01.05. Trials and Joys

Trials and Joys TO pass from a circle where the new nature found so much to meet and satisfy its fervent outgoings, to one where all was uncongenial, was a heavy sorrow. During these few weeks in which she had been tasting the joys of the wondrous change, feeding upon the Word, and having fellowship with Him whom she had so lately learned to love, she had been mingling with those who were of one mind in these things. Intercourse like this she had found beyond measure sweet. But there was a wide circle of friends with whom she had been wont to mingle, who were of another mind. She must now return to these. How is she to feel?

They and she had hitherto been at one in their sympathies; now this oneness was at an end. Her affection towards them remained unaltered ; but her sympathies had ceased. The tie of congeniality was broken; for, since she had parted from them, she had been born into a new life; and with that new life had come new tastes, new longings, new loves, new aims of being. They were the same as when she left them in June last— she was wholly different; as loving as ever, nay, mere deeply, truly loving, yet still a different being. There could not but be something both strange and sad on her return.

Thus she expresses her experience on this point in a letter, dated August 10, 1841:—"When I returned home, I felt as if I were a different being. Everything about me was the same, but all within me had undergone a change. Oh! I have had some sweet and precious hours! so sweet and so precious, that I have longed to leave this vain world at once, and to be with God,—to see him face to face,—to be with Jesus,—to be absent from the body and present with the Lord...I miss the sweet converse that we had in dear Kelso. Everything then excited me to greater diligence in seeking God; but I often find now, a lurking feeling, that so much diligence is not necessary. Will you pray for me that I may never grow cold? " And again,—"I am afraid my friends will not think me a very pleasant companion, for how can I laugh and talk about trifles, when I so long to talk of Jesus?"

Again, in November 1841, she writes,—"And now I must tell you of my troubles. One thing is a cause of much distress to me, and that is my conduct with regard to others. I am always told that I ought to be cheerful, and enter into the amusements of those around me, that they may not think the change in me is for the worse, in place of the better.

Lately I have been trying to act thus; and the consequence to myself, is, that I have totally lost all my enjoyment in these things, that only a few weeks ago made me so happy. Is it not strange? I have no spiritual joy, no nearness to God, no realising of unseen things...Though I do speak and laugh with them, I have no interest in it. I have no interest in any of the things of this world; and yet no enjoyment of the things of the next. I have had many a conversation with ____ upon the subject. They tell me to laugh and talk and be happy. I may seem so, but in reality I am not. I think I go into extremes. One is to live so much, as it were, in the other world, realising its pleasures, feeling God near, and delighting in prayer, and reading and thinking uponChrist(oh! I love to do that!), that I long to be away and with Him; and thus I unfit myself for other things, till I begin to think that I am very selfish in trying to make myself so happy; and then I go to the other extreme, get wretched, and care for nothing. Could I not join them? I am afraid it is only advanced Christians that can do that, for they are not so selfish as I am…Is it wrong to take no interest in this world, and to seek continually to live in the contemplation of the next? ’’ Had her change been a partial of a gradual one, the dissimilarity might not have been felt so much. But her conversion had been so sudden, one might say abrupt, the nature of the change had been so decided, so much the opposite of everything superficial or transient, that in the return to old companions, and even relatives, there was a shock distinctly felt.

It was a sharp trial to her. Yet she felt it to be wholly unavoidable. Unless she could put off the new nature she had received, or part with her new tastes, or draw a veil between her eye and the eternal kingdom, she could not be what she once had been. It was not that she dared not compromise; she could not. It was not simply that it would be sinful to reenter the world; she could not. The depth of the change had made these things impossible. If the change, though real, had been more shallow and partial, there might have been struggles, and yieldings, and compliances, and regrets, and vacillations. From all these she was saved. It was not that she had torn out the world’s joys from her breast; they had been resistlessly but quietly dispossessed, so that there was no longer room for them. It was not that she had succeeded in trampling out the "wildfire of the heart," as Whitefield called it; the blood of the sacrifice had quenched it. It was not that she had cast off the world; it had fallen off by the very necessity of the new nature, in which it found nothing to which it could attach itself.

But, while all this greatly simplified her course, and freed her from those entanglements to which halfhearted discipleship never fails to expose the individual, it did not remove the pain arising in her soul, from the consciousness of the uncongeniality between herself and those whom she so truly loved. She met them as before, but there was a difference. Could she fail to perceive and to feel it?

Besides this, there was the awful thought, that while she had thus been made partaker of eternal life, they had not. They were still in that world which she had left; and she knew that to belong to that world is death, and that the friendship of the world is enmity with God. She might bear taunts and coldness. She might submit to accusations of pride, or selfesteem, or unkindness; but how could she bear the thought that the everlasting welfare of those whom she revered and loved was still at hazard?

It was this that tried her so sorely. And throughout her life, this trial was always her keenest. Her yearning over unsaved relatives or companions, often rose to agony. That one whom she loved should be lost for ever, was more than she could bear to think of. Her new position in her circle is thus referred to by one dear to her "in the flesh," and afterwards yet dearer in the Lord:—"On her return it was very manifest that a real and decided change had taken place. It was now that she began that constantly kept up correspondence with J.W. which will best describe the progress of her soul, the trials she met with, and the battles which, as a faithful soldier of the cross, she had now to fight. One of her sorest trials was that she stood alone and had no one to speak to or sympathise with her; and, to her affectionate nature, this must have been very painful. I had totally forgotten all I had learned in K____, and had, at this time, a decided enmity to the truth. I remember yet the painful feeling which the sight of M____ reading her Bible used to stir up. There was one spot in a little spare bedroom where she used to meet with God; and, go at what hour I pleased, there she sat with her Bible on her knee, poring over its contents. ’She is for ever at that tiresome Bible,’ was my thought, but, fortunately for me now, I never gave expression to these feelings. One day she came to me with a book tied up, and inclosing the little paper which I sent you.[6] I opened the parcel eagerly, in the hope of finding a book congenial to me; and felt much disappointed that it was only a Bible. What a long-suffering God he has been to me! My beloved one did not go long mourning alone, however; for, about two months after her return from K____, you came to Edinburgh and visited us. When M____ told me you were coming, the mention of your name brought strange feelings to my mind, and I felt the instantaneous conviction flash upon me, that now was the time when Christ or the world mustbe chosen. The Lord inclined me to listen to you, and I believe, if I have found the Saviour at all, it was that evening when you spoke of him to me."

"After this, M____ was most earnest in her exertions to win the rest of us to Christ, and we agreed to have a prayermeeting for them every night, which we kept up as long as we were together. The Lord has answered many of these prayers of hers already, and I trust that he will answer them still, and bring those of us nigh who are as yet afar off." Her anxiety as to the spiritual wellbeing of others, referred to in the above extract, is thus manifested in a letter to myself, of date Sept. 25, 1841:—"Do you think that ____ has really found peace? She often quite puzzles me. She is at times full of joy, and at others, again, she does not seem to know whether she believes or not. She appears to me to take her confidence too much from what she feels; and, therefore, when she does not feel, she begins to doubt. Perhaps you can discover her real state from her letters to you; and you would make me very happy if you would write a few lines to me, to let me know what you think of her. Oh, my dear sir, how anxious I am about her! She is very anxious about others, which surely she would not be, if she did not see the necessity of it herself. You will be glad to hear that our two friends, whom we spoke to you about, seem very anxious. One of them (who, I think, is most so) came to speak with us yesterday. She said she knew no one who would speak to her about these things, and she seems to dread the ridicule of her companions, if she were to become religious; and then, she says, she is so fond of the world, and that she has not strength of mind to give it up. But if she were once to taste purer pleasure, if she could taste and see that the Lord is good, she would not be so fond of the world, and would not find it so difficult to give it up as she thinks. She asked me for a book upon the vanityof the world; could you tell me of any that might be of use to her?…I have another favour to ask of you, that you would pray for my beloved little brother, who is away from us all. Perhaps we may never see him again on earth. Oh! pray that we may meet him in heaven. And will you ask God that he may meet with Christian friends wherever he goes, who will tell him about Jesus? Oh that I could know that he is Christ’s! Then would he be safe, whatever happened to him in this vain world."

Some short time after, the relative referred to in the commencement of the above extract, having become a fellow-pilgrim with her on the way to Jerusalem, we have such a letter as the following, giving us a glimpse of their feelings and trials:—"I must tell you an interesting conversation we had. ____, and ____, and ____ were dining with us, and, after dinner, some remark of K____’s about putting ’love’ in place of ’charity,’ in the 13th of 1st Corinthians, led to a deeply interesting conversation upon spiritual things. It is a very solemn thing for two girls like us to speak of these things before others; and very painful. They were all very angry with us; for they think we suppose none of the family is converted but we two. They say they cannot understand us at all; and ____ said, it was so strange to see two of one family thinking differently from all the rest; and when he said, Can you explain it? I said to him, Lay the case before God, and ask Him to explain it to you. I just fancied God opening his eyes, and shewing him the reason. Ah, he could understand us then! It was a painful scene ; but I felt very grateful that we were permitted to speak for God before such precious ones. It is strange how unbelieving I feel at these times, and how deserted, as if I were left entirely to my own strength…I am always glad when we speak in that way, for it gives us an opportunity of bringing in a great deal of God’s Word, and it makes them think of these things whether they will or no; and it does B ____ and me good, for it stirs us up, and makes unseen things more real. But I wonder when any of them are to be changed…The only thing that gave me comfort this morning was these simple words—the God of truth. But when the Spirit really applies them, they can feed the soul for a long time. Can’t you trust the God of truth, my beloved one? Oh, yes; let us trust in him at all times. We shall soon see him face to face, and then all unbelief will fly away for ever. We cannot gaze on that loving countenance, and have another fear. Oh to see it now by faith! Jesus seems to be smiling on us both, even while I am writing to you. Oh to be his only, his wholly, his now, his FOR EVER! I was much pleased with what you said, about speaking to one soul every day. It would indeed be very blessed if we really did that. We are apt to say, that is too little; but, alas! if we look back upon our past life, how many days in which we have done nothing! Yes, we are selfish creatures; at least I am."

Thus her joys and sorrows mingled together; her hopes and her fears alternated. In the midst of much to ruffle and sadden her, she still held fast the cross. Though broken off from former friendships, and suffering neglect in many unexpected quarters, she found that the companionship of Jesus could supply every want, and compensate for every sorrow. Though oft "in heaviness through manifold temptations," she yet "greatly rejoiced" in the fellowship of her new-found Saviour.[7] The following extracts from letters to her Kelso friend will fully unfold her feelings. They are miscellaneous, but not the less suitable for our object. We confine our selections in this chapter to the letters written during the five months succeeding her conversion.

" P____, August 14, 1841…MY DEAREST J____, I daresay you are astonished at hearing again so soon from me, but I cannot help writing, as I long to tell you of all God has done for me. At every new proof of his love and pity, after first thanking the Giver of every good and perfect gift, I long to tell you all the feelings of my heart. Oh! it is a delightful thing to think that God looks on you with love—that he teaches us to love him; but I need not attempt to speak of the gratitude I owe him for his rich mercy; when I think of all his unmerited love, I am lost in wonder and admiration: and then how I hate myself! I have found a remedy for pride; I think of Jesus! that is enough, it lays me in the dust, and then I not only feel sorrow, but shame for my sin. Oh! how I grieve that I must still do nothing but sin against such a holy God! In everything I sin and come short of his glory; but, blessed thought! Christ made atonement for all sin—and, oh! does he not now look upon me in the face of Jesus Christ!"

"…There is one thing I wish to write about, for it appears to me so strange, that I cannot understand it. On Sundays, or after the Communion, or, in short, after any time when I have felt peculiar joy from a sense of God’s presence, I am almost sure to be unhappy afterwards; now, why is this? I felt it both after the Communion in Kelso, and when I returned home. I was very happy at the time, but almost immediately after, the feeling changed, and my heart was restless and unhappy. I seemed to long for something, I knew not what; and it was the same last Sunday. It seems to me as if I had a Sunday through the week, and that Sunday was like a week-day! Now, should you not think that Sunday would be a day of peculiar enjoyment to me, when I may meditate on God and his love, read his own Word, and go to his house the whole day? Yet it is not so. I am sometimes frightened at the thoughts that take possession of my heart,—hard thoughts of God and a distaste of religion altogether. Surely God is not angry with me for having these thoughts of him, for he knows how I hate them, and how sincere my desire is to have very different thoughts of him. I am glad he knows all my heart, for then he knows how I long after him. ’Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee.’"

"P____, August 17,1841…"MY DEAR MRS H., I cannot tell you with what pleasure I received your letter. My heavenly Father has been indeed abundant in goodness to me, in giving me so many opportunities of knowing more of Him, and of hearing His beloved name. His name ought, indeed, to be precious to me, and I humbly thank Him that He has made it so. How amazed I am that I could ever have had pleasure in anything apart from God! Will you have patience with me while I tell you of a thought that has taken possession of my mind—I know not how—I think Satan must have put it there to rob me of my peace, for it certainly does sometimes make me more miserable than I can tell you, and even with God’s own promises before my eyes, I cannot get comfort? It is the thought that I am not in Christ, that I am not trusting to Him, and that, consequently, I ought not to get comfort from God’s promises—that they are only for those who believe. Now, should you not think it an easy thing to know whether you believed a thing or not? and yet I find it often very difficult to know whether I do or not. Do not mistake me, do not think that I want to find anything in myself to lean upon for comfort; on the contrary, I want to "know that I am not looking to myself, but to Jesus; I want to know that I am holding fast, for, till I know that I am doing so, I am in continual fear. Now, is it not strange that I should have these fears now which I had not at first? You say, get clearer and clearer views of Him who is the perfection of beauty. O my dear, kind friend, will you tell me how I am to get Clear views of Him? I am very stupid, very slow at learning, but, oh! I am most willing, most anxious to learn. These thoughts sometimes tempt me to despair, but having tasted that the Lord is gracious, I am very unwilling to think that I have not an interest in Him, to think that I shall not be found in Him. I must go on— I would die with joy this moment if I were sure that my hope was in Him. For what is life without Him? My dear friend, will you write to me as soon as you can find time, and tell me where the fault lies? it must be in me. Oh! tell me how to rectify it, and may God bless you for it! You must forgive the shortness of this letter, for I cannot write to-day. There is only one thing now I want to ask your advice upon, and that is how I ought to study the Bible—I mean, in what order I should read it, and what parts I ought to read most."

"P____, September 1, 1841…"…Sometimes, when I am sitting alone, I feel so happy that I can scarcely bear it; but, alas! how soon my joy is turned to bitter, yes, bitter grief, when the thought comes across me that others whom I love do not share it with me! I do indeed feel that the thought of one’s own bliss is almost forgotten in sorrow for others. I most gladly agree to the proposal of praying for them; and, oh! if we should be heard! My heart thrills at the thought! Let us plead, again and again, the name so dear to God’s ear, the sweet name of Jesus! I have often thought, in praying for others, that God has promised to give us whatsoever we ask in that name. Now, if we ask him for the conversion of any one we love, will he not grant our prayers? It appears to me that I ought not to despond so much when I have his own promise; and ’God is not a man that he should lie.’"

"…How I love the very name of a Christian! I have taken a great longing to know some of God’s own children..."

"P____, September 11, 1841…"…I cannot tell you the happiness I have had since I last wrote to you; I was then in grief about E____, but, oh! how my blessed heavenly Father has enabled me to rejoice for her now! I trust she and I are now travelling together the narrow way that leads to life. I trust she is now one of God’s children, and that nothing can ever pluck her out of his hand. I think I feel more gratitude when I think of E____ than of myself; there is something so exquisitely delightful in the thought that God has called her to himself, that I cannot thank him, I can only weep, and my tears are tears of joy. Mr. ____’s has been a blessed visit to us both…E. and I can now speak together, for we are of one mind; we love the same dear Saviour. Have I not cause for gratitude? Should I not love much, and yet, is it not grievous that my heart is so cold? But I do not despair. Jesus can melt even my heart. I have been at times in a terrible state since I last wrote you, but I have now found peace, and I trust it will not again leave me so utterly as it did. I can hardly tell you the horrid thoughts I had; but the more sinful I found myself to be, in place of being the more grateful for a Saviour, I began to despair, and to think I was too wicked ever to be saved! I thought God could notlove me; I felt as if he loved all the world but me; in short, I was miserable; —oh! may he grant that I may never feel so miserable again, and may he forgive me my wickedness in doubting his love!"

"P____, October 19, 1841…"MY DEAREST MRS. H.,—I feel such a great desire to write to you, that I think I must obey the dictates of my heart, and try to write you a few lines. I wish I could tell you all I feel and all I have felt since I last wrote to you; but, oh! I have a cold, cold heart; I think nobody has such a cold heart as I have, for I am not grateful to my Father in heaven, and yet I have so much to be grateful for. Dear Mrs. H., I think one reason why I love you so much is, because I know that you love Jesus, and, oh! I should like to love him as much as you do. Is His not a sweet name? I sometimes say to myself, when I am cold and ungrateful, Jesus loves thee so much that He died for thee, and then I think about His love, His redeeming love, till I love Him too—I can’t help it. Think of loving Him always, and without sin! Oh to be in heaven!—to see Him as He is! Can it be, that for vile sinners there is such blessedness in store?— wonderful love! I sometimes think that when I get to heaven I shall at first be contented with seeing Him, with gazing with enraptured eyes at Him who died for me, and then that I shall be wishing for a look from Him, then a word, sweet and lovely as Himself, and then I will fly to Him, and never, never leave Him more!…When you write, speak a great deal about Jesus, and tell me, too, what a wicked, sinful creature I am, for, when I think about Him I forget that I am so vile, which I should not do, for I know I ought to feel great sorrow for sin. I do not hate myself enough. Dear Mrs H., is it not very delightful to think that our glorious Jesus has not knocked in vain at the door of R.’s heart? She has opened to that beloved Saviour, and I trust—why should I doubt?—she is now His own child."

" November 5, 1841…I felt great sweetness in praying for you all to our Father this morning, and last night I went to implore a blessing on you when I knew you would be at ____. Tell me when you write, if you felt God near, for I prayed so that you might; and, dear J____, pray much for me just now, for I am very, very sad; I may say with truth that I go mourning all the day long; I tell God that I do so long to feel him near, that I cannot live without him, and yet I have not found him. I know that he hears me, but I cannot, oh! I cannot feel that he does; he seems so far away, and as if he were hiding his face. Perhaps it is his discipline, and that he is trying how long I shall persevere to seek him in the dark; if so, I ought to submit, and I do, but it is with sorrowing. Oh! if he would try me in any other way, I think I could bear it; but to withdraw himself is a kind of slow death, always dying, but never dead! Dear J____, will you tell him that I have waited long? Tell him to smile upon me at last, to give me cause to say, ’I waited patiently for the Lord, and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry;’ and pray that I may have deep convictions of sin, that I may hate it, and that I may have strong faith, for I have very little." "…When I got your letter this morning, before I opened it, I prayed that if there was anything in it about the love of Jesus I might be enabled to feel it, for nothing seems ever to melt this desperately hard heart of mine. One thing will melt it—a sight of the Lamb in heaven! It will melt then, because I shall be like him, for I shall see him as he is; but he could melt it now, he might look upon me now and make me happy: oh that he would! Tell me if you are happy, and that will give me some happiness too. You can feel for me when I am mourning after God and not finding him. I cannot be cheerful and gay with others; I know I ought to deny myself for the sake of others; but there is no one on earth I ought to love like God, and I ought to grieve at his absence. Am I not weeping after Jerusalem’s King? and should I not long to be home?…I am only afraid of ceasing to weep after Jesus! I would rather weep for Him than laugh with the world!"

"P____, November 11, 1841…I hope you often think of me and pray for me, for, oh! I need your prayers; the oppressive load is still on me; I am scarcely, if at all, better than when I last wrote; I don’t know what it is, I very often attempt to pray, but I have no comfort in it; sometimes, for one moment, I feel a degree of sweetness ; but Satan comes immediately and takes it away. Last night I had the most extraordinary feeling of terror and misery I ever yet had. I had gone to the throne for some comfort (for I know that I can get trite comfort nowhere else); well, I did feel some nearness to God, and, about ten minutes after, Satan put such dreadful thoughts into my mind as made me think that I was lost. Then I felt as if I had been too presumptuous in striving to get so near to God, and that he was angry with me! I sometimes feel afraid of Satan ; but, after all, he cannot really harm me. I want to know all his wiles, that I may not fall a victim to them."

"…Tell dear ____ that it will not be with my will, if I do not come Kelsoward with the spring flowers. What a long time it seems till then! When I think; that the leaves have all to fade, die, and fall; to be covered with snow, and the snow to melt, and again the leaves to begin to bud before I see you! But, after all, it is a short time, and it will pass at last: that is what cheers me often when wearied with earth’s emptiness and with sin; that heaven will burst upon my view! our view! Then we shall see the wisdom and love that are displayed in all our dark and sorrowful hours; we shall then’know how much we owe.’ Oh that that may indeed be the end of all! I sometimes think how precious Christ must be in afflictions, for, when anything hurts you, do not your thoughts immediately fly to one who you know sympathises with all your griefs? What a heart must Jesus have!—no wonder the poor soul that feels he is far away is sick with longings for him! I had a letter from A____ on Tuesday, and she will have my answer this morning. I wish I could write anything worth her trouble in reading it; but what can I write but sin? All I do is sin, all I think is sin ; I am all sin, and Satan tempts me to doubt I am too sinful to come to Christ! Well, Mr. ____ told me one thing which I try to holdfast; he said, ’Trust God for eternal life, and if you do not get it, God would be untrue.’ Now, it is impossible that God should lie, so that I mean to trust him for life, and surely I cannot perish. I want to begin a course of reading with you, if you have no objections,—I mean that we should take any part of the Bible you like to fix on, and let us read it prayerfully together, and tell each other any new views we may discover. Should you like it, do you fix the hour, and the part to read, and tell me in your next: and I should like also to fix another hour for meeting at the Thronetogether. We might often meet in spirit though absent in body. Will five o’clock suit you? And don’t you think, increase of grace to ourselves should be one of our petitions, and the other intercession for any one peculiarly dear? Let us then agree to plead together at five for our parents—plead you for mine and for your own, and I shall do the same; and let us remember the promise, ’If two of you shall agree as touching anything they shall ask,’ &c. I have now proposed three times when we two can meet at our Father’s throne,—ten in the morning, five in the afternoon, and at our hour for reading. I wish, my very dear J____, you would propose another meeting to ask some other blessing; it will be doubly sweet, the one fixed by you; but is it not lamentable that we are so little sensible of the real value of the privilege we have, in thus being able to make all our requests known unto God? There must be much unbelief mixed with all we do, for, if we really believed that we should have all our petitions answered, should we not be more deeply grateful for our precious privilege, and more frequently and more earnestly plead the promises?…My wish is to get to the end of it (the journey). I do long to be done with sin, and to see the sweet face of Him who died for me, and for you, and for many others. "Will not that be a glorious day when we shall meet at the right hand of God, ’and hear the Lamb pronounce our names, with blessings on our heads’? I had much sweetness this morning in pleading for us all. I begin with your circle, and when I speak of you, I feel, indeed, that I am speaking to One who is the hearer and answerer of prayer, but I have no sweetness yet in praying for myself. I hope you pray for me. I am ashamed of the egotistical letter I have written, but shall send it nevertheless, because I don’t wish you to think better of me than I deserve, for I know you will love me in spite of all. Believe me, my very dear friend, yours in the love of Jesus." " P____, November 18, 1841…MY BELOVED J____, Many thanks for your letter. I was very happy to receive it. I hope in time to grow less selfish, and not to require of you to write so often. I am happier than when I last wrote to you. Thank our Father for His lovingkindness to a worm of the dust. I have more comfort in prayer, particularly since I have begun our five o’clock meeting. It is curious that ’I should have fixed the hour you had hitherto devoted to prayer yourself, but is it not strange?—two days ago, when I had gone at five, I felt it so sweet, and all at once I thought, I am sure J____ is kneeling with me just now, and you really were. But we need not wonder; is it not the same sweet Spirit that tells both our hearts to retire from the world and be a while with our Father?...I do begin to feel again as if He loved me. And the first smile I got, after so long an interval of absence and sorrow, was so sweet, it melted my hard heart, and struck me with such remorse at having doubted His love. It is sad, very sad to sin against love.I hope you will write soon to K____, for I don’t think she is very happy, and I am sure I have a fellow-feeling for her, but I am a very bad comforter, particularly to her. I don’t like to encourage her doubts, and yet I should like to give her some comfort, so do you write to her, and tell her much of the love of Christ, and of the love of Christ to sinners, for I begin to think that we are often striving to get a title to His love, as if we were something besides sinners. Don’t you think that we are often apt to forget that although we are children, we are still sinners? Oh! J____, I see it is a harder thing than I had ever imagined to consent to be nothing and let Christ be everything…"

"I have been reading a short memoir of Mrs. Judson; how I envy her; the feelings she had about the purity and the justice of God! I too often think bad things of God; I really believe I am too proud to submit to his sovereignty, in calling some and leaving others. I cannot get it to agree with our freedom of action. It is terrible, the horrid thought I have about His being cruel; I know all is rightly and most mercifully ordered, then is it not strange that I cannot submit to Him in all things, and feel that He is right? Will you pray much for me, that I may be brought to love His holiness and His justice—pray that I may really feel and acknowledge that He would be just in condemning me? but is it not strange that I should love Him and yet not feel satisfied with all His character at the same time? If you understand what I mean, I wish you would ask Mr B____ about it, and let me know what he says, for it distresses me very much, that I cannot think rightly of God."

"P ____, November 27, 1841…How I long for the conversion of my beloved____! I think differently about her, fifty times a-day. Something at one time makes me tremble with eagerness of joy at the thought that our prayers are even now answered, and again my hopes are dashed to the ground; I fear I am too impatient, but I do yearn for her to see. But I cannot allow myself to believe that God will not answer our prayers. Oh! J____, do you pray for her believingly?—Oh that I could say we were a redeemed family!—let us pray for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. Do you think it is a token for good that lately I have seemed to feel what abundant blessings we might get, if we prayed constantly and earnestly for the Spirit? It seems as if something reproached me for making so little use of our precious privilege of intercession, and telling me that if I prayed much, much, that the blessing would come abundantly. Oh that I could! but my heart is ice. My precious friend, will you pray muchfor me, that I may be more earnest in seeking God, and in even wishing to seek him?—for I am shocked to find how little real desire I have for what I pray for. Pray that I may have more desires after God and holiness, and more love to prayer and reading his own Word; for it seems as if the world were getting back my affections again. I thought my Saviour Jesus had all my heart, but, alas! I have been bitterly taught that my heart is more wedded to earth than I had ever imagined. I thought like Peter that I could die for Jesus, but I did not know myself. I wish I were with you, my dear J____, to talk of our Beloved, for, oh! I trust I can say He is my Beloved, though so little, so very little loved by me; but, praise be to his blessed name! I love Him because He first loved me. Don’t you love that verse? It is very precious to me, because it tells of His love, which must kindle mine—oh that it would! But what alarms me is, that I really don’t seem to wishthat it would."

" P____, 2d December 1841…I am very glad that your Communion season was so precious to you. Oh that I had a heart to praise Him for His kindness to you! But I cannot. I never knew such a vile heart as I have. You remember I used to tell you of my intense horror of the place of misery; but I think now that the sin that is in it would be worse far than the torment of body; but don’t think that I am growing better, and would not live where sin is;—I don’t mean that: I mean that sin is so hateful as against God, that I could not bear to live where everything would be hateful to God ; for, dear J____; though I cannot do anything to please God, yet I do earnestly wish to be enabled to live to Him, and not to myself. To-day my heart was so grieved at sinning against my Father, that I did not know what to do for misery; but, oh! I hope I am forgiven. I wish I had even one little bit of love to Jesus ; pray that I may. Oh the conflicts I have had with coldness and deadness of soul! I have just read your very welcome letter. I could not help crying for joy on getting it; and what made me weep still more is, that I cannot feel as I rejoice to see you feel about Jesus. Oh that I loved Him! But it is not so much my love to Him that I want to see and to feel; it is His love to methat I want to believe, in such a way that would kill sin, and make me love Him in return. J____, I will tell you the truth—I am not happy; my heart is so very worldly, and I think lately we have spoken so much of our own feelings, that it has just deadened me. I want to know and to feel the feelings of Jesus to me; your letter has, I trust, stirred me up to try to get a taste of His love…I see more and more how unworthy I am, but I want Jesus to love me. You do not know the delight it gives me to think that Jesus loves the vilest, because then I can put in my claim. Sunday is our Communion, and I want you to pray much for me, that I may go prepared. Ask two things—that I may go deeply, very deeply humbled for sin, my own individual sins, but that I may also go rejoicing in a sense of forgiveness, and that I too may find Jesus at his own table. I should like if you would ask that I might go with a humble joy. Satan once suggested to me that I was too presumptuous; but he has no need now. Alas! I do not live near enough. I know you were happy. I am happy at present in your love—oh that I were so in the love of Jesus! "

"P____, 7th December 1841…What a wonderful conversion I____ C____ ’s has been! She is so beautifully simple in all her views and feelings. How she makes me blush by her expressions of gratitude to God for having brought her to Himself, and the way she was brought, without any distressing fear or doubt—as she said to me to-day, ’I was brought in such perfect love!’ Oh! is it not sweet to think of her! I would give a great deal for her confiding simplicity; but I am always in trouble about something or another. I am always asking, why is such a thing? but you know a little about my way, for we often conversed about things I did not understand, or rather should say, would not submit to. Don’t you think it must be pride which prevents me having this childlike trust that all is right? Whatever it is, I wish it were removed, for it prevents my gratitude flowing out towards God as it ought. I wish I could get over this spirit of inquiry about God’s dealings with me…Have you continued as happy in the love of Christ as you were when you wrote? Oh! that name, Jesus! the chiefest among ten thousand! the altogether lovely! the Lamb of God! the Beloved! the Plant of Renown! the meek and lowly Jesus! the Man of Sorrows! That last title sounds to me almost the sweetest just now! I have written some of his lovely names, to try if it would melt my hard heart, and make me feel as if he loved me. I should like to sit at his feet and listen to his gentle voice, as Mary did of old. I told you our Communion was last Sabbath. Well, I felt so cold all the time during the prayers, that I prayed in an agony that Jesus would meet me at his table; and when I went forward, I had a momentary feeling of joy, a sort of bounding of the heart, that made me feel, that if I did not get quickly to the table, I should lose him; and, after all, when there, I could only weep. I felt, well, I am safehere, I am secure; not even Satan can pull me away from this place; still I could do nothing but weep. I could not rejoice; but they were not bitter tears, I think; but the sweetest feeling I had was seeing I____ C____ beside me. I longed to say to her, ’Here we are together at the feast of Jesus.’ M____, J____, and E____ had gone to the first table, and, not knowing if those around me were sisters, it was very sweet to have one whom I knew was a sister in Jesus Christ…B____ and I had a long talk with dear ____ on Sabbath night. I had read aloud a very striking sermon on the necessity of being born again, and I think she must have been struck with it, for she began to speak to us, when all the others had retired. I think the Spirit is striving with her; but then Satan tries to take away the good seed. God, however, is stronger than Satan, and must conquer in the end. We gave her text after text to prove that we must be born again, and you know nothing can resist the sword of the Spirit…But now have we nothing to say of our Beloved? What a long letter I have written, and the name of Jesus scarcely in it! How cold is my heart in talking of Him, the mention of whose name ought to make it burn within me!"

" P____, December 16, 1841…I wonder why Jesus loves me; it must be because He is love. I would give the whole world to be able to love Him. I have been thinking a great deal about that sentence in your letter, where you say, ’If His names are so sweet, what must Himself be?’—what indeed? I often long to die, to go and see Him, and then to be like Him. Yes; it is the absence of all sin that makes Him so very lovely; He is, oh, yes! He is the chiefest among ten thousand—the altogether lovely. Then why don’t I love Him, and shew my love by my works? It must be because I am so full of sin. I join in your desire to be holy—I don’t like being so very sinful. Do you really think that I shall get to heaven at last? Oh! I tremble to think I perhaps may be lost. I wish I were sure. Do you know, sometimes, that it seems a more dreadful idea to miss seeing Jesus than even to be in hell? but I must be in Christ— I must just keep continually coming to Him and trusting in Him. ’Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.’ Blessed Jesus! He loves you: is it wrong to love Him for that?...I am invited to spend a week or two with ____. I am not very sure about going, for I dread getting ashamed of reading and praying so much, and you know how clever ____ and ____ are, and how weak and ignorant I am. Do you think it would be putting myself in the way of temptation? But then, I do not go in my own strength: in the Lord I have strength, and I think that I should have more strength given me on purpose, and God would put words into my mouth. I must say I wish to go, for I think God might bless my visit to ____, and, dearest, you must pray much that it may be so, and that I might glorify Jesus by winning souls to him in that house...The night before last was the first time I could join you in prayer at five since my illness, and I felt it very sweet to commit all dear to us, to Jesus...Let us plead more and more! I have a growing conviction that my visit to R____ may be blest to those at home, because I could write, and then you and I could pray for a blessing on my letters; and I think my own impression of eternal things would be deepened, and therefore I could write and pray more feelingly. Oh that Jesus would answer my prayers for them all! Amen."

" P____, December 18, 1841…MY DEAR MRS. H.,—Thank you very much for your last kind letter. How differently I feel now, compared to what I did when I last wrote you! Everything then appeared so sunny: now I am very seldom happy. I remember in one of your letters you said that it was a very painful process the getting clearer views of Christ. I suppose I am going through that process, for I do not find everything so sweet as I did at first. One thing greatly vexes and grieves me, and that is, that I thought I had given my whole heart to Christ, but I find that I have not, for if Christ reigned in my heart, how would anything have power to vex me? If I had Christ, should you not think that I would not care so much to see that people don’t care for me; or, still less, that I should ever give one sigh of regret to the world? I sometimes think that Satan is painting the pleasures of the world in flattering colours to me just now; but he does not succeed so well with me in that, as when he whispers that those whom I love don’t love me so much now, and that I am vexing those for whom I would suffer anything if I could only get them to turn to Christ. Oh! these things make me fear I have not come to Jesus yet, for would not a sight of Him make up for all?…I am afraid, dear friend, you will think this a very egotistical letter, but I certainly am very selfish—I see that more and more; I wonder any one ever thinks of loving me. I don’t wonder there are many that I love, for they all deserve to be loved, but I have no loveable qualities; and there is another thing, I fear, will make you not care for my poor epistle—there is nothing about Jesus in it. Oh! to think of writing all about myself when Jesus might be my theme!"

" P____ December 27, 1841…I wish I could love Jesus! This morning I asked him to take my heart, and reign there alone: and I think he heard me, for I felt a little, a very little, as if he were near me. I am always afraid of earthly rivals taking the place of Christ in my heart. I think I shall have many a painful struggle before Jesus reigns alone. But then I may love people in Christ, may I not?"

" E____, December 30, 1841…Here I am still at ____’s. I have such a bad cold and cough, that I cannot go to P____ to-day as I had intended, for this is the day we were to have set apart for prayer, but I hope I shall join you in spirit, though I cannot get away as much as I would like. Dear ____ and I had a short chat last night. ____ had gone out, and ____ herself said she wanted to speak seriously a little. I assented with joy, and she began by saying that I was going too far, and that these things should be kept sacred in our own breast; in short, she said just what I should have said myself a very short time ago. Ah, how humble I ought to be when I think who has made me to differ, and how grateful! was thinking, this morning, before I rose, what a different life we should lead if we had continually in our thoughts the wonderful, the glorious prospects we look forward to. Oh! if we would ever realise the hope set before us, of spending an eternity of happiness and glory, an eternity with Jesus, how we should patiently bear, nay, rejoice, in all the petty cares and disappointments we meet with in this wilderness, this bleak waste! Yes, it is bleak and cold when Jesus is unseen! But though unseen, he is not always unfelt. Sometimes, when I cannot get to pray to him, or to read his Book, I think about him, and that, some day, I shall at last see him face to face, and then my heart bounds and dances with sweet delight, and I feel as if nothing were too hard to bear for his sake; and then, oh! don’t you long to bring everybody to him! Oh! how sorry I am for those who do not know Christ! I want you to pray much for ____. I do not know why, but I feel so much more earnest in pleading for her than almost any one, I have such a longing for her to be brought. Would it not be very delightful, after all her trials, to see her rejoicing at the feet of Jesus, a humble, happy follower of the meek and lowly Jesus? Her very trials give me a ground of hope, for I think they are just so many knocks at the door of her heart, as if Jesus were determined to be admitted…I can sympathise with dear E____ about the angels, but I wish I could feel more with you about sin; for I don’t hate sin enough! Does it not shew how devoid I am of all holiness, when I can bear about, without much groaning, such a body of sin? Oh! how Jesus must have loathed it!—how his pure, spotless nature must have shrunk from such pollution! And yet did he not bear our sins? J____, I wish I could live to His glory. I wish I could go about, as He did, doing good, and spend my life in winning souls to him. I do hate myself when I think that I never do anything for Christ. I might blush when I think of you going about speaking words for Christ, shewing sinners a complete Saviour; and I, what do I do for him? I wish you would tell me what to do. Here is a new year beginning. I should like to spend it all for Christ. I sometimes think I would rather wait a little longer on earth if I might be made the means of winning souls to Him, than even to die now and go to Himself. Lately I have been so sure of God’s love, I cannot think of him but as "love," and it is not so much Jesus as God the Father! It is so sweet to say, my Father! It is curious, the different things which come into my mind. You know that it is Jesus who gives confidence to the sinner in approaching God. Well, I had some time ago such delightful convictions of the love of God Himself. I was so persuaded that his name was love, that I thought it was dishonouring to him to plead so earnestly for anything, because that seemed as if he were unwilling to give it; and I knew that he was so very willing. I could not reconcile this; but then I thought—well, it is because He is willing that I do plead so earnestly with him. Sometimes I think I am ungrateful to Jesus in praying more to my Father than to him, and it is curious, though I pray most to God, it is always Jesus I think of, and long to be with in Heaven. But I must stop now and finish this to-morrow, for I want you to get it on New Year’s Day."

" Friday afternoon, P ____ …My own beloved friend, I have just come to F ____ , where I found your letter. I have still such a bad cold, that even if there is church this evening I cannot go, but I shall try and get away at half-past six to plead with you all at our Father’s throne. The subject is a very sweet one. How glad I am at what you say about rejoicing in Christ alone! I have done that much lately, and when I cannot see my own interest in him, I think, well, I must surely have come to him, else I don’t think I could rejoice in him. Am I right in thinking that?"

" Oh that I had a heart to thank him! but, J____, I have a wicked thought sometimes about God. I don’t feel satisfied with him, till he saves all I love, as well as myself. Will you pray that this rebellious and wicked thought may be forgiven? I am sometimes ashamed of myself before God, but, oh! I have no sense of the guilt of sin…Thank you, dearest, for the chapters about the sympathy of Jesus. I shall read them often. I trust we shall all soon rejoice together—all of us; and let this be our prayer, that we may all be brought, ere another year be done. May Jesus bless you, and shew you his love. May he speak to your heart. Remember my beloved parents at five o’clock. Yours, affectionately."

These are specimens of her spiritual growth. How rapid it had been! How wondrously she had sprung up in stature, during these few months! How few among us have made the same amount of progress in the course of years! We seem to dream; she was awake. We loiter; she hasted onwards, with Jesus at her side, and the eternal glory in her eye.