useless and miserable. As I read tonight, watch for signs of conflict in Annie’s life. Here goes.”
Curtsie did not have the slightest problem in coaxing Mother and me to accompany her to the Metropolitan that night. She seemed a little surprised at my readiness to go and I often caught her during dinner looking at me with a puzzled, quizzical expression. “Can’t she believe me yet?” I sighed.
The meeting that night was simply wonderful! Every scripture quoted seemed brand new, although I had heard them since I was a small child. To add to my pure joy, I saw dear Emily across the room with her Aunt Hetty. “Oh, Lord, please, let her see ‒ show her ‒ and save her, too!” Before I could make my way to that side, however, I met another friend from our neighborhood, just my own age. Sarah was bubbling with joy as she exclaimed, “Oh, dear, Annie! Please, do come to the Savior, too!”
“Well, I did already—this very afternoon.” I replied.
She hugged me tightly and squealed, “I can’t wait to tell Mr. Grove. Oh, there he is now!” She dashed away, and since he was not more than ten feet away, I could see and hear the conversation. That brother raised his eyebrows, set his mouth in a tight line, then said, tersely, “She had better sleep on that!”
So! He didn’t believe me either! I really had put my act of indifference over with him! Just then Curtsie came by to lead me to the waiting cab. I was still happily in the clouds of fresh, new faith, but as I prayed that night, I said to the Lord, “Dear Lord Jesus, hardly anybody believes I’m saved, but—I know and Thou knowest. Please help me to prove it to everyone.” As I lay thinking it all over, I suddenly remembered the ball. “Well—there’s just no way I can go—I don’t even want to go, but poor dear Emily! She’ll be so very hurt!” Again I prayed for her salvation. “Oh dear Lord, I don’t know what she’d do about the ball—it’s her own sister’s (Dear me! whatever could she do!) But somehow, Lord, please work it all out.”
I awoke the next morning, full of my determination to prove that I was changed, a very true believer in Christ. Now my sister Sophie Jane had been away at boarding school (she was older by three years than I), and Spring holidays had brought her home for a few days. She shared my father’s views concerning religion in general and my involvement in it. We had never been close. This morning as I began to dress, I thought over my plans for the day unless Mother, of course, would keep me home because of a cold I had taken. “I would dearly love to visit Emily and tell her all about everything and see if my prayers have been answered,” I thought. Absentmindedly slipping on my right shoe (they were high-top button shoes), I began with my button hook, but lo! the top three were clean gone! “Oh, bother!” I exclaimed. “I know this was not the case last night. What is going on here?” Then I remembered Sophie Jane! Dashing next door to her room I rudely burst in. And there she was—calmly sewing my buttons on her shoes! The hussy! “You cut off my buttons—you—you, you horrible girl! How dare you! Of all the nerve—the sheer brazen -.” “Well, well,” Sophie interrupted, “and you a Christian now? You a brand new revival-meeting trophy? How you speak—and that to your very own sister!” Then smiling sarcastically, she went on, “Mother said you had taken cold and would be in today. So what’s all the storm about anyway?” The old Annie in me wanted to throw my mutilated shoe at her. Instead, I ran to my room and threw myself across the bed, watering it with bitter tears. My very first test—and I had failed with a capital “F.” “Lord, I didn’t know it would be so hard! I’m sorry—I’m sorry! What can I do now?” A still, small voice seemed to be saying, “... forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.” Eph. 4:3232And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you. (Ephesians 4:32). Oh, so that’s it? Repairing my tear-stained face, I went searching for Sophie Jane. She was downstairs already sitting at the breakfast table. Father had not arrived and Mother had gone to the kitchen. “I’m truly sorry I was so cross and angry. Will you forgive me?” I quietly asked.
“Oh mush! Forget it!” and she waved her hand as if to say, “Why don’t you just disappear?” But I was happy!
Father came in then and looked me over remarking, “I don’t think all that religion agrees with our Annie. Mother, what are those red blotches on her face and neck?” My sunny smile belied my complexion and he turned puzzled eyes to Mother.
“Dear me! Whatever have you taken? Young lady, you will stay in until we know the cause of this—rash. You know, Henry dear, she was sneezing and had a slight sore throat last night.”
“Just too many religious meetings, if you ask me. Young folks shouldn’t be burdened with such frightening things—as—er—hell and judgment. She’ll be back to normal in a few days.” Thus he ended the subject.
“Misunderstood again! But at least I’m HAPPY!” I thought.
My cold did not prove to be very troublesome, and even Mother was convinced by the following day. Hortense had returned and she and Curtsie wished to attend the meeting again. Of course, my blotchy face and neck had been nothing more than emotional stress coming out in my skin as it typically did. Curtsie was beginning to see that I was really sincere and Hortense was happily hopeful.
Upon arriving at the Metropolitan, I looked all over for Emily—but in vain. “Has she lost interest? I must get over to see her,” I vowed. Later, when I was able to go, I learned that she was away on a little holiday trip with her Aunt Hetty.
Contrary to being bored with Christian life, I found each day brought new and interesting things. Hortense and Curtsie shared an exciting drama which they had experienced upon returning to their lodgings. The art teacher had, they knew, been trying to find peace with God in living, as they had, the very best life she could. The girls’ joy in simply resting on God’s Word and the perfect work of our Lord Jesus Christ at Calvary’s cross could not be hid. Nor did they desire to do so, but with Bibles in hand, they showed it all to this dear woman. Soon she came to the decision to stop her own striving, and accepting Christ as her personal Savior, lean wholly on His doing for her. What rejoicing together! Gone the doleful fear that the judgment day might find her short!
In the course of time, the three of us were invited by Mr. Marshall and Mr. Haines to a “Believers’ Tea” on a Friday night. They were of a group attending at an unnamed assembly hall and known to have some “peculiar” ideas, but we had been greatly impressed with their warmth and zeal for the Lord. We determined to attend the tea.
“What does one wear to a ‒ Believers’ Tea?” I asked Cousin Hortense on our return ride. I had never heard of one.
"Wear? Oh, don’t suppose we ‒ oh, just like for an ordinary tea ‒ we’ll dress in our best ‘bib and tucker’ as the saying is,” she replied.
“Best bib and tucker” turned out to be for Hortense, a stylish blue velvet dress adorned with double rows of shiny brass buttons and a large picture hat generously trimmed with satin ribbon and ostrich feathers; Curtsie was similarly attired in brown velvet, and I, the junior member of the trio, could only sport a velvet trimmed myrtle green gown with brass buttons much in evidence and a large, plush, deep-piled mohair hat trimmed with a green and gold bird’s breast in front and matching wing feathers sweeping back. Of course, we had had our ears pierced in those days, as most young women did, and we wore gold earrings, bracelets, matching brooches, besides several rings each. Oh, we were in “high fashion” to be sure!
As we entered the large room where the believers were assembled, all heads turned and we could almost hear a gasp. We had created a small sensation! Not another woman there was “dolled up” as we were, but all were very quietly, though tastefully attired. I had spent at least an hour and a half curling my bangs and putting my hair up in the most becoming way I could contrive. Most of the ladies there had dressed their hair very plainly.
But we soon overcame our embarrassment and thoroughly enjoyed the fellowship. However, rather soon after we had made our ‘grand entry,’ Mr. Marshall slipped around to a cupboard in the back of the room and produced three pamphlets entitled “On the Wearing of Gold.” He also gave each of us a copy of Kept for the Master’s Use, that lovely book written by the truly consecrated Frances Ridley Havergal. The selections were appropriate and well taken, and because we truly wanted to learn, we were not offended. I did take a quick peek at the pamphlet and I just couldn’t repress a little giggle at how far from the proper attire of women “professing godliness” we were. We thoroughly enjoyed the Reading Meeting which followed the tea and left feeling that we carried good things away, both in our hearts and in our hands.
I couldn’t wait to read the pamphlet and had a head-on collision with 1 Timothy 2:9,109In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; 10But (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works. (1 Timothy 2:9‑10). “In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with braided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; but (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works.” What does it mean? Must I really take it literally? Why have so many professing Christian women completely ignored this passage? Isn’t this God’s word also? Surely He must expect obedience in this scripture, as well as in those which had brought me such joy and peace. Well, I decided, I must talk it over with Mother tomorrow. I suppose, perhaps, I subconsciously thought she might be able to explain it in such a way that I could get around the obvious.
Mother, however, was unable to explain anything away. In fact she said that early in her Christian life she had decided to leave the Episcopal church, where she was brought up, because of their worldly ways. The Methodists appeared in those days to be a more godly living people. In fact, many women would not take the sacrament wearing flowers or jewelry and some would place gold bracelets or their solid silver on the collection plate for orphanages. All this explained my mother’s plain attire which used to bother me a short time ago. Mother was quite smug and pleased to dwell on the teachings of her church on this subject, yet she readily admitted that very few women paid the least attention to them. The latest fashions were much in evidence—jewels and costly array. Mother did, however, say that she had once been told that an excellent translation rendered “shamefacedness and sobriety” as “modesty and discretion.” She thought that to dress in good taste, but modestly, so as not to be conspicuous, was acceptable.
Well, what was I going to do about it? “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.” (John 10:2727My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: (John 10:27)) came before me with force. To obey would be to show I was His sheep—a real sheep mark (somewhat like an `identifying brand’), if you please. Slowly the rings, the earrings, the bracelets, and the locket came off.
At this point in the story, Grandma paused, “Have you seen the Annies of our day putting these things on again?”
The brass buttons were replaced in single rows with less gaudy ones. I sought my mother’s aid with the hat. We removed the feathers, but the costly bird breast in front would need some replacement, for the felt would be marred. When I asked Mother for ribbons of some sort, she, to my great surprise, balked. “I’ve spent enough money on that hat!” And that was that. So the season was finished with my “half fancy” hat.
Now came the hair. I experimentally brushed out my frizzled bangs and smoothed them back. “Horrors, Mother,” I exclaimed. “My nose, my long nose! I didn’t know it looked that long!”
“Why, Annie dear,” my mother soothed, “You have your dear father’s nose, and I always thought it handsome.”
“On a man, yes,” I sighed. We parted my hair a different way and decided that when the bangs grew and didn’t keep slipping out, it wouldn’t be all that bad. So the lead curlers were tossed away.
My! There was a change! Quite noticeable. And I was noticed, believe me! On my first day back in school, I was met in the hallway by one of the young men. “Why, hello there!” He looked me over and continued, rubbing his chin. “So you are attending the meetings at the Metropolitan Hall. I hear that you even carry around a Bible!”
“Why—yes, that’s true. I have a New Testament with me now.”
My former friend hurried away.
After assembly room prayer, when I had just begun my first lesson, the teacher took one look at me and did a “double take.”
“Why, Miss Lake, what have you done? Is this part of your new religion?”
“Why, no ma’am, it’s quite old. It’s in the Bible in First Timothy.” I drew my Testament out, but was not asked to read. My thoughts raced on ahead to intermission. “Lord, give me courage to answer their questions well!” I had been a ringleader among the girls and I knew what was coming. “Heart, don’t pound so! Why is my tongue so dry! Will I even be able to speak?”
True to my expectations, they gathered round. The news had traveled to them all. I could only tell them, with the Lord’s help, how it happened and of the joy I now possessed. I urged them to take my Savior too. Some listened and lingered a bit. Others walked away and one said loudly enough for me to hear, “Oh, it’s just one of her freaks and will soon be over.”
Those would have been rather hard days had it not been for—Emily. My Emily, I must tell you about her. She, too, had come face to face with the Lord Jesus at the meetings quite the same as I had. She, too, had said YES to Him. Leave it to Emily to do things up with the right flourish. When she and Aunt Hetty returned home, she called her parents to come into the drawing room. Going to the piano she began to softly sing Dr. Bonar’s hymn:
“I heard the voice of Jesus say,
`Come unto Me, and rest;
Lay down, thou weary one, lay down
Thy head upon my breast.’ "
Then she joyously sang out:
“I came to Jesus as I was
Weary and worn and sad.
I found in Him a resting place,
And He has made me glad.”
She was soon in her parents’ arms.
My cup of joy was indeed full. The cross of reproach no longer seemed so heavy.
“Well, children, what do you say? Annie had quite a problem being ‘misunderstood’ didn’t she? Josh, what did she do about it?” Grandma laid down her book.
“Hmm—just told the Lord about it, I guess,” Josh replied thoughtfully.
“Can we do likewise? You may have learned already that this certainly is the best—sometimes the only thing we can do. Now tell me, did Annie make her decisions because `everyone else does it’ or because the Word of God says it?” Grandma asked.
“She followed the Lord like His sheep.” offered Crystal.
“And Ginger! What a temper Annie had too! Were you surprised at that?”
“She had good reason to be furious! That sister sure wasn’t very nice. I don’t know—Annie was awfully brave to say she was sorry.” Ginger replied, still indignant with Sophie Jane.
“Did you notice how she was happy when she did? Which reminds me, has Annie found happiness?”
Everyone agreed that she had, no doubt about that. “Did Annie’s decision to follow ‘The truth’ cost her anything? Was she ‘buying’ the truth?” went on Grandma.
“Oh sure,” Ginger replied quickly. “It cost her jewels and all that. And she lost a bunch of friends.”
“And still she was happy? So—can we say that jewels, pretty clothes and popularity don’t do it, but knowing Christ and following His Word does?”
“Yes, Grandma!”
“Remember now, this is a true story. Good night all. I’m tired enough to sleep standing up.”