"Kings of the earth and all peoples;
Princes and all judges of the earth,
Both young men and virgins;
Old men and children.
Let them praise the name of the Lord
For His name alone is exalted
His glory is above earth and heaven.
And He has lifted up a horn for His people,
Praise for all His godly ones;
Even for the sons of Israel, a people near to Him.
Praise the Lord!"
Kings, princes, judges, old and young, male and female, y'all's name or position is not exalted. You can only rule for so long. Only God's name is exalted, He alone. The crowns or titles are smears on the pages of history. Only God's name endures.
As I delve into family history, there's more information than I can take in. Yet, as I look back, whether heroes, nobodies or scoundrels, they are all in moldy graves. Only the lucky ones have a tombstone still standing with their name engraved and still readable. Even the earliest, furthest back kinfolk who were important enough to have their faces represented on coins or in statues, these representatives are not in pristine condition. Only God's name endures unchanged for His glory is above earth and heaven while all the decline and decay are here below.
"He loves man, wheresoever found, of whatsoever colour, in whatever circumstances, and in all the stages of his pilgrimage from his cradle to his grave. Let the lisp of the infant, the shout of the adult, and the sigh of the aged, ascend to the universal Parent, a gratitude offering. He guards those who hang upon the breast; controls and directs the headstrong and giddy; and sustains old age in its infirmities, and sanctifies to it the sufferings that bring on the termination of life. Reader, this is thy God! How great! how good! how merciful! how compassionate! Breathe thy soul up to Him; breathe it into Him, and let it be preserved in His bosom, till mortality be swallowed up of life, and all that is imperfect be done away! " (Adam Clarke)
We lost a dear friend Sunday. She slipped away quietly surrounded by those she loved, young and old, children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Her life could fill a thick book, but its pages are now closed. In her ninety years, she had her share of pain, yet in those last days, her pain was gone. She lay bed, in and out of sleep, but when woken she spoke of the quilt that covered her of a most complicated and beautiful pattern. Juanita had begun it when she when she was fourteen with the help of her mother and grandmother. During those times, nothing was thrown away. The family's worn out clothing was cut into quarter size squares and sewn into the quilt's swirls. She remembered which ones were from certain articles of clothing she or others wore. But as she went to work in World War II, she lost track of her unfinished quilt. Years later while visiting family, she found an aunt who had her quilt. Unbeknown to her, it had been finished by her grandmother and mother. This is what she was covered with, this pattern of living, as she took her last breath. "Praise for all His godly ones!"