By Amy Carmichael
Excerpt from 'Candles in the darkness'.
How I rejoice. Yes, now your boat will go out to sea in a new way. We have not to make the Wind or to beseech it to blow. We have nothing to do with the wonder of it. Our one work is to set our sails to catch the least whisper of it. 'Blow, blow O Breath' really only means, 'O Breath, my sails are set; according to the promise of my Lord, fill them now.'
And what is it to Him if the boat be small or great? All the wind asks for is a sail set to catch that which is ready to fill the merest nothing of us all. The one condition for receiving is obedience; and the one condition for going on is the same. Yield to the impulse to pray, to sing, to speak, to be silent - to be or to do anything. Never stifle the Spirit. Never grieve Him by arguing or disregarding. Quench not the Spirit, vex not the Spirit. All the verbs are gentle. It is as if our God would have us understand that the blessed filling of the Blessed Spirit is a very tender thing, that He is very tender. A very slight dimness on the glass obscures the image. A very little rust on the blade mars its perfection. So with all sensitive things. So with Him and His power to effect through us what He will. If we disregard some quiet inward admonition, then suddenly or gradually (but surely) our sail starts flapping against the mast. We make no headway, and we seek for Him, but there is a sense of absence. And that is pain to the loving heart.
But if ever this should be, go back to where you were when you first set your sail. 'To them that obey Him.' Then, oh so quickly, so gladly, the Wind will blow again. He never keeps us waiting, unless indeed we have kept Him long waiting, and then sometimes, as in the Song of Songs (chapter 5, the third wandering), there is a pause between missing Him and welcoming Him again. But may such an experence never be yours. It need never, never be.