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July & August 2006
Dear friends,
The year 2006 is already half over thus calling to our minds the text
"...the time is short..." (I Corinthians 7:29), and the words of the
hymn that states " 'Tis almost time for the Lord to come...." Are you
ready? Are your family members ready? We are busy at SonLight with
projects and starting new ones as we continue to work for the Master
in these last days of earth's history. We want to do as much as we can
while time still lingers.
In the first part of June the editing of "...The Desire of all
Nations...." vol. 1 Scripture songs CD was finally finished and its
production began. What a blessing to see another music CD completed!
The blessing is that the Lord can use even our humble efforts.
Shortly the song book will also be ready. At this time a few
corrections are being made and then it will be printed and for sale.
Now a little note for those of you who are on the 2nd - 8th grade
program, we want to especially encourage you to order your own CD and
song book. These are the memory verses put to song for lessons 1
through 6. Even if you have the old cassette tape for vol. 1 you will
still want to get this new CD. Many improvements have been made to the
music besides the higher quality of the recording and the adding of
some new songs. The CD and song book are $15.00 each with a charge for
shipping and handling of $8.00.
Now that vol. 1 is completed we have begun the reworking of the song
book for vol. 2. Throughout the next few months we will keep you
updated on its progress.
Another project that we have started is to prepare materials that will
be recorded onto CDs and a seminar booklet to accompany them so that
you can have a seminar right in your own home! In this way more
information can be covered in a more thorough manner, you can have a
seminar at a very low cost, and you can share it with your friends.
You will be able to purchase the seminar CDs along with a booklet and
other handouts. By this fall we hope to have the first part of this
project available. So please keep this in prayer.
ORDER A FREE BOOKLET, "Where Is Your Flock?"
GATHER THE YOUNG ABOUT YOU
"Blessed is every one that feareth the LORD; that walketh in his
ways....Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine
house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table" (Psalm
128:1, 3).
"No work every undertaken by man requires greater care and skill than
the proper training and education of youth and children. There are no
influences so potent as those which surround us in our early years."
"Both parents and teachers are in danger of commanding and dictating
too much, while they fail to come sufficiently into social relation
with their children or their scholars. They maintain too great a
reserve, and exercise their authority in a cold, unsympathizing
manner, which tends to repel instead of winning confidence and
affection. If they would oftener gather the children about them, and
manifest an interest in their work, and even in their sports, they
would gain the love and confidence of the little ones, and the lesson
of respect and obedience would be far more readily learned; for love
is the best teacher....The young heart is quick to respond to the
touch of sympathy." (Fundamentals of Christian Education 57-58)
The following true story took place in the 1800's.
THE FATHERLESS GIRL
"Keep together, Harriet," said my father, half deliriously, to his
wife, who watched by his side, while he lay upon his dying bed.
"Keep together," he repeated; as if some premonition of scattering and
trouble was in his mind; and so he died.
But there were seven of us children, six of whom were unmarried and at
home, and I was the youngest of them all; and poor mother, though full
of energy, economy, and thrift, found it a task to care for and watch
over such a flock of growing and headstrong children as we were.
Soon after father died a man named C. came to visit my mother. He
professed great sympathy for her, and pretended that he had been one
of my father's warmest friends.
My mother knew but little of him, except that he had formerly carried
the mail; but as he seemed greatly interested in our welfare and
appeared very kind, she consented to have him appointed as guardian
for her children, as she felt that the care of them was too great a
task for her.
After he was appointed as our guardian he persuaded her that it was
better to have the children bound out. He wanted the eldest boy;
another was taken away thirty miles; another forty; a sister was taken
twelve miles in another direction, and only myself and my sister next
older remained at home.
Mr. C. wanted mother to give me to him, but she was unwilling to do
it; but she consented that my sister should go with him and remain in
his family for a while. She accordingly went, to my great sorrow, for
the parting was very bitter.
Not long after my mother married again, and then my sister returned,
and we were at home together once more, where we remained until my
guardian took her away again, to a place forty miles distant, where he
bound her out till she was eighteen.
When I was eight years old, my guardian came to the school-house on
the last day of the school and called for me to go with him. He said
he had come to take me home. I felt badly, but did not dare to refuse.
He told me to get my books and go to his house on a visit.
As my step-father was not very partial to me, and my guardian seemed
to think a great deal of me, I did not make much objection to the
arrangement. It seemed that he thought I would make a good scholar,
and he said he always meant to have me live with him, any way.
But it was not home for me. I had never been absent from my home at
night before, and I soon became very homesick. My guardian sent me to
school in his neighborhood, but I became so homesick that I would cry
day and night to go home and see my mother.
They had little patience with my sorrows, and gave me no encouragement
about returning home, but he told me I was to live with him. He had
also sent word to my mother that I had pleaded so hard for him to take
me home from school with him that he could not refuse, though he was
not willing to do it; and had informed her that I was contented and
happy in his family.
My mother knew that he had long been anxious to get me into his
family, and thought he must be a kind man, and as I manifested no
uneasiness or discontent, so far as she knew, she was satisfied with
my condition. But I did not like the family. They had a boy ten or
twelve years of age, who was rather passionate, and seemed inclined to
find fault. He complained of me; said he did not like me, and that I
would run away from him on the way to school; he would snow-ball,
tease and plague me, call me "cry-baby," and taunt me about my father
being dead, and so tease me in very many ways, till I was heart-sick
and homesick enough.
A length I told the scholars in school of my troubles, and they
sympathized with me, for the whole school dislike the boy. But their
taking my part of course set the whole family more against me, and
made my situation still more unpleasant.
Mr. C. proved to be a harsh and cruel man. Rumor said that he had
lived at the South, and had left there on account of cruelties
committed against servants or other beneath his charge. How this was I
know not. I can only speak of what I know.
His eldest daughter had grown up a kind, tender-hearted girl, and
pitied me and showed me kindness; but the rest of the family seemed
much like the father; and in such hands a fatherless girl could but
fare hard.
Home was seven miles away, and Mr. C.'s home stood between the
school-house and home; but liberty was sweet and I long to see my
mother's face once more, and determined to go home. At last the day
came when I decided to escape. Instead of going to school I went
towards home. It was raining hard, and I sank down deep into the snow
at the thought of home that I hardly knew what I was suffering, and
went bravely on. But alas! Mr. C. had learned of my intensions and had
gone on before to intercept me. Then he came to meet me with a large
whip in his hand. I was very much frightened and ran toward him,
crying with fear.
"Put for home!" said he, and he whipped me all the way home, and
continued to whip me after I had arrived there.
The next day they sent me to school, and charged me not to tell any
one what had happened. Their boy, however, told the scholars that I
had been whipped, but this only made them hate him and pity me the more.
After enduring the irksomeness of my position about a week longer, the
school children advised me to start for home again. I went the same
way, got past the house, and into the road; went only about two miles
when who should drive past me on his way to the next village but Mr. C.
He saw me, turned his sleigh around, and without saying a word, took
me back into a room where his youngest daughter was weaving
suspenders, tied me to the loom beside her, and then went about his
business.
After he had gone, this daughter, who inherited her father's
disposition, came along where I stood crying, and tied my hands more
closely, drawing them up so that my feet barely touched the floor.
While in this cruel position, I wrung and twisted my wrists around,
and this hurt so that I screamed with pain. Mrs. C. came in a rage to
see what the matter was, and said she would have the noise stopped. On
inquiring into the case, she scolded her daughter severely, and untied
my wrists and took me down. She then put some save on my wrists, tied
them up in cloths, and then put some knit woolen wristlets on, which
pleased me much. She then told me if I showed my wrists to any one I
should have another whipping, but if I would be a good girl and say
nothing about it, they would let me go to school in the afternoon, and
would not tie me up any more if I would ask Mr. C.'s forgiveness when
he came home. I agreed to the proposal, and accordingly asked his
forgiveness.
I went to school again in the afternoon, but was so homesick during
school-time that I cried as if my heart would break. The teacher
inquired what I was weeping about.
I told him I did not wish to tell. My wrists pained me greatly and
they were badly swollen. He saw the cloths under my wristlets; I
wanted him to see them, but did not dare to tell him anything; and he
wished to know what was the matter with my arms. I would not tell.
"What does all this mean?" said he.
"If I tell I shall have a whipping," was my reply. He was so indignant
that he could hardly contain himself. At recess all gathered around me
to know what had happened, and said if I would tell them, Mr. C.
should know nothing about it. So I told them, and some of the children
went home and told their parents, and Mr. C.'s boy went home and told
his folks that I had told the matter to the school; this, of course,
enraged them still more, and Mr. C. gave me such a shaking that it
seemed as if he would shake my head off.
The next week the school was to close, and there was not much more
said or done about the matter. Mr. C.'s family disliked me much, with
the exception of the eldest daughter. Her sympathy comforted me much,
but she did not dare let her father or mother know anything about it.
The teacher said the neighbors must do something about the matter, for
it would not do to have that poor fatherless girl suffer so. The
people sympathized with me, for they knew Mr. C.'s character much
better than my mother did. Little did she, poor woman, think how her
child was obliged to suffer while away from her and among strangers.
The neighbors now contemplated doing something to stop Mr. C.'s
ill-treatment of me; but I was so homesick that I felt I could wait no
longer. I was losing flesh rapidly; my rosy cheeks had gone, and I
seemed like a walking ghost, instead of a healthy happy child; and I
thought I might as well die one way as another, and so I determined to
go home if possible. But again my intentions were discovered and I was
beaten terribly so that for more than two weeks I could not walk a
step without sever pain.
Things were by this time getting in rather bad shape for Mr. C., and
it seemed high time that I was sent out of that neighborhood. So he
engaged Mr. R., the mail-carrier, who was not so well acquainted with
him as some were, to carry me immediately to the neighboring town of
W., to a place which he had provided for me at the house of Mr. S.
I knew not what was before me--no place could be much worse than where
I was--but I knew I could not go home, and this made me very sad. I
went in the mail-wagon, which passed down the river road just opposite
my home, and in plain sight of the cottage where I was born, and where
my poor mother still lived, unconscious of the sorrows of her child.
Two miles below there the road crossed the river and ran on the same
side where my home was. I looked with longing eyes across the stream
as we passed, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mother's form, that she
might see me and know where I was going; but it was all in vain; no
mother appeared, and the poor fatherless girl was carried away among
strange voices and strange faces once more.
But still the Lord had his eye upon the lonely child, and led me to a
Christian home. The family where I was sent had every confidence in
Mr. C. as a professor of religion, he being a member of the church to
which they belonged. He had told them that my step-father was very
ugly to me, and he had taken me away from home on that account, and he
wanted them to take care of me. He said my mother was not capable of
taking care of me, and he thought it his duty to do it. He told them
also that I was a very stubborn child and difficult to manage, and
represented to them that the soreness of my skin was caused by a
disease which I had contracted, and a cold which had settled in my
limbs. All this seemed plausible to them, but when I arrived there
their faith in it seemed somewhat shaken.
Mr. C. had threatened to whip me again if I told any one what was the
matter with me, and had told me what I must say if I was asked what
ailed me.
The lady looked at my hands, and examined me, but saw no signs of the
disease she had been told I had; and finally asked me if I had the
"itch." I told her "Yes;" as I had been commanded.
"But how came these gashes?" said the good woman.
"I don't know," said I, for I dared not tell the truth about it, and
Mr. C. had provided me with no answer to that question.
"Did your step-father ever whip you or abuse you?" said she.
"He never did anything to me only pour some water on my head once,
that was all," said I.
Mr. C. had told them that I might tell wrong stories, as my
step-father had abused me, and I stood greatly in fear of him. So they
were prepared for evasions, and yet they hardly knew what to make of
the case as it presented itself.
They found me quiet and obedient, and liked me much better than they
had expected to, after hearing Mr. C.'s reports about me.
My mother was a praying woman, and had always taught me to go to the
Lord in prayer. So when I went to bed at night, what good times I
would have, telling all my troubles to the Lord! It was my only
comfort. I was so homesick that it seemed as if I should never rise
above my griefs; but in prayer I found consolation.
When I retired to rest the night after my arrival at Mr. S.'s, they
heard me in my chamber praying; and creeping softly up, they listened
to my prayer. And they kept up this practice continually, as I was
afterwards informed.
Alone with God, I poured out my griefs before Him. I would say, "O
Lord, I am sorry I told a lie about what ailed me; I am sorry that I
told Mr. C. that I would not tell anybody how he whipped me;" and thus
I would go on, and cry, and grieve, and tell the Lord how much I
suffered, and how I longed to see my mother, and I would pray that the
Lord would send some one else to tell Mr. S. how Mr. C. had made me
lie, and that I did not have the disease he represented, but that it
was where he whipped me--and so on to the end.
Night after night they listened to my prayers, till it came to be
almost an old story, wondering by day at my quiet and peaceable
disposition--until they were convinced that I was too young to use art
or play the hypocrite in such a matter. At length they could stand it
no longer, and taking me into a room alone, they questioned me about
how I came to leave my home.
I told them I was at school, and Mr. C. came and wanted me to go with
him, and he had not time for me to go and see my mother. They looked
significantly at each other, and I knew that they were satisfied with
my story. I gathered courage from their looks, and a hope dawned
within my heart that they would befriend me.
They sought to win my confidence. They saw I was pining away, and
feared I might die on their hands; and they told me that they were my
friends, and bade me tell them the whole truth, and they would never
tell Mr. C. about it if I did. They feared something was wrong, and
they could endure the suspense no longer. They told me to tell them
the whole story, and they would let me go home to my mother.
Thus encouraged, I told them my piteous tale, and they sobbed and wept
while I related my sufferings at the hands of my guardian.
The next day they wrote to Mr. C. that they could not in conscience
keep me any longer under the circumstances. They feared I was going
into a decline.
The following day they took me to the mail-wagon, and told Mr. R., the
driver, to carry me to my mother. I rode on with a light heart, for I
thought my troubles were near an end. When we reached the bridge which
crossed the river on the other side, two miles below my mother's
house, where I must leave the carriage to go home, I began to beg him
to let me out. He said, "No, I have orders from Mr. C. not to let you
go to your mother's, but bring you directly to his house."
I begged him to let me go and see my mother. He refused. I said, "I
will go up to Mr. C.'s tomorrow, if you will let me go home tonight
and see my mother."
"No," said he, "I am afraid to trust you."
I kept begging and pleading with him to allow me to get out and go and
see mother, but in vain; he kept driving along.
At length the passengers became interested, and began to inquire into
the case. They stopped the stage, and told the driver they wanted to
know all about this matter.
I then told them my story-how I had taken from my mother, and whipped,
and abused, and how much I wanted to see her, and that Mr. S.'s folks
told the driver to take me home to my mother, and I desired to go
there, and did not wish to return to my guardian's.
The women wept to hear my story; the men were enraged; and all the
passengers took my part. The driver told them that my guardian had
said that I would lie, and they ought not to take any notice of what I
said. But the men in the stage insisted that it was perfectly right
that I should be permitted to go and see my mother, and I should go;
and that it was cruel to think of taking me away from her in such a way.
The driver, however, seemed determined to cross over the bridge which
spanned the rocky chasm, through which the river rushed like a
torrent; but the men in the carriage were determined, and said, "If
you don't let that child go to her mother we will tip you over into
the river!"
He saw that he was in danger, and yielded; and said that I might get
out, but could not have my clothes. I cared little for that, but got
out of the carriage, and ran with all my might for home. How my side
ached before I got there! But I ran, I think, every step of the whole
two miles to my mother's house.
Mother was weaving in the chamber, but I ran up stairs with a light
step and a joyful heart, not thinking of my weariness, in my longing
for her loving welcome.
"Well, whose little girl is this?" asked my mother, as she plied her
shuttle, little thinking that the pale child before her was the
rosy-cheeked daughter that left her three months before.
"Mother!" said I, "don't you know me?"
"Whose little girl is it?" said she.
"Why, mother," said I, "it is me!" She saw the old familiar smile
break over my wan face and springing from her loom, exclaimed, "Is
this my child?"
"Yes," said I, "it is me, mother."
I shall not soon forget that meeting, so joyful to me, and so sad to
my poor mother. I told my story quickly, and though I had no thought
of crying then, she wept as if her heart would break. And then she
took me to the village the next day and showed the Judge the marks of
my guardian's cruelty and abuse. He questioned me, and after listening
to my story seemed much incensed, and said, "That man shall suffer."
My mother carried me home, a poor, emaciated child. My health was
feeble, and my clustering curls had been cut off during my absence; I
had lost many pounds of flesh, and our near neighbors did not
recognize me when they saw me. A few days after, Mr. C. rode down and
hung my bundle of clothes on a stake in the door-yard fence. He did
not stop to face my mother, but as he saw me playing in the front
door-yard, he said, "Oh! you naughty girl!"
I made no reply, but thought to myself, "Well, you haven't got me, and
I am glad of that;"--and he rode away.
At the next court my guardian was forced to appear. Witnesses were
called upon to testify and afterwards the judge was terribly indignant
with Mr. C. He was turned out of his guardianship, was made to refund
all the money he had charged against me, and would have had to pay a
heavy sum besides had not my mother told them that she only wanted her
own again, and had no desire to anticipate the work of Him who is "a
father to the fatherless, and a judge of widows in his holy
habitation," and who hath said, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay."
The affair, however, was ruinous to the man. He was disgraced in
society, and excluded from the church, and, though for a while he kept
up a semblance of piety, yet his true character was well understood,
and the last I heard of him he was said to be a wretched inebriate.
What his motives were in his treatment of me I cannot decide. I bear
no ill will to him or his, and only hope that he may be found at last
among the pardoned and the saved.
And at this late day I give this simple story to the world, not to
revenge myself for cruel wrongs, but to excite in some heart a felling
of pity for the fatherless around, who may be suffering now even as I
suffered then, and have none to plead their cause, or grant them aid
and consolation.
--Adapted from "Pebbles from the Path of a Pilgrim"
Oh how we would strongly impress upon the minds of parents, teachers,
and anyone who is in contact with the young of the great importance of
gathering the young about you. Seek entrance into their hearts by
being interested in them and involving them in various activities.
Ever remember the admonition, "Keep together."
Keeping looking up!
SonLight Staff
SonLight Education Ministry
PO Box 518
Colville, WA 99114
(509) 684-6843
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