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TOPIC: Gordon, Samuel Dickey - Quiet Talks on Home Ideals (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 06. "It's Raining Roses Down."
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"It's Raining Roses Down."
Practical idealizing is seeing the purpose of God under and behind everything that comes, and insisting on getting it out into real life. It was a man who could see through what is often considered an inconvenience, and a disturbance of one's plans, who wrote:
"It isn't raining rain to me,
It's raining daffodils;
In every dimpled drop I see
Wild flowers on the hills.
The clouds of grey engulf the day
And overwhelm the town,
It isn't raining rain to me,
It's raining roses down.
"It isn't raining rain to me,
But fields of clover bloom,
Where any buccaneering bee
May find a bed and room.
A health unto the happy,
A fig for him who frets,—
It isn't raining rain to me,
It's raining violets." (Robert Loveman.)
The rain storm that may disarrange things for you, isn't to be thought of in itself simply, of course, but for the possible good that lies in it. It is a means to an end, an end both of beauty, and of providing our daily bread. The inconvenience it may cause isn't to be thought of except incidentally, in planning to meet and overcome it. Overshoes and raincoats and umbrellas, and careful drying-up afterwards, and all that sort of bother, are simply a bit of the toll of life, that we pay for the flowers we enjoy, and the wheat we eat.
So sickness is a school. It should not be thought of in itself, but only for the flowers it will bring into bloom, and the finer strength that should grow out of it. It may cause sharp pain, an upsetting of all one's plans, and real anxiety. But these really are only by the way, the bothering with overshoes and other such storm things, the toll on the road, the tuition fee at school. Of course it is true that most of us feel the pain so sharply, and are so worried over the broken plans, and so swept off our feet by the anxiety, that we are pretty apt to forget the real thing.
It's easy not to remember that the storm carries our bread in its arms; that beyond the toll-gate the road leads up the heights into finer air and farther view; and that school work enriches and deepens all the after life. Indeed, if we kept these things straighter, and insisted on looking ahead, through the storm, to the blue and the shine waiting above the grey and the shade, we would find the storm blowing over more quickly. Pain could do its work faster, and better, too, and be off and away, if we used it, and worked with it.
"Is it raining, little flower?
Be glad of rain.
Too much sun would wither thee,
'Twill shine again.
The clouds are very black, 'tis true,
But just beyond them shines the blue.
"Art thou weary, tender heart?
Be glad of pain.
In sorrow sweetest virtues grow,
As flowers in rain.
God watches, and thou wilt have sun,
When clouds their perfect work have done."
The tight pinching in money is unhandy and bothersome—we use stronger words while the pinch is on—but out of it come better management, wise economies; and, yet better, keener thinking, and so keener brains for all the other questions that come; keener outlook into life, and a keener capacity for the enjoyment of life, if—you must underscore that "if"—if you keep your eye steadily on the ideal, the possible good waiting your grasp in the difficulty.
The emergency brings quicker-wittedness, and a stronger grasp and use of one's resources, and a sturdier grip for the next one. The practical idealist reaches an eager hand steadily out through all circumstances for the flowers and fruit; and gets them, too.
"Is the road very dreary,
Patience yet!
Rest will be sweeter if thou art weary;
And after the night cometh the morning cheery.
Then bide a wee and dinna fret.
"The clouds have a silver lining,
Don't forget;
And though he's hidden, still the sun is shining;
Courage! Instead of tears and vain repining.
Just bide a wee and dinna fret." (Torquil MacLeod.)