The First Epoch In My Religious Life (the Awakening)

In the story of my religious life, four epochs stand out clearly before me. The first dawned, as I have said, when I was sixteen. In a dim, mysterious way, I began to feel vague longings for something that would satisfy my inward nature. In my diary from the autumn of 1848, I find record of these longings — a blind reaching out for something to fill what I called, in the tragic language of youth, “the aching void in my heart.”

In the midst of this, I fell head over heels in love with one of the young teachers at the school I was attending, and her influence changed my life. I recorded in my diary every step of our acquaintance — my longing to speak to her, to beg for her love, and my hesitation from fear of troubling her. I wrote as follows: “1848. Sixteen years old. This is an important time for me. Now is the time for forming my character. I feel as I never felt before. The great and solemn duties of life have, for the first time, come before me. I was not born to be an idler; for I feel something within me which tells me: Life has more inspiring imports Than the fancies of thy youth; It has hopes as high as heaven, It has labour, it has truth.

It has wrongs that may be righted, Noble deeds that may be done.

Its great battles are unfought, Its great triumphs are unwon.

Something which points onward — far onward — into the future, beyond this life into a brighter, happier world, and tells me of the glorious reward of those who fulfill their duties.

I have not felt this long. Three months ago, I was a careless, happy child. I am still a child, but an earnest, reflective one — no longer careless or indifferent. How can I be so, when there is so much, so very much, to think about and so much to be done? What has caused this change?

There was an aching void in my heart. I felt a want of something — something I knew not what — something indefinable that would make me sit dreamily for hours and look into the sky, watching the pale stars or the moon, until my very being seemed merged into theirs. I almost forgot I was on earth while my thoughts wandered into the pathless regions over which they presided, and I strove in vain to pierce the mysteries of their existence.

Study, I thought, would fill that void, but I was mistaken. In this state of mind, at the beginning of the Ninth Month, we left our darling little cottage home and returned to the city. If at that time I had met someone I could love whose principles were bad, I shudder to think what might have happened, for I am easily influenced by those I love.

But my Heavenly Father was willing to extend a little mercy toward me. He sent across my path one in whom I found a true friend. She was a young girl employed by Miss Maryanna as a composition teacher, named Anna S — . I was prepared to love her even before I saw her, for someone dear to me had told me of her loveliness. For two weeks after she first came to school, I believe I spoke to her only once; and that was when I saw her looking for a book and handed her one, asking if it was the right one.

I thought we would never become acquainted. I would sit and watch her and wish I dared speak to her and kiss her, and this very longing made me painfully shy. I would see her put her arms around other girls, and I would turn away in sorrow to think she would not do the same to me. At last, one day — how well I remember it — I was standing at my desk when she came up and spoke to me about A. S. F. How happy I felt! How I longed to throw my arms around her neck and beg her to let me love her! My heart was in a tumult, yet I answered calmly and without emotion, and she soon left me. But the ice was broken. We began to speak more often, and one morning she kissed me. That kiss was engraved on my heart. I felt that she loved me, and the thought brought me happiness.

From that moment, I have loved — nay, almost idolized — her. The aching void in my heart is now partly filled, for I have listened to her thoughts, seen the nobility of her actions, and learned that “life is real, life is earnest,” and not to be passed in idle dreaming or wasted in frivolous amusements. She has taught me — not in so many words, but quietly through her influence — that I have a mission to fulfill on earth, and that I must straightway begin to perform it. Henceforth, I must struggle earnestly to become pure and holy and noble-hearted, so that I may be great in the world and faithfully play my part in the great battle of life. Her influence has awakened me from my dream of childhood. In one short month, I have become a woman. Oh, how blessed her friendship has been to me! I hope — earnestly hope —that I may not abuse the privilege.”

A day or two later, I wrote: “Every day , I feel grateful to my Heavenly Father for blessing me with such a friend as Anna.

This is such an important period of my life. I tremble when I think of the awful responsibility resting upon me. My character is forming, and I have the power to become what I choose. Oh, may I choose to be a good and noble woman! Today, as I walked along the street and thought of what my future destiny might be, it made me almost shrink. I may be destined for some great work. I feel something within me that tells me I could accomplish it. At any rate, I shall do a great deal of good or evil. I will choose the former.

Oh, my Father who art in Heaven, wilt Thou not help me advance in the path of self-conquest, which must be my first great battle? What a glorious triumph it will be if I succeed!”

According to my diary, each day now seemed to awaken my spiritual nature more and more, until at last a kind of climax arrived. On 11th Month 28th, 1848, I wrote: “An eventful day! Eventful, I mean, in my spiritual life. Today I have felt and thought enough for a year. My friend Anna read to us in class a book called Other Worlds , and also Future Existence from the School Boy by Abbott. It was all intensely interesting and had an almost overpowering effect on me.

As I listened to the accounts of those mighty worlds scattered everywhere around us — some so distant that the rays of light which enter our eyes had left those stars six thousand years ago! — and as I reflected that these worlds are all moving regularly, never disturbing one another, but all obedient to one mighty Creator, the grandeur of the thought was overwhelming. For a few minutes, I felt as though the very happiness of being born into a universe so limitless, so magnificent, so glorious, was almost too great to bear.

And as I heard of our future existence, of the glorious and unimaginable happiness in store for us, of the perfect bliss reserved for the good and the holy, I inwardly thanked my Creator for placing me among beings whose expectations were so blessed. But then came the awful, overwhelming thought that this eternity of endless bliss was only for the good — and the realization that I could have no share in it unless my heart was changed. Oh, I cannot describe the misery of that moment! It was almost more than I could bear. And these thoughts linger with me. Why is i t?”

The impression made upon me by this glimpse into the magnificence of the universe has never left me to this day. At the bottom of all my questionings about God, there has always been a conviction of His illimitable power — something nothing could ever withstand. But for a long time, as will be seen, I thought of this power as a selfish one, engaged not on my side but against me. And my one question for many years was how I could win the God who possessed such power over to my side.