Yesterday, while on my knees planting tulip and daffodil bulbs, I remembered a very beautiful story and I couldn’t wait to post it for you. Of course, it involves flowers, which I love so dearly. I hope and pray with all my heart that it will bring the greatest knowledge of His hope and love. It is a truth given to us by the Father of Lights, the God who created the sun and moon and stars and is the source of every good and perfect gift (James 1:17). The story was written in Streams in the Desert by Henry Ward Beecher.
“…as dying, behold we live…” 2 Corinthians 6: 9
I had a bed of asters last summer, that reached clear across my garden in the country. Oh, how gaily they bloomed. They were planted late. On the sides were yet, fresh blossoming flowers, while the tops had gone to seed. Early frosts came, and I found one day that that long line of radiant beauty was seared, and I said, “Ah! The season is too much for them; they have perished”; and I bade them farewell.
I disliked to go and look at the bed, it looked so like a graveyard of flowers. But, four or five weeks ago, one of my men called my attention to the fact that along the whole line of that bed there were asters coming up in the greatest abundance; and I looked, behold for every plant that I thought the winter had destroyed there were fifty plants that it had planted. What did those frosts and surly winds do?
They caught my flowers, they slew them, they cast them to the ground, they trod with snowy feet upon them, and they said, leaving their work, “this is the end of you”. And the next spring there were for every root, fifty witnesses to rise up and say, “by death we live”.
And as it is in the floral tribe, so it is in God’s Kingdom. By death came everlasting life. By crucifixion and sepulcher came the throne and the palace of the eternal God. By overthrow came victory.
Do not be afraid to suffer. Do not be afraid to be overthrown.
It is by being caste down and not destroyed; it is by being shaken to pieces, and the pieces torn to shreds, that men become men of might, and that one a host; whereas men that yield to the appearance of things, and go with the world, have their quick blossoming, their momentary prosperity and then their end, which is an end forever.
Measure thy life by loss and not by gain,
Not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth.
For loves strength stands in loves sacrifice,
And he who suffers most, has most to give.