 Depressed Saints
Grantley Morris
In Australian Spelling Also How I Beat Depression And God’s anti-depressant (below) See
Depression A word that is used frequently in our time. Does it apply to you, someone you love, or someone you know? Includes links to ‘help’ sites. William Carey’s relentless succession of achievements in the face of oppression suggests he was no more deterred by tragedies than a locomotive by butterflies. I was stunned to learn that this amazing missionary pioneer sometimes suffered what one biographer called ‘sheer black depression’. C. H. Spurgeon, revered as last century’s greatest Baptist preacher, was so plagued by discouragement, depression, fatigue and illness that he tendered his resignation thirty-two times in thirty-nine years. Interestingly, he gradually discovered that such lows always seemed to precede new times of empowering for ministry. A modern preacher, world-famous for his emphasis on possibility thinking, sat dejected on a building site and pronounced the death-sentence on his pet project. ‘You can’t give up,’ gasped his advisers, ‘the whole world is looking at you!’ ‘If only I could have a good old-fashioned heart attack and fail with dignity,’ was his pathetic reply. Such grim anecdotes charge me with hope. If past heroes and modern champions of positive thinking can
have such bouts, I need not let the Accuser belittle me just because I am appallingly negative at times. For twenty-four-year-old David Brainerd, thrilling experiences in God’s presence were regularly interspersed with deep bouts of melancholy in which he despaired of ever achieving anything in God’s service. Three years later, an unprecedented outpouring of the Spirit upon American Indians erupted
after his preaching. This move coincided with a time when the clammy clouds of dejection were so thick that he was seriously contemplating ending his missionary endeavours. A. B. Simpson – that highly respected missionary statesman, exceptional preacher, and founder of the
Christian and Missionary Alliance – was yet another great achiever who ‘was always susceptible to periods of despair.’ Though his highs soared to supernatural visions, they did not prevent his lows. I don’t make excuses. Having the disposition of a professional prune taster is nothing to boast about.
Depression usually marks lost faith in the One with whom I have entrusted my future. It dishonours the One who floods my life with endless love and manipulates for good everything that touches me. When I’m low, however, the last thing I need is despondency about my despondency. Though we slide on a downer, that does not make us losers. A horde of spiritual giants have been on the slide before us and lived to excel. Limp faith might be all you need Take heart from the man exalted as Scripture’s prime example of faith (Romans 4; Galatians 3:6-9;
Hebrew 11:8-19; James 2:21-23). In an early chapter of Genesis, God tells Abraham on two separate occasions that he will give him the land and descendants (Genesis 12:2,7). Just four verses later we find Abraham humiliating Sarah, denying that she is his wife. In cowardly deceit, he stands dumbly by as Pharaoh marries Sarah and takes her into his harem (Genesis 12:10-16). Next chapter, God yet again details the promise of land and descendants (Genesis 13:14-17). Nevertheless, two chapters on, we find Abraham expecting to die childless. For a fourth time God insists he will give Abraham descendants. At last the old fossil believes. The Lord, thrilled with Abraham’s refound faith, repeats his vow to give him the land. In disbelief, Abraham asks for a sign. (Genesis 15:2-8
) With divine patience God dramatically shows the mighty man of faith not only his future descendants, but what will happen to them. In the next chapter we find our faith model throwing away any hope of a miracle from God. He resorts to
dubious natural means to forcibly accomplish what God seems unwilling to do. He bypasses his wife and turns to her maid for a baby (Genesis 16:1-3). Years later, the Lord yet again reaffirms his promise to Abraham and declares that Sarah would conceive.
Abraham laughs. He is sure his wife has more potential as an Egyptian mummy than as a Hebrew one. ‘She’s too old. Just bless Ishmael,’ is the crux of his reply (Genesis 17:17-18). Yet the Lord persists. One more time our hero gropes for that slippery fish called faith. Before long, he is again passing off Sarah as his sister, showing more faith in his powers of deception
than in God’s integrity. This time it is King Abimelech who almost has a go at impregnating Sarah (Genesis 20:2-3). Just weeks later, (Assuming Genesis 18:10 to 21:2 are in chronological order.) she conceived Abraham’s baby. Faith is not a non-stop flight above reality; it’s a fight. What distinguishes people of faith is not how
rarely they hit the dirt, but how often they get up again. To be perpetually positive is impossible. The mere attempt embroils us in prayer battles and Abrahamic effort. The enemy often flees to his corner, only to prepare for the next round. You might even have climbed out of the ring, but the reward for getting back in exceeds anything anyone could offer. More precious than gold ‘Lord, increase our faith,’ pleaded the disciples. ‘If you have faith the size of a mustard seed ...’ came the reply. (Luke 17:5-6) Perhaps our greatest need is not huge faith, but to fully use our small faith. Perhaps we miss out
because we devalue our faith, not using it to the fullest because we wrongly imagine that tiny faith is too insignificant to move the hand of God. If faith is more valuable than gold (1 Peter 1:7), the merest speck is too precious to despise. Do not let feelings of inadequacy strangle your faith. Just keep pressing on. Past greats achieved much with floundering faith. So can you. Like everyone, my faith levels fluctuate. Usually I am aware that a few moments dwelling on faith-building truths or squashing negative thoughts would boost my faith a little, but I foolishly let myself remain at a lower faith level than I know I am capable of. I have failed to take faith as seriously as Scripture does. If it is as valuable as Scripture affirms, then only a fool would pass up an opportunity to
slightly increase it. If our Lord valued faith at a dollar, then a one percent increase is not worth bothering about. What can you do with a cent? If common faith is of immense value, however, everything changes. On a million dollars, one percent is $10,000 – well worth a little effort!
The thrill of faith Among the lessons to be learnt through Abraham becoming a father is not that we should do nothing and leave it all to God. Had this been Abraham’s attitude, the miracle would never have happened. The key
lay not in doing nothing, but in doing the right thing – trying yet again to fill a barren womb. We can be so paranoid about conceiving an Ishmael, that we fail to produce an Isaac. To stop trying for a child through Sarah would have been just as devoid of faith as using her maid. Faith is leaving the security of inactivity and deliberately exposing ourselves to the painful possibility of defeat. It is Jonathan and his armour-bearer going out to meet the enemy; not his comrades hiding in
holes hoping for a miracle (1 Samuel 14:1-15). It’s Peter saying, ‘If that’s you, Lord, bid me come;. . .’ and then stepping out of the boat (Matthew 14:28-29). It’s that same fisherman saying, ‘Lord, we’ve toiled all night and caught nothing. Nevertheless, at your word . . .’ (Luke 5:5). It is Paul, once again facing a hostile crowd. It is you, trying one more time. Faith is fundamental to all Christian service (Mark 11:24; John 14:12; Galatians 3:2-3; Hebrews 4:2; 11:6; James 1:6-7; 1 John 5:4). Like a seedling, it should constantly grow (2 Corinthians 10:15; 2 Thessalonians 1:3). It is easier on ourselves if we start exercising faith now, in minor things, than to expect to pluck out of the air mountain-moving faith when it is critically needed in ministry.
A delay either quickens your faith to rise to the challenge, or it’s a dead wait. How to boost faith
I can easily believe the atom-holding, earth-spinning, galaxy-sustaining, life-giving Source of everything wonderful can do whatever he likes. Even the devil believes it. My difficulty is believing that his special love for me makes him long to use that power on my behalf. Few of us doubt that God can do amazing things. The weak link in our faith is believing that he would do such things for ordinary, inconsequential you and me. We suspect that in the Almighty’s eyes we are not sufficiently special to warrant such attention. Oh yes, ‘God loves everyone,’ but we have a hunch that
by the time that love reaches us it has spread pretty thin. I’m just one of millions. Why would God want to focus his omnipotence on me? If we could grasp the enormity of God’s love for us, our faith would sky-rocket. Pray for a revelation.
(The necessity of divine revelation is highlighted by Paul’s prayer that the Ephesians ‘comprehend ... and know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge’ [Ephesians 3:18-19].) Awareness of how much we are loved is forever slipping from our consciousness. Partially in sight for a
few days, it begins to fade again. The following suggestions might help. When we let God down – even if we really foul things up – picture the proudest father the world has seen. The baby screams, dribbles and soils itself, yet Dad still glows with pride. God is like that. When you feel a tiny blob in the seething mass of humanity, see the shepherd of a hundred sheep frantically searching for one. If he can be personally concerned for one, the omnipotent Shepherd of our souls can love all humanity and still be devoted to you. In the beautiful words of Isaiah, ‘As the
bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you’ (Isaiah 62:5). When you feel you can do nothing right, picture a child, paintbrush in hand, gleaming with excitement. Enveloping her hand is the gentle hand of the world’s greatest artist. ‘And what shall we put in this
corner?’ asks the man, as his skill and the girl’s imagination merge into one. See the artist’s smile and the child’s delight as together they create stunning beauty. Under God’s guiding hand, your possibilities are mind-boggling. No matter how you feel, you are the focus of God’s attention; doted on as though you are the only
friend God has. If ever a man wanted to shower his bride with love, or his son with gifts, God longs to lavish you with his extravagance. Expect great things from God. Anything less is an insult to your almighty Saviour. With your Lord impossibilities are playthings. Let faith mushroom by seizing the fact that the Omnipotent Lord is powerful enough to use you – over
-riding your every inadequacy – and loving enough to want to. And believe that though he may lovingly delay your mission, his timing is perfect. Everything God touches is destined for glory. Even now, you are God’s ‘filthy rags to heavenly riches’ success story. The Kingdom needs prayer warriors, not prayer worriers. No matter how much you cry, beg, and wish,
you have not moved from superstition to authentic Christian prayer until you can thank God for the answer, knowing it is yours before you hold it in your hand. Faith is not thinking that God can; it is knowing that he will (Mark 11:24; James 1:5-8). You will see it when you believe it.
[Back] How I Beat Depression I have been battling depression most of the time that I’ve been writing Becoming a Winner. The thought
has kept coming that that my life isn’t worth living. Obviously, the Evil One must be behind this, but I was silly enough to believe his persuasive lies. The depression proved surprisingly resistant to all my attempts to break free, including prayer, praise and rebuking Satan. It took weeks before I finally realized I had to counter-attack by refusing to believe the lies coming into
my mind. Simple logic affirms that if a loving, good God created me in his image, he must have been motivated by a longing to share his joys with me. Isn’t that the very nature of love? (And one would think God’s joys
must be rather special!) Clearly, there could be nothing cold or sinister in his motives. He must have given me life so that he can shower me with his love and blessings. Scripture reveals with brutal frankness that life can be unpleasant at times (just read the book of Job). But since a good, loving God has the final say, life, when viewed in its entirety, must be worth living, no matter how hard that might be to believe when you can see only a fragment of it. So when I’m not depressed I now prepare myself for battle by thanking and praising God for the life he has given me, and for the unimaginable joys he must have stored up for me. And whenever the temptation to depression returns, I have plenty of ammunition to fight the deception, such as
remembering Job in the Bible, who wished he had never been born, only because in the midst of his trial he had no idea of the great blessings God was preparing for him. This sounds ridiculously simple, and yet this has turned my life around. I might not always feel on top of
the world. I’m often not responsible for my feelings, but I am responsible for my beliefs. If I choose to believe the right things, despite what I presently see and feel, most of the time my feelings will eventually catch up. What really matters, however, is not elusive feelings, but what I believe, because in the long term, it is the beliefs I cling to when everything seems to say the opposite, that ends up affecting both my actions and my relationship with my wonderful Lord. It is not always easy believing God loves me. I don’t even love me most of the time, and I would have thought I’d be more willing to make allowances for imperfections and stupidity than would a flawless God.
It’s not easy believing in a heaven I have never seen. It’s not easy trying to imagine joys that could possibly compensate for all I am presently going through. But faith is all God asks of me. John was right. Faith is the victory (1 John 5:4).
Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
For I will yet praise him,
My Saviour and my God. (Psalm 42:5; repeated in Psalms 42:11; 43;5)
This, the refrain of two psalms, flies in the face of the slave mentality that the Evil One tries to foster within us. We need no longer act like helpless victims of emotions and circumstance. We can choose to have hope. But note that we are set free not by positive thinking – mere human effort – but by looking to the God of the Bible.
God’s anti-depressant Paul’s patience was at breaking point. Day after day, wherever they went, the demonised slave-girl kept shrieking that Paul and Silas were God’s servants. Then, in a moment of desperation, he did it. He expelled the demon. And his greatest fears froze to excruciating reality. (Acts 16:16-24) They were arrested, tortured and thrown in prison. Incarcerated like common criminals? No such luck. It was the maximum security block for them. Everything pointed to a painfully long stay. Put ourselves in Paul’s stocks and our thoughts might be something like: ‘What an ant-brain! I walked
right into Satan’s trap! Things were going so well – converts were being baptised, Lydia had opened her house to us – and like a twit I blew it! Now I’ve been flogged. Poor Silas is in agony. Both of us are in the slammer, no longer free to preach the Gospel. All because of me! If only I’d kept my cool ...’ I’d have been as miserable as an elephant with sinusitis. Yet instead of berating himself or being bullied by pain, the apostle sang praises. Almost instantly,
tragedy yielded potent ministry. Not only was the Lord blessed and fellow prisoners touched, the jailer and all his family were converted. Praise turned misery into ministry. Praise snaps locks. If a door slams, praise can burst open another. If you think praise is hot air, you are right. It’s the hot air that makes faith balloon, lifting us to new heights in God, while warming the Father’s heart. Not easy Praise is life-changing. I could extol it for pages, but singing its praises is often easier than singing praises. It takes enormous energy for a space vessel to blast off from earth on its way to another world.
As it continues to leave earth’s gravitational pull, however, progress gets easier and easier until it is actually pulled along by the heavenly body it is headed for. With praise, too, it is the first part of the journey that is so demanding. The wonders of the rest of the voyage, however, makes the sometimes-huge initial effort so worthwhile. The less we feel like praising, the more we need its power. I suspect Paul used a couple of tricks to break through despair into victorious praise. Paul and Silas had so mingled worship with life’s humdrum that when things soured, their lips were still
warm with his praises. There was no groping for a half-forgotten praise vocabulary; no brain-racking to find something praiseworthy in God. Praise was not a pill in their emergency kit; it was their way of life. If one of their helps was habit, the second was song. When praise is a struggle, melody and beautiful
words can bear us forward. A third help was fellowship. They joined their praises. Where possible, do the same. My next suggestion, like the others, is far from original. Multitudes have found that it works. Don’t try to start at the top; just find a few reasons to be grateful. Things could be worse. Thank God they’re not. Thank him that things have not always been as dire as they now seem. Lean heavily on tiny blessings. As they multiply in your head, they will provide a rich array of praise material. You can even turn negative tendencies into an asset. We all need reminders to praise throughout the day. If your mind regularly clogs with negative thoughts, train yourself to use each recurrence of doubt or fear or gloom as a reminder to praise God. Each negative thought is packed with potential praise
material. If, for instance, you are hounded by the thought that you are getting older, let it nudge you to thank God for the years he has given you. Praise him that your times are in his hands. Take comfort that at least someone is older than you – God – and revel in the knowledge that he will never fall for modern society’s infatuation with youth. Every time you feel old, rejoice that Jacob was in his nineties when he
had his all-night wrestling match with an angel. (Joseph was 30 when he began serving Pharaoh (Genesis 41:46). When Jacob arrived in Egypt about nine years later (Genesis 41:48,53,54; 45:11), Joseph was 130 (Genesis 47:9). Jacob was therefore about 91 years older than Joseph, and the time between Joseph’s birth and Jacob’s wrestle was long enough for him to engage in an extensive animal breeding program (Genesis 30:25-28,31-32; 31:7-9).) Exalt the One who empowered eighty-five-year-old Caleb
to conquer the enemies’ mountain strongholds, (Joshua 14:10-15; 15:13-15) gave Job his greatest blessings in his latter years, (Job 42:12) and bypassed millions to show the Christ child to elderly Anna. (Luke 2:36-38) Yet if being filled with the joy of the Lord were as easy as flicking a switch, there are still times when we
would prefer to sulk. Forgetting that it is faith, not tears, that most moves our Lord, we secretly hope that if we are sufficiently miserable, he will have pity on us. That’s like trying to scale a mountain by digging a hole. Praise achieves things self-pity or self-recrimination could never do.
Balance ‘I will give you all my praise,’ I sang in a congregational song. Suddenly I realised I had lied. Everytime I grumble I am praising the devil. Every complaint is an insult to God. For balance, however, listen to Psalm 13. This dirge opens with, ‘How long will you forget me, Lord? Forever?’ With similar moans in the next few verses, the ancient blues singer continues his sob story. Then, just when we know where he is heading, he suddenly slams his song into reverse and declares, ‘I
will sing unto the Lord, for he has dealt bountifully with me.’ The tail end of that little psalm looks as out of place as a fan of peacock feathers on the end of a pig. Yet no matter how odd it seems, psalm after psalm confirms that we can mingle praise with our pain. These inspired prayers prove that our Lord wants us to vent on him our grief and frustration. He wants honesty, not denial, and still he wants our praise. Try hard enough and in every circumstance we can find reason to complain and reason to rejoice. To praise is to feast on the goodness of God. To complain is to languish in the squalor of self. To praise is to party. It is cutting the cords to earthly burdens and heading for heaven’s joys. It infuriates the devil because it not only plucks us out of the misery he had meticulously planned, it lets us sneak into the victory celebration ahead of time. To praise is to cheat the devil, laugh in his face and
step into God’s time machine. Praise magnifies God. The alternative magnifies the problem. The last thing we need is a ‘small’ God and large problems! What will we choose to exalt: the mighty, eternal God, or the puny, temporary problem?
Praise pricks bloated problems by empowering us to glimpse the enormity of God. Build muscle on your faith by constantly praising God, delighting in his answer ahead of time. It takes the wait off your mind. [Back]  Too Old?
You’re Joking!
by Grantley Morris (In Australian Spelling )
Smashing the Age Barrier Defeatists say ‘Yesterday’; winners say ‘Yes’ today. It’s too late to lament the past. That’s lost forever.
But it’s never too late to move into overdrive. The present is ours to charge with defiant faith. ‘You’re too old,’ the mission board told a rejected candidate. God, who’s a little older than most of us,
must have thought she was too young. He waited two more years before sending her to the field. Perhaps you have heard it calculated that John Wesley preached over 40,000 sermons and travelled 225,000 miles (his horse had never heard of kilometres). Did you realise these figures belong only to the
latter part of his life, from age 36 to 88? I was impressed; until reading George Muller’s figures. He is said to have travelled 200,000 miles, using his linguistic ability to preach in several languages to an estimated three million people. Now admittedly, Muller travelled extensively overseas. If I had a choice between travelling a thousand miles on horseback or a thousand miles by sailing ship, I’d go by plane. But here’s
the spice: Muller’s statistics only began after his seventieth birthday and continued for the next 17 years. Dr. Robert Lowry, renowned for many accomplishments as a Christian musician, first undertook the
serious study of music after turning 40. Fanny Crosby was forty-three when she found her life’s work – she wrote her first Gospel song. So many songs followed, under so many different pen-names, that no one could keep track of them. Informed estimates range to beyond 8,000 (some say 9.000), with more than a hundred pseudonyms. Francis Schaeffer was little known until he was in his fifties. Child Evangelism Fellowship was founded by a sixty-year-old, who remained at its helm for the next 15 years. At 63, Clara Mcbride Hale began caring for addict babies. The number she has helped now runs into the hundreds. Peggy Smith, 84 and blind, and her sister Christine, 82 and crippled, were key people in the world-famous
revival in the Scottish Hebrides. Elizabeth Wilson felt the tug of China when she was 20. She arrived thirty years later. Conditions were harsh and dangerous, yet her age proved a treasured asset. The Lord had called her to the Orient,
where – as in most societies outside our own - age is honoured. Paul Kuo presented the administrators of Hong Kong Theological College with a headache. He was already 60 and he wanted to enrol. By the time he graduated he would be too old for any church to want him.
He was reluctantly admitted and although he learned, he failed to obtain a degree. In 1975 he left for Thailand’s ‘Golden Triangle’ to labour for Christ amongst mercenaries, bandits and opium farmers. His past military training earned him respect and his age made him a celebrity. He dived so deeply into ministry that he soon had to recruit other missionaries. Before long, Paul was heading up a large missionary venture. In 1968, two middle-aged tourists, florists for over 30 years, were so moved by what they saw in Kenya that they decided to return as missionaries. Denny and Jeanne Grindall, with no engineering skills or even formal Bible training and very little money, instigated the building of a dam almost 80 foot high and piped
the clean water nearly three miles to tribespeople. The Maasai gradually became so responsive to the Grindall’s message that twenty churches were opened and hundreds came to Christ. I received the following e-mail from Gordon Ogden: Please pray for my ministry in marriage and family counseling. (I am 70.) Today I will work with child sexual abuse, teenage depression, adult depression, and marital discord. My weeks are filled with such. Then just when I was about to elevate my new friend to megastar status he spoilt it with his next e-mail: Tomorrow I go to Monterey to see my friend Phillip, a Marriage, Family, Child Counselor like myself. He is
currently running two recovery groups, plus his individual counseling, plus working out at the gym three days a week, plus attending confer-ences and driving all over the place. Phillip will be 90 in June. What a role model for a guy 20 years his junior. Black American missionary to Liberia, Eliza George, was forced by her mission to retire at age 65.
Undeterred, she raised her own support and continued independently for the best part of three more decades. ‘I want to go to the mission field as soon as I can,’ announced an enthusiastic teenager on the day of
her baptism. She made it – as a seventy-one-year-old widow. In Papua New Guinea, Guatemala, Thailand, Burma and Communist Russia, Margaret Cole squeezed more excitement into a few years than most people ever see. Cam Townsend, founder of the Wycliffe Bible Translators, flew to Moscow and began learning Russian to
assist in Bible translation work in the Caucasus. The nation was still under the iron grip of Communism and he was seventy-two. At that same age of seventy-two, Maude Cary accepted her missionary society’s plea ‘to open the city of El Haheb [in Morocco] to resident missionary work.’ Evelyn Brand came to India as a young missionary. After her husband’s death she pressed on, living on a pittance, caring for villagers scattered over five mountain ranges. At age seventy-five, Granny, as she was now known, had grown too old for such arduous work. Having fallen and broken her hip, she had to
be carried down the mountain by stretcher, then driven 150 bone-jarring miles to the nearest hospital. By the time her son – a brilliant medical missionary – finally arrived, she was walking with two canes and managing to ride a pony to outlying villages. The skilled doctor mustered all his persuasive powers to lovingly convince his ageing mother that she ‘presented a constant medical hazard,’ riding horseback to
such remote, rugged mountains with her paralysed legs and deficient sense of balance. Brushing aside his pleas, Granny toiled for eighteen more years, despite being ravaged by tropical diseases and suffering concussions and fractures from falls off her pony. She was ninety-three when she reluctantly exchanged her horse for a stretcher; continuing her work by being carried from village to village by devoted Indians for her two remaining years. In modern China the seventy-year-old wife of a persecuted pastor travels extensively distributing Bibles at great risk. In another part of the nation a ninety-year-old prayerfully studies a map, wondering where to lug her next bundle of Bibles. She hugs her books, rejoicing that the Tiananmen Square massacre
increased not just the danger but the demand. Think of it this way: if growing old is as bad as is sometimes claimed, how come so many people do it? I don’t care if you’re so long in the tooth you’ve blown your entire savings on toothpaste; so out of touch that you’re fazed by newfangled things like the King James Bible; so old your grandchildren are in nursing homes; so frail you have to rest up to watch television: God can still use you. Of course, if you’ve already passed eighty-five, I can’t promise you’ll write 8,000 songs. You might, like Fanny at that
age, have to settle for only 250 hymns a year. If you’re ninety-one and still don’t know what you’ll do when you grow up, throw a party. If you’re ninety-five, it’s time to go to Bible School. That’s what David Sizer did. The last I heard, he was 101, still
preaching in a prison and five retirement centres every week. Dr. Bernhard Johnson tells of a tiny Negro in Brazil aged 105 who had led hundreds to the Lord. Uninspired? A further detail should cure that. He did not know the Lord until he turned 103. So if you’ve graduated from make-up to poly-filler, hang on to your dentures, it’s ministry time. In Christ, Invincible You’re fruit growing sweeter, Wine gaining value. Not milk turning sour Or cardboard caving, Colours fading, Under the weight of time. You’re concrete drying stronger, Trees growing higher, Dawn glowing brighter. [Back]  Hard Slog
Grantley Morris
In Australian Spelling Having surmounted enormous obstacles and years of preparation, Adoniram Judson arrived on the mission field. Seven hard years followed. All he had to show for it was one convert. It was about time he moved on to something more beneficial – peddling hair curlers at a Bald is Beautiful convention, developing waterproof pianos for people who sing in the shower, fitting parachutes to birds that are afraid of heights – anything but trying to win souls in Burma. One day a man came to his house looking for work and instead found Jesus, his Saviour. Another pin
prick. But this one burst the balloon. The new convert became a powerful evangelist. Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands turned to the Lord. Within a century, over a quarter of a million Christians directly or indirectly owed their spiritual lives to Adoniram Judson. But that’s eternity’s view. Years after that key conversion, Adoniram’s life still seemed a waste. He was
thrown into a death prison and chained to a granite block. Every night guards, ex-criminals themselves, hoisted his ankle fetters high above his head so that only his head and shoulders touched the ground. As he lay in appalling filth, almost every thought produced a new reason for despair. There were then only eighteen converts. Surely most, perhaps all, would fall away or be killed under the new outbreak of
persecution. Years of struggle had produced a lone manuscript of a Burmese New Testament and his wife had smuggled it into prison. Any moment it could be discovered and destroyed. His relations with fellow missionaries had been marred by hurtful clashes. He had buried his only child. His own life hung by a thread. He feared for his darling, pregnant wife. ‘I came to bring life,’ he moaned, ‘and have brought nothing but death.’ After a year and a half of cruelty he was finally released. A brief reunion with his precious wife ended
with him having to wrench himself from her to assist in political negotiations. Weeks turned to months. Before he could return to his wife, she was dead. Months later, death tore from him his only remaining child, the baby he had battled so hard to save. After two more years of mental deterioration, still numb with guilt over being absent when his wife most needed him, he dug a grave and lingered by it for days
on end, his mind churning with morbid thoughts. ‘God is to me the Great Unknown,’ he concluded. ‘I believe in him, but I find him not.’ The mighty Lord hauled him up. He became one of the most admired missionaries of all time. Sadly, not everyone slogs through the tough ground-breaking years. David Flood’s solitary convert was just a child. When David’s wife died, discouragement won. Leaving his baby daughter, Aggie, with a missionary couple, young David left Africa – and the Lord. After the collapse of his second marriage he
took in a mistress. Alcohol, poverty, illness and degradation tightened their deadly strangle-hold. As his abandoned daughter grew, married and served the Lord, she often thought of the father she had
never known. He was 77 when Aggie finally stood at his grimy bedside, ignored the stench, and hugged him. Her love and Christ’s power brought David back to the One who had moved him to ‘waste’ his life in Africa. Aggie also brought startling news. That little convert he had left in Africa had built on the foundation David and his wife had laid and the entire tribe of 600 people had come to Christ. It’s not only missionaries who are allowed to have lean years. The shadow of his affliction fell across his life like a black and bottomless chasm. Reeling under hellish
torment, bereft of all his children, cruelly stripped of his reputation, all of his possessions gone, Job coveted death. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing ahead but pain, accusations and despair. Job had nothing to live for. (Job 3:1-26; 6:9, 11) Or so everyone thought. Before him lay joy and honour, a long and fruitful life, double his past prosperity and the fathering of a
superb new family. (Job 42:11-17; compare Job 1:2-3) Job had everything to live for. Like vine branches, we are not continually laden with fruit. That would be unnatural. (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
For a significant portion of its life, a grapevine is nothing but a dry, twisted stick; fruitless, useless for shade, worthless as timber; to all appearances fit only to be ripped from the ground and reduced to ashes. Yet those barren times are as vital in the life of the vine, as the seasons of fruit. If spring could tip-toe passed nature without stirring it from its winter slumber; if the sun could slip through the sky without dispelling the night; if rain could fall to the ground without bringing life to the desert – only then should you fear dry times, dark times, lean times. Though you feel as useless as a fur coat in a heat-wave, the time will come when your warmth is treasured. For everything there is a season. We could stock a library with stories of spectacularly unsuccessful men and women who eventually sparked massive moves of God. Many closed their eyes in death without seeing the fruit their labours finally produced. No matter what we think of his views, it is staggering to realise that Søren Kierkegaard’s writings slept for almost a century after his death until translated into English and suddenly stunning the world. And consider the Jim Elliots of this world whose apparently untimely deaths have inspired countless thousands
to take up the baton and run in their stead. Though they died seemingly at the very outset of their life’s work, the final result was beyond what a dozen lifetimes could achieve. Still more tantalising are heaven’s best-kept secrets – triumphs by people we have never heard of, or achievements our slow minds cannot adequately appreciate. Nonetheless, God established the pattern millenniums ago: Sarah knew nothing but barrenness for ninety distressing years, yet became the ancestress of multiplied millions. At this very moment, the Lord could be replaying in someone’s mind heaven’s recording of a conversation
you had with that person years ago. You’ve forgotten the incident, but God is still using it. What you thought were normal words were Spirit-powered. You don’t feel the warm glow that would be yours if you knew those words were still echoing through the chambers of someone’s mind, but face it: results mean more to you than elusive feelings. [Back]
The Shame Of It All When one’s own stupidity or inadequacy cuts like a knife When his wife was pregnant with their only child, John Wesley’s famous contemporary, George Whitefield, knew he had heard from God: it would be a boy and this son would become a great evangelist. Newspapers grabbed the story and mocked. Whitefield was unmoved. The whole world could laugh; time
would vindicate him. Finally the baby was born. A boy. It died. Tragedy Doug Hunt, chief pilot for Wycliffe Bible Translators – dead. Dr Darlene Bee, brilliant linguist and Bible
translator – dead. In all, seven mangled corpses lay strew amongst the aircraft wreckage. All because a missionary-mechanic neglected to tighten a nut. ‘The funeral was a ghastly ordeal,’ confessed the shattered mechanic. ‘The sight of those caskets lined
up ... hit me like a blow to the stomach. I wanted nothing but to get out of there .... How could I face my friends? How could I face myself?’ Anyone who can keep going after that is not a negligent mechanic. He’s a spiritual giant. ‘Except for God’s grace,’ he later wrote, ‘I’d be somewhere cowering in a corner in guilt-ridden despair – the eighth fatality of that Aztec crash.’ ‘It seems as though everything I do is wrong,’ cried the now world famous missionary of yesteryear, Gladys Aylward, in a letter from China. Great men and women of God often long to quit, but they wobble on. When they are hit, they bounce – like flat footballs usually, but enough to stay in the game. After a while they are pumped up again and their erratic zigzag course resumes that vaguely goalward trajectory
that sends angelic cheer-leaders wild. Cute? Christians squabble over whether miracles have ceased, but no one doubts that signs and blunders are
with us still. The centuries have made Christians no brighter, nor any less treasured by heaven. My favorite is Dwight Moody. He hated his first name, pronounced Jerusalem in two syllables, and wrote without a speck of punctuation. Can you guess the words he was attempting to spell in the following: sucksead, beleave, shure, clurks, bead, hav, don, bimb bi, peter? [Answers] ‘I am getting over the
difficulty,’ said middle-aged Moody about his spelling, ‘I am always sure of the first letter and the last ...’ Such shortcomings are endearing. To scorn them is to act like a thirteen year old despising childish behavior in his little sister – behavior that more mature people find adorable. Had we a massive intellect and love approaching that of our great King, we would not only discern the frailty of the even greatest
earthly minds, we would probably feel as warmly about their foibles as we do about those of the cutest child. Brilliant disaster My invitations to speak are as common as leap years. I even pounced on the chance to speak at my father’s funeral. I had on paper words with the power to comfort and challenge, and the Lord enabled me to deliver them
without embarrassment. God’s so gracious. From an eternal viewpoint, however, saving face was inconsequential. Ultimately, nothing mattered, as long as Spirit-charged words entered needy hearts. It could easily have happened this way: I arrive at the pulpit only to discover I have the wrong folder. In naked horror I bolt up the aisle to drive
home to my notes, then remember my keys. I sheepishly return, groping over stunned mourners in a blind hunt. Keys in hand, I storm out again and drive off with blunder and lightning, side-swiping the hearse on the way. Finally clutching my proper notes, I flee my mangled car and burst through the church, knocking a vase
of flowers. In cold obedience to Murphy’s Law, the vase nose-dives, drenching the coffin and drowning my trousers. I stagger to the pulpit, terrorized by mind-freezing humiliation. Convulsed by a giddy whirl of sobs and stutters, I crash over words, slipping and slurring through a minefield of bloopers, until I close; an hysterical disaster. Yet if those mashed, soggy words still fulfilled their intended mission, my blubbering disgrace would have been a howling success from eternity’s view. I could have wanted to slither under the nearest rock. Heaven could have wanted to give a standing
ovation. We have no right to imagine we have failed unless heaven expressly reveals it to us. [Back] Not to be sold. © Copyright, 1985-96, Grantley Morris. Not to be copied in whole or in part without citing this entire paragraph. Many more compassionate, inspiring, sometimes hilarious writings by Grantley
Morris available free at the following internet site http://net.simplenet.com/ Freely you have received, freely give. Scripture quotations are from the New International Version © Copyright, 1978 by New York International Bible Society | 
