Isabella's Religious Experience
We will now turn from the outward and temporal to the inward and spiritual life of our subject. It is ever both interesting and instructive to trace the exercises of a human mind, through the trials and mysteries of life; and especially a naturally powerful mind, left as hers was almost entirely to its own workings, and the chance influences it met on its way; and especially to note its reception of that divine 'light, that lighteth every man that cometh into the world.'
We will now turn from her outward, worldly life to her inner, spiritual life. It is always interesting and instructive to follow the workings of a human mind through life’s trials and mysteries. This is especially true of a naturally powerful mind like hers. It was left almost entirely to its own workings and the chance influences it encountered along the way. It is especially interesting to see how such a mind receives that divine 'light, that lights every person who comes into the world.'
We see, as knowledge dawns upon it, truth and error strangely commingled; here, a bright spot illuminated by truth-and there, one darkened and distorted by error; and the state of such a soul may be compared to a landscape at early dawn, where the sun is seen superbly gilding some objects, and causing others to send forth their lengthened, distorted, and sometimes hideous shadows.
As knowledge dawns on a soul, we see truth and error strangely mixed together. Here, truth lights up a bright spot. There, error darkens and distorts another. Such a soul may be compared to a landscape at dawn. The sun brilliantly gilds some objects while causing others to cast long, distorted, and sometimes hideous shadows.
Her mother, as we have already said, talked to her of God. From these conversations, her incipient mind drew the conclusion, that God was 'a great man'; greatly superior to other men in power; and being located 'high in the sky,' could see all that transpired on the earth. She believed he not only saw, but noted down all her actions in a great book, even as her master kept a record of whatever he wished not to forget. But she had no idea that God knew a thought of hers till she had uttered it aloud.
Her mother, as we have already said, talked to her about God. From these conversations, her young mind concluded that God was 'a great man', much more powerful than other men. She thought he lived 'high in the sky' and could see everything that happened on earth. She believed he not only saw all her actions but also wrote them down in a great book. Her master kept a record of whatever he did not want to forget, and she thought God did the same. But she had no idea that God knew any of her thoughts until she spoke them aloud.
As we have before mentioned, she had ever been mindful of her mother's injunctions, spreading out in detail all her troubles before God, imploring and firmly trusting him to send her deliverance from them. Whilst yet a child, she listened to a story of a wounded soldier, left alone in the trail of a flying army, helpless and starving, who hardened the very ground about him with kneeling in his supplications to God for relief, until it arrived. From this narrative, she was deeply impressed with the idea, that if she also were to present her petitions under the open canopy of heaven, speaking very loud, she should the more readily be heard; consequently, she sought a fitting spot for this, her rural sanctuary. The place she selected, in which to offer up her daily orisons, was a small island in a small stream, covered with large willow shrubbery, beneath which the sheep had made their pleasant winding paths; and sheltering themselves from the scorching rays of a noon-tide sun, luxuriated in the cool shadows of the graceful willows, as they listened to the tiny falls of the silver waters. It was a lonely spot, and chosen by her for its beauty, its retirement, and because she thought that there, in the noise of those waters, she could speak louder to God, without being overheard by any who might pass that way. When she had made choice of her sanctum, at a point of the island where the stream met, after having been separated, she improved it by pulling away the branches of the shrubs from the centre, and weaving them together for a wall on the outside, forming a circular arched alcove, made entirely of the graceful willow. To this place she resorted daily, and in pressing times much more frequently.
As we mentioned before, she had always remembered her mother’s instructions. She told God all her troubles in detail, begging him for deliverance and trusting firmly that he would send it. When she was still a child, she heard a story about a wounded soldier. He had been left alone behind a fleeing army, helpless and starving. He knelt and prayed to God for relief until the ground around him grew hard. At last, relief came. The story left her with a strong impression. She believed that if she prayed under the open sky and spoke very loudly, God would hear her more readily. So she looked for a suitable place to make her sanctuary in the countryside. She chose a small island in a small stream for her daily prayers. Large willow bushes covered the island, and sheep had made pleasant winding paths beneath them. Sheltered from the scorching midday sun, the sheep delighted in the cool shadows of the graceful willows. There they listened to the little falls of the silvery water. It was a lonely spot, and she chose it for its beauty and privacy. She also thought the sound of the water would let her speak louder to God without being overheard by passersby. She chose a place on the island where the divided stream came together again. She cleared branches from the center and wove them together to form an outer wall. In this way, she made a circular, arched alcove entirely of graceful willow branches. She went there daily, and much more often in times of urgent need.
At this time, her prayers, or, more appropriately, 'talks with God,' were perfectly original and unique, and would be well worth preserving, were it possible to give the tones and manner with the words; but no adequate idea of them can be written while the tones and manner remain inexpressible.
At this time, her prayers, or more accurately, her 'talks with God,' were completely original and unique. They would be well worth preserving if their tone and manner could be captured along with the words. But no written account can adequately convey them while their tone and manner remain impossible to express.
She would sometimes repeat, 'Our Father in heaven,' in her Low Dutch, as taught her by her mother; after that, all was from the suggestions of her own rude mind. She related to God, in minute detail, all her troubles and sufferings, inquiring, as she proceeded, 'Do you think that's right, God?' and closed by begging to be delivered from the evil, whatever it might be.
She sometimes repeated, 'Our Father in heaven,' in her Low Dutch, as her mother had taught her. After that, everything came from her own untrained mind. She told God all her troubles and sufferings in minute detail. As she went on, she asked, 'Do you think that's right, God?' She ended by begging to be delivered from the evil, whatever it might be.
She talked to God as familiarly as if he had been a creature like herself; and a thousand times more so, than if she had been in the presence of some earthly potentate. She demanded, with little expenditure of reverence or fear, a supply of all her more pressing wants, and at times her demands approached very near to commands. She felt as if God was under obligation to her, much more than she was to him. He seemed to her benighted vision in some manner bound to do her bidding.
She spoke to God as casually as if he were a creature like herself. She was a thousand times more casual with him than she would have been with an earthly ruler. With little reverence or fear, she demanded that God supply all her most pressing needs. At times, her demands came very close to commands. She felt that God owed her much more than she owed him. In her unenlightened view, God seemed somehow bound to do as she told him.
Her heart recoils now, with very dread, when she recalls those shocking, almost blasphemous conversations with great Jehovah. And well for herself did she deem it, that, unlike earthly potentates, his infinite character combined the tender father with the omniscient and omnipotent Creator of the universe.
Her heart now recoils in dread when she remembers those shocking, almost blasphemous conversations with great Jehovah. She thought herself fortunate that, unlike earthly rulers, he was both a tender father and the all-knowing, all-powerful Creator of the universe.
She at first commenced promising God, that if he would help her out of all her difficulties, she would pay him by being very good; and this goodness she intended as a remuneration to God. She could think of no benefit that was to accrue to herself or her fellow-creatures, from her leading a life of purity and generous self-sacrifice for the good of others; as far as any but God was concerned, she saw nothing in it but heart-trying penance, sustained by the sternest exertion; and this she soon found much more easily promised than performed.
At first, she promised God that if he helped her out of all her difficulties, she would repay him by being very good. She meant her goodness as payment to God. She could see no benefit to herself or others from living a pure life and generously sacrificing herself for others. As far as anyone but God was concerned, she saw such a life as a painful penance requiring the hardest effort. She soon found that it was much easier to promise such goodness than to practice it.
Days wore away-new trials came-God's aid was invoked, and the same promises repeated; and every successive night found her part of the contract unfulfilled. She now began to excuse herself, by telling God she could not be good in her present circumstances; but if he would give her a new place, and a good master and mistress, she could and would be good; and she expressly stipulated, that she would be good one day to show God how good she would be all of the time, when he should surround her with the right influences, and she should be delivered from the temptations that then so sorely beset her. But, alas! when night came, and she became conscious that she had yielded to all her temptations, and entirely failed of keeping her word with God, having prayed and promised one hour, and fallen into the sins of anger and profanity the next, the mortifying reflection weighed on her mind, and blunted her enjoyment. Still, she did not lay it deeply to heart, but continued to repeat her demands for aid, and her promises of pay, with full purpose of heart, at each particular time, that that day she would not fail to keep her plighted word.
Days passed, and new trials came. She asked God for help and repeated the same promises. Yet every night found her side of the bargain unfulfilled. She began to excuse herself, telling God she could not be good in her present circumstances. But if he gave her a new place and a good master and mistress, she could and would be good. She specifically promised to be good for one day. She wanted to show God how good she would be all the time once he surrounded her with the right influences and freed her from the temptations that troubled her so deeply. But, alas, when night came, she realized she had given in to all her temptations. She had completely failed to keep her word to God. One hour she had prayed and made promises, and the next she had fallen into anger and profanity. This humiliating thought weighed on her mind and dulled her enjoyment. Still, she did not take it deeply to heart. She kept asking God for help and promising to repay him. Each time, she fully intended to keep her word that day.
Thus perished the inward spark, like a flame just igniting, when one waits to see whether it will burn on or die out, till the long desired change came, and she found herself in a new place, with a good mistress, and one who never instigated an otherwise kind master to be unkind to her; in short, a place where she had literally nothing to complain of, and where, for a time, she was more happy than she could well express. 'Oh, every thing there was so pleasant, and kind, and good, and all so comfortable; enough of every thing; indeed, it was beautiful!' she exclaimed.
So the spark within her went out. It was like a newly lit flame, when you wait to see whether it will keep burning or die out. At last, the change she had long desired came. She found herself in a new place with a good mistress. This mistress never encouraged her otherwise kind master to be unkind to her. In short, she had literally nothing to complain about there. For a time, she was happier than she could easily express. 'Oh, everything there was so pleasant, and kind, and good, and everything was so comfortable. There was enough of everything. It was beautiful!' she exclaimed.
Here, at Mr. Van Wagener's,-as the reader will readily perceive she must have been,-she was so happy and satisfied, that God was entirely forgotten. Why should her thoughts turn to him, who was only known to her as a help in trouble? She had no trouble now; her every prayer had been answered in every minute particular. She had been delivered from her persecutors and temptations, her youngest child had been given her, and the others she knew she had no means of sustaining if she had them with her, and was content to leave them behind. Their father, who was much older than Isabel, and who preferred serving his time out in slavery, to the trouble and dangers of the course she pursued, remained with and could keep an eye on them-though it is comparatively little that they can do for each other while they remain in slavery; and this little the slave, like persons in every other situation of life, is not always disposed to perform. There are slaves, who, copying the selfishness of their superiors in power, in their conduct towards their fellows who may be thrown upon their mercy, by infirmity or illness, allow them to suffer for want of that kindness and care which it is fully in their power to render them.
At Mr. Van Wagener's, as the reader can easily imagine, she was so happy and content that she forgot God entirely. Why should she think of him when she knew him only as a help in trouble? She had no trouble now. Every prayer she had made had been answered in every detail. She had been delivered from her persecutors and temptations, and her youngest child had been given to her. She knew she had no means of supporting her other children if they were with her, and she was content to leave them behind. Their father was much older than Isabel. He preferred to serve out his time in slavery rather than face the trouble and dangers of the course she had taken. He remained with the children and could keep an eye on them. Still, slaves can do relatively little for one another while they remain in slavery. And slaves, like people in every other situation in life, are not always willing to do even that little. Some slaves copy the selfishness of those who have power over them. When other slaves are left at their mercy by weakness or illness, they let them suffer without kindness and care, even though they could easily provide it.
The slaves in this country have ever been allowed to celebrate the principal, if not some of the lesser festivals observed by the Catholics and Church of England;-many of them not being required to do the least service for several days, and at Christmas they have almost universally an entire week to themselves, except, perhaps, the attending to a few duties, which are absolutely required for the comfort of the families they belong to. If much service is desired, they are hired to do it, and paid for it as if they were free. The more sober portion of them spend these holidays in earning a little money. Most of them visit and attend parties and balls, and not a few of them spend it in the lowest dissipation. This respite from toil is granted them by all religionists, of whatever persuasion, and probably originated from the fact that many of the first slaveholders were members of the Church of England.
The slaves in this country have always been allowed to celebrate the main festivals observed by Catholics and the Church of England. They have also been allowed to celebrate some of the lesser festivals. Many are not required to do any work for several days. At Christmas, almost all have an entire week to themselves. They may, however, have to attend to a few duties essential to the comfort of the families they belong to. If much work is wanted, they are hired and paid to do it as if they were free. The more sober among them spend these holidays earning a little money. Most visit others and attend parties and balls. Quite a few spend the time in the lowest forms of excess. People of all religious beliefs grant them this break from work. The practice probably began because many of the first slaveholders were members of the Church of England.
Frederick Douglass, who has devoted his great heart and noble talents entirely to the furtherance of the cause of his down-trodden race, has said-'From what I know of the effect of their holidays upon the slave, I believe them to be among the most effective means, in the hands of the slaveholder, in keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Were the slaveholders at once to abandon this practice, I have not the slightest doubt it would lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves. These holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry off the rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But for these, the slave would be forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the slaveholder, the day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation of those conductors! I warn him that, in such an event, a spirit will go forth in their midst, more to be dreaded than the most appalling earthquake.'
Frederick Douglass has devoted his great heart and noble talents entirely to advancing the cause of his oppressed race. He has said: 'From what I know of how holidays affect the slave, I believe they are among the slaveholder's most effective means of suppressing the spirit of rebellion. If slaveholders were to abandon this practice at once, I have no doubt that slaves would immediately revolt. These holidays serve as outlets, or safety valves, for the rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. Without them, the slave would be driven to the wildest desperation. And woe to the slaveholder who dares to remove or block these outlets! I warn him that, if he does, a spirit will spread among the slaves that is more to be feared than the most horrifying earthquake.'
When Isabella had been at Mr. Van Wagener's a few months, she saw in prospect one of the festivals approaching. She knows it by none but the Dutch name, Pingster, as she calls it-but I think it must have been Whitsuntide, in English. She says she 'looked back into Egypt,' and every thing looked 'so pleasant there,' as she saw retrospectively all her former companions enjoying their freedom for at least a little space, as well as their wonted convivialities, and in her heart she longed to be with them. With this picture before her mind's eye, she contrasted the quiet, peaceful life she was living with the excellent people of Wahkendall, and it seemed so dull and void of incident, that the very contrast served but to heighten her desire to return, that, at least, she might enjoy with them, once more, the coming festivities. These feelings had occupied a secret corner of her breast for some time, when, one morning, she told Mrs. Van Wagener that her old master Dumont would come that day, and that she should go home with him on his return. They expressed some surprise, and asked her where she obtained her information. She replied, that no one had told her, but she felt that he would come.
After Isabella had been at Mr. Van Wagener's for a few months, she saw that a festival was approaching. She knows it only by its Dutch name, Pingster, as she calls it. But I think it must have been Whitsuntide in English. She says she 'looked back into Egypt,' and everything looked 'so pleasant there.' She remembered all her former companions enjoying their freedom for at least a little while and celebrating as usual. In her heart, she longed to be with them. She compared this picture with her quiet, peaceful life among the excellent people of Wahkendall. Her life there seemed so dull and uneventful. The contrast only made her want more to return and enjoy the coming festivities with her companions once again. She had kept these feelings hidden in her heart for some time. Then, one morning, she told Mrs. Van Wagener that her old master Dumont would come that day. She said she would go home with him when he returned. The Van Wageners were surprised and asked where she had heard this. She replied that no one had told her, but she felt that he would come.
It seemed to have been one of those 'events that cast their shadows before'; for, before night, Mr. Dumont made his appearance. She informed him of her intention to accompany him home. He answered, with a smile, 'I shall not take you back again; you ran away from me.' Thinking his manner contradicted his words, she did not feel repulsed, but made herself and child ready; and when her former master had seated himself in the open dearborn, she walked towards it, intending to place herself and child in the rear, and go with him. But, ere she reached the vehicle, she says that God revealed himself to her, with all the suddenness of a flash of lightning, showing her, 'in the twinkling of an eye, that he was all over'-that he pervaded the universe-'and that there was no place where God was not.' She became instantly conscious of her great sin in forgetting her almighty Friend and 'ever-present help in time of trouble.' All her unfulfilled promises arose before her, like a vexed sea whose waves run mountains high; and her soul, which seemed but one mass of lies, shrunk back aghast from the 'awful look' of him whom she had formerly talked to, as if he had been a being like herself; and she would now fain have hid herself in the bowels of the earth, to have escaped his dread presence. But she plainly saw there was no place, not even in hell, where he was not; and where could she flee? Another such 'a look,' as she expressed it, and she felt that she must be extinguished forever, even as one, with the breath of his mouth, 'blows out a lamp,' so that no spark remains.
It seemed to be one of those 'events that cast their shadows before them.' Before nightfall, Mr. Dumont appeared. She told him she intended to go home with him. He smiled and answered, 'I will not take you back. You ran away from me.' She thought his manner contradicted his words, so she did not feel rejected. She got herself and her child ready. When her former master sat down in the open dearborn carriage, she walked toward it. She intended to sit in the back with her child and go with him. But before she reached the carriage, she says, God revealed himself to her as suddenly as a flash of lightning. 'In the blink of an eye,' he showed her 'that he was everywhere.' He filled the universe, 'and there was no place where God was not.' She immediately became aware of her great sin in forgetting her almighty Friend and 'ever-present help in times of trouble.' All her unfulfilled promises rose before her like a stormy sea with waves as high as mountains. Her soul seemed to be one mass of lies. It shrank back in horror from the 'terrible look' of the one she had once spoken to as if he were a being like herself. Now she wished she could hide deep in the earth to escape his terrifying presence. But she saw clearly that there was no place, not even in hell, where he was not. Where could she flee? She felt that another such 'look,' as she called it, would put her out forever. It would be as if someone 'blew out a lamp' with a breath, leaving no spark.
A dire dread of annihilation now seized her, and she waited to see if, by 'another look,' she was to be stricken from existence,-swallowed up, even as the fire licketh up the oil with which it comes in contact.
A terrible fear of being destroyed now seized her. She waited to see if 'another look' would wipe her out of existence, just as fire consumes oil it touches.
When at last the second look came not, and her attention was once more called to outward things, she observed her master had left, and exclaiming aloud, 'Oh, God, I did not know you were so big,' walked into the house, and made an effort to resume her work. But the workings of the inward man were too absorbing to admit of much attention to her avocations. She desired to talk to God, but her vileness utterly forbade it, and she was not able to prefer a petition. 'What!' said she, 'shall I lie again to God? I have told him nothing but lies; and shall I speak again, and tell another lie to God?' She could not; and now she began to wish for some one to speak to God for her. Then a space seemed opening between her and God, and she felt that if some one, who was worthy in the sight of heaven, would but plead for her in their own name, and not let God know it came from her, who was so unworthy, God might grant it. At length a friend appeared to stand between herself and an insulted Deity; and she felt as sensibly refreshed as when, on a hot day, an umbrella had been interposed between her scorching head and a burning sun. But who was this friend? became the next inquiry. Was it Deencia, who had so often befriended her? She looked at her, with her new power of sight-and, lo! she, too, seemed all 'bruises and putrifying sores,' like herself. No, it was some one very different from Deencia.
At last, when the second look did not come, her attention returned to the world around her. She noticed that her master had left. She cried aloud, 'Oh, God, I did not know you were so big,' then went into the house and tried to return to her work. But what was happening within her absorbed her too deeply to let her pay much attention to her tasks. She wanted to talk to God, but her wickedness utterly forbade it. She could not bring herself to ask him for anything. 'What!' she said, 'shall I lie to God again? I have told him nothing but lies. Shall I speak again and tell God another lie?' She could not. Now she began to wish for someone to speak to God for her. Then a space seemed to open between her and God. She felt that if someone worthy in heaven's sight would plead for her in their own name, God might grant the request. They must not let God know it came from her, because she was so unworthy. At last, a friend seemed to stand between her and a God she had insulted. She felt as refreshed as she would on a hot day if an umbrella were held between her scorching head and the burning sun. But who was this friend? she wondered next. Was it Deencia, who had so often helped her? She looked at Deencia with her new power of sight. And there she was, looking, like herself, as if she were covered in 'bruises and rotting sores.' No, the friend was someone very different from Deencia.
'Who are you?' she exclaimed, as the vision brightened into a form distinct, beaming with the beauty of holiness, and radiant with love. She then said, audibly addressing the mysterious visitant-'I
'Who are you?' she exclaimed as the vision grew brighter and took a distinct form. It shone with the beauty of holiness and radiated love. Then she spoke aloud to the mysterious visitor, saying, 'I
know you, and I don't know you.' Meaning, 'You seem perfectly familiar; I feel that you not only love me, but that you always have loved me-yet I know you not-I cannot call you by name.' When she said, 'I know you,' the subject of the vision remained distinct and quiet. When she said, 'I don't know you,' it moved restlessly about, like agitated waters. So while she repeated, without intermission, 'I know you, I know you,' that the vision might remain-'Who are you?' was the cry of her heart, and her whole soul was in one deep prayer that this heavenly personage might be revealed to her, and remain with her. At length, after bending both soul and body with the intensity of this desire, till breath and strength seemed failing, and she could maintain her position no
know you, and I don't know you.' She meant, 'You seem perfectly familiar. I feel that you love me and that you always have loved me. Yet I don't know you. I cannot call you by name.' When she said, 'I know you,' the figure in the vision remained clear and still. When she said, 'I don't know you,' it moved restlessly, like churning water. So she repeated, without stopping, 'I know you, I know you,' to keep the vision there. 'Who are you?' was the cry of her heart. With her whole soul, she prayed deeply that this heavenly figure would be revealed to her and stay with her. At last, her desire strained both her soul and body so intensely that her breath and strength seemed to fail. She could no longer hold her position
longer, an answer came to her, saying distinctly, 'It is Jesus.' 'Yes,' she responded, 'it is Jesus.'
longer, she received a clear answer: 'It is Jesus.' 'Yes,' she replied, 'it is Jesus.'
Previous to these exercises of mind, she heard Jesus mentioned in reading or speaking, but had received from what she heard no impression that he was any other than an eminent man, like a Washington or a Lafayette. Now he appeared to her delighted mental vision as so mild, so good, and so every way lovely, and he loved her so much! And, how strange that he had always loved her, and she had never known it! And how great a blessing he conferred, in that he should stand between her and God! And God was no longer a terror and a dread to her.
Before these spiritual experiences, she had heard Jesus mentioned in readings and conversations. But nothing she heard had suggested he was more than a great man, like Washington or Lafayette. Now, in her mind, she saw him with delight as so gentle, so good, and so lovely in every way. And he loved her so much! How strange that he had always loved her, and she had never known it! And what a great blessing he gave her by standing between her and God! God no longer filled her with terror and dread.
She stopped not to argue the point, even in her own mind, whether he had reconciled her to God, or God to herself, (though she thinks the former now,) being but
She did not stop to debate, even in her own mind, whether he had reconciled her to God or God to her. (Though she now thinks he reconciled her to God.) She was only
too happy that God was no longer to her as a consuming fire, and Jesus was 'altogether lovely.' Her heart was now full of joy and gladness, as it had been of terror, and at one time of despair. In the light of her great happiness, the world was clad in new beauty, the very air sparkled as with diamonds, and was redolent of heaven. She contemplated the unapproachable barriers that existed between herself and the great of this world, as the world calls greatness, and made surprising comparisons between them, and the union existing between herself and Jesus-Jesus, the transcendently lovely as well as great and powerful; for so he appeared to her, though he seemed but human; and she watched for his bodily appearance, feeling that she should know him, if she saw him; and when he came, she would go and dwell with him, as with a dear friend.
She was too happy that God was no longer like a consuming fire to her, and Jesus was 'altogether lovely.' Her heart was now full of joy and gladness, just as it had once been full of terror and even despair. In the light of her great happiness, the world took on new beauty. The very air sparkled like diamonds and smelled of heaven. She thought about the barriers that stood between her and the great people of this world, as the world calls greatness. She made surprising comparisons between those barriers and her own union with Jesus. He seemed to her exceedingly lovely, as well as great and powerful, though he appeared to be only human. She watched for him to appear in person, feeling sure she would know him if she saw him. When he came, she would go and live with him as with a dear friend.
It was not given to her to see that he loved any other; and she thought if others came to know and love him, as she did, she should be thrust aside and forgotten, being herself but a poor ignorant slave, with little to recommend her to his notice. And when she heard him spoken off, she said mentally-'What! others know Jesus! I thought no one knew Jesus but me!' and she felt a sort of jealousy, lest she should be robbed of her newly found treasure.
She could not see that he loved anyone else. She thought that if others came to know and love him as she did, she would be pushed aside and forgotten. After all, she was only a poor, ignorant slave, with little to make him notice her. When she heard others speak of him, she thought, 'What! Others know Jesus! I thought no one knew Jesus but me!' She felt a kind of jealousy, afraid that her newfound treasure would be taken from her.
She conceived, one day, as she listened to reading, that she heard an intimation that Jesus was married, and hastily inquired if Jesus had a wife. 'What!' said the reader, 'God have a wife?' 'Is Jesus God? ' inquired Isabella. 'Yes, to be sure he is,' was the answer returned. From this time, her conceptions of Jesus became more elevated and spiritual; and she sometimes spoke of him as God, in accordance with the teaching she had received.
One day, as Isabella listened to someone read, she thought she heard a suggestion that Jesus was married. She quickly asked if Jesus had a wife. 'What!' said the reader, 'God have a wife?' 'Is Jesus God?' Isabella asked. 'Yes, of course he is,' came the answer. From then on, her understanding of Jesus became more exalted and spiritual. She sometimes spoke of him as God, in keeping with what she had been taught.
But when she was simply told, that the Christian world was much divided on the subject of Christ's nature-some believing him to be coequal with the Father-to be God in and of himself, 'very God, of very God;'-some, that he is the 'well-beloved,' 'only begotten Son of God;'-and others, that he is, or was, rather, but a mere man-she said, 'Of that I only know as I saw. I did not see him to be God; else, how could he stand between me and God? I saw him as a friend, standing between me and God, through whom, love flowed as from a fountain.' Now, so far from expressing her views of Christ's character and office in accordance with any system of theology extant, she says she believes Jesus is the same spirit that was in our first parents, Adam and Eve, in the beginning, when they came from the hand of their Creator. When they sinned through disobedience, this pure spirit forsook them, and fled to heaven; that there it remained, until it returned again in the person of Jesus; and that, previous to a personal union with him, man is but a brute, possessing only the spirit of an animal.
She was simply told that Christians differed greatly on the nature of Christ. Some believed he was equal to the Father and was God in his own right, “very God, of very God.” Some believed he was the “well-beloved,” “only begotten Son of God.” Others believed he was, or rather had been, merely a man. She said, “Of that I only know what I saw. I did not see him as God. Otherwise, how could he stand between me and God? I saw him as a friend, standing between me and God. Through him, love flowed as from a fountain.” Her views of Christ’s character and role do not follow any existing system of theology. She says she believes Jesus is the same spirit that was in our first parents, Adam and Eve. It was in them at the beginning, when they came from the hand of their Creator. When they sinned through disobedience, this pure spirit left them and fled to heaven. It remained there until it returned in the person of Jesus. She believes that, before a person is united with him, that person is merely a brute, possessing only the spirit of an animal.
She avers that, in her darkest hours, she had no fear of any worse hell than the one she then carried in her bosom; though it had ever been pictured to her in its deepest colors, and threatened her as a reward for all her misdemeanors. Her vileness and God's holiness and all-pervading presence, which filled immensity, and threatened her with constant annihilation, composed the burden of her vision of terror. Her faith in prayer is equal to her faith in the love of Jesus. Her language is, 'Let others say what they will of the efficacy of prayer, I believe in it, and I shall pray. Thank God! Yes, I shall always pray,' she exclaims, putting her hands together with the greatest enthusiasm.
She says that, in her darkest hours, she feared no hell worse than the one she carried in her heart. Yet hell had always been described to her in the darkest terms. She had been threatened with it as punishment for all her misdeeds. Her terrifying vision centered on her own wickedness and God's holiness and presence everywhere. His presence filled all of space and threatened her with constant annihilation. Her faith in prayer is as strong as her faith in the love of Jesus. She says, 'Let others say what they will about the power of prayer, I believe in it, and I shall pray. Thank God! Yes, I shall always pray,' she exclaims, putting her hands together with great enthusiasm.
For some time subsequent to the happy change we have spoken off, Isabella's prayers partook largely of their former character; and while, in deep affliction, she labored for the recovery of her son, she prayed with constancy and fervor; and the following may be taken as a specimen:-'Oh, God, you know how much I am distressed, for I have told you again and again. Now, God, help me get my son. If you were in trouble, as I am, and I could help you, as you can me, think I would n't do it? Yes, God, you know I would do it.' 'Oh, God, you know I have no money, but you can make the people do for me, and you must make the people do for me. I will never give you peace till you do, God.' 'Oh, God, make the people hear me-don't let them turn me off, without hearing and helping me.' And she has not a particle of doubt, that God heard her, and especially disposed the hearts of thoughtless clerks, eminent lawyers, and grave judges and others-between whom and herself there seemed to her almost an infinite remove-to listen to her suit with patient and respectful attention, backing it up with all needed aid. The sense of her nothingness in the eyes of those with whom she contended for her rights, sometimes fell on her like a heavy weight, which nothing but her unwavering confidence in an arm which she believed to be stronger than all others combined could have raised from her sinking spirit. 'Oh! how little did I feel,' she repeated, with a powerful emphasis. 'Neither would you wonder, if you could have seen me, in my ignorance and destitution, trotting about the streets, meanly clad, bare-headed, and bare-footed! Oh, God only could have made such people hear me; and he did it in answer to my prayers.' And this perfect trust, based on the rock of Deity, was a soul-protecting fortress, which, raising her above the battlements of fear, and shielding her from the machinations of the enemy, impelled her onward in the struggle, till the foe was vanquished, and the victory gained.
For some time after the happy change we have described, Isabella’s prayers remained much as they had been before. In her deep distress, she worked to recover her son and prayed constantly and fervently. The following is an example: “Oh, God, you know how distressed I am, for I have told you again and again. Now, God, help me get my son. If you were in trouble, as I am, and I could help you, as you can help me, do you think I wouldn’t do it? Yes, God, you know I would do it.” “Oh, God, you know I have no money, but you can make the people help me, and you must make them help me. I will never give you peace till you do, God.” “Oh, God, make the people hear me. Don’t let them turn me away without hearing and helping me.” She has no doubt that God heard her. She believes he moved the hearts of thoughtless clerks, eminent lawyers, serious judges, and others. To her, the distance between herself and these people seemed almost infinite. Yet they listened to her case patiently and respectfully, and gave her all the help she needed. At times, the sense of how little she mattered to those she faced in fighting for her rights weighed heavily on her. Nothing could have lifted that weight from her sinking spirit except her unwavering trust in an arm she believed stronger than all others combined. “Oh! How little I felt,” she repeated with powerful emphasis. “You would not wonder, either, if you could have seen me in my ignorance and poverty, trotting about the streets, poorly dressed, bareheaded, and barefoot! Oh, God only could have made such people hear me, and he did it in answer to my prayers.” Her perfect trust, founded on the rock of God, was a fortress that protected her soul. It raised her above the walls of fear and shielded her from the enemy’s schemes. It drove her forward in the struggle until the enemy was defeated and the victory won.
We have now seen Isabella, her youngest daughter, and her only son, in possession of, at least, their nominal freedom. It has been said that the freedom of the most free of the colored people of this country is but nominal; but stinted and limited as it is, at best, it is an immense remove from chattel slavery. This fact is disputed, I know; but I have no confidence in the honesty of such questionings. If they are made in sincerity, I honor not the judgment that thus decides.
We have now seen Isabella, her youngest daughter, and her only son gain at least nominal freedom. Some say that even the freest colored people in this country have freedom in name only. But limited and restricted as their freedom is, even at best, it is far better than chattel slavery. I know some people dispute this. But I do not trust the honesty of those who question it. If they are sincere, I have no respect for their judgment.
Her husband, quite advanced in age, and infirm of health, was emancipated, with the balance of the adult slaves of the State, according to law, the following summer, July 4, 1828.
Her husband was quite old and in poor health. He was freed under the law the following summer, on July 4, 1828, along with the state's remaining adult slaves.
For a few years after this event, he was able to earn a scanty living, and when he failed to do that, he was dependent on the 'world's cold charity,' and died in a poorhouse. Isabella had herself and two children to provide for; her wages were trifling, for at that time the wages of females were at a small advance from nothing; and she doubtless had to learn the first elements of economy-for what slaves, that were never allowed to make any stipulations or calculations for themselves, ever possessed an adequate idea of the true value of time, or, in fact, of any material thing in the universe? To such, 'prudent using' is meanness-and 'saving' is a word to be sneered at. Of course, it was not in her power to make to herself a home, around whose sacred hearth-stone she could collect her family, as they gradually emerged from their prison-house of bondage; a home, where she could cultivate their affection, administer to their wants, and instil into the opening minds of her children those principles of virtue, and that love of purity, truth and benevolence, which must for ever form the foundation of a life of usefulness and happiness. No-all this was far beyond her power or means, in more senses than one; and it should be taken into the account, whenever a comparison is instituted between the progress made by her children in virtue and goodness, and the progress of those who have been nurtured in the genial warmth of a sunny home, where good influences cluster, and bad ones are carefully excluded-where 'line upon line, and precept upon precept,' are daily brought to their quotidian tasks-and where, in short, every appliance is brought in requisition, that self-denying parents can bring to bear on one of the dearest objects of a parent's life, the promotion of the welfare of their children. But God forbid that this suggestion should be wrested from its original intent, and made to shield any one from merited rebuke! Isabella's children are now of an age to know good from evil, and may easily inform themselves on any point where they may yet be in doubt; and if they now suffer themselves to be drawn by temptation into the paths of the destroyer, or forget what is due to the mother who has done and suffered so much for them, and who, now that she is descending into the vale of years, and feels her health and strength declining, will turn her expecting eyes to them for aid and comfort, just as instinctively as the child turns its confiding eye to its fond parent, when it seeks for succor or sympathy-(for it is now their turn to do the work, and bear the burdens of life, so all must bear them in turn, as the wheel of life rolls on)- if, I say, they forget this, their duty and their happiness, and pursue an opposite course of sin and folly, they must lose the respect of the wise and good, and find, when too late, that 'the way of the transgressor is hard.'
For a few years after this event, he managed to earn a meager living. When he could not, he depended on the 'world's cold charity.' He died in a poorhouse. Isabella had herself and two children to support. Her wages were meager, for women's wages at that time were little more than nothing. She also doubtless had to learn the basics of managing money. What slaves, never allowed to make arrangements or calculations for themselves, ever understood the true value of time? Or, for that matter, the value of anything material in the world? To such people, 'using resources wisely' is stinginess, and 'saving' is a word to sneer at. Of course, she could not make a home for herself and gather her family around its sacred hearth. Her family was gradually emerging from the prison of bondage. She could not create a home where she could nurture their affection and provide for their needs. Nor could she teach her children's developing minds the principles of virtue and a love of purity, truth, and kindness. These must always be the foundation of a useful and happy life. No, all this was far beyond her power or means, in more ways than one. This should be considered whenever her children's progress in virtue and goodness is compared with that of children raised in a warm, sunny home. There, good influences gather and bad ones are carefully kept out. There, lessons are brought to their daily tasks, 'line upon line, and precept upon precept.' In short, self-sacrificing parents use every means they can to promote their children's welfare. This is one of the dearest purposes of a parent's life. But God forbid that this suggestion be taken out of context to shield anyone from deserved criticism! Isabella's children are now old enough to know good from evil. They can easily find answers about anything they still doubt. They must not let temptation draw them into the paths of the destroyer. Nor must they forget what they owe their mother, who has done and suffered so much for them. She is growing old and feels her health and strength declining. She will look to them for help and comfort, just as instinctively as a child looks trustingly to a loving parent for help or sympathy. It is now their turn to do the work and bear life's burdens. All must bear those burdens in turn, as the wheel of life rolls on. If, I say, they forget their duty and their happiness, and instead follow a path of sin and folly, they must lose the respect of the wise and good. They will find, when it is too late, that 'the way of the transgressor is hard.'