A Frowning Providence

I finished Behind a Frowning Providence last night. This little gem is full of comfort and wisdom from the Puritans as well as author John J. Murray, including several poetic excerpts. Here are a couple of my favorite quotes.

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The most wise, righteous and gracious God doth often-times leave for a season his own children to manifold temptations, and the corruption of their own hearts, to chastise them for their former sins, or to discover unto them the hidden strength of corruption and deceitfulness of their own hearts, that they may be humbled; and to raise them to a more close and constant dependence for their support upon himself, and to make them more watchful against all future occasions of sin, and for sundry other just and holy ends.


The Westminster Confession of Faith

I walked a mile with pleasure,

She chatted all the way,

But left me none the wiser

For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with sorrow

And ne’er a word said she,

But oh the things I learned from her,

When sorrow walked with me.


unattributed

Every work of Christ towards His people carries something more great and precious in the bosom of it than we are capable at the time of understanding.


Ralph Erskine

The vessels of mercy are first seasoned with affliction and then the wine of glory is poured in.


Thomas Watson

Prayer Answered by Crosses

I asked the Lord, that I might grow

In faith, and love, and every grace, 

Might more of his salvation know, 

And seek more earnestly his face.

'Twas he who taught me thus to pray, 

And he, I trust has answered prayer; 

But it has been in such a way, 

As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favoured hour, 

At once he'd answer my request: 

And by his love's constraining power, 

Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, he made me feel 

The hidden evils of my heart; 

And let the angry powers of hell 

Assault my soul in every part.

Yea more, with his own hand he seemed 

Intent to aggravate my woe; 

Crossed all the fair designs I schemed, 

Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this, I trembling cried; 

Wilt thou pursue this worm to death? 
“
‘Tis in this way," the Lord replied,

"I answer prayer for grace and faith.

"These inward trials I employ, 

"From self and pride to set thee free; 

"And break thy schemes of earthly joy, 

"That thou may’st seek thy all in me."

John Newton

Opus #10

How I begrudge the sparrow plain,


Tho’ unadorned, subdued,


Unprepossessing, indistinct,


Appears not ornate-hued,


Yet she has wings to fly away,


Escaping earthly care.

She leaves her burdens far below,


And dances on the air.

She twirls and whirls and pirouettes


Across blue firmament,


Unweighed by earth’s persistent pull,


Exuberance unpent.


I stand beneath, observe her waltz,


While to take off I yearn.

She skirts o’er each impediment,


Her path still straight, unturn’d.




Fast fetter’d to my shackling grief,


I covet joy of flight;


But wingless, fixed, weighed down with dread,


I’m grounded from such height.


She’s gone from sight, I turn away,


Then pause… entreat… conclude:


Tho’ sorrow binds me to the earth,


God’s love is not so rude!




His grace puts flight within my grasp-


I tentatively praise,


As I mount up with eagles’ wings,


He clears away the haze,


Now weightless - Christ removes distress,


Lifts off my heavy care,


He smiles at me and takes my hand,


And we waltz on the air.

© Lynne Bourgault Spear, 2007

Opus #9

(With appreciation and apologies to R.L. Stevenson...)

The rain is raining all around,

It falls on field and tree,

Reflects the teardrops on my cheek,

While grief envelops me.

The wind keeps whistling merrily,

It mocks my deep despair - 

Pretended joy and happiness, 

Mere castles in the air.

The thunder roars despondent din,

My silence I must keep,

Yet agony is thus proclaim’d,

As deep calls unto deep.

The gloomy grey of clouds above

Shrouds sunshine warm and bright.

The frigid air lays bare my heart:

I wish for death or flight.

Oppressed...forlorn? Abandon’d not!!!

I’m safe beneath His wing,

And though the tempest rages on,

To Christ I clasp and cling.

He holds me fast, my Sanctum true,

Through torrent, gale, and wave,

His grasp is firm; He won’t betray,

I trust in Him to save.

When deluge whelms, He anchors me,

My storm-toss’d soul He calms,

My Ark amid the tumult fierce,

Soul’s Harbor, Home, and Balm.

© Lynne Bourgault Spear, 2007

God Moves in a Mysterious Way

“You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

John 13:7

God Moves in a Mysterious Way
by William Cowper

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform;

He plants His footsteps 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.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy and shall break

In blessings on your head.

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.

A Bitter Bud

We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be. 


C.S. Lewis

We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, “Blessed are they that mourn.” 


C.S. Lewis

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I’m sorry for the long absence. I took some time off for Christmas and then January hit, and hit hard.

Our family, both nuclear and extended, has been walking through difficult times. We each have a long and painful path ahead.

In the past, I would have prayed for the Lord to move me through this valley as quickly as possible, impatiently running full bore to reach the end. But as I survey our current landscape, I begin to see that I would have been crushed had the pain come all at once. At times it felt as if I would be, but his grace is sufficient and has meted the grief out slowly over time. His desire is not to crush, but to purify and make us into the glorious image of his Son. His motive is not punishment, but love - he wants us to learn more deeply that he is our only hope.

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Jehovah-Rophi. I Am the Lord That Healeth Thee

(Exodus 15:26)
by William Cowper

Heal us, Emmanuel! here we are, 

Waiting to feel Thy touch: 

Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair

And, Saviour, we are such.

Our faith is feeble, we confess, 

We faintly trust Thy word; 

But wilt Thou pity us the less? 

Be that far from Thee, Lord!

Remember him who once applied, 

With trembling, for relief; 

"Lord, I believe," with tears he cried, 

"Oh, help my unbelief!"

She too, who touch'd Thee in the press, 

And healing virtue stole, 

Was answer'd, "Daughter, go in peace, 

Thy faith hath made thee whole."

Conceal'd amid the gathering throng, 

She would have shunn'd Thy view;

And if her faith was firm and strong, 

Had strong misgivings too.

Like her, with hopes and fears we come, 

To touch Thee, if we may; 

Oh! send us not despairing home, 

Send none unheal'd away!



Opus #8

You ever lavish blessings mercif’ly
Upon us. Sinners all, we don’t deserve
Your cross, our guarantee.
Your kind regard and clement care preserve
Us warm beneath your wings. Your mighty hand
And strength sustain, conserve
Us now and through the swiftly slipping sand
Of time and all eternity. You give
Sweet hope of heav’n - joy, fanned
By heartfelt gratitude declarative
Of watchful charge and tenderness. Release
The fetter’d fugitive,
To those upheaved bestow your tranquil peace,
Abate the raging storm within, cruel weight
Of guilt remove, increase
Our trust and faith, our crooked ways make straight,
Unshackle us from foolish self-concern,
From hubris liberate.


SDG!

© Lynne Spear, 2006

A Thanksgiving Toast

A turkey, stuffing, cider, bread,

Potatoes sweet and white,

Such grace and blessing, gratitude

For all within our sight.

For friends and fam’ly gather’d here

Upon this cheerful night,

Please lift your glass and drink a toast

To great big appetites!


SDG!

© Lynne Spear, 2006

Opus #6

My ardor cools by slight degrees, a hoar
Frost chills my soul. The passion I held dear
In past is frozen. Breezes gust and roar,
Autumnal windstorm, frosty, insincere.
Hard, wintry ice weighs down mere’s rippled wave.
Dull leaves drift down and carpet ground - earth’s shroud.
All life in hibernation sleeps. My grave
And soul’s decease writ large, benumb and cloud

My heart.

I hear a muted hymn that swells

And grows, reminds me of your grace. Splash, drip-
Your love a supernatural spring that quells

My dread. Your care a fire that melts death’s grip-

A sun that brings new life: the blush on fruit

Of freshest rip’ning faith and tender shoot.

SDG!

© Lynne Spear, 2006

Opus #5

This metaphor has been rattling around in my mind for over a decade now. The Lord has only recently given me the final puzzle pieces to put it into words.

It describes both ways I’ve been treated by various people and, unfortunately, ways I’ve treated others. I confess that I’m most often the second woman, especially to my children. By God’s grace, I’m slowly becoming more like the third.

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Deep in a pit, upon my back,
My ankle twisted, broke.
I’m bruised; my head has had a crack.
I cry out, weep, and choke.

A stone upon my broken limb,
I cannot stand; I sprawl.
I fear my rescue hope is slim,
I’m helpless as a doll.

Above appears a simple grin
That sees no need to fret,
Ignores the hole, deep gloom within,
“Don’t mope or be upset!”

More platitudes she calls to me,
“Now, where’s your cheerful mood?
The weather’s fine as it can be,
So don’t be so subdued.”

She skips away. She never saw
How dangerous my plight.
Too optimistic was her flaw,
Too rosy was her sight.

A scowl appears atop the hole,
She knits her brow, so grim.
Self-righteous chiding is her goal.
“You! Climb up to this rim.”

“Come pull yourself up here with me,
You prat, you’re strong enough!
If you’d more faith, you would be free.
You’re made of worthless fluff!”

She stomps away, her shoulders shrugs,
Not charity, but shame.
She sees no use in tender hugs,
Believes they can’t reclaim.

A sister dear shows me her face.
Her eyes set me at peace.
Her gentle hope like an embrace,
My dread and fear decrease.

To reach my side she scrambles down,
Ignores the nasty slime.
Her touch as soft as eiderdown,
She counts not cost nor time.

My tears are dried, my wounds are bound,
She rolls away the stone.
Her joy and laughter, such sweet sound,
Now I walk not alone.

A greater Friend descended here
Into our blackened pit,
Assumed our woe and took our fear,
For God, He made us fit.

He wiped our tears and bound our hurt,
He paid off all our debt,
Did not despise the mire and dirt,
But washed away our sweat.

Into the tomb he went, unspared,
Then rolled away the stone.
Our beastly sin and grief he shared,
So we’d walk not alone.

SDG!

© Lynne Spear, 2006

Not-a-Sonnet #4

My eyes were blind; Your holiness
And glory hidden, dark.
My depth of sin, I’d not profess.
The cross in shade obscured, slight mark

On far horizon.

Light’ning crack!

Grand thunderclap! You strike a spark,
Illuminate my gaze. My lack
Laid bare in daylight clear and in
The gap the Cross stands tall, not black
But shining bright, and near. Within,

I glimpse Your grace.

So sinless, pure,

You’re high above. My soul so thin,
Inside vice still a deep allure.
Anew conviction comes; this gift
Gives life and hope. Your hold secure,
Belov’d, You soar on high, so swift.
Alone, I’d plunge to depths complete.
Your Cross mounts up to fill the rift.
Expanse You render obsolete.

SDG!

© Lynne Spear, 2006

Sonnet #3

Thy holiness, so infinite yet veil’d,
Complete perfection, blazing honor hid.
My sightless gaze obscured. I fully fail’d
To stem, restrain my wickedness, forbid
My blacken’d ways. Depravity my sole
Reply - heed not, I turn away and lid

My wretchèd shame.

Then Light o’er brims my soul,

Damn’d scales flings off! Distress, despair! Can’t flee,
I crumple, slump. High priced...too dear the toll.
Immense, unbounded gorge ‘twixt me and Thee.
Sweet Gospel bends; she lifts my head. Tear’d eyes

To Thee I raise - Thy grace, my only plea.

Forgiveness grows, ‘Cross vast abyss it lies,

Thy bridge of hope. Thou bidst me come, arise.

SDG!

© Lynne Spear, 2006

A Second Sonnet

This is dedicated to the only One who can truly tame our thoughts.

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My thoughts are like the wild birds that flit

Where e’er they will. Brown daydream sparrows fly

Above a landscape, empty-promise-knit.

They flutter off, grey mem’ry wrens so wry!

Before I know - they’re gone! Took wing

Across blue firmament. Quick loop-de-loop!

They flicker past, eyes mocking me. They sing

Their siren song. They chase and soar and swoop.

I plead with them. They tease and taunt! Oh, bane!
Untamèd thoughts! My net has holes. I reach ...
I stretch ... I twist ... exert myself in vain!!

And in my ears, resounds their jeering screech.

Lord, catch the birds and clip their wings and train

Them to fly home and there in peace remain.

SDG

© Lynne Spear, 2006

A Sonnet

My heart was cold and far from thee. I ran

Away at ev’ry turn; woo’d blighted foe,

My pride and vain ambition; sought to ban

Thy winsome sway. Sweet Grace, I spurned thy flow.

My dusty soul - oh, shriveled, withered thing! -

Was cracked and parched, the desert during drought.

No drop, no plash, no drizzle could I bring,

So wilted, lifeless, faded, emptied out.

No water - brittle, barren - not a trace;

Dust swirling, whirling, turned all topsy-turve.

I thirst! I cry for rain! No drop of grace


Do I, oh, dead and sinful soul, deserve.


Begins the rain. Thy precious, holy blood

Flows from the cross! Sweet, undeservèd flood!

SDG!

© Lynne Spear, 2006