Saturday, November 4, 2017

Harvestime Devotional ~"...your Heavenly Father is stronger than the tempest..."

And behold there arose a great tempest in the sea, and the waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. But He was in the stern, asleep on a pillow. And they awoke Him and said to Him, “Teacher, do You not care that we are perishing?”
Then He arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace, be still!” And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.
Mark 4:37-39

"Stormy wind fulfilling His word." Psalm 148:8

Send out Thy Light, the way is dark before me,
The path Thy Love has moulded out for me;
Send out Thy Light, that I may see Thy Footsteps,
 Calming the waters of life's restless sea.

Send out Thy Light, the clouds are dark above me,
Gathering in tempest from the angry sea;
Send out Thy Light, that I may see the storm-drops
Which fall from the dear Hand once pierced for me.

Send out Thy Light, and lead me, Father, lead me
Beyond this darkness, sorrow, and unrest;
Send out Thy Light, and guide me, worn and weary,
To the calm shelter of my Saviour's Breast.

Stormy winds come not without mercy and blessing. There is music in the blast if we listen aright. Is there no music in the heart of sorrow that the Lord of all has chosen for His own? Are you not nearer to the Master, have you not grown in faith, in patience, in prayerfulness, in thankful hope, since the time the storm winds first sighed across your life?
It is no small matter to grow nearer to God; it is worth all the tempest your soul has known. The heart of the Lord was yearning over you, and could not be satisfied till His winds had driven your soul entirely into the refuge and protection of His love.
Do not tremble because of the winds of the future; your Lord will be living and loving tomorrow, even as He lives and loves today; and no storm waits in your path but shall leave behind another record that your Heavenly Father is stronger than the tempest, nearer than the grief.
We are traveling home to that beauteous shore where the chill winds never sweep, the hurricane makes no moan; yet, amid the rest of the painless Homeland, shall we not love the Lord a thousandfold more for every storm of earth in which He drew near to us, saying, "Fear not," and held us by the hand, and tenderly bore us through the hour that seemed the darkest? We shall glorify Him then that He has been to us, again and again, a covert from the blast; but let us not wait to glorify Him till the blast is over. Even now let us give thanks that all the winds of life—the rough ones as well as those that blow from the south—are of His appointing. Whose every purpose is for our eternal gain.
Set your thoughts, not on the storm, but on the Love that rules the storm; then the winds of trouble shall no longer seem as sad and restless voices, but as an ├ćolian harp attuned to peace, to hope, to everlasting victory.


Delacroix 1798 – 1863

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