These last few weeks, I have also been working on organizing our Church Library and stumbling across some AWESOME books. I mean awesome. The first one to pique my interest was a small, worn book by Amy Carmichael (it's listed in my "What I'm Reading" Page) that she wrote while she, herself, was sick in bed. So often, as we listen to missionaries and pastors, we forget that they are actually people too. I think that one of the most touching things about this little book is the fact that she is honest. Here Amy lies, just a few rooms away from hundreds of kids that love her to bits and need her--and she has no strength to "be of use" besides sending notes of encouragement. For someone who is a "go getter", that is the definition of agony. She voices her disappointments, but also turns it into a lesson of finding the joy she learned while lying there--staring at the walls. It is pretty incredible.
All this to say, I want to share something with you! Whether you are battling illness, tiredness, or even just having a rough week, I really pray that you are encouraged by this little blip from her book!
Roses from Brier (Chapter 8)
[...] I cannot say that I love my chains (illness) in any literal sense whatever, nor do I feel that we are meant to do so. Our Lord did not tell the women who was bound to love the cords that bound her. But, [...] I believe that He can give it to us to find something truly lovable in that which (while he allows it to continue) is His will for us.
Disappointments, for example: in a quiet procession these weary little things have entered this room. After the foot began to mend other troubles came, one after the other, pulling me up just when it seemed as though I might soon begin to walk. As each corner was turned we thought it would be the last--but there was always another.
But one of the first of these disappointments was lighted by something so sweet and dear that I knew at once it could not only be for me, but MUST be for you who know so very much more than I do of such matters.
One of our Fellowship members was at home on furlough, and he was to return to us on Feb. 25; I had set my heart on being up and ready to meet him and the new brother, whom he was bringing with him. I was sure that I should be at the Welcome Service when (a special) song was to be sung. For a month or so before hat date it had seemed that this would be. Then hope gradually faded. I was still in bed when they came, not even in a chair.
That morning, while the chiming bells of welcome were being rung from the tower, I was far more in the midst of that beloved crowd in the House of Prayer than here. And I ached to be there really, not just in spirit--ached till everything was one ache; then, each word as clear as though it slid down the clear chiming bells, this little song sang within me:
Thou has not that, My Child, but Thou hast ME,
And am I not alone enough for thee?
I know it all, know how thy heart was set
Upon this Joy which is not given yet.
And well I know how through the wistful days,
Thou walkest all the dear familiar ways,
As unregarded as a breath of air,
but there in love and longing--always there.
I know it all; but from thy brier shall blow
A rose for others.
If it were not so I would have told thee.
Come, then, say to me,
My Lord, My Love, I am Content with Thee.
"From thy brier shall blow a rose for others." In the hills of South India, there are tall and beautiful bushes of wild roses. The roses are larger than ours at home and of an unforgettable sweetness. But they were not called to mind by these words. I saw rather a little, low, very prickly bush in an old-fashioned English garden; it was covered with inconspicuous pink roses. But the wonder of the bush was its all pervading fragrance, for it was a sweet-brier. And I saw one who has long been in the land where no thorns grow, cutting a spray from the bush, stripping the thorns off and giving it to me. May these, for whom a rose from my brier may be caused to blow [...], always find no pricking thorn on the stem of this rose from my brier.
I think that when He whom our soul loveth comes so near to us, and so gently helps our human weakness then [that] becomes a present truth. We are born over the oppression that would hold us down, we mount up on wings, we find secret sweetness in our brier. But it is not of us. It is Love that lifts us up. It is LOVE that is the sweetness.
Is the one who reads this in a great weariness, or the exhaustion that follows a sore hurt, or in the terrible grasp of pain? He who loves as no one else can love, who understands the uttermost, is not far away. He wants us to say, He can give it to us to say, "My Lord, my Love, I am content with Thee."
-Amy C.
So Dear Friends, whether you are learning full contentedness or feeling the prick of a painful thorn through illness, may you be born up over by the Strong arms of Jesus, and press through--eyes fixed on His face. May we press in to His side, and in turn "spread the aroma of the knowledge of Him everywhere" as a sweet English Rose (2 Corinthians 2:14). And, as always, trust Him. His is enough for our every need. His word says nothing can separate us from His love, so believe Him at His word. Run to Him, friend. He is ready to help. Day or night, sickness or health. His love is real and goes beyond that of only emotion. He just does.
In His Love,
(Photo Source: Google)
.JPG)
