J. R. Miller
Life is full of doors. A door is a very simple thing. It may be only a plain, unadorned piece of board. It's significance is not in the material of which it is made, or in its costliness or its artistic beauty—but in the fact that it is a door which opens to something. One door may open to a noble gallery of pictures; enter, and you stand amid the finest works of art. Another door opens into a great library; enter, and you find about you—the words of the wise men of the ages. Another door opens to a school, a great university; enter, and you are listening to distinguished teachers whose learned teachings will enrich your mind. It is not the door itself that matters—but that to which the door is the entrance!
Life's doors are not shut and locked. They may not be gilded, and they may not invite to ease and pleasure—but they open to the truest and best things, to the finest possibilities of character and attainment, and to the noblest ultimate achievements.
There are doors that open to good. They may not invite us to easy things. The best things do not offer themselves to us as self-indulgences.
The doors may not be attractive that we ought to enter—but they open to the truest and best life, to the finest possibilities of character and attainment, and to the noblest ultimate achievement.
There is the door of education. All of life is a school. Young people graduate by and by, from the college and university—but their education is not finished. This should go on in the occupations and struggles that follow. It is there, that we learn the real lessons of life.
There is the door of hardship and pain. One of the papers pays tribute to one unnamed man who died recently after years of intense suffering. He never asked pity or any concessions because of his suffering—but grew more and more devoted to his work.
There are many people who permit their pain and misfortune to make constant appeal to human sympathy, instead of bearing these burdens quietly and heroically, as a soldier wears the marks of his profession. Suffering properly endured, develops strength, and adds to usefulness. The school of hardship and pain is where we learn many of the finest things.
The man who wins its real successes, is not he who has the most perfect health—but he who bears disease and misfortune with silent courage and gains from them a more daring spirit; who meetsfailure as if it were veiled victory; who challenges death by ignoring its fearful aspect, tearing off its mask, and meeting it with a smile.
Another of the doors which opens to us in life is the door to kindness. Many people think of kindness as only a kindergarten lesson—but one who accepts the task—finds it very long. Kindness begins in unselfishness, the crucifying of SELF. It is sacrificial in its every feeling and act.
Wherever SELF stays in the heart—there will be unkindness in the life, in some form. To be kind—is to be gentle. Kindness will not break a bruised reed nor quench the smoking wick. Kindness is thoughtful, so sensitive in the consciousness of others' condition, that it refrains from every act, word, or look—which would give pain. Kindness is sympathetic, touched with the suffering of others—and quick to give comfort. It is a great door—which opens into the school of kindness.
Another of life's doors opens into the school of helpfulness. When we begin to be like God—we begin to be helpful. We think we love each other—but the love is only a mere sentiment—until it has been wrought into sacrificial act, into service which costs. Personal helpfulness is the test, as well as the measure of the quality—of the mind of Christ that is in us. Evermore people need to be helped. This does not mean that we are to carry their burdens, pay their debts, do their work, fight their battles. Such helpfulness does harm, rather than good. We help others truly when we make them strong andbrave—that they may carry their own burdens and meet their own struggles. Helpfulness should cheer, encourage, inspire, impart larger visions and greater hope and confidence.
