The night was dark and foggy.
A man walked in the darkness from his house to the cobble-stone street, his step determined and relentless, but his face – had anyone been able to see it in the dark – was tear stained and weary.
As he reached the street, he peered both ways, looking for the tell-tale lantern of a horse-drawn, London cab.
The man muttered: “Nothing! Am I too late? But no! I must end all tonight! And the river it must be!”
Then, in the distance, he noticed a hazy light, slowly enlarging.
Almost whispering, the man said bitterly: “God, you provided me no solace, but here you provide the cab to take me to my death!”
“Where to?” asked the cabby, when he stopped.
“London Bridge,” the man replied, curtly.
“A cold night it is, sir – what sort of business have you at the Bridge at this hour?”
But the man said nothing.
The cabbie ended his attempt at conversation, and set off toward the well-known destination.
But the fog became thicker and thicker, so that the cabbie could not see even his horse’s nose.
What should have been a 20 minute ride, lasted an hour, and still there was no sign of the river or the 600 year old bridge.
The cabbie peered into the fog, desperately looking for some familiar sign.
Suddenly, the fog lifted.
The passenger, looked to his right and saw, to his amazement, his own home.
The cab, lost in the fog, had circled back to the very place he began the journey.
“My God! You have answered me!” the passenger cried out.
God Moves in Mysterious Ways
Later that night, by his own fireside, this man, William Cowper, one of the greatest of England’s 18th century poets, meditated on Psalm 77 and penned the great poem, “God Moves in Mysterious Ways.”
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And he rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take!
The clouds ye so much dread;
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense
But trust him for his grace
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides a smiling face
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain
God is a God who hears.
Calling out to God in the midst of our trouble is worship.
God can listen to all of His billions of children simultaneously.
How have you seen God move in mysterious ways in your life?