Christian fiction; Neighborhoods -- Scotland -- Fiction
This I had learned from being ill myself once or twice since my
marriage. My wife never came near me with a gloomy face, and I had
found that it was quite possible to be sympathetic with those of my
flock who were ill without putting on a long face when I went to see
them. Of course, I do not mean that I could, or that it was desirable
that I should, look cheerful when any were in great pain or mental
distress. But in ordinary conditions of illness a cheerful countenance
is as a message of _all's well_, which may surely be carried into a
sick chamber by the man who believes that the heart of a loving Father
is at the centre of things, that he is light all about the darkness,
and that he will not only bring good out of evil at last, but will be
with the sufferer all the time, making endurance possible, and pain
tolerable. There are a thousand alleviations that people do not often
think of, coming from God himself. Would you not say, for instance,
that time must pass very slowly in pain? But have you never observed,
or has no one ever made the remark to you, how strangely fast, even in
severe pain, the time passes after all?
"We will do all we can, will we not," I went on, "to make her as
comfortable as possible? You, Dora, must attend to your little
brothers, that your mother may not have too much to think about now
that she will have Connie to nurse."
They could not say much, but they both kissed me, and went away leaving
me to understand clearly enough that they had quite understood me. I
then returned to the sick chamber, where I found that the poor child
had fallen asleep.
My wife and I watched by her bedside on alternate nights, until the
pain had so far subsided, and the fever was so far reduced, that we
could allow Wynnie to take a share in the office. We could not think of
giving her over to the care of any but one of ourselves during the
night. Her chief suffering came from its being necessary that she
should keep nearly one position on her back, because of her spine,
while the external bruise and the swelling of the muscles were in
consequence so painful, that it needed all that mechanical contrivance
could do to render the position endurable. But these outward conditions
were greatly ameliorated before many days were over.
This is a dreary beginning of my story, is it not? But sickness of all
kinds is such a common thing in the world, that it is well sometimes to
let our minds rest upon it, lest it should take us altogether at
unawares, either in ourselves or our friends, when it comes. If it were
not a good thing in the end, surely it would not be; and perhaps before
I have done my readers will not be sorry that my tale began so
gloomily. The sickness in Judaea eighteen hundred and thirty-five years
ago, or thereabouts, has no small part in the story of him who came to
put all things under our feet. Praise be to him for evermore!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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