I'm sitting here this morning, not at church, because my sweet boy has had a fever and cough the past few days. It's a precious time in a mother's life, to take care of your sick little ones. I'd rather them not be sick, mind you, but there is something about comforting a sick little one, holding them in your arms, tenderly nurturing them. It always makes me realize what affection I have for my children, and what a blessing they are.
This post has nothing to do, really, with my son being sick, but since I'm home, it does give me a chance to post. I read this yesterday in Streams In the Desert, a devotional I have read day by day for the last 17 years, (I never tire of it) and I thought it was such a beautiful reminder to us that I wanted to share.
2 Corinthians 6:10 "As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing."
"Sorrow was beautiful, but her beauty was the beauty of the moonlight shining through the leafy branches of the trees in the wood, and making little pools of silver here and there on the soft green moss below.
When sorrow sang, her notes were like the low sweet call of the nightingale, and in her eyes was the unexpectant gaze of one who has ceased to look for coming gladness. She could weep in tender sympathy with those who weep, but to rejoice with those who rejoice was unknown to her.
Joy was beautiful, too, but his was the radiant beauty of the summer morning. His eyes still held the glad laughter of childhood, and his hair had the glint of the sunshine's kiss. When Joy sang his voice soared upward as the lark's, and his step was the step of a conqueror who has never known defeat. He could rejoice with all who rejoice, but to weep with those who weep was unknown to him.
'But we can never be united,' said Sorrow wistfully.
'No, never.' And Joy's eyes shadowed as he spoke. 'My path lies through the sunlit meadows, and the sweetest roses bloom for my gathering, and the blackbirds and thrushes await my coming to pour forth their most joyous lays.'
'My path,' said Sorrow, turning slowly away,'leads through the darkening woods, with moon-flowers only shall my hands be filled. Yet the sweetest of all earth-songs-the love song of the night-shall be mine; farewell, Joy, farewell.'
Even as she spoke they became conscious of a form standing beside them; dimly seen, but of a Kingly Presence, and a great and holy awe stole over them as they sank on their knees before Him.
'I see Him as the King of Joy,' whispered Sorrow, ' for on His Head are many crowns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of great victory. Before Him all my sorrow is melting away into deathless love and gladness, and I give myself to Him forever.'
'Nay, Sorrow,' said Joy softly,'but I see Him as the King of Sorrow, and the crown on His head is a crown of thorns and nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great agony. I, too, give myself to Him forever, for sorrow with Him must be the sweeter than any joy I have ever known.'
'Then we are one in Him,' they cried in gladness,' for none but He could unite Joy and Sorrow.'
Hand in hand they passed out into the world to follow Him through storm and sunshine, in the bleakness of winter cold and the warmth of summer gladness, 'as sorrowful yet always rejoicing.'