OLD and infirm as Uncle Hugh was growing, he was sure to be up first in the morning. We were often awakened by his slow step, and the sound of his staff in the hall. When the morning was fair and warm, he would go out and sit on the verandah for a quiet reading out of his worn Bible. He would sometimes sing a hymn, and though his voice was feeble, we thought no one could sing like Uncle Hugh.
Katie and Sophie were going, on this particular morning, to the city to visit Aunt Lucy, whom they had not seen for a year. They slept but little the night before, and were up early that morning.
Uncle Hugh was sitting on the verandah, and they greeted him with their good-morning kisses, telling him of what they were to enjoy that day.
“O, Uncle, how we wish you were going, too.”
“Well, darlings, did you say ‘Thank You’?” and he looked from one to the other.
There was a solemn earnestness in his voice which interpreted his meaning to them both.
“Now, I know what you mean,” said Sophie, “It is whether we said, ‘Thank You’ to God this morning? No. Uncle, I think we forgot.”
Then Uncle Hugh said, “If it had rained very hard, or some of us were very, very sick, and all thoughts of the visit had to be given up, would you have had nothing to be thankful for?”
“Yes, there would have been a great deal,” replied Katie, “but I should have been so disappointed, I could not have kept from crying.”
“You will never see the day, children, no matter how much sorrow and trouble you have, when you cannot raise your voices in thankfulness to God. Do you think you could count all the gifts He has given you; or tell of all He has done, and is constantly doing for you?”
“But, Uncle,” asked Katie with perplexed face, “if father, mother, Sophie and you, and every one I love should die, and I should be left a poor little beggar, would I have anything to be thankful for?”
“O, yes Katie, everything, everything! You make me think of a blind beggar, that hobbled to my door one cold winter’s day to beg a crust of bread. He had been rich once, but lost everything. I had heard him spoken of as a Christian, so while he sat warming his almost frozen fingers, I asked him if he could find anything in his desolate, wretched life to thank God for? I shall never forget the bright expression of his face.
‘Anything to thank God for!’ said he, ‘sir, I do not forget all God’s goodness to me in past years when health and happiness were mine and can I ever have cause for complaining, when I know of the love that prompted Him to give His only Son in order that my soul might be redeemed, and my sins washed away by His own precious blood; and too of Tis present grace, and coming glory?’”
ML 11/29/1925