“My times are in Your hand!” Psalm 31:15

Why then, need I worry or tremble? That great, loving, powerful hand keeps all the events of my life sealed and secure within its almighty clasp! And only He, my Maker and my Master, can permit them to be revealed to me as His will for me. What a compassionate, gracious arrangement! How eminently fitted to fulfill that sweet promise of His Word, “You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You!” If we fully believed this, we would be absolutely devoid of the worry which corrodes and chafes the daily life of so many professing Christians.

“My times.” Not one or two important epochs of my history only — but everything that concerns me

“My times.” Not one or two important epochs of my history only — but everything that concerns me:
joys that I had not expected,
sorrows that must have crushed me, if they could have been anticipated,
sufferings which might have terrified me by their grimness, had I looked upon them,
surprises which infinite love had prepared for me,
services of which I could not have imagined myself capable
— all these lay in that mighty hand — as the purposes of God’s eternal will for me.

But, as they have developed gradually and silently, how great has been the love which appeared enwrapping and enfolding each one!

Has not the grief been measured — while the gladness has far more abounded?

Have not the comforts and consolations — exceeded the crosses and complaints?

Have not all things been so arranged, and ordered, and undertaken, and worked out on our behalf — that we can but marvel at the goodness and wisdom of God, in meting out from that dear hand of His — all the “times” that have passed over us?

You agree with me in all this, do you not, dear reader? Then, I beg you, apply it to your present circumstances, however dark or difficult they may be. They have come directly from your Father’s hand to you, and they are His dear will for you!

So far had I written when, on suddenly, God sent to me a “time” of such severe and prolonged pain, that my pen fell from my fingers, my words and counsels turned their faces inwards, and became a crowd of witnesses — rather than a band of exhorters. I hope they have seen some quiet submission to the will of God, some patience, some restful faith in every detail of God’s dealing with me; but, alas! it is easier to know what to do than to do it, and far less courageous to point out the foe’s hiding-places — than to stand the fire of his artillery. I have been brought very low. The gnawing, tearing teeth of pain have fastened themselves upon me, and night and day I have been held fast in their terrible grip.

“Why does my Lord thus deal with His child?” I asked. I sought to know what lesson He would teach me by this physical suffering . . .
which lays me aside from all my beloved work,
which feeds me with “the bread of tears,”
and gives me “tears to drink in great measure.”

But no direct answer came to my question, and again and again the lesson was “returned” as yet imperfectly learned. Sometimes, all connected thought vanished, and a bewilderment of sorrow took possession of me; yet not one moment did the great Physician leave me; I was in distress — but never in doubt. Day after day, and night after night, the pain continued; but, often, in my weakness, I remembered what I had been trying to write of before the trial came, and I would whisper, “My times are in Your Hand! My times are in Your hand! This is Your doing, O Lord, so it must be a right ‘time’, however sad it may seem to me!”

One day, the post brought a strange, round parcel, which was carried to my bed-side. “Please open it,” I said to my friend. This was more easily said than done, the wrappings were so voluminous. At last, a lengthy scroll, beautifully illuminated, was drawn out; and as it was unrolled, it was seen to bear the simple but significant Words — “God Never Makes a Mistake!”

At last, a lengthy scroll, beautifully illuminated, was drawn out; and as it was unrolled, it was seen to bear the simple but significant Words — “God Never Makes a Mistake!”

It was as if some sweet far-off echo of God’s love had suddenly embodied itself before me. My soul leaped forward to embrace the blessed truth, and found solace and strengthening, as from the hands of a ministering angel. How it soothed and comforted me!

By how small a thing, sometimes, does God send uplifting to His children, when He has cast them down! By how gentle a remedy can “He give His beloved sleep!” Now, no weakness, or ignorance, or helplessness, or suffering, can prevent me from rejoicing in the fact that “my times” are in the “hand” of a God who never makes a mistake!