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THE PULL OF A MOTHER’S LOVE:
Preached at Christ Church, Westminster Bridge-road, by Dr. Len G. Broughton, M.D., D.D.
Reported for The Golden Age by M. I. H.—Copyright Applied for.
TEXT—“Train up a child in the way he
shall go, and when he is old he will not depart
from it. Prov. 22:6.
FRIEND of mine told me this story.
He said that on one occasion he
was going to North Carolina to
preach the commencement sermon
at Wake Forest College, and on the
train his attention was attracted
to an old man who seemed to be in
much distress. My friend stepped
over to where he was sitting
,i ,
and asked if he could be of service
to him any way, and the the old man
very gruffly said, “No.” My friend is
very tender hearted, and he felt so sorry for
the old man, even though he didn’t seem to
appreciate his sympathy, and he kept watching
him, thinking that perhaps he might be of ser
vice to him in some* way. The old man got off
just before the train arrived at Wake Forest,
and in the stress of other things, passed from
my friend’s mind for a time. He went on to
Wake Forest and a day or two later was re
turning. When the train got to the station
where the old man had gotten off my friend
remembered him, and looked out the window
to see if he could see anything of him. He saw
the old man at the station, and then he got on
the train and entered the car where my friend
was sitting. He noticed that he had a package
in his hand which he seemed to be very care
ful regarding. He sat down in a very de
jected manner, putting his hand to his eyes,
and pretty soon there were tears running down
his cheeks. My friend could not stand to see
an old man in such sorrow, and, in spite of the
former rebuff, he stepped over to where he
was sitting and sat down beside him. “Yon
seem to be deeply troubled.” He said; “I wish
I might help you in some way.” His sincerity
was very evident, and the old man saw that
he really wanted to help him, so he opened
his heart and told him this story: Said he:
“When I was seventeen years old I ran away
from home. My mother was a saint, and she
wanted me to be good; but I was wild and
resented the restraints of my home. I went
to many places, finally landing in California,
where I lived ever since. I never wrote to my
mother, and as time went on I was ashamed to
write her. But I made up my mind that I
would look her up some day. But time wore
away, and one day I waked up to realize that
I was getting old and that my mother must
have died long ago. I was stricken with re
morse to think that she must have died of a
broken heart, longing to see her wandering
boy. The more I thought of it, the sadder I
got, and I made up my mind that I would come
back to the old State and see if 1 could find
out anything about her; to find out, if I could,
how long she had lived and if she had died
happily.
So I came back; I was on my way when you
spoke to me before, and when I got off yonder
I went right straight co where the old house
used to stand, but it had been torn away and
newer houses built in its stead. The whole
neighborhood was so new that I could hardly
believe it was the same place, but finally I came
upon one house that made me remember many
things. It was the old church where she used
to worship, and where she always carried me.
That church had a brick floor, and I went in
and went to the very place where my mother
always used to sit, and I took up the brick that
I knew her foot had rested upon, and I am
bringing it away. See how thin it is? My
mother’s foot helped to wear it thin. As I sat
in that church I felt very strange. I saw what
a vile sinner I was, to have treated my mother
that way and then to have lived like I have
The Golden Age for October 24, 1912.
lived, and I made up my mind that if my
mother’s Saviour could save me, too, that I
would give Him a chance to do it. And I
knelt down there and gave my heart to Him. I
know that He has saved me, and I am happy
that I have found my mother’s Saviour, but,
oh, to think the grief that I have caused her
pure heart, and to think that she died with
such a burden on her heart.”
How many such stories we hear; how many
mothers die lika this one must have died, with
a broken heart, grieving over her boy or girl
who has strayed away!
There were three elements at work in this
man’s case. First, there was his mother’s love,
this he never got away from. His long resi
dence in the far West, shut out from every
thing and everybody that was calculated to
keep alive a man’s early impressions, had not
destroyed the consciousness of mother’s love.
The fact is, such consciousness is never destroy
ed. There is no power sufficient to irradicate
it. It may be kept under for a long time, in
deed it may never come to the surface and lay
hold of one’s life, but it is there nevertheless.
Again, there, was the consciousness of her
simple, childlike religion. This never left him.
The first thing he did when he got back to the
old home and found her gone, was to go to the
old meeting house and endeavor to kneel and
pray upon the very spot where her feet former
ly rested. How important it is that mothers
should impress their children with their relig
ion, there is no force that can operate upon
one’s life equal to it. It is the anchor that will
hold when everything else fails.
But above all this, there was the grace of the
Lord Jesus equal to his need. When he was
brought low in repentance and sought the
peace of God through Jesus Christ, he found
it. No man ever failed to find it under such
circumstances. What a salvation! There is
nothing else to depend on when one is smitten
with the consciousness of a sinful past. Jesus
is able and more than that He is willing
to take the vilest and the worst of men, and
give them His pardoning peace.
Let this story be an inspiration to the toiling
mother. . No doubt, many of them feel that
their life is so contracted, so shut in from the
glitter and glare of the world as to cause them
to grow despondent. I often think of this
when I read the society columns in the papers,
and see the amount of space given to the wo
men high up in social life. It must take away
from them much of the seriousness of their
greatest problem, that of setting an example
to their own offspring which in the years to
come will be worth more to them than all the
glitter in the world of society.
Women’s Rights. What are they? Surely
they have not their rights in many respects,
but let them never get away from the fact that
the training of a child is worth more in the
economy of life than the exercise of any other
right that the world knows anything about.
It is from the fireside with mother that the
world is to get its future men and women. The
women of our day will do well to remember
this, and while they seek for larger liberties,
let them not forget to use properly the liberty
that they now have. It is all their’s and un
less they use it, there will be a lack in the fu
ture greatness of the life of the nation.
The Power of a Picture.
Religion is chameleon-like in that it takes on
many customs and practices that grow out of
its environments. You have perhaps heard of
the story of the mother who had seven bright
boys. One after the other, they left their com
fortable home and went to sea. When the last
one had gone, she sent for her pastor, asking
him if possible to explain the, reason for their
conduct. Said she, “These boys have never
seen a ship, and yet, one after another, they
have left home, and gone to live the life of
sailors.” Just at that time the pastor spied
over the mantel a magnificent painting. It
represented a ship at full sail, her white-wing
ed sails were stretched to the breezes, while
the smoke from her smoke stacks flung out Jo
the winds, spread itself like a wasted cloud.
Grandly and proudly she plowed her way to
ward the shore. Merry passengers crowded
her decks, waving their handkerchiefs to anx
ious friends awaiting their arrival. It was an
inspiring sight. “When,” said the pastor, “did
you get that magnificient painting?” “It was
a bridal present,” said she, “when we were
married. “And all the time,” said the pastor,
“it has been in your room?” “Yes,” said she,
“all the time.” “Ah, that tells the story,”
said the preacher, “as they have grown up
they have become unconsciously inspired with
the glory of sea-life. That picture is stamped
indellibly upon their lives, and their going was
but an inevitable result of constant teaching.”
This minister’s conclusion might have been
a proper one. I do not doubt but that it was.
Many a life has been influenced in such away;
but it seems to me that the mother herself must
have felt it keenly when she realized that
she had allowed any picture on canvass to be
of more force in the direction of her boys, than
herself. The greatest force in all the work for
giving direction to the children of the home
should be mother, and where it is not, there is
something lacking. It may not be a lack in
her desires, she may desire for her children the
very best. It may not be a lack in her energies.
She may to do for them her very best.
The lack may be in her method of approach.
This should ever be the mother’s greatest care.
The approach of the picture, in this case, was
gentle but inspiring. This is the only way to
approach a young life. It cannot be influenced
by storms of opposition. Let mothers give due
consideration to this essential feature, in elicit
ing, combining and directing the energies of
their children.
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