Links of a Hidden Design

There are hours in the pilgrimage of life when the soul, pausing from its common tasks, becomes aware of a thread that has never snapped nor frayed. It has been there from the earliest memories, running quietly through the seasons of growth, through joy and sorrow, through stretches of calm and through sudden upheavals. It is seldom recognized at the time. A chance meeting on a crowded street, a book picked up in idleness, a word spoken by one who had no thought of its weight, these appear, at first, to be isolated events. Yet in the stillness of reflection they reveal themselves as links, each shining with a light that is not its own but comes from the chain to which it belongs.

This chain is not forged by accident. Its workmanship is too fine, its course too steady. With the passing of years, the pilgrim learns that what once seemed wasted or broken was not lost. The abrupt turning of the road, the seasons of darkness when the path could scarcely be found, even the companions who walked only a little way before departing, all of these were held within a design too wide for the momentary eye to perceive. And at certain rare times, when memory gathers its fragments and offers them as a whole, the pilgrim is granted a fleeting vision of the pattern. In that vision hardship and consolation are no longer at odds but stand together, each deepening the meaning of the other.

In such reflection one sees more clearly the hand of Providence, steady and patient, shaping the path even when it seemed most uncertain. What once appeared as a scattering of days without order is remembered as a continuous journey, where each moment had its place and purpose. The review of past years becomes a kind of gentle revelation, showing that no season was without guidance and no event was without meaning.

It is a wonder to consider that the same thread which has bound the first years to the present will continue on into all the years yet to come. The Providence that steadied the steps of childhood will not forsake the weakness of old age. The wisdom that joined together details too small for notice will not suddenly abandon its work when the journey nears its close. Link follows link, not because the pilgrim holds fast with unshaken strength, but because Another, greater than he, holds the chain entire.

So it is that the road, which at times appears a scattering of days and hours without relation, is slowly revealed as a single passage, guided and guarded from the first step to the last. And though the fullness of the design may remain veiled until the final threshold is crossed, there is already a quiet peace in knowing that nothing has been without meaning, and that the chain which binds it all is unbroken.


All the facts are united by a mysterious chain (Verne, An Antarctic Mystery)

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