But, dear Katy,
we must interpret aright all the well-meant attempts of our friends
to comfort us. They mean sympathy, however awkwardly they express
it."
And then she sighed, with a long, deep sigh, that told how it all
wearied her.
Dec. 14.-Mother keeps saying I spend too much time in brooding over
my sorrow. As for her, she seems to live in heaven. Not that she has
long prosy talks about it, but little words that she lets drop now
and then show where her thoughts are, and where she would like to be.
She seems to think everybody is as eager to go there as she is. For
my part, I am not eager at all. I can't make myself feel that it will
be nice to sit in rows, all the time singing, fond as I am of music.
And when I say to myself, "Of course we shall not always sit in rows
singing," then I fancy a multitude of shadowy, phantom-like beings,
dressed in white, moving to and fro in golden streets, doing nothing
in particular, and having a dreary time, without anything to look
forward to.
I told mother so. She said earnestly, and yet in her sweetest,
tenderest way,
"Oh, my darling Katy! What you need is such a living, personal love
to Christ as shall make the thought of being where He is so
delightful as to fill your mind with that single thought!"
What is "personal love to Christ?"
Oh, dear, dear! Why need my father have been snatched away from me,
when so many other girls have theirs spared to them? He loved me so!
He indulged me so much! He was so proud of me! What have I done that
I should have this dreadful thing happen to me? I shall never be as
happy as I was before.
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