After a long day’s journey, I arrived at the house of some relatives in Wales, who had invited me to spend Christmas with them. After the first greetings had been exchanged, I said, “But I don’t see my dear Ruthie.”
“No, Aunt, one of the children answered, “Ruth is out this evening, and she wants to have you all to herself first when she returns, because she has some news that nobody else is to tell you.”
Ruth, the eldest daughter, had been for some time engaged to a young man holding a civil post in India. There was every probability of his being able to revisit England in a few months and claim his bride; but when last I heard from Ruth, the time for his coming was still unsettled. I at once guessed her good news had reference to this matter. Soon after I had retired for the night, there came a gentle tap at my bedroom door, and Ruth entered; there was a light in her eyes, a joyous elasticity in her step.
“Auntie,” she cried as she embraced me, “they have not told you?”
“No, darling, only that you have something to tell.”
So, making me sit down by the fire, she told me, with a happy, blushing face, while she drew a letter from her pocket, that Herbert had written to say he would be home from India soon.
When Ruth had left me, I sat thinking how much more gladness there should be in the lives of those who are looking for the coming of the heavenly Bridegroom. Every day spent with my niece taught me, in some new and practical way, how the thought of our Lord’s appearing should regulate our present aims and occupations—should influence our views concerning the possessions, privations, joys, and sorrows of this life.
I noticed she was less often with the family, and one day I went to find her in her room. There I found her sitting at a table which was covered with books; she was reading a large volume and busily making notes from it.
“This is a new interest of yours, Ruthie, isn’t it?” I remarked.
“Yes, Aunt, but you see Herbert is so clever; I do not want him to find me very ignorant, so I am studying history two hours a day. And as he said something in his last letter about touring Europe after the wedding, I want to improve my French and German efficiency.”
One afternoon as the women of the house were going shopping, Ruth declined the outing, and when her mother inquired what she could bring for her, Ruth replied, “Nothing, thank you, Mamma. I must think about my outfit next month, as Herbert will soon be here.”
On another occasion I heard some young friends ask her if she had heard anything about the house in India where she was to live. “Hardly anything,” she answered, “except that he has been preparing it for a long time, and he will be there.”
The impression left upon my mind by her earnest looking for her expected bridegroom has never been erased. When the things of this life threaten to assume an undue importance, I recall Ruth’s oft-repeated words, “It is not worthwhile, when he will soon be here;” and I strive to bring the glory of Christ’s soon return to bear on all the interest of time; to keep me sober in its joys, and content in its sorrows; and to be careful for nothing because “the Lord is at hand.” And many times when I have longed for more information regarding the Promised Land, I have remembered Ruth’s simple words with respect to her unknown dwelling in India and rested my heart on the blessed thought, “He who loves me with an everlasting love is preparing a mansion for me there.”