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Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Oh, For Peace in the Midst of Our Storms


You will keep him in perfect peace,
​​Whose mind is stayed on You,
​​Because he trusts in You.
 ​​Trust in the LORD forever,
​​For in YAHEH, the LORD, is the Rock of Ages.
Isaiah 26:3-4

My spirit on Thy care,
Blest Savior, I recline;
Thou wilt not leave me to despair,
For Thou art Love divine.

Whate’er events betide,
Thy will they all perform;
Safe in Thy breast my head I hide,
Nor fear the coming storm.

Let good or ill befall,
It must be good for me;
Secure of having Thee in all,
Of having all in Thee.
My Spirit on Thy Care
H.F. Lyte

         The storm which now began to sweep over the barren hills; the winds that rushed howling down the ravines; the lake before Him buffeted into tempestuous foam; the little boat which—as the moonlight struggled through the rifted clouds—He saw tossing beneath Him on the labouring waves, were all too sure an emblem of the altered aspects of His earthly life.  But there on the desolate hilltop, in that night of storm, He could gain strength and peace unspeakable; for there He was alone with God. And so over that figure bowed in lonely prayer upon the hills, and over those toilers upon the troubled lake, the darkness fell and the great winds blew.
         Hour after hour passed by.  It was now the fourth watch of the night; the ship had traversed but half of its destined course; it was dark, and the wind was contrary, and the waves boisterous, and they were distressed with toiling at the oar; above all, there was no one with them now to calm and save, for Jesus was alone upon the land. Alone upon the land, and they were tossing on the perilous sea; but all the while He saw and pitied them, and at last, in their worst extremity, they saw a gleam in the darkness, and an awful figure, and a fluttering robe, and One drew near them, treading upon the ridges of the sea, but seemed as if He meant to pass them by. They cried out in terror at the sight, thinking that it was a ghost that walked upon the waves. But through the storm and darkness to them—as so often to us, when, amid the darknesses of life, the ocean seems so great and our little boats so small—there thrilled that Voice of peace, which said, “It is I: be not afraid.”
         That Voice stilled their terrors, and they were eager to receive Him into the ship; but Peter’s impetuous love—the strong yearning of him who, in his despairing self-consciousness, had cried out, “Depart from me!”—now cannot even await His approach, and he passionately exclaims—
         “Lord, if it be Thou, bid me come unto Thee on the water.”
         “Come!”
         Over the vessel’s side into the troubled waves he sprang, and while his eye was fixed on his Lord, the wind might toss his hair, and the spray might drench his robes, but all was well; but when, with wavering faith, he glanced from Him to the furious waves, and to the gulfy blackness underneath, he began to sink, and in an accent of despair —how unlike his former confidence! —he faintly cried, “Lord, save me!” Nor did Jesus fail. Instantly, with a smile of pity, He stretched out His hand, and grasped the hand of His drowning disciple, with the gentle rebuke, “O thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt?” And so, they climbed into the boat; and the wind lulled, and amid the ripple of waves upon a moonlit shore, they were at the haven where they would be; and all—the crew as well as His disciples—were filled with deeper and deeper amazement, and some of them, addressing Him by a title which Nathanael alone had applied to Him before, exclaimed, “Truly Thou art the Son of God.”
         Oh, if we feel, often and often, that the water-floods threaten to drown us, and the deep to swallow up the tossed vessel of our Faith, may it again and again be granted us to hear amid the storm, and the darkness, and the voices prophesying war, those two sweetest of the Saviour’s utterances—
         “Fear not.  Only believe.”
         “It is I.   Be not afraid.”

F.W. FARRAR
The Life of Christ

Monday, June 3, 2013

"June day, bloom day, day of the wild rose flower and leaf, day of sky & singing stream..."


He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run among the hills…by them shall the birds of the heavens have their habitation which sing among the branches.  He watereth the hills from His chambers: the earth is satisfied with the fruit of Thy works.…the trees of the LORD are full of sap; the cedars of Lebanon, which He hath planted; where the birds make their nests…O LORD, how manifold are Thy works!  In wisdom hast Thou made them all: the earth is full of Thy riches…The glory of the LORD shall endure forever: the LORD shall rejoice in His works.                            
   PSALM 104: 10, 12-13, 16-17, 24, 31

O sing a song of Nazareth, of sunny days of joy;
O sing of fragrant flowers’ breath, and of the sinless Boy.
For now the flowers of Nazareth in every heart may grow;
Now spreads the fame of His dear name on all the winds that blow.

O sing a song of Galilee, of lake and woods and hill,
Of Him who walked upon the sea and bade the waves be still.
For though like waves on Galilee, dark seas of trouble roll,
When faith has heard the Master’s Word, falls peace upon the soul.
LOUIS F. BENSON-1899

June for the wild rose blooming!  June never wears at her throat other than a wild rose flower, nor could a colorist like Titian conjure up a tint more enticing than the wild rose tint.  It is the sunrise pink the wild rose bush has had the genius to paint its blossoms with. June is the rose month, I do not forget that. But God’s calendar is not made by things men grow but by things God grows Himself…. Wild roses, gentle of perfume, flushed like the cheeks of a happy girl, petal dainty as cut by some skilled lapidist from sardonyx freighted with wonder.  Simplicity is the heritage of violet and wild rose.  They are so satisfying as they bloom in the wild that any finger's touch on them is like a finger touch on the frost on a grape cluster.  Thickets of wild roses on June ravine sides or ravine beds or clumps of them across a pasture field where the flocks are feeding, rose thickets smiling out in perfumed laughter.
        O day in June when the wild rose blooms and the wind strays indolent as drowsy thoughts and the blue sky has its upleap of wonder, and the bird nesting in the rose thickets tosses on a spragly bit of rose branch and sings its madrigal in pure joy of life and nest and rose in bloom and love~when the rose thickets bloom and June days laugh out loud, heaven is nearer than the white clouds sailing fleets across the sky.  Such days are raptures.  They come but never go.  They live through all the stress and fret of winter tempests.  June day, bloom day, day of the wild rose flower and leaf, day of sky and singing stream, June wear thy wild rose flower against thy throat now and forever.
                                                                                                                        WILLIAM A. QUAYLE
God's Calendar~1907
This devotional is dedicated to Anna Taylor, born on this day with rose colored cheeks.