Friday, July 3, 2015

Oh, there was never a blossom that bloomed so blithe as she (Amy Carmichael): a poem specially dedicated to Sister Sanae in Japan


              I dedicate the below poem to my sister Sanae

As you all might know, sister Sanae is a full-time headcovering sister in Japan. She has walked closely with the Lord for nearly 20 years and she has been my constant help and companion.

Japan is said to be a "graveyard" for missionaries. Regardless of advanced modern technology and high moral standard, Japan is one of the most "backward" nations in terms of the spread of the Gospel. It is true that there are no physical persecutions, nonetheless, there exists unknown pressure or spiritual opposition in that society, which many Japanese Christians feel almost every day.

So you can imagine Sanae's situations and how she has walked her spiritual journey in that dry land.

One of her distinct virtues is her faithfulness. Dear headcovering sisters, Sanae knows many of you already and she has been praying for you quietly in her closet. She is not like a colorful red-rose in the show room; rather she is like a wild lily in the spring valley, hidden from crowds and noises.

When you feel everybody seems to forget you or discard you, remember that there is sister Sanae, quietly and faithfully interceding for you.

When I read the following poem, I thought of her, thinking that a "blossom" in this poem beautifully reflects her and her life. May His light in her shines brightly in this dark world. Amen.
Oh, there was never a blossom
That bloomed so blithe as she,
On the bitter land, by the salt-wet sand,
On the margin of the sea,
Where never a flower but the gorse can blow,
And the dry sea-pink that the mermen sow,
There grows she.
Oh, there was never a blossom
That bloomed so brave as she,
On the narrow ledge of the mountain's edge
Where the wild fowl hardly be,
And over her head the Four Seasons go
With a rush of wings when the Storm Kings blow--
There grows she.
Oh, there was never a blossom
That bloomed content as she,
In the heart that burned, and loved and learned
of the Man of Galilee,
And plant her high, or plant her low,
In a bed of fire, or a field of snow,
There grows she.
Amy Carmichael,
from Toward Jerusalem