When we were growing up our parents taught us, by both word and example, to pay attention to little things. If you do a thing at all, do it thoroughly: make the sheets really smooth on the bed, sweep all the comers and move all the chairs when you sweep the kitchen, roll the toothpaste tube neatly and put the cap back on, clean the hair out of your brush each time you use it, hang your towel straight on the rod, fold your napkin and put it into the silver ring before you leave the table, never wet your finger when you turn pages. They kept promises made to us as faithfully as they kept those made to adults. They taught us to do the same. You didn’t accept an invitation to a party and then not turn up, or agree to help with the Vacation Bible School and back out because a more interesting activity presented itself. The only financial debt my parents ever incurred was a mortgage on a house, which my father explained was in a special class because it was real estate which would always have value.
When I went to boarding school the same principles I had been taught at home were emphasized. There was a hallway with small oriental rugs which we called “Character Hall” because the headmistress, Mrs. DuBose, could look down that hall from the armchair where she sat in the lobby and spot any student who kicked up the corner of a rug and did not replace it. She would call out to correct him, “It’s those tiny little things in your life which will crack you up when you get out of this school!” In the little things our character was revealed. Our response would make or break us.
“Don’t go around with a Bible under your arm if you didn’t sweep under the bed,” she said, for she would have no pious talk corning out of a messy room.
“Great thoughts go best with common duties. Whatever therefore may be your office regard it as a fragment in an immeasurable ministry of love” (Bishop Brooke Foss Westcott, b. 1825).
Continued next week . . .
**Excerpt originally published in Keep a Quiet Heart p. 83-84