221. CCXXII.—To my LADY CULROSS [Letter LXII.]

CCXXII.—To my LADY CULROSS [Letter LXII.]

(CHRIST’S WAY OF SHOWING HIMSELF THE BEST—WHAT FITS FOR HIM—YEARNING AFTER HIM INSATIABLY—DOMESTIC MATTERS.)

MADAM,—Grace, mercy, and peace be to you.—I am much refreshed with your letter, now at length come to me. I find my Lord Jesus cometh not in that precise way that I lay wait for Him; He hath a gate of His own. Oh, how high are His ways above my ways! I see but little of Him. It is best not to offer to learn Him a lesson, but to give Him absolutely His own will, in coming, going, ebbing, flowing, and in the manner of His gracious working. I want nothing but a back-burden of Christ’s love. I would go through hell, and the thick of the damned devils, to have a hearty feast of Christ’s love; for He hath fettered me with His love, and run away, and left me a chained man.

Wo is me, that I was so loose, rash, vain, and graceless, in my unbelieving thoughts of Christ’s love! But what can a soul, under a non-entry (when my rights were wadset and lost), do else, but make a false libel against Christ’s love! I know that yourself, Madam, and many more, will be witness against me, if I repent not of my unbelief; for I have been seeking the Pope’s wares, some hire for Grace within myself. I have not learned, as I should do, to put my stock and all my treasure into Christ’s hand; but I would have a stock of mine own; and ere I was aware, I was taking hire to be the Law’s advocate, to seek justification by works. I forgot that grace is the only garland that is worn in heaven upon the heads of the glorified. And now I half rejoice, that I have sickness for Christ to work upon. Since I must have wounds, well is my soul, I have a day’s work for my Physician, Christ. I hope to give Christ His own calling: it setteth Him full well to cure diseases. My ebbings are very low, and the tide is far out when my Beloved goeth away; and then I cry, "Oh, cruelty! to put out the poor man’s one eye;" and this was my joy next to Christ, to preach my Well-beloved. Then I make a noise about Christ’s house, looking unco-like in at His window, and casting my love and my desires over the wall, till God send better. I am often content that my bill lie in heaven till the day of my departure, providing I had assurance that mercy shall be written on the back of it. I would not care for on-waiting; but when I draw in a tired arm, and an empty hand withal, it is much to me to keep my thoughts in order. But I will not get a gate for Christ’s love. When I have done all I can, I would fain yield to His stream, and row with Christ, and not against Him. But while I live, I see that Christ’s kingdom in me will not be peaceable, so many thoughts in me rise up against His honour and kingly power. Surely I have not expressed all His sweet kindness to me. I spare to do it, lest I be deemed to seek myself; but His breath hath smelled of the powders of the merchant, and of the King’s spikenard. I think that I conceive new thoughts of heaven, because the card and the map of heaven which He letteth me now see is so fair and so sweet. I am sure that we are niggards, and sparing bodies in seeking. I verily judge that we know not how much may be had in this life; there is yet something beyond all that we see, that seeking would light upon. Oh that my love-sickness would put me to a business, when all the world are found sleeping, to cry and knock! But the truth is, that since I came hither I have been wondering that, after my importunity to have my fill of Christ’s love, I have not gotten a real sign, but have come from Him crying, "Hunger! hunger!" I think that Christ letteth me see meat in my extremity of hunger, and giveth me none of it. When I am near the apple, He draweth back His hand, and goeth away to cause me follow; and again, when I am within an arm-length of the apple, He maketh a new break to the gate, and I have Him to seek of new. He seemeth not to pity my dwining and swooning for His love. I dare sometimes put my hunger over to Him to be judged, if I would not buy Him with a thousand years in the hottest furnace in hell, so being I might enjoy Him. But my hunger is fed by want and absence. I hunger and I have not; but my comfort is to lie and wait on, and to put my poor soul and my sufferings into Christ’s hand. Let Him make anything out of me, so being He be glorified in my salvation; for I know that I am made for Him. Oh that my Lord may win His own gracious end in me! I will not be at ease, while I but stand so far aback. Oh, if I were near Him and with Him, that this poor soul might be satisfied with Himself! Your son-in-law, W. G., is now truly honoured for his Lord and Master’s cause. When the Lord is fanning Zion, it is a good token that he is a true branch of the vine, that the Lord beginneth first to dress him. He is strong in his Lord, as he hath written to me, and his wife is his encourager, which should make you rejoice. As for your son, who is your grief, your Lord waited on you and me, till we were ripe, and brought us in. It is your part to pray and wait upon Him. When he is ripe, he will be spoken for. Who can command our Lord’s wind to blow? I know that it shall be your good in the latter end. That is one of your waters to heaven, ye could not go about; there are the fewer behind. I remember you and him, and yours, as I am able; but, alas! I am believed to be something, and I am nothing but an empty reed. Wants are my best riches, because I have these supplied by Christ.

Remember my dearest love to your brother. I know that he pleadeth with his harlot-mother for her apostasy. I know also that ye are kind to my worthy Lady Kenmure, a woman beloved of the Lord, who hath been very mindful of my bonds. The Lord give her, and her child, to find mercy in the day of Christ! Great men are dry and cold in doing for me; the tinkling of the chains for Christ affrighteth them: but let my Lord break all my idols, I will yet bless Him. I am obliged to my Lord Lorn: I wish him mercy.

Remember my bonds with praises; and pray for me, that my Lord may leaven the north by my bonds and sufferings.

Grace be with you.

Yours, in his sweet Lord Jesus,

S. R.

ABERDEEN, 1637