How often we may learn a most valuable lesson from some trifling incident of daily life! We remember once a dear, loving, charming little boy who was in the constant habit of coming to his father's study whenever he wanted anything. If he wanted his pencil sharpened, or a sheet of paper, or a picture book, his little gentle tap was sure to be heard at the study door.
The father always attended to his little boy. Come when or with what he might, he was always sure to find a willing ear and a ready hand. The father acted thus not merely from affection—though there was deep, true, and strong affection—but from principle. He felt that his child should ever find in the parent what he could not find in anyone else; nor could he endure the thought of sternly repulsing the precious little boy, and compelling him to have recourse to hirelings or strangers to meet his little wants. He felt it to be his sweet and sacred duty to attend to his child.
And the father was right. We little know what mischief arises from the habit of leaving children with unconverted people who corrupt their young minds and pollute their imaginations. Many a one has had to groan all his days over the effects of scenes witnessed in childhood through the culpable carelessness and indolence of parents who, instead of seeking to keep their children within the moral shelter of their own presence, left them with others who not only neglected them but took pains to teach them wickedness and folly.
Yes, many a Christian parent has grievously erred and failed in this matter, and that too, very often under the plea of going to meetings, or going out in so-called service. The children have been entirely neglected; and the enemy has taken occasion to make impressions upon their tender, plastic minds to instill corrupt principles and to teach them words and ways of wickedness that adhere to them all their days.
This is very serious, and it claims the attention of all Christian parents. We must remember that, as parents, we have a duty to discharge to our children which cannot possibly be neglected with impunity. Whatever else we neglect, we must not neglect them. We do not refer now to their mere wants, but to their minds, their morals, their immortal souls. Attention to their wants is only a part of the moral training; and it is important that parents should ever show themselves attentive to the real wants of their children, so that they may have no occasion to seek for sympathy or succor elsewhere.
No doubt it will form a part of proper moral training to teach the children not to be inconsiderate or self-occupied, but to think of others, and to find delight in serving others in every possible way. All this is most fully admitted, and is strongly insisted upon; but it leaves wholly untouched the duty of parents to bind their precious children to them by a loving and thoughtful attention to all their little wants, and cares, and sorrows.
But to return to our incident. As we have said, our dear little boy was continually in the habit of coming to his father whenever he wanted anything, and the father was careful not to repulse him, however he might be occupied.
Well, it happened one day that the father was engaged in his study when he heard the well-known tap at the door. "Come in," he said, and the child entered. "Well, my little man, what do you want now?" "Notin', Papa; I only 'ant to be wit"on." And he made his way to a corner of the room and remained quietly alone with his father.
This was a very simple incident indeed, but it taught that father a lesson which he has never forgotten. The lesson is this: do we ever go to our Father when we do not want anything? Do we go to Him simply for the pleasure of being alone with Him? We go to Him with our wants, and we do well. He would have us do so. He invites and exhorts us to go to Him with all our wants, all our cares, and all our sorrows; and He never repulses us—never, no never. He never reproves us for coming too often—never says, "Go away, I cannot attend to you now." He may at times keep us waiting—at times withhold things which we ask because He knows they would be bad for us—but He never sends us away from His dear presence. He loves to have us near Him. He delights to hear us telling out all our needs, all our weakness, all our exercises, into His gracious and ever-open ear.
All this is so, of a truth; hut do we ever go and tell the Lord that we do not want anything but only to be near Him? Do we ever go and lie at His feet in the calm, satisfied condition of one who finds all the deep longings of the soul met in the simple fact of being near Him?
Oh, that it may be so more and more, and then a little of the creature will go a great way with the heart. We shall be very independent of creature streams if we abide near to that ever-gushing Fountain, and not only independent of others, but a channel of blessing ourselves.