When I Peeked Into A Writer's Window
It was a bright morning in Maine when we snuck around the side of the old house, peeking in windows. We hadn’t planned to stop at Harriet Beecher Stowe’s home but a historic marker sign told us to. I didn’t know much about the author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin except that she did something revolutionary with her words when she saw repulsive things happening in America. It’s funny how I tend to picture legendary people – somehow endowed with more insight into how things really work, with more hours in a day, and less real life to tend to.
But through the old window was a different picture. The sun streamed onto the wood floors where Harriet’s shadow had once been instead of ours. A displayed letter to her sister read, “Since I began this note I have been called off at least a dozen times – once for the fish-man, to buy a codfish – once to see a man who had brought me some baskets of apples – once to see a book man…then to nurse the baby – then into the kitchen to make chowder for dinner and now I am at it again for nothing but deadly determination enables me to ever write – it is rowing against wind and tide.”
The same woman who had been credited with the outbreak of the Civil War due to her book’s exposure of slavery, also nursed the baby, bought groceries, made dinner, and wrote to Sister.
When she was a young teenager, there was a pivotal Sunday when the words of the pastor, who was also her father, struck her. “As soon as father came home and was seated in his study, I went up to him and fell in his arms, saying, ‘Father, I have given myself to Jesus, and He has taken me.’ I shall never forget the expression on his face as he looked down into my earnest childish eyes…’Is that so?’ he said, holding me silent to his heart as I felt the hot tears fall on my head.”
She knew the joys, as well as the excruciating pain of parenthood. She raised seven children of her own, witnessing the death of four due to various tragedies and illnesses. She suffered and cried out to God and kept on writing, a line here and a page there. By the end of her life, there were thirty books and countless articles, poems, and hymns.
When Harriet rose at 4:30 in the morning she sat in the silence, watching the darkness fall away as the sun rose. She listened to birds begin to sing and she read scripture. This hymn was inspired one day by Psalm 139:17-18.
Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee.
Now, I'm far from Maine. I've read more about Harriet's successes and struggles. I hummed her words this morning and thought about how I use my precious minutes and days until I reach Glory on this pockmarked road. As she says in the last line of her hymn:
So shall it be at last in that bright morning
When the soul waketh and life’s shadows flee
O in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee.
Sources: Then Sings My Soul by Robert J. Morgan