Meeting My Hero: Elisabeth Elliot

After my freshman year in college, I went to England for seven weeks through a study abroad program. Our first week during the trip was spent in London, and on Sunday most of us went to a small church that one of our professors recommended. It was a church built out of grey stone, cool on the inside and airy.

Meeting Elisabeth Elliot-Grace Unfolded

During the service, the pastor announced that they had a guest speaker present, an American woman who would be sharing her testimony with the congregation. She had been a missionary for many years, he noted, and she had lost her first husband as a result of such missionary work. The woman he was introducing was Elisabeth Elliot.

I nearly fell out of the pew. During my first year in college, Elisabeth Elliot had become a literary mentor to me through her book Passion and Purity. I read about her life with fascination and awe, as well as with a sense of closeness—years before, she had been a student at the college I was attending, and while I read the book I sat in some of of the same places she described within her pages.

This book challenged and touched me for many reasons, one of which was that it is a book about Elisabeth’s love story with Jim Elliot, how the two fell in love and then surrendered this love to the Lord for five years until they were married. There were months when the two could not communicate, years when they only saw one another for a few days at a time. Their story of God’s provision and their commitment to purity is truly incredible; their love is the stuff of fairy tales.

Elisabeth’s life, however, has not been a fairy tale. Less that two and a half years after their marriage in 1953, Jim and four other men went to share the Gospel with the Auca people, a native tribe in Ecuador. All five men were speared to death, and Elisabeth was left as a single mother. Instead of folding into herself, however, Elisabeth soon took her young daughter and went back to the jungle, back to the same Auca tribe that had killed her husband. She went to share the Gospel with them, and through her strength, courage and faithfulness to the vision she believed God had given to her a Jim, many in the tribe of self-proclaimed killers came to faith in Christ and gave up their murderous ways.

Sitting in that church in England, I was overwhelmed with emotion as I heard her speak about her life and faith in Christ. I could not believe that it was actually Elisabeth Elliot standing 15 feet in front of me—this woman whose words has shaped me so deeply was in the same room! Later, I asked for her signature in one of her books and smiled at this living hero across from me. I still don’t know why she was at that small church in England on the one particular Sunday when I happened to be across the world in the same church. Whatever the reason, I know that morning was a gift.

Elisabeth has entered into glory, now. She is with Jesus, her greatest prize.

Although she wrote many books and spoke across the world, Elisabeth Elliot was not flashy, was not self-focused and she did not even have an “issue” that she campaigned for—hers was a message of a God who is faithful, regardless of the circumstances. In her own circumstances of losing Jim to Auca spears and her second husband to cancer, she stayed the course and lived as a testimony of Christ’s sufficiency in a world that increasingly tells us otherwise. In Passion and Purity, she asks herself:

“…The question to precede all others, which finally determines the course of our lives is, What do I really want? Was it to love what God commands…and to desire what He promises? Did I want what I wanted, or did I want what He wanted, no matter what it might cost?” (Passion and Purity, 41)

Elisabeth Elliot decided, again and again, that she wanted what God wanted, no matter what the cost. Her life is a deep witness to God’s ability to work in a woman completely surrendered to Him.

I am so thankful for her life, and for that brief moment in England when I heard her voice with my own ears. I look forward to seeing her again.

Pack and Pray: An Anti-Trafficking Event

Later this month, our church is coming together to help support women who are currently trapped in trafficked situations, practically and prayerfully. There are over 27 million slaves around the world, and multitudes of the women who are trafficked are coerced, tricked, and forced into sex slavery against their own will. These women, made in the image of God,  are violated in every way imaginable–physical, spiritual, emotional, mental.

We can help.

There is hope.

In Christ, there is always hope.

On March 21st, from 7-9 pm at my house, women will come together to pray for those across the world–men, women, and children–who are trafficked. We will be calling out to God on their behalf for freedom, redemption, justice, salvation, and hope. We will be asking God to dismantle the gangs who perpetuate trafficking. We will pray that he will straighten the crookedness in governmental officials who look away when they know slavery is taking place. God hears. He is already bringing freedom and hope in pockets around the world. Just today, The A21 Campaign, one of my favorite organizations, mentioned that four more women were brought to one of their safe houses this week. Four more lives saved out of sex slavery. Four precious women who God dearly loves.

There is hope.

And we can help.

On the same night, we will also be packing up items to help launch a new safe house for trafficked victims that is starting on the West Coast of the U.S. (through our church organization).

If you would like to donate some items and bring them to pack that night, here are the needs:

-Neutral-colored towel sets
-Neutral-colored twin sheet sets
-Toiletries, including shampoo, conditioner, soap, makeup, and skin care items.
-Gift cards to Target

If you do want to donate something, here are some practicals:
-Please bring $3-5 extra dollars in order to help cover shipping costs if you are bringing a tangible item.
-Gift cards will travel better (and more cheaply) than liquids. Although it may seem impersonal, a gift card can go a long way for the safe house right now.

I am thrilled that we have the chance to practically and prayerfully parter with God’s work in the world! Please email me if you have any questions, need directions to my house, or want to drop something off earlier: ann.swindell@gmail.com

Hope to see you there!

Talking with Strangers

It’s been a long while since I went out intentionally to talk with people about Jesus. Too long. Setting time aside to share about the love of Jesus with others is important but difficult, and easy for me to blow off. But the Holy Spirit has been drawing my heart again to the desire to share this Good News that lives within me like a flame. Fire can only stay pent up so long before it either breaks out or dies. And I don’t want to smolder out slowly. So, yesterday afternoon, I met up with some friends from church and we went to a local college campus to walk around, talk with people, and offer to pray with them.

I have to say, it can be almost physically awkward to walk up to someone and start talking about God. We don’t have any sort of cultural norm for it—walking up to a stranger is odd enough in our culture, let alone trying to strike up a conversation about spirituality and G-O-D. People look at you like you’re crazy, or like you forgot to put pants on. I was joking with one of my friends as we were walking around campus yesterday, saying how nice it would be if we had some sort of cultural hand symbol that signified “Hi, I don’t know you, but I’d like to talk to you about something really important. Is that ok?” Then we could just throw the hand symbol at people and see who responded. Ha.

But that is not how American culture works. To talk with someone requires actually talking with them, breaking that impenetrable silence that resides between strangers. Now, if I was asking for directions, or commenting on the weather, or telling another woman that I like her outfit, the broken silence would be acceptable. Yet when I actually try to start a conversation—an actual, meaningful conversation—it is seen as strange.

I try anyway. It is worth it. The moments when there is a crevice in the wall of silence between me and another person, the moments when I get to talk about God’s love and what he did by dying on the cross and rising again, the moments when I see a flicker of longing on that stranger’s face—it is worth it. It is only worth it because Jesus is worth it, and because the awkward moments carry the weight of dust in comparison to the love of God. I am learning, still, that my own comfort within the cultural norms of our society is a small cost in comparison with the opportunity to tell someone that the God of the universe loves her and is waiting for her with open arms.

The Forfeited Life: Turning Around

Last week, I was driving down one of the main roads in our city; I was on my way to a meeting and was already perilously close to being late. It was one of the days recently when the weather was in the 0-10 range, with a wind chill below zero. I was bundled up from toes to neck in my car and was still freezing, even with the heat in the car on at full blast. I could see my breath come out in in foggy swirls inside the car.

As I drove down the long stretch of road ahead of me, I came up on a young woman who was walking on the sidewalk. She had no gloves on, and no hat.  I felt God nudging me to stop for her, that quiet voice of the Holy Spirit asking me to obey.

At the next light, I took a left, turned into a parking lot, and doubled back. At the awkward moment of pulling up alongside of her, I  smiled as warmly as I could, pushed the passenger window down, and asked if she needed a ride somewhere. She nodded and hopped in the car as quickly as she could open the door. It was unbearably cold.

This woman was friendly and young; I introduced myself and asked where she needed to go. Her car, she said, had run out of gas and was stalled on the road a ways back. She was walking to the nearest gas station, which was still another half mile ahead.

“I’m so sorry that it’s so cold out there,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s really cold. My two-year old is in the car waiting for me with our friend.”

We chatted about little bits of nothing until we made it to the gas station.

If she had continued walking to the gas station and then back to her car, it would have taken her another 45 minutes–at least–to get back to her car with gas and turn the heat on for her son. The whole process of me picking her up, driving her to the gas station, picking up a gallon of gas, and driving back to her car probably took seven minutes. Thank you, God, for giving me your eyes to see her. This was his care for her, I knew. It wasn’t about me at all. I was just offering a car, a quicker way out of a situation that any one of us could find ourselves in on a cold day–stuck in a dead car that’s out of gas, without alternative options.

After she added a gallon of gas to the red portable container the attendant gave to her, we chatted on the way back to her car. I told her I was pregnant with my first child; she said the twos were terrible. We laughed. I invited her to church and, at a stop light, scribbled my name and phone number on a piece of paper. She smiled, thanked me, and got out of the car. I could see the profile of her son in the backseat.

I made it to my meeting. I was late. It didn’t matter at all.

 

The Forfeited Life: Stepping Up

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, 
to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.
–Jesus

 

For well over a year, now, God has been stirring a desire in my heart to somehow, some way, get involved as an advocate for trafficked women. This week, I am taking practical steps toward that calling by starting to plan an event to directly benefit these women and by taking time to pray for what needs to change for these women to be freed, both physically and spiritually.

I’m also toying with the idea of opening my Etsy store back up, with the sole vision of turning any and all profits toward stopping the slave trade. I don’t work for any government agency, I don’t create policy, and I don’t have the freedom in my schedule to take six months off to go intern at a rehabilitation house for trafficked women across the globe (although I wish I did…maybe some day…). What I do have to give is my time, my prayers, my energy, and my money. I have so much, so incredibly much. Really, any of us who live without the constant reality of being violated physically and emotionally have immensely more than we can fathom in comparison to the women, children, and men sold into slavery approximately every 30 seconds. It is my time to step up, my time to be a voice for those whose voices have been robbed from them. I may not have worldly power, or fame, or prestige to move mountains on behalf of these people, but I have a Father in heaven who does. He is the mover of mountains, the healer of every heart. He has come to set the captives free—and I want to partner with him.

The Forfeited Life: Interruptions

One of the values of our church is discipleship. In the scriptures, we see that Jesus was intentional about his relationships with the twelve, and as he was leaving earth, his command to his followers is that “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:18-20). It was important to Jesus that his church continue to make disciples—followers who reproduce the life of Jesus in themselves and help others do the same. This is how the church continues multiplying and growing across the earth—not primarily through programs or even Sunday services, but through life-on-life relationship that draws us closer to Christ and one another.

Ocean view

It doesn’t always feel like a great cost to me, personally, to disciple other women—one of my strengths on the Strengthsfinder test (which I recommend!) is “Developer.” I enjoy helping others develop, grow, and live out of a place of vibrancy and health in their relationship with God. Meeting with women on a regular basis, asking them questions, challenging them, encouraging them in their walk with God—these are things I love. So it does not feel like a “forfeit” as much as other things in my relationship with God. But it is a cost. People are messy. I’m messy. Very messy. Bring two messy lives together regularly and there will be more to work through, more to grow in. This is where the cost comes in. Women need to talk when I don’t think I have the time to talk. Women want to get together when I don’t feel like having my schedule interrupted. Women need help with things that I’m not good at, things that take time and energy from me. These women—women I love and care about—they don’t live on my schedule. They have different relational needs than I do. They require sacrifice.

I’m nearly six months pregnant with our first child—a little girl who is coming in May. We couldn’t be more excited and, to be honest, I already feel a little mystified about how parenting will work. I have seen the transition in the lives of some of my best friends—I know that my life will change, drastically and dramatically, forever. Children are the most intimate disciples any person can have. They live with you day in and day out, they see you at your worst and best. They know how you really live.

I think about my daughter, about who she will be and how she will respond to God—and my heart is to be a mother who disciples her well. I want to be a mother who understands the messiness that she and I both bring to the table. I want to respond to her need for time and conversation and help when she interrupts my life—which she will do, beautifully, starting in May and then every day afterwards. Her life will be one giant interruption into my own. But if I will respond like Jesus, I think I will experience that interruption is an opportunity for life, true life. Because all life requires sacrifice. I see this with the women I disciple—if I allow my life to be interrupted by theirs, we both grow in our love for God and one another. The cost is followed by unexpected reward.

Life requires sacrifice—Jesus knew this best of all. If I am to follow him, to let my life be forfeited for His, to let my life be swallowed up by Life, this is one of the many lessons. The interruptions of discipleship, of parenting, of living, are some of the pathways to this fuller life—a life lived not for myself, but for the One who is Life itself.