The next day was Sunday, and Sunday at the farmhouse was a thing of stern repression and solemn silence....
It was a distinct shock to him, therefore, on this Sunday morning to be awakened by a peal of music such as the little house had never known before. All the while he was thrusting his indignant self into his clothing, the runs and turns and crashing chords whirled about him until it seemed that a whole orchestra must be imprisoned in the little room over the kitchen, so skillful was the boy's double stopping. Simeon Holly was white with anger when he finally hurried down the hall and threw open David's bedroom door.
"Boy, what do you mean by this?" he demanded.
David laughed gleefully.
"And didn't you know?" he asked. "Why, I thought my music would tell you. I was so happy, so glad! The birds in the trees woke me up singing, 'You're wanted-you're wanted'; and the sun came over the hill there and said, 'You're wanted-you're wanted'; and the little tree-branch tapped on my window pane and said, 'You're wanted-you're wanted!' And I just had to take up my violin and tell you about it!"
But it's Sunday-the Lord's Day," remonstrated the man sternly.
David stood motionless, his eyes questioning.
"Are you quite a heathen, then?" catechised the man sharply. "Have they never told you anything about God, boy?"
"Oh, 'God'?-of course," smiled David, in open relief. "God wraps up the buds in their little brown blankets, and covers the roots with-"
"I am not talking about brown blankets nor roots," interrupted the man severely. "This is God's day, and as such should be kept holy."
"Yes. You should not fiddle nor laugh nor sing."
"But those are good things, and beautiful things," defended David, his eyes wide and puzzled.
"In their place, perhaps," conceded the man stiffly; "but not on God's day."
"You mean-He wouldn't like them?"
"Oh!"-and David's face cleared. "That's all right, then. Your God isn't the same one, sir, for mine loves all beautiful things every day in the year."
There was a moment's silence. For the first time in his life Simeon Holly found himself without words.
-from Just David by Eleanor H. Porter
We just finished reading Pollyanna together and I decided to reread this book, Just David, by the same author. This passage really got me thinking. Is my God the same as yours? My guess is it depends on what you are basing your view of God on. Is it based on church tradition? What your earthly father is like? Is it based on what you have heard others say... neighbors, teachers, pastors, celebrities...? It can happen, without us even realizing it, that our God is like when you look in those mirrors in a fun house....you know the ones that make you tall and skinny or short and fat or all squiggily. I do not want my God to be distorted. My desire is to know Him as He really is. I am continually having to clear away the barriers that keep me from the one true God.