EXPERIENCE OF MARY B. BRISTOW...

What a true Gospel faith! - ed.

Boone County. Kentucky. January 8, 1862.

Brother Beebe:

The following relation of my hope in Christ was written four years ago. During a time when my health, never good in my whole life, was worse than usual. I think my desire at that time was to leave behind me in case of sudden death. A memorial of God's goodness to me. A helpless Sinner. I sent it to you. Dispose of it as you please.

I was born on November 18th, 1808. My parents were, at that time, both Baptists. And probably from education or constitutional ill health, I was subject to deeply serious impressions when very young. That is my great fear of death, the lonely grave, and a dreadful something beyond that I could not comprehend was truly terrific. It often rendered me very miserable. I sometimes thought it strange that I, who was so much more truthful, candid, and better in every way (in my own esteem,) than other children of my age should have such troubles when they were so carelessly happy. Again, I would conclude I certainly was troubling myself unnecessarily; as my parents, grandparents, and many of my relatives were Baptists and of course, Christians, I would be one before I died. And that was the important part of the matter. But I could not always feel as safe as I wished. As I grew older, my health improved a little, and serious thoughts in a great measure left me. When about 16 years old, I, with a large party of young relatives, was spending the afternoon with an aunt. We had not been long together when a tremendous thunderstorm arose. The chimney of the room which we were in was struck by lightning. Some were thrown from their seats and all were more or less shocked. The room was so entirely filled with soot that we could not for a time tell what had been the fate of those nearest to us. It was a moment of awful suspense. As soon as our small degree of calmness was restored, my aunt, who was a Baptist and a Christian, I have no doubt, commenced praising God for his goodness and mercy and for sparing all our lives. His goodness and mercy I could not then appreciate, but I felt perfectly impotent. Less than a worm, at such an awful display of his power and majesty. When every other person in the company had become cheerful, I could not restrain my tears. And though I thought of little else when alone, yet the slightest illusion made to the storm by others seemed something I could not bear for weeks. Oh! Thought I, if I only knew how to get religion. I would go right at it, but could not tell how or where to commence. I desired to be a Christian. That I might not fear God's power. For I thought Christians were so good that they did not fear God, and that was the secret of their composure in storms and other trials. However, after a time I began to get along pretty well when the sun was shining and the wind calm. But one sound of far distant thunder would start me walking and reciting some verses I had memorized at school:

Tis he who bids the storms arise. 

And rolls the thunder through the skies, 

His voice the elements obey, 

Through all the earth extends His sway.

Not long after the storm, the great Mr. Campbell paid our neighborhood a visit. And what was termed the "Reformation" sprang up, and for a time it really seemed that everybody except a few old Baptists would go with him. My mind was in a restless state, and being by birthright a Reformer, I was delighted with such an easy system, all works that I had not been taught my incompetency to perform, (for I am sure that no unregenerated man or woman does, in reality, believe that Jesus is the son of God). I soon became very zealous, firmly believing that Mister Campbell had come in the greatness of his might to evangelize the world. I was busily engaged, helping him and his paper, and very soon was fully prepared in my own conceit, to debate with the oldest Baptist preacher I knew. It was my delight to bother and harass him, I thought, rather ignorant, with questions borrowed from my Oracle. I had been reared to respect the Baptists;  indeed, I regarded those advanced in years with a species of reverence, so far as I had power. I was a persecutor; no human heart ever contained more venom against the Church of Christ than mine did. I often said that if the doctrine of predestination were true, God was an unjust being and unworthy of the adoration of intelligent creatures. Still, the Baptists were a source of real vexation and annoyance to me. They're professing to be so weak, ignorant, and sinful in their own esteem. And then we see how tenaciously and with what entire confidence they clung to their own system was a problem. I could not solve and it angered me, but for an occasional thunderstorm and the Baptists, I could have gotten along very well. It appeared to me I never got my system well built up, and that one or the other would come along and mar my work. For, strange to say, I often feared the doctrine of predestination. Bad as my heart hated it, was true. I could have times read its truth in the works of creation too plainly to be denied.

In the 19th year, it was the pleasure of him, who works all things according to the counsel of his own will, to take from me, a dearly loved brother in his 14th year. His death was very unexpected. For though he had been very unwell for several days, he had still walked about the house. The morning previous to his death, I walked into his room. He had his arms around my arm, and mother's neck, begging her to pray for him. And said he was dying and would go to hell. He was so great a Sinner. She told him she had often tried to pray for him. He must pray for himself. He said I don't know how to pray. She told him to ask the Lord to have mercy on him. He seemed to catch the words from her lips, and with hands and eyes raised to heaven, repeated again and again. Lord, have mercy on me, a poor Sinner. This agony of mine lasted for several hours. But while all the family and many friends were around him, we witnessed an instantaneous change. I am dying, said he. And going to heaven with Jesus. Come all of you. And go with me. How beautiful you all are! He talked for some time. His countenance expressed calmness and peace, even after death had released him from suffering.

I could never more be a consistent Reformer though they're told by their preachers that my brother's case was a miraculous one. That I need not wait for anything of the kind myself. I would never get it. Still, I could not believe that baptism or my works alone would save me. There was something the Lord must do, yet I was an Arminian. And set out with the full intention of doing my part, and believed the Lord would do his. I read the Bible. Quit attending all places of amusement, could do all that I thought was required of me, but pray. That from some cause was the most difficult matter. However, I never made the attempt. But once, one night I left the house. When I had gone sufficiently for my purposes in the act of kneeling, I cast my eyes upward and my attention was arrested by the brilliant appearance of the stars. I thought I had never seen them look so bright, so gloriously beautiful. These words recurred in my mind, The heavens are not pure in his sight. Immediately it struck me, if those bright luminaries were not pure in the eyes of the mighty God, it would be a presumption in such a small atom of his creation to attempt to approach his throne. I stepped quickly back to the house, feeling much smaller than when I went out. For several years, I was a restless, wandering spirit. I tried every grade of Arminianism, even Deism, but nothing satisfied me for any length of time, nor could I persevere. I thought there was nothing lacking for me to become a model Christian, but perseverance and a proper control of my natural high temper. I was not aware of this fact. But was in reality a miserable self-righteous Pharisee believing myself far better than others. I yet recollect my feelings on hearing a cousin of mine. Near my own age had been baptized. I was pious enough to think the Lord and Elder TP Dudley had made a strange mistake in choosing her in preference to myself. For I felt assured that I was the better of the two. I felt wounded, as though injustice had been done to me. And concluded, as there had been so little discrimination manifested, that I would give the matter up for a time. There did not seem to be so much hurry in my case as I was by nature better than anyone. I would therefore put off getting religion and enjoy the pleasures of the world when my health would permit. And when I could not keep up with my young associates, I lived very much in the world of my own creation building air castles, reading novels and poetry. I should have moved on very quietly, perhaps. But had not the stern Monster death paid his unwelcomed visits, taking my heart's dearest idols, thereby deranging all my plans and marrying my earthly prospects for happiness. Under those painful bereavements, I sometimes felt humbled. But far oftener thought God a hard master, reaping where he had not sown; gathering where he had not strewn, yet I dreaded his mighty power.

In October 1831, my parents removed from Bourbon to Boone County. Kentucky purchased a farm on the Ohio River and although it was very painful to leave my birthplace and friends of my youth, I was so much delighted with the beautiful and picturesque river scenery that, to my untraveled eyes, was indeed sublime. I vainly imagined I should get clear of all troubles and become perfectly contented. The spring and summer of 32 were spent in making arrangements for happiness, planting, and attending to my flowers and shrubbery. Books were my chief companions, and when I desired a peep at the big World I had but the cross, the river, and an hour's ride took me to the Queen City. I soon found a place near the house, a knit entirely concealed by the dense forest, that exactly suited me to sit and meditate or read at my pleasure on an Indian grave at the point of the bluff. For years, I have not seen that hallowed spot. But very often my mind is carried back there. In the fall of the same year, the cholera first made its appearance in our country. We heard the most distressing accounts from the city by steamboats every day. It was a solemn time. Every face was sad. I was not so much alarmed for myself, but there had appeared for several preceding years a fatality attached to our family. Of thirteen children, there were about four of us left. I feared my parents and brothers would be taken and I left alone. So strongly had this impression taken possession of my mind, that I was really miserable if one of them was out of my sight. But as to whether became cold, the cholera subsided. And we were all spared. From that time. I was subject to gloomy, restless feelings that I could not account for nor get rid of. I often felt this lonely, as if there were not a living creature on the earth, but myself. There seemed to be no green spot left for me on which to set my feet. Books, the beautiful river scenery as the spring of 33 advanced, and the society of my friends only gave momentary pleasure. Then those gloomy feelings of condemnation would return, and as I could find no adequate cause for my depression, I feared, if not speedily got rid of, I should become insane. I was willing to acknowledge myself as a sinner, but not such a great sinner as many. I had never sworn an oath, nor committed an act that could be called a crime. Had always been too proud to envy, too independent to utter falsehood; deceit I abhorred and to crown all I had such a noble, generous heart. Why, then, was I haunted by such feelings of guilt and misery? I could not tell. Very often I resorted to gay company. But was here reminded of an expression I heard an old Baptist use many years before. He said he had no power to control his thoughts. I said to myself. What an old blockhead you are! I thought any person but an idiot possessed that power. Now I found myself in that very situation; was just as apt to be beset with those miserable, restless feelings in the gayest society as when alone. And as my proud heart revolted at the idea of any human creature seeing the anguish inshrined there, I would stay at home and guard my secret well. My feeble health, I thought, a good excuse to keep me from meeting! Nor had I reaped any benefit from attending preaching. For when I attempted to follow out the Arminian system, I actually thought I was growing worse instead of better. And when I attended the old Baptist meetings, it seemed to me that everybody and particularly the preacher was watching me and saw what a poor wretch I was. Often I could not restrain my tears. Thus I was betraying myself. From my childhood had been an occasional Bible reader. But now I felt guilty when caught with the Bible in my hands. And if I saw my parents regarding me attentively, I imagined they knew my dreadful condition and were pitying me. Immediately I would strike up some gay song and leave the room, probably the tears rolling down my face. I recollect sitting one night singing to a little niece. She was sick, and I was fearful that she would die too. As I loved her, I sang them, as I often do, yet my own thoughts:

I know that I am guilty. 

I know that I am vile. 

I know that I am filthy. 

And quite throughout the defiled. 

Yet you O God can cleanse me. 

Can make me white as snow.

I could go no further, for though I believe God had the power. How his cleansing was to be performed, I knew not. I often sang the hymn. That commences:

The Lord will happiness divine.

The last verse I would repeat again. And again.

Oh, make this heart rejoice or ache, 

Decide this doubt for me, 

And if it be not broken, break,

And heal it if it be.

I desire to know the worst of my case. And from what source my troubles sprang. For I could not tell what was the matter though all things seem to be wrong. But soon a change came over me. That has often given me trouble having but seldom heard those I regard as Christians tell of such trials as now beset me, I said there was no such thing as religion, no God, no heaven, no hell. That each denomination was striving for the mastery and I would throw the whole matter away and never let it trouble me again. I certainly was the most peevish, fretful, unhappy mortal that ever existed. The world nor nothing could please me. There was a feeling of bitterness towards everybody in my heart and the most horrid oaths, and I have no doubt I should have given them utterance if I had not been early taught that was vulgar for a woman to swear. I have no recollection of ever having the slightest disposition to swear until that time. The truth is, I feared nothing, cared for nothing, and I often thought if his satanic Majesty ever reigned in any human heart, uncontrolled, without a rival, it surely was in mine then.

One Sunday morning on July 33, my mother woke me. She said she felt so strange. She must be dying. She was at that time greatly afflicted with dyspepsia and really looked as though she might be dying. Instead of feeling alarmed, as I always had been before when any of the family were sick, a feeling of anger sprang up in my heart. Well, let her die, said I inwardly. I can bear it. Nearly all I have loved is gone. Why not her? However, in a few hours, she was much better and fell asleep. All at once, my angry rebellious feelings became so strong that I could not stay in the house and started out to the Indian grave. I well recollect my thoughts as I walked along. They were that God had dealt hardly with me. All my days. I reconciled in my mind the loved ones he had taken from me, the reverses I had met with, and my constant ill health from childhood. It seemed to me that the Almighty had been at war with me all my life. And I was bound to acknowledge he had the power. And yet there was a feeling of defiance, a spirit of endurance in my heart. I recited these lines of Campbells as I walked along.

Be hushed, my dark spirit, for wisdom condemns, 

When the faint and the feeble deplore, 

be strong as the rock on the ocean that stems, 

A thousand wild waves on its shore.

I, a poor worm of the dust was measuring arms with omnipotence! I can give but a faint idea of the dark, dismal thoughts that crowded tumultuously through my wretched heart. But all how soon were they all changed in a moment! in the twinkling of an eye, when, as I hoped, the Lord caused all his goodness to pass before my face. I saw plainly that his all-seeing eye had watched over all my paths. His almighty arm had been extended to shield me from danger, seen and unseen. Through sorrow and sickness and how good, how kind he had been, even in taking my friends from me. Not one had died without expressing a hope of happiness beyond the grave. And surely that was the greatest of all blessings. Yet not one emotion of gratitude had ever swelled my heart for all of his countless mercies and blessings. They had passed unheeded and unnoticed as something I had gotten by my own strength. I felt too weak to stand and dropped to the ground. The sins of my whole life were brought to remembrance things I had forgotten for years. And what a pile there were! But all my outward acts were as nothing compared to what I saw in my heart when, as it seemed to me, a light shone into its deepest recess. Oh, what a base ingratitude. What bitter rebellion was there! Everything that was mean! It looked worse than any cage or unclean birds! I was reminded of the eddies I had observed in the river rolling up mire and dirt and hundreds of little sticks during a freshet. I have never been able to boast of a good heart from that day to the present. The goodness and the holiness of God were brought in contrast, and I sincerely felt that I was the greatest sinner beneath the sun. To sin so long against so good a God looked awfully ungrateful. I looked at my hands lying on my lap and felt that I should never raise them again. No, not even move one finger, unless the Lord gave me strength to do it. The word to the Savior rolled through my mind. Except you be converted and become as a little child, you shall not enter into the Kingdom of heaven. I had never seen a baby more helpless than I felt myself to be. The idea struck me that perhaps it was what I heard persons call the work of the Lord going on in my mind, but immediately concluded it was a sin for such a thought to come to my head. I was too vile, had rebelled too long, and had been brought to see my helplessness and the enormity of my guilt that I might feel and acknowledge the perfect justice of God in my condemnation. I thought there might be some excuse for the sins of others, but none for me. For the Lord had given me many warnings, and I had actually sinned against light and knowledge, and there seemed no way to escape from me, and God remained just and unchangeable. Oh! Thought I. if I had only tried harder to get religion when I was young, before I had committed so many sins, or if I could have recalled the few previous weeks when there was so much awful rebellion and blasphemy in my heart, I felt there might be some hope. But I could recall nothing and there was none. There could be no hope. I was well aware that the outward acts of thousands were worse than mine. But my heart was worse than anybody's the very source and fountain of evil. There was a beauty and holiness I have never been able to describe, nor how hateful sin looked in comparison with the holy purity of God's law. I wondered. I had a hole dug in the side of the bluff, if I could not live there alone without sitting anymore. For I felt that my whole life, be it long or short, should be devoted to God for the blessings already received if I never received another.

The next day, an uncle came to see my mother. They were talking about the cholera, (this dread scourge was again desolating our country). And they appeared to be much alarmed at its ravages. I looked at them with astonishment. I believed if I were like them a Christian, I should not fear death in any shape. For my life, I could not be alarmed nor keep it on my mind. Sin looked far worse to me than cholera. I thought it was because I was such a hardened sinner. I thought if I could only be deeply grieved and sincerely repent, that might there might be some room for hope. But I could do neither. And though I had to keep moving to and fro constantly to hide my tears, yet my heart was as hard as a rock. And when I kneel down to ask the Lord for mercy, I thought I could see that my prayers only ascended a little bit above my head, and so much hypocrisy and all that. I hated myself. I had at that time a most excellent memory. Texts of scripture and verses of hymns were constantly rolling through my mind. All breathing condemnation. How often I repaired to the Indian grave to be alone, I cannot tell. Sometimes got frightened at myself and ran back to the house like one insane. I often thought what a good thing it was for me that those expressions were in the Bible. Lord help me! God be merciful to me. A Sinner! For I could no more frame any prayer than I could make a world. And these were exactly suited to my case.

On Wednesday, after the Sunday referred to, I again took my lonely walk. The whole earth seemed shrouded in gloom. I felt perfectly friendless and alone. My heart was as hard as adamant, and it seemed strange to the holy just, and righteous God had suffered such a polluted wretch to live so long. I thought I would make one more attempt to ask the Lord for Mercy, and if mercy. Could not be extended to one so vile the desire of my soul was that he would never suffer me to sin against him anymore. Let my final destiny be when it might. I had just kneeled down on the ground when the idea struck me with force, as though spoken God is looking at you. I rose quickly and started to run. You cannot run from God, sonnet through me. I stopped still, and it seemed to me I was a perfect mass of corruption, standing in the immediate presence of a holy God. In this extremity, the prayer of the leper was given me, Lord, if you will. You can make me clean. The answer of the Blessed Jesus. I will. Be clean. Immediately followed, I saw the Savior extended on the cross on the opposite hill. Not with my natural eyes, but with the eye of faith, I hope. My burden was gone. Peace, Perfect peace was within a round. And everywhere I find myself repeating those precious texts of scripture. You shall call his name Jesus. For he shall save his people from their sins. There is no other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved. How sweet the name of Jesus was to me, I have never been able to tell. I repeated it again and again and soon thought I must have been the various fool in existence not to have thought of Jesus sooner. How often I had read of him, heard him preached, and talked of as the savior of sinners. Yet during the whole time of my distress, this glorious savior had not entered my mind. I really was so simple and ignorant, I concluded, if I had only thought of Jesus sooner. I should have been sooner healed. I greatly desired to see some of my friends, particularly elder TP Dudley, who I had known from early youth that I might tell him how precious Jesus was to me, and somehow I thought they would be willing to hear me. And if I only could have had an opportunity. I would gladly have asked the pardon of every creature I had ever injured, even in thought, especially some old Baptists against whom I had been very bitter. And they then (the Baptists,) appeared to me to be a people very precious in the eyes of the Lord. As I was returning to the House, repeating the name of Jesus, the plan of salvation looked so plain that I fully believed I could tell it so everybody would believe in love as I did. The words of the poet rolled through my mind.

How sweet the name of Jesus sounds in a believer's ear.

Something seemed to say. Are you a believer? I answered. I don't know. Have you with the Baptist call a hope? Oh no, not yet. Well, what has been done for you? While Lord has only given me an earnest of what he intends to do for me. And here I hope, I unwittingly told the truth. I humbly trust I that day receives an earnest of my interest in that inheritance which is incorruptible, undefiled, and shall never fade away. For a short time I lived in peace, and loved everybody, particularly those whom I thought loved Jesus. Was indeed very charitable. Took all who said Lord Lord to be Christians, but wondered much that I could not convert all those who had known my former bitterness against the truth, was deeply wounded when a young friend, with whom I had been intimately associated from childhood, laughed and said I had changed to please my mother. I was soon cured of all superfluous love, finding it not reciprocated, so I also found I had made another grand mistake. Having vainly imagined that I was forever done with sin and trouble. Imperceptively, as Bunyan, expresses it. My role was gone. And the old enemy, who was only bound, not dead as I had supposed, told me plainly. I never had a role in possession. That all I know, I had learned from others, and you have not learned it good either. You never grieved deeply nor repented sincerely your tears. Your prayers were all mixed with hypocrisy. You never thought you were going to die, and worst of all, you were not afraid of hell. I was bound to admit the truth of these charges. I had not feared death nor hell. My fear was a frowns of a justly incensed God. My great dread that I should be eternally banned from his presence and the glory of his power and be left to sin against him forever. My case was now ten times worse than before. My sense of guilt was gone, my peace was gone, and I had nothing to show for it. I resolved to go back to the very place I had lost my burden and reclaim it, watch more closely, and know precisely what was mine and what was borrowed. To the same spot I went again and again. I asked the Lord to return me my burden, but the petition was not granted. Many burdens of sin and guilt have borne heavily on my soul. But that particular one I found no more. For more than two years I was sometimes trying to get a brighter hope, sometimes trying to throw it all away and take pleasure and former enjoyments, but could not be satisfied with either. One morning I picked up a hymn book and found a hymn that commences with:

Dear Savior, make me wise to see.

The inmost desire of my heart was expressed by the poet. The three last verses suited my case exactly. I was ignorance itself, born blind, estranged from God. O how little I knew of God, of Christ, of foes without or within! Yet I could not adopt the last line:

Though blind I was, yet now I see.

And that was the amount of my knowledge. In sincerity of soul I hope I asked the Lord if he had commanded a work of grace in my heart to show it to me, and if not, O Lord, begin now, nor can I do nothing. In a moment, my mind reverted to the time I have attempted to describe, and I was made willing to take it as the ground of my hope. And for a little while, I felt I could not give it in exchange for a world. Yet it was more than a year before the Lord gave me the fortitude to acknowledge his name before men and follow my savior down into the liquid grave.

I have spun this out to an unreasonable length. But you are liberties or throw it aside, and there will be no harm done thereby.

May the Lord bless you, brother Beebe, and continue you a blessing to his people in these dark times is a sincere prayer of a helpless Sinner.

Mary B. Bristow