Gleanings from the Inner
Life of Ruth Bryan
1836
January 3rd.—Precious Jesus! grant me a fresh
manifestation, another token for good. Eternal Spirit! pour upon me the
grace of supplication, for I cannot pray but as You do dictate. Oh, then,
pity my abject condition, and bring my soul out of the prison of unbelief,
in which it is confined. Oh, that this may be a year of deadness to the
world and close walking with God. Remember, Ruth, the flesh will not like
this; do not present this petition and calculate upon outward ease in the
fulfillment of it, or you will be disappointed.
January 10th.—I want to realize in my experience that
I am dead to the law by the body of Christ. Precious Immanuel, give me that
faith which shall enable me to lay hold of You as my righteousness, and to
run into You as my city of refuge, receiving the sweet assurance that I am
safe. Oh, come as the heavenly Boaz, and wed Your abject handmaid; black and
filthy as I am, give me to know that You view me all beautiful in Your own
robe, which You put upon Your bride. Tell me You have paid all my debts, and
relieve me from the constant anxiety and distress which I feel, lest I
should be taken away to prison and to judgment. Assure me, also, that You
have provided for the future, and that You will not allow sin to have the
dominion over me, my enemies to destroy me, nor my adulterous heart to
provoke You to jealousy by seeking after other lovers. Thus, dear Jesus,
condescend to comfort me. It is long since You kissed me with the kisses of
Your mouth, and caused me to lean on Your precious bosom; long since You
called me Your love and Your dove, enabling me to respond,
"You are fairer than the children of men," yes, the chief among ten
thousand, the altogether lovely One. I know my sin has caused Your absence,
I confess it with shame. But, oh, come in the sovereignty of Your love, and
melt me with Your free favor; come skipping over the mountains of my sin,
leaping over the hills of my unworthiness, and cause me to rejoice in Your
precious salvation. Dear Jesus, hear my cry; grant me a manifestation of
your beauteous self—if it pleases Your Divine Majesty. "Come, Lord Jesus,
come quickly."
March 22nd.—Much struck with hearing this passage
read this morning: He will "keep them alive in famine" (Psalm 33:19). I
thought it was often fulfilled spiritually, the Lord keeping the souls of
His people alive, when to their own feelings they are in the midst of
dearth, and cannot obtain a morsel of spiritual bread; that is, I mean, when
there are no enlivenings in the soul, no love-visits, no openings of
Scripture, no savor in the preached Word; in short, the streams seem cut off
from their mouth, and they think all hope must be given up. Still it is
wonderful to observe, and more wonderful to trace, in one's own experience,
how the spark of Divine life is invisibly and imperceptibly fed, so that
there is a breathing, a panting, a longing for another taste of the Paschal
Lamb. And, though there may be no fire to be seen, the smoke keeps rising
from the smouldering embers, and the soul is kept alive in famine.
August 7th.—Much struck with a remark of Mr.
Huntington's which I have just read; speaking of a certain author, he says,
"He seemed to be more earnest for fruit than for engraftings;
and, I believe, would be better pleased with a crop of leaves than
with a good root." It immediately occurred to me, how much more we
hear about the fruits of a holy life and an upright conversation, than about
the root from which alone real holiness can spring. The Savior told
us not to expect grapes from thorns, and I think I never saw so clearly—that
the most beautiful moral works from a natural heart are not acceptable in
the sight of God, who will only accept the fruits of faith, which are
wrought in the soul by the Holy Spirit, and cannot be produced by the
unregenerated, though there will be the outward effect of a moral life, etc.
May I thus be made more and more fruitful.
September 11th.—The past week has been one of
distance and darkness. I am now, and have been for some time, in a miserable
condition, from extreme nervous depression and irritability, together with
active corruptions, carnality of affections, hardness of heart, and, indeed,
everything which is contrary to what I would have. I look at my
friends, and envy them their spirituality, cheerfulness, and sociability,
often concluding there is not another being on earth so wretchedly miserable
and sinful as myself; for such is my state lately, that I cannot look,
speak, walk, work, hear, read, or think, without sin—manifest sin,
abominable sin; and such sin as brings me into the very depths of distress,
shame, and self-loathing—but yet unaccompanied, as I fear, with true
repentance and godly sorrow.
I am sometimes almost desperate to find myself in such an
awful condition, and yet, as it seems to me, so utterly without power to
extricate myself from that which I hate. Oh, that the Lord Jesus would
stretch out His almighty arm, and deliver me from the infidelity, unbelief,
and other abominations of my evil heart, which seem to triumph over me. I
often wonder what the Lord intends to do with me, and fear I am only drying,
as it were, for everlasting burnings! The very vitals of my soul seem
scorched up by the heat of temptation and corruption, so that I shrivel in
selfish misery, and would sometimes be shut out from society, because I am
unfit for it. None, or very few, drink the same bitter cup as myself, the
most noxious ingredient in which is, my own sinfulness; for, as Moses
burnt the calf, and ground it to powder, and then made those who had sinned
by it, to drink it; so it seems with me, my sins are my daily and sorrowful
portion. The Lord have mercy upon me, and pardon my ingratitude, murmuring,
and unbelief, for Christ's sake.
September 25th.—I have taken the Sacrament this
afternoon, and surely there was not another communicant so vile. Unless the
Lord Jesus put forth His almighty power, I must sink into despair,
carnality, and sin.
"Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on You."
Leave me not to myself, for my wicked heart is longing
after fleshly indulgence! I want, dear Immanuel, to be Yours alone—but
cannot. Oh, no; I cannot! a divided heart You will not accept. I fall a
dead weight on Your sovereign, undeserved mercy, by which, if I am not
caught, I must continue falling until I reach the lowest, hottest place in
Tophet, which is my merited portion. But, blessed Jesus, take me for Your
own, and magnify the riches of Your grace in my deliverance! "Lord, save, or
I perish!"
December 4th.—My flesh and unbelief have been
insinuating that it is in vain to wait for the Lord any longer. But with
considerable sweetness, and some power, the following words came to my mind:
"Those who wait for Me, shall not be ashamed."
Dearest Lord, carry on Your own work in Your own way, and keep me waiting
on and for You!
December 25th.—Christmas Day and Sabbath.—A
very heavy snow descending; the face of nature is enrapt in a mantle of most
beautiful whiteness. May my poor soul be so covered with the spotless robe
of Immanuel's righteousness; that wedding garment, without which I shall be
"speechless" before Him. It is our Sacrament today. May Jesus be there, and
we enabled by the precious Spirit to follow Him from the manger to the tomb,
and by faith recognize our individual interest in all that He did and
suffered, eating His flesh and drinking His blood; thus having a taste of
fat things. Then would this be a Christmas day to be remembered. It may be
the last I shall spend on earth. The Lord carry on and perfect His own work
in my soul, and all will be well, whether for life or death.
December 26th.—I was much gratified in hearing a
Caffre chief and a missionary describe the work of grace which has been
carried on in the souls of the Hottentots and Caffres in Africa. But, oh,
how ashamed do I feel of my lack of zeal; and I am ready on this ground, to
question whether I am the subject of that new birth which produces in the
poor heathen such fervor of love and devotion.