"It is even so," she said.
"Then how did you cure yourself of it? Tell me quick, mother, and let
me cure myself of mine."
"My dear Katy," she said, "I wish I could make you see that God is
just as willing, and just as able to sanctify, as He is to redeem us.
It would save you so much weary, disappointing work. But God has
opened my eyes at last."
"I wish He would open mine, then," I said, "for all I see now is that
I am just as horrid as I can be, and that the more I pray the worse I
grow."
That is not true, dear," she replied; "go on praying-pray without
ceasing.
I sat pulling my handkerchief this way and that, and at last rolled
it up into a ball and threw it across the room. I wished I could toss
my bad feelings into a corner with it.
"I do wish I could make you love to pray, my darling child," mother
went on. "If you only knew the strength, and the light, and the joy
you might have for the simple asking. God attaches no conditions to
His gifts. He only says, 'Ask!'"
"This may be true, but it is hard work to pray. It tires me. And I do
wish there was some easy way of growing good. In fact I should like
to have God send a sweet temper to me just as He sent bread and meat
to Elijah. I don't believe Elijah had to kneel down and pray for
them.
Chapter 2.
II. June 1.
LAST Sunday Dr. Cabot preached to the young.
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