My friend Elizabeth walked in the door with a bag full of books one night early in October. My eyes grew big as she sat the bag down, and I wondered what collection of books was in that bag. To a book lover, there is no better thought than the chance to read a new book. She sat on the couch and grinned at me.
"Those are all of my Elisabeth Elliot books."
"Oh really?" I was intrigued. I was familiar with Jim Elliot, after hearing him referenced in church and then studying him with the kids in school. Elizabeth had mentioned Elisabeth Elliot to me several times throughout our friendship. Elisabeth has been a hero of hers, so to speak, and she had been reading and loving her books for years.
And now she had brought them to me.
"I can't get to them right now," I said sadly. "I have too much other stuff going on."
I did take 45 seconds to dream about a weekend getaway with just me, a pile of books and a good stock of hot tea. But I had to be honest -I had no idea when I'd get to read just one of those books, much less the whole bag.
"It's okay," she grinned. "No rush."
It felt like she knew a secret.
Our conversation turned to other things, but I kept my eye on that bag of books.
It would be the middle of November before I could even think of that bag of books again. A rough couple of weeks stretched out before me, and for some strange reason, I went to that pile of books. I had a vague idea of what kind of books were in there, based on what Elizabeth had told me, but how I ended up digging a book out of that bag was providential.
I won't soon forget exactly where I was, sitting in the kitchen, stool pushed against the cabinets to create a makeshift desk for me.
I took a moment to savor the weight of the book in my hand. It was a hardback book, my favorite. I smoothed the book open to the first page, and soon the words were blurred by my tears as a coolness filled my body and I found it hard to breathe.
It was the difficulty and the sweetness of seeing my own feelings written by someone else's hand. Then I laughed through the tears in thankfulness to a God to brought this stack of books to my house and let them sit, unattended, until just the moment that He intended for this book to be in my hands. For this time.
I wiped away the tears and read more. Then a thought sent me off my stool in search of my journal, where familiar words had been written months and months before.
Early in the year, I had read a
book that changed things for me. In it I had read this quote:
I had repeated this quote to myself a hundred times in the days after reading it.
It was an easy quote to read, but exactly
how did one trust God with the "next thing"? The unknown
next thing was a large part of my anxiety.
Slowly God and I worked it out. For me, in this stage, the
next thing was the
tangible thing right in front of me. (Ignoring, of course, the looming and unknown larger
next thing) So how did I trust God and do the next thing?
It usually began when my eyes opened in the morning and I thought, "I really don't want to do this day."
I would remember this mantra. God would whisper, "All you have to do is trust Me and get out of bed."
I could do that. Nothing more. But I could physically push back the covers and stand up.
Then He would say, "Trust me and walk down the stairs."
I could do that.
Then I would repeat to myself, "Trust God and make the coffee."
"Trust God and make breakfast"
"Trust God and spend time in His Word"
"Trust God and pour out your heart in trust and faith while you pound the pavement under the sky"
(that was the hardest and yet my favorite)
"Trust God and make lunch..."
"...and pay bills, do laundry, clean the kitchen, go to the bank, do school, return emails, cook..."
"Trust God and breathe..."
and go to bed and trust that He will help you do it all again tomorrow.
That's how I learned to trust Him and do the
next thing.
{the big stuff would come when and how He intended. it always does. He's in charge of that. not me, thankfully}
As these memories fell back over me, I turned my attention back to the book face down still opened to that first chapter and knew that Elisabeth Elliot and I were going to spend some precious time together in the near future.
And we really did.
I poured over this book with tears and hope. I scribbled reflection after reflection in my journal. I serendipitously found another copy of that book at the thrift store,
just by chance of course, and poured over it with a friend, then another friend and then another.
And then the day came when I read the background to the quote that taught me how to trust God more:
From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the doors the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration: “DOE THE NEXTE THYNGE.”
Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King,
Thrust them with Jesus, doe the nexte thynge.
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 results, doe the nexte thynge
Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, doe the nexte thynge.
--Anonymous
The more I read of Elisabeth's book, and the Word that it pointed me to, the more I felt that calm and peace and reassurance that I knew could only come from Him. That hard period of time I had dreaded faded into the rear view mirror, colored again by all the shades of His faithfulness made tangible by the gift of this book and the ones to follow.
And of course, as things seem to go in my world, things seem to appear in "random" places. Things that made me smile. Things the proved that this amazing woman's walk and subsequent ministry would touch more people than perhaps she ever dared hope:
There was this post and this this one and
this one. I read them and smiled, thankful for her love for Christ and dedication to serving Him.
And then I began to read more about her first husband, Jim. My thoughts about him will probably have to wait until another day. Suffice it to say that his passion and dedication to Christ and His mission occupy my thoughts frequently.
I think about them throughout my day, my new friends Jim and "Bet." And now that my world has once again gotten busier, I don't have the chance to read these books daily. I find myself missing this couple. I look longingly again at this stack of books which once again sit, abandoned by other more urgent studies. I'm happy to know that they are there, waiting for me. {and i sneak peeks here and there. I miss them too much to leave them alone for long} I'm thankful for what they have taught me. I'm thankful for how they have strengthened my own faith, my walk, my love for Christ and for His Word. I am thankful that they provide comfort in a world that sometimes, oftentimes, feels completely foreign to me, even though it's my own.
