James Sherman Kimball: A Sketch
9781465679055
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
Can a father, his heart yearning with unspeakable tenderness over a child worthy of all the love he inspired, tell the story of that child wisely, fairly, profitably? Let me try: for to me it seems full of the sweetest lessons our Lord could bestow on parents and on children. Perhaps a ray of heavenly light from his life may fall pleasantly upon some path,—a somber and rugged path, perchance,—bringing assurance that in God’s time “the rough ways shall be made smooth,” and “light arise in the darkness.” James was received at his birth as a loan from the Lord, and was then, and thenceforward, consecrated unconditionally to him, to serve in whatever capacity he should be best pleased to employ him. God gave him a most affectionate, and home-loving disposition. He was the sturdy friend and helper of the little ones, and in his earliest letter written to his parents, before he was eight, he said, “I wish to live, with God’s consent, to see you in a good old age; and I wish to live to support you in your old age.” He began life as other boys begin it, with great delight in hardy sports, and a fair interest in study. He was unselfish, frank, and fearless. Having no inclination to be unkind to others, it seemed never to occur to him that others could be unkind to him. Secure in this unconscious panoply, he was welcome everywhere, and made friends before he thought of doing so. At fourteen he began to realize the want of the new life,—the life from above, which our Lord pointed out to Nicodemus. For a time he was much perplexed to discern the signs and tokens of this life. It is not given to every one at once to find an open road straight before him. It was not given to James. He found it true that “the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God.” He had at first little or no spiritual discernment. The light came, as morning light comes, in like circumstances, gradually, and struggling through clouds. It was indeed a long morning, and the omens for the coming day were equivocal. Faith waited for the evening and the morning to become the first day. In the best time the sky became clear, the sun warm, and it marched grandly on towards its meridian. A light breeze of favoring influence did much to dispel the clouds. It was thus: he went down one evening to the prayer-meeting of the young men of the Christian Association. One of them whispered the inquiry, “Are you a Christian?” “That is what I don’t know, but would like to know,” was the answer. “Why not ask prayers that you may?” It had not occurred to him. He rose and asked at once. The clouds melted.
