What do you do when life slings sudden, raw suffering into your lap? Elizabeth Elliot was a 20-something, slightly-over-two-years married woman living in a tropical jungle with her husband and four other missionary couples when she learned that her husband and the other men had just been speared to death on the banks of the Curaray River in eastern Ecuador.
Do you scream or weep inconsolably? Slip into numbing shock? Dissolve in hopeless despair? I’m sure some of all that happened, especially in the initial stages of her grief. Moreover, she lived in a hut in the middle of a rainforest, surrounded by her husband’s killers, probably with no immediate route of escape and limited means of communication with the outside world. It was 1956, and she had a 10-month-old infant daughter, Valerie, to raise — alone.
She decided to stay right where she was for the next few years and work at learning the language of her “enemies.” She also labored at heart work — to forgive them. She engaged with two Huaorani women who taught her the Huao language. During this time, Elizabeth developed a writing system for the Huaorani language, which paved the way for a translation of the New Testament by other linguists years later.
One of the two women who helped her learn the language became a Christ follower and, returning to her village, opened the way for Elizabeth and her daughter to live among this primitive tribe, some of whose members were the very murderers of her husband.
Eventually, she and Valerie returned to the United States and Elizabeth began a writing career, as she had already gained notable success with her first book, “Through Gates of Splendor,” the story of the establishment of the mission outpost and the violent deaths of the five missionary men. She went on to host a daily radio program, became a sought-after speaker in global venues, was invited to be one of the consultants for the NIV (New International Version) translation of the Bible (her university degree was in ancient languages) and ended up writing more than 20 books.
Some years after her return to the U.S., she married a professor at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, where she later also taught. However, she was shortly again bereaved as this husband died about four years later. At the age of 51, she again married, this time a hospital chaplain, and they traveled and ministered together until her death in June of 2015. Beyond her writings, her legacy also includes her daughter and son-in-law, and eight grandchildren.
Throughout all the ups and downs of her life, and the subsequent anguish and uncertainty, Elizabeth coined the phrase, “Do the next thing,” as a way to find anchor in the midst of present, blinding pain and also hope that her life held purpose for tomorrow. But this was possible because she trusted a loving God, in spite of all circumstances, who was guiding, undergirding, reshaping and opening the way for her future.
She died of complications from dementia that she consciously knew was incrementally robbing her of her mind, yet she made the daily choice for a decade to “do the next thing” as she leaned into the heart of God.
This column may include both fiction and nonfiction, and views expressed do not necessarily represent those of The SUN. Submissions can be sent to editor@pagosasun.com.
>