Becoming Elisabeth Elliot

by Ellen Vaughn

The times of dust in our lives, their gray purposelessness, may well be God’s building blocks. That which seems flimsy, lighter than air, immaterial, and weak—who would build on a “block” of ashes?—later can become our greatest strengths.

Who am I? These lonely questions mock me. Whoever I am, You know me, I am yours, O God.

Do it immediately, do it with prayer, do it reliantly, casting all care. Do it with reverence, tracing His hand who placed it before thee with earnest command. Stayed on omnipotence, safe ’neath His wing, leave all resultings, do the next thing.

Betty’s medical training, and her theology, did not allow her to deny the existence of pain. It was a symptom. It showed God was at work.

One is cheery triumphalism, which shines up the story, glosses over any inconvenient failures, quote amazing “results,” and pass the plate. The other is to focus solely on human flaws, magnify any weaknesses, and bitterly discredit the entire work as a failure. The hard road is to see both the good and bad, know that God works in all kinds of ways through all kinds of people, and praise Him that He is sovereign over it all.

When pain, disappointment, lack of fulfillment, derision, suffering and death came, she did not flee the dark waves, sucked backwards by their relentless undertow. She met them straight on, diving toward the cresting surge, sparing herself nothing, considering the bracing, salty shock of the cold waters just part of the big Story. Nothing new. Nothing original. Just basic Christianity, from its paradoxical beginnings.

I belong to God. He is faithful. His words are true. And transformation—the ultimate Springtime—already planted, is coming.