The Use and Need of the Life of Carrie A. Nation [13]
this for a purpose. Many little children may be doing what
I did, not thinking of what a serious thing it is, and I write this to show
them how I was cured of dishonesty: I got a little book at Sunday school
and it told the way people became thieves, by beginning to take little things
naming them, and some of these were the very things I had been taking.
I was greatly shocked to see myself a thief; it had never occurred to
me that I was as bad as that. I thought one had to steal something of
great value to be a thief. My repentance was sincere, and I was made honest
by this blessed book, so much so that even after I became grown,
if any article was left in my house I would give it away, unless I could
find the owner. I was perfectly delighted when I was entirely free. I asked
for everything I wanted, even a pin. After that, I could show my doll
clothes, and it was not necessary for me to be sly or tell stories any more.
It was about this time I was converted. There was a protracted meeting
at a place called Hickman's Mill, Jackson County, Missouri. The
minister was gray haired and belonged to the Christian or Disciples
church, the one my father belonged to. I was at this time ten years
old and went with my father to church on Lord's Day morning. At
the close of the sermon, and during the invitation, my father stepped
to the pulpit and spoke to the minister and he looked over in my
direction. At this I began to weep bitterly, seemed to be taken up, and sat
down on the front bench. I could not have told any one what I wept for,
except it was a longing to be better. I had often thought before this
that I was in danger of going to the "Bad place," especially I would be
afraid to think of the time that I should see Jesus come. I wanted to hide
from Him. My father had a cousin living at Hickman's Mill, Ben Robertson.
His wife, cousin Jennie, came up to me at the close of the service,
and said: "Carry, I believe you know what you are doing." But I did not.
Oh, how I wanted some one to explain to me. The next day I was taken to
a running stream about two miles away, and, although it was quite cold
and some ice in the water, I felt no fear. It seemed like a dream. I know
God will bless the ordinance of baptism, for the little Carry that walked
into the water was different from the one who walked out. I said no word.
I felt that I could not speak, for fear of disturbing the peace that is
past understanding. Kind hands wrapped me up and I felt no chill. I
felt the responsibility of my new relation and tried hard to do right.
A few days after this I was at my aunt Kate Doneghy's. Uncle
James, or "Jim," we called him, her husband, was not a Christian. He
shocked me one day by saying: "So those Campbellites took you to the
creek, and soused you, did they 'Cal'?" (A nick name.) What a blow!
My aunt seemed also shocked to have him speak thus to me. I left
the room and avoided meeting him again. How he crushed me! It
had the effect to make me feel like a criminal.
The Protestant Church here makes a fatal error which the Catholics
avoid. The ministers of the latter have all young converts come so
often to them for instruction. A child may be born, but not being nursed
and fed, it will die. God has command them to be fed in the sincere
milk of the word. My greatest hindrance has been from the lack of
proper Christian teaching. I love the memory of my father, he used
to have me read the bible to him, and while I did not enjoy it then, it
is a blessed memory. The family altar is essential to the welfare of
every home, no other form of discipline is equal to it. The liberty,
chivalry, and life of a nation live or die in proportion as the Altar fires
live or die.
"And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine
heart and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children and shalt
talk of them when thou sittest in thine house and when thou walkest by
the way and when thou liest down and when thou risest up."
When I was fifteen, the war broke out between the north
I did, not thinking of what a serious thing it is, and I write this to show
them how I was cured of dishonesty: I got a little book at Sunday school
and it told the way people became thieves, by beginning to take little things
naming them, and some of these were the very things I had been taking.
I was greatly shocked to see myself a thief; it had never occurred to
me that I was as bad as that. I thought one had to steal something of
great value to be a thief. My repentance was sincere, and I was made honest
by this blessed book, so much so that even after I became grown,
if any article was left in my house I would give it away, unless I could
find the owner. I was perfectly delighted when I was entirely free. I asked
for everything I wanted, even a pin. After that, I could show my doll
clothes, and it was not necessary for me to be sly or tell stories any more.
It was about this time I was converted. There was a protracted meeting
at a place called Hickman's Mill, Jackson County, Missouri. The
minister was gray haired and belonged to the Christian or Disciples
church, the one my father belonged to. I was at this time ten years
old and went with my father to church on Lord's Day morning. At
the close of the sermon, and during the invitation, my father stepped
to the pulpit and spoke to the minister and he looked over in my
direction. At this I began to weep bitterly, seemed to be taken up, and sat
down on the front bench. I could not have told any one what I wept for,
except it was a longing to be better. I had often thought before this
that I was in danger of going to the "Bad place," especially I would be
afraid to think of the time that I should see Jesus come. I wanted to hide
from Him. My father had a cousin living at Hickman's Mill, Ben Robertson.
His wife, cousin Jennie, came up to me at the close of the service,
and said: "Carry, I believe you know what you are doing." But I did not.
Oh, how I wanted some one to explain to me. The next day I was taken to
a running stream about two miles away, and, although it was quite cold
and some ice in the water, I felt no fear. It seemed like a dream. I know
God will bless the ordinance of baptism, for the little Carry that walked
into the water was different from the one who walked out. I said no word.
I felt that I could not speak, for fear of disturbing the peace that is
past understanding. Kind hands wrapped me up and I felt no chill. I
felt the responsibility of my new relation and tried hard to do right.
A few days after this I was at my aunt Kate Doneghy's. Uncle
James, or "Jim," we called him, her husband, was not a Christian. He
shocked me one day by saying: "So those Campbellites took you to the
creek, and soused you, did they 'Cal'?" (A nick name.) What a blow!
My aunt seemed also shocked to have him speak thus to me. I left
the room and avoided meeting him again. How he crushed me! It
had the effect to make me feel like a criminal.
The Protestant Church here makes a fatal error which the Catholics
avoid. The ministers of the latter have all young converts come so
often to them for instruction. A child may be born, but not being nursed
and fed, it will die. God has command them to be fed in the sincere
milk of the word. My greatest hindrance has been from the lack of
proper Christian teaching. I love the memory of my father, he used
to have me read the bible to him, and while I did not enjoy it then, it
is a blessed memory. The family altar is essential to the welfare of
every home, no other form of discipline is equal to it. The liberty,
chivalry, and life of a nation live or die in proportion as the Altar fires
live or die.
"And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine
heart and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children and shalt
talk of them when thou sittest in thine house and when thou walkest by
the way and when thou liest down and when thou risest up."
When I was fifteen, the war broke out between the north