Comfort in trials refers to the spiritual support and peace God provides during difficult times, reminding believers that they are not alone amid suffering. Christian preaching often uses images of light in darkness and the guiding hand of the Lord to illustrate how faith sustains and strengthens through adversity (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).
Bible verses are like lights for dark times, providing guidance and hope.
"He hath done all things well" (Mark 7:37).
Some Bible verses are like lanterns. They were made for dark places and dark hours. Did you ever hear about the little girl in the train? She couldn't understand why the trainman was going through the car lighting the lamps. She said, "Mother, it is the middle of the day and the sun is shining, why is he turning on those lights?" The mother smiled, and said, "Wait a bit and you'll see what the lights are for." In a moment or two the train plunged into a long, dark tunnel, and then the little girl saw the wisdom of the lamplighting process.
Dear friend, that Bible of yours contains thousands of verses that seem very ordinary and unnecessary. You can't see why God has gone to all the trouble of lighting those lamps of truth, but some day you're going into the tunnel of bereavement, or the tunnel of temptation, or the tunnel of suffering, and then you will value and appreciate the verses that appear to be commonplace today.
God brings praise and comfort out of deep personal tragedy and suffering.
God can bring fresh praise out of both tragedy and glory, as illustrated by this story about a favorite hymn. Luther Bridgers began preaching at age 17 while he was a student at Asbury College in Kentucky. He was a young Methodist minister of unusual zeal and evangelism. In 1910 the future looked bright for the 26-year-old preacher, who by then had a young wife and three children. The Bridgers family was visiting Mrs. Bridger's parents at Harrodsburg, Kentucky. After the family retired for the night, a neighbor noticed flames coming from the house. He roused Mrs. Bridgers' parents and Luther, but the rest of the family members were beyond reach. The young pastor lost his wife and children.
In the awful days of sorrow that followed, Luther remembered that God offered songs of comfort in the night (Psalms 42:8), and would never forsake him. It was during this period that Luther wrote the words and music that we sing so many times: "There's within my heart a melody/Jesus whispers sweet and low/fear not, I am with thee, peace be still; in all of life's ebb and flow." In the fourth stanza he referred to his own experience: "Tho sometimes He leads through waters deep/trials fall across the way."
In the darkest night, in the depths of despair, God gave an inward song to Luther Bridgers that has blessed millions. Out of a pit of grief came a song of blessing.
God gives joy and strength even amid darkness, cold, and hardship.
C. H. Spurgeon once heard that in a certain part of England one could hear nightingales sing more beautifully than anywhere else. He journeyed there to hear for himself. He secured a room in the inn and was told, "As it begins to get dark, look out on the thorn bush. You will see the nightingale. You will hear his song."
But toward evening it turned cold and started to rain. Spurgeon despaired. Suddenly, he heard the beautiful, thrilling song of the nightingale, clear and sweet. He looked out the window. There perched in the thorn bush, with a cold rain pelting down, the little bird was lifting its voice in a truly beautiful song. He said, "It was so sweet and so beautiful that I do not expect to hear anything so thrilling until I hear the angels sing." Then he mused. "The God of the nightingale is the God whom I serve. In spite of darkness, cold, rain, or thorns-He can also give me songs in the night." When Longing for Quiet, Think of Jesus
Five girls took advantage of their graduation and went together on a vacation. It was a lovely break from the constant crowds with whom they had to mix.
"I dearly love my work," said one of them, "but sometimes it seems to me I would give anything to get away from people awhile. I never have a quiet moment to myself. There is always someone who wants to see me. Do the rest of you ever feel that way?"
"Oh, yes," said one; and, "Yes," sighed another, "I feel as though I would like to go off to a desert island where I would not see a soul."
Then a girl by the name of Mary spoke. "I know just how you feel. I have felt the same way. But when it seems to me I cannot stand it any longer I think of how the throngs followed Jesus, yet He never turned away. He must have been very weary at times, but He was never impatient with the crowd. That thought has helped me so often." A Better Kind of Indian Giver
An Indian one day asked Bishop Whipple to give him two one-dollar bills for a two-dollar note. When asked why, the Indian replied, "One dollar for me to give to Jesus, and one dollar for my wife to give." The Bishop asked him if it was all the money he had. He said, "Yes." The Bishop was about to tell him it was too much, when an Indian clergyman who was standing by whispered, "It might be too much for a white man to give, but not too much for an Indian who has this year heard for the first time of the love of Jesus."
God's presence comforts us in darkness and sorrow, assuring us He is always near.
A little girl and her father were returning from the funeral of their dearly loved mother and wife. Some kind neighbors invited them to spend a few days with them so they wouldn't be alone in the house with all its sad memories. However, the father decided it would be better to go home. That night the father placed the little girl's bed next to his, but neither could fall asleep. Finally the child said, "Daddy, it's dark, I can't see you. But you're there, aren't you?" "Yes, dear, Daddy's here right next to you. Go to sleep." The little one finally dropped off to sleep. In the darkness and the depth of sorrow, the father in tears said aloud, "O Heavenly Father, it's so dark, and my heart is overflowing with sorrow. But You're there, aren't You?" And immediately there came to him a passage from the prophet Isaiah: "Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness" (Isaiah 41:10). Our Loving God
God reminds us of an ancient king sitting with his council, deliberating on high affairs of state involving the destiny of nations. Suddenly he hears the sorrowful cry of his little child who has fallen down and been frightened. He rises and runs to his relief, assuages his sorrows and relieves his fears. This was not an unkingly act. It was rather a natural one. Our Loving Guide
Many things must be hidden from a child, and the more sensitive he is the stricter the concealment. We are so timid and unschooled that God has to often place the shadow of His hand across our vision, just as the Alpine guide will blindfold a nervous traveler so that he may guide him unharmed across some terrifying chasm. Many of God's mysteries are things that He has hidden from us to the glory of His pity and gentleness. He has to guide us over a great many of the perilous places of life.
Difficulties are temporary and will pass, reminding us of God's mercy.
Do not let your troubles get you down. Genghis Khan, the 13th century Mongol conqueror, asked his philosophers to come up with a truth that would always be unchangeable. Thinking about it for awhile, they came to their leaders with this quote: "It too shall pass." This reminds me of a dear black lady who was asked by her pastor what her favorite verse of Scripture was and she said: "And it came to pass." God in His mercy never gives us more than we can bear.
God's trials shape us to be a blessing to others, like a flute made from carved wood.
A fable tells of a little piece of wood that once complained bitterly because its owner kept whittling away at it, cutting it and filling it full of holes. But the one who was cutting it so remorselessly paid no attention to its complaining. He was making a flute out of that piece of ebony, and he was too wise to give up because the wood moaned so piteously. His actions seemed to say, "Little piece of wood, without these holes and all this cutting, you would be an ugly stick forever-just a useless piece of ebony. What I am doing now may make you think that I am destroying you when actually I am changing you into a flute whose sweet music will comfort sorrowing hearts. My cutting you is the making of you, for only thus can you be a blessing to the world."
Joy and peace come from focusing on heavenly hope despite earthly hardships.
Not long ago there lived an old bed-ridden saint, and a Christian lady who visited her found her always very cheerful. This visitor had a lady friend of wealth who constantly looked on the dark side of things, and was always cast down although she was a professed Christian. She thought it would do this lady good to see the bed-ridden saint, so she took her down to the house. She lived up in the garret, five stories up, and when they had got to the first story the lady drew up her dress and said, "How dark and filthy it is!" "It's better higher up," said her friend. They got to the next story, and it was no better; the lady complained again, but her friend replied, "It's better higher up," At the third floor it seemed still worse, and the lady kept complaining, but her friend kept saying, "It's better higher up." At last they got to the fifth story, and when they went into the sick-room, there was a nice carpet on the floor, there were flowering plants in the window, and little birds singing. And there they found this bedridden saint--one of those saints whom God is polishing for his own temple--just beaming with joy. The lady said to her, "It must be very hard for you to lie here." She smiled, and said, "It's better higher up." Yes! And if things go against us, my friends, let us remember that "it's better higher up."
Present troubles are brief and insignificant compared to the eternal joy awaiting believers.
"All the tediousness of the present life is but like one rainy day to an everlasting sunshine." How readily, then, should we bear these short-lived troubles! They are but for a moment; just a passing shower, and then the sun will shine out for ever. Time is nothing when compared with eternity. To a believer, this sorrowful life is like one drop of grief lost in a sea of glory, one speck of rain in a year of fair weather. These light and momentary afflictions are not worthy to be compared with the eternal bliss which awaits us.
Adversity uncovers hidden blessings and joys that prosperity often conceals.
Should the native of some distant world, on which the sun always shines, visit our globe, he would be filled with dismay as he beheld the sun disappear, and darkness envelope nature as in a funeral pall. How would his astonishment increase, as, amid the increasing darkness, myriads of worlds, of which he never dreamed, blazed forth upon his vision. Thus, often, adversity affrights us; but, instead of contracting our blessings, it reveals to us new sources of comfort, worlds of joy, hidden while the veil of prosperity hung about us.
A child's question about death is answered with assurance of angels caring for babies in heaven.
"Who took him on the other side?" A pair of soft blue eyes, full of tenderness and tears, looked up into mine. "On the other side! What do you mean, my darling; and I looked wondering at the child. "Baby, I mean. He was so small and weak, and had to go all alone. Who took him on the other side?"—"Angels," I answered, as steadily as I could speak; for the child's question moved me deeply,—"loving angels, who took him up tenderly and laid his head softly on their bosoms, and sang to him sweeter songs than he had ever heard in this world."—"But every one will be strange to him. I'm afraid he'll be grieved for mother and nurse and me."—"No, dear. The Saviour, who was once a baby in this world, is there; and the angels who are nearest to him take all the little children who leave our side, and love and care for them just as if they were their own. When baby passed through to the other side, one of these angels held him by the hand all the way, and he was not in the least afraid; and when the light of heaven broke upon his eyes, and he saw the new beauty of the new world into which he had entered, his little heart was full of gladness."—"You are sure of that?" The grief had almost faded out of the child's countenance. "Yes, dear, very sure. The Lord, who so tenderly loves little children, who took them in his arms and blessed them when he was on earth, who said that 'their angels do always behold the face of my Father,' is more careful of the babes who go to him than the tenderest mother could possibly be."—"I am so glad!" said the child; "and it makes me feel so much better! Dear baby! I didn't know who would take him on the other side." Children's Hour.
Reading the Bible in sickness brings comfort and a stronger grasp of eternal life.
Dr. Wayland wrote of himself, during a period of feeble health, "I have read the Bible more than ever in my life in the same space of time; and, at every new reading, I find more to love and admire. Oh, how much I have lost by not reading it more! I have reason to bless God for setting me aside on a side bench, at school alone, to read his Word and call upon his name;" and again, "Blessed be God, I am able to read his Word with increasing interest, and to entertain a more constant hold of eternal life!"
Knowing God as Father reduces fear and increases comfort amid affliction and trials.
Like as if one who is blind should be suddenly taken and carried to some punishment, he knew not by whom, he might greatly fear what would be the end or measure of it; or if one should be dealt with in the manner of the Spanish inquisitors, to put the poor soul in the greater fear; if he should have a tormentor sent unto him very ugly, disguised, who should carry him into a dark place, he knew not whither, that might increase the grief of his affliction the more;
but if, in the midst of it, he should hear the voice of his father, and perceive that it was his father that corrected him, though so disguised, it would diminish his fear: even so it may be with us under all the afflictions and trials of this life. It is our Father that administers them; and, in the midst of all, we may hear his loving voice.
— Cawdray
Others also suffer; don't claim exclusive hardship or sorrow in trials.
O mourner! say not that thou art a target for all the arrows of the Almighty; take not to thyself the pre-eminence of woe: for thy fellows have trodden the valley too, and upon them are the scars of the thorns and briars of the dreary pathway.
— Spurgeon
Temporary loss is part of God’s plan to prepare a glorious eternal crown.
Dr. Payson, visiting a mother who was disconsolate for the loss of a child, said, "Suppose, now, some one was making a beautiful crown for you to wear, and you knew it was for you, and that you were to receive it and wear it as soon as it should be done. Now, if the maker of it were to come, and, in order to make the crown more beautiful and splendid, were to take some of your jewels to put into it, should you be sorrowful and unhappy because they were taken away for a little while, when you knew they were gone to make up your crown?"
God values those who endure greater trials and dangers more highly.
A poor but worthy inhabitant of Paris once went to the bishop with a heart almost overwhelmed. "Father," said he with the most profound humility, "I am a sinner; I feel that I am a sinner; but it is against my will. Every hour I ask for light, and humbly pray for faith; but still I am overwhelmed with doubts. Surely, if I were not despised of God, he would not leave me to struggle thus with the Adversary of souls." The bishop thus consoled his sorrowing son: "The King of France has two castles, in different situations, and sends a commander to each of them. The Castle of Montleberry stands in a place remote from danger, far inland; but the Castle of La Rochelle is on the coast, where it is liable to continual sieges. Now, which of the two commanders, think you, stands the highest in the estimation of the king, the commander of La Rochelle, or he of Montleberry?"—"Doubtless," said the poor man, "the king values him the most who has the hardest task, and braves the greatest dangers."—"Thou art right," replied the bishop. "And now apply this matter to thy case and mine; for my heart is like the Castle of Montleberry, and thine like that of La Rochelle."
Trials can lead believers safely to eternal joy, guided by God's presence and care.
Gotthold remarked, that the world is like a great ocean, on which, strange to say, most of the mariners suffer shipwreck in calm and pleasant weather; whereas the storms and raging waves of trouble waft them to the haven of eternal bliss. "Upon this ocean I, too, am steering my little bark. Be with me, O my God! and guide me to the wished-for-shore. It will matter little then, whether I sailed in calm and sunshine, or through storms and tempests."
God miraculously provided water to suffering prisoners through St. Clement's faith and prayer.
The prefect who governed Rome, during the absence of Trajan on his expedition against the Dacians, commanded Clement to be brought before him; and, on his refusal to sacrifice to the false gods, he ordered him to be banished to an island whither many convicts were sent, and obliged to work in the quarries of stone. There did many Christians already sigh in chains; and several voluntarily accompanied the good bishop, willing to partake of his banishment. Clement found the unhappy prisoners not only condemned to hard labor, but suffering cruelly from the want of water, which they had to bring from a distance of ten miles. The saint, moved with compassion, knelt down, and prayed; and, raising his eyes, he suddenly saw a lamb standing upon the summit of a rising ground, which, remaining invisible to all beside himself, he knew could be none other than the Lamb of God: therefore St. Clement took up a pick-axe, and went before the people to the hill; and, digging there, a clear and abundant stream gushed forth, to the great consolation of the people.
— Mrs. Jameson
A dying soldier found comfort and assurance in Isaiah 55's invitation to come to the waters.
A soldier of one of the Western armies, being severely wounded, asked his nurse if he could read. Being assured that he could, he asked him to read the chapter about "coming to the waters." It was read and re-read; and then prayer was offered by the nurse. The same fifty-fifth of Isaiah was read to the patient morning and evening, "Ho, every one that thirsteth! come ye to the waters." It was read as usual on the last morning, when he insisted upon being placed upon his knees to pray for himself. He began to repeat the Lord's Prayer, when his spirit fled to the land of crystal waters.
God's friendship comforts believers to endure affliction without despair.
Seneca, going to comfort his friend Polybius, persuades him to bear his afflictions patiently, because he was the emperor's favorite; and tells him that it was not lawful for him to complain while Cæsar was his friend. Oh! but the sure word of God affords a better cordial, — that which is true comfort indeed: it bids every true child of God not to be overmuch dejected under the greatest of afflictions, because he is God's favorite, God's jewel, God's child, God's inheritance. Spencer.
In hardship, earthly joys fade and we yearn for God’s deeper, eternal love and presence.
When my blood flows like wine, when all is ease and prosperity, when the sky is blue, and birds sing, and flowers blossom, and my life is an anthem moving in time and tune, then this world's joy and affection suffice. But when a change comes, when I am weary and disappointed, when the skies lower into the sombre night, when there is no song of bird, and the perfume of flowers is but their dying breath, when all is sunsetting and autumn, then I yearn for Him who sits with the summer of love in his soul, and feel that all earthly affection is but a glowworm-light, compared to that which blazes with such effulgence in the heart of God.
— Beecher
God’s goodness comforts even in affliction, assuring better hope beyond suffering.
A Sunday-school teacher with the movable alphabet put together the sentence, “The Lord is good to all;” and required his class to repeat it. One little fellow refused. The teacher asked his reason. He said, because it was not true: “God is not good to father, nor to me. He has taken my little brother away; and father is home crying about it." The teacher explained, that God, in love, had taken the little brother to a better home, and would take him and his father to join him if they loved the Saviour. The child said, "Oh! I'll go and tell father;" and at once ran to him with his lesson of comfort. It consoled and benefited both father and child.
Grief fades like a flower but can be renewed by a warm comforting presence.
Grief is a flower as delicate and prompt to fade as happiness. Still it does not wholly die. Like the magic rose, dried and unrecognizable, a warm air breathed on it will suffice to renew its bloom.
— Madame De Gasparin
Christian faith provides better comfort and hope during illness than mere medicine.
An able physician once said, that, in a dangerous illness, a Christian would have a better chance of recovery than an unbeliever; that religious resignation was a better soothing medicine than poppy, and a better cordial than ether. An habitual horror of death overshadows the mind, darkening the little daylight of life; and indulgence in a morbid excess of apprehension not only imbitters a man's existence, but often shortens its duration. He hastens the advance of death by the fear with which his frame is seized at its real or imaginary approach. His trembling hand involuntarily shakes the glass in which his hours are numbered. Dr. Reid.
Trials and poverty on earth are temporary shadows compared to heavenly joy and reward.
O ye children of poverty and toil, of misfortune and sorrow! God is better to you than ye know.
Ye see but one side of the veil now; and that is fretted with troubles, and dark with adversity.
But it has another side. On that side are angel faces and the smile of God. Your worldly plans are thwarted, and you are tempted to think the Lord unkind. Your business becomes entangled in events, which shift, ye see not how. A sudden blast sweeps all your goods away: ye think it hard, and ye sigh. O weeping followers of Jesus, look! Faithful amid misfortune, gaze! Your crowns are gathering lustre. Your harps are being attuned to sweeter notes and deeper melodies of joy. Your trials project their shadows upon the walls of your heavenly mansion; and, lol they are transformed into images of seraphic loveliness that shall gleam in beauty there forever.
— Rev. J. Atkinson
Psalm 23 comforts and encourages the sorrowful, sick, imprisoned, and dying worldwide.
The Twenty-third Psalm is the nightingale of the psalms. It is small, of a homely feather, singing shyly out of obscurity; but, oh! it has filled the air of the whole world with melodious joy, greater than the heart can conceive. Blessed be the day on which that psalm was born! What would you say of a pilgrim commissioned of God to travel up and down the earth, singing a strange melody, which, when one heard, caused him to forget whatever sorrow he had? And so the singing angel goes on his way through all lands, singing in the language of every nation, driving away trouble by the pulses of the air which his tongue moves with divine power. Behold just such a one! This pilgrim God has sent to speak in every language on the globe. It has charmed more griefs to rest than all the philosophy of the world. It has remanded to their dungeon more felon-thoughts, more black doubts, more thieving sorrows, than there are sands on the seashore. It has comforted the noble host of the poor. It has sung courage to the army of the disappointed. It has poured halm and consolation into the heart of the sick, of captives in their dungeons, of widows in their pinching griefs, of orphans in their loneliness. Dying soldiers have died easier as it was read to them; ghastly hospitals have been illumined. It has visited the prisoner, and broken his chains, and, like Peter's angel, led him forth in imagination, and sung him back to his home again. It has made the dying Christian slave freer than his master, and consoled those whom, dying, he left behind mourning, not so much that he was gone as because they were left behind, and could not go too. Nor is its work done. It will go singing to your children and my children, and to their children, through all the generations of time; nor will it fold its wings till the last pilgrim is safe, and time ended: and then it shall fly back to the bosom of God, whence it issued, and sound on, mingled with all those sounds of celestial joy which make heaven musical forever. Beecher.
Like a besieged garrison, believers must hold out because Christ is coming to their relief.
During the long and terrible siege of Lucknow, the garrison resolved never to surrender; and the women and children under their protection determined never to fall alive into the hands of the bloody Sepoys. They sent a messenger through the enemies' lines to Sir Henry Havelock, who was approaching for their deliverance. He returned the reply, "Hold out: I am coming, and will be with you soon." With a small force he had to fight his way, and even to await re-enforcements; but the devoted Havelock kept his promise. At length the sound of his guns was heard, and he was soon hailed as the deliverer. Besieged soul, your resistless Lord sends you a similar answer. Hold out: he is coming to your relief.
Even in suffering and death, believers praise God joyfully, trusting His salvation.
A Western captain, as he lay on the battle-field of Shiloh, suffered greatly from a fatal gunshot-wound through both thighs, and from thirst. He said, "The stars shone out clear and beautiful above the dark field; and I began to think of that great God who had given his Son to die a death of agony for me; and that he was up there, — up above the scene of suffering, and above those glorious stars; and I felt that I was going home to meet him, and praise him there; and I felt that I ought to praise God, even wounded, and on the battle-field. I could not help singing that beautiful hymn, 'When I can read my title clear,' &c. And," said he, "there was a Christian brother in the brush near me. I could not see him; but I could hear him. He took up the strain; and beyond him another and another caught it up, all over the terrible battle-field of Shiloh. That night, the echo was resounding; and we made the field of battle ring with the hymns of praise to God."
Singing hymns in pain brings comfort and joy, reflecting trust in Jesus' name.
It was not uncommon for soldiers who had to undergo amputation to drive the gloom away with songs. One, as he lay upon the amputating-table, quieted his pain by making the hospital resound with the hymn, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds!" &c. Another, in like circumstances, sang, "There'll be no sorrow there," &c.
Christ's presence in trials is better than health without His nearness.
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 comest, if we can get a sight of thee. And sure I am that it is better to be sick, providing Christ come to the bedside, and draw by the curtains, and say, "Courage! I am thy salvation!" than to enjoy health, being lusty and strong, and never to be visited of God.
— S. Rutherford
Troubles prove God's faithfulness and are paired with His peace and victory in Christ.
The very fact that you have troubles is a proof of His faithfulness; for you have got one half of His legacy, and you will have the other half. You know that Christ's last will and testament has two portions in it. "In the world, ye shall have tribulation;" you have got that. The next clause is, "In me, ye shall have peace." You have that too. "Be of good cheer: I have overcome the world." That is yours also.
— Spurgeon
Joy and sorrow together shape a believer’s life like music from a harp.
One day, David, the King of Israel, sat on Mount Zion. His harp was before him, and he leaned his head upon it. Then the Prophet Gad came to him, and said, "Whereon muses my lord the king?" David answered, "On the continual changes of my destiny. How many songs of joy and gratitude have I sung to this harp! —but how many songs also of mourning and sorrow!"—"Be thou like unto the harp," said the prophet. "What meanest thou?" asked the king. "Behold!" answered the man of God, "both thy sorrow and thy joy drew heavenly sounds from the harp, and animated its strings. Thus let joy and sorrow form thy heart and thy life to a celestial harp." Krummacher.
A dying father encourages his children to trust the Bible for comfort and assurance of salvation.
Mr. Benn, of Highgate, had long been the subject of a severe affliction, which at length terminated his valuable life, before he had, to human appearance, reached its meridian. The evening before his departure, he desired all his children to come into his chamber; and, placing them around his dying bed, thus addressed them: "You all know that I am soon going to be removed from this world to a better; and I trust that you are walking the same road, and will soon follow me."
To his eldest son he observed, "When you go into the world, and are exposed to persons who, perhaps, will ridicule the Savior's name and the Bible, do not listen to them. Seek that society which will help you to practise your Bible; this book will provide comfort for you when friends forsake you.—Every other comfort in this world has its drawback, and is transitory. When you are in pain or suffering, write upon it, 'The road to Heaven.'"
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welfare of others. One of the first objects of his solicitude, was his mother. She was upwards of ninety years of age; deaf, dim-sighted, and very infirm; totally in the dark as to the nature of true religion, and altogether unconcerned about her best interests. The preaching was removed to her son's cottage, which was situated about a mile from his mother's residence; he wished to bring her under the sound of the Gospel; but her infirmities, and his poverty, presented considerable difficultties. She could not walk;—he had no conveyance, and could not afford to hire one. His intense desire for her salvation, however, surmounted all hindrances. He borrowed a cart; put himself in the place of a horse; and regularly drew her to his house on the Sabbath morning, and back again to her home in the evening, when the weather would permit. Being thus brought to hear the word of reconciliation, divine light shone into her mind; her conscience was awakened, after a slumber of ninety years; and she began to "call upon the name of the Lord." The God of all grace hearkened to her cry; lifted upon her the light of his countenance; and made her happy in the enjoyment of his salvation. It is a singular fact, that the great change wrought in her mind was the occasion of producing such a change in her appearance, that she looked several years younger than she did a few months before.
Prayer sustains believers in deep grief, trusting God's will over personal feelings.
ER.—My mother, says the Rev. Legh Richmond, had six children; three of whom died in infancy. A very affecting circumstance accompanied the death of one of them, which was a severe trial to her maternal feelings. Her then youngest child, a sweet little boy, only just two years old, through the carelessness of his nurse, fell from a bedroom window upon the pavement beneath. I was at that time six years of age, and happened to be walking up on the very spot when the distressing event occurred. I was, therefore, the first to take him up. I delivered into our agonized mother's arms the poor little sufferer. The head was fractured, and he survived the fall only about thirty hours. I still preserve a very lively and distinct remembrance of the struggle between the natural feelings of the mother, and the spiritual resignation of the Christian. She passed the interval of suspense in almost continual prayer, and found God a present help in time of trouble. Frequently during that day did she retire with me; and, as I knelt beside her, she uttered the feelings and desires of her heart to God. I remember her saying, "If I cease praying for five minutes, I am ready to sink under this unlooked-for distress; but, when I pray, God comforts and upholds me: his will, not mine, be done." Once she said, "Help me to pray, my child: Christ suffers little children to come to him, and forbids them not: say something." "What shall I say, mamma? Shall I fetch a book?" "Not now," she replied; "speak from your heart, and ask God that we may be reconciled to his will and bear this trial with patience."
A prisoner found consolation and hope through receiving and reading the Bible.
SHIP.—In a report of the Nismes Bible Society, may be found an affecting anecdote of one of their subscribers, who was formerly attached to Bonaparte's army. An officer of the society, struck with the modest zeal of this man in the support of the cause, asked him if his support of the society did not proceed from his knowledge of the incalculable value of the Bible. "It is so," said he; "and I will inform you how it took place. Under the late emperor I was attached to the army; and being taken prisoner, and carried to England, I was confined in one of the prison ships. There, huddled together with my companions, and deprived of every thing that could tend to lessen the miseries of my situation, I abandoned myself to dark despair, and resolved to make away with myself.
Under these circumstances, an English clergyman visited us, and addressed us to the following effect:—'My heart bleeds for your losses and privations, nor is it in my power to remedy them;
but I can offer consolation for your immortal souls, and this consolation is contained in the word of God. Read this book, my friends; for I am willing to present every one with a copy of the
Bible who is desirous to possess it!'
The tone of kindness with which he spoke, and the candor of this pious man, made such an impression upon me, that
I burst into tears. I gratefully accepted a Bible, and in it I found abundant consolation amidst all my distresses.
From that moment the Bible became precious to my soul; out of it I have gathered motives for resignation, and courage to bear up in adversity; and I feel happy in the idea, that it may prove to others what it has proved to me.'
A woman values her Bible above all for the comfort and hope it gave during trials.
A poor woman at Gloucester, who had received a Bible from an association a few months before, being asked by the collectors what value she set upon it, replied, "I would not take for it all this world could offer. For," she continued, "since I received my Bible, I have been called to pass through great trials. In those trials my Bible gave me that comfort which the world and all its riches could not; it gave me a hope, through that Saviour whom it reveals, of eternal life beyond the grave—a hope of heaven. This hope has made my sufferings appear light, to what they would have been, if my hope had been in this life only."
David Saunders found the Bible to be his sustenance and support through loneliness and want.
"I have led but a lonely life," said David Saunders, ("the Shepherd of Salisbury plain,") "and often have had but little to eat; but my Bible has been meat, drink, and company to me; and when want and trouble have come upon me,
I don't know what I should have done indeed, if I had not had the promises of this book for my stay and support."
The Bible strengthens and comforts even in life-threatening trials.
In one of the coal mines of England, a youth, about fifteen years of age, was working by the side of his father, who was a pious man, and governed and educated his family according to the word of God. The father was in the habit of carrying with him a small pocket Bible, and the son, who had received one at the Sunday school, imitated his father in this—Thus he always had the sacred volume with him, and whenever he enjoyed a season of rest from labor, he read it by the light of his lamp. They worked together in a newly opened section of the mine, and the father had just stepped aside a short distance to procure a tool, when the arch above them suddenly fell between him and his son, so that the father supposed his child to be crushed. He ran towards the place, and called to his son, who at length responded from under a dense mass of earth and coal. "My son," cried the father, "are you living?" "Yes, father, but my legs are under a rock." "Where is your lamp, my son?" "It is still burning, father." "What will you do, my dear son?" "I am reading my Bible, my father, and the Lord strengthens me." These were the last words of that child; he was soon suffocated.
Suffering teaches humility and reliance on God through the Bible's promises.
A little boy had often amused himself by looking over the pictures of a large Bible; and his mother one day said to him, "John, do you know the use of the Bible?" He said, "No, mother." "Then, John, be sure you ask your father," was the advice she gave him. Soon afterwards, John ran up to him, and said, "I should like to know, father, what is the use of the Bible?" His father said, "I will tell you another time, John." The boy appeared disappointed, and walked away.
A few days after, the father took his son to a house where was a woman very ill, in bed, and began to talk to her; she said that she had suffered a great deal of pain, but hoped that she was resigned to the will of God. "Do you think," said the father, "that God does right to permit you to feel so much pain?" "O, yes," answered the we man; "for God is my heavenly Father, who loves me; and I am sure that He, who loves me so much, would not permit me to suffer as I do, if it were not for my good." He then said, "How is it that you find your sufferings do you good?" She replied, "My sufferings are good for my soul; they make me more humble, more patient; they make me feel the value of the Savior more, and to pray more, and I am sure all this is good for me." John had been very attentive to this conversation, and the tears stood in his eyes while the afflicted woman was talking. His father looked at him, and then said to the woman, "My good woman, can you tell me what is the use of the Bible?" John was extremely eager to hear her answer. The woman, with a stronger voice than before, said, "O sir, the Bible has been my comfort in my affliction." "There, John," said his father, "now you know one use of the Bible; it can give us comfort when we most need it."
God refines believers through trials, producing purified faith and lasting joy.
As I entered the apartment where a sick person was confined, says a gentleman in England, she looked at me with a peaceful smile upon her countenance, and, grasping my hand, exclaimed, “I know you are one of the servants of my Lord and Master, by coming with my worthy kind friend. Oh, how good, how very good is my dear Savior, in sending one and another of his children to visit so poor and worthless a sinner as I am! I weep, but they are not the tears of grief, but of gratitude.” She requested me to sit down by her bed-side, and said, “As you are a stranger, let me tell you what the Lord my God hath done for my soul. You perceive, dear sir, I am in the furnace; but my happiness is this, that Zion’s God sits by as the skilful refiner, watching with an observant eye, that nothing he lost but that which is vile and refuse; and when I am thoroughly tried, I shall come forth like gold seven times purified, either to join the celestial choirs, or to be spared a little longer in the world, that I may honor Him that remembered me in my low estate. And shall I tell you, dear sir, that I have been confined to this bed eighteen months, but not one moment too long; no! thanks be to his dear name, I have had the staff of consolation to support me, as well as his rod to correct me, and every twig of it is an emblem of love."
# 192. Miscellaneous Examples.
God's promise to work all things for good comforts a family through deep trials.
The Rev. W. Thorpe, of Bristol, (Eng.) was once preaching in London, from Rom. viii. 28: "We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." After remarking that these words were doubtless intended for the common benefit of the Christian church, he added, "But I have looked upon them likewise as a kind of family heritage. They formed the favorite text of my venerated father, who found in it consolation and support in the course of a difficult and laborious ministry. It was no less dear to the heart of my mother, who used to quote it in her easy chair, and on her pillow of rest. When the weight of affliction overcame her feelings in the hour of trial, then she used to say, 'Let me sit down and rest myself, for we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.' My father was removed in the midst of his pious career, and in the vigor of his manhood, leaving behind him a large and uneducated family, and but little of the goods of earth. My mother was then confined in childbed, having been delivered the day before my father expired. The last words uttered by him to my mother, in this distressing situation were, 'Call the child Christiana; all things must work together for good to them that love God.' To make the measure of sorrow full, it happened that all the rivers of the neighborhood were overflowing at that season, causing on all sides inconvenience, damage, and distress; and the water was a foot deep on the ground-floor of the house! Still she always affirmed that this season of calamity was the happiest period of her life, in which she derived the fulness of consolation from the words of our text. When, a few days after my father had been carried to his place of rest, our house was robbed of every thing that could be borne away, and also of the last quarter's salary which my mother had received; and when, having discovered our loss, my eldest sister ran breathless into her mother's chamber, exclaiming, 'Mother, the thieves have stolen all we had in this world; will this also work together for good?' this Christian replied, 'Yes, for we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.' And the result justified her confidence."
Christianity provides comfort in affliction when science offers none.
It was a usual saying of Pascal, that the sciences produced no consolation in the times of affliction; but the knowledge of Christianity was a comfort both in adversity, and defect of all other knowledge.
A crippled man finds comfort and strength in God's presence and His Word.
At a meeting of the Blackheath
Auxiliary Bible Society, in the year
1815, Dr. Gregory, of Woolwich, (Eng.) related the following very interesting facts:—More than twelve months ago,
I went, pursuant to the request of a poor, but benevolent-hearted woman in my neighborhood, to visit an indigent man deeply afflicted. On entering the cottage, I found him alone, his wife having gone to procure him milk from a kind neighbor. I was startled by the sight of a pale, emaciated man, a living image of death, fastened upright in his chair, by a rude mechanism of cords and belts hanging from the ceiling. He was totally unable to move either hand or foot, having more than four years been entirely deprived of the use of his limbs, yet the whole time suffering extreme anguish from swellings at all his joints. As soon as I had recovered a little from my surprise at seeing so pitiable an object, I asked, "Are you left alone, my friend, in this deplorable situation?" "No, sir," replied he, in a touchingly feeble tone of mild resignation, (nothing but his lips and eyes moving while he spake,) "I am not alone, for God is with me." On advancing, I soon discovered the secret of his striking declaration; for his wife had left on his knees, propped with a cushion formed for the purpose, a Bible, lying open at a favorite portion of the Psalms of David! I sat down by him, and conversed with him. On ascertaining that he had but a small weekly allowance certain, I inquired how the remainder of his wants were supplied. "Why, sir," said he, "'tis true, as you say, seven shillings a week would never support us; but, when it is gone, I rely upon the promise I found in this book: 'Bread shall be given him; his waters shall be sure;' and I have never been disappointed yet; and so long as God is faithful to his word, I never shall." I asked him if he ever felt tempted to repine under the pressure of so long-continued and heavy a calamity. "Not for the last three years," said he, "blessed be God for it;" the eye of faith sparkling and giving life to his pallid countenance while he made the declaration: "for I have learned from this book in whom to believe: and, though I am aware of my weakness and unworthiness, I am persuaded that He will 'not leave me, nor forsake me.' And so it is, that often, when my lips are closed with locked jaw, and I cannot speak to the glory of God, He enables me to sing His praises in my heart."
Gladly would I sink into the obscurity of the same cottage; gladly even would I languish in the same chair; could I but enjoy the same uninterrupted communion with God, be always filled with the same "strong consolation," and constantly behold, with equally vivid perception, the same celestial crown sparkling before me.
In grief, going to God and worship sustains and comforts the afflicted saint.
Mr. Hall, after the death of one of his children, appeared as usual in his pulpit on the following Sabbath, and, under the influence of chastened and holy feeling, addressed his congregation from the language of David, after he had been deprived of his son: "I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." He very properly remarked, that while the child was living, but doomed to die, the afflicted saint fasted, prayed, and wept, if peradventure his days might still be prolonged; but when the event was decided, he evinced his fortitude and deep submission to the will of Heaven. He arose from the earth, changed his mourning attire, and went up to the house of the Lord. The ordinary custom of abstaining from public worship, was accommodating ourselves to the false maxims of the world, and injurious to our spiritual interests. In a season of calamity, whither should we go, but to
Him who alone is able to sustain and comfort us, and to the place where he has promised to meet with us and bless us?
A mother praises God’s sovereignty despite losing her son and daughter-in-law suddenly.
The Cleveland Herald relates the following touching incident, connected with the burning of the steamboat Vermillion, on
Lake Erie:
"Among the sufferers was a young man by the name of ROBINSON, mate of the schooner Ohio. Young and active, he delighted in his profession, and bid fair to become an ornament to it. He had but a day or two before united himself in that 'holiest of ties, wedded love,'
to the fair girl of his choice; and was on the way with his bride to spend the
'honey-moon' with his aged mother, who resides in this city, when death, with all its most appalling horrors, came upon them both in a moment, and summoned them hence to that 'bourne from whence no traveller returns.'
"The mother was anxiously expecting their arrival, when the sad news of their untimely fate was communicated to her. Folding her hands upon her breast, and lifting her eyes to heaven, she exclaimed in the spirit of the true
Christian,—'The Lord gave, and the
Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.'"
A wife's submission to God's will leads her unbelieving husband's reflection and conversion.
When I was in the United States (says a Christian writer), I heard of the conversion of a complete man of the world; which, as far as means were concerned, owed its existence to the following circumstance:—God laid his hand on a lovely, and, I think, an only daughter; and the affliction terminated in death. When the terrible moment arrived in which the idol of his affections must die, he stood at the head of her bed, almost frantic with grief;
and, having no consolation above what nature and education supplied, as is frequently the case, his grief terminated in rage: he was almost ready to curse the God who, as he thought, could be so cruel as to deprive him of so dear a child. His wife, an amiable and sensible woman, at the same time stood at the foot of the bed. Her eyes were suffused with tears, her hands lifted to heaven: and, while every feature spoke the feelings of her soul, she exclaimed,
"The will of the Lord be done! The will of the Lord be done! The will of the Lord be done!" These exclamations very naturally called the attention of her frantic husband from their dying daughter to herself; and, as he alterwards confessed, he was on the point of wreaking his vengeance on, what he then considered, an unfeeling wife, and an unnatural hard-hearted mother. After a while, however, the storm of passion gave place to reflection. He was a man of eminence at the bar, a colonel in the army; he prided himself on being a philosopher; and was therefore led to examine how his courage and philosophy had supported him in the day of trial. Here he saw reason to reflect on his conduct with shame; the more so, as he contrasted it with the conduct of his amiable and pious partner. "How is this?" he could not but exclaim: "I am a man and a soldier.
I boast of my courage, and pride myself in philosophy, in which I am versed, as being equal to the support of man in every emergency. But in the hour of trial I acted an unworthy part. My wife, a delicate female, and, notwithstanding my suspicions to the contrary, one of the most affectionate of mothers, was alone the magnanimous sufferer on this trying occasion. What, under circumstances so directly opposite, could lead to such contrary results?" "She is a Christian," said a still small voice;
"and I am not: surely the secret is here!" This train of thought led to the most pleasing consequences. He concluded that there must be a reality in that religion which he had hitherto despised; and if so, that was the one thing needful. He conferred not with flesh and blood; but immediately began to seek the consolations of true religion, and, ere long, found
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.
