I AM THINKING of a poor little lassie of India, Mimosa by name.  She heard one brief message concerning the love of the great Creator.  How that love had been manifested in redemption "she knew just nothing; there had not been time to tell her." She was hastened away by a cruel father, lest she become like her sister, Star, who was in the mission school.  She was unseen by the missionary for twenty-two years.  How could the little thing be expected to remember that one brief message about the loving Father above?  But miracle of miracles, her soul was captured.  Then she went home, to face only suffering, betrayal and deception.  At length she was deceived into an unfortunate and miserable marriage.  But she slaved in the fields to pay her lazy husband's debts.  At last, in agony, she cried aloud to the One of whom she had heard so very, very little, "Oh God, my husband has deceived me; his brother has deceived me; even my mother has deceived me; but You will not deceive me." Then waiting a little, and looking up and stretching out her arms, she continued, "Yes, they have all deceived me, but I am not offended with You.  Whatever' You do is good." (Untaught, she used the familiar "You!') Later on, in the house of her hateful heathen brother, she was given "a public affront, unforgivable from an Indian point of view, unforgettable." It was so horrible that "it has no English parallel." Shortly before this an old lukewarm Christian she had met by chance (?) had given her the second sermon in her life, a sort of sentence sermon, saying, "In every least thing He win wonderfully guide you." Could it be possible that she had been "guided to that heartless house with its hateful outrage?  As she saw it and felt it again, hot shame scorched her.  She had been flouted in her brother's house." But by the Divine Presence Mimosa took heart; she forgave; she slept.  She accepted. it all from her Father in Heaven; "Whatever You do is good."

In a somewhat different connection, Amy Carmichael puts in poetry the way most of us meet our sorrows.  The first, the most natural way, to get rid of grief is to try to forget it.

That failing, we try to fill in every twenty-four hours with a ceaseless round of activity.

Or, we attempt the opposite. (Fleshly wisdom is resourceful.) We try withdrawal, quiet, aloofness.