“My own peace I give to you.” John 14:27
Two painters each painted a picture
to illustrate his conception of rest.
The first chose for his scene
a still, lone lake among the far-off mountains.
The second threw on his canvas
a thundering waterfall,
with a fragile birch tree bending over the foam;
and at the fork of the branch,
almost wet with the cataract’s spray,
sat a robin on its nest.
Thirst was only stagnation,
the last was rest.
Christ’s life outwardly was one
of the most troubled lives that ever lived;
tempest and tumult,
tumult and tempest,
the waves breaking over it all the time
until the worn body was laid in the grave.
But the inner life was a sea of glass.
The great calm was always there.
At any moment you might have gone to Him
and found rest.
And even when the human bloodhounds were dogging Him
in the streets of Jerusalem.
He turned to His disciples
and offered them, as a last legacy,
Rest is not a hallowed feeling
that comes over us in church;
it is the repose of a heart set deep in God.
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
Rest in Christ . . . Today
With my prayers, desiring yours, Leslie