Author: Elisabeth Elliot
Source: Keep A Quiet Heart
Scripture: Isaiah 51:14
The Angel in the Cell
My brother Dave Howard does a lot of traveling and comes back with wonderful stories. One summer when the six of us Howards with our spouses got together for a reunion, Dave told us this one, heard from the son of the man in the story.
A man whom we'll call Ivan, prisoner in an unnamed country, was taken from his cell, interrogated, tortured, and beaten nearly to a pulp. The one comfort in his life was a blanket. As he staggered back to his cell, ready to collapse into that meager comfort, he saw to his dismay that someone was wrapped up in it--an informer, he supposed. He fell on the filthy floor, crying out, "I can't take any more! whereupon a voice came from the blanket: "Ivan, what do you mean, you can't take any more?" Thinking the man was trying to get information to be used against him, Ivan didn't explain. He merely repeated what he had said.
"Ivan," came the voice, "Have you forgotten that Jesus is with you?"
Then the figure in the blanket was gone. Ivan, unable to walk a minute before, now leaped to his feet and danced round the cell praising the Lord. In the morning the guard who had starved and beaten him asked who had given him food. No one, said Ivan.
"But why do you look so different?"
"Because my Lord was with me last night."
"Oh, is that so? And where is your Lord now?"
Ivan opened his shirt, pointed to his heart--"Here."
"OK. I'm going to shoot you and your Lord right now," said the guard, pointing a pistol at Ivan's chest.
"Shoot me if you wish. I'll go to be with my Lord."
The guard returned his pistol to its holster, shaking his head in bewilderment.
Later Ivan learned that his wife and children had been praying for him on that same night as they read Isaiah 51:14: "The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; they will not die in their dungeon, nor will they lack bread" (NIV).
Ivan was released shortly thereafter and continued faithfully to preach the gospel until he died in his eighties.
Author: Elisabeth Elliot
Source: A Lamp For My Feet
Scripture: Psalm 73:22-28
A Small Section of the Visible Course
The house where I was born, at 52 Rue Ernest Laude in Brussels, looks exactly as it does in the picture in my mother's photo album. The old snapshot is a study in grays. The one my husband Lars took much more recently is in color. The cobblestone street is the same in both. The bricks of which the house is built turn out to be rather pink; the white marble facade of the second and third stories has not changed. They have put new shades in the two first-floor windows, and the people in the pictures are different. In the first, on the second-floor wrought-iron balcony in sunshine, stands my mother, twenty-four years old, slim and straight, with a wonderful pile of dark satiny hair. She is wearing a dark ankle-length dress with a wide white cape-collar.
In the colored picture there are two cars, and near the front door, very wind-blown, stand I. How I longed to ask the present tenants to allow me to go up to the balcony, even into the kitchen where I was born.
Over sixty years have passed since I was last there. My mother had locked the front door when she fumed to the Dutch lady who was her helper.
"I feel as though I've forgotten something."
Adri knew very well what it was and wondered how far my mother would get before realizing that the five-month-old baby was still upstairs, wrapped in her bunting, ready for the ocean voyage.
There was something wondrously comforting about knowing, as I stood before that unremembered house, that this is where my parents lived, where they loved, where they welcomed into their small cold-water flat the newborn sister of their son Philip.
They were missionaries, working with what was then the Belgian Gospel Mission. Lars and I visited the old buildings; the little Flemish chapel where my father taught Sunday School and probably played the Steinway piano that stands there--bought by Mrs. Norton, wife of the founder of the mission (she sold her jewels to pay for it). We looked at an old photo album there with pictures of my grandparents, my great uncle, and my parents.
All of the past, I believe, is a part of God's story of each child of His--a mystery of love and sovereignty, written before the foundation of the world, never a hindrance to the task He has designed for us, but rather the very preparation suited to our particular personality's need.
"How can that be?" ask those whose heritage has not been a godly one as mine was, whose lives have not been peaceful. "It is the glory of God to conceal a matter" (Proverbs 25:2, NIV). God conceals much that we do not need to know, yet we do know that He calls His own sheep by name and leads them out. When does that begin? Does the Shepherd overlook anything that the sheep need?
William Kay, who translated the Psalms in 1870, gives this note on Psalm 73:22: "Though I was supported by Thee and living 'with Thee' as Thy guest, yet I was insensible to Thy presence;--intent only on a small section of the visible course of things;--like the irrational animals that are ever looking down at the ground they are grazing.
"Yet I am perpetually with Thee, Thou hast laid hold on my right hand," wrote the psalmist. "Thou wilt guide me with Thy counsel and afterwards receive me in glory.... And as for me, nearness to God is my good; I have put my trust in the Lord God" (vv. 23, 24, 28, WK).