HER hNUTTED THREAD
By Inez Brasier
LAIRD hurried across the
campus, waving a greeting to fellow stu-
dents on the wav to late classes. She
smiled ax she entered the door of the grev
stone building. How pleasant the familiar
hall seemed after the week-end visit. She
opened the door to the room that had been
home to her for nearly four vears. On the
bed lav the girl who had been with her
<imce the semester began.
“Grace! What 1s wrong? Is it ad news
again” She dropped her bag and pressed
her cheek against the tear-stained one on
the pillow.
“It's — oh, Jane! Tam humiliated to the
dust. Tt 1s that old temper again. Just
when I thought T had it safely tamed!
I boiled over this time, and it really was
nothing to fuss about. Why, oh why, can't
[ always be calm and collected like vou?”
Jane's cool hand closed over the fevered
one held out to her. © Let me tell you a story
[read not long ago that impressed me
greatly -the story of a king who thought
much about the welfare of hix subjects.
To aid them, he had many looms built in
his palace where the folk, especially the
women, could learn to weave. He tried to
impress upon them that they were to ask
for help at any time they needed it. At
first the weaving was simple and easy.
Then 1t grew more difficult. The thread
knotted in the unskilled hands. and there
were many snarled tangles hard to
straighten. The weavers were discouraged
and quite envious of the one whose pattern
seemed always to come out right.
“‘How 1s 1t," they demanded, ‘that vour
weaving 1s so fine and even and vour pat-
tern =o beautiful?’
‘I ask the king to help me. He
~traightens every tangle, even the smallest.”
Grace, dear,” Jane's words were low,
“don’t vou want to let the Master Weaver
direct vour life weaving?”
There was a long pause. 1 suppose 1
have been so sure IT could get along all
right —be as good ax vou and the others
without Him. It has been so many weeks
since I acted =o disgracefully that 1 was
positive I could. Tam co ashamed of myself
since it happened! And I am more ashamed
that I thought T could carry on alone
when She stirred uneasily,
“When all vou had to do was to ask the
King to help you. I know, for I am not
always calm and collected, ax vou sav, but 1
have learned to let Him keep my thread
from knotting. Cuan you not let Him do
that for vou, too—Ilet Him straighten the
tangles for you? Give Him vour life here
and now so that the pattern will be beauti-
ful in Hix sight.”
The silence mm the room grew, broken
only by the song of a robin in the white
birches shading the window. Grace stood
up, slowly smoothing the rumpled pillow.
“Sometimes I have wanted to do it. Then
I'd think I was as good as the others here,
but now I do want ITim to keep me from-—
from making a mess of everything.”
Jane turned the key in the door. “Then
let us kneel to tell im that vou have come
to give vourself, to be Hix own, and to let
Him direct your life and keep vou His
child.”
The vesper bells were ringing as thev
rose. Grace watched the shadow pattern
of the trees across the rug. Then she
opened the door. For the first time I am
happy to attend evening pravers. Will vou
be praying for me when I apologize to the
dean? Don't look so surprized—it was as
bad as that. In public, too. Half the girls
heard me. Will you remember?”
“Indeed T wall”
They crossed the campus to the chapel
under the tall old trees. Jane slipped her
arm about the vounger girl's shoulders for
a minute as they sat down. The organist
played a few chords softly, and then the
dean rose. In the twilight stillness Grace
was certain that her words were especially
for her.
“There 1s only one wav by which to
weave a lovely and beautiful character.
Slowly Grace repeated the dean's
words. It must be true, for 1t 1s just what
Jane said. And Jane i= like that, and the
dean, too.” Suddenly she realized that the
dean had ceased speaking and was looking
at her.
“Oh, Jane, now!" Grace whispered as
she rose. When she sat down, Jane's heart
sang a happy hittle song. Grace, with all
her ability to do things, with all her talents,
and now a Guiding Star to direet them!
Ten years later, Jane and Grace, home
for a time from service in far lands, met at
their old school. They walked together to
the chapel while the bell rang, as countless
times before, for evening prayers.
“That day when I lost my temper so
completely,” Grace began and then
stopped. “1 am highly honored,” she went
on =lowly, “that the dean has asked me to
talk to the girls tonight. Jane, dear, I
an think of nothing better to tell them
than the story vou told me so long ago-—
to let the Master Weaver guide in the weav-
ing of life’s character. Then only is one
truly successful, truly happy.”
lessons Irom a
Bird's Beak
By Ruth Lees Olson
ag 0b 5 care for the birds of the air is
4 well known by all bird-lovers; even
the common sparrows that we term
“alley tramps’ are noticed by an all-wise
heavenly Ifather. “Are not five sparrows
sold for two farthings, and not one of them
1s forgotten before God?” The Lord uses
many of His feathered messengers to teach
us lessons of His care and providence. One
of them is vividly illustrated by the thistle
bird.
This little bird alwavs sings when in
trouble, and thus makes known its desire
for help. The song is not a plaintive wail
Page SIXTEEN
of woe telling the world of its plieht and
suffering, but a cheery and persistent
melody that pleads for attention and inves-
tigation,
A man living in Silver Creek, Nebraska,
heard a bird, somewhere near his window,
singing constantly for several consecutive
days. He paid no attention at first, but ax
the bird song continued day after dav, he
decided to investigate. Calling a friend of
hig, who was a naturalist, he told him of the
peculiar song, and asked ham if he could
give any reason for the persistency of the
songster. The friend, recognizing the
cheery notes, sought at once for the bird's
nest. Ile found it and also the owner of the
nest with his foot caught in the wool lining
of the nest. Its struggles had wound the
threads around the foot in such a way that
it took some twenty minutes to extricate it.
When liberated the bird flew unsteadily
away. It was evident that the bird's
friends or perhaps its mate had brought it
The WATCHMAN
food and water, thus keeping it alive, but
they could not release the little prisoner.
®
The wonderful thing about this story is
the bird's persistent faith and optimism.
It could sing a cheery song because it
expected to be delivered, and no matter
how forbidding the circumstances, how
dark the outlook, not a note was missing
from the melody. Its faith and trust
brought a response: for ‘not one of them is
forgotten before God.” If we humans
would only sing a song of faith and trust
when life is hard and we know not what
way to turn to extricate ourselves, if we
would refuse to bemoan our fate, and com-
plain about our circumstances, but would
look up, and lift up our voices in praise to
Him who never forgets, our deliverance
would surely come, and much sooner than
we expected. So take heart. “Not one is
forgotten before God.”
MAGAZINE