I remember, and forget. Then remember again. I can wake up and run a race that is already set out before me with mercies new every morning and all things added to me for my rich enjoyment while I prosper and am in health with the desires of my heart.
All my cares cast on Him, I seek and find, I knock and it’s opened. I can enjoy a banquet while all my enemy can do is look on with foiled plans. The windows of heaven are open to me and I barely have room to contain a blessing that is pressed down and shaken together. My cup runneth over. He has sung over me in the night as I have slept sweet beside the still waters. I have wings as if of an eagle, I am the apple of his eye, He has set His love on me and His favor surrounds me like a crown.
I don’t have to toil.
But I do. I suddenly find that I have spent the last three days trying to untangle the strongly knotted problems of my life. How do I…maybe if they’d, then I’d…what if…. In the past I would go there, buy that, and make the call. I’ve learned it doesn’t turn out well, but I seem to still have the rut in my brain that must solve the problem.
Maybe it’s the atmosphere that is affecting my memory. The atmosphere of living in the same “house” where I used to be a slave. I am surrounded by slaves driven by the henchmen of an evil master. I am in the house, but not of the house. I seem to forget in this world’s saturated atmosphere that I am free.
So why, in my own little golden room do I allow the endless noise of the enemy? Why is my own little golden room not filled with sweet old hymns and Sabbath candles? “Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day.”* The one He made. Did I rejoice? Was I glad in it?
*Henry F. Lyte “Abide with Me” (1847)