Look from the Top - Streams in the Desert

We joined hands this morning with burdened hearts. My husband and I petitioned the Lord, “We are helpless to change the situation. We must rely on You! Yes, we know that You can move Your hand mightily throughout the hearts and spirits of all those involved. Help us to rest in You, O God.”

A few minutes later I opened my daily reading in Mrs. Charles E. Cowman’s Streams in the Desert (original publication date is 1925). I shouldn’t be surprised by the Holy Spirit’s comforting reminder through the March 9 devotion. God repeatedly speaks into my heart when it is so taxed by the cares of this world. The writing by Miss Mary Butterfield, penned many years ago, ministers to me. “Thank You Father, again and again.”

Look from the Top    Streams in the Desert

One day when walking down the street,

On business bent, while thinking hard

About the "hundred cares" which seemed

Like thunder clouds about to break

In torrents, Self-pity said to me:

 "You poor, poor thing, you have too much

To do. Your life is far too hard.

This heavy load will crush you soon."

A swift response of sympathy

Welled up within. The burning sun

Seemed more intense. The dust and noise

Of puffing motors flying past

With rasping blast of blowing horn

Incensed still more the whining nerves,

The fabled last back-breaking straw

To weary, troubled, fretting mind.

 

"Ah, yes, 'twill break and crush my life;

I cannot bear this constant strain

Of endless, aggravating cares;

They are too great for such as I."

So thus my heart condoled itself,

"Enjoying misery," when lo!

A "still small voice" distinctly said,

"Twas sent to lift you--not to crush."

 I saw at once my great mistake.

My place was not beneath the load

But on the top! God meant it not

That I should carry it. He sent

It here to carry me. Full well

He knew my incapacity

Before the plan was made. He saw

A child of His in need of grace

And power to serve; a puny twig

Requiring sun and rain to grow;

An undeveloped chrysalis;

A weak soul lacking faith in God.

 He could not help but see all this

And more. And then, with tender thought

He placed it where it had to grow--

Or die. To lie and cringe beneath

One's load means death, but life and power

Await all those who dare to rise above.

Our burdens are our wings; on them

We soar to higher realms of grace;

Without them we must roam for aye

On planes of undeveloped faith,

(For faith grows but by exercise in circumstance impossible).

Oh, paradox of Heaven. The load We think will crush was sent to lift us Up to God! Then, soul of mine, Climb up! for naught can e'er be crushed Save what is underneath the weight. How may we climb! By what ascent Shall we surmount the carping cares Of life! Within His word is found The key which opes His secret stairs; Alone with Christ, secluded there, We mount our loads, and rest in Him. --Miss Mary Butterfield