By J.R. Miller
A good many people come to the close of the day, with tired feet. There are those whose duties require them to walk all the day. There are the men who patrol the city's streets, the guardians of our homes. There are the postmen who bring letters to our doors. There are the messengers who are always hurrying to and fro on their errands. There are the pilgrims who travel on foot along the hard, dusty highways. There are those who follow the plough or perform other parts of the farmer's work. Then there are sales people in the great stores who scarcely ever have an opportunity to sit down. Countless people in factories and mills have the same experience. There are thousands of women in their home work who rarely stop to rest during the long days. Upstairs and down again, from kitchen to nursery, out to the market and to the store, in and out, from early morning until late at night, these busy women are ever plodding in their housewifely duties.
"Man works from sun to sun;
Woman's work is never done."
No wonder, then, that there are so many sore and tired feet at the end of the day. How welcome night is to the multitudes of weary people, who then drop their tools or their yardsticks or their implements of toil, and hurry home again. How good it is to sit down and rest when the day's tasks are done! There would seem to be need in a lengthy book like this, for a chapter for people with tired feet.
What is the comfort for such? For one thing, there is the though of duty done. It is always a comfort, when one is tired--to reflect that one has grown tired in doing one's proper work. A squandered day, a day spent in idleness, may not leave such tired feet in the evening--but neither does it give the sweet pleasure that a busy day gives, even with its blistered and aching feet.
There is a great deal of useless standing or walking, which does not get this comfort. There are young men who stand at the street corners all day and sometimes far into the night, who must have weary feet when at last they turn homeward. Yet they have in their hearts no such compensating satisfaction as those who have toiled all the long hours in some honorable calling. Idleness brings only shame and self contempt. Then there are certain kinds of occupation which give to weariness, no sweetening comfort. A day spent in sinful work may make the feet tired--but has no soothing for them in the evening's rest.
But all duty well done, has its restful peace of heart when the day's tasks are finished and laid down. Conscience whispers, "You were faithful today; you did all that was given you to do; you did not shirk nor skimp." The conscience is the whisper of God--and its commendation gives comfort.
But does God really take notice of one's daily, common work--ploughing, delivering letters, selling goods, and cleaning house? Yes! We serve God just as truly in our daily task work, as in our praying and Bible reading. The woman, who keeps the great church clean, sweeping the dust from the aisles, is serving her Lord as well, if her heart is right, as the gorgeously robed minister who performs his sacred part in the holy worship. In one of his poems George Macdonald speaks of standing in a vast church, with its marble floors, worn with knees and feet, and seeing priests flitting among the candles, men coming and going, and then a poor woman with her broom, bowed to her work on the floors, and hearing the Master's voice saying, "Daughter, you sweep well my floor."
The thought that we have done our duty for another day and have pleased God, should always be like soothing balm to our sore and tired feet at the end of the day. The Master's commendation takes the sting out of any suffering endured in doing even wearisome work for him. When we know that Christ in heaven has noticed our toil, and has approved of it, accepting it as service for himself, we are ready to toil another day.
There is also comfort for tired feet in the coming of night, when one can rest. The day's tasks are finished, the rounds are all made, the errands are all run, the store is closed, the children are in bed, the household work is done--and tired people can sit down and rest. The tight shoes are taken off, loose slippers are substituted, and the evening's quiet begins. Who can tell the blessings that night brings to earth's weary toilers? Suppose there was no night, no rest, that the heavy shoes could never be taken off, that one could never sit down, that there could be no pause in the toil--how wearisome life would be! Night is a holy time, because it brings rest. The rest is all the sweeter, too, because the feet are tired and sore. Those who have never been weary, do not realize the blessings which come with the night.
Wonderful is the work of repair of the body, which goes on while we sleep. Men bring the great ships to dock after they have ploughed the waves or battled with the storms and are battered and strained and damaged, and there they repair them and make them ready to go again to sea. At night our jaded and exhausted bodies are dry-docked after the day's conflict and toil, and while we sleep, the mysterious process of restoration and reinvigoration goes on; and when morning comes, we are ready to being a new day of toil and care. We lie down tired, feeling sometimes that we never can do another day's work; but the morning comes again, we rise, renewed in body and spirit, full of enthusiasm, and strong and brave for the hardest tasks.
What a blessing sleep is! It charms away the weariness from the aching limbs; it brushes the clouds from the sky; it refills life's drained fountains. One rendering of the old psalm verse is, "So he gives to his beloved in sleep." Surely God does give us many rich blessings in our sleep. Angels come then with their noiseless tread into our chambers, leave their holy gifts, and steal away unheard. God himself touches us with his benedictions while our eyes are closed in slumber. He shuts our ears to earth's noises and holds us apart from its strifes and turmoil's, while he builds up again in us all that he day has torn down. He makes us forget our griefs and cares, and sends sweet dreams to restore the brightness and the gladness to our tired spirits.
Another comfort for tired feet, is in the thought that Jesus understands the weariness. We know that his feet were tired at the end of many a long day. We are expressly told of one occasion when, being wearied by his long journey, he sat down on a well to rest. He had come far through the dust and the heat, and his feet were sore and weary. All his days were busy days, for he was ever going about on errands of love. Many a day he had scarcely time to eat. Though never weary of, he was ofttimes weary in--his Father's business. When our feet are tired after the day's journeys, it ought to be a very precious comfort, to remember that our blessed Master had like experience, and therefore is able to sympathize with us.
It is one of the chief sadnesses of many lives, that people do not understand them, do not sympathize with them. They move about us--our neighbors and companions, even our closest friends, and laugh and jest and are happy and light-hearted; while we, close beside them, are suffering. They are not aware of our pain, and if they were, they could not give us real sympathy, because they never have had any experience of their own that would interpret to them our experience. Only those who have suffered in some way, can truly sympathize with those who suffer. One who is physically strong, and never has felt the burden of weariness, cannot understand the weakness of another, who, under the least exertion, tires. The man of athletic frame, who can walk all day without fatigue, has small sympathy with the feeble man, who is exhausted in a mile.
When we think of the glory and greatness of Christ, it would seem to us at first that he cannot care for our little ills and sufferings; but when we remember that he once lived on earth, and knows our common life by personal experience, and that he is "touched with the feeling of our infirmities," we know that he understands us and sympathizes with us in every pain. When we think of him sitting weary on a well after his long, hard journey, we are sure that even in heaven he knows what tired feet mean to us, after the day's toil. The comfort even of human sympathy, without any real relief, puts new strength and courage into the heart of one who suffers. The sympathy of Christ ought to lift the weary one above all weakness, above all faintness, into victorious joy.
We should remember too, that Christ's feet were tired and hurt--that our feet may be soothed in their pain and weariness, and at last may stand on the golden streets of heaven! There is a legend of Jesus which tells of his walking by the sea, beautiful in his form, wearing brown sandals upon his feet:
"He walked beside the sea; he too his sandals off
To bathe his weary feet in the pure cool wave-
For he had walked across the desert sands
All day long--and as he bathed his feet
He spoke softly to himself, 'Three years! Three years!
And then, poor feet, the cruel nails will come
And make you bleed--but that blood will lave
All weary feet, on all their thorny ways.'"
There is still another comfort for tired feet in the hope of the rest that is waiting. This incessant toil is not to go on forever! We are going to a land where the longest journeys will produce no weariness, where "tired feet with sandals loose may rest" from all which tires. The hope of heaven, shining in glory, such a little way before us, ought to give us courage and strength to endure whatever of pain, conflict, and suffering may come to us in those short days.
