Both Crying and Singing

Spurgeon in Morning and Evening for July 2nd:

Morning:

"Our heart shall rejoice in Him." - Psalms 33:21

Blessed is the fact that Christians can rejoice in the deepest distress; although trouble may surround them, they still sing; and, like many birds, they sing best in their cages. The waves may roll over them, but their souls soon rise to the surface and see the light of God's countenance; they have a buoyancy about them which keeps their head always above the water, and helps them to sing amid the tempest, "God is with me still." To whom shall the glory be given? Oh! to Jesus - it is all by Jesus. Trouble does not necessarily bring consolations with it to the believer, but the presence of the Son of God in the fiery furnace with him fills his heart with joy. . . .

Evening:

"Unto thee will I cry, O Lord my rock; be not silent to me: lest, if thou be silent to me, I become like them that go down into the pit." - Psalms 28:1

A cry is the natural expression of sorrow, and a suitable utterance when all other modes of appeal fail us; but the cry must be alone directed to the Lord, for to cry to man is to waste our entreaties upon the air. When we consider the readiness of the Lord to hear, and his ability to aid, we shall see good reason for directing all our appeals at once to the God of our salvation. It will be in vain to call to the rocks in the day of judgment, but our Rock attends to our cries. . . .

How kind is God to give Spurgeon to me like an older wiser brother to point me to my Father and his revealed word? A picture came to my mind from his evening writing. Later in this passage, he says, "When God seems  to close his ear, we must not therefore close our mouths, but rather cry with more earnestness; for when our note grows shrill with eagerness and grief, he will not long deny us a hearing . . . surely the Lord will speak peace to our agitated minds, for he never can find it in his heart to permit his own elect to perish." It is like when my siblings and I were little children in our beds for the night. Wanting one or both of our parents to come back in to grant a request (a drink of water, the night light, a favorite stuffed animal, to sing us a song...basically anything to stall the necessity of going to sleep, but sometimes to pray with us to melt away nightly fears), we would yell their names from our beds. If they did not respond, we cried louder and louder. We would join our efforts into one voice together, "Maaaaaaaa-mee," or "Daaaaaaaa-dee." Spurgeon is like my older brother, encouraging me to cry louder to my Abba, and not to cry to another for what only He can help. He is not hushing a younger sibling out of annoyance, but spurring on by directing my cries to the only One who can hear and help.

Along with not chiding sorrowful cries, he is also promoting joyful songs in the midst of distress (in the morning passage). What a comfort to be allowed both "natural expressions of sorrow" and to "rejoice in deepest distress." My Father truly did send his Son to condescend to my level and his Spirit to commune with me. It is only his presence and promises that can unfailingly deliver joy in any moment whatsoever.

It does not matter if I be conflicted, confused, or numb, nor if tempted to sinful thoughts and feelings. My Father still calls me to himself. He still draws me. And he wants me to cry my griefs to him. And he wants me to sing praises to him. Whether tears on my checks one moment, or happy notes on my lips another - whether a despairing sickness that turns to knots in my stomach or a lightness of heart and eagerness for life reflecting trust like a child - my dear Abba welcomes both my sobbing cries and my joyful melodies of praise.

It is not up to me to understand. God holds me in his hand.

You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. - Psalm 16:11

There is nowhere I'd rather be than with my God. And guess what? He is always with me, and he is always drawing me. He wants me to come. And oh that I would learn to quietly come and be still at his side, knowing he is my God.

And he is more than enough. He always will be.

photo: AA field at Creation, Wednesday June 29th