Broken and Smoking
A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench. (Isaiah 42:3)
Then I may reckon upon tender treatment from my Lord.
Indeed, I feel myself to be at best as weak, as pliant, as worthless as a reed.
Someone said, "I don't care a rush for you"; and the speech, though unkind, was not untrue. Alas! I am worse than a reed when it grows by the river, for that at least can hold up its head.
I am bruised—sorely, sadly bruised.
There is no music in me now; there is a rift which lets out all the melody.
Ah, me! Yet Jesus will not break me; and if He will not, then I mind little what others try to do.
O sweet and compassionate Lord, I nestle down beneath Thy protection and forget my bruises!
Truly I am also fit to be likened to "the smoking flax,"
whose light is gone, and only its smoke remains.
I fear I am rather a nuisance than a benefit.
My fears tell me that the devil has blown out my light and left me an obnoxious smoke, and that my Lord will soon put an extinguisher upon one.
Yet I perceive that though there were snuffers under the law, there were no extinguishers, and Jesus will not quench me; therefore, I am hopeful.
Lord, kindle me anew and cause me to shine forth to Thy glory and to the extolling of Thy tenderness.
Meditation
C. H. Spurgeon
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