TOWARD the close of a dry, cold day—the first day of this year 1907—I was returning tired to my house in K—, when I saw that I was gradually overtaking a little, burdened old woman, whose footsteps were still slower and more wearied than my own.
She might have been seventy, or even more, and was carrying a large, heavy basket on one arm, and this weight was apparently bending her to the earth, her face not being more than two or three feet from the ground.
When I came up to her I said, as distinctly as I could—
“Bowed together for eighteen years and could in no wise lift up herself.”
Without pausing she said quickly, “Poor soul! Was her though?”
Then she stood perfectly upright, stopped, and looking me for the first time full in the face, she said—
“If I had nothing to carry I could stand straight as you, and could look up!”
“It was the opportunity I wanted, and, God-given, could I not use it?
My reply was—
“Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows, Who bare our sins in His own body on the tree.”
But no brightness illumined the old time-wrinkled face as she replied—
“Ah I do know what ye mean, but—but—BUT—” and she stopped.
I waited. No further answer came; the poor old body slowly resumed its wonted position, the heavy weight was hugged still more tightly to it, and there was no looking up.
“HE HAS DONE IT; do you KNOW this?” I said. Still no reply; the old journey was still wearily, still slowly continued, and she left me.
Reader! three words to you and to me lie herein.
Nothing to carry—made straight—and looking up.
It may be that they were meant for us! God only knows, and whether they were of any use to her “the day will declare it.”
To me they say—LIVE upon them yourself; ACT upon them yourself; and, thirdly, Go YOURSELF AND TELL OTHERS CONTINUALLY ABOUT THEM. For when God has acted “but” has no place.
H. C. A.