The Wells and the Pools
“Who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well; the rain also filleth the pools.” — Psa. lxxxiv. 6.
When a man is in the valley of tribulation he may have consolation from two sources. He may get it by activity, or he may get it by lying passive. He may get a supply of water from a well which his own hands have digged, or he may get that supply from the pools which the rain has filled. In the case of digging the well I work for my consolation, in the filling of the pool by the rain my consolation works for me; I have power to dig a well, but the filling of the pool with rain ls Nature’s deed — God’s deed. Have you not experience of these two consolations? Sometimes you get water by your own digging — comfort by your own effort; when a treasure is taken away, you think of the gold still left to you. But there are other times in which your comfort comes, not from the wells of earth, but from the rains of heaven. And these, I think, are the most frequent moments. I am not good at digging wells when I am in the valley of Baca;
the heavy heart makes a weak hand. In my prosperous hours I use the wells more than the pools. But in my hour of adversity I am chiefly dependent on the pools. My digging power is small; I find it hard to brace myself by the remembrance of remaining mercies. If I had no resource but the digging of wells, I think I should die; the explanation of my continued life is the fact that “the rain, also, filleth the pools.”
I bless Thee, O Lord, for these waters sent from heaven! I bless Thee for the strength that comes to me without my effort! Often has it come to me just when I had given up the digging — just when I had thrown away the spade in despair. When all my human doors have closed, an invisible door has opened, and there has come to me an incomprehensible strength, an unaccountable calm, an inexplicable peace. The water denied to the wells has appeared in the pools, and I am refreshed from above. In vain I ask the earth for the cause of my refreshment. There is nothing at my feet to explain it. The valley of Baca is a valley still. The ground is dusty and dry; my hands are too feeble to dig a well below. But when I look up it is all accounted for; Thy rain filleth the pools. Elijah was fed by ravens, but that was a small miracle! / have been fed by log jjiee — directly, without a medium! The wells have been superseded by the pools. What the earth could not send up, Thy heaven has poured down. What the ground could not give, Thy grace has yielded. What human effort could not buy, Thy Divine love has granted free. My strength in the lowly valley has come from Thine upper air. I have not been left to the weariness of waiting for the well; Thy rain has also filled my pools!
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