The Lord Never Makes Mistakes

Written by Elizabeth Prentiss
Introduction by Amber Moeller

The spring of 2004, I read a true-life story by Elizabeth Prentiss called "How Sorrow was Changed into Sympathy." She writes of the short life of her son, Eddy, who eventually dies. In the latter part of the book are letters which she had written to friends and family who also suffered the loss of a child, and in her own way tries to comfort them in their sorrow.

The following is one of those letters. It was a great encouragement to me. Even though I haven't endured the same kind of sorrow as this person, it is still reassuring to know that the Lord doesn't make mistakes and that we can trust Him in that His plan is/ways are truly best.

To Mrs. S.H. ~ New York, January 20, 1858

My Dear Cousin:--I have just heard, with great pain, of the death of your dear little boy, and most heartily wish I could say or do something to comfort you. There is, indeed, not much that the tenderest sympathy can do in such affliction as yours, and all ordinary sources of consolation are a painful mockery to the breaking heart. I know it by my own experience; it did me no good to hear people say, "Your child is better off; he might have lived to give you great pain"--for I felt it to be equally true that he might have lived to give me great joy, and that my intense love for him might have made even this weary world a happy home to him. But the simple thought, "God has done this; He, who never makes mistakes, has done this"; has it not infinite consolation?

Faith grows strong when great demands are made upon it, and yours truly needs strength, for I do feel that you are sorely smitten. You have your prayers for entire sanctification very painfully answered. But besides the rest the soul finds in just submitting to God's will, there is comfort in knowing that this will is not arbitrary; that the blow may do for us what smiles and gifts never did and never can do. I look with a certain joy on the afflicted child of God, because I know he will have to run to Christ for refuge, and that he will find what he seeks. This is truly a sorrowful world; everybody is tried and tempted and afflicted. How few parents there are who never lost a child! And is it true, is it really true, that the mother who has never known this sorrow, this incurable sorrow, is the mother most to be envied? Do not disappointment and sorrow bear the best fruit?

I know this world never can seem to you as it did before you lost your precious boy; but then think how many, many times you have prayed to be weaned from it. All the Christian needs to help him to bear its trials and losses is a quiet submission to God's will, and a holy courage to endure the pain. Pain I know there must be; no matter of consolation can help that; and when the mind is once convinced of this, and sits patiently down content to suffer, or, what is better, rises up cheerfully, though still suffering, the battle is half won. Some one has said she would not be the only unchastened child in her Father's house, if she could; I doubt not you can and do say so too, and that if a wish could recall your dear child, you would not breathe the wish. Oh, how good God is not to give us over to our own way; not to tempt us with too great prosperity; not to grant us our request and send leanness into our souls! I trust and pray, my dear cousin, that He will be very near you now and evermore, giving you such communion with Himself, such peace in believing, such hope in heaven, such sweet submission as are better than ten sons.

I fear I have not said much to comfort you, though I did long to do so; but I know you will accept the wish. Give my love to Mary. She is afflicted in your affliction, I know; but I know, too, that she is one who understands the blessed uses of sorrow and pain.

Yours affectionately,
Lizzy
Mr. Prentiss joins me in every expression of sympathy; and as to the bright side of sorrow, he feels just as I do.

This letter originally appeared in an 1884 edition of "How Sorrow Was Changed Into Sympathy" by Elizabeth Prentiss.

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