I
want a Father to whom I can go with all my sins and sorrows, all my
hopes and joys, as freely and fearlessly as I used to go to my human
father, sure of help and sympathy and love. Shall I ever find Him?"
Alas, poor Christie! she was going through the sorrowful perplexity
that comes to so many before they learn that religion cannot be
given or bought, but must grow as trees grow, needing frost and
snow, rain and wind to strengthen it before it is deep-rooted in the
soul; that God is in the hearts of all, and they that seek shall
surely find Him when they need Him most.
So Christie waited for religion to reveal itself to her, and while
she waited worked with an almost desperate industry, trying to buy a
little happiness for herself by giving a part of her earnings to
those whose needs money could supply. She clung to her little room,
for there she could live her own life undisturbed, and preferred to
stint herself in other ways rather than give up this liberty. Day
after day she sat there sewing health of mind and body into the long
seams or dainty stitching that passed through her busy hands, and
while she sewed she thought sad, bitter, oftentimes rebellious
thoughts.
It was the worst life she could have led just then, for, deprived of
the active, cheerful influences she most needed, her mind preyed on
itself, slowly and surely, preparing her for the dark experience to
come.
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