No Graven Image by Elisabeth Elliot

Author:Elisabeth Elliot [Elisabeth Elliot]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC026000
ISBN: 9781441239297
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group

Chapter Twelve

On the morning after my return home I was making coffee for breakfast, thinking of the victorious testimonies of the many missionary-conquerors at the conference. I, too, must fling out my banner with joy—it is God who will lead me in triumph. When I opened the canister in which I kept the coffee I noticed a slightly moldy smell instead of the rich aroma I had anticipated. I put the can closer to my nose. It was definitely moldy. I had no other coffee in the house. Should I throw this away? Certainly not. No missionary had a right to be fussy about such a trifle. I had left home and kindred to come here in obedience to Christ and would I balk at drinking a cup of ill-tasting coffee? I put the grounds in the pot and proceeded with the meal. It was a victory. A very small victory, to be sure, but nevertheless an indication of single mindedness. People back in the States with their vacuum-packed Maxwell House—what did they know of doing without? “God, I thank Thee. . . .” The words of the Pharisee, “that I am not as other men” flashed through my mind, not as the words of the Pharisee but as my own, as the prayer of my heart I was thankful that I was not like others who had ignored the call. Immediately upon the recognition that I had in sincerity said the very words Jesus had condemned the Pharisee for saying, I prayed the prayer of the other in the story, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

I put the coffeepot on the table and sat down. A little book of daily readings from the Bible lay on the table, and I opened it to the portion for that day. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” I thanked God for those words. I was a sinful missionary, but then God had entrusted the missionary task to sinners, and if we didn’t do it, who would? Too many had left their responsibility unfulfilled. Some had suffered, sacrificed, sailed through bloody seas in order to carry the Light to those in darkness, but not many. “O God, to us may grace be given to follow in their train.” As I buttered a roll I thought of the “noble army, men and boys, the matron and the maid,” and managed to put myself into the lineup somewhere. I hummed over the other stanzas—the one about meeting the tyrant’s brandished steel, the lion’s gory mane. How gladly would I do that for the sake of Christ!

I finished the roll, drank the last of the coffee (a deed of courage unlikely ever to be sung about), and began to wash the dishes, thinking over in my mind how to attack the job today. It had all seemed so obvious at the conference. Each missionary had his program—he knew what needed to be done where, and he had a method for doing it.

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