Sarah and I are reading "At Home in Mitford". She's just dipping her toes in for the first time, and I'm enjoying the memories flooding back from this sweet series. Last night I was reminded of just how much living in the Solomon Islands exercises my "faith muscles" when I read this passage:
"I've never been one for physical exercise," she said, "but what God does with our faith must be something like workouts. He sees to it that our faith gets pushed and pulled, stretched and pounded, taken to its limit so its limits can expand."
He liked that -- taken to its limits so its limits can expand. Yes!
"If it doesn't get exercised, "she said thoughtfully, "it becomes like a weak muscle that fails us when we need it."
He felt himself smiling foolishly, though his question was serious. "Would you agree that we must be willing to thank God for every trial of our faith, no matter how sever, for the greater strength it produces?"
"I'm perfectly willing to say it, but I'm continually unable to do it."
"There's the rub!"