Mike Leake is a fairly new name on my blogroll. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I don't read many blogs regularly. Less than five. Mike Leake is in that number solidly. I resonate with much of what he writes concerning depression, suffering, fear, and more. He's one of those bloggers who isn't just standing on a podium, he's suffered in the valley. I have great respect for men and women who write from that place. (This is the last of May's guest posts, thanks so much for giving me the month off!)
“The Lord keeps the key of comfort in his own hand” –John Newton
I think I respond to this truth like a drunk-guy wanting his keys so he can drive home.
He has the key to my comfort. In my stupor I demand that he follow my whims. “Give me the keys, Jesus!”
The Lord, like any friend that is closer than a brother, refuses to give an idiot keys to a car that he is not fit to drive. And so I get angry. I try to pry them out of his powerful hands. I throw a fit. I rant. I rave. I call him evil and wrong and mean for not giving me the key to comfort.
He doesn’t budge.
And I’m glad.
I’m glad because I don’t have to be like the bleeding woman—trying to find comfort in a million different places. I simply need to grab hold of the hem of His garment and follow Him; even if he is walking to a cross.
He holds the key. He is very good. He is very wise. We are going somewhere and I trust Him. Even if we pitch our tent in rubble and ashes, I trust that this will be a means to prepare me for dancing in the palace of heaven.
Sure I’ll ask him for the keys whenever I hurt. I’ll beg him to take away pain. I’ll long for the days when the clouds and darkness lift. I’ll use every means necessary to fight the things that rob godly comfort and peace. But if the clouds don’t lift and the darkness continues to break in, I’ll just wait.
No more pursuing other remedies. No more pouting. No more screaming because I don’t get the comfort that I feel I am owed. I will simply assume that if the Lord does not give me the key of comfort it is for my good. He knows better than I do. He knows when pain will strengthen and comfort will shipwreck.
I pray that I will be so enamored with Jesus that I can say with Samuel Rutherford:
“Whether God come to his children with a rod or a crown, if he come himself with it, it is well. Welcome, Welcome Jesus, what way soever thou come, if we can get a sight of thee. And sure I am, it is better to be sick, providing Christ come to the bed-side, and draw aside the curtains, and say ‘Courage, I am thy salvation,’ than to enjoy health, being lusty and strong, and never to be visited by God.”
I’m glad he holds the keys.