I first met Amy through a children's biography when I was nine. I decided right then and there that I wanted to be like her when I grew up. A missionary saving children from terrible fates. Children's biographies give you a brushed up view of reality though. I should have realized it then, but hey, I was only nine.
I've gotten to know Amy a little better through the years. Her life, her relationship with God, her struggles, and doubts, and fears. The work she accomplished in India through many toils and with much prayer. Every victory was hard fought and slowly won.
There is another aspect of Amy's life that doesn't quite square with me, especially as I am nearing thirty (!), and I am indeed a missionary to children now. That is the fact of her lifelong singleness. Now, I probably shouldn't talk about this. I probably share too much. "TMI Jeanne" would be a good nickname for me, but I must share my heart on this issue, especially now that it is breaking. Secret hopes and longings have been irrevocably crushed tonight, and frankly, it hurts like hell.
I wonder at the fact that I could be so deluded for so long. And I wonder what God is doing here. This is not how I thought my life would turn out. I thought I would be married with babies by now. That was my master plan, and I have been waiting for God to fulfill it for awhile now. So why hasn't He delivered?
I know what to do in the midst of all this death: preach the gospel to myself. Life comes out of death. In fact, the pastor of my sending church just reminded me of that this afternoon. "Keep on serving", he said. "Unless a grain of wheat fall to the ground", he admonished. That was before I found out it was worse than I thought. Now I sit under the covers and weep knowing that it really and truly is over. My life will not be going in the direction I had hoped for so long it would be going in.
"What is the lesson to be gleaned in all of this", I asked God right away. Then I called my best friend and sobbed. "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!" I wailed. And then my mind turns to all those prayers I prayed for so long and with such intensity. Did God not hear? How could His answer be no? If He truly loved me, how could He deny me the one thing, the one person, my heart was truly set on? Of course you, my astute reader, can already sniff out the false note in my dilemma: God should be my one thing. Not a man, a situation, or a martial status.
What would Amy Carmichael do? She would probably write a poem, pouring her heart out to God. I am not good at poetry, so I will quote her instead:
But these strange ashes, Lord, this nothingness,
This baffling sense of loss?
Son, was the anguish of my stripping less
Upon the torturing cross?
Was I not brought into the dust of death,
A worm and no man, I;
Yea, turned to ashes by the vehement breath
Of fire, on Calvary?
O Son beloved, this is thy heart’s desire:
This, and no other thing
Follows the fall of Consuming Fire
On the burnt offering.
Go on and taste the joy set high, afar -
No joy like that to thee;
See how it lights the way like some great star.
Come now, and follow Me.
- Amy Carmichael
These strange ashes lie all about me and I have no idea what to do with them. Ashes are not good building material, they tend to blow away, get in your eyes, and threaten to blind you. I am tempted to wallow in these ashes. To pull out a pint of ice cream, pop in "He's Just Not That Into You", and cry while wondering how I could have turned into such a Gigi. "This is the worst!" I would screech at the top of my voice for everyone to hear, and then follow it up with a few Tylenol PMs for good measure.
But I cannot now do that. I just read an article on Matt Chandler and his struggle with brain cancer. He is suffering well, and really, what is a broken heart compared with his, and his family's, suffering? What struck me about the article is the fact that Matt Chandler wants to suffer well. He knows he isn't anymore special than the guy next to him, that he deserves the wrath of God, and anything other than death is a gift of grace. Again I ask: what is a broken heart in comparison to that?
I know God can bring beauty out of these ashes. He can use this experience to build character and a deeper ability to enjoy Him. To enjoy Him for Him, and not for His gifts. What is that going to look like tomorrow? Next week? A year from now? I don't know. The future just looks like a big blank now. And it hurts. Every memory feels like a punch in the gut, with the most recent words the icing on the cake. A cake made of gut punches (that sounds ridiculous, but it's two in the morning, so give me a break).
I know God will bring good out of this heartbreak. Already, dozens of little half-formed impressions and lessons fill my heart and mind. I need the grace to sort through them, sit with them, and learn from them. Gleaning for the present, the future, and for others, as well. My suffering, however insignificant, is not only meant for me, but for others in the Body of Christ. To stengthen them and comfort them. Which reminds me of a few verses I just "happened" to read this morning in 2 Corinthians:
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance so also our comfort is abundant through Christ."
A broken heart is not much suffering compared to brain cancer, or Haiti, but to the one bearing it it feels, well, it feels pretty bad. Elisabeth Elliot (another hero) defines suffering as having what you don't want and wanting what you don't have. Well, if that's so, I am the perfect candidate for the position of sufferer.
I hope, if you are still reading (hey, we ALL know who long-winded I am), that you don't feel compelled to say "ah, poor girl", or any such thing. I am trying, however faltering my efforts may be, to preach the gospel to myself. My heart feels betrayed, stepped on, and trampled. I feel rejected and hurt and angry. BUT, my God has spoken truth in His Word, and it bids me come follow Him, laying aside earthly treasure to pursue a far greater Reality. I just found out He doesn't give me everything I want or feel I need to have in order to be happy in this life. I'm rather ticked off about that at the moment, but I cling to Him. Yes, I cling to Him and as these things are stripped away I think I will become, not less, but more. He is freeing up my affections to enjoy Him more fully. He is not taking from me but giving to me a greater ability to comprehend and behold the only truly satisfying thing: Himself.
In amongst this heartache and half-formed lessons there roll the words which ring so true, it is that one day when I get to heaven I will find that His refusals were "the truest answers to my truest prayers". At least now I know, right? Right. I can finally, and absolutely, let go of my dreams, and hopefully, with clean hands and an upright heart accept whatever God wants to pour into my cup: singleness, sickness, pain, heartache, blessing, joy, Jesus. From death, life. From ashes, beauty. Again, and again, and again.
I am thankful for Amy Carmichael and her witness to the faithfulness of God in Christ Jesus. Now, more than ever, I need that witness. At nine, I wanted to be Amy Carmichael, and now again at twenty-seven. But in the end I think I'll find that it's not about Amy, and it's not about me, but it's about Jesus. When it's all said and done, may I be found glorifying and enjoying Him forever.
