June 28

“The child grew, and one day he went out to his father, who was with the reapers. ”My head! My head!“ he said to his father. His father told a servant, ”Carry him to his mother.“ After the servant had lifted him up and carried him to his mother, the boy sat on her lap until noon, and then he died.” — 2 Kgs 4:18-20

The child went out with glee from the home door into the harvest-field, where his father and the reapers were busy. The sun was hot, and it was not long until the little one was crying in great pain. The father was too busy to give much thought to his sick child. The mother was the person to do that, and he sent the boy home by a servant. The mother was not too busy to attend to her child–mothers never are. With maternal tenderness she took her stricken boy on her knees, doing all in her power to restore him. But when noon came–he was dead in her arms!

What a change a few hours made in that home! We are never sure when we leave the breakfast table and scatter to our several tasks, that our merry laughter shall not be turned to grief before nightfall. This consciousness should make our home fellowship very affectionate, since any hour we spend together, may be the last. The scene in this old Shunammite home, is one which has been repeated in so many households, that, as we linger on it, it touches all hearts, and makes this ancient mother kin to thousands of other mothers. No matter that she lived twenty-seven hundred years ago. To us she is a mother with her dead child in her arms, and our hearts are touched by her grief down through all these centuries!