Biddy Chambers lived a “ministry of interruption.”
We watched a video once of Kathleen Chambers, only daughter of Oswald Chambers and his wife.
Kathleen was four when her famous father died and most of her stories about him came from others’ memories.
But about Biddy, Kathleen knew much.
The American interviewer asked about Biddy’s daily work while she compiled My Utmost for His Highest.
(Biddy took down all of Oswald’s talks in shorthand and spent the thirty years after his death transcribing them into books. All the books by Oswald Chambers are because of Biddy).
Kathleen didn’t remember much because Biddy didn’t spend a lot of time working when her daughter was around.
“You mean she didn’t sit down every afternoon for hours and type?”
Kathleen laughed. “Oh, no. She was always stopping to talk with the people who came looking for her.”
My husband shook his head at Kathleen’s remarks.
I started to cry.
My reaction to interruption.
I saw, suddenly, that Biddy Chambers, like another one of my “mentors” Edith Schaeffer, delighted and thrived in what I call “the ministry of interruption.”
Being interrupted was their work for the Kingdom of God. Click to Tweet
I dwell there, too.
I just haven’t always appreciated it.
Traditionally, I take the summer off from my job to write.
Several years ago, I spent that summer on a novel, as yet unpublished, called Waking Dreams of Hope. It’s the story of a brilliant young woman trapped by a pregnancy into a life she doesn’t want.
Even though she knows she should appreciate it and recognizes God gave her the desire of her heart in another area– it just took a surprise pregnancy–she’s a wreck. Her plans got interrupted.
Her frustration reflects years of my life (though not the pregnancy part).
I wrote that book sitting at this desk in our family room while life took place round about me.
Several teenagers were home, young women lived with us, friends dropped by, the phone rang– it was seldom quiet and serene, though rich and full of life.
Every day I tapped away, crafting my story.
Volunteering for interruption
But because I was home, I also increased my volunteering on a local crisis pregnancy center hotline. Whenever I had no plans to leave the house–“just write”–I often took an extra shift on the hotline.
I talked to a lot of people that summer, in my house, on the phone, and even through IM-ing. Because I was there, I could listen and solve problems, make suggestions, oversee household projects and write my book.
Some days it was lovely.
Other days anguished frustration built up–I just wanted to write my book! Some of the book’s scenes left me weeping as I poured out the jumbled feelings of my heroine.
But then someone would ask, “are we really out of peanut butter?”
Invisible steam erupted from my ears, but I reminded myself, “they’ll be gone in a couple of years. This is now. Take the time.”
I was better at it some days than others.
“Look downstairs. I’m sure I bought more jars.”
Was I just a foot servant in the ministry of interruption? Click to Tweet.
A phone call and a woman in crisis. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? Who would help her?
I listened. I made suggestions. Sometimes I cried with her.
And then I went back to the novel.
I got to the penultimate chapter by the end of the summer, 85,000 words in, and realized I didn’t like it.
“So what’s the deal here, Lord?” I whined. “What was this summer all about? Typing practice for me? I already type 120 words of a minute, how much more speed do I need?”
God didn’t say anything.
I like to look at situations from a slightly different angle when I’m thwarted. I call it “turning the prism.” Was it possible God was doing something else that summer?
What if the Lord had engineered my life contrary to my expectations?
Was my real purpose to minister and God used the “excuse” of me writing a book so I could be available to others?
What if the point of our lives, really, is a ministry of interruptions? Click to Tweet
The novel languishes in cyber-space. I reread it recently and it’s actually pretty good, full of wisdom and truth. Maybe someday that woman’s awakened dreams of hope will bless readers
But the relationships, the babies born, the children fed, the grace bestowed that summer–that’s work that will last for eternity.
Just like Biddy’s and Edith’s.
“Are you crying?” my husband asked on Saturday.
I nodded. “For joy. God is doing something in my heart.”
Thanks be to God–and to his servants for their example throughout the ages.
How about you? How do you react to interruptions?
Andrew Budek-Schmeisser says
I guess I can relate. A couple of years ago I had a promising career as an academic, and was in a decently long remission from a serious illness.
Now – the career’s over, not of my choosing, and the doctors are merely trying to control seemingly unstoppable pain.
Guess God wanted me to write, and to try to tell people that live goes on, and has joy, even when it has the outward appearance of a waking nightmare.
michelle says
Wow, Andrew, very sorry to hear this. Not much I can say beyond try to see your situation from a different perspective and perhaps, then, you’ll see beyond your loss. I’ve been reading Oswald Chambers lately and he said this (and Biddy wrote it down) from a lecture he gave at the YMCA hut in Egypt on October 22, 1916:
“The basis of human life is tragedy. It is difficult to realize this until one gets through the experiences that are on the surface of life, and we discover we are built with a bigger capacity for pain than for joy, that the undertone of all our life is sorrow, and the great expression and revelation of God in the world is the revelation of the Cross, not of joy . . .
***
“No human being can stand these shocks and not be discouraged unless he is upheld by the supernatural grace of God. . . When one has been bereaved the most trying person is the one with a creed who can come with didactic counsel with regard to suffering; but turn to a book like the Book of Job where nothing is taught at all, but wonderful expression is given to the real suffering of life, and the mere reading of it brings consolation to a breaking heart. The standards of personal relationship to Jesus Christ leave a man undiscouraged by decay. The book and the men who help us most are not those who teach us, but those who can express for us what we feel inarticulate about.”
Blessings to you.
Andrew Budek-Schmeisser says
Thanks, Michelle – that’;s a powerful couple of paragraphs, and I smiled as I related to the lines about those who come with didactic counsel!
The ultimate truth is that God disposes, and we are not to know his dispositions. That they are for our good, we can take as a given; but as a child who fights mightily against the dental appointment or bath, we may not know what that ultimate good might be.
I came into this part of life with pride; I shall come out with faith. That’s more than an even trade.
Rachel Schmoyer says
I love this! This is exactly what I was convicted about when I read Mrs. Oswald Chambers. Thank you for this. And yes! You are right; Edith Schaeffer did it well, too.