Sept. 8
BROKEN AND SMOKING
"A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he
not quench" Isa. 42:3
Then I may reckon upon tender treatment from my Lord. Indeed, I
feel myself to be at best as weak, as pliant, as worthless as a reed.
Someone said, "I don't care a rush for you," and the speech, though
unkind, was not untrue. Alas! I am worse than a reed when it grows by
the river, for that at least can hold up its head. I am bruised,
sorely, sadly bruised. There is no music in me now; there is a rift
which lets out all the melody. Ah, me! Yet Jesus will not break me;
and if he will not, then I mind little what others try to do. O sweet
and compassionate Lord, I nestle down beneath thy protection, and
forget my bruises!
Truly I am also fit to be likened to "the smoking flax," whose
light is gone, and only its smoke remains. I fear I am rather a
nuisance than a benefit. My fears tell me that the devil has blown out
my light, and left me an obnoxious smoke, and that my Lord will soon
put an extinguisher upon me. Yet I perceive that though there were
snuffers under the law, there were no extinguishers; and Jesus will
not quench me; therefore, I am hopeful. Lord, kindle me anew, and
cause me to shine forth to thy glory, and to the extolling of thy
tenderness.