This is a long article. But many we hope will find it dear and precious to their soul. Not all Christians go through this type of conversion by God. Today many walk up the aisle, going through some act or ritual and confirming this as their conversion. Do they go through the pain, or travail? - ed.
Stockton, NJ. February 1st. 1859.
Brother Beebe.
Among those who have been called within the last year or two out of nature's darkness, to know and rejoice in that salvation which is in and through Christ, I am acquainted with a younger sister, whose exercise I have taken more than ordinary interest in. They were more far more severe and pungent than what is common. Not only the sense of guilt and condemnation. very acute and oppressive. but quite protracted. The release also, when it came, was quite as extraordinary. The Joy and peace were of that character that possesses understanding; the cup was not only full but running over. The deliverance was as manifest as complete and triumphant as the sense of guilt and condemnation in and for sin had been excessively oppressive. So clearly and manifestly was this work of grace a work of the spirit of God, so well calculated to declare the work of the Lord and to confound gainsayers. At least so it appeared to me, and so interesting was the whole case to me, that I asked our sister to write out her exercises at length for me. To this, after some hesitation and, I think, considerable reluctance, she consented. She has furnished me with a relation of her exercises, characterized by simplicity, honesty, and candor that the reader cannot fail to admire. Naturally illiterate and altogether unpracticed in writing, there is a display of scholarship and eloquence that plainly testifies of discipleship in the best of all schools. However, let the letter speak for itself. I have asked for and obtained consent to which publication over her own signature, and I accordingly present it to the readers of the Signs, believing that all subjects of divine teaching will be instructive and entertaining and act to such. Although lengthy, it will not be too long.
It is due to the writer saying that it was neither her design nor her wish to have the letter published. And that I barely obtained the reluctant consent to make use of it as I thought best.
In fellowship and love,
From this time forward, my distress increased. During the three or four months that followed, my feelings were such as I am not able to describe. I knew not where to go or what to do to find any comfort in the world. As the spring opened, everything flourished and looked beautiful. Everything I set my eyes upon seemed to show forth the praise of God, the creator of all things, while I was such a great sinner against him. I could not but wonder why I had suffered to live so long. It seemed to me that my doom was already fixed. And that hell and everlasting banishment must be my portion forever. I saw that God would be justified in sending me there. I sometimes read about the experience of others who had hope in Christ. But they all had convictions for sin when younger than I was. I thought there had been a time when I might have repented, but it was now too late. God could not be just and suffer me to live. I used to retire in the evening and listen to the frogs and insects and think how much better they were than I was. If I went to bed, I could not rest, being afraid to go to sleep. One evening, when about to kneel with the family of prayer, something seemed to say to me. What are you kneeling down for? It was as much as I could do to conceal my distress. Still, I did not want anyone to know it. One evening after retiring, I threw myself upon the bed, exclaiming. Oh! That I knew what to do or where to go. Winter word came to me. Oh.! That I knew where I might find Jesus. I wondered at it as I did not remember seeing such words. Yet the words continued upon my mind. Oh! That I knew where I might find him. I sought him, but I found him not. Sometimes that evening, I would leave the house and go to some retired place, thinking that I would try to pray. But it seemed to me. That the whole searching eye of God was upon me, and that if I attempted to pray, I should be sucked down to endless perdition. In this way I have went back to the house, trembling with fear at every step, while it seemed to me that the Earth would open and receive me, and I should never reach the house.
I could not attend to anything. My mind would be wandering about and I would forget my work or do it wrong. I was frequently asked what was the matter and whether I was unwell. But I could not feel free to tell anyone about it. I wondered whether it was a true conviction for sin or whether it was the temptations of Satan. I thought if I could see my sister, who was then in Baltimore but was coming home soon as I believe she had experienced religion, perhaps I could talk to her. I thought she could tell me if my trouble was only the work of Satan or my own imagination. But before I had seen her, I concluded that I had better say nothing about it, so I kept it all to myself. I still felt impressed to talk with someone. It seemed to me that it was wrong for me to live in that way. I thought of Aunt Jane Barnes. If I could see her, I would try and tell her about it. So I went one Sunday to see her. But when I was about to commence my story, something said to me. "You had better know what you have to tell." And all was gone in a moment. I could think of nothing, so I thought it must be a delusion and I had better try to drive it away.
One night during a thundershower, there was a very heavy clap. It seemed to shake the bed I lay in, and the lightning flashed in upon me. I thought it was an account of my sins, and I lay trembling, expecting every moment would be my last. I thought I should never again see daylight. Oh! The thought that I must soon be in eternity. Yeah, I could not see how God could be just sparing me. My aunt called to know if I had been asleep. I told her not lately.
It was the 2nd Sunday in July that you visited us again. For some time previous to your coming, I had felt some desire to hear you again, hoping that I might find some comfort under the preaching on Saturday morning. And told me I would have to stay home that day and I could go in the evening and the next day. I felt disappointed but submitted without saying anything, knowing that it was a necessity for someone to stay. Why it was I could not tell, but as soon as they came home I was inquiring all about the meeting, where the text was etcetera. I got my Bible. In reading, it seemed that while I could not think my aunt could have any confidence in me or listen to me, yet I found her even capable of showing sympathy towards me. She told me that Elder Rittenhouse had inquired if I was not under exercise of mind. Is it so, Catherine? This was too much. I could no longer conceal my trouble. I told her that the burden and the stress of my mind were more than I could tell. I was able to give her but little satisfaction. She endeavored to comfort me, but there seemed to be no comfort for me now. I was more perplexed than ever. I had told things to her which she seemed to have confidence in and which led her to have confidence in me. Well, I feared that all I told was by the imagination. I would have given anything that I've had all to myself again. But it is too late now. You have told all about it.
In the evening I went to meeting, hoping to find some comfort there. The text was, "Tell me oh, you, who my soul loves, where you feed, where you make your flock rest at noon," et cetera.
There seemed to be comfort for anyone that was there, but for me there was none. The next morning I went again but found it as before. The subject was the parable of the prodigal Son. There was food in it. For all but me. Like the poor prodigal, I could have nothing, not even so much as the husks. After preaching, there was to be communion, and went out with others at intermission but soon returned to a house feeling a desire once more to witness that ordinance. I have been present many times before, but never under such feelings as now. I saw them all seated together like a little band of brethren and they looked so lovely. I felt that I was forever shut out from them and could never expect to get nearer them. I felt unworthy even to behold them. I thought there was hope for anyone in the house but me. I now thought that for myself there was no hope of comfort or peace anymore.
I attended the afternoon meeting and much distressed. My sins looked like mountains before me. I thought a few moments at most must close my existence here. Darkness seemed to be too close around as if the night was fast approaching. Yes. Every prop was gone, and I was on the brink of despair when my attention was drawn to a hymn they were just singing. They had a different sound from anything I had ever heard. They appeared to be such beauty and melody and in the last verse, I thought I could never forget it:
I wondered why I had never seen to him before. And I afterward looked at the book all through for it and could not find it. In the evening after we returned home, I felt too unworthy to be in the company. I wanted to hear you talk but did not want anyone to know it. I don't know what you thought when you spoke to me about my mind. It seems to me I gave you so little satisfaction. I felt too sinful to talk with you. You spoke of the many promises for the people of God and told me you had a hope for me. You said you hoped that the Lord had begun a good work in me and that if he had begun to work, he would finish it. But there seemed to be nothing in it at all for me. I thought if you knew what a sinner I was, you could not say so. The promises were for Christians. There were none for sinners like me. I went to bed. The night was as gloomy as the day had been. The next morning, everything seemed to be changed. I felt altogether like another person, for all my burden was gone. I could not tell how or when it was taken away, but I knew that something had taken place. I wondered whether it looked so to others or whether the change was only in me. My mind seemed calm and all my trouble was gone. I wondered what it all meant. I thought if it was a change of heart, I would have some more evidence of such change upon which I might rest. If it was, my burden was taken away and I seemed to be left without a hope. I enjoyed this Peace of Mind for about two weeks when I began to fear that I was deceived and my distress became greater than before. I thought if I only had my burden back again, it would be better for me. But that was now gone. I tried to pray, but my prayer seemed to meet no regard. One evening, in great distress, I retired to a secret place to try once more to pray. I had many attempts before, but it appeared to me I did not pray a right. I felt now that I could not pray, yet I could not leave the place without making the attempt. I got up on my trembling knees, but all I could say was, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner." "Lord save me, or I perish." For several days after this, my very soul seemed to be drawn out in prayer to God. My desire was, "Lord if I am deceived, will you undeceive me?" One morning, while I was in distress, I was alone at my work when it seemed that every breath I drew was, "Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner." I could scarcely attend to my work or even know what I was doing when aunt came in and asked what was the matter with me. I could not tell her. Neither could I conceal my trouble from her. Another person came in and after some time they got into a conversation on the subject of their first exercises and their temptations, when before I was aware, all my trouble was gone. I now felt that I could hope that the Lord had shown mercy on me. I found myself meditating on the promises of God, and I could see a beauty in them I had never seen before.
I now felt so much love for the people of God. That I could sympathize with them in all their troubles. And they seemed even capable of showing love and sympathy toward me. I now saw beauty in the ordinances and privileges of the Lord's House, and I desire to be one amongst them, that I might share their sorrows and their joys. Still, I felt too unworthy to be amongst them. I now had a desire to be baptized if I could only think that I was a fit subject. Oh! I thought, if I were fit to enjoy it. Were but a place at the saints feet, I would be satisfied, but even that was more than I was worthy of.
I had a desire to go to the church and try to tell what I hoped the Lord had done for me and let them judge whether I was a subject of grace or not. But the fear that I should bring a reproach on the cause, a sense of my unfitness and unworthiness hindered me. Yet a desire to follow in the footsteps of Christ, and a sense of duty to own and confess him, so pressed upon my mind that I could not rest. Elder Trott visited us in September. And in one of his sermons, he dwelt much on the privileges of the Lord's House. After meeting, aunt asked me what I thought of the sermon. I told her it was good. She said she thought it would please me. I do not know why she thought so. She said she thought it was my duty to be baptized. I answered that I had a wish to be baptized if I was only a fit subject, but I feared I was not. Thoughts like these would come into my mind. "You are so young and giddy. Do you think they can fellowship with one like you? Or if they can, you will only bring a reproach upon the cause." So I waited, still thinking to see myself better.
When the church meeting came on, I had a great desire to go. I thought they enjoyed such privileges there that I had a great desire to be with them. Yet as none went but members, I hardly knew what I wanted there. As it was now, but one week until your appointment and I expect that there would be an opportunity then. I concluded to wait until that time. But I could scarcely tell you the thousand thoughts that revolved through my mind during the week. "If you'll tell them what you're going to do. You will only deceive them. You have never had a Christian experience. You're unfit to belong amongst Christians." And such objections presented themselves until I concluded to give up and go and say nothing about it. On Saturday the text was coming here "all you that fear God," and I would declare what he has done for my soul. I thought you told me my little story far better than I could have done. I now felt as if I could not leave the house without saying something about it. When the invitation was given, although I felt as if I had nothing to say yet, I could not stay back. The words of the poet came into my mind.
And before I was aware. I was trying to tell you something about it. But I could say so little it seems to me that no one ever came before the church, so trembling it with so little to tell as I did. Unexpectedly to me, they concluded to receive me and arrange to meet the next morning to attend to the ordinance of baptism. I had scarcely left the house before thoughts began to arise that I had done wrong and that they were deceived by me.
I slept but little that night, thinking of what was before me. I received baptism as a very solemn ordinance suitable to Christians only. And feared that in taking this step I should commit a grievous sin, one of which I could not be forgiven. In the morning my doubts seemed to be gone and I felt enabled to put my trust in the Lord hoping that if I was not a fit subject he would not suffer me to go further than to the waterside. When I saw them preparing, and even after we had started, I thought if there was no one else to be baptized, there surely would be a disappointment. I couldn't seem to believe that this privilege could be for me. Or that I would be permitted to go further than the waterside? Yet when I came there, every doubt and fear was removed, and I was not ashamed to own Jesus and follow in his footsteps. If the whole world had been present there, it would have been nothing to me. I think I shall never forget it. That happy moment when I felt this helpless as an infant, my hope and trust is alone in him who has said he will never leave nor forsake.
I felt that I could go on my way rejoicing and thought I should never doubt again. All seemed to be peace and joy for about four weeks, after which thoughts began to arise in my mind that all this might be a delusion, and that I caught the shadow and missed the substance. It seemed to me that instead of rejoicing and praising God for what he had done for me, a poor sinner. I had become cold and indifferent. And I now went mourning in darkness as one that has no light. I could claim none of the promises and my little hope appeared to be almost gone. After I had spent many days and nights in this way, it pleased the Lord, as I hope, to begin to reveal himself unto me as the only way of salvation. On awakening one morning, these words came into my mind with much comfort. "He is a friend that sticks closer than her brother." I think I did then view Christ as the chief among 10,000. Yay, as altogether lovely.
Then, for a season, I could feel my soul drawn out in praise to God and enjoy sweet communion with him. But such seasons are neither frequent nor of long continuance. On the contrary, they are few and far between. Most of the time my weight seems to be hedged up. Nevertheless, if my heart does not deceive me, I do sincerely love the brethren and find my chiefest enjoyment in their society. Still. I often think that I do not love them as I ought. I find that no good dwells in me for when I would do good, evil is present with me so that I cannot do the things that I would. I often think that above my mortal, I have reason to praise God for his great mercy towards me, a sinner. Yes. No mortal needed mercy more than ever sought his face. I feel well assured that if I am ever saved, it will be a sinner saved by grace alone, and not by anything that I have done or can do.
Now I have tried to give you the leadings of my mind. Tell me, dear Brother, can you trace anything in it that bears the mark of a Christian? Or can you see anything in it, like a Christian experience? Can you own and fellowship one so unworthy as I am? With my best wishes to you and yours.
Brother Beebe.
Among those who have been called within the last year or two out of nature's darkness, to know and rejoice in that salvation which is in and through Christ, I am acquainted with a younger sister, whose exercise I have taken more than ordinary interest in. They were more far more severe and pungent than what is common. Not only the sense of guilt and condemnation. very acute and oppressive. but quite protracted. The release also, when it came, was quite as extraordinary. The Joy and peace were of that character that possesses understanding; the cup was not only full but running over. The deliverance was as manifest as complete and triumphant as the sense of guilt and condemnation in and for sin had been excessively oppressive. So clearly and manifestly was this work of grace a work of the spirit of God, so well calculated to declare the work of the Lord and to confound gainsayers. At least so it appeared to me, and so interesting was the whole case to me, that I asked our sister to write out her exercises at length for me. To this, after some hesitation and, I think, considerable reluctance, she consented. She has furnished me with a relation of her exercises, characterized by simplicity, honesty, and candor that the reader cannot fail to admire. Naturally illiterate and altogether unpracticed in writing, there is a display of scholarship and eloquence that plainly testifies of discipleship in the best of all schools. However, let the letter speak for itself. I have asked for and obtained consent to which publication over her own signature, and I accordingly present it to the readers of the Signs, believing that all subjects of divine teaching will be instructive and entertaining and act to such. Although lengthy, it will not be too long.
It is due to the writer saying that it was neither her design nor her wish to have the letter published. And that I barely obtained the reluctant consent to make use of it as I thought best.
In fellowship and love,
Ephraim Rittenhouse
Dear brother Rittenhouse:
Dear brother Rittenhouse:
I have called you brother, yet I feel unworthy to claim the relationship. I have concluded, after hesitating a long time to attempt to comply with your request. But what have I to write? It is often a matter of doubt for me whether I have ever had a Christian experience at all. When I hear others tell what a great deliverance they have had and what joy they have experienced, it seems like something that I have never known. My little story seemed so poor and so entirely unlike what others tell. But I will try to tell you in my poor and simple manner what I hope has been the work of the Lord with me, a poor sinner. I do not remember ever having any serious thoughts when very young. But On the contrary, I think I excelled most of my companions in mischief and just disposition to quarrel with them. Yet I was very sly and always tried to screen myself and hide my faults.
When in my eighth year, it pleased the Lord to take me from my kind mother by death. This had still but little effect upon my hard heart. The thought of death was soon forgotten. There were ten children of us and I was much attached to my brothers and sisters, especially those younger than myself. Yeah, I never appreciated the home and its privileges until I had to part with them. About six months after my mother died, I was taken by my uncle to live with him about 14 miles from home. Although my uncle and aunt treated me kindly even as their own child, yet the circumstance of leaving the place of my nativity and parting with all the joys that clustered around the home left a lasting impression in my mind.
As I could now, but seldom see my brothers and sisters, everything I had done and said, when with them, and how I had often quarreled with them, would come to my mind, and also the thought that I might never see them again. Oh! I would think if I could only see them I would tell them how sorry I was for it. My aunt took great pains to instruct me and would often reprove me when I did wrong. Sometimes I would screen myself by telling a falsehood. For this my aunt reproved me much and wore me, never to hide a fault, but rather to confess it, let it be bad as it might. She also taught me that there was a place of happiness where good people went when they died, and also a place of torment for the wicked. I could read some, and I had opportunities to hear others read in good books. And I early formed the idea of getting to be good. I did not care about it yet, but after a while, I should get to be older. In this way, I went on until my 15th year, thinking but little about dying and consequently caring, but little about religion, except when there were many deaths near us.
It would alarm me very much when I heard of a death for fear I should be next. I was not ready yet, for it appeared to me needful to have religion before I died. About this time there was much talk about getting religion and I thought, like others, that it could be obtained at any time. I did not think I had ever been very bad or committed any great sin. In fact, I do myself better than many of my companions. If therefore, I would pray on going to bed and live as morally as I could until I should be old enough to become religious, it appeared to me that this was all that was required. It was on long before I came to be tired of my religious services sometimes falling asleep before I had my prayer said, sometimes forgetting it entirely until at length I concluded that there was no need for me to trouble myself about it. I thought I was young and it was time enough yet. My uncle's house was always a home for the Old School Baptist friends to stop at. I would often listen to their discourse and attend their meetings when they had appointments. I also went sometimes to other meetings as there were plenty of them all around us at that time and I saw but little difference in the preaching. I began by this time to take an interest in reading anything I met with upon experimental subjects and to listen with attention to the experimental conversation. When I would hear Christians tell what bad folks they had been and what poor sinners they were, I would think sometimes that I was better off than they were, for I had no such trouble as they had.
When I was about 16, I saw my sister with two others, baptized, and oh how happy they appeared to me to be. I wished to be as happy as they were myself, but I did not wish to be a Baptist. For the Baptists did not seem to be fashionable enough, and more than that, they were so much despised that I even despised them myself. Yet notwithstanding, I'd love to hear them talk and would often find myself in their company listening to them. In the after part of the summer of 1854, one of my cousins was taken sick for a length of time. His life was despaired of. He had been under the exercise of mind for some time previously and would often talk during his sickness of his exercises, and seemed very much resigned to the will of the Lord. I visited him often during his sickness and frequently thought oh! What would become of me where I in his situation, for I knew I was not prepared to die. I wondered why it was that he was prostrated upon a bed of sickness and perhaps death, while I, who was much more deserving of death, was spared. I felt very anxious about his recovery and it pleased the Lord at length to raise him up. I now wanted to be a Christian and feared I should die before I was prepared and be lost forever. I felt willing to be brought down as low as my cousin had been. Would it make me a Christian? I would sometimes try to pray and felt the desire to have others pray for me. After some time, this wore off again and I became as careless and unconcerned as ever. One morning, just as I awoke thoughtless of anything, these words came into my mind as if someone had spoken them to me. "You Sinner." I wondered what it meant and feared it was a warning of threatening to me if I did not do better. I would try to pray, but my prayer seemed to go no higher than my head. Every effort seemed to fail, and instead of getting better, it appeared to me that I was only adding sin to sin.
I always try to be present at family worship and often wish they would pray for me, for I thought the Lord would hear them. In this way, I went on still trying to do better, and hoping that the Lord would have some favored hour pardon my sins. I think I had to weigh all planned out just as I would have to pass through and how the Lord would bring this work about. I believed I could do something myself and I thought about when I should do it better and get better. He would regard me and forgive my sins. Sometimes again, I thought myself pretty good, better than many who profess to be Christians. I intended whenever I should make a profession to be very good, better than anyone else. The expression "you sinner" continued to come into my mind from time to time while I tried to put it from me and not suffer it to trouble me.
In August 1856, there was to be a Sunday school celebration nearby us and there was a great noise about it. Although I had been at their Sunday school, I knew but little about this and I felt the desire to go. But I told no one. When the time came, my aunt told me that I had better go off if I had any wish to and see for myself. I went but never wanted to go again. I was perfectly satisfied with Sunday school parades. After they had marched a little way, the girl walking next to me, remarked, pointing to the banner that they carried in front that was what they were worshipping. There was written on it in large letters, trust in God. It came into my mind with much force. This is the world walking after the beast. I could not have told anybody my distress. Something seemed to tell me this is not the place for you. And I would have given anything to be at home. A lady that I was quite intimate with came to me and told me she was happy to see me there. I thought she was happier than I was for something was continually saying to me, "You had better be at home". It came very forcibly into my mind that "whosoever partakes of their evil deeds shall also be a partaker of their plagues."
My mind was at this time so much disturbed that I could not rest. Still, I had not yet seen what a great Sinner I was. I felt a love for the company of Christians and a desire to hear them talk, and I still had an idea that before long the Lord would grant me repentance.
About the last of November, I heard Elder Harding preach. His text was "comfort you, comfort you, my people, with your God, speak you comfortably to Jerusalem" etc. It was then that I hoped the Lord, to his preaching, was pleased to show me that I was a Sinner before God, and it struck me with such force that I could not refrain from weeping. It seemed to me that he was just preaching to me and every eye was fixed upon me. I felt so condemned that when I returned home I could not enjoy the company as before. I felt to love them and desire to hear their conversation if I could only have been in some concealed place out of sight. But they were all Christians and I felt too sinful to be in their company and thought they could not want me in a room with them. I retired to bed but could not sleep for weeping. I felt unworthy to live among Christian people, and of all the creatures that seemed to me, I was the most miserable. I would sometimes read the scriptures when alone, and I could see many precious promises there for Christians. But they all seemed to condemn me. From this time I desired to be much alone when I would be meditating on some passage of Scripture or some hymn that would come to mind. My past life appeared like one continued scene of sin and instead of finding, as I once thought, that I could become a Christian myself, I now found that I could do nothing. But even my very thoughts were sin. I did not, however, take the same pleasure in sin and in the sinful company as formerly. You know, I often wondered why it was that I now had no inclinations to those things in which I once found my chief delight. I seldom slept after retiring until I had bathed my pillow with tears. Oh! I thought if I could only pray, but now I dared not attempt it. I was too sinful to take that holy name into my lips. Sometimes when uncle would be reading the Bible in the evening, it would seem to me that he and aunt were Christians and that I was not fit to be in company with them. I thought they could not enjoy the presence of the Lord if I were in the room, and I ought to absent myself or retire before worship. I wish very much that they would pray for me, for I thought the Lord would heed them. It seemed strange to me, and I grieved that I could not abide the company of my young companions and former associates. A company that I now loved and desired. I thought I had no right to enjoy, and so I seemed to be alone.
During the winter that followed, one of the members of the church visit us one day, and discourse between her and aunt ran upon the subject of their dependence. What poor helpless creatures they were, that of themselves. They could do nothing. That in Christ. Was treasured up all that they had need of and that for everything they must look to him. There seemed to be something in their conversation that made me wish I was like them, yet I thought they did not even want me to hear what they said. I fain would have them know how I loved them and how I love to hear their discourse. But still, I kept to myself.
The thought occurred to me that it was all imagination and that I would try to get rid of it and forget it. But it followed me wherever I went and was continually uppermost in my mind. It seemed that there was no enjoyment for me in anything. And I would frequently read my Bible, but there appeared to be nothing for me there. And I felt as if I was acting the hypocrite to be reading that good book. Trying in this way to make folks think I was very good. On this account, I felt disposed to avoid company and read in retirement.
On the 4th Sunday in March you sent an appointment and accordingly came. I had never heard you or seen you before and I could not think therefore how you got to know so much about me. It seemed to me that you knew more about me than I did myself. If I had ever told anyone, I should have suspected how you got your information, but I had not. You preached on Saturday from Hebrews 11.28. It seemed to have such an abiding force on my mind that I shall never forget it. It seemed to me you just told what a sinner I was. And I felt it was all truth you were preaching, and I was guilty and condemned. I thought that it was all for me as there was no one there such a sinner as I was. On Sunday, the text was "if you love me, keep my commandments." I thought. That everyone in the house knew that I was the very sinner you were preaching to, and it seemed to me that every eye was fixed upon me. Oh! I thought if I could only have been in some corner where I could have hidden myself and my feelings from view. In the evening you preached from the 40th Psalm. You could tell all about that horrible pit and miry clay of which the Lord brings his people, but surely no one could ever have been so far from God as I. I thought there was no hope for me and that no mercy could reach my case. To him, that was given out:
When in my eighth year, it pleased the Lord to take me from my kind mother by death. This had still but little effect upon my hard heart. The thought of death was soon forgotten. There were ten children of us and I was much attached to my brothers and sisters, especially those younger than myself. Yeah, I never appreciated the home and its privileges until I had to part with them. About six months after my mother died, I was taken by my uncle to live with him about 14 miles from home. Although my uncle and aunt treated me kindly even as their own child, yet the circumstance of leaving the place of my nativity and parting with all the joys that clustered around the home left a lasting impression in my mind.
As I could now, but seldom see my brothers and sisters, everything I had done and said, when with them, and how I had often quarreled with them, would come to my mind, and also the thought that I might never see them again. Oh! I would think if I could only see them I would tell them how sorry I was for it. My aunt took great pains to instruct me and would often reprove me when I did wrong. Sometimes I would screen myself by telling a falsehood. For this my aunt reproved me much and wore me, never to hide a fault, but rather to confess it, let it be bad as it might. She also taught me that there was a place of happiness where good people went when they died, and also a place of torment for the wicked. I could read some, and I had opportunities to hear others read in good books. And I early formed the idea of getting to be good. I did not care about it yet, but after a while, I should get to be older. In this way, I went on until my 15th year, thinking but little about dying and consequently caring, but little about religion, except when there were many deaths near us.
It would alarm me very much when I heard of a death for fear I should be next. I was not ready yet, for it appeared to me needful to have religion before I died. About this time there was much talk about getting religion and I thought, like others, that it could be obtained at any time. I did not think I had ever been very bad or committed any great sin. In fact, I do myself better than many of my companions. If therefore, I would pray on going to bed and live as morally as I could until I should be old enough to become religious, it appeared to me that this was all that was required. It was on long before I came to be tired of my religious services sometimes falling asleep before I had my prayer said, sometimes forgetting it entirely until at length I concluded that there was no need for me to trouble myself about it. I thought I was young and it was time enough yet. My uncle's house was always a home for the Old School Baptist friends to stop at. I would often listen to their discourse and attend their meetings when they had appointments. I also went sometimes to other meetings as there were plenty of them all around us at that time and I saw but little difference in the preaching. I began by this time to take an interest in reading anything I met with upon experimental subjects and to listen with attention to the experimental conversation. When I would hear Christians tell what bad folks they had been and what poor sinners they were, I would think sometimes that I was better off than they were, for I had no such trouble as they had.
When I was about 16, I saw my sister with two others, baptized, and oh how happy they appeared to me to be. I wished to be as happy as they were myself, but I did not wish to be a Baptist. For the Baptists did not seem to be fashionable enough, and more than that, they were so much despised that I even despised them myself. Yet notwithstanding, I'd love to hear them talk and would often find myself in their company listening to them. In the after part of the summer of 1854, one of my cousins was taken sick for a length of time. His life was despaired of. He had been under the exercise of mind for some time previously and would often talk during his sickness of his exercises, and seemed very much resigned to the will of the Lord. I visited him often during his sickness and frequently thought oh! What would become of me where I in his situation, for I knew I was not prepared to die. I wondered why it was that he was prostrated upon a bed of sickness and perhaps death, while I, who was much more deserving of death, was spared. I felt very anxious about his recovery and it pleased the Lord at length to raise him up. I now wanted to be a Christian and feared I should die before I was prepared and be lost forever. I felt willing to be brought down as low as my cousin had been. Would it make me a Christian? I would sometimes try to pray and felt the desire to have others pray for me. After some time, this wore off again and I became as careless and unconcerned as ever. One morning, just as I awoke thoughtless of anything, these words came into my mind as if someone had spoken them to me. "You Sinner." I wondered what it meant and feared it was a warning of threatening to me if I did not do better. I would try to pray, but my prayer seemed to go no higher than my head. Every effort seemed to fail, and instead of getting better, it appeared to me that I was only adding sin to sin.
I always try to be present at family worship and often wish they would pray for me, for I thought the Lord would hear them. In this way, I went on still trying to do better, and hoping that the Lord would have some favored hour pardon my sins. I think I had to weigh all planned out just as I would have to pass through and how the Lord would bring this work about. I believed I could do something myself and I thought about when I should do it better and get better. He would regard me and forgive my sins. Sometimes again, I thought myself pretty good, better than many who profess to be Christians. I intended whenever I should make a profession to be very good, better than anyone else. The expression "you sinner" continued to come into my mind from time to time while I tried to put it from me and not suffer it to trouble me.
In August 1856, there was to be a Sunday school celebration nearby us and there was a great noise about it. Although I had been at their Sunday school, I knew but little about this and I felt the desire to go. But I told no one. When the time came, my aunt told me that I had better go off if I had any wish to and see for myself. I went but never wanted to go again. I was perfectly satisfied with Sunday school parades. After they had marched a little way, the girl walking next to me, remarked, pointing to the banner that they carried in front that was what they were worshipping. There was written on it in large letters, trust in God. It came into my mind with much force. This is the world walking after the beast. I could not have told anybody my distress. Something seemed to tell me this is not the place for you. And I would have given anything to be at home. A lady that I was quite intimate with came to me and told me she was happy to see me there. I thought she was happier than I was for something was continually saying to me, "You had better be at home". It came very forcibly into my mind that "whosoever partakes of their evil deeds shall also be a partaker of their plagues."
My mind was at this time so much disturbed that I could not rest. Still, I had not yet seen what a great Sinner I was. I felt a love for the company of Christians and a desire to hear them talk, and I still had an idea that before long the Lord would grant me repentance.
About the last of November, I heard Elder Harding preach. His text was "comfort you, comfort you, my people, with your God, speak you comfortably to Jerusalem" etc. It was then that I hoped the Lord, to his preaching, was pleased to show me that I was a Sinner before God, and it struck me with such force that I could not refrain from weeping. It seemed to me that he was just preaching to me and every eye was fixed upon me. I felt so condemned that when I returned home I could not enjoy the company as before. I felt to love them and desire to hear their conversation if I could only have been in some concealed place out of sight. But they were all Christians and I felt too sinful to be in their company and thought they could not want me in a room with them. I retired to bed but could not sleep for weeping. I felt unworthy to live among Christian people, and of all the creatures that seemed to me, I was the most miserable. I would sometimes read the scriptures when alone, and I could see many precious promises there for Christians. But they all seemed to condemn me. From this time I desired to be much alone when I would be meditating on some passage of Scripture or some hymn that would come to mind. My past life appeared like one continued scene of sin and instead of finding, as I once thought, that I could become a Christian myself, I now found that I could do nothing. But even my very thoughts were sin. I did not, however, take the same pleasure in sin and in the sinful company as formerly. You know, I often wondered why it was that I now had no inclinations to those things in which I once found my chief delight. I seldom slept after retiring until I had bathed my pillow with tears. Oh! I thought if I could only pray, but now I dared not attempt it. I was too sinful to take that holy name into my lips. Sometimes when uncle would be reading the Bible in the evening, it would seem to me that he and aunt were Christians and that I was not fit to be in company with them. I thought they could not enjoy the presence of the Lord if I were in the room, and I ought to absent myself or retire before worship. I wish very much that they would pray for me, for I thought the Lord would heed them. It seemed strange to me, and I grieved that I could not abide the company of my young companions and former associates. A company that I now loved and desired. I thought I had no right to enjoy, and so I seemed to be alone.
During the winter that followed, one of the members of the church visit us one day, and discourse between her and aunt ran upon the subject of their dependence. What poor helpless creatures they were, that of themselves. They could do nothing. That in Christ. Was treasured up all that they had need of and that for everything they must look to him. There seemed to be something in their conversation that made me wish I was like them, yet I thought they did not even want me to hear what they said. I fain would have them know how I loved them and how I love to hear their discourse. But still, I kept to myself.
The thought occurred to me that it was all imagination and that I would try to get rid of it and forget it. But it followed me wherever I went and was continually uppermost in my mind. It seemed that there was no enjoyment for me in anything. And I would frequently read my Bible, but there appeared to be nothing for me there. And I felt as if I was acting the hypocrite to be reading that good book. Trying in this way to make folks think I was very good. On this account, I felt disposed to avoid company and read in retirement.
On the 4th Sunday in March you sent an appointment and accordingly came. I had never heard you or seen you before and I could not think therefore how you got to know so much about me. It seemed to me that you knew more about me than I did myself. If I had ever told anyone, I should have suspected how you got your information, but I had not. You preached on Saturday from Hebrews 11.28. It seemed to have such an abiding force on my mind that I shall never forget it. It seemed to me you just told what a sinner I was. And I felt it was all truth you were preaching, and I was guilty and condemned. I thought that it was all for me as there was no one there such a sinner as I was. On Sunday, the text was "if you love me, keep my commandments." I thought. That everyone in the house knew that I was the very sinner you were preaching to, and it seemed to me that every eye was fixed upon me. Oh! I thought if I could only have been in some corner where I could have hidden myself and my feelings from view. In the evening you preached from the 40th Psalm. You could tell all about that horrible pit and miry clay of which the Lord brings his people, but surely no one could ever have been so far from God as I. I thought there was no hope for me and that no mercy could reach my case. To him, that was given out:
Children in years and knowledge young.
Your parents hope, your parent's joy.
Attend the councils of my tongue.
That pious spot your minds employ.
These words appeared to be just for me. My feelings at that moment I could never forget. I had been watched over with parental care and enjoyed a parent's love. Faithful and devoted friends had looked forward to a time when I might be a comfort and support to their declining years. But instead of this, their hopes and expectations were blighted. And I have brought grief and sorrow upon them. I had been disobedient to them all my life. And now all hope for me was gone. Besides all this, I was sitting against a just holy God. On Monday a cousin of mine came before the church and related, what she hoped the Lord had done for her soul. I had the privilege of seeing her baptized, and when she was coming up out of the water, I thought she was the happiest person I ever saw. I wish that I was fit to be in her place. I saw more beauty in the ordinance than I had ever seen before. There seemed to be something so humble and angel-like in both the candidate and the administrator that I felt too sinful to be in their company.
From this time forward, my distress increased. During the three or four months that followed, my feelings were such as I am not able to describe. I knew not where to go or what to do to find any comfort in the world. As the spring opened, everything flourished and looked beautiful. Everything I set my eyes upon seemed to show forth the praise of God, the creator of all things, while I was such a great sinner against him. I could not but wonder why I had suffered to live so long. It seemed to me that my doom was already fixed. And that hell and everlasting banishment must be my portion forever. I saw that God would be justified in sending me there. I sometimes read about the experience of others who had hope in Christ. But they all had convictions for sin when younger than I was. I thought there had been a time when I might have repented, but it was now too late. God could not be just and suffer me to live. I used to retire in the evening and listen to the frogs and insects and think how much better they were than I was. If I went to bed, I could not rest, being afraid to go to sleep. One evening, when about to kneel with the family of prayer, something seemed to say to me. What are you kneeling down for? It was as much as I could do to conceal my distress. Still, I did not want anyone to know it. One evening after retiring, I threw myself upon the bed, exclaiming. Oh! That I knew what to do or where to go. Winter word came to me. Oh.! That I knew where I might find Jesus. I wondered at it as I did not remember seeing such words. Yet the words continued upon my mind. Oh! That I knew where I might find him. I sought him, but I found him not. Sometimes that evening, I would leave the house and go to some retired place, thinking that I would try to pray. But it seemed to me. That the whole searching eye of God was upon me, and that if I attempted to pray, I should be sucked down to endless perdition. In this way I have went back to the house, trembling with fear at every step, while it seemed to me that the Earth would open and receive me, and I should never reach the house.
I could not attend to anything. My mind would be wandering about and I would forget my work or do it wrong. I was frequently asked what was the matter and whether I was unwell. But I could not feel free to tell anyone about it. I wondered whether it was a true conviction for sin or whether it was the temptations of Satan. I thought if I could see my sister, who was then in Baltimore but was coming home soon as I believe she had experienced religion, perhaps I could talk to her. I thought she could tell me if my trouble was only the work of Satan or my own imagination. But before I had seen her, I concluded that I had better say nothing about it, so I kept it all to myself. I still felt impressed to talk with someone. It seemed to me that it was wrong for me to live in that way. I thought of Aunt Jane Barnes. If I could see her, I would try and tell her about it. So I went one Sunday to see her. But when I was about to commence my story, something said to me. "You had better know what you have to tell." And all was gone in a moment. I could think of nothing, so I thought it must be a delusion and I had better try to drive it away.
One night during a thundershower, there was a very heavy clap. It seemed to shake the bed I lay in, and the lightning flashed in upon me. I thought it was an account of my sins, and I lay trembling, expecting every moment would be my last. I thought I should never again see daylight. Oh! The thought that I must soon be in eternity. Yeah, I could not see how God could be just sparing me. My aunt called to know if I had been asleep. I told her not lately.
It was the 2nd Sunday in July that you visited us again. For some time previous to your coming, I had felt some desire to hear you again, hoping that I might find some comfort under the preaching on Saturday morning. And told me I would have to stay home that day and I could go in the evening and the next day. I felt disappointed but submitted without saying anything, knowing that it was a necessity for someone to stay. Why it was I could not tell, but as soon as they came home I was inquiring all about the meeting, where the text was etcetera. I got my Bible. In reading, it seemed that while I could not think my aunt could have any confidence in me or listen to me, yet I found her even capable of showing sympathy towards me. She told me that Elder Rittenhouse had inquired if I was not under exercise of mind. Is it so, Catherine? This was too much. I could no longer conceal my trouble. I told her that the burden and the stress of my mind were more than I could tell. I was able to give her but little satisfaction. She endeavored to comfort me, but there seemed to be no comfort for me now. I was more perplexed than ever. I had told things to her which she seemed to have confidence in and which led her to have confidence in me. Well, I feared that all I told was by the imagination. I would have given anything that I've had all to myself again. But it is too late now. You have told all about it.
In the evening I went to meeting, hoping to find some comfort there. The text was, "Tell me oh, you, who my soul loves, where you feed, where you make your flock rest at noon," et cetera.
There seemed to be comfort for anyone that was there, but for me there was none. The next morning I went again but found it as before. The subject was the parable of the prodigal Son. There was food in it. For all but me. Like the poor prodigal, I could have nothing, not even so much as the husks. After preaching, there was to be communion, and went out with others at intermission but soon returned to a house feeling a desire once more to witness that ordinance. I have been present many times before, but never under such feelings as now. I saw them all seated together like a little band of brethren and they looked so lovely. I felt that I was forever shut out from them and could never expect to get nearer them. I felt unworthy even to behold them. I thought there was hope for anyone in the house but me. I now thought that for myself there was no hope of comfort or peace anymore.
I attended the afternoon meeting and much distressed. My sins looked like mountains before me. I thought a few moments at most must close my existence here. Darkness seemed to be too close around as if the night was fast approaching. Yes. Every prop was gone, and I was on the brink of despair when my attention was drawn to a hymn they were just singing. They had a different sound from anything I had ever heard. They appeared to be such beauty and melody and in the last verse, I thought I could never forget it:
There shall I find a settled rest,
While others go and come,
No more a stranger or a guest,
But like a child at home.
I wondered why I had never seen to him before. And I afterward looked at the book all through for it and could not find it. In the evening after we returned home, I felt too unworthy to be in the company. I wanted to hear you talk but did not want anyone to know it. I don't know what you thought when you spoke to me about my mind. It seems to me I gave you so little satisfaction. I felt too sinful to talk with you. You spoke of the many promises for the people of God and told me you had a hope for me. You said you hoped that the Lord had begun a good work in me and that if he had begun to work, he would finish it. But there seemed to be nothing in it at all for me. I thought if you knew what a sinner I was, you could not say so. The promises were for Christians. There were none for sinners like me. I went to bed. The night was as gloomy as the day had been. The next morning, everything seemed to be changed. I felt altogether like another person, for all my burden was gone. I could not tell how or when it was taken away, but I knew that something had taken place. I wondered whether it looked so to others or whether the change was only in me. My mind seemed calm and all my trouble was gone. I wondered what it all meant. I thought if it was a change of heart, I would have some more evidence of such change upon which I might rest. If it was, my burden was taken away and I seemed to be left without a hope. I enjoyed this Peace of Mind for about two weeks when I began to fear that I was deceived and my distress became greater than before. I thought if I only had my burden back again, it would be better for me. But that was now gone. I tried to pray, but my prayer seemed to meet no regard. One evening, in great distress, I retired to a secret place to try once more to pray. I had many attempts before, but it appeared to me I did not pray a right. I felt now that I could not pray, yet I could not leave the place without making the attempt. I got up on my trembling knees, but all I could say was, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner." "Lord save me, or I perish." For several days after this, my very soul seemed to be drawn out in prayer to God. My desire was, "Lord if I am deceived, will you undeceive me?" One morning, while I was in distress, I was alone at my work when it seemed that every breath I drew was, "Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner." I could scarcely attend to my work or even know what I was doing when aunt came in and asked what was the matter with me. I could not tell her. Neither could I conceal my trouble from her. Another person came in and after some time they got into a conversation on the subject of their first exercises and their temptations, when before I was aware, all my trouble was gone. I now felt that I could hope that the Lord had shown mercy on me. I found myself meditating on the promises of God, and I could see a beauty in them I had never seen before.
I now felt so much love for the people of God. That I could sympathize with them in all their troubles. And they seemed even capable of showing love and sympathy toward me. I now saw beauty in the ordinances and privileges of the Lord's House, and I desire to be one amongst them, that I might share their sorrows and their joys. Still, I felt too unworthy to be amongst them. I now had a desire to be baptized if I could only think that I was a fit subject. Oh! I thought, if I were fit to enjoy it. Were but a place at the saints feet, I would be satisfied, but even that was more than I was worthy of.
I had a desire to go to the church and try to tell what I hoped the Lord had done for me and let them judge whether I was a subject of grace or not. But the fear that I should bring a reproach on the cause, a sense of my unfitness and unworthiness hindered me. Yet a desire to follow in the footsteps of Christ, and a sense of duty to own and confess him, so pressed upon my mind that I could not rest. Elder Trott visited us in September. And in one of his sermons, he dwelt much on the privileges of the Lord's House. After meeting, aunt asked me what I thought of the sermon. I told her it was good. She said she thought it would please me. I do not know why she thought so. She said she thought it was my duty to be baptized. I answered that I had a wish to be baptized if I was only a fit subject, but I feared I was not. Thoughts like these would come into my mind. "You are so young and giddy. Do you think they can fellowship with one like you? Or if they can, you will only bring a reproach upon the cause." So I waited, still thinking to see myself better.
When the church meeting came on, I had a great desire to go. I thought they enjoyed such privileges there that I had a great desire to be with them. Yet as none went but members, I hardly knew what I wanted there. As it was now, but one week until your appointment and I expect that there would be an opportunity then. I concluded to wait until that time. But I could scarcely tell you the thousand thoughts that revolved through my mind during the week. "If you'll tell them what you're going to do. You will only deceive them. You have never had a Christian experience. You're unfit to belong amongst Christians." And such objections presented themselves until I concluded to give up and go and say nothing about it. On Saturday the text was coming here "all you that fear God," and I would declare what he has done for my soul. I thought you told me my little story far better than I could have done. I now felt as if I could not leave the house without saying something about it. When the invitation was given, although I felt as if I had nothing to say yet, I could not stay back. The words of the poet came into my mind.
I can't but perish if I go,
I am resolved to try.
And before I was aware. I was trying to tell you something about it. But I could say so little it seems to me that no one ever came before the church, so trembling it with so little to tell as I did. Unexpectedly to me, they concluded to receive me and arrange to meet the next morning to attend to the ordinance of baptism. I had scarcely left the house before thoughts began to arise that I had done wrong and that they were deceived by me.
I slept but little that night, thinking of what was before me. I received baptism as a very solemn ordinance suitable to Christians only. And feared that in taking this step I should commit a grievous sin, one of which I could not be forgiven. In the morning my doubts seemed to be gone and I felt enabled to put my trust in the Lord hoping that if I was not a fit subject he would not suffer me to go further than to the waterside. When I saw them preparing, and even after we had started, I thought if there was no one else to be baptized, there surely would be a disappointment. I couldn't seem to believe that this privilege could be for me. Or that I would be permitted to go further than the waterside? Yet when I came there, every doubt and fear was removed, and I was not ashamed to own Jesus and follow in his footsteps. If the whole world had been present there, it would have been nothing to me. I think I shall never forget it. That happy moment when I felt this helpless as an infant, my hope and trust is alone in him who has said he will never leave nor forsake.
I felt that I could go on my way rejoicing and thought I should never doubt again. All seemed to be peace and joy for about four weeks, after which thoughts began to arise in my mind that all this might be a delusion, and that I caught the shadow and missed the substance. It seemed to me that instead of rejoicing and praising God for what he had done for me, a poor sinner. I had become cold and indifferent. And I now went mourning in darkness as one that has no light. I could claim none of the promises and my little hope appeared to be almost gone. After I had spent many days and nights in this way, it pleased the Lord, as I hope, to begin to reveal himself unto me as the only way of salvation. On awakening one morning, these words came into my mind with much comfort. "He is a friend that sticks closer than her brother." I think I did then view Christ as the chief among 10,000. Yay, as altogether lovely.
Then, for a season, I could feel my soul drawn out in praise to God and enjoy sweet communion with him. But such seasons are neither frequent nor of long continuance. On the contrary, they are few and far between. Most of the time my weight seems to be hedged up. Nevertheless, if my heart does not deceive me, I do sincerely love the brethren and find my chiefest enjoyment in their society. Still. I often think that I do not love them as I ought. I find that no good dwells in me for when I would do good, evil is present with me so that I cannot do the things that I would. I often think that above my mortal, I have reason to praise God for his great mercy towards me, a sinner. Yes. No mortal needed mercy more than ever sought his face. I feel well assured that if I am ever saved, it will be a sinner saved by grace alone, and not by anything that I have done or can do.
Now I have tried to give you the leadings of my mind. Tell me, dear Brother, can you trace anything in it that bears the mark of a Christian? Or can you see anything in it, like a Christian experience? Can you own and fellowship one so unworthy as I am? With my best wishes to you and yours.
I remain your least and most unworthy sister. If a sister at all.
Catherine Arnold
Juniata County, Pennsylvania
November 1858
Juniata County, Pennsylvania
November 1858
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