So...I lied. I'm sorry. I had good intentions.

Aside from that, I don't have the time to type up my notes from a few word studies, so maybe once we get our "Summer of video-blogging going" then maybe I can share it. Why? Perhaps because I have mid-terms this week, and a regular test, and we are packing to excavate from the lovely abode that I now preside in!!!! (note that the last statement was made with the utmost of sarcasm and as much love as possible).

But I can share a few things from "If" by Amy Carmichael that have struck me:

"IF I refuse to be a corn of wheat that falls into the ground and dies ("is separated from all in which it lived before"), than I know nothing of Calvary love."

"IF I do not feel far more for the grieved Saviour than for my worried self when troublesome things occur, then I know nothing of Calvary love."






"The picture before us is as of a river. Stand on its banks and contemplate the flow of waters. A minute passes, and another. It is the same stream still" Yes. But is it the same water? No. The liquid mass that passed you a few seconds ago fills now another section of the channel; new water has displaced it, or if you please, replaced it; water instead of water. And so hour by hour, and year by year, and century by century, the process holds; one stream, other waters, living not stagnant, because always in the great identity there is perpetual exchange. Grace takes the place of grace, ( Love takes the place of love) ever new, ever old ever the same, ever fresh and young, for hour by hour, for year by year, through Christ.

...We have toiled for someone near to us, but never knew it toil. We have poured out stores of health never to be recovered, but did not know it nor would we have cared had we known it, so dearly did we love. And all our hope was that the one so cherished would become a minister to others. But it was not so.

And then unwillingly we become aware of unresponsiveness in the one for whom nothing had seemed too much to do, a coldness that chilled, a hardness that pushed away as with hard hands that pushed away as with hard hands the heart that had almost broken to save that life from destruction.

Then (but only those who have gone through such a bereft hour will understand) a fear worse than any pain has us in its grip: is the love of the years slipping from us? "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do": is that fading from our memory? Love never faileth: is love failing now? Shall we find ourselves meeting lovelessness with our lovelessness?

In such an hour, a saint now many years old felt a desperate prayer burned into words:

Deep unto deep, O Lord,
Crieth in me,
Gathering strength I come,
Lord unto Thee.
Jesus of Calvary,
Smitten for me,
Ask what thou wilt, but give
Love to me.

Yes, ask what Thou wilt, any hopes, any joys of human affection, any rewards of love, but let not love depart."


I know this last part is long, but it is the mirror of my heart these past few months, especially in the area of one particular relationship.