Oh, Edward, you
can feel as I do; you can speak of Him! There are few, very few, who
can. Christians in general do not seem to look to Him as their best
friend, or realize anything of his unutterable love. They speak with a
cold, vague, reverential awe, but do not speak as if in the habit of
close and near communion; as if they confided to Him every joy and
sorrow and constantly looked to Him for direction and guidance. I
cannot express to you, my brother, I cannot tell you, how that Saviour
appears to me. To bear with one so imperfect, so weak, so
inconsistent, as myself, implied long suffering and patience more than
words can express. I love most to look on Christ as my teacher, as one
who, knowing the utmost of my sinfulness, my waywardness, my folly,
can still have patience; can reform, purify, and daily make me more
like himself."
So, after four years of struggling and suffering, she returns to the
place where she started from as a child of thirteen. It has been like
watching a ship with straining masts and storm-beaten sails, buffeted
by the waves, making for the harbor, and coming at last to quiet
anchorage. There have been, of course, times of darkness and
depression, but never any permanent loss of the religious trustfulness
and peace of mind indicated by this letter.
The next three years were passed partly in Boston, and partly in
Guilford and Hartford.
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