8. The Guiding
Hand
". . . WE HAVE HAD FATHERS of our flesh which corrected us, and we gave them reverence: shall we not much rather be in subjection unto the Father of spirits, and live?" Hebrews 12:9
You must not believe that the Mears family ever felt secure with all its saintly characters, or assumed them an automatic heritage. Henrietta's oldest brother, Ashley who graduated from Chicago University when he was sixteen, faced squarely up to the situation at a very early age. He was visiting in Vermont with his parents and his two aunts. His Aunt Cornelia and Aunt Lizzie were Shakespearean students and were members of a Shakespearean Club, which they entertained in their home. Young Ashley was just barely able to talk when one evening he was left in the charge of his two aunts on the same night that they were holding the Shakespearean Club meeting. When the merit of Shakespearean study palled on the youngster, he slid down the banister, slammed doors and altogether created a disturbance hardly conducive to culture. When the guests had all departed, the two aunts confronted him and asked why he had done it. Feet apart, eyes round and serious, young Ashley looked up at his aunts and said, "I just don't know. I guess it must have been the devil in me!" Since there was no rebuttal for this, the matter was dropped.
When Henrietta's mother married the young lawyer, Elisha Ashley Mears, her father would allow no wedding invitations to be sent out to anyone. He simply stood up in the pulpit in the First Baptist Church
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in Chicago and announced to everyone that his daughter was being married and that they were all invited to the wedding. The day of the wedding, mounted police filled the area, trying to keep the crowds of people in control The wedding presents were almost unbelievable in quantity and beauty — and they were all burned in the great Chicago fire.
Prior to the wedding, the young Mrs. Mears had been in Europe for three years, after the death of her mother, in the company of her sister, brother and aunt, studying music and art in Berlin. She was a great Shakespearean student and Henrietta's father always said, "When I first met your mother, she used to get up at five o'clock in the morning to study Shakespeare; now she gets up to study her Bible."
E. Ashley Mears came from Vermont. He was born in beautiful Ashley Hall in Poultney, Vermont, the family home of his mother. A sparkling creek ran through the estate, which was situated in the beautiful Vermont foothills. Banking was the occupation of his family; one of his uncles founded the First National Bank of Philadelphia and another uncle founded the First National Bank of St. Paul. Another uncle was Judge Rockwood, of New York City.
Every summer all the relatives would return to Ashley Hall with their servants, and a marvelous time of entertaining in the famous Mears' style ensued. Her father's two sisters, Elizabeth and Cornelia lived there until their deaths. This was the Cornelia for whom "our" Miss Mears was named, as well as for her mother's sister, Henrietta. Horace Greeley was also from Poultney, and he wanted to marry Aunt Cornelia; but neither of the two sisters married, nor did their two nieces, Henrietta and Margaret. Both aunts had a very militant Christian faith. Aunt Elizabeth always memorized the whole Scripture of her Sunday school class lesson, in preparation for teaching her class. Cornelia was healed of cancer in her later years.
Few people who bear the name of Mears are any relation to Henrietta Cornelia Mears, as her father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were only sons. But to make up for it, Henrietta's brother Norman had nine sons, and they are "having sons upon sons," so the name Mears is now becoming well established.
Grandmother Mears had gone to a fashionable finishing school, and had been an only daughter with two brothers, so all care, attention and privilege had been lavished on her. She was "a perfect lady." She never went out of the house without her hat and gloves, and she was always perfectly dressed. She never carried a package home from
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the store, never hurried or rushed about. "You know, that kind of a person!" said her granddaughter, Henrietta. She was a beautiful, gracious, graceful person.
Young Ashley Mears went to Chicago and studied law, and on his twenty-first birthday took his bar examinations and became a member of the Chicago Bar Association, one of the youngest lawyers in the city. It was the time of the Civil War, and he bought up all the scrap iron he could; he cleared $75,000 in just one operation, when he was twenty-four years old. He built a large brownstone house on Michigan Avenue for his young bride.
Margaret Everts Mears was like fine steel that had been carefully tempered; she had fire in her, yet she was always poised and serene. After her funeral, her husband said, "I have known your mother for forty-three years and I have never heard her raise her voice in anger." Though not overly demonstrative, she exuded love and everyone was drawn to her. She was a diminutive person, weighing only eighty pounds when she was married and never weighing over ninety-eight pounds at any time; but she had a mighty intellect, spiritually and culturally. Her voice was like "flowing water," and she had a beautiful English accent. "No one in all this world has ever sounded like my mother to me," said Miss Mears. Her beautiful contralto voice could always be heard whenever any of the children went into the church. If they were trying to find their mother, they didn't need to look; they just listened for their mother's voice, if the congregation was singing. Her pen moved constantly as she wrote hundreds of letters, comforting the sorrowing, making plain the way of salvation, helping the downcast and challenging young Christians.
She had seven children, and while there was great wealth and luxury, there was continual testing and spiritual strengthening in her life. Their oldest son, Ashley, who was president of one of his father's banks at twenty, died suddenly and unexpectedly on his twentieth birthday. Her fourth child and first daughter, her adored, lovely Florence, died at the age of seven, of walking typhoid. Her mother had been delighted to have a little daughter upon whom she could lavish love and care, and whom she could dress in exquisite frocks and blue and pink and gold slippers. She used to hope "that she would awaken and cry in the night so she could go in and take her in her arms." When the little girl died, the mother was conscience-stricken, feeling that she had been too much obsessed by her love for her daughter. At the time of her daughter's death, the mother had a deep
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spiritual experience and felt that the whole world drained out through a small hole and left nothing. It was then that Christ became her all, and from that time her life was completely devoted to His work.
The second child was Will. When he was fourteen, he was stricken with spinal meningitis, a disease which left him totally deaf; there was nothing that money or medical care could do to bring his hearing back. Of course it was heartbreaking to his parents, but Will learned lip-reading, and had a wonderful life.
Clarence and Norman were the third and fifth children in the family progression, then Margaret was born. When Margaret was eleven and her mother was forty-two, Henrietta was born, as her father always jokingly said, "Like the Apostle Paul 'out of due season.' " As the years went on this was not the only similarity to the Apostle Paul.
Before her birth, the family had moved to Fargo, North Dakota, which was Henrietta's birthplace. By this time her father had a chain of twenty banks through the Dakotas. As Miss Mears has often said, "I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but it was yanked out before I got the taste of it!" When she was born, young Charley Ross had just been kidnapped in Chicago, so her father kept a guard on the grounds and her nurse, Tillie, was with her constantly. She was adored and loved by all her brothers and sisters, and of course she was the delight of her father and mother.
Her mother was always glad to have a little daughter she could love and have fellowship with, after all the others were grown and independent. Because of the "undue season," she was able to spend more time in the spiritual guidance and in the "ministry of motherhood," which was reflected in her influence on Henrietta's life. The ministering mother did begin to shape and guide her young daughter spiritually. With maturity and experience gained in the raising of the six children, from the rich background of life in the parish home of her parents and from the constant spiritual atmosphere she received from her mother and father, Henrietta's mother had treasures upon treasures to heap upon this daughter, born "out of season."
Brother Norman's wife, Gertrude Beebe Mears, who Mrs. Mears had prayed would become her son's wife, writes: "Our first glimpse of Henrietta was when Father and Mother Mears brought her as an adorable baby to visit us. It seemed strange to see Mrs. Mears with the care of this dear, sweet daughter. The grown-ups commented on the ease and wisdom she showed. I remember well the beautiful
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clothes Mother Mears had made for Henrietta, and how we vied as to who should hold this lovely baby."
Henrietta's childhood was delightfully pleasant, abounding with love and solicitude. She developed a strong social sense and her father, showing his wonderful sense of humor, would quote, "Proverbs 25:17, Henrietta! 'Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbor's house; lest he be weary of thee . . . ' " The family moved to Duluth, Minnesota, for a short time and to Minneapolis when Henrietta was in the second grade. Before long, the three brothers were successfully established and married and Margaret was seventeen and attending a finishing school in Minneapolis.
Now Henrietta began to "hunger and thirst after righteousness." She would rush home from school and hurry upstairs and try to take a nap so she could go with her mother to the evening meetings at church. "Henrietta," said her mother, "what will people think of my taking so young a child? They will think I'm forcing you, when in your eagerness you are really forcing me!" But her mother would pick up the little hassock (a thick cushion) she always took to tuck under Henrietta's dangling feet.
It was Easter Sunday morning when Henrietta announced to her mother, who was bathing her and getting her ready for church, that she wanted to become a Christian and was ready to join the church.
"But you are so young, dear. I'm afraid everyone will think that at seven you are too young to understand what it means."
"I realize that I'm a sinner. Why, mother, you know how sinful I am! And I know that Jesus is my Saviour. You're always trying to get everyone to accept Christ as Saviour, and I'm ready. I want to join the church."
Her mother was combing her curls around her finger and brushing them. "Well, dear, it isn't up to me. We'll have to talk to Dr. Riley about it."
So the day came when Henrietta and her cousin, Margaret Buckbee Greig, four days younger than Henrietta, stood before the deacons and the congregation to be interviewed concerning the doctrine of the church. Their answers were so complete and explicit, that coming from children so young, the church was convulsed with laughter. Henrietta was overwhelmed with dismay, thinking she was saying the wrong thing, and turned anxiously to her mother. Her mother leaned over and whispered, "It's all right, dear, they are laughing with you, not at you," the wisdom of which Henrietta has remembered ever since.
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The Sunday came when Dr. Riley carried Henrietta and cousin Margaret into the baptismal waters.
Her mother said that the childhood years were the years when the children's lives were like plastic clay and the mother's fingers were molding the shape, determining where the life would be a shallow dish or a deep bowl capable of holding great blessings to overflow to others. Right after breakfast the family had family prayer, Bible reading, and hymn singing. As the years brought changes in schedule for the various members of the family, the mother was there, ready for each child as he went off at a different hour. She would rise early to pray with one, then the other, as they left for the day.
Spiritual admonitions always had a very practical application in the Mears household. Generalities were always dealt with in terms of specifics, a policy that Henrietta has followed through her life.
When Clarence was in high school, he had so much spirit and dash that he naturally wanted to be in on everything exciting. Unfortunately, in the small North Dakota town, the poolroom seemed to have the lure of excitement for him, but the poolroom was forbidden territory to him, by family command. On one occasion, when the father of the household was absent from home on a tour of inspection of his chain of banks, Clarence was missing. Henrietta's mother called to their Russian maid.
"Marie, get your coat. We're going to look for Clarence!" Marie was a huge woman and could easily lift the large pot-bellied stove when it was cleaning time, and move it to one side. Now the pair of them proceeded down the street, the slight figure of Mrs. Mears, barely touching ninety pounds, and the towering figure of Marie, able to lift stoves. They marched to the door of the poolroom. Mrs. Mears looked in.
"Is my son Clarence here?"
There was silence and an air of secrecy everywhere. "Why, no, Mrs. Mears. He isn't here," someone answered.
The slight figure held open the door, revealing Marie standing behind her; she who could lift a stove could just as easily lift a high-school boy. Mrs. Mears said, "Clarence!"
From beneath the counter came Clarence, meek, embarrassed, shamefaced. Silence reigned as the party left — dainty Mrs. Mears, Clarence, and Mighty Marie marching along behind.
"I'll pray for you, Clarence, but when it comes to fetching you from the poolroom, I'll do it myself," said his loving mother.
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"Whenever my mother said something, she meant it," Henrietta Mears remembers. "And that is the secret of discipline. Be sure children know you mean what you say."
Then Clarence developed an alarming habit of forgetting the time and he came home far too late for parental approval.
"Son," asked his father, "why are you so late in coming home at night?"
"Well, you see, father, I keep forgetting the time," said Clarence in self-defense.
"That sounds reasonable enough," said his father in his most judicious voice, looking every inch the eminent citizen and president of a chain of banks. "So I think it will be perfectly reasonable to hire a private detective to accompany you so he can remind you of the time."
"Oh, no, Father!"
"I am not going to let my children go to the devil, and I see no reason at all why your mother should have to get up in prayer meeting on Wednesday night and ask for prayer for you on this matter. We'll see if we can't take care of it first." And the private detective went along with Clarence. In a remarkably short time, Clarence gained an unusual perception of time and the detective was no longer needed.
Miss Mears not only remembers the stories of Clarence's shortcomings; she very distinctly remembers a night when she was a little girl of seven in Minneapolis. She went to visit at the house of her brother Norman's girl-friend. Her mother's order was that she was not to stay all night. But Henrietta was a great favorite and the older girls made much of her, giving her cool lemonade and wiping her face with cool cloths because it was such a warm evening. They fluffed her curls. Henrietta was having a wonderful time. Soon it was suggested that she stay all night and she was assured that it would be all right with her mother. Henrietta's protests died away in the face of their reasonable logic — and besides, she wanted to stay.
It was ten o'clock that night and Henrietta was asleep when she awakened to the sound of her mother's voice in the foyer below. Everyone was protesting that Henrietta was in bed and sound asleep and surely she could stay until morning. But Henrietta was not in bed. She was out of bed and half dressed by the time her mother came into the room. Her mother had come all the way across town on the street-car to get her, and back home across town on the street-car they went. It was a very silent trip.
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Henrietta early learned the combination of repentance, forgiveness and restitution. When any of the children did anything wrong, and they were sorry for it and repented of their wrongdoing and asked for forgiveness, their mother was quick to forgive. But this did not end the matter. She wanted to impress upon them that even though there is forgiveness for wrongdoing, someone has to pay the price. So she pointed out that she would do penance for their mistakes; she would "bear a penalty" for them. usually she went without butter at mealtime, because she was so fond of it. She made no comment about it, but, oh, the suffering of the errant one! Usually one of the children piped up with, "Oh, boy, who's done it now?" but the mother would quickly silence him. There was no discussion of the matter. When the lesson had been implanted and impressed, the mother would very gently ask the errant one to please pass the butter to her because she thought she would have half a pat of butter. There was an eager fumbling of the butter dish to get it to mother.
"You may put it on my plate, dear!" said their mother. Oh, how quickly the attempt was made to get the butter transferred to the mother's plate! It was very easy for Henrietta to understand that even though Christ could forgive our sins, He still had had to pay the price on the cross. Some may find fault with any analogy between the cross and a half a pat of butter, but when a child's mind is involved and a mother's love is pointing the way, a very strong symbol may be created. And Christ Himself made the analogy of keeping the Sabbath and pulling an ox out of the ditch!
Henrietta's father was filled with humor, optimism and kindness. Her mother would say, "If the Bible says that every man who bridleth his tongue is a perfect man, then your father is a perfect man. I have never heard him say an unkind word. The Lord knew I needed someone to see the silver lining in every cloud, for I am more serious. He always sees the funny side of every situation." Business reverses, poor health or any circumstance in life could never down him. He always saw a new day ahead, and he was a man of great vision. He was a trainer of men and many of the men who studied under him became the leading bankers of the midwest. That same ability to train leaders was passed on to Henrietta.
When she was very small, her father would take Henrietta to the bank and take out the till so she could put both hands in with cheerful glee and play with the silver dollars. Her father would laugh, "Just like her mother!" But it was a jest, for her mother would never wear
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diamonds. If she did, she would not be able to call on the poor, she said. "If your mother desired, she could be dressed in diamonds from head to toe," said the father. "but all she will allow is that one little stickpin with the tiny diamond set." He had to watch her continually when she was traveling, or she would turn in her Pullman ticket for a coach ticket so she could use the money to buy a load of coal for someone she had just discovered who had need.
Mrs. Mears always believed in seeing the best in people and in treating them all with love. Her children used to tease her about her love and great enthusiasm for all and once asked her what she could see that was good in a certain old man who was just a beggar and came regularly to the house for a handout.
"Why," she said, "he has a beautiful smile."
There was always a small box on the kitchen shelf, sometimes several. One would be marked, "For a new suit of clothes for Mr. Brown," and another was a fund for the laundress that she could have a day off and still be paid. Another box was marked "milk money for widow Smith."
Every day she spent an hour on her knees in personal prayer. She closed herself in her room and no one would dream of violating her privacy, no one except small daughter Henrietta; she would run in and out and kneel down for a moment beside her mother who would put her arm out around her small daughter and continue with the prayer. She would pause and pray for Henrietta, that the Lord would make her a good girl, or watch over her, or guide her, then Henrietta would get up and run out and occupy herself with other matters. But Henrietta's great ambition was to spend an hour in prayer, just like her mother.
So one morning she got the large alarm clock, placed it in front of her on the bedspread and closed her eyes in prayer. She prayed and prayed and prayed. She prayed for everything she could think of. She paused and thought and prayed some more. Then she peeked at the clock to see how she was doing. Only one minute had elapsed! What did her mother think of to pray for, for a whole hour? Then it was that small Henrietta got her first glimpse and understanding of what prayer consists of. Through the years she has used this illustration with her young people and then pointed out the five divisions of prayer that might help them to change their "one minute" to an hour. First, a period of thanksgiving to the Lord for His gifts, mercies and blessings; second, confession of one's failures and request for forgiveness;
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third, intercession for others and their needs; fourth, petition for one's personal needs; fifth, thanksgiving.
Henrietta could get anything out of her father. All she had to do was just stand and grin at him and he would say, "Now what do you want?" And he would reach into his pocket and give her the change he hand. The brothers complained. "You just give her everything! Anything she wants she gets!" they said teasingly.
Then the father would say, "Oh, you just wait. It won't be for long that she'll be wanting just nickels and dimes and quarters. Let me satisfy her while I can!"
Her father had a very practical approach to faith, coupled with his wonderful sense of humor. One evening in a church service a woman rose to her feet and testified that since she had left the church the Lord had given her a beautiful child, and she was happy that she had left the church. After the service, Mr. Mears went over to Mr. Miller, a pillar of the church and said, "Come with me!" He took him over to the woman who had given the testimony.
"We're happy to have you with us this evening. I just want you to know how the Lord blessed a man who stayed in the church. Mr. Miller has seven beautiful children!"
Henrietta's first venture in a spiritual career was teaching a class, when she was eleven years old. Her brother, Norman, spent every Sunday afternoon at the Berean mission, one of the needy places in Minneapolis, and Henrietta went with him. They didn't have anyone to teach the beginners, so she undertook the "beginners" as her first class because of the great seniority of her eleven years. She practiced her spiritual maxim before she started to preach: "Start where you are, as you are, in serving the Lord."
At twelve, Henrietta was crippled with muscular rheumatism. She had been east to visit in Vermont and the dampness encountered there had given her a violent case. Many folks in Minnesota contracted the same disease, including her best friend who died from it. Henrietta suffered constantly, having intense pain all winter, spring and summer and having to be carried everywhere. She had to be pulled to school on a sled.
The fact of divine healing was as natural to Mrs. Mears as that of physical medicine. She practiced both. But over and beyond the abilities of man and his growing fund of knowledge was her great faith in the ability of the Lord. One day she asked Henrietta if she would like to have their friend, Mr. Ingersoll, a member of the Presbyterian
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church, come over and pray for her nosebleeds that had developed and were continuing regularly. She agreed.
When Mr. Ingersoll arrived he said, "Henrietta, do you believe the Lord can heal you?"
Henrietta looked up at him and said, in her direct way, "He created us. I see no reason why He cannot heal us." Mr. Ingersoll laid his hand on her head and prayed for a complete healing. The bleeding stopped. There was never another occurrence of the hemorrhages from that time forward. "I've never had a nosebleed in all the years since then," Miss Mears said a few weeks ago.
As the rheumatism became more painful, Henrietta called to her mother one afternoon and said, "Mother, could we ask Mr. Ingersoll to come back and pray for the rheumatism?"
"Of course, my darling," said Mother Mears, "Nothing would make me happier." To her, divine healing was just taking God at His word. Brother Norman's wife writes: "I remember at family worship Mother Mears would say, Let us read Philippians 4:19 again, "But God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." Henrietta, God will supply all your needs, your release from pain, the suppleness you need. He is able and will supply your need physically as well as spiritually.' Henrietta was so very patient during her siege, although I saw tears in her eyes often."
So now Mr. Ingersoll returned and prayed for her body to be healed of the pain. Suddenly Henrietta was filled with confidence that her body had been completely healed. Mr. Ingersoll looked down at the fourteen-year-old child. "Now, Henrietta, if you really believe that God has done this, you must thank Him every day. If I gave you ten dollars, you would thank me. The Lord has healed you. You must thank Him." From that day to this she has never had a return of a rheumatic pain of any kind. Gradually the strength returned to her body, and in three months there was no trace of any crippling effect, no heart condition of any kind. She was the only one of all they knew who had suffered with this disease who was left completely unmarked by any damaging effect.
From the first day of school, when she was six, Henrietta wore glasses because she was so nearsighted. When she was sixteen she again thought of Mr. Ingersoll, and she asked him to return and to join in special prayer with her and her mother for the healing of her sight. Her condition was painful and the doctors began to predict her vision would fail to total blindness. He returned and they had special prayer.
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Henrietta was willing to cooperate to the fullest. She was ready to remove her glasses and go without them to prove her faith. But even as she removed them, she knew in her heart that she had not been healed. What had happened? Did she lack faith? Had she lost her confidence? Why had the Lord failed her? Had she failed Him? One verse came to her mind over and over again: "My grace is sufficient for thee." Then she understood why the Lord had not healed her. Her confidence had to come from her dependence upon the Lord's grace, not upon her healed sight. Her failing eyesight must be a constant link between herself and her dependency upon the Lord. "My grace is sufficient for thee . . ."
Just a few months ago she was seeing her wonderful Christian eye specialist in Los Angeles and he told her, "I should tell you that it shouldn't be possible for you to read at all, not even the Scriptures, not with your eyes in the condition they are. But who am I to tell you, when you have a Physician far greater than I?" Even as she told me this, she was happily searching out the Scriptures for a verse she wanted to read and she looked up and said, "You know, I believe my greatest spiritual asset throughout my entire life has been my failing sight. It has kept me completely dependent upon God." How thankful I am for Teacher's poor physical vision that has enabled her to have such a vibrant spiritual vision, vision enough to help us all to see, "My grace is sufficient for thee . . ."
A great appreciation of humor is evidenced all through Miss Mears' childhood; she had a rare ability to see the warm, human, funny side of things. This marvelous balance inculcated in Miss Mears has given a constant sanctified sense of humor that weaves into the serious to make effective her belief that with young people, "If you can laugh with them, they will be ready to pray with you."
It was in Minnesota at a conference at Minnetonka that Miss Mears recalls a couple sitting in front of her in church. The woman was enormously fat and her husband was small and thin and, in contrast, looked even slighter and more shriveled than he actually was. When the congregation was asked to share favorite Bible verses, the woman arose and said, "He must increase, but I must decrease." Henrietta's small form shook with laughter.
It was a large evening meeting in the First Baptist Church of Minneapolis. After the anthem was sung the choir always filed down into the main auditorium to hear the sermon. This left the bosomy organist holding sway over the choir-loft, in solitary splendor. She was
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quite inconspicuous up there until she rose to give her favorite Scripture. She stood up and from her solitary perch high in the choir-loft enunciated in a stilted, high, dramatic voice, "And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me." Naturally, everyone knew that the verse was a quotation of Christ, but the original claim was momentarily forgotten as laughter swept through the audience and broke up the service for several uncontrolled minutes.
Henrietta studied voice under Edwin Skedden, opera coach and director of their church choir. She was soloist on many occasions one of them being when the large Lake Harriet Park was dedicated in Minneapolis. She remembers her first solo in church. She was twenty and as she waited for her cue she felt paralyzed with fright; she thought she was going to faint and hoped she would. Her mouth was dry and parched. Then suddenly she remembered something her Aunt Henrietta told her.
Aunt Henrietta, her mother's sister, had her career in music and tried to persuade her niece to follow in her footsteps. Once, when she was soloing with the New York Symphony and was waiting through the long introduction that preceeded her solo in "Ave Maria," she whispered to the orchestra conductor, "My throat is dry!" Without missing a beat the conductor whispered back, "Think of lemons!"
So now Henrietta thought of lemons and her throat lost its dryness. When she sang in her first recital, Margaret saw to it that she was wearing a beautiful pink net dress. Sister Margaret told her, "You'll look the prettiest, anyway."
Before her solo, the man sitting next to Margaret leaned over and whispered, "Well, your sister certainly looks the prettiest!" After she had sung her solo, he added, "And she sings the prettiest, too!" Margaret relaxed in sisterly satisfaction.
Henrietta's father always sent the children to "ask their mother," for her word was like the law of the Medes and the Persians: unalterable. If Henrietta felt that her mother's decisions were unreasonable she would go to her father to complain. He would lean back in his chair with a twinkle in his eye and say, "My dear, you'll just have to forgive me this time. I had no idea how unreasonable your mother was going to turn out to be when I married her. But you'll just have to put up with it this time, and the next time I promise I'll try to give you a better mother!"
Perhaps it was from some of her mother's "unreasonableness" that Henrietta learned her greatest lessons. Whenever Henrietta came home
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from a party or a meeting at church, her mother would ask her how it had gone. If Henrietta ever complained that it hadn't been very good, her mother immediately asked, "What did you do to make it better?" "But Mother," Henrietta would complain, "it wasn't my party (or it wasn't my meeting). I wasn't in charge. I had nothing whatever to do with it!" But if it was a social party that had failed, the mother reminded Henrietta that she could have suggested a game to play, or played the piano for them, or looked around to find some opportunity to make the occasion more fun for the others. If it was a meeting at church, the mother reminded her that she could have offered a testimony or a prayer, or shared a Bible verse or looked for a place to use her initiative to make it a more effective meeting. So Henrietta early learned a social obligation that has never left her. No matter in what circumstance or situation she finds herself, she feels a social responsibility to join in and contribute in any way she can to make it more effective and enjoyable for others.
Their home was always open to entertain the great spiritual leaders of the day who came to speak in their church. Since Henrietta had a strong auditory sense and could remember almost verbatim everything she heard, she often entertained these great men by repeating their sermons at the dinner table. Every Sunday afternoon the family would take little New Testaments and place ribbons as markers in them. A pile of them was always kept in the reception room on a small table, and whenever anyone called at the house he would be given a New Testament. If it was a salesman, after he had finished his business, Henrietta's mother would say, "I am always so interested not only in their preparation for this life but for the life to come. Have you ever accepted Christ as your personal Saviour?" And with that she would present him with the claims of Christ. Scores of people found Christ right there in the reception room of their home.
Her mother wouldn't buy anything on Sunday. She did finally make one exception, but that was due to the persuasion of her husband: she finally agreed to buy milk on Sunday. Her husband eloquently pleaded the cause by stating that the cows had to be milked on Sunday anyway, so she might as well take the milk; she would be doing the cows a favor. She never allowed the children to sleep late or to be lazy. Even if they were tired, they had to get up and get dressed and start the day and then if they wanted to return to bed they could.
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"Children, you remember what the sluggard says, 'A little sleep, a little slumber, a little more folding the hands in sleep!' Now you don't want to be a sluggard!" The fleeting joy of the extra minutes in bed was effectively eradicated by dreadful comparison to the sluggard.
If Henrietta was reading a book when her mother walked into the room, the procedure was always the same. Her mother came to her, closed the book and said, "Now, tell me what you were reading!" A method of studying and concentration resulted that Henrietta has utilized well.
Even though her mother was continually engaged in works of Christian charity, she never let her outside activities interfere with their family needs. She was always home when any of the children returned from school, all but one day, when she deliberately let the children share in her activities. That day was Wednesday. The children all knew that this day was their mother's calling day, and they all shared in the privileges and responsibilities. They came home from school knowing that their mother would be gone. They took it all very seriously and carried a sense of cooperation in their mother's Christian contribution. "Remember, children, everything that I do today, the Lord will credit you with, too, for we are doing this together." When she came home the children were eager to hear of what had happened on "their day" during "their calls."
One day she called Mrs. Riley, the minister's wife, and Mrs. Riley later reported, "Oh, the blessed counsel she gave me. I was feeling so discouraged and lonely with Dr. Riley gone from home so much, and then your mother called and said, 'Now, remember, the Christian ministry of your husband is your ministry, too; you will both share in the glory as well as in the present sacrifice. The Lord keeps very close books you know.' Suddenly the whole atmosphere changed for me." And so through the years, Henrietta Mears has been able to counsel lonely wives of ministers, and missionary wives and give them inspiration and courage and a real sense of cooperation in their husbands' ministries, removing the feeling of frustration and self-sacrifice. A man cannot be called into a work without the support and cooperation of the wife; neither does the Lord call the wife into a work without first calling the husband, counsels Teacher.
Ruth Bell Graham, "Billy's wife, writes, "Bill knows Miss Mears far better than I, my own acquaintance being very hit and miss. In fact the inspiration and blessing she has been to me has been all out of
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proportion to the time I've actually been with her. But I know of no living woman who has blessed us more."
It was from her wonderful childhood experiences that Henrietta Mears began to gain the insight and inspiration for such later contacts.
Her mother took young Henrietta called at the Florence Crittenden Home for unmarried mothers. Henrietta would take little gifts to the girls, and thus she was brought into contact with the realities of the world and learned early of the tragedies that could happen in life when it is lived outside of God's will and His love. Her mother was constantly impressing on her brood to redeem the time and to invest all their spare moments in worthwhile activities. When she was ten, Henrietta and her cousin Margaret Greig formed the "Willing Workers," and went about "doing good for unfortunates." There was much joking about that name, but she ignored it and went about her business. "She always ignores what she doesn't want to hear," says her secretary-companion, Ethel May, this very day.
Her mother likened time to a great river passing by under the bridge as we stand on the bridge above it. As the water passes it is gone forever, and so with time; we have to use the immediate moment of time as it passes by or it is gone forever. The children were never allowed to go out in the mornings during summer vacation but had regular practice periods and duties and studies. They could not waste the time by "running wild all day." Any fragment of time was used in memorizing poetry or practicing a few minutes on the piano. Her mother used all her time to some purpose; after she called the family to dinner, she would sit down and spend the few minutes in playing on the piano while waiting for the family to assemble. Friday afternoon after school, all school work must be prepared immediately for the next Monday, and then what a wonderful carefree weekend it was, and what joy knowing that everything was prepared when others had to rush to get the work done on Sunday night!
Norman Mears and his cousin, Charles Buckbee, were co-founders of the Buckbee-Mears engraving firm in St. Paul. One day his mother asked him, "Norman, are the men in your employ Christians?" To which Norman replied, "Mother, I really don't know."
"I'm going to write each one of them a letter then," she said.
After her death, Margaret saw a letter on the desk of one of the artists in her mother's handwriting. The artist said, "Margaret, would
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you like this letter? It is the most wonderful letter I have ever received in all my life." Then he showed it to her:
"Mr. Snyder, Dear Sir: I am reminded of you daily by touches of your brush around the house and the names of the many young men in the Buckbee-Mears employ are often on my mind. I wonder as to their surroundings and as to their ideas and preparations as to life and more than all, for the life to come. There is but a veil between the visible and invisible and how very soon it will be rent for each one of us as we appear before the great God to answer for our lives. There is a righteousness that will pass with Him, but it is not our own. We are counted as righteous with Him by our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, that He is your Master, Saviour and the one sent of God to redeem you? This is what the title means. If you want Him you must receive Him not only as your Saviour but as your master, to obey and believe the Record that God has sent Him into the world to die that we might live. He is our substitute, for the Word of God says He bore our sins in His own body on the tree. All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned every one to His own way and God laid on Him the iniquity of us all. He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life but He that believeth not the Son shall not see life. We as Christians who read such words in the Bible can but be interested in those with whom we are in any wise thrown, that they may be saved to live for God here and be finally saved in Heaven, the place the Lord has gone to prepare. There is no name under Heaven given among men whereby we must be saved. If I can in any way help you, please write me as your friend though unknown. There are those I pray for at nine o'clock each morning and your name will be added to my list. To know God you must go to the Bible; that is His Will. Interestedly, Mrs. E.A. Mears."
When Henrietta was nineteen and in the second year of her college work at the University of Minnesota, her mother died just a few days before Christmas. In a very short time, her father, too, passed away, as though he could not bear to go on without the light of his earthly life. A newspaper report written by the pastor, W.B. Riley, was written in regard to her mother's life: "Margaret Burtis Mears, daughter of Dr. W.W. Everts, pastor of the First Baptist Church in Chicago, passed away last week. In intellect she had few equals, keen, inquiring, aggressive, confident. She literally revelled in the Word of God and came as nearly walking according to its sacred precepts as is
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possible in the sinful flesh. As a Bible teacher she had few equals in the city of Minneapolis and in the practice of the presence of God she had no superior. Like Martin Luther of old, one and two hours a day she spent upon her knees. When she appeared before a great class of young women on Sunday they gave audience to one they knew had been in the presence of God, believing that her message was direct from the Spirit. When she visited the homes of the poor or talked with the convicted sinner, they alike understood that a messenger from the Holy One was at work for Him. A great concourse of people gathered at her funeral on Saturday, December 31. She was buried in Chicago on the next day. The Thursday night prayer meeting following was a Memorial Service. The chapel was filled, and every person present seemed to be a mourner but scores bore testimony to her beneficent influence. Mrs. Mears left her husband, C. Ashley Mears, three sons and two daughters, Henrietta and Margaret, and a sister, Mrs. John Buckbee, and her family. The church is poorer for her going but rich in her ministry and in the influence certain to abide forever."
Mrs. Mears went on the supposition that everybody was lonely — wise, poor, rich, young or old, until they had found "the peace of God that passeth all understanding through Jesus Christ our Lord." The children were left with potent spiritual memories, of going to her and saying, "Oh, mother, you are just perfect!" But she would tell them never to say that; they didn't know how terrible it sounded to her for she had asked God once to let her see her heart and she never wanted to see it again. They remembered when they were entertaining friends in their home overnight and their mother would knock at the bedroom door and come in to pray with them, to thank the Lord for the day, and for what he had done for them. Child and guest, grown son and guest, would get out of bed and kneel down beside her. She would put her hands on their heads and pray. They remembered how she was always going without so she could help others. They remembered the day her husband looked down at her shoes and said, "Darling, you need new shoes. If the Lord came, would you want to be taken up in those shoes?" Then he went on a trip and a postal card arrived in the mail asking, "Darling, are you still wearing your Ascension Shoes? Love, Ashley." They remembered that she used to say, "If I could dress according to my taste, I would wear a black velvet dress with twelve diamond studs down the front and I would have a white velvet dress with the same
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twelve diamond studs. But I could never kneel down to pray with the poor if I were covered with diamonds."
Yes, she had a heart filled with obedience to God's Word and it will be well with her children forever. Henrietta was left with the Scripture commandment: ". . . we have had fathers of our flesh which corrected us, and we gave them reverence; shall we not much rather be in subjection unto the Father of spirits, and live?"
Margaret Burtis Mears had worn her Ascension Shoes every day she lived.
