A Chance to Die Elisabeth Elliot (electronic reader .txt) 📖

for the sake of Christ. She was ashamed to think that as a follower of a Savior who was “despised and rejected,” she herself shrank from being merely misunderstood and misjudged. So this was what those stark Scripture passages meant: dead to self, alive to God—“dead to all one’s natural earthly plans and hopes, dead to all voices, however dear, which would deafen our ear to His.”

The old man himself, though his heart was breaking, did his best to be cheerful and comfort Amy. He had made it clear at the beginning that hers was not a binding arrangement with him, and was prepared to say so to those who accused her of a breach of faith.

One old friend, Mrs. Bell, a Quaker, actually clapped when she heard of Amy’s call.

The “Go ye” part of the call had been crystal clear. Autumn of 1892 seemed to be the right time. She would sail then. But where? That was the vague part. Africa? China? She had often thought of both. Perhaps it was the solidity of her confidence in the Great Shepherd that prevented her worrying much over the geography. He would get her where she belonged, wouldn’t He? Perhaps, too, a certain charming insouciance was a part of her nature. But now the island of Ceylon (Sri Lanka) came constantly to her attention. Why not go to Ceylon? She knew next to nothing about it—it wasn’t “all flat,” there were a lot of rats and insects there which at times “feed upon live missionaries.” It was not long, however, before Ceylon dropped out of sight and Amy began thinking of China again and of Hudson Taylor’s reminder of a million a month dying without God. She met a Mrs. Stewart, missionary from Fukien, China, and this seems to have been all that was necessary to convince her that she should go to Fukien with the Stewarts in the fall, probably under the Church of England Zenana (i.e. women’s) Missionary Society. Plans were made, but on July 16 word came that Mrs. Stewart could not return that autumn. Amy accepted it as part of the Master Plan, not dreaming that if she had gone she would most likely have been murdered three years later as were the Stewarts and several single women missionaries.

At the end of July Amy and Mr. Wilson went as usual to the Keswick Convention. By this time missionary meetings had become a regular part of it. In 1887 thirty young people had volunteered for missionary service, and the next year someone sent a ten-pound note to the chairman “as the nucleus of a fund for sending out a Keswick missionary.” It was in 1892 that the first one was chosen to be sent and supported by that fund: Amy Beatrice Carmichael. In her Daily Light, a book of daily Scripture readings arranged for morning and evening, she recorded in the margin of July 26, “Definitely given up for service abroad.” The opening verse for that day was, “By faith Abraham . . . called to go out . . . obeyed”1 Looking back after fifty years Amy declared that she was “no more fit to be a Keswick missionary than a Skye terrier puppy.” That estimate never caused her to question the validity of the call—or, we may assume, the judgment of the One who issued it.

Sometime in August Amy decided that she would offer herself to Hudson Taylor’s China Inland Mission. The wheels of mission boards in those days did not grind nearly so slowly as they do now. There was no psychological screening, no language schools, no jungle camps to survive. On August 10 she and Mr. Wilson left Broughton Grange for London. One evening as the two sat by the fire in the home of Miss Soltau, who was in charge of women candidates, “Fatherie” said to Amy, “Thee must sign thy name Carmichael Wilson in the C.I.M. papers. I would not have the world think that thou art not my child any more.” Later he changed his mind. “Thee had better write, ‘Wilson Carmichael.’” So it was that for many years she was Amy Wilson Carmichael.

Wilson returned home. That night Amy was overcome with sorrow for the Dear Old Man. She stood by the window of her little bedroom, tortured with thoughts of his desolation. Miss Soltau came and stood beside her:

The window had been open, and the little white dressing-table cover was powdered with smuts. As a tortured heart does always notice trifles, so I noticed those smuts. The words broke from me, “They say that if I leave him he will die. Even so am I right to go?” “Yes,” was Miss Soltau’s answer, “I think even so, you are right to go.”

It was a tremendous answer. She must have added something about trusting our Father to deal tenderly with His servant who had truly given me to Him, though his heart still clung to me. But all I remember of the next few minutes is that with her arms around me I entered into peace. Often, through the many years that have passed since that night, I have been helped by the memory of her courage in the ways of God to strengthen a younger soul who was being torn as I was then.2

Geraldine Guinness, who later married Hudson Taylor’s son Howard, was staying at the mission at the same time. One day she handed Amy a little folded slip of paper. On the outside she had written, “Love and deepest sympathy, my dear Amy, and many thanks for your precious, helpful words yesterday. Geraldine. A little question, Darling—see over.” On the inside:

CAN YE? Mark 10:38.

Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of? And be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?

CAN GOD? Psalm 78:19. Ye shall indeed. . . for with God all things are possible.

Now is my soul troubled—and what shall I say? Father, save me . . . Father, glorify Thy name. For