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,
pliant, and 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
that lets out all the melody. Ah, me! Yet Jesus will not break me; 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.
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