Riches of grace

by E. E. Byrum

"Some feet there be which walk life's track unwounded,

Which find but pleasant ways,

But they are few. Far more there are who wander

Without a hope or friends;

Who find their journey full of pains and losses,

And long to reach the end."

Yet if, like Elisha's servant, we could open our blind spiritual eyes, how often we might discover myriads of angels waiting only for a submissive spirit and a surrendered will to plant such feet upon substantial ways of blessings and courage instead of the ways of the wounds and thorns and crosses. If I had but the power to tell of some such experiences of my own, I feel it might encourage some other soul to surrender fully to God a life that otherwise has been a failure. There is no doubt that God has ministering servants ever ready to wait on the soul that surrenders to his will. The difficulty is always the unsurrendered will.

When I was about fourteen years old, an evangelist came to our town to preach a full salvation, one that saves from sin and sanctifies the soul. The Holy Spirit was working in many hearts. One evening as I was riding home facing the west at sunset, I beheld, in the shifting of the clouds, a huge black cross. It stood there between me and the sun. I thought of Jesus dying on the cross, and that seemed very fitting, though of course very sad. As this cross remained there, it impressed me more solemnly, until I began to realize that there might be a cross for me also. But I said: "Life is what we make it. I do not want crosses; I choose other things." At last a gorgeous crown of the sunset enveloped the cross, and in my heart I knew that without the cross there would be no crown. The difficulty had arisen between me and God. His ministering servants were ready to spare me the "pains and losses," but my will was not surrendered. I would not bear the cross.

Another warning came to me a few nights later, when I was invited to the home of a friend to attend a dance. I thought of the meeting and its solemn significance, and felt uneasy about going. I wanted to please Jesus, who had borne the cross for me, but I justified myself in going because the crowd was select. I went to my room thus battling with my conscience. I knelt as in prayer and soon felt what seemed unmistakably to be the presence of some one in my room. I looked up, and it seemed that I could see the smiling face of Jesus. Sweetness filled my soul, and the room was full of joy. All earthly pleasures faded away. I had no desire for anything now but this captivating Jesus. My heart was enraptured. Christ, I realized then, was sufficient.

This, you see, was given that I might understand how Christ might make all crosses easy to bear. To be sure, this impression sank deep, and I have never forgotten it, but my will was yet unsurrendered and unconquered. I would not come when called in sweetest tones. In a "journey full of pains and losses," "without hope or friends," I walked life's track. God did not have his way, but I had mine. Often, so often in the years that followed I remembered the last night of the revival that had brought to my mind such serious thoughts. At the close of the last sermon a gospel worker came directly to me. I was confused. I had not decided what to do. I did not want to cast my lot with these people; I wanted to join a more fashionable church. As she approached me, I whispered to her, "I am going to join the other church." She said, "Be sure your heart is right," but I was not sure.