On His BlindnessJohn Milton
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
"Doth God exact day labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask, But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God does not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest,
They also serve who only stand and wait."
Every time I read this poem, I am reminded, once again, that both waiting and working are prefaced by trusting in God for His providence and provision. The idea of "being still" in the work. Waiting in the waiting and being still in the work is hard, it is difficult, I struggle to maintain right thinking. Trusting that God is ever provident, and loving, and intentional is an exercise in actively remembering. When my mind is extrapolating the "what ifs" and "what coulds" to an unhealthy degree, I am reminded, that I have forgotten to remember.
Good thing He gives grace and a multiplicity of "Let's begin from the beginning, again..." (the "again" is probably mine?)