Wake Up:
6:00 am
Devotion:
Streams in the Desert
"What I tell you in the darkness, speak ye in the light" (Matt. 10:27)
My Lord is constantly taking me into the dark, that He may tell me things. Into the dark of a shadowed home, where bereavement has drawn the blinds; into the dark of the lonely, desolate life, where some infirmity closes me in from the light and stir of life; into the dark of some crushing sorrow and disappointment.
Then he tells me His secrets, great and wonderful, eternal and infinite; He causes the eye which has become dazzled by the glare of earth to behold the heavenly constellations; and the car to detect the undertones of His voice, which is often drowned amid the tumult of eartsh strident cries.
But such revelations always imply a corresponding responsibility, "that speak ye in the light, that proclaim upon the housetops."
I am not meant to always linger in the dark, or stay in the shadows; presently I shall be summoned to take my place in the rush and storm of life; and when that moment comes, I will be called to speak and proclaim that which I have learned.
This gives new meaning to suffering, the saddest element in which is often its apparent aimlessness. How useless I am! What am I doing for the betterment of men? Wherefore this waste of the precious spikenard of my soul?
Sure are the desperate laments of the sufferer. But God has a purpose in it all. He has withdrawn me to the higher altitudes of fellowship, that I may hear God speaking face to face, and bear the message to His fellows at the mountain foot. Were the forty days wasted that Moses spent on the Mount, or the period spent at Horeb by Elijah, or the years spent in Arabia by Paul?
There is not short cut to the life of faith, which is the all-vital condition of a holy and victorious life. I must have periods of lonely meditation and fellowship with God. That my soul should have its mountains of fellowship, its valley of quiet rest beneath the shadow of a great rock, its night beneath the stars, when darkness has veiled the material and silenced the stir of human life, and has opened the view of the infinite and eternal, is as indispensable as that my body should have food.
Thus alone can the sense of God's prescence become the fixed possession of my sould, enabling it to say repeatedly, with the Psalmist, "Thou art near, O God"
"Some hearts, like evening primroses, open more beautifully in the shadows of life."