Jim Elliot, Hudson Taylor, C.T. Studd, Adoniram Judson, Lottie Moon, Amy Carmichael. You may or may not be familiar with any or all of these names, but they do all have one common bond: obedience to a calling. They traversed to the ends of the earth with great fervor driven by a, “passionate passion for souls, a pity that yearns, a love that loves unto death, a fire that burns, a pure prayed-power that prevails, that pours itself out for the lost. [With] Victorious prayer, in the Conqueror’s Name, Oh, for a Pentecost.” (Amy Carmichael)
Amy Carmichael (1867-1951) lived in India for 55 years dedicating her life to reaching the Indians and never once returned back to her home. She received a letter one time from a young lady who was considering life overseas. She asked, “What is life like overseas?” Carmichael wrote back saying,
“This kind of life is simply a chance to die.”
What strength, what trust she had in God Almighty, and what love she had for the Indian people. It is stories like this that strengthen this, so often, weak soul of mine. Some days are harder than others, some days a pure joy. Three days ago I was overwhelmed with excitement and gladness because of an opportunity to share Jesus with my friend in the local language. Today I wanted to imagine that I was returning back to the States.
So many of us equate this kind of life overseas with sacrifice. And many times it is. But much more so for those being converted. Martyrdom happens, especially in difficult and volatile places, but most often one is more likely to be deported than to be killed. I’ve left my american comforts and my beloved family, but those who are coming to faith are losing spouses, children, fathers and mothers, jobs, homes, their livelihood, even their life. I’ve got iPhones and iPads with FaceTime and Skype, I haven’t sacrificed anything nearly close to these precious brothers and sisters of a different race and country.
The comforts and enticements of my homeland calls to me, but oh may the whispers of God’s call in Asia be stronger!
“I want my breakfast served at eight, with ham and eggs upon my plate; a well-broiled steak I’ll eat at one, and dine again when day is done. I want an ultramodern home. And in each room a telephone; soft carpets, too, upon the floors, and pretty drapes to grace the doors. A cozy place of lovely things, like easy chairs with inner springs, and then I’ll get a small TV – Of course, ‘I’m careful’ what I see. I want my wardrobe, too, to be of neatest, finest quality, with latest style in suit and vest: why should not Christians have the best? But then the Master I can hear in no uncertain voice, so clear: ‘I bid you come and follow Me, the lowly Man of Galilee. Birds of the air have made their nest, And foxes in their holes find rest, but I can offer you no bed; no place have I to lay My head.’ In shame, I hung my head and cried. How could I spurn the Crucified? Could I forget the way He went. The sleepless nights in prayer He spent? For forty days without a bite, alone He fasted day and night; despised, rejected – on He went, and did not stop till veil He rent. A man of sorrows and of grief, no earthly friend to bring relief; ‘Smitten of God,’ the prophet said, ‘Mocked, beaten, bruised, His blood ran red.’ If He be God, and died for me, no sacrifice too great can be for me, a mortal man, to make; I’ll do it all for Jesus’ sake. yes, I will tread the path He trod, no other way will please my God; so, henceforth, this my choice shall be, my choice for all eternity.”
– William “Smiling Bill” McChesney (age 28; 5′ 2″; 110 lb.; single M to the Congo; he was shoved into a truck by Simba rebels, stripped and mercilessly beaten by soldiers while suffering from malaria, imprisoned in a small cell with 40 other prisoners, he was turned over to a rioting mob armed with clubs and fists who struck him down, dead. The world was not worthy of him.)
It's just Me Abby 