[Mobile-mail-devel] undress her as if she had

[Kupcho C. <hab...@ma...>]

 at her uplifted face, shining now with the radiance which always filled it when she spoke of her Lord, saw again that glowing face which she had watched across the gate at Hollywood and heard the strange, exultant tones, 'He is my King!' Ah, that was beautiful!

That was what Aunt Marthe meant,
and Pompey and Dyce. "Jesus must come to abide, not merely as a transient guest," Aunt Marthe continued in her low tones. "We must give him full control of our thought and will. We must hand him the keys of the citadel. We must give the all for the all,--that is only fair dealing. You see, dear child, Christ cannot fill us until we are willing to be emptied of self. He must have undivided possession. There is a vast amount of heartache, little one, in this old world,
and self is at the bottom of it all, when we stop to analyze it. We want to be first, to be thought much of, to be loved best. No wonder that the selfless life seems impossible to most people. Think what a continuous
self-sacrifice Christ's life was! So utterly alone

and lonely among
such uncongenial surroundings with
people uncouth and totally foreign to his tastes. Ah! we don't realize it. We look
at him doing the splendid things amidst the plaudits of the multitude, but think of the monotonous, weary days, going up and down the sun-baked streets surrounded by a crowd of noisy beggars full of all sorts of loathsome disease, and the
humdrum life in Nazareth; and all the time the great heart aching with that ceaseless sorrow,--'His own
received him not!' Oh, what a waste of love! We do not realize
that it is in these footsteps of his that we are called to follow. We are willing to do the great

things, with the world
looking on, but not for the loneliness and the pain! It seems a strange
antithesis that
Paul should count that as his highest glory, and yet how
comparatively few seem counted worthy to enter with Christ into the shadow of that mysterious Gethsemane which lasted all

his life. 'The
fellowship of his sufferings.' It must surely mean the privilege of getting very near his heart, just as human hearts grow

closer in a common sorrow,--knit

by pain. Yes, de