By J.R. Miller
"In the desert where he lies entombed
He made a little garden and left there
Some flowers that for him had never bloomed."
No doubt there is a duty of silence. There are times when silence is golden. But there is also duty of speech. There are times when silence is sin. There are times when it is both ungrateful and disloyal to God, not to speak of his love and goodness, or witness for him before men in strong, unequivocal words.
We ought to speak out the messages given us for others. God puts something into the heart of every one of his creatures--that he would have that creature utter. He puts into the star a message of light, and you look up into the heavens at night and it tells you its secret. Who knows what a blessing a star may be to the weary traveler who finds his way by it, or to the sick woman lying by her window, and in her sleeplessness looking up at the glimmering point of light in the calm, deep heavens? God gives to a flower a mission of beauty and sweetness, and for its brief life it tells out its message to all whom can read it. Wordsworth says,
"To me the meanest flower that blooms can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."
Who can count up the good that even a flower may do, as it blooms in the garden, or as it is carried into a sick-room, or into the cheerless chamber of poverty?
Especially, God gives to every human soul a message to deliver. To one it is some revealing of science. A great astronomer spoke of himself as thinking over God's thoughts after him, as he traced out the paths of the stars and the laws of the heavens. To the poet God gives thoughts of beauty, which he is to speak to the world--and the world is richer, sweeter, and better for hearing his message. We do not realize how much we owe to the men and the women, who along the centuries have given forth their songs of hope, cheer, comfort, and inspiration.
To every one of us, God gives something which he wants us to say to others. We cannot all write poems or hymns, or compose books which will bless men; but if we live near the heart of Christ, there is not one of us into whose ear he will not whisper some fragment of truth, some revealing of grace or love, or to whom he will not give some experience of comfort in sorrow, some new glimpse of glory. Each friend of Christ, living close to him, learns something from him and of him, which no one has learned before, which he is to forth-tell to the world.
Therefore, each one should speak out their own message. If it were only a single word, it will yet bless the earth. If only one the flowers that bloom in summer days in the fields and gardens had refused to bloom, hiding its little gift of beauty, the world would be poorer and less lovely. If but one of the myriad stars in the heavens had refused to shine, keeping its little beam locked in its breast, the nights would be a little darker than they are. And every human life that fails to speak out, keeping it locked in the silence of the heart, leaves this earth a little poorer. But every life, even the lowliest, that learns of God and then speaks out its message--adds something to the world's blessing and beauty.
We ought to speak out our heart's gladness. There is something very strange in the tendency, which seems so common in human lives--to hide the gladness and tell out the misery. Any one who will keep an account of what people he meets say to him--will probably find that a large proportion of them will say little that is pleasant and happy--and much that is dreary and sad. They will tell him of their bodily aches and pains and infirmities. They will complain bitterly of the heat if it is warm, or of the chill if it is cold. They will speak of the discouragements in their business, the hardships in their occupation, the troubles in their various duties, and all the manifold miseries, real or imagined, which have fallen to their lot. But they will have very little to say of their prosperity, their health, their three good meals a day, their encouragement's, favors, friendships, and manifold blessings.
But it is of this latter class of experiences that the world ought to hear the most. There is no command in the Bible, which says we should empty the tale of all our woes into people's ears. We really do not have so many woes as some of us imagine we have. Of course everybody has some cares, pains, and losses. We cannot live in this world without such things. But most of us have at least a hundred mercies--to one misery. We need cares, as a clock needs its weights, to keep our life machinery in healthy motion. God makes this world a little rough for most of us--to keep us from settling down too contentedly in it, as our home.
But he does not want us to complain continually about the roughnesses which are for our good. It is neither loyal nor brave in us to do so, and surely it is not beautiful. None of us think it beautiful in another--when he speaks always of his miseries--and never of his mercies.
We have no right to add to the world's shadows and burdens and pains--by unloading our worries and frets into every ear we find open. It would be a far sweeter service--if we would speak only of the pleasant things. And there always is something pleasant even in the most cheerless circumstances, if only we have an eye to find it.
There is a legend, which says that once Jesus and his disciples, as they journeyed, saw a dead dog lying by the wayside. The disciples showed disgust and loathing--but the Master said, "What beautiful teeth the creature has!" The legend has its lesson for us. We should see the beauty even in loathsomeness.
Miss Murdock tells of a gentleman and lady passing through a lumberyard, by a dirty, foul smelling river. The lady said, "How good the pine boards smell!" "Pine boards!" explained he companion. "Just smell this foul river!" "No thank you," the lady replied; "I prefer to smell the pine boards."She was wiser than he was. It is far better for us to find the sweetness which is in the air--than the foulness. It is better to talk to others of the smell of pine boards--than of the heavy odors of stagnant rivers.
There is a large field of opportunities for saying kind and loving words, which will do benefit to others. Many people seem too watchful of words of encouragement. They have the kindly thoughts in their heart--but they do not utter them. Of course there are things in many a breast that are better than speech. Some people indeed boast of saying always just what they think. That is very well--so long as they think only nobly, charitably, generously, and lovingly. But saying what one thinks, means oftentimes speaking rashly, impulsively, in flashes of anger and bad temper, and then the words are neither wise nor good. "As well say them as think them," says someone. No! Thinking harsh or unkind things hurts us--but does not yet hurt others. A moment later we shall regret the bitter thoughts; and if they have not been spoken we will be most thankful that they are not. If they are uttered, however--they crash like darts into tender spirits and we never can withdraw them.
Here is a young man in sore temptation. He is tangled up with evil associations, which have thrown their chains about him. He is in danger of being swept away. You know it and see it all. You are near him, and your heart is full of sympathy with him. You speak to some of your friends of his danger--but you do not say a word to him. Yet it may be that a true word, the expression of your loving interest at the right time, might have saved him. Unspoken sympathy is better than indifference.
Your neighbor is in sorrow. It is known for days that a loved one is hovering between life and death. Then the crape on the door announces that death has conquered and that the home is darkened. You want to help--but shrink from intruding upon the sorrow. With a heart full of affection, longing to be of use, you do nothing. Is there no way by which your brotherly love might make your neighbor's load a little lighter or their heart a little stronger? Are we not too timid in the presence of others' sorrows?
God wants us all to be true comforters. The priest passed coldly by on the other side, when he saw the wounded person. The Levite seemed to do better, for he drew near and looked upon the sufferer with a feeling of compassion. But his compassion issued only in a sigh, for he too passed on without giving any help. The Good Samaritan alone, illustrated love's whole ministry, for his sympathy took shape immediately in most practical relief. Sorrow is very sacred, and we must enter its sanctuary with reverence; but we must beware that we do not fail in affection's duty in the hour when either a brother or sister's heart is broken.
Perhaps it is in our homes, that the lesson is most needed. There is great deal of love there, which never finds expression. We keep sad silences oftentimes with those who are dearest to us, even when their hearts are crying out loudest for words. In many homes which lack rich and deep happiness, it is not more love that is needed--but the flowing out of love in little words, acts, and expressions. A husband loves his wife and would give his life for her; but there are days and days that he never tells her so, nor reveals the sweet truth to her by any sign or token. The wife loves her husband with warm, faithful affection--but she has fallen into the habit of making no demonstration, saying nothing about her love, going through the duties of the home life almost as if there were no love in her heart. No wonder husbands and wives drift apart in such homes. Hearts also, need their daily bread, and starve and die if it is withheld from them.
There are parents who make the same mistake with their children. They love them--but they do not reveal their love. They allow it to be taken for granted. After infancy passes they quietly drop out of their interaction with their children--all tenderness, all caresses, and all marks of fondness. On the first intimidation of danger of any kind their love reveals itself in anxious solitude and prompt efforts to help; but in the daily life of the home--there is no show of tenderness. The love is unquestioned--but like the unbroken vase of ointment--it gives out no perfume.
The home life may be free from all bitterness, all that is unloving or unkind, and yet it has sore lack. It is not enough to love; the love must find expression. We must let our friends know that we care for them. We must do it, too, before it is too late. Some people wait until the need is past, and then come up with their laggard sympathy. When the neighbor is well again, they call to say how sorry they are that he has been sick. Would not a kindly inquiry at the door, or a few flowers sent to his room, when he was ill, have been a fitter and more adequate expression of brotherly interest? When someone without their help has gotten through their long battle with business or other difficulties or embarrassments, and is well on their feet again, friends come with their congratulations.
Would it not have been better if they had proved their care for him in some way when they needed strong practical sympathy? The time to show our friendship is when our friend is under the shadow of enmity, when evil tongues misrepresent them--and not when they have gotten vindication and stand honored even by strangers.
There are those, too, who wait until death has come before they begin to speak their words of appreciation and commendation. There are many who say their first truly generous words of others--beside their coffins! They bring their flowers then, although they never gave a flower when their friends were living. Many a person goes down in defeat, under life's burdens, un-helped, un-cheered; and then, when the eyes are closed and the hands folded, there comes, too late, love enough to have turned the tide of battle and given victory, had it come a little earlier.
Life is hard for many people--and we have no right to withhold any look or word or touch or act of love, which will lighten the load or cheer the heart of any fellow-struggler. The best use we can make of our life--is to live so that we shall be a blessing to everyone we meet.
