My keynote came to be obedience to Him.  That meant keen ears to hear, keen judgment to understand, keeping quiet so the sound of His voice would always be distinctly heard.  It meant trusting Him when things didn’t seem to go with a swing.  It meant sweet sleep at night, and new strength at the day’s beginning.  It did not mean any less work.  It did seem to mean less friction, less dust.  Aye, it meant better work, for there was a swing to it, and a joyous abandon in it, and a rhythm of music with it.  And the undercurrent of thought came to be like this:  There is a Lord to the harvest.  He is taking care of things.  My part is full, faithful, intelligent obedience to Him.  He is a Master, a masterful One.  He is organizing victory.  And the fine tingle of victory was ever in the air.

Do Your Best—­Leave the Rest.

I knew a mother one of whose sons was not a Christian man, and not of good habits.  She was a devoted true Christian woman, bearing her part in life’s service with fine faith and a keen sweet spirit.  The children were all Christians but this one, her first-born, the beginning of her strength.  The thought of him troubled her much.  She prayed fervently, and used her best endeavor, and the years grew on without change.  And her face showed the burden upon her fine spirit.  We would talk together about her son, and pray together, but her brow remained clouded.

Then I marked a change.  The lines of tension in her face relaxed.  A new quiet light came into her eye.  There seemed a gentle intangible, but very sure, peace breathing about her.  And I knew there was no change in him.  So one day in conversation I ventured to ask about the change.  And I shall always remember the gentle voice and the quiet strength with which she said, “I have given him over to my Father.  And I know He will not fail me.  I am still praying, of course, as ever, and I am trusting for him.”  She had been carrying a load that she should not have been carrying.  And now while the mother-heart was still concerned as much as ever, the sense of assured victory brought the change in her spirit.

Sometimes worry is fretting over past mistakes; it is chafing about what we do not understand, or about plans of ours that have failed.  A good deal of worry comes from pride and over-sensitiveness.  The roots here, it will be noticed, of all alike are down in our own failures, our own selves.  And there would be cause for more worry if we had only ourselves.  But we have a Father.

A very great deal of worry is wholly due to physical causes.  Overworked nerves always see things distorted.  Huge phantom shapes loom up before us.  Overwork always makes a sensitive spirit worry, and worry usually makes us overwork until we drop from exhaustion.  When the cause is here, there are some simple human helps.  Some—­a good bit—­of God’s fresh air will work wonders.  Even good people seem unchangeably opposed to God’s air, and insist on breathing old, worn-out, used-up second-hand air.  God would be greatly glorified if housekeepers and church sextons were given a practical course in the use of fresh air, God’s air.  With that should be simple food, and simple dress, and abundant sleep, and simple standards of life.