By “Th. F.”
I translated the article below from Norwegian for my uncle, who told me about his great-granddaughter, who was named “Sophie” after my grandmother, his mother. He tells me she takes after her namesake in several ways. This reminded me of this article, taken from a Norwegian-language almanac published in Minneapolis. The distant relation who sent it to me told me that the subject of the article was a mutual ancestor, also named “Sofie.” Judging the description, my grandmother was one in a line of godly Sophies.
(From Folke Calender 1932, ed. by D. C. Jordahl, published by Augsburg Publishing House. I have translated the word røkstue as “smoky cottage.” In old times in Norway, it was common for people to live in houses with a fireplace built into a corner, but no chimney. The smoke would simply vent out into the room, and escape through a hole in the roof. lw)
Deep among the many miles of fjords in the southern part of the Bergen diocese, there lies a pretty little farming community. Here there is an inlet on one bank of the fjord, and in the curve of the bay is a ring of beautiful farms on either side of a frothy river that descends from the mighty mountain in the background. Just at the mouth of the river may be seen the white-painted local store building, and a little further up on a terraced hillside stands the church, whose spire points to heaven, speaking silent words to the residents round about, reminding them now and then, amid the business of the day, to turn their thoughts to higher things. But when Sunday comes it seems that it cannot be content with this silent witness – the bells begin “calling the young and old to rest, but above all the soul distressed, longing for rest everlasting.”
It was in my younger days that I first came as a school teacher to this beautiful little community. The schoolhouse stood on a farm called Vika, a farm which, with its many residents, all of whom followed the old custom and usage of building their houses close together, looked almost like a little village. In the midst of this cluster of houses stood a small cottage with a turf roof. Its door was so low that one had to bend to go inside, and its window was so small that the light of day could hardly force its way in. This was a “smoky cottage” (røkstue) in the genuine old style. The ceiling and the wainscotting within were black as coal from smoke and soot, but the upper areas of the walls all around had been coated with a kind of clay or chalk compound, whose gray-white color was intended to make things brighter and more cheerful inside the cottage. On the lower part of the white area a number of decorations had been drawn, consisting of triangular figures, dots, and flourishes, all made of that same chalky compound. It did not look so terribly bad, and was at least a testimony to how the desire for beauty, inborn in every person, must be expressed, even through the most primitive means.
Unprepossessing and small as the cottage was, for me holy and precious memories are bound up with it. It was a little “Bethel,” a house of God, for in it dwelt one of “the quiet in the land,” a widow of more than sixty years of age, a true Anna who “never ceased to serve God night and day.” Sofie was her name, and although in all probability she did not herself know that her name meant “Wisdom,” she nonetheless answered well to it. Indeed, seldom has a name better suited the person who bore it. For God’s wisdom dwelt, in rich measure, in that simple old Christian soul.
It was at an advanced age that she learned to love her Savior, and it was as if now, through unstinting prayers and consuming love, she wished to make up for what had been neglected before. It is likely that this also accounts for the great concern she had for children and the young. “I do not know where it comes from,” she said to me once, “but God’s Spirit always reminds me to pray most of all for the children and for the youth. The old need it too, of course, that is not the reason, but nevertheless it is so wonderful with the young people. Oh, whoever will learn to fear and love God in their youth, how many bitter tears they will spare themselves later in life!”
So it goes without saying that it lay close to her heart that the schoolteacher should be serious and Christian-minded, and as soon as she grew convinced that the newly arrived young teacher desired to fear God, and through his instruction to lead the little ones to Jesus, she rejoiced greatly.
Thankfulness was always a prominent characteristic of her Christian life. She said in truth, in a literal sense, “Thanks to God and the Father for all things,” even for things whose profit and blessing she could not understand. As evidence of this I can tell the following: In her old age she went lame, and had a hard time walking. It came about in this manner, that one day she was down by the river washing something, and when she had finished her work, she felt led to pray to her God and Savior. But she was not one of those who, like the Pharisees, displayed themselves on street corners in order to be seen of men. She went along the river’s edge a little distance, found herself a private place, and knelt among the bushes on a half-rotten tree root behind a stone. Just as she knelt, the stone tipped over and rolled onto one of her feet. People heard her cries and came to help. After that she had long and hard sufferings to endure, and from then on she was crippled. She often spoke of how mysterious this dispensation of God was, and that for many years she had beseeched Him to permit her to understand why He allowed the stone to roll onto her just at the moment when she was approaching His throne of grace. But she had received no answer to that prayer; she still could not understand it. “But,” she said, “I know that it was crazy of me to pray about it, for it doesn’t matter if I do not understand it. God knew why He did it, and it is enough for me to know that He does all things well. I have now come to the place where I can also thank Him for this.” When on another occasion she spoke to me about this mysterious dispensation, she added with a smile, “Our Lord certainly has plenty to do taking care of me in any case, even if I am both lame and crippled.” “Oh, happy ignorance!” one might almost say. She did not understand that through this event it became apparent to all that she was in the habit of privately bending her ancient knees in prayer to the God of grace, and she had no inkling what a serious and blessed sermon this was to me and to many others. And the manner in which she bore that cross! What a sermon it was to us! More than once when I saw old Sofie come limping with her staff, I had to think of the patriarch Jacob, who got his hip joint twisted while wrestling in prayer with God, and so went lame (Gen. 32:31).
Her genuine and healthy Christianity was also evident in her diligence and faithfulness in carrying out her temporal calling. She was always industrious, and was unwilling to have anyone else do for her what she herself was able to accomplish. Nor did she go from door to door wasting time with village gossip and unprofitable talk, as so many were accustomed to do. She held to the ancient word that in God’s congregation no idlers or loafers should be found. During revival and times of early enthusiasm, it is easy to overlook that side of the Christian life; but she was aware of it and gave us younger folks many good reminders in that regard. The newly awakened young people in the neighborhood were accustomed to gather in her house. There they felt at home, sang, prayed together, and edified one another as often as they were able. But on one occasion I remember, she thought it had gotten to be too much of a good thing. She said to us in her distinctive, lovi
ng way, “Now children (she always called us children), I think that is enough singing for today. Remember that we are not in heaven yet. Up there we will always be praising God; while we are down here on earth we have other things to take care of as well. Go to your homes now and work diligently, and let no one be able to say of you that you have grown lazy and apathetic toward temporal things now that you have begun to fear God.” What Christian wisdom lay in that reminder! All things considered, I have often since then marveled at the remarkable insight she had, not only into the doctrine of salvation, but also into the relationship of Christianity to everyday things, despite the fact that she had about as little “book learning” as anyone could have. But she was a faithful steward of the little understanding she had, and she lived in a constant and sincere prayer relationship with God, so that He was able to give her so much. In actuality, the truth of the apostolic word was revealed here: “What is foolishness to the world, God has chosen to put to shame the wise.” (1 Cor. 1:27) I will always be grateful to God for the very “practical theology” I learned from this old, surrendered woman.
She was, as one would expect, a constant attendee at edification meetings, but she was equally a regular churchgoer. And she was not one of those who, while listening to God’s Word, sit there and in their thoughts generously portion out the words to others. She directed them to herself, and so brought rich blessings home with her. Once, when the pastor before the altar said, “Let us pray!” she began to think that certainly everyone in church was not praying along. How could that one or that one pray, who is such and such and so and so, etc.? And just as she sat that way thinking about others, she realized that precisely through these thoughts of others she was neglecting to pray along herself. “I was both grieved and ashamed that the devil could deceive me so,” she said. But afterwards she was constantly on watch against that temptation. Those were her most precious times, when she could sit and listen to the gospel of the Savior concerning God’s love for lost sinners.
It was with melancholy that I said farewell to Sofie, when after a year’s time I left the parish.
Many, many years have passed since then. But it happened that, on a holiday journey later on, I had the opportunity to visit that old, precious, and well-remembered place. I was persuaded to deliver a sermon there. The church was full, but Sofie’s old place was now occupied by another. Her soul was already at home with the Lord, while her earthly remains rested under a mound out in the church yard, awaiting the great day of resurrection.
Your only treasure was the Lord,
You poured out all your powers,
And serving Jesus day and night,
Filled all your earthly hours.
You bid farewell to earth’s desires
And by the narrow way you reached
A sweet and and blessed ending.No wonder that the fear of death
Could never find you sighing;
You passed through that dark door as free
As birds in pleasure flying;
Into the Savior’s heart you came,
And so you rose in Jesus’ Name
To all the joy of Heaven.