True Diamonds

Recently I've been working on a bible study on the topic of "pain and suffering." I've also been reading through some sermons by John Piper and J0hn MacArthur on the same subject. One sermon by John MacArthur has been especially interesting to me, it's called "When Healing Doesn't Come." In this article, MacArthur compares the true children of God to genuine diamonds when he tells about the "water test" that jewelers occasionally use as a means for identifying true diamonds.

An imitation stone is never as brilliant as a genuine stone, but sometimes the difference cannot be determined with the naked eye. So jewelers immerse the stone in water. A genuine diamond continues to sparkle brilliantly while the sparkle of the imitation is virtually extinguished. By way of analogy, the faith of many people underthe water of sorrow or affliction is nothing but an imitation. However, when atrue child of God is immersed in a trial, he will shine as brilliantly as ever.

MacArthur reminds us that, when being tested, the way to shine brightly is by prayer and by leaning on the strength of God rather than your own weakness. When we turn from ourselves and place our faith in the infinite strength of the One who is working all things out for our good and His own holy purpose (Romans 8:28), we will have good results.

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!

Poetry of Martha Snell Nicholson

Last week I did the eulogy at the funeral of a very close friend of mine. While in the composing process, I had an opportunity to raffle through some of the poetry I’ve been collecting down through the years and review several of the poems written by my favorite poet, Martha Snell Nicholson.

Margaret Snell Nicholson is one of my idols. She was a godly Christian woman, who knew what it meant to praise her Lord in the midst of physical and emotional suffering. For more than thirty-five years she endured almost constant pain, increasing weakness and helplessness from four incurable diseases that held her confined to her bed. In spite of her pain and suffering, Mrs. Nicholson did not give in to self-pity or dwell on her suffering, instead, she focused on her Savior. Thus, she grew strong in her faith and radiated beauty and cheerfulness to all who would come near her. She loved people and she loved and lived closely with the LORD. As a result, she wrote some of the most excellent Christian poetry which has ever been written. From seven volumes writing, Her precious verses bless all who reads them. Her words are filled with hope and inspiration and lift the soul, bringing great blessing. Each poem abounds with a beauty, truth, and thanksgiving which greatly exalts and honors the LORD JESUS CHRIST.

Below are three of my favorite poems. I hope they mean as much to you as they have to me.

(a "mendicant" is a beggar)

I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, "But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me."
He said, "My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee."
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.

--Martha Snell Nicholson



Treasures

One by one He took them from me,
All the things I valued most,
Until I was empty-handed;
Every glittering toy was lost.

And I walked earth's highways, grieving.
In my rags and poverty.
Till I heard His voice inviting,
"Lift your empty hands to Me!"

So I held my hands toward heaven,
And He filled them with a store
Of His own transcendent riches,
Till they could contain no more.

And at last I comprehended
With my stupid mind and dull,
That God COULD not pour His riches
Into hands already full!

--Martha Snell Nicholson



Guests

Pain knocked upon my door and said
That she had come to stay;
And though I would not welcome her
But bade her go away,
She entered in. Like my own shade
She followed after me,
And from her stabbing, stinging sword
No moment was I free.
And then one day another knocked
Most gently at my door.
I cried, "No, Pain is living here,
There is no room for more".
And then I heard His tender voice,
" 'Tis I, be not afraid".
And from the day He entered in --
The difference it made!
For though He did not bid her leave,
(My strange, unwelcome guest,)
He taught me how to live with her.
Oh, I had never guessed
That we could dwell so sweetly here,
My Lord and Pain and I,
Within this fragile house of clay
While years slip slowly by!

--Martha Snell Nicholson