Posted by: Sherry Goodwin | October 3, 2008

GOD’S WORK IN BRUEY

Meanwhile:

   Bruey sat by the window of a little room above, and watched the sunset too.  It was her mother’s dressing-room, but had been gradually resigned to Bruey, till it was as good as her own.  She slept in the adjoining room with her mother, but it was here that she always finished dressing and said her prayers, going out through the door opening upon the landing, that she might not disturb her mother, if ready first, as she often was.  There was a little table by the window, and a chintz-covered box beside it.  A folded rug upon this box made it soft and comfortable for a seat.  This was the corner where she always prayed; she liked being able to look up at the sky then.  On this box she sat, with her feet curled up under her, leaning her arms on the table, just tired enough to enjoy doing nothing.
It was a clear, lovely evening, very still, with that soft tone over everything which makes one feel it is spring before a bit of green is to be seen in any hedge.  The view was pleasant, and Bruey was never tired of it;  over the sloping garden, and between the trees at the bottom; over the town below, with church towers and one tall spire; and then a range of western hills, dark purple now against the clear sky where the sun had just gone down.  For a little while she only gave herself up to the quiet beauty of the sunset.  Then she ran over the day, long looked forward to, nearly over now; she had really taught in the Sunday-school, and was really to go on with this new work.
It seemed rather serious.  She recollected what Miss [Elisabeth] Allison had said about hoping that she herself loved the Lord Jesus.  She hoped she did; but did she?  A few months ago she was quite sure she did; she had loved him very much then, and remembered having knelt at her little window in the autumn twilight on more than one Sunday evening, as she did now in the spring twilight, and feeling very happy, and wishing she could do anything in the world to please him, and show him that she loved him.  But now?  It was not quite the same.  She had read her Bible every morning and evening just the same, but she somehow never came now to any verses that seemed so very sweet and beautiful as then.  And she had not missed saying her prayers, but there was not the same pleasure in it, and other things would keep coming into her head.  She had not given up a custom, then begun, of coming up stairs alone, and reading and praying a little while, after tea on Sunday evenings, till the bells began to ring for evening service; but she had done it lately more because she felt uncomfortable if she did not than because she really loved to be “alone with Jesus.”
She felt softened and sorry and tender this evening, and wished she could feel all the love she once did.  She had tried to tell her little girls about it.  Was that right, when she did not feel it herself?  But she wanted them to feel it, and that could not be wrong.  Still, it was almost like being a hypocrite, and that was so dreadful.  She never meant to be that, and did not think she ever had been before.  If she was a teacher, she ought to be better; but instead of that, she was worse, for this was something quite new.  And yet suppose one of those little girls were to die, and she had never tried to tell them about Jesus!
What should she do?  It was not the first time Bruey had done the only thing that could do any good.  She had “told Jesus” all that troubled her more than once before–especially once, when she told him that she felt very sinful, and could not make herself any better, and wanted very much indeed to be saved and forgiven; and then words that his own lips said long ago seemed to come into her mind–“Thy sins be forgiven thee”–and she felt as if a great load were lifted from her heart.
So now she slid down from the box, and knelt beside it, and “told him all that was in her heart.”  It was a long story, but she knew he would listen to it all; and as the sunset faded away the light within grew brighter, and Bruey was indeed a happy little girl, seeking and finding peace in Jesus.

Frances Ridley Havergal from BRUEY:  A LITTLE WORKER FOR CHRIST

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