January 29

Morning

The things which are not seen. — 2 Cor 4:18

In our Christian pilgrimage it is well, for the most part, to be looking forward. Forward lies the crown, and onward is the goal. Whether it is for hope, for joy, for consolation, or for the inspiring of our love—the future must, after all, be the grand object of the eye of faith! Looking into the future—we see sin cast out, the body of sin and death destroyed, the soul made perfect, and fit to be a partaker of the inheritance of the saints in light. Looking further yet, the believer’s enlightened eye can see death’s river passed, the gloomy stream forded, and the hills of light attained on which stands the celestial city. He sees himself enter within the pearly gates, hailed as more than conqueror, crowned by the hand of Christ, embraced in the arms of Jesus, glorified with Him, and made to sit together with Him on His throne, even as He has overcome and has sat down with the Father on His throne.

Contemplation of my glorious future—may well relieve the darkness of the past and the gloom of the present. The joys of heaven will surely compensate for the sorrows of earth! Hush, hush, my fears! Death is but a narrow stream, and you shall soon have forded it. Time—how short; eternity—how long! Death—how brief; immortality—how endless! Methinks I even now eat of Eshcol’s clusters, and sip of the well which is within the gate. The road is so, so short! I shall soon be there!

“In the future, there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on that day; and not only to me, but to all those who have loved His appearing!” 2 Timothy 4:8

Evening

The dove came in to him in the evening. — Gen 8:11

Blessed be the Lord for another day of mercy—even though I am now weary with its toils. Unto the preserver of men, I lift my song of gratitude. The dove found no rest out of the ark, and therefore returned to it; and my soul has learned yet more fully than ever, this day, that there is no satisfaction to be found in earthly things—God alone can give rest to my spirit.

As to my business, my possessions, my family, my attainments—these are all well enough in their way but they cannot fulfill the desires of my immortal nature. “Return unto your rest—O my soul, for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.”

It was at the still hour, when the gates of the day were closing, that with weary wing the dove came back to the master. “O Lord, enable me this evening thus to return to Jesus!” The dove could not endure to spend a night hovering over the restless waste, not can I bear to be even for another hour away from Jesus, the rest of my heart, the home of my spirit. The dove did not merely alight upon the roof of the ark, she “came in to him.” Even so would my longing spirit look into the secret of the Lord, pierce to the interior of truth, enter into that which is within the veil, and reach to my Beloved in very deed. To Jesus must I come—short of the nearest and dearest communion with Him—my panting spirit cannot stay. “Blessed Lord Jesus, be with me, reveal Yourself, and abide with me all night—so that when I awake I may be still with you!”

I note that the dove brought in her mouth an olive branch, the memorial of the past day, and a prophecy of the future. Have I no pleasing record to bring home? No pledge of loving-kindness yet to come? “Yes, my Lord, I present You my grateful acknowledgments for tender mercies which have been new every morning and fresh every evening. And now, I ask You—put forth Your hand and take Your dove into Your bosom!”