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The Other Side of Life
T
from the observation of others. In any event there
will be more of truth than of fiction in what I re
late.
This morning it is my purpose to give a chapter
from my own life —a chapter which was written
many years ago. It was one night in August many
years ago that I sat in my room reading the dear,
dear old Book. The Book itself was the property
of a young woman who had had serious convictions
concerning her religious duty, and she had asked
me to take her Bible and mark such portions as
would assist' her in reaching a decision in the matter
which was giving her so much concern.
The young woman in question was passing a
crisis, such a crisis as comes to but few. God was
calling her to a life of service in the missionary
field, her heart was pleading for a love which it
contained. The one meant the giving up, not only
the one whom she loved above and beyond al!
others, but also the surrender of home and native
land. Comfort and a life of happiness here with
the one unto whom her heart was wedded; sacrifice
and toil and isolation • there if she answered the
call of God. It was a testing time, a time of trial,
of sorrow of deep emotional struggles with which
the Savior alone is able to sympathize; for not
many of the world’s vast throng know anything
of the finer and deeper feelings and delicate emo
tions which occasionally find place in the human
heart. It was for this reason the Christ was mis
understood. The world then was not, not many now
are able to sympathetically comprehend the life of
the Savior, who was. because of His pure and holy
ideals, a man of sorrow and fully acquainted with
grief. And it is not only true of the Christ, buc
it is also true of every person who has caught a
vision of things pure and holy, and who aspires
to the highest and best and purest in life. Strange
commentary it may be cn the manv who are try
ing to follow, or, at least, professing to follow, in
His footsteps, that their hearts have not Been at
tuned to the sympathetic and loving and bleeding
heart of Jesus Christ.
I was reading on this night in August St. Mat
thew’s account of the Master’s sufferings in the
garden of Gethsemane, and, as I finished reading
the record of this incident in His life, I thought
fully, prayerfully wrote on the margin of the Book
the following words:
“There is no agony, no sorrow, no trial, no any
thing that can approach the experience of our
Lord in Gethsemane. It almost broke His heart,
but he was submissive to God’s will, and in his sub
mission our redemption was secured and God glo
rified. Let us also endure all things, saying with
the Master, ‘Not as I will, but as thou wilt.’ ”
Ten years have passed since that night in Au
gust. The young woman and her Bible are doing
service in the slums of one of our cities, for God
won the victory and to His service she has given
her life. They have been years of toil and sacri
fice, but they have also been years filled with a joy
that comes only to the ones who are conscious of
having followed the call of duty. Many hundreds
have been saved from a life of sin through her ser
vice; hearts bowed in sorrow and breaking with
grief have been comforted and encouraged through
the hopeful inspiration of earnest prayers and ever
optimistic counsel; her own life has grown sWeet
_er and purer and larger as the years have gone by/
and the evening sun, just beginning to decline,
shines resplendently upon her brow. Yes, there
come, occasionally, memories of the old love, min
gled with tears of faithfulness, but she is satisfied
HERE is a side of life which is stranger
than fiction. It is the other side. It
is that side which is not seen, and
which but few are capable of penetrat
ing. It is about that side of which I
shall occasionally speak. I shall some
times speak from personal experience,
and at other times from my personal
observation, and at still other times
The Golden Age for August 15, 1907.
By Peter Smith.
with the compensation which has come to her in
the other life —the life which God had mapped out
for her.
I had not forgotten her, but had lost sight of her
until recently. One of the sad experiences of life
is that as we pass along the avenue of time we
come to diverging paths, which rarely, if ever, cross
again. But recently a great sorrow had come into
my life. It was of a public nature. Circumstances
almost beyond my control had conspired for a
time to overthrow the cherished ideals of a life
time, the consecrated efforts of the years, the suc
cesses of other days, and everything that a true soul
longs and hopes for. It crushed me. It seemed for
days that the very life blood would flow from my
heart and leave me pulseless and helpless in the
eyes of a too suspicious and frowning world. I
stood dazed and amazed at the incredulity of the
people. Some lessons are learned slowly, and I con
fess that I have been rather too slow in learning
the heart of the world —yes, in learning the life
of the world.
Like a tornado, that gathers force and momen
tum as it travels, this trouble had come into my
life. But unlike the gathering clouds of a torna
do, which arise and come together so quickly, the
storm clouds of my trouble had been gathering for
years. In vain I had tried to divert their course.
I had struggled against the concentration of the
forces without succeeding. They had broken upon
me and for the moment I lay prostrate beneath the
weight of the deluge.
The postman, ever welcome and often looked for.
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Locust Grove, Ga.
brought the morning mail. There was just one let
ter for me —only one. It was of the commercial
size—l mean the envelope was. The postmark was
that of one of the large cities of the North. I had
no acquaintance there, and as I looked at the
handwriting of the address, I wondered who could
be writing to me from that distant city. When I
had finally broken the seal and opened the letter,
to my surprise it read thus:
“My dear Friend: Information concerning your
recent trouble has come to me through the press.
I know that the press reports are always exagger
ated and unreliable, but I am sure, nevertheless,
that you are in some sort of trouble and in need
of assurance and friendship. I have not forgotten
the ideals which controlled you in other days—-
ideals which encouraged me to give my life to God’s
work, and which have been an inspiration to me all
these years, and I write to assure you that my con
fidence in you is just the same that it was when I
knew you in other years.
“In reading my Bible I find Matthew 26:36-47,
marked, and the following words on the margin:
‘There is no agony, no sorrow, no trial, no anything
that can approach the experience of our Lord in
Gethsaraane. It almost broke His heart, but He
was submissive to God’s will, and in his submission
our redemption was secured and God glorified. Let
us also endure all things, saying, with the Mas
ter, ‘Not as I will, but as thou wilt.’
“Once upon a time, many years ago, a very dear
friend placed that in my Bible, and through all the
years it has been a wonderful blessing to me. I
wonder if that friend will accept whatever comes
into his life as did his Master!”
n *.
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