Sketch of the author

Elizabeth Prentiss, born in 1818, was the youngest daughter of Edward Payson, one of the great revival preachers of the early nineteenth century. The keynote of her religious character is struck in her famous hymn, "More Love to Thee, O Christ." She is best known in our day for the marvelous book Stepping Heavenward, which has touched the lives of hundreds of thousands of women all over the world for more than a century. The aim of her writing was to incite patience, fidelity, hope and all goodness by showing how trust in God can make a heaven on earth and brighten the darkest path. Her life can be examined in the book published  by Solid Ground Christian Books: More Love to Thee: The Life and Letters of Elizabeth Prentiss.

Commendations

"This book is a treasure of both godly and womanly wisdom told with disarming candor and humility, yet revealing a deep heart's desire to know God. We desperately need such intimate accounts when the word commitment is so little understood and so seldom practiced. I recommend it to any woman who wants to walk with God, and to men also, who need to better understand the wives they live with."

—Elisabeth Elliot
 

"This book will serve as a guide for the Christian woman who desires to leave behind the dull, dry indifference of spiritual mediocrity to discover the rich, deep joy of knowing Jesus more fully."

—Joni Eareckson Tada

"I highly recommend it!"

—Kay Arthur

Sample

How dreadfully old I am getting! Sixteen! Well, I don't see as I can help it. There it is in the big Bible in father's own writing: Katherine, born January 15, 1815
I meant to get up early this morning, but it looked dismally cold out of doors, and felt delightfully warm in bed. So I covered myself up, and made ever so many good resolutions.

I determined, in the first place, to begin this Journal. To be sure, I have begun half a dozen, and gotten tired of them after a while. Not tired of writing them, but disgusted with what I had to say about myself. But this time I mean to go on, in spite of everything. It will do me good to read it over, and see what a creature I am.

Then I resolved to do more to please Mother than I have done. And I determined to make one more effort to conquer my hasty temper. I thought, too, I would be self-denying this winter, like the people one reads about in books. I fancied how surprised and pleased everybody would be to see me so much improved!

Time passed quickly amid these agreeable thoughts, and I was quite startled to hear the bell ring for prayers. I jumped up in a great flurry and dressed as quickly as I could. Everything conspired together to plague me. I could not find a clean collar, or a handkerchief. It is always just so. Susan is forever poking my things into out-of-the-way places! When at last I went down, they were all at breakfast.

"I hoped you would celebrate your birthday, dear, by coming down in good season," said Mother.

I do hate to be found fault with, so I flared up in an instant. "If people hide my things so that I can't find them, of course I have to be late," I said. And I rather think I said it in a very cross way, for Mother sighed a little. I wish Mother wouldn't sigh. I would rather be called names out and out.

The moment breakfast was over I had to hurry off to school. Just as I was going out Mother said, "Have you your overshoes, dear?"

"Oh, Mother, don't hinder me! I shall be late," I said. "And I don't need overshoes."

"It snowed all night, and I think you do need them," Mother said.

"I don't know where they are. I hate overshoes. Do let me go, Mother," I cried. "I do wish I could ever have my own way."

"You shall have it now, my child," Mother said, and went away.

Now what was the use of her calling me "my child" in such a tone, I would like to know.

I hurried off, and just as I got to the door of the schoolroom it flashed into my mind that I had not said my prayers! A nice way to begin on one's birthday, to be sure! Well, I had no time. And perhaps my good resolutions pleased God almost as much as one of my rambling stupid prayers could. For I must admit I can't make good prayers. I can't think of anything to say. I often wonder what Mother finds to say when she is shut up by the hour in her prayer closet.