« + TU JIM = +
By Martha E. Warner
ios 8 HAVE been thinking about you
today, Jim,—thinking of the words you
spoke to me the last time I saw you.
You were standing at the door of Grand-
mother’s room and just before you went
upstairs, you turned to me and said,
“Someday I wish you would write some-
thing especially for me, something to help
me when I get blue and discouraged.”
I did not promise, Jim, for I knew you
did not realize what you were saying, and
come another day you would have for-
gotten the conversation. In fact I myself
had forgotten it until today, and then I
started thinking, thinking back six or
eight years ago, to the first time I heard
about you.
You had rented an apartment on the
third floor of my friend’s house, and had
been bringing up a few personal belongings,
rearranging furniture more to your suiting,
hanging pictures and such like, prepara-
tory to taking possession the first of the
coming week.
My friend, with her arms full of fresh
linen for your room, asked me to go along
with her. So I went, and was charmed with
the pleasant rooms away up and above
the noise of the street.
®
As I looked at the books on the table
and stand, I said, “I believe your new
tenant is a young man of good character;
for look, here is a Bible, and it shows signs
of being read again and again; and over
here on the dresser is a New Testament.”
To which my friend replied, “Yes, I
noticed them last night when I came up.
It does look as if, at last, we had found a
good tenant. An older man lives with
him; it seems they have roomed together
for a number of years. Their landlady
died two weeks ago and that meant they
would have to have new living quarters.
They both seemed delighted with this
apartment.”
“And well they might be,” 1 replied,
“for the rooms are so pleasant. Did you
see the picture of this old lady?”
“Yes, it is his mother. She has been
dead for quite a number of years. He just
about worshiped her, said she taught him
to read his Bible. It seems she was an
invalid, so he had to care for her besides
doing all the other work.”
That training and that experience, Jim,
accounts for your being such a good house-
keeper. That I learned when I visited my
friend a year later. At that time you told
me so much about your dear mother, how
Page SIXTEEN
¥ “I belteve your
new tenant 18 a
young man of good
character; for look,
here is a Bible, and
it shows signs of be-
ing read again and
again.’
ARN ZZ
srs ANN
you loved her, and
how you missed
her. Your voice
was all choked up,
and your eyes full
of tears.
Time has not
erased the mem-
ory of your
mother, Jim, and
I doubt if it ever
will, for I have
been told that you
do not wait until
Mother's Day to
lay flowers on her
grave; they are
there on that day,
but they are there
on many other days throughout the year.
In memory of your dear mother you seem
to have adopted a dear old lady who lives
with my friend. You call her Grandma.
You always remember her at Christmas
time, on Easter and Mother's Day and on
her birthdays. You seem to feel 1t 1s your
duty and privilege to keep a certain vase
filled with flowers for her. You have
brightened so many lonely hours for her
that she has come to look upon you as
her boy.
Over and over she sings your praises.
“Jim is so good!” she will say, “So good!”
Then hesitating, she will add, “But he has
one fault which will ruin him body and
soul if he does not overcome it.”
You know what that fault is; I do not
need to tell you, but I think I will. I will
put it down in black and white. It 1s—
drink. You had been drinking that day
you asked me to write something especially
for you.
But how did I know?—Not because you
staggered; not because you were boister-
ous, for you were not; but just because
you were so talkative, so—overly polite,
and then besides your breath was a dead
giveaway.
Grandma says you have promised her
again and again never to touch the stuff.
And for a few weeks you would go straight.
Then would come a day, two days, when
Jim would keep to his rooms. Grandma
knew why you missed saying goodnight to
her, and she knew what made you look so
ashamed of yourself when you finally did
get around to greet her.
You say your greatest desire is to be
reunited with your mother and have a
home in heaven. But remember this one
thing, Jim, there is no place in heaven for
the man who drinks; there is not even a
corner into which he could squeeze. So
unless you right-about-face, heaven's doors
will be barred to you, and you will find
yourself shut out. Shut out! Think of
what that will mean. Do you want it
to happen?
Time and time again you have tried to
overcome this degrading habit, but have
failed; and you will continue to fail, just
so long as you try in your own strength.
Do you remember the experience of the
Apostle Paul as given in Romans 7: 14-25?
In Moffatt’s translation it reads thus: “I
am a creature of the flesh, in the thraldom
of sin. I cannot understand my own ac-
tions: I do not act as I want to act; on the
contrary, I do what I detest.” Then he
goes on to say, ‘If I act against my wishes,
it is not I who do the deed but sin that
dwells within me.” (That could be Jim
talking.)
But was Paul content to go on sinning
and repenting, sinning and repenting? In-
deed he was not, he wanted the weight of
sin removed. ‘Miserable wretch that I
The WATCHMAN MAGAZINE