Alps on Alps arise, as the believer presses forward in his course. He beholds a summit, and exclaims, " My God will meet me there, and there will gainsayers be confounded." But when he reaches it, he receives not the expected testimony, and unbelievers make a mock of his disappointed hopes. He would be troubled; but in the absence of the external testimony, he receives an inward sweet assurance of the love and faithfulness of God, and in the very hour of his disappointment, his face shines with a singular joy. Looking up he sees a higher mount. Oh, he exclaims, it is there, not here, that God should meet me. I must reach the higher summit. He reaches it, and it proves to be a new summit of sorrow for him. Again, a wave of heavenly bliss rolls over his heart, and he refuses to be confounded. A still higher peak catches his aspiring eye.
Observe now, all his disappointments are real conquests. Those inferior summits mark the way that he must necessarily tread, in his course to the hill of transfiguration. In his great hope he is not confounded, only in his lesser hopes that lay hold of time, place, and circumstance. From every hill of disappointment, he carries off a rich spoil.
A daily devotional written by a Baptist Missionary to India, Reverend George Bowen (1816-1888) over 150 years ago.
George H. Bowen (30 April 1816 at Middlebury, Vermont – 5 February 1888 at Bombay, India) was an American missionary, newspaper man, linguist, and translator in India. He was known as "The White Saint of India" for his resemblance in manner and dress to the Hindu holy men.
Alps on Alps arise, as the believer presses forward in his course. He beholds a summit, and exclaims, " My God will meet me there, and there will gainsayers be confounded." But when he reaches it, he receives not the expected testimony, and unbelievers make a mock of his disappointed hopes. He would be troubled; but in the absence of the external testimony, he receives an inward sweet assurance of the love and faithfulness of God, and in the very hour of his disappointment, his face shines with a singular joy. Looking up he sees a higher mount. Oh, he exclaims, it is there, not here, that God should meet me. I must reach the higher summit. He reaches it, and it proves to be a new summit of sorrow for him. Again, a wave of heavenly bliss rolls over his heart, and he refuses to be confounded. A still higher peak catches his aspiring eye.
Observe now, all his disappointments are real conquests. Those inferior summits mark the way that he must necessarily tread, in his course to the hill of transfiguration. In his great hope he is not confounded, only in his lesser hopes that lay hold of time, place, and circumstance. From every hill of disappointment, he carries off a rich spoil.