A father's heart resists conversion despite family revival, causing grief and prayer.
A few years since, says a correspondent of the New-York Evangelist, during a powerful revival in New England, the Holy Spirit exerted its mighty influence upon a family circle consisting of a father, a mother, and five most interesting children. The mother and her five children were hopefully converted. The father, who was naturally one of the most amiable, retiring, modest men with whom I ever was acquainted, aided his family in attending the numerous meetings, and was not unfrequently seen bowed down and trembling under the power of truth. Still the conversions of his wife and children, in rapid succession, were like so many earthquake shocks to the foundations on which his false hopes had so long rested. But neither the affecting scenes of their distress, nor the ecstasies of their subsequent joy, could melt his heart into contrition. He now felt that he was groping in a dark path, and in wretched loneliness; he who should have been the leader of a pious household was left far behind, a subject of prayer, and an occasion of grief to the circle around him. Thus he remained for weeks.
Ere long preparations were made for gathering the fruits of the revival into the church, and a day appointed for the examination of candidates. The mother and her five children, with some sixty others, came before the church, and were propounded for admission into its pale. As the day of admission drew near, the father, who had watched their movements with much concern, expressed his regret to his wife that they should make a profession of religion at present, and requested that they should wait for him. The mother, deeply moved, solicited advice of the pastor and other friends; but, after due deliberation, it was concluded that the path of their duty was plain, and that they were bound to follow Christ. With unusual decision and firmness they resolved to do so. As soon as he knew their decision, he became more earnest in his remonstrances, and used every possible argument, especially with the mother, to dissuade her from her purpose, but in vain. He soon changed his tone of entreaty into that of fearful threatening, warning his wife if she had any affection for him, any regard for the peace of the family, to desist from her purpose and wait for him. "No," said the martyr-like woman, "I love you most tenderly, but I love Christ more. I have waited for you for more than twenty years, and now I shall do my duty, and as to the consequences I will leave them with God."
At the close of this interview, which took place Saturday evening, he took his hat, and uttering some threats, left the house, as if never to return to his family again. It was a painful night to mother and children. Might he not become the victim of lasting mania, or in his rage and disappointment suddenly destroy himself? As it afterwards appeared, he retired to his barn, threw himself on the hay-mow, (it being mid-summer,) and there rolled and struggled like a wild beast in the net. An awful warfare was waging between an awakened conscience and a desperately rebellious heart. He could not, would not submit. Sabbath morning came—the family, with trembling anxiety for the absent father, prepared to go to the house of God; but, just before the hour of service, his feelings drove him from his hiding place. He was safe, but still unhumbled. He again inquired of his wife if she remained fixed in her purpose, and finding she did, he left the house with dreadful signs of rebellion, throwing out some intimations that he never should return—that fearful consequences might be anticipated. He was soon out of sight, but not out of mind. The family departed; and the father, finding his threats unavailing returned to his house, prepared his person with despatch, and was soon seen placed in the gallery in a situation favorable for witnessing the ceremony he had opposed so vainly. And when the ceremony of reception took place, and the father looked down and saw his wife and five children, with the rest, kneel around the altar, he burst into tears, and his agitation was great. The step was taken, and could not be retraced.
On retiring from the house he felt that he was indeed alone. He began to come to himself—to review the dreadful rebellion of his heart which recent events had brought to light. His heart began to break; and in a few hours his soul was made to rejoice in that Savior whom he had so recently persecuted. He now felt deeply thankful that his wife had taken so decided a course; and he considered her uniting with the church, the means, in God's hands, of leading him to repentance.