Divine Intervention

I’m always amazed to see the Hand of God working in peoples’ lives, how He intervenes and alters their plans for His glory and their benefit. It happens more often than we think, too, but we don’t see it because we’re so wrapped up with the burdens and cares of our own lives that we fail to recognize the providence of God.

At least that’s how it is with me. But, when I do recognize it, I can’t help but smile with wonder – and I’m not talking about the big things, either (though those are important). I’m talking about the little things that go unnoticed, that we attribute to “coincidence” or “fate” instead of giving God the glory, saying it just was/wasn’t “meant to be” (but Who do you think made it so?).

This actually happened to me earlier this semester.

Needing to fill in some electives, I signed up for an American Literature class. I made sure I got a good teacher, I bought all my books, and I was just waiting for the class to start… and then I got the email from my new professor, saying the previous instructor couldn’t take on the class due to schedule conflicts. Oh! And I needed to return my already purchased books and order some different ones, because this professor was doing things differently, thus throwing my preparation out the window. Not that that’s a big deal, I’m just not a big fan of on-the-spot change. I mean, who is this new professor? Is the course going to be insanely difficult? Will the books be hard to read? Those are all legit questions, right? But, as always, God was in control of the situation, which leads me to the point of this post.

Turns out, my professor is awesome, friendly, helpful, and apparently a Christian too! And the books she chose are actually really well written, which makes reading them sooo much easier. I actually feel really blessed, because this new book places a heavy emphasis on the Pilgrims’ reliance on God, and how much they praised and worshipped Him throughout their struggles in the New World. But one poem in particular stands out to me.

Titled “The Flesh and the Spirit,” it was written by Anne Bradstreet, who sailed to America with her husband at the age of 18. She is considered America’s first poet, and this poem captures the inner-struggle that we all have, the war between the spirtually dead flesh and the regenerate spirit, and how we have to actively fight the temptation to submit to our base desires. I found it very encouraging, and I feel that God placed me in this class so I could read it.

~*~

In secret place where once I stood

Close by the Banks of Lacrim flood,

I heard two sisters reason on

Things that are past and things to come.

One Flesh was call’d, who had her eye

On worldly wealth and vanity;

The other Spirit, who did rear

Her thoughts unto a higher sphere.

“Sister,” quoth Flesh, “what liv’st thou on

Nothing but Meditation?

Doth Contemplation feed thee so

Regardlessly to let earth go?

Can Speculation satisfy

Notion without Reality?

Dost dream of things beyond the Moon

And dost thou hope to dwell there soon?

Hast treasures there laid up in store

That all in th’ world thou count’st but poor?

Art fancy-sick or turn’d a Sot

To catch at shadows which are not?

Come, come. I’ll show unto thy sense,

Industry hath its recompence.

What canst desire, but thou maist see

True substance in variety?

Dost honour like? Acquire the same,

As some to their immortal fame;

And trophies to thy name erect

Which wearing time shall ne’er deject.

For riches dost thou long full sore?

Behold enough of precious store.

Earth hath more silver, pearls, and gold

Than eyes can see or hands can hold.

Affects thou pleasure? Take thy fill.

Earth hath enough of what you will.

Then let not go what thou maist find

For things unknown only in mind.”

Spirit.

“Be still, thou unregenerate part,

Disturb no more my settled heart,

For I have vow’d (and so will do)

Thee as a foe still to pursue,

And combat with thee will and must

Until I see thee laid in th’ dust.

Sisters we are, yea twins we be,

Yet deadly feud ‘twixt thee and me,

For from one father are we not.

Thou by old Adam wast begot,

But my arise is from above,

Whence my dear father I do love.

Thou speak’st me fair but hat’st me sore.

Thy flatt’ring shews I’ll trust no more.

How oft thy slave hast thou me made

When I believ’d what thou hast said

And never had more cause of woe

Than when I did what thou bad’st do.

I’ll stop mine ears at these thy charms

And count them for my deadly harms.

Thy sinful pleasures I do hate,

Thy riches are to me no bait.

Thine honours do, nor will I love,

For my ambition lies above.

My greatest honour it shall be

When I am victor over thee,

And Triumph shall, with laurel head,

When thou my Captive shalt be led.

How I do live, thou need’st not scoff,

For I have meat thou know’st not of.

The hidden MAnnea I do eat;

The word of life, it is my meat.

My thoughts do yield me more content

Than can thy hours in pleasure spent.

Nor are they shadows which I catch,

Nor fancies vain at which I snatch

But reach at things that are so high,

Beyond thy dull Capacity.

Eternal substance I do see

With which inriched I would be.

Mine eye doth pierce the heav’ns and see

What is Invisible to thee.

My garments are not silk nor gold,

Nor such like trash which Earth doth hold,

But Royal Robes I shall have on,

More glorious than the glist’ring Sun.

My Crown not Diamonds, Pearls, and gold,

But such as Angels’ heads infold.

The City where I hope to dwell,

There’s none on Earth can parallel.

The stately Walls both high and trong

Are made of precious Jasper stone,

The Gates of Pearl, both rich and clear,

And Angels are for Porters there.

The Streets thereof transparent gold

Such as no Eye did e’re behold.

A Crystal River there doth run

Which doth proceed from the Lamb’s Throne.

Of Life, there are the waters sure

Which shall remain forever pure.

Nor Sun nor Moon they have no need

For glory doth from God proceed.

No Candle there, nor yet Torch light,

For there shall be no darksome night.

From sickness and infirmity

Forevermore they shall be free.

Nor withering age shall e’re come there,

But beauty shall be bright and clear.

This City pure is not for thee,

For things unclean there shall not be.

If I of Heav’n may have my fill,

Take thou the world, and all that will.”