The glorious habitation
The early morning fog oozes its way inside the room, from the window that's still ajar because my roommate must have forgotten to close it the night before. I stir awake, yawn, and pause for a brief moment with my head still lying on my soft pillow. I then take a short trip to the rest room, wash my face, and gargle with water from the faucet. I slowly head back to my room.
It is 5:30 am.
I switch my desk lamp on, open my Bible and the book, 365 Days With Spurgeon, a collection of the man's early preachings that have so far guided me in the meditation and reading of Scripture. I begin praying, and suddenly, all the cares of this world--big or small--vanish at the mere conscious thought of God, He who is sovereignly in control over creation and over the affairs of man.
I realize what a wretched sinner I am compared to an infinitely holy, loving God. How many wrong thoughts have come to mind for the past week? the past days? the past hour? How many unloving, careless words have sprouted from my lips? How many ungodly actions have my hands performed?
I realize, too, the awesome kindness and mercy of the Lord, that which is renewed every morning. How undeserving I am of these blessings. I often do not even thank God for the breath of fresh air, the light moments of laughter with friends, the food set before the table, the answers to the simplest of the exam questions... What an ungrateful man I am, indeed, that, despite all these undeserved provisions, I'd still find myself in the mire of complaint.
I open the Bible to Psalm 90: Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. I further read 1 John 4: 13-16. Upon careful study of these passages, I read what Spurgeon has to say:
The orange rays of the sun are now sprayed across the skies, the birds begin chirping, everyone is stirred awake. It is a new day.
TAGGED AS: meditations
It is 5:30 am.
I switch my desk lamp on, open my Bible and the book, 365 Days With Spurgeon, a collection of the man's early preachings that have so far guided me in the meditation and reading of Scripture. I begin praying, and suddenly, all the cares of this world--big or small--vanish at the mere conscious thought of God, He who is sovereignly in control over creation and over the affairs of man.
I realize what a wretched sinner I am compared to an infinitely holy, loving God. How many wrong thoughts have come to mind for the past week? the past days? the past hour? How many unloving, careless words have sprouted from my lips? How many ungodly actions have my hands performed?
I realize, too, the awesome kindness and mercy of the Lord, that which is renewed every morning. How undeserving I am of these blessings. I often do not even thank God for the breath of fresh air, the light moments of laughter with friends, the food set before the table, the answers to the simplest of the exam questions... What an ungrateful man I am, indeed, that, despite all these undeserved provisions, I'd still find myself in the mire of complaint.
I open the Bible to Psalm 90: Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. I further read 1 John 4: 13-16. Upon careful study of these passages, I read what Spurgeon has to say:
'Will you take my master's house on a lease for all eternity, with nothing to pay for it, nothing but the ground rent of loving and serving him forever? Will you take Jesus, and dwell with him throughout eternity, or will you be content to be a houseless soul? Come inside, sir; see, it is furnished from top to bottom with all you want. It has cellars filled with gold, more then you will spend as long as you live; it has a parlour where you can entertain yourself with Christ, and feast on his love; it has tables well stored with food for you to live on forever; it has a drawing-room of brotherly love where you can receive your friends. You will find a resting room up there where you can rest with Jesus; and on the top there is a look-out, whence you can see heaven itself.
"Will you have the house or will you not? Ah, if you are houseless, you will say, 'I should like like to have the house, but may I have it?' Yes; there is the key. The key is, 'Come to Jesus.' But you say, 'I am too shabby for such a house.' Never mind; there are garments inside.
"If you feel guilty and condemned, come, and though the house is too good for oyu, Christ will make you good enough for the house. He will wash you, and cleanse you, and you will yet be able to sing with Moses, with the same unfaltering voice, "Lord, Thou hast been my dwelling place thoughout all generations."
The orange rays of the sun are now sprayed across the skies, the birds begin chirping, everyone is stirred awake. It is a new day.
TAGGED AS: meditations
Labels: faith
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