This was posted on the Gospel Coalition's site, an excerpt from an article by Elisabeth Elliot. She wrote on how she dealt with suffering, sorrow, and loss:
“First, I try to be still and know that He is God. . . . Stillness is something the bereaved may feel they have entirely too much of. But if they will use
that stillness to take a long look at Christ, to listen attentively to his voice,
they will get their bearings. . . .
The second thing I try to do is to give thanks. I cannot thank God for the murder of one [husband] or the excruciating disintegration of another, but I can thank God for the promise of his presence. . . .
Then I try to refuse self-pity. . . . Amy Carmichael, in her sword-thrust of a book If, wrote, ‘If I make much of anything appointed, magnify it secretly to myself or insidiously to others, then I know nothing of Calvary love.’. . .
The next thing to do is to accept my loneliness. When God takes
a loved person from my life, it is in order to call me, in a new way,
to himself. It is therefore a vocation. . . .
The acceptance of loneliness can be followed immediately by the offering
of it up to God. Something mysterious and miraculous transpires as soon as something is held up in our hands as a gift. He takes it from us, as Jesus took
the little lunch when five thousand people were hungry. He gives thanks
for it and then, breaking it, transforms it for the good of others. Loneliness looks pretty paltry as a gift to offer to God – but then when you come to think of it so does anything else we might offer. . . .
The last of the helps I have found is to do something for somebody else. There is nothing like definite, overt action to overcome the inertia of grief. . . .”
that stillness to take a long look at Christ, to listen attentively to his voice,
they will get their bearings. . . .
The second thing I try to do is to give thanks. I cannot thank God for the murder of one [husband] or the excruciating disintegration of another, but I can thank God for the promise of his presence. . . .
Then I try to refuse self-pity. . . . Amy Carmichael, in her sword-thrust of a book If, wrote, ‘If I make much of anything appointed, magnify it secretly to myself or insidiously to others, then I know nothing of Calvary love.’. . .
The next thing to do is to accept my loneliness. When God takes
a loved person from my life, it is in order to call me, in a new way,
to himself. It is therefore a vocation. . . .
The acceptance of loneliness can be followed immediately by the offering
of it up to God. Something mysterious and miraculous transpires as soon as something is held up in our hands as a gift. He takes it from us, as Jesus took
the little lunch when five thousand people were hungry. He gives thanks
for it and then, breaking it, transforms it for the good of others. Loneliness looks pretty paltry as a gift to offer to God – but then when you come to think of it so does anything else we might offer. . . .
The last of the helps I have found is to do something for somebody else. There is nothing like definite, overt action to overcome the inertia of grief. . . .”
Elisabeth Elliot, “The Ones Who Are Left,” Christianity Today, 27 February 1976, pages 7-9.
Here's the link to the Coalition's site.
Here's the link to the Coalition's site.
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