Article March 19, 1904 Issue

Musings

M. B. L.

Ensconced in the open-armed hospitality of an easy-chair, I sit before the cheerful fire this cold winter's night, and am thinking. The firendly curtains shutting out all sense of chill, the opal-tinted light of the lamp, the fragrance of a vase of freesias, all suggest summer, though bitter cold claims dominion without. The tireless pendulum, heard through so many years of mortal experience, has changed its plaintive note of, "Time is, Time is," to "Good is, Good is," and in thankfulness I ask, "What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits toward me."

Quickly comes the obstructing thought, "Don't write anything for the Christian Science papers until you have something convincing to say; you well know that one obnoxious ailment has obstinately refused to be cast out. The work you have done on it, the money you have paid for treatments, should remove mountains if this Science be science. When you are healed of indigestion, then give thanks." But I will not listen to this tempter. Mortal mind, that was ignorantly impregnated with a false mental science at the commencement of the search for Truth, must pay the penalty to the uttermost farthing, but I will be a warning to others, I will write and give thanks to Christian Science and to its Discoverer for the true conception of God and man, and for the numberless blessings which have flowed therefrom.

The clock ticks on just as it did fifteen years ago; where were my thoughts then? In the darkest night of error, filled with fears, disturbed with doubts, and deluded by false hopes; striving unsuccessfully to please my pastor, to meet the incessant demands of society, to work for the destitute, and to be a wise mother to my children, a helpmeet to my husband. Fear of winter cold, or spring winds, of summer's heat, of autumn's fruit; fear of the night time with its woeful traditions of croup and burglars; fear of the day time, with its cares and accidents, all made life a mockery. Nervous, remorseful, hysterical, but always hopeful. I struggled on. The shadow of death, the last enemy, hid from us a darling babe, and taught me the helplessness of medicine or human love to preserve our dear ones; then began my search for a living, ever-present God.

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