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"For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are
not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us" (Romans 8:18).
I kept for nearly a year the flask-shaped cocoon
of an emperor moth. It is very peculiar in its construction.
A narrow opening is left in the neck of the
flask, through which the perfect insect forces its way, so that a forsaken
cocoon is as entire as one still tenanted, no rupture of the interlacing fibers
having taken place.
The great disproportion between the means of
egress and the size of the imprisoned insect makes one wonder how the exit is
ever accomplished at all -- and it never is without great labor and difficulty.
It is supposed that the pressure to which the
moth's body is subjected in passing through such a narrow opening is a
provision of nature for forcing the juices into the vessels of the wings, these
being less developed at the period of emerging from the chrysalis than they are
in other insects.
I happened to witness the first efforts of my
prisoned moth to escape from its long confinement.
During a whole forenoon, from time to time, I
watched it patiently striving and struggling to get out.
It never seemed able to get beyond a certain
point, and at last my patience was exhausted.
Very probably the confining fibers were drier
and less elastic than if the cocoon had been left all winter on its native
heather, as nature meant it to be.
At all events I thought I was wiser and more
compassionate than its Maker, and I resolved to give it a helping hand.
With the point of my scissors I snipped the
confining threads to make the exit just a very little easier, and lo!
immediately, and with perfect case, out crawled my moth dragging a huge swollen
body and little shrivelled wings.
In vain I watched to see that marvelous process
of expansion in which these silently and swiftly develop before one's eyes; and
as I traced the exquisite spots and markings of divers colors which were all
there in miniature, I longed to see these assume their due proportions and the
creature to appear in all its perfect beauty, as it is, in truth, one of the
loveliest of its kind.
But I looked in vain. My false tenderness had
proved its ruin.
It never was anything but a stunted abortion,
crawling painfully through that brief life which it should have spent flying
through the air on rainbow wings.
I have thought of it often, often, when watching
with pitiful eyes those who were struggling with sorrow, suffering, and
distress; and I would fain cut short the discipline and give deliverance.
Short-sighted man! How know I that one of these
pangs or groans could be spared?
The far-sighted, perfect love that seeks the
perfection of its object does not weakly shrink from present, transient
suffering.
Our Father's love is too true to be weak.
Because He loves His children, He chastises them that they may be partakers of
His holiness.
With this glorious end in view, He spares not
for their crying.
Made perfect through sufferings, as the Elder
Brother was, the sons of God are trained up to obedience and brought to glory
through much tribulation.
STREAMS IN THE DESERT
In a
barren wilderness, L. B. Cowman long ago discovered a fountain that sustained
her, and she shared it with the world. This collection of prayerful
meditations, Christian writings, and God’s written promises will encourage and
inspire you to follow Jesus.
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