When trial after trial comes upon us, or when our prayers seem unanswered, and our days and nights of sickness are multiplied, we are prone, not merely to get discouraged, but to be ever conjuring up phantoms of coming evil. We do not look out for a bright light. We sit down gloomily amid the darkness, terrified to move--expecting some fresh sorrow--dwelling only on some new imaginary grief, which we fancy is impending over us. We will not even admit the entrance of hope--our hearts are shut against it; and instead of drawing nearer and nearer to God, the longer He chastens us, we give ourselves up to sinful despondency, and stand at a distance from Him. We will not perhaps acknowledge to our own hearts, far less to any earthly friend, but our feelings are somewhat of this nature--"Why should I hope? I have met with nothing but disappointment--why should I expect relief? my burden continues to press upon me with increasing weight--why should I still entreat an answer to my prayers? they have all been rejected, and remain unheard."
Ah, if we have ever cherished such sentiments as these, if they are even now taking possession of us, let us beware! This may be the very reason why God does not withdraw His chastening hand--the very reason why His comforts have not delighted our souls--the very reason why we are left to suffer, to agonize, to fear, to despair. Let us reflect what God's purpose is; it is to draw us to Him, not to drive us away from Him. He would have us come to Him in sorrow, and not leave Him until we have won our suit. He would have us cling to the assurance of His love, even though it bears the semblance of the 'flame-breath of the furnace'. He would have us believe that He hears us, even though He delays long to answer, and seems to disregard our petition.
This is His design; but if we balk at it, if we refuse to learn the lesson He desires to teach us, then He will send "heavier sorrows" to effect His purpose. Nothing but our whole hearts, our entire confidence, our complete submission, our willing acquiescence in all that He appoints, will satisfy Him. He will not accept half-confidence, half-reliance, half-desires--but He will continue to deal with us. He will send messenger after messenger, trial upon trial, and sorrow upon sorrow, until we have been brought low, brought in penitence to His footstool--brought, it may be, faint, bleeding, wounded, to say, in the language of heartfelt submission, "Lord, I am Yours, do with me as You please--I desire to yield myself entirely to You, to do or suffer, according to Your pleasure." O blessed result of continued trial! when thus the believer comes to will what God wills, to choose what God chooses--to have this much of the mind that was in Christ.
But the ordeal which is passed through before all this is accomplished is painful and trying. We are sure, from the declaration of Holy Scripture, that "whom the Lord loves He chastens," and that in some way or other, every one who believes in Christ Jesus will be brought to submission, trust, acquiescence in the will of God. But we know not the various steps in this process; we know not the path of "tribulation" through which multitudes have gone to glory, the months and years they first spent in sadness, pain, and suffering, before they could say, "Your will be done"--the hard, stern, and inflexible discipline they had to undergo before they realized true, hearty submission, the pangs and sorrows they brought upon themselves before they were permitted to taste the "joys of His salvation."
But knowing that trial is meant to draw us to God--that fretfulness and murmuring, or a gloomy foreboding of coming ills, tends to frustrate His gracious purpose--and that the sooner we yield ourselves up to Him, in heart and soul, in will, affection, and desire, the sooner will we be able to "rejoice in Him;"--knowing this, oh, let it be our earnest prayer that now, even now, we may receive grace to say, "Not as I will, but as You will," and yield ourselves meekly, as the redeemed of Christ, to the hand of God, as of a loving Father.
It may be He will accept our submission and quiet waiting upon Him, and release us from the rough discipline of still sharper affliction. Not that we should desire to be freed from it merely because it is painful, but because we have learned God's lesson, and through the power of the Holy Spirit been enabled to enter a path in which these "heavier sorrows" are no longer necessary.
Christian, what is your present frame of mind? Have you been brought to submission, or are you sitting sad and disconsolate, brooding over your troubles, vexed with dark forebodings, and refusing to be comforted? Oh, it is not wise to act thus! You are displeasing your Father--you are wounding your Savior, you are grieving the Holy Spirit. I know you will not be utterly forsaken. I know that, although your murmurings and despondency might well provoke God to cast you off forever, He will still have mercy upon you. He will follow you in your wanderings away from Him. He will call upon you to return. But, ah! think what you are bringing upon yourself by indulging in a fretful, morose, and gloomy temper! You are rendering necessary another and another stroke of affliction--bringing on yourself more bitter griefs and "heavier sorrows." You are provoking your Father to hide His face still from you, and withhold His comforts, and keep you in the furnace! You think that your present sorrow is as heavy as it can be--that the darkness could not be more appalling and dreadful than it is. Ah, foolish one! what is your sorrow? Perhaps you are the victim of disease--your body is often racked with pain--your nights are spent in wakefulness, and your days in sadness.
But, has God no "heavier sorrow?" Look at your comforts! Kind friends to sympathize with you, and to relieve your needs--the prayers of the faithful, which are continually rising up in behalf of "all who are in affliction or trouble of any kind"--the promises of God, which are "yes and amen in Christ Jesus." Think, too, of your past blessings--days, months, and years of health--prosperity and peace attending your steps--the sunshine gladdening you--no storm threatening you. And will you now give way to murmuring and despondency, because your God has seen proper and necessary to send trial? He might strip you of every blessing, even as He has removed one! He might give you no rest from pain. He might visit you with pinching poverty as well as painful sickness. He might with His arrow strike down every loved one whose affection is now so precious to you; and, worse than all, He might "leave you alone."
Believe it, nothing is gained by struggling, by gloomy forebodings of evil, or by impatience under the trial sent by God. Do you wish God to care for you? do you desire to be His child, to place your soul in His keeping? Then leave everything to Him--to send joy or sorrow, pain or pleasure, prosperity or adversity, health or sickness. Disturb not yourself about coming evils. The future, if you are only willing to submit to God, can but bring you good; it may appear evil, but "He brings good out of evil."
Instead of indulging in gloomy forebodings--instead of thus tempting God to inflict "heavier sorrows"--instead of barring with your own hand the entrance of peace, comfort, submission, hope, by fancying that now there is no joy for you, no happiness in life, no blessing in the future, no termination to pain--nothing but sorrow and grief and trouble--turn away from all these things, bid them farewell forever, and take a pilgrimage in thought to Gethsemane and Calvary! Gaze upon Him "who left us an example that we should follow His steps." He knew all the sorrows that await Him--the shame, the suffering, the anguish--but He takes the bitter cup, and, with His heart set on the salvation of His people--His heart set on you--the blessed Savior drains it to the very dregs! See Him on Calvary--unpitied by the crowd--deserted by His disciples--forsaken by His Father--the Lamb led to the slaughter--and all for you!
Oh, surely such a contemplation should lead you to cry, "My Savior-God, let me be silent like You--let me never open my mouth in complaining--let me entrust my future to You and You alone--let me enter into fellowship with You in suffering, and count it all joy that I am permitted to follow You in the path of tribulation, in the humble, obedient, cheerful endurance of trial, and the giving up of my will to my Father's."
Oh, if thus you bow your soul before the cross, comfort will flow in upon you, tranquility will take the place of fear, and forebodings of evil will be exchanged for childish submission. A hand will sustain you under every burden, so that, smiling at yesterday's fears, you shall say, "This is easy, this is light;" every "lion in the way," as you come upon it, shall be seen chained. And whether your trial be removed or not, it will be sanctified in your growing conformity to the image and mind of Christ, in your progressive advancement in holiness, in your fitness for the inheritance of the saints in light.
Hear the language of one who underwent a painful discipline for many years, and who had learned to take everything cheerfully from her Father's hand--"I want," she says, "to have no will of my own; I want to have all my wishes and inclinations lost in the will of God, so that, if I see His will apparent in anything, I may with pleasure, do or suffer that thing--yes, do or suffer it, as if it were the very thing I liked best, because it is the will of God." And again it is recorded of another afflicted believer--"For thirty-six years the victim of incurable maladies, often undergoing excruciating agony, sometimes blind for a long period, few have experienced the excruciating scourges of which her shattered body was the habitual abode; as she said to a friend, "My nights are very pleasant in general. I feel like David, when he said, I wait for the Lord; my soul does wait, and in His word do I hope; and while I am enabled to contemplate the wonders of redeeming grace and love, the hours pass swiftly on, and the morn appears even before I am aware. I experience so much of the Savior's love in supporting me under pain, that I cannot fear its increase. ...I think that one end to be answered in my long affliction is, encouragement for others to trust in Him."
Reader, pray that such a spirit may be imparted to you--that ever as you move onward in life's journey, you "may cast all your care on Him, who cares for you," assured that He will bring you safely home. Strive to follow the example of one who thus writes of himself--"For a long time I felt myself to be a lost sheep, not knowing on whom to rely; and now, with the deepest consciousness that I have at last attained rest, I exclaim--the Lord is my shepherd! What is there that can harm me? I have reached the harbor, and storms can no more drive my little vessel afloat upon the wide sea. And as I look forward into the future, I can exclaim with David--the Lord is my shepherd; I have everything I need. Goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
O Father of mercies, and God of all comfort, who does not willingly afflict the children of men, but rebukes and chastens those whom You love, look down upon me Your unworthy servant, and have mercy upon me, for Christ's sake. Oh, grant me grace to bear with patience whatever You are pleased to send! Preserve me from all murmuring, fretfulness, and impatience--and enable me without doubting, to accept all things as coming from You. Let my soul be supported by faith, hope, and love, under all the sufferings I may yet endure. Teach me to remember that all sickness, pain, and grief--are the fruit of sin. Whatever offences I have committed against You, oh, mercifully forgive me, and make me heartily sorry for them!
Lord, grant that this affliction may be sanctified to my spiritual and eternal good. Bless the means that are used, and make them effectual--if it be Your good pleasure--for restoring me to health, that I may again praise You in the assembly of Your people.
I acknowledge it to be of Your bounty alone that I have my being, and I adore Your mercy and patience for preserving me thus long in the land of the living. My many days and years of health and comfort have been Your gift, and my deliverance out of the troubles and dangers with which I have at any time been visited--are owing to You alone. Grant me, O Lord, I beseech You, a due sense of my entire dependence upon You. Inspire me with that true and heavenly wisdom which may help me to discern aright the reasons, and enable me to answer the ends, of all Your dealings with me--that in the dispensation of Your providence I may submit myself entirely to Your good pleasure, and glorify God in the day of visitation. Do with me what is good in Your sight. Let patience have her perfect work. If this sickness be unto death, oh, prepare me for it, that I may depart only to be with You! If it be Your will that I recover, may I rise from a sick-bed strong through Your grace to walk far more closely with my God than ever I have yet done to the end of my life. I offer up every prayer through the merits and intercession of my gracious Redeemer. Amen.
Savior! though my rebellious will Has been by Your blessed power renewed, Yet in its secret workings still How much remains to be subdued!
Often I recall, with grief and shame, How many years their course had run, Before grace my murmuring heart o'ercame, Before I could say, "Your will be done."
I wished a flowery path to tread, And thought it would safely lead to heaven; But a lonely room, a suffering bed, These for my training-place were given.
Long I resisted, mourned, complained, Wished any other lot my own; Your purpose, Lord, unchanged remained; What wisdom planned, love carried on.
Year after year I turned away; But marred was every scheme I planned; Still the same lesson, day by day, Was placed before me by Your hand.
At length Your patient, wondrous love, Unchanging, tender, pitying, strong, Availed my stony heart to move, Which had rebelled, alas! so long.
Then was I taught by You to say, "Do with me what to You seems best; Give, or take whatever You will away, Health, comfort, usefulness, or rest.
Be my whole life in suffering spent; But let me be in suffering Thine; Still, O my Lord, I am content, You now have made Your pleasure mine."
