DIXON always was a dear, comical little chap, so original in his ideas. He seemed to have an art for getting out of things when he did wrong. His cute little sayings, irresistible little manner, beaming little face, full of joy and animation, invariably got him off easy. Donald, his elder brother, always very sympathetic would cry when I felt badly, but Dixon never seemed to be seriously impressed. After every fresh offense (for he was often getting into mischief) I tried to have him realize what a serious thing it is to do wrong and what a very naughty little boy he really was.
Donald had been given a penknife for his birthday. Dixon was too young to play with such things, so was not allowed to have it. One day he wanted it very badly and begged Donald to give it to him. Donald said,
“Well, go and ask mamma and if she says you can have it, all right.”
Off he ran, supposedly to ask me, but never did, and came back in a few minutes, saying, “It is all right, she says I can have it.” Whereupon Donald gave him the desired penknife. Sometime afterwards I noticed him with it and asked Donald why he had given it to him. He answered,
“You said he could have it. Did you not?” Of course, I had not and said so. Dixon realizing, he was fairly caught this time, began to puzzle his little brain how to get out of it. It dawned on him that this time it would not be an easy matter. After asking him several times why he told and acted the lie, he answered, “I fink, I fink, I must have been dunk.” This produced the desired effect. I had to smile. He thought he would get off easy. But, no! I tried to have him realize it was only making things more serious still to answer like that, so I took him by himself and tried to show him how very naughty he really was, and I might let it go unpunished, but what about God, who has a Book in which everything is written down, and some day God would ask why he did and said these naughty things. Also told him we couldn’t tear a leaf out of that Book to start a fresh page. Whatever would we do about it! I left him to think it over, and went to my work, for I was very busy that day. In fact, it happened at a time when I was very much cast down, vexed on every side, wondering what the outcome of weightier matters would be. With work and worry so depressed, I needed comfort, and it came from the little offender.
I had, I believe, forgotten about the offense, when suddenly he burst into the room, with his face all aglow, thinking he had solved the problem, exclaiming, “O! Mamma, has’nt God got a wubber (rubber)? for if He has, well den, you know, He could wub fings out, so’s dey wouldn’t show.”
I took the child in my arms and I know I wept as I thought of how One could blot them out, and wondered if all the big things that were weighing me down would be wiped off too.
This little song was the result:
“Has n’t God got a wubber?” a wee boy said,
Who had oft quaint thoughts come into his head;
“For if He has, well den (then) you know
He could wub fings out, so’s they would n’t show.”
(For his mother had told how we can’t retract
A single naughty thought or act;
Our deeds are recorded, we cannot tear
Out of God’s Great Book what is written there.)
Ah! yes, there’s One, the Mighty One,
Who can blot things out, my little son,
As a thick cloud wipe them all away,
The One who’s Yea, is Yea alway.
“I am He that blotteth out,” saith He,
Thy sins and thine iniquity;
Nor will He remember any more
The sins which on the cross He bore.
To the depths of the sea He them will cast,
And-judgment is forever past;
For the soul that trusts the blood, my child,
Is accounted pure and undefiled.
Then go, my darling, go to Him,
Ask Him to take away your sin,
He hears the faintest, feeblest call,
He’ll love to have you, though you’re small.
ML 11/10/1918