Drinking From The Bitter Waters Of Life
The people of Israel were captives in Egypt for 400 years, and the Bible book of Exodus tells of their release. With many mighty miracles, Israel was delivered out of Egypt and across the Red Sea. Immediately thereafter, they went three days into the wilderness without water. When they finally found water at a place called Marah, it was bitter. How would they respond to such keen disappointment?
As I usually do, they complained. To Moses, their leader, they grumbled, "What shall we drink?" That's perfectly understandable; they were thirsty.
As captives, taskmasters had relentlessly driven them in hard labor for 400 years. Now they would have to learn to be led if they were to survive. And the first place to which they were led was to bitter water in a barren wilderness. What would they do? Moses cried out to God for help, and God did yet another mighty work. He made the bitter water sweet.
They eventually moved on to a place called Elim. There they found 12 springs of water and 70 date palms, and they camped beside the waters. This must have been a pleasant place to linger, for the water was surely sweet and refreshing. But there is no record of any miracle being done at Elim. The great work was at the bitter water.
Puritan writer Samuel Rutherford had something significant to say about the bitter waters of life. "If God had told me some time ago that He was about to make me as happy as I could be in this world, and then had told me that He should begin by crippling me in all my limbs, and removing me from all my usual sources of enjoyment, I should have thought it a very strange mode of accomplishing His purpose. And yet, how is His wisdom manifest even in this! For if you should see a man shut up in a close room, idolizing a set of lamps and rejoicing in their light, and you wished to make him truly happy, you would begin by blowing out all his lamps, and then throw open the shutters to let in the light of heaven."
I'm not at that point in my life. My inclination is to avoid difficulty and, as hymnwriter Isaac Watts said, "be carried to the skies on flow'ry beds of ease, while others fought to win the prize and sailed through bloody seas."
"The wilderness," I grumble, "is bad enough, but must the water also be bitter?" But there has been no great work in my life without bitter waters.
And as surely as I desire the shutters to be thrown open so the light of heaven can stream in, I pray that God would be gentle in blowing out my lamps.
Copyright 2000 James McAlister
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