Day 75.

My life so far had seen a wondrous parade of God’s leadings, despite my many failings. This was to be the last miracle of my life. To me it was the miracle of inspiration that had been locked in my soul. The inspiration was to be able to write of God’s wondrous love for me. Nevertheless, God was not finished with me yet!
I never liked stories with sad endings, I always like the “and they all lived happily ever after” type stories. If a movie has a sad ending it has little appeal for me. I have written my journey the way the story had gone and so that is the way it was. Life must be lived the way it is. The only things we control are our choices.

I always felt, and often said to my friends, that I believed by faith that my life, through all its trials, (some of which were my own fault,) would have an ending like the OT story of Job. I believe the circumstances of life must not control our faith, but faith must control our circumstances because life is not what happens to you but what you do with what happens to you. A life of faith does not let circumstances determine its direction or its climate. The darkest part of the night is just before the dawn and even the darkest deed of history was a necessary prelude to the glorious light of the resurrection. Faith can survive any crisis so long as we cling to it in the midst of that crisis. I felt my finest hour was yet to come.

The age of 50 didn’t seem so far away now and my life, like the game of snakes and ladders, seemed to have found the big snake and I was back where I started – with nothing but my solitude. Everything I once had was gone. My life, my wife, my home, my children had grown. I sold my business and even my ministry was to change. Was my life to be a sad and lonely ending? Was I to grow old alone? Had my leaf fallen from the tree and fluttered to the ground? Was earthly love a dream only for movies and novels and songs of poetry? Was the best yet to come? It seemed to me at that moment that I was now walking through fields of stubble, from which the harvest of my past toil had already been gathered and placed in the barns. However, life is part of a serial story, always “to be continued.”