I am foolish, I am weak,
In my need Your strength I seek.
Nothing can my wisdom teach—
No height can my strivings reach.
And yet You choose me, Lord, to bear Your name,
You choose me, Lord, to walk by faith,
In victory You crown my days,
You choose me, Lord, to give You praise.
Why You’d save me, I can’t see;
Your great love’s a mystery.
Death forever is my due—
Yet I’m given life with You!
Psalm 86:4 “Rejoice the soul of thy servant: for unto thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.”
This gives me a picture of a little child reaching up to someone she trusts, either with some grievance to make better or some joy to share. We aren’t usually as smart as that child—we tend to take our trouble every other place except to our Heavenly Father. We fill our pain with pleasures, hoping to ignore the real problem until it fades away. We complain to our friends but forget that the Lord is the only Friend Who can supply our need. We lift up our soul like a broken toy to this world to fix…when we would get far better results by lifting it up to Jesus.
2 Chronicles 20:12 “…we have no might against this great company that cometh against us; neither know we what to do: but our eyes are upon thee.”
Maybe that’s why Jesus said, “Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein.” Children generally have no trouble admitting when there is a problem: their pride isn’t as great a barrier to truth. They will quickly come running with the tale of anything that has disturbed their simple peace and seek solutions instead of burying the issue for later. We older folks would do well to learn from the humility of a child.
Where do we seek our solutions? Where do we find our joy? Are we reaching out to the Lord for these, trusting Him enough to lift up our souls with the simple confidence of a little child?
Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains), and behold my soul’s true face,
The dim and weary witness of life’s race,—
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,–because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighbourhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,–
Nothing repels thee,…Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good! Continue reading “He Loves Me Like That”
What makes you see the globe a ball
To bounce, the sky not half as tall,
Each cloud a game, each smile a joy,
And every living thing a toy? Continue reading “What Makes You”