Witnesses to Hope

You know, most of the time–as I freely admit in the sidebar–I am writing these posts mainly for myself.  This is a post I actually wrote quite awhile ago, but somehow never posted.  Again, we hear from Amy Carmichael.  This seems to be taken from a letter she wrote in response to someone else’s, someone who was experiencing dryness in prayer, and someone who had sent her some dried myrtle.

You are sitting on the well-side with your Lord who once was weary and sat thus on the well.  You don’t see Him, but He is there.  You are His honoured one: “Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed.”

The bog myrtle you gave me is in my Daily Light, and every day its sweetness is a special little joy to me.  It knows nothing of that.  It only knows it is dried up, a…

I heard an old man speak once, someone who had been sober for fifty years, a very prominent doctor.
He said that he’d finally figured out a few years ago that his profound sense of control,
in the world and over his life,
is another addiction and a total illusion.
He said that when he sees little kids sitting in the back seat of cars,
in those car seats that have steering wheels,
with grim expressions of concentration on their faces,
clearly convinced that their efforts are causing the car to do whatever it is doing,
he thinks of himself and his relationship with God:
God who drives along silently, gently amused, in the real driver’s seat.
~Anne Lamott from Operating Instructions