Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? Fix my eyes on God—soon I’ll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He’s my God. [Psalm 42:11 (MSG)]
The story is told of a circuit-riding preacher who never failed to thank God for the day’s weather. One Sunday, after battling through wind and sleet to his preaching appointment in a distant town, the congregation wondered how he could be thankful in such dreadful weather. When it came time for prayer, however, he said, “This is a wretched day, dear Lord, no doubt about it. But, we thank Thee, Lord, that every day isn’t as bad as this one!”
There certainly are times when it is difficult to praise the Lord, and not just because of the weather. We’ve all had days, weeks, months or maybe even years, when every time we turn around, something else seems to have gone wrong. A financial, health, family or business crisis seems to lurk around every corner. In fact, it’s so bad that the light at the end of the tunnel is just an oncoming train! God knows, it’s not easy to get through those times. It is tempting to stop thanking and start complaining: to allow our prayers to reflect our circumstances rather than our faith.
Another story is told about Matthew Henry, a 17th century preacher and Bible commentator. One evening, on his way home after preaching in London, Henry was accosted by four thieves. His response is said to have been this prayer: “Lord, I thank Thee first because I was never robbed before; second, because although they took my purse they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth because it was I who was robbed, and not I who robbed.”
While I would prefer to be neither, I have to agree with Matthew Henry that I’d rather be the one robbed than the robber. At least the robbed has not offended God or his fellow man. As these two stories illustrate, there is always something for which to be thankful, if only because it could be worse!
Father, forgive us if we lose sight of you when we are beset by trouble. Give us the ability to rejoice, not for our difficulties, but for the knowledge that we are not alone and that you are greater than any problems we may encounter. Give us thankful hearts for all of your mercies—even when that means we’re thankful that we were the ones robbed rather than the robbers or that every day does not bring a raging storm! When necessary, remind us that it could be worse!
Gratitude is an offering precious in the sight of God, and it is one that the poorest of us can make and be not poorer, but richer for having made it. [A.W. Tozer]
At last Sunday’s worship, we sang Frances Havergal’s beautiful hymn “Lord, Speak to Us, That We May Speak.” First published in 1872, the hymn originally had the heading “A Worker’s Prayer,” and made reference to Romans 14:7: “none of us lives to himself alone.” It is a simple prayer that God will speak to, lead, feed, teach and fill us so that He can use us in the service of His kingdom. Busyness had taken over my days and, having fallen behind in my writing, my supply of devotions was running dangerously low. Indeed, I needed Him to speak to me so that I could speak!
When Jesus stopped in Jericho, He was on His way to Jerusalem; His trial and crucifixion would soon follow. Although our Lord knew He would not pass that way again, no one else did; certainly not Zacchaeus. What if the publican had been too busy collecting taxes that day to go and see Jesus? What if it looked like it might rain or he was just too tired to make the effort? What if Zacchaeus had been discouraged by the large crowd and his inability to get a good viewing spot? Thinking he always could see Jesus the next time He passed through Jericho, what if he hadn’t run ahead and climbed that tree? Zacchaeus would have missed meeting Jesus and accepting His call.
I showed the antique dealer the old silver tray we’d found at an antique store many years ago. Having just read Stephanie Kallo’s novel Broken for You, I’d been drawn to it. Hers was a story of secrets and redemption that told of how two women salvaged their brokenness, first by smashing priceless antique porcelain pieces that had been stolen from Jews during the Holocaust, and then by repurposing the fragments into beautiful mosaics. The novel was an homage to the beauty of broken people and broken things. The tray’s handle had been damaged and soldered back on and I imagine much of the silver plate had worn off its top. It was, however, a thing of beauty because it had been artistically covered with broken pieces of antique painted china. The dealer told me that artists often come into her shop looking for chipped pieces of decorative porcelain. Because they plan on breaking it to use in jewelry or mosaics like my tray, they don’t mind chips or cracks.
We’re selling our northern home and, with limited space in Florida, I must winnow out our 52 years of accumulated possessions. “How can I give them away?” I wondered while looking at the beautiful hand-painted Bavarian dinner and dessert plates that belonged to my mother and her mother before that. My fondness for the plates, however, has less to do with their beauty than with their provenance.
Not so long ago, it was hard to face my computer with any enthusiasm. Every beginning led to a dead end or took me down a rabbit hole of confusion. The paragraphs over which I’d struggled had come to nothing and my hours at the keyboard seemed an exercise in futility. It’s as if I had little scraps of useless fabric but couldn’t find a way to quilt them together. I wondered where God was when I so desperately needed His guidance.
Devotions of the Heart 