Reading a book usually isn’t a huge accomplishment to me. I read a lot. There are books I have read which I am a little bit proud to say I have read should someone ask me, but people don’t usually ask me what I have read. Last weekend, though, I finished a book I am happy to say I have finally read.
The book set on my shelf for twelve years, unread and mostly ignored. Not because it wasn’t a good book. It’s probably one of the best I have in my library. Not even because it didn’t much interest me, although I far prefer reading about Founding Fathers or leaders during the Civil War. I didn’t read it because I was afraid of it.
I have known many young women in my life who adore Amy Carmichael. They have read all her books, own a great sum of them, talk about her, write about her, and take her for their heroine. There is nothing wrong with that, for Amy Carmichael was an amazing woman. God did many great things through her, saved the lives of children, and enabled her pen to write beautiful truths. She is well-worth admiring. Would that we could all be Amy Carmichaels.
But, in all honesty, the woman scares me. Which is why I have only just read a biography on her after it sat on my shelf for twelve years. I think she scares me because I can’t be her. I could never write like her. Words don’t come to me in poetry. I have never, ever been one of those people who organizes Bible studies or talks to people on their front porches. I have enough trouble making eye contact with the person walking down the grocery aisle! Seeing places like India, Japan, or China doesn’t interest me. There are so many places I haven’t seen in my own country yet! And I never want to be the head of a ministry. Sit me in a little office with a computer to plug away at tedium, and I’m happy. At the most, give me a class of children to love and teach.
I know, I know. Those things are just my comfort zone. God calls His children to much more. That is true, and I have done things in my life that are not Amy-Carmichaelish, but they were huge steps for me. The Lord also tells us not to compare ourselves with one another – a terrible habit we all do without a second thought – so I would do well to be content with the gifts God has given me and not try to be Amy Carmichael. (For sometimes I do want to do something great.)
I hope all of you who adore Amy Carmichael and read this will forgive me, but as much I enjoyed the biography and was greatly encouraged and challenged by the life of Amy Carmichael, she is not my heroine. There are so many other women I would rather be. Women who don’t have biographies written about them and never will. But women who were faithful in what the Lord gave them to do, where He gave them to do it. The silent Amy Carmichaels. The ones she could not have been successful without. Those forgotten names are my heroes.