One of the thoughts worth holding onto in this life is that nothing falls into my life, willy-nilly, as if it accidentally slipped from above and has no real purpose in my life. That is not to say I always understand everything that appears in my days. I do not always understand. But I know the truth is that every detail, even the difficulties, the pain, and the sickness, come from the hands and purpose of a good and perfect God, who only sends me what is necessary for my good and His glory. Spurgeon puts it this way:
From our Lord’s words we learn that
there is a limit to sickness....In all sickness, the Lord saith
to the waves of pain, “Hitherto shall ye go, but no further.” His
fixed purpose is not the destruction, but the instruction
of
his people. Wisdom hangs up the thermometer at the furnace mouth,
and regulates the heat.
1. The limit is encouragingly comprehensive. The God of providence has limited the time, manner, intensity, repetition,
and effects of all our sicknesses; each throb is decreed, each sleepless
hour predestinated, each relapse ordained, each depression of spirit
foreknown, and each sanctifying result eternally purposed. Nothing
great or small escapes the ordaining hand of him who numbers the hairs
of our head.
2. This limit is wisely adjusted to our strength, to the end designed, and to the grace apportioned.
Affliction comes not at haphazard—the weight of every stroke of the rod is accurately measured. He who
made no mistakes in balancing the clouds and meting out the heavens,
commits no errors in measuring out the ingredients which compose the
medicine of souls. We cannot suffer too much nor be relieved too late.
3. The limit is tenderly appointed. The knife of the heavenly Surgeon never cuts deeper than is absolutely
necessary. “He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men.” A mother’s heart cries, “Spare my child;” but
no mother is more compassionate than our gracious God. When we
consider how hard-mouthed we are, it is a wonder that we are not driven
with a sharper bit. The thought is full of consolation, that he who
has fixed the bounds of our habitation, has also fixed the bounds
of our tribulation.
So, when I am skipping through my day, and BANG! there is suddenly a migraine to interrupt my plans and cancel my appointments, I can sink not only into my comfy chair, but into the arms of a loving God, doing a good work in and for me. What a consolation, indeed, that it is not some chance misfortune. Oh that I would be faithful in remembering this God who loves me, fixes my bounds, and plans my days. May we both keep this Heavenly Surgeon in mind, Gentle Reader, as we face our days and discouragements.
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