Archive for June, 2015

No Matter What


Tell the truth—no matter what.  Worship God—no matter what.  Two things, in their very simplest form, I learned from Elisabeth Elliot.

Most of you probably know by now that Elisabeth Elliot, one of the 20th century’s most influential Christian women, died this week (June 15) at the age of 88 after a 10-year struggle with Alzheimer’s.  In her living and in her dying, she left an indelible, eternal print on the lives of more women—and men—than we will ever know.

I was one of them. I knew her many years ago as my father’s friend. Betty, as he called her, and my dad shared the same publisher (then called Harper and Rowe), and they became friends.  She was in our home twice, I believe—once when she was doing a series of meetings at our church on Cape Cod; and once when she spoke at a writer’s conference at Wheaton College, where my dad was a professor and I was a freshman.

I will never forget the impact she made on my young life. I see her standing in our church singing all the verses of the great old hymns of the faith. “How Firm a Foundation” was one of her favorites. She told us that she particularly clung to one verse during the years she lived with her young daughter among the Aucas: “The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose/ I will not, I will not, desert to its foes/ That soul though all hell should endeavor to shake/ I will never—no never—no, never forsake.”  I think of her every time I sing that song (often, actually).  And I know all the verses.

I remember conversations with my parents about how frustrated Betty became with attempts to explain God that were based on either ignorance or the desire to tame Him, or make Him fit our image (rather than us His), or almost provide PR for Him.  There are so many things in life which we just don’t know, or don’t—and maybe won’t ever—understand, she would comment.  “But God doesn’t owe us an explanation.  He calls on us simply to bow before Him and worship Him no matter what life’s circumstances may be.”  The first part of that quote I know to be her very words (my mother quoted them often); the second part may be my paraphrase but captures her truth.


I remember her speaking in my Creative Writing class at Wheaton. When asked a  number of questions about the role of the Christian writer, the theme of her answers was always, in essence, “Tell the truth as you see it.  Your job is not to preach, but rather to write truthfully about life as you see it.  Of course as a Christian, you will have a certain perspective.  But simply write what you see.”  (my paraphrase—college was a long time ago!)

In my two favorite Elliot books (published long ago—not sure they’re even still in print), she did exactly that.  She told the truth as she saw it.  One, Who Shall Ascend, is the biography of a great man, R. Kenneth Strachan, who founded the Latin American Mission.  His life and his death. his doubts and his faith—all are recorded with a clear-eyed honesty that profoundly affected my young perspective on both ministry and “Christian death.”  The other, No Graven Image, (her only novel), tells the story of Margaret Sparhawk, a missionary among the Quichua in Ecuador who sounds a lot like the author herself.  Her struggles with doubt and faith and ministry and the “whys” of God’s ways are recorded with brutal honesty.  The hero of both books?  God. Not Ken Strachan or Margaret Sparhawk or missionary work, but God.

Authenticity. Trust, which leads to worship.  That’s what I remember about the Elisabeth Elliot I so admired and respected as a young girl.  She cast a very long shadow.   

I’ve thought of her often in recent years, as I’ve occasionally read the blog [ ] that her devoted husband, Lars Gren, has kept up about her.  How painfully ironic that such a brilliant woman should stage her “last battle” with the loss of her remarkable mind.  But then, “God doesn’t owe us an explanation.”  And in some space deep in her soul, I like to think she held fast to her own words (and God’s): “Remember, you are loved, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”   Remember.

Faith of our Mothers and Grandmothers

may-june-06-022Today’s my mother’s birthday.  She would have been 92.  She left us quietly from a hospice room one sunny December day in Ft. Myers, Florida, nearly 7 ½ years ago.   She was a deep believer, and I know one day I will see her again. So why am I still crying?

Well, for starters:  She was, next to my husband, my best friend. Being my mother, she knew me in a way no one else could.  Mothers are really the only ones on the planet who know us through and through, know us from the very beginning—and love us anyway!

She was also a great listener. She felt my sorrows along with me—maybe even more deeply than I did.  You know that old saying: “This hurts me more than it does you.”  I never believed it as a kid.  It took becoming a mother to “get it.” Now, as mother and grandmother, I get it. Big time!

And she was funny.  And spunky.  And smart.  Not highly educated—but very smart. Once a hugely successful realtor, she retired “cold turkey” when she moved to live near us.  She channeled all that energy and drive and love of people into her grandchildren, and into the many women she mentored in Mom to Mom and at Women’s Bible Study at our church.

She was also my biggest prayer partner.   She was the first one I called with every prayer request, large or small.  Or even trivial.  I would blab my heart out, and she would listen and empathize.  And pray.  When I hung up, I felt so much better—and I bet she felt a whole lot worse!  (Remember the part about mothers feeling their children’s pain?)

Recently I attended the funeral of a wonderful woman of God who reminded me a little of my mother.  Her daughter, the mother of three daughters herself, read a beautiful piece she had written for her daughters about their grandmother—and the two generations of women before her. It began: “You stand on the shoulders of four.”

I was immediately taken back to memories of not only my mother, but my two grandmothers. They were very different. Grandma was a farm lady from a tiny town in western Minnesota.  The other, my mother’s mother and my Nana, was the wife of a jeweler/postal carrier/watch repairman in Springfield, Illinois. They had very different lives and they had very different personalities.

But they had one thing in common.  Each of them came to faith through evangelistic crusades in their towns. Each of them got out of their seats and went forward alone, eventually leading their husband and families into Bible-preaching, Christ-centered churches in which to raise their children. Each of them became strong women of faith and faithful prayer warriors.

My dad loved to tell the story of how when his mother (Grandma) went forward, her husband (Grandpa) said, “Anna, you sit down.  You’re a good church woman.  You don’t need to go up there.” But Anna did not sit down. How thankful I am for that—I, along with her six other grandchildren, now having raised our own children in the path of her prayers. 

Her prayers. And Nana’s. And my mom’s and dad’s prayers as well. 

It’s those prayers that live on. What did E. M. Bounds say? “Prayers are deathless.  They outlive the lives of those who utter them.”  It’s those prayers that help me this morning to turn my tears into gratitude, my mourning into dancing. 

But I still wish we had phone lines—or at least internet connections—with Heaven.    

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