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HE RESTORETH MY SOUL
By Frank Mceleny
On my
recent trip to Scotland, I found myself utterly exhausted, a weariness that
had seeped into the very marrow of my bones. I don’t have the same physical
stamina I used to have, prior to the chemo. My mum was in hospital the whole
time (still is.) Then I got sick and a relentless succession of circumstances
took its toll. My heart had grown so heavy with sadness that even putting one
foot in front of the other seemed an almost insurmountable task.
There
was, I believe, spiritual warfare too, an unseen battle adding its weight to
an already burdened soul. And somewhere in the midst of it all, the strength
that I had drawn upon for so long seemed to be ebbing away. In a very real
sense, I had come to the end of myself.
And
then, in the tender providence of God, two dear friends came to visit me on
my last night in Scotland. There was no grand gathering, no great assembly,
no elaborate preparation. Just three saints, gathered together in a room, and
we began to quietly sing a song unto the Lord.
And as
we sang, something changed. The atmosphere became charged with that holy and
unmistakable presence that no human hand can manufacture and no earthly
treasure can purchase. The Lord Himself drew near to us. Not with the
noise of the thunder, nor with the violence of the storm, but with the gentle
majesty of His presence. Heaven seemed to bend low and touch the earth and
touch my heart.
And
then came those simple words, "Let's pray."
And
pray we did. Not from some lofty place of spiritual triumph, but from the
depths of our weariness, from the broken and exhausted places of the heart,
from that humble place where words sometimes fail and only the groanings of
the soul remain. We poured out our hearts before Him, and He, in His infinite
tenderness, poured out His grace upon us. And there, in that little room, the
waters began to flow.
Into
the dry and parched places of my soul came the living waters of God. What had
seemed barren and devoid of life began to blossom. What had seemed buried
began to stir. Deep called unto deep, and the fountain of His everlasting
love rose up from within.
I had
been exhausted, but His grace was not. I had been emptied, but His fountain
was full. I had reached the limits of my strength, but I had not reached the
limits of His mercy.
He
restoreth my soul.
And in
that restoration came something I had almost forgotten how to do. I let
go. I ceased from striving. I surrendered the weight of those things I
could neither change nor carry. And the Great Shepherd, in His wonderful and
immeasurable kindness, made me lie down in green pastures. He led me beside
the still waters.
Oh,
what a glorious thing it is to discover that when our strength is utterly
spent, His grace has scarcely begun to reveal its depths! That beneath the
crashing waves of our circumstances lies an ocean of mercy whose depths no
man can fathom. That even when the soul is weary unto despair, there remains
a fountain within, springing up into everlasting life.
I
was exhausted. His grace was not.
May
every weary pilgrim who hears this be reminded that there is still a
fountain. There is still a Shepherd. There are still green pastures and still
waters. And there is still a grace that rises like the incoming tide,
flooding the deepest and driest places of the soul.
For His
grace is not exhausted. It never was. And it never shall be.
By Frank Mceleny on Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/fmceleny
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