It’s obvious, if you have read this blog for any length of time, that Amy Carmichael is one of my favorite authors. She’s not a favorite author of mine just because she wrote good books, but because she lived what she wrote. So many good biographies have been written about her that I will not attempt an exhaustive one here, but I will try to bring out the defining characteristics of her life that made her stand out in her generation.Amy Carmichael was not exactly missionary material when she was young. Her childhood as the oldest of seven children was full of escapades and adventures of the naughtiest kind. From eating laburnum pods to sliding down the slate roof of her childhood home, the Carmichael household never had any lack of excitement. As Amy grew up, however, her life took a much different turn.
Amy’s youth was a very ordinary one. She went to boarding school, participated in social activities, and helped her family. Nothing significantly distinguished her from the other girls of her day. God had different plans for her, however. Amy describes in her own words the moment that changed her life forever:
It was a dull Sunday morning in a street in Belfast . . . My brothers and sisters and I were returning with our mother from church when we met a poor, pathetic old woman who was carrying a heavy bundle. We had never seen such a thing in Presbyterian Belfast on Sunday, and, moved by sudden pity, my brothers and I turned with her, relieved her of the bundle, took her by her arms as though they had been handles, and helped her along. This meant facing all the respectable people who were, like ourselves, on their way home. It was a horrid moment. We were only two boys and a girl, and not at all exalted Christians. We hated doing it. Crimson all over (at least we felt crimson, souls and body of us) we plodded on, a wet wind blowing us about, and blowing, too, the rags of that poor old woman, till she seemed like a bundle of feathers and we unhappily mixed up with them. But just as we passed a fountain, recently built near the curbstone, this mighty phrase was suddenly flashed as it were through the grey drizzle:
“Gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble – every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is. If any man’s work abide-”
If any man’s work abide: I turned to see the voice that spoke with me. The fountain, the muddy street, the people with their politely surprised faces, all this I saw, but saw nothing else. The blinding flash had come and gone; the ordinary was all about us. We went on. I said nothing to anyone, but I knew that something had happened that had changed life’s values. Nothing could ever matter again but the things that were eternal. (From Gold Cord
Few young women value eternal things. Elisabeth Elliot expresses it well in A Chance to Die
When in her twenties, Amy felt the call of God to lands where the Gospel was not known. Many opposed her idea of becoming a missionary. A doctor refused to approve her for mission work. Regardless of the obstacles, however, Amy still believed she should go.
A scrap of paper given to Amy about this time reveals the scorching decision she was about to make:
CAN YE? Mark 10:38.
Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of? And be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?
CAN GOD? Psalm 78:19. Ye shall indeed . . . for with God all things are possible.
Now is my soul troubled – and what shall I say? Father, save me . . . Father, glorify Thy name. For this cause came I unto this hour. John 12:24-28.
The decision was not simply whether or not to go overseas. The decision was, most of all, a decision to die. To deliberately leave behind every scrap of self and the world and sacrifice everything for the sake of the Savior. In a round-about way, this decision led her to the dark country of India.
In India, Amy was not like most missionaries. She did not desire to live above and apart from her Indian brothers and sisters, nor would her truthful nature allow her to ignore the atrocities she witnessed. She wrote and published books and pamphlets that exposed and condemned the darkness around her and the spiritual incompetence of many missionaries. She did not turn a blind eye to corruption. When she learned of the use of children for immoral purposes in the temples, she did sit on her hands and do nothing.
Amy and her small band of women began to pray. They prayed for a way to save these children caught up in an age-old practice of bondage. The first girl came to them entirely through a miracle. There was no other way to explain it. This little girl had heard of a “child-stealing ammal” and had decided that was the very person she wanted to find to escape the abuse of the temple. So, she walked away from the temple, found Amy and her band, climbed up into Amy’s lap and said, “My name is Pearl-eyes, and I want to stay here always. I have come to stay.”
From that time forward Amy found her calling to be a mother. Not just to a few, but to thousands of children. Whenever she heard of a child that was about to be given to the temple, she or one of her workers would do everything possible to persuade the mother to give the child to them instead. It was extreme, heartbreaking work, but also full of happiness. The pictures and stories she tells of her children reveal a place full of laughter and joy. The Lord provided a permanent place in Dohnavur for this huge family, which eventually came to be known as the Dohnavur Fellowship.
Amy’s active work with children came to an abrupt end at the age of 64 when she broke a leg in an accident. She never recovered enough to return to her former activities and was essentially bed-ridden for the remaining 20 years of her life. The story of her life would not be complete, however, without taking note of this spiritually fruitful period. The books she wrote from her bed have been a comfort to sufferers everywhere since then. Those years, in the providence of God, were not wasted.
This brief biography hardly does justice to such a life as Amy Carmichael’s. It is often easy for us to think that a life such as hers is too complicated, difficult, and out of reach for us to emulate. Yet, when I read her books, I do not find her life to be something other than human. Amy Carmichael’s “secret” was simple: she loved Jesus, and when He called, she said “yes”. Hers was a life of obedience, completely set apart for God. She chose suffering without complaint. She shared what God had given to her with others.
In closing, I will share a poem that I believe expresses the essence of Amy’s life:
From prayer that asks that I may be
Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee,
From fearing when I should aspire,
From faltering when I should climb higher,
From silken self, O Captain, free
Thy soldier who would follow Thee.
From subtle love of softening things,
From easy choices, weakenings,
Not thus are spirits fortified,
Not this way went the Crucified,
From all that dims Thy Calvary,
O Lamb of God, deliver me.
Give me the love that leads the way,
The faith that nothing can dismay,
The hope no disappointments tire,
The passion that will burn like fire,
Let me not sink to be a clod:
Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.
A Chance to Die: The Life and Legacy of Amy Carmichael by Elisabeth Elliot
Gold Cord: The Story of a Fellowship by Amy Carmichael
More books by Amy Carmichael
Books by Amy Carmichael available for free:
From Sunrise Land: Letters from Japan
Things as they are: Mission work in southern India
Overweights of Joy
Lotus Buds
Related posts:
