Sometimes we call such “Marthas,” and make light of the fact that we have loaded ourselves down with such heavy burdens, and take comfort in the thought that one of the women whom Jesus loved was in the same condemnation; but we forget that her anxious housewifely cares were for Jesus.  Dare we say as much for ours?

One morning Mrs. Williams was not bustling about with her usual activity.  She sat in her own room with a grave, troubled face.  She was in deep thought, and it was not some scheme for adding to her wardrobe, or the furnishings of her house, that formed the subject of her meditations.  Perhaps the days are not past when the Lord speaks to a soul “in a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men.”  Mrs. Williams was not a nervous woman, full of strange fancies, and her dreams heretofore had been passed by as idle phantasies of the brain, but the remarkable and solemn one of the previous night could not be so dismissed, and like one of old, her “spirit was troubled.”

In her dream, the day had come for her to die, and leave her busy work for evermore.  She could recall it all most vividly, the flash of surprise, the anguish, the feeling that she was not ready, the swift searching of her heart to find her hope, the feeble despairing cry, Oh Christ, forgive me! the weeping friends, not heeded in the all-absorbing thoughts, “What is this?  Where am I going?”

Then the sinking away, the last gasp, and eternity opened!  In the distance there dawned upon her vision the glory of the city, the golden gates, the crowns, the harps, the white-robed throng, the wonderful music thrilling her soul.  As she tremblingly approached the gate, her heart gave a bound, for that kingly One could be no other than Christ the Lord, the one she loved years ago before the world got hold of her.  Surely he would recognise her; but when she timidly ventured nearer, and spoke his name, there was no smile of welcome, no “Come, ye blessed;” the look was cold, the face averted.  In tears and agony she begged an angel to open the gates and let her in.  When he asked her whence she came, and by what right she hoped to enter, she murmured out that she belonged to Christ’s church when she was on earth.  Then he bade her come with him.  He lifted a veil and said, “Look!”

There were rooms filled with beauty, opening into each other, and stretching off into the distance.  There was rich furniture, carpets of softest velvet covered the floors, mirrors and paintings filled the walls; there were exquisite vases of delicate tints and graceful forms, finest statuary, innumerable and endless articles of ornamentation, and, lying about in rich profusion, were costly silks and glittering satins and rare laces; jewellery flashed out here and there; diamonds and pearls and all precious gems in beautiful settings, novels in costly binding, food delicate and tempting in abundance and variety.  “It was for such as these,” the sad voice of the angel said, “that you bartered your soul; these are the things you coveted and toiled for in your earth-life.”