You, O LORD, are my lamp; my God, you make my darkness bright. Psalm
18:29
God moves in a
mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footstep in the sea, And
rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill He
treasures up His bright designs, And works His sovereign will. Judge not the
Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief
is sure to err, And scan His work in vain; God is His own interpreter, And He
will make it plain. William Cowper
Prayer: Drop thy still dews of quietness, Till all
our strivings cease; Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our
ordered lives confess The beauty of thy peace. John G. Whittier
So I had a
new pair of goggles today. Every day I vowed to replace the old pair that I
probably dug out of Lost and Found and that were cracked, and the rubber was
permanently wilted from too many days of sitting out in a hot car and they
leaked and fogged and pinched. I finally pulled it together and bought a new
pair that does not leak or fog or pinch. And I could clearly see the stained bottom
of Amphi High School pool where we are swimming this week as they super
chlorinate Hillenbrand.
And I
remember how after my first back surgery so many years ago, a friend, Cheryl
Powell, knew that the very best thing for me would be swimming. So every single
day she picked me up and drove me to Amphi Pool. And I didn’t really know how
to swim very well, really. I mean, I learned in a river so my strokes were ugly
and short, but very functional. And she explained the clocks and the flip turns
and something called intervals. And she was very patient and faithfully
stubborn. I appreciate good friends during the hard painful times.
Because the
clamor is great. The voices in my head. But when I muster together some grit
and stare them in the face without the metaphorical leaking, fogging and
pinching goggles, they all have one name: The Accuser. Pointing his trembling
with rage finger in all directions. Deliver me from evil.
And even if
my beautiful outstretched-arms Venetian crucifix has broken from my neck, still
I know the Truth. These, He declares, each and every one including you, are My
beloved children and sin has been broken forever. It is finished.
Peace I give
you.
The Lord is my
shepherd and nothing is wanting to me. In green pastures He hath settled me.
And in the
stillness of this garden drenched by monsoon rains and roped by twinkle lights,
the blossoms unfurl in bright colors. Here and here and even there are sturdy
testimonies to His intentions of healing and growth and satisfying fruit.
And a bright
light gleams in the sea of Dreams Come True, the darkest nightmares of unspoken
fears, and leads the company of travelers into the sunshine of His presence. But no one except Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it
had whispered to her, “Courage, dear heart,” and the voice, she felt sure, was
Aslan's, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.
And as I
finish up with my backwards journey through Narnia,
there is The Voice: In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice
had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from
which direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions
at once. There were no words. There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond
comparison, the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. It was so beautiful he
could hardly bear it.
Be still, then, and
know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in
the earth. Psalm 46:11
