Make Me Thy Fuel

In a country church down a gravel road off Highway 75, it was time for a music special. I didn’t have a song; I had a poem. I stood at the front and recited “Flame of God” by Amy Carmichael of Dohnavur Fellowship.

From prayer that asks that I may be

Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee,

From fearing when I should aspire,

From faltering when I should climb higher

From silken self, O Captain, free

Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

From subtle love of softening things,

From easy choices, weakenings,

(Not thus are spirits fortified,

Not this way went the Crucified)

From all that dims Thy Calvary

O Lamb of God, deliver me.

Give me the love that leads the way,

The faith that nothing can dismay

The hope no disappointments tire,

The passion that will burn like fire;

Let me not sink to be a clod;

Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.

A couple of decades and a few thousand miles away, I am carried back to that time and those influences upon me. On Monday, I arrived for work only to learn that old-timer, John Munday, had died. Soon I had in my hands, Kay Landers’ biography of John, God’s Fuel.

The obituary written, the final story told. John’s threescore plus 10 (in this case plus 20) are gone. Who could ever count his legacy among orphans for whom he became a surrogate dad?

John’s death. A second event this month that helped me recall mission nudgings from my younger years.

You don’t need to do much to leave a legacy.

Just die.

Every day.

Just be God’s fuel.