Encouraging words through Amy Carmichael

These are excerpts from the chapter I read this morning from Amy Carmichael's precious book Gold by Moonlight, given me by my mother many years ago.

Even if you seem to be pushing through some long trailing wisp of cloud, like that which lies on the face of the Mattterhorn, be of good cheer. Your God has not forsaken you. He has not said, "Ephraim is joined to idols: let him alone"; a heart "let alone" feels nothing. Rather, indeed, the clouds are comforting: "Is my gloom after all, shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?" It was when He was coming to the relief of His servant that He was seen upon the wings of the wind, and He made darkness pavilions round about Him, dark waters, and thick clouds of the skies. So clouds assure us of His presence, for where pavilions are spread there the King dwelleth.

Often we find ourselves in precipitous, perhaps cloudy places because of some act of obedience. Such acts are called "ventures of faith," but there is no venture where faith is concerned. We walk on rock, not on quicksand, when we obey. But there is no promise that the rock will be a levelled path. . .

Sooner or later God meets every trusting child who is following Him up the mountain and says, "Now prove that you believe this that you have told Me you believe, and that you have taught others to believe." Then is your opportunity. God knows, and you know, that there was always a hope in your heart that a certain way would not be yours. "Anything but that, Lord," had been your earnest prayer. And then, perhaps quite suddenly, you found your feet set on that way, that and no other. Do you still hold fast to your faith that He maketh your way perfect?

It does not look perfect. It looks like a road that has lost its sense of direction; a broken road, a wandering road, a strange mistake. And yet, either it is perfect, or all that you have believed crumbles like a rope of sand in your hands. There is no middle choice between faith and despair.

Life is a journey; it is a climb; it is also and always a war. The soldier of the Lord of Hosts is always a soldier. He dare not drivel down to any other kind of life. This sounds a rough word, but sometimes roughness helps. When a liquid has got past its boiling temperature, and yet will not boil, if a lead shot or anything with a roughened surface, which will carry down a few bubbles of air, be dropped into it, the boiling begins at once.

Apollos the Alexandrian had a spirit that boiled (fervent, to boil, be hot). Alexandria did not then, any more than it does now, encourage fervency of spirit. But there is no place where the soldier of the King of kings need be a simmering weakling. The soldier who simmers, but does not boil, is no soldier. He is a sham. Of all the futile figures on the battlefield he is the most futile.

May God take this true word, this small rough word (like the rough lead shot) and drop it in to some heart that "will not boil"; and may the Breath of Life cause the boiling to begin at once. God multiply Apollos.

It is the keen Apollos who most feels the long delays in fruition, as he finds "the exercise of hope a more difficult and expensive duty" than he ever imagined it would be. It is he who is most tempted to discouragement when he sees so many who can look no way but downward, and spend their time raking to themselves the straws, the small sticks and dust of the floor, though there stands One who proffers a crown for the muck-rake. The world seems full of muck-rakes and of people who diligently use them. Heaven is but as a fable to such, and things here are counted the only things substantial. How can the good seed lodge in hearts so occupied, so dulled? He asks himself this question again and again. And yet he has our Lord's sure promise that labor in Him is not in vain, the sower shall doubtless return with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him. Many a sower has thanked God for two words, "Shall doubtless."