Show Me the Path

He little prayer is singular — “Thou wilt show me the path.” Does the great and glorious God actually give thought to individual human lives? We can conceive that he might direct the career of certain great men, whose lives are of importance in the world; but will he show common people the way? Will he guide a poor man or a little child? The Bible teaches that he will. He feeds the sparrows. He clothes the lilies. He calls the stars by their names. Then the Bible is full of expressions of God’s interest in individuals. Jesus taught this truth when he said that the Good Shepherd calleth his own sheep by name. The Shepherd Psalm has it, too —” The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He leadeth

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Let no one think that he is only one of a crowd in God’s thought. Each believer has his own place, and is cared for just as if he were the only one. God loves us as individuals — he could not really love us in any other way. He knows always where we are and what our circumstances are. God’s will refers to the smallest matters and takes in the smallest events in each life. A Spanish proverb says, “A leaf stirs not on the tree without the will of God.” God’s hand is in every event. We talk of the laws of nature and say that nothing ever gets out of their grasp. But what is nature.? It is not something independent of God. The laws of nature are simply God’s laws. Nothing takes place that is contrary to the divine will. Nothing — no storm, no earthquake, no cyclone, no tidal wave, ever gets out of God’s control. Natural law rules in everything and natural law is simply the power of God manifesting itself. This world is not controlled by chance, nor by any blind fate, but by him who loved us so much that he gave his Son to die for [282] us. We need not hesitate, therefore, to accept the truth that God will show each one of us the path.

How can we have this guidance.?^ If we would have it, the first thing for us is to realize our need of it. Some people do not. They think they can find the way themselves. They never pray, “Show me the path.” During the past summer a letter from Switzerland told of two men who undertook the ascent of one of the mountains near Geneva, without guides or ropes or any of the ordinary appliances for safety. Their conduct attracted attention, being so foolhardy, and their progress was watched through strong glasses by many at the hotel. Soon the men were seen to be in trouble, wandering aimlessly over the ice. In a little while one of them disappeared, and not long afterward the other also was lost to view. A searching party went out, and it was discovered that the first man had fallen into a crevasse, hundreds of feet deep, where his dead body was found. The other had fallen, but, more fortunate than his companion, he [283] fov ttt ism Clingsj

fell into the snow and was able to crawl out and make his way to a hospice, where he was found in an unconscious state. It is foolhardy to try to climb the Alps without a guide. It is far more perilous to try to go through this world without a guide. It is one of the most assuring promises of the Bible that God himself will be our guide, not only in our mountain-climbs and through the dark valleys, but in every part of our way. But we must be willing to be led. God will not drive us, nor compel us — he will lead us. And we may take another path if we will. Many people do. If we would be shown the way, we must be conscious of our need of guidance and must walk obediently in the path that the Guide marks out for our feet.

If we would have God show us the path, we must also trust his guidance. Sometimes we grow impatient of God’s leading because he seems to take us only along homely ways, giving us only commonplace things to do. We think we could do something larger, could [284] make more of our life, if we could get into a wider sphere and have greater opportunities. Some people even chafe and fret, spoiling the lowly work that is given them to do, in their discontent with it and their desire for some larger place and some more conspicuous work. If therefore we ask God to show us the path, we must accept his leading as it becomes clear to us. The path may not always be smooth. It is the path of life, but the way of life of ttimes leads through painful experiences. The baby begins to live in a cry, and in some form or other we suffer unto the end. Sometimes there is inscrutable mystery in a particular trial through which we are led. About four and a half years ago a happy young couple came from the marriage altar and set up their home. They were full of hope and joy. A year later a baby came. It was welcomed with great gladness. The young parents gave it to God. From the beginning, however, the baby was a sufferer. All its short years it has been sick. The parents have done all that [285] for tie xm Cltnfijs

self-sacrificing, love could do, all that money could do, in the hope that the little one would recover. The best physicians have been interested and have exhausted their skill in vain efforts to cure the child. But now, at three and a half years, when other children are so bright, so beautiful, such centers of gladness in their homes, this little one is a baby still in her helplessness, not seeing the faces that bend over her in passionate love, not responding to the caresses and tendernesses which are lavished upon her. Recently the child was taken to a distinguished physician. After careful examination his decision was that the case is absolutely hopeless. We can understand how, with what crushing weight, the doctor’s word fell upon this mother’s ears, and how they darkened her life. Until that moment she had still hoped that her child might some time be cured. Now she understands that how long soever the little one may stay with her, she will never be any better.

“What shall I do?” was the mother’s ques- [286] tion, when talking with a friend, in telHng of the visit to the great doctor. “What can I do? What ought I to do?” There is something inscrutable in this providence. What comfort can any one give to such parents? Yet there is comfort; there must be comfort, since God is their Father. For one thing, their child is just as dear to God as if she were well and strong and bright. Indeed, she is dearer. God is just like a mother in his exceeding tenderness and yearning for one who is suffering. This child is dear to God and has his gentlest sympathy and care. The child’s angel has access to God continually.

Then some day she will be well. Heaven is the place where earth’s arrested growths will reach perfection, where earth’s blighted things will develop into full beauty. The child will not be sick, nor blind, nor imperfect, there. The hopelessness of her condition is only for the present life. Sometime, somewhere, the mother’s dreams of beauty, not realized here, in her child’s stunted life, will [287] all be fulfilled, and her prayers for her child’s healing will all be answered. There is comfort in this.

But, meanwhile? Yes, it is hard to look upon the little one’s condition, so pathetic, so pitiful, and to remember the great doctor’s words, “Absolutely hopeless. She will never be any better.” Is there any comfort.? Can this mother say that in this experience God is showing her the path.? Yes. Is this suffering part of that path.? Yes, it is. Does God know about this child’s long struggle.? He knows the whole story. Has he heard the countless prayers that have gone up from this home for the baby’s recovery.? He has heard every prayer. Does he know what the doctor said the other day.? Yes, he knows all. Has he then no power to do anything.? Yes, he has all power. Why, then, has he not cured the child.? He has his reasons. Why does he allow the agony to continue in the heart of the mother.?

We dare not try to answer our own questions. We do not know God’s reason. Yet one [288] thing we know — it is all right. God is love. He is never unkind. He makes no mistakes. What good can possibly come from this child’s pitiable condition and from its continuation, year after year in this condition.’^ We do not know — but God knows. Perhaps it is that the child may be prepared for a glory which shall far surpass in splendor that of any child that is well and joyous now. Or perhaps it is for the sake of the father and the mother who are being led through these years of anguish, disappointment and bitter sorrow, and will be transfigured by the experience. We know at least that these parents are receiving a wonderful training in unselfishness, in gentleness, in patience, in trust. Perhaps all this sore experience in their child is to make their hearts more gentle, to teach them trust and songs of joy. The disciples asked the Master whose sin it was — the sin of the blind man or of his parents, that he was blind. Jesus replied, “Neither — no one’s sin, but that the works of God might be done in the man.” He meant [289]

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that this blindness gave him the opportunity of doing a work of mercy. May it be that this child’s condition finds its reason in the ministry of love which is called out in the mother and the father? It has been a wonderful training and education for them. They have been prepared by it for a blessed service to other suffering ones. Perhaps in heaven they will learn that they owe to their child’s long and painful suffering much of what they shall then wear of the beauty of Christ.

In one of the famous lace shops of Brussels, there are certain rooms devoted to the spinning of the finest and most delicate lace patterns. These rooms are altogether darkened, save for the light from one very small window, which falls directly upon the pattern. There is only one spinner in the room, and he sits where the narrow stream of light falls upon the threads of his weaving. “Thus,” we are told by the guide, “do we secure our choicest products. Lace is always more delicately and beautifully woven when [ 290 ] the worker himself is in the dark and only his pattern is in the light.” May it not be the same with us in our weaving? Sometimes it is very dark. We cannot understand what we are doing. We do not see the web we are weaving. We are not able to discover any beauty, any possible good in our experience. Yet if only we are faithful and fail not and faint not, we shall some day know that the most exquisite work of our life was done in those very days when it was so dark. If you are in the deep shadows because of some strange, mysterious providence, do not be afraid. Simply go on in faith and love, never doubting, not even asking why, bearing your pain in silence, and learning to sing while you suffer. God is watching and he will bring good and beauty out of all your pain and tears. Just as truly in such experiences as this, as in the brightest and most joyous, can we say, “Thou art showing me the path.” This very path which seems to you so dark, so hard for your feet, is the path God is choosing.

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Then God’s path is always the right path. “He led them forth by the right way.” God never leads any one in the wrong way. The path is steep, but it runs up the mountain of God. It may be rough, but the end will be so blessed, so glorious, that in its joy we will forget the briers and thorns on the way.

“0 pilgrim, as you journey, do you ever gladly say, In spite of heavy burdens and the roughness of

the way. That it surely does not matter — all the strange

and bitter stress;
Heat and cold, and toil and sorrow — ‘twill he
healed with blessedness — For the road leads home?

^’ Home! the safe and hlissful shelter where is glad and full content. And companionship of kindred; and the treasures early rent From your holding shall he given hack, more

precious than before. Oh! you will not mind the journey with such blessedness in store.

When the road leads home, [292] “0^; you will not mind the roughness, nor the steepness of the way. Nor the chill, unrested morning, nor the drearness of the day; And you will not take a turning to the left or

to the right, Bui go straight ahead, nor tremble at the coming of the night,

For the road leads home.’’