Of Fuel and Fire

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.

(Amy Carmichael, 'Flame of God')

- - -

My dad bought me a book a couple week ago, called "They Found The Secret: Twenty Lives That Reveal a Touch of Eternity". It's a small collection of life stories that testify to that moment when the Holy Spirit came in power and changed each individual. The poem above is taken from a page within that book. It claimed me when I read it for the first time a few weeks ago, and has been re-visited many times since.

It captured what my heart has been trying to mumble, in between the stuttering and stammering of these emotionally-charged days. It puts word to the steadiness I feel, and also the quivering. The calmness of a full heart, but also the tremble of a driven one.

In the midst of baby showers and happy, last-minute preparations, there's lately been a current of prayer pulling the depths. This awareness that comes every few minutes... that life is about to completely change, and there is no way to ready myself for it. The fierceness of this love for this daughter I will raise, whose name and life I clumsily hold out to God in offering before I've even seen her face.

Like Hannah, I empty my hands... for they are not strong enough to hold onto this. The collection of those many things I'll do right, and the many others I'll do wrong... all of them that she will see and know. There will be no way to hide from her inquiring eyes. How does a mother prepare for this? The reality that I will be unable - am incapable - of meeting all her needs.

But then, that steeling strength when I remember... it's not my job to meet all her needs. It's my job to teach her to speak the name of the One who can, and will. To show her how to sing His name, even when she's angry. To cry it out, even when she's happy and all is well. To whisper it, pray it, and proclaim it like an anthem... until it's as foundational to the home she will live in, as is the brick and mortar.

These are the prayers.

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...

That I might be made to look more, be more, act more, speak more like Jesus. That even in these new waters of motherhood, when all other definitions and scales of measurement seem to be changing around me, the definition of a faith-filled life would not change. That all the love I could try to offer her, would come from the well of time spent with Christ. That the conversations her dad and I have with her will be guided by the lamp of the Word.

That although our definition of "productivity" or "good sleep" may change, our definition of fuel and fire will not. For - it is true - I am not strong enough to hold onto all of this.

But in my weakness, He is strong.

Flame of God... light me up, that she might see.