To Miss Sarah Ryan
———
CLXXXV. — To Mrs. Sarah Ryan. 78
MY DEAR SISTER, NEWBURY, November 8 1757.
IN the hurry of business I had not time to write down what you desired, — the rules of our family. So I snatch a few minutes to do it now; and the more cheerfully, because I know you will observe them.
1. The family rises, part at four, part at half an hour after.
2. They breakfast at seven, dine at twelve, and sup at six.
3. They spend the hour from five to six in the evening (after a little joint prayer) in private.
4. They pray together at nine, and then retire to their chambers; so that all are in bed before ten.
5. They observe all Fridays in the year as days of fasting, or abstinence. You, in particular, I advise, — Suffer no impertinent visitant, no unprofitable conversation, in the house. It is a city set upon an hill; and all that is in it should be “holiness to the Lord.”
On what a pinnacle do you stand! You are placed in the eye of all the world, friends and enemies. You have no experience of these things; no knowledge of the people; no advantages of education; not large natural abilities; and are but a novice, as it were, in the ways of God! It requires all the omnipotent love of God to preserve you in your present station. Stand fast in the Lord, and in the power of his might! Show that nothing is too hard for Him. Take to thee the whole armor of God; and do and suffer all things through Christ strengthening thee. If you continue teachable and advisable, I know nothing that shall be able to hurt you. Your affectionate brother.
CLXXXVI. — To the Same.
MY DEAR SISTER, NORWICH, November 22, 1757.
MAY the peace and love of God spring up in your heart, as in time past, and more abundantly! You have refreshed my bowels in the Lord: I feel your words, and praise God on your behalf. I not only excuse but love your simplicity; and whatever freedom you use, it will be welcome. Surely God will never suffer me to be ashamed of my confidence in you. I have been censured for it by some of your nearest friends; but I cannot repent of it. Will not you put forth all your strength, (which indeed is not yours; it is the Spirit of the Father which now worketh in you,)
1. In managing all things pertaining to the house, so as to adorn the Gospel of God our Savior?
2. In feeding the sheep he has committed to your immediate care, and carrying the weak and sickly in your bosom?
3. In assisting, quickening, and directing the family at Kingswood, whom I trust you will always bear upon your heart?
4. In reproving, stirring up, or confirming all whom the providence of God shall put into your hands? And, lastly, in watching over, and helping forward in the ways of God, one who has more need of help than all the rest; and who is always willing to receive it from you, because you always speak the truth in love?
Do you find no interruption or abatement at any time of your joy in the Lord? Do you continually see God; and that without any cloud, or darkness, or mist between? Do you pray without ceasing, without ever being diverted from it by anything inward or outward? Are you never hindered by my person or thing? by the power or subtlety of Satan, or by the weakness or disorders of the body, pressing down the soul? Can you be thankful for everything without exception? And do you feel all working together for good? Do you do nothing, great or small, merely to please yourself? Do you feel no touch of any desire or affection but what springs from the pure love of God? Do you speak no words but from a principle
of love, and under the guidance of his Spirit? O how I long to find you unblamable in all things, and holy as He that hath called you is holy! I am yours, etc.
CLXXXVII. — To the Same.
MY DEAR SISTER, LONDON, November 30, 1757.
YOUR letter came in a seasonable time, as rain in a time of drought. How fain would we excuse those we love! I would gladly acquit those who severely condemn each other. The wrong to myself is not worth a thought; it gives me not a moment’s uneasiness. But I am pained for others, who if they do not sin against God, yet give great occasion to the enemy to blaspheme.
You may learn an excellent lesson herefrom. Suppose you are saved from sin, it is certain that you are not saved from a possibility of mistake. On this side, therefore, Satan may assault you; you may be deceived either as to persons or things. You may think better, or (which is far more strange) you may think worse, of them, than they deserve. And hence words or actions may spring, which, if not sinful in you, are certainly wrong in themselves; and which will and must appear sinful to those who cannot read your heart. What grievous inconvenience would ensue! How would the good that is in you be evil spoken of! How would the great gift of God be doubted of, if not disbelieved and denied, for your cause! Therefore, in the name of God I exhort you, keep close every moment to the unction of the Holy One! Attend to the still small voice! Beware of hearkening to the voice of a stranger! My eyes ache, my head aches, my heart aches. And yet I know not when to have done. O speak nothing, act nothing, think nothing, but as you are taught of God!
Still may He with your weakness stay,
Nor for a moment’s space depart;
Evil and danger turn away,
And keep your hand, your tongue, your heart.
So shall you always comfort, not grieve,
Your affectionate brother.
CLXXXVIII. — To the Same.
MY DEAR SISTER, December 14, 1757.
I FIND by Mr. P—n’s last letter, that he is deeply offended; that his former affection (so he speaks) is degenerated into a cold esteem, and that he no longer regards me as a dear friend, but as an austere master. Has he not a little affected you? He does not speak with passion; but his words distill as the dew. The God whom you serve send forth his light and his truth, and direct you in every thought!
Do you never find any wandering thoughts in prayer, or useless thoughts at other seasons? Does the corruptible body never press down the soul, and make it muse about useless things? Have you so great a command over your imagination, as to keep out all unprofitable images? at least to punish them the moment they appear, so that they neither trouble nor sully your soul? Do you find every reasoning brought into captivity to the obedience of Christ? Is there no vanity or folly in your dreams? no temptation that almost overcomes you? And are you then as sensible of the presence of God, and as full of prayer, as when you are waking?
I can hardly avoid trembling for you still: Upon what a pinnacle do you stand! Perhaps few persons in England have been in so dangerous a situation as you are now. I know not whether any other was ever so regarded both by my brother and me at the same time. What can I do to help you? The Father of mercies help you, and with his favorable kindness surround you on every side! May the eternal Spirit help you in every thought, word, and work, to serve the living God!
I am
Your affectionate brother.
CLXXXIX. — To the Same.
MY DEAR SISTER, January 20, 1758.
HOW did you feel yourself under your late trial? Did you find no stirring of resentment; no remains of your own will; no desire or wish that things should be otherwise? In one sense, you do desire it; because you desire that God should be glorified in all things. But did not the falling short of that desire lessen your happiness? Had you still the same degree of communion with God, the same joy in the Holy Ghost? I never saw you so much moved as you appeared to be that evening. Your soul was then greatly troubled; and a variety of conflicting passions, love, sorrow, desire, with a kind of despair, were easy to be read in your countenance. And was not your heart unhinged at all? Was it not ruffled or discomposed? Was your soul all the time calmly stayed on God? waiting upon him without distraction? Perhaps one end of this close trial was, to give you a deeper knowledge of yourself and of God; of His power to save, and of the salvation he hath wrought in you.
Most of the trials you have lately met with have been of another kind; but it is expedient for you to go through both evil and good report. The conversing with you, either by speaking or writing, is an unspeakable blessing to me. I cannot think of you without thinking of God. Others often lead me to him; but it is, as it were, going round about; you bring me straight into His presence. Therefore, whoever warns me against trusting you, I cannot refrain; as I am clearly convinced He calls me to it. I am
Your affectionate brother.
CXC. — To the Same.
MY DEAR SISTER January 27, 1758.
LAST Friday, after many severe words, my —— left me, vowing she would see me no more. As I had wrote to you the same morning, I began to reason with myself, till I almost doubted whether I had done well in
writing, or whether I ought to write to you at all. After prayer that doubt was taken away. Yet I was almost sorry that I had written that morning. In the evening, while I was preaching at the chapel, she came into the chamber where I had left my clothes, searched my pockets, and found the letter there, which I had finished, but had not sealed. While she read it, God broke her heart; and I afterwards found her in such a temper as I have not seen her in for several years. She has continued in the same ever since. So I think God has given a sufficient answer, with regard to our writing to each other.
I still feel some fear concerning you. How have you found yourself since we parted? Have you suffered no loss by anything? Has nothing damped the vigour of your spirit? Is honor a blessing, and dishonor too? the frowns and smiles of men? Are you one and the same in ease or pain; always attentive to the voice of God? What kind of humility do you feel? What have you to humble you, if you have no sin? Are you wise in the manner of spending your time? Do you employ it all, not only well, but as well as it is possible? What time have you for reading? I want you to live like an angel here below; or rather, like the Son of God. Woman, walk thou as Christ walked; then you cannot but love and pray for
Your affectionate brother.
CXCI. — To the Same.
MY DEAR SISTER February 10, 1758.
YOUR last letter was seasonable indeed. I was growing faint in my mind. The being continually watched over for evil, the having every word I spoke, every action I did, small and great, watched over with no friendly eye; the hearing a thousand little, tart, unkind reflections, in return for the kindest words I could devise, —
Like drops of eating water on the marble,
At length have worn my sinking spirits down.
Yet I could not say, “Take thy plague away from me;” but only, “Let me be purified, not consumed.”
What kind of humility do you feel? Is it a sense of sinfulness? Is it not a sense of helplessness, of dependence, of emptiness, and, as it were, nothingness? How do you look back on your past sins, either of heart or life? What tempers or passions do you feel, while you are employed in these reflections? Do you feel nothing like pride while you are comparing your present with your past state; or while persons are showing their approbation of, or esteem for, you? How is it that you are so frequently charged with pride? Are you careful to abstain from the appearance of it? O how important are all your steps! The Lord God guide and support you every moment!
I am yours, etc.
CXCII. — To the Same.
MY DEAR SISTER, MALDON, February 20, 1758.
IS your eye altogether single? Is your heart entirely pure? I know you gave up the whole to God once; but do you stand to the gift? Once your will was swallowed up in God’s. But is it now, and will it be so always? The whole Spirit and power of God be upon you; stablish, strengthen, settle you; and preserve your spirit, soul, and body, spotless and unblamable, unto the coming of Jesus Christ!
I am yours, etc.
CXCIII. — To the Same.
MY DEAR SISTER, DUBLIN, April 4, 1758.
O THAT I could be of some use to you! I long to help you forward in your way. I want to have your understanding a mere lamp of light, always shining with light from above! I want you to be full of divine knowledge and wisdom, as Jordan in the time of harvest! I want your words to be full