My husband’s mother, Bessie, passed on this morning at age 91. We are all filled with sweet remembrances of her life and her character. (And she was a character!) And she was a sweet friend.
Some time ago she gave me a copy of the collected poems of Amy Carmichael (called Mountain Breezes), and she marked all her favorites with a scrap of paper for me. She loved Amy Carmichael’s life and work as a missionary in India. Bessie herself served as a missionary in Japan before she met and married Jim, so Amy’s works resonated with her. Over the many years that the two of them ministered together, I’m not sure if she ever missed a day reading Edges of His Ways or her well-worn copy of Daily Light.
I thought I would print up one of those favorite poems today, to commemorate what she had longed for as long as I have known her: her own homecoming.
Make Me Thy Fuel
From prayer that asks that I may be
Sheltered from the 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.