12 August 2009

Wisdom from Anne



What a great character! I have been rereading AGG series this summer. She has some real pearls of wisdom that seem pertinent to us here at New Mercy. Enjoy!

"I hope that no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne," said Gilbert

"But there must- sometime," mused Anne. "Life seems like a cup of glory held to my lips just now. But there must be some bitterness in it- there is in every cup. I shall taste mine some day. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it. And I hope it won't be through my own fault that it will come. Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sunday evening- that the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strength with them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear?" (A of A, p 46)

(Anne is talking to Ruby Gillis as she dies of consumption) "Heaven must be very beautiful, of course, the Bible says so- but Anne, it won't be what I'm used to... I want to go on living here. I'm so young, Anne. I haven't had my life. I've fought so hard to live- and it isn't any use- I have to die- and leave everything I care for."

Anne sat is a pain that was almost intolerable. She could not tell comforting falsehoods; and all that Ruby said was so horribly true. She was leaving everything she cared for. She had laid up her treasures on earth only; she had lived solely for the little things of life- the things that pass- forgetting the great things that go onward into eternity, bridging the gulf between the two lives and making of death a mere passing from one dwelling to the other- from twilight to unclouded day. God would take care of her there- Anne believed- she would learn- but now it was no wonder her soul clung, in blind helplessness, to the only things she knew and loved."(A of the I, p105-06)

At my church we are studying the book of Mark. We have spent a few weeks on the parable of the sower and his seeds which fell on different kinds of soil. We talked about sprinkling seeds liberally, because we don't know onto what kind of soil they will fall. How we don't know at what rate God is growing the seeds... it reminded me of the mischievious orphan, Davy, who lives with his twin sister, Dora, with Anne and Marilla.

"That spring Marilla, by way of turning Davy's passion for reveling in mud and clay into useful channels, had given him and Dora a small plot of ground for a garden. Both had eagerly gone to work in a characteristic fashio. Dora planted, weeded, and watered carefully, systematically, and dispassionately. As a result, her plot was already green with prim, orderly little rows of vegetables and annuals. Davy, however, worked with more zeal than discretion; he dug and hoed and raked and watered and transplanted so energetically that his seeds had no chance for their lives.

"How is you garden coming on, Davy-boy?" asked Anne.

"Kind of slow," said Davy with a sigh. "I don't know why the things don't grow better."

"Maybe if you didin't pull your plants up by the roots every other day to see how they're gettting on 'at the other end,' they'd do better," said Marilla sarcastically.

"I only pulled six of them up," protested Davy... "Dora's garden was planted same time's mine and her things are growing all right." (A of A, p 207)

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