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George Mueller

George Mueller (1805-1898) built many orphanages at Ashley Down, England. Without a personal salary, he relied only on God to supply the money and food needed to support the hundreds of homeless children he befriended in the name of Christ. A man of radiant faith, he kept a motto on his desk for many years that brought comfort, strength, and uplifting confidence to his heart. It read, “It matters to Him about you.” Mueller believed that those words captured the meaning of 1 Peter 5:7, and he rested his claim for divine help on that truth. He testified at the end of his life that the Lord had never failed to supply all his needs.

Audrey Mien has expressed the truth of today’s text in these words:

Be not troubled with thoughts of the morrow,
Of duties you surely must do.
On the Lord cast your burden of sorrow;
It matters to Him about you!

Be not weary when trials are given,
But trust Him to carry you through.
He will make all a pathway to heaven;
It matters to Him about you!

Then be patient until His appearing,
‘Tis dawn almost now on your view;
For the mists of this dark age are clearing.
In love He is planning for you!

Once on a time a paper kite
Was mounted to a wondrous height,
Where, giddy with its elevation,
It thus express’d self-admiration:

“See how yon crowds of gazing people
Admire my flight above the steeple;
How would they wonder if they knew
All that a kite like me can do!

Were I but free, I’d take a flight,
And pierce the clouds beyond their sight,
But, ah! like a poor pris’ner bound,
My string confines me near the ground;

I’d brave the eagle’s towering wing,
Might I but fly without a string.”
It tugg’d and pull’d, while thus it spoke,
To break the string—at last it broke.

Depriv’d at once of all its stay,
In vain it try’d to soar away;
Unable its own weight to bear,
It flutter’d downward through the air;

Unable is own course to guide,
The winds soon plung’d it in the tide.
Ah! foolish kite, thou hadst no wing,
How could’st thou fly without a string!

My heart reply’d, “O Lord, I see
How much this kite resembles me!
Forgetful that by thee I stand,
Impatient of thy ruling hand;

How oft I’ve wish’d to break the lines
Thy wisdom for my lot assigns'
How oft indulg’d a vain desire
For something more, or something high’r?

And, but for grace and love divine,
A fall thus dreadful had been mine.”

- John Newton

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