Elisabeth Elliot

Where can you turn when you long for a quiet refuge when life gets too busy, too impersonal, or too much to handle? To the comforting arms of our omnipotent and infinitely loving heavenly Father. In Keep a Quiet Heart, beloved author Elisabeth Elliot shares more than 100 short passages that help you learn to know, trust, and walk with God in a world that does everything in its power to distract us. If you long for a bit of relief and rest, let Elisabeth Elliot be your compassionate guide.

Life offers us a series of trials and hardships--from the trivial to the tragic. How we react to these tribulations depends greatly on what we take into them. When we face trials with anxiety, fear, or bitterness, we will find that they only change us for the worse. But when we carry along God's promises of provision, protection, and peace, our life's trials can change us for the better. In Guided by God's Promises, beloved writer Elisabeth Elliot shows you how to prepare yourself for the hard times by clinging to the comfort and assurance of God's provision and love.

Elisabeth Elliot had an early acquaintance with the Bible. Before she could read or write, God's holy words were read aloud to her twice a day. In her life, this gift of a deep and personal association with Scripture was priceless: a drink in times of thirst, an inspiration in times of fear, and a light in times of darkness. Join Elisabeth Elliot for six months of daily meditations, each holding the power to bring you deeper into God's abiding love.

Elisabeth Elliot plots the treacherous passage through pain, grief, and loss, a journey most of us will make many times in our life. Through it all, she says, there is only one reliable path, and if you walk it, you will see the transformation of all your losses, heartbreaks, and tragedies into something strong and purposeful. In this powerful book, Elisabeth Elliot does not hesitate to ask hard questions, to examine tenderly the hurts we suffer, and to explore boldly the nature of God whose sovereign care for us is so intimate and perfect that he confounds our finite understanding. A Path through Suffering is a book for anyone searching for faith, comfort, and assurance. Includes a new foreword by Joni Eareckson Tada.

In a life filled with uncertainty, former missionary Elisabeth Elliot clung to the God who never left her side. Through the deaths of two husbands, a life of travel and danger, and raising her daughter as a single parent, God provided Elliot with a security that could not have come from relying on the world. In this handsomely repackaged edition of Secure in the Everlasting Arms, you are invited to join her as she recounts how she relied on God during some of the most amazing and difficult events of her life.

En la vida los tiempos difíciles nos llegan a todos, sin ninguna explicación real. Pasar por el sufrimiento tiene el potencial de devastarnos y destruirnos, o de ser una puerta de entrada a la gratitud y la alegría. Elisabeth Elliot no era ajena al sufrimiento. Su primer marido, Jim, fue asesinado por la gente Waoroni en Ecuador, momentos después de que él llegara con la esperanza de compartir el evangelio. A su segundo marido lo perdió por el cáncer. Sin embargo, fue en su sufrimiento más profundo que aprendió las lecciones más profundas acerca de Dios. ¿Por qué no hace Dios algo con el sufrimiento? él hace, él hizo, él es, y él lo hará. El sufrimiento y el amor están inexplicablemente vinculados, como lo demuestra el amor de Dios por su pueblo en el hecho de que envió a Jesús a cargar nuestros pecados, aflicciones y sufrimientos en la cruz, y llevó lo que no era suyo para que no tuviéramos que llevarlo nosotros. él ha recorrido el último camino del sufrimiento, y ha ganado la victoria en nuestro nombre. Esta verdad llevó a Elisabeth a decir: "Lo que sea que esté en la copa que Dios me está ofreciendo, ya sea dolor, pena y sufrimiento, y pena junto con muchas más alegrías, estoy dispuesta a aceptarlo porque confío en él". In life hard times come to all, without any real explanation. Going through suffering has the potential to devastate and destroy us, or to be a gateway to gratitude and joy. Elisabeth Elliot was no stranger to suffering. Her first husband, Jim, was murdered by the Waoroni people in Ecuador moments after he arrived in hopes of sharing the gospel. Her second husband was lost to cancer. Yet, it was in her deepest suffering that she learned the deepest lessons about God. Why doesn’t God do something about suffering? He has, He did, He is, and He will. Suffering and love are inexplicably linked, as God’s love for His people is evidenced in His sending Jesus to carry our sins, griefs, and sufferings on the cross, sacrificially taking what was not His on Himself so that we would not be required to carry it. He has walked the ultimate path of suffering, and He has won victory on our behalf. This truth led Elisabeth to say “Whatever is in the cup that God is offering to me, whether it be pain and sorrow and suffering and grief along with the many more joys, I’m willing to take it because I trust Him.”

Life is a series of options, and your choices often affect the rest of your life. So how do you know what is the right choice? What does God want you to do? And how can you be sure you're hearing him correctly? In Seeking God's Guidance, Elisabeth Elliot offers insight and observations born from a lifetime of following God's lead to show how and why God guides his children. She invites you to draw closer to God so you can walk confidently, knowing you are in his will. Complete with a study guide for personal or small group study, this practical book will inspire you to go to God for the big--and little--answers in life.

In our age of instant gratification and if-it-feels-good-do-it attitudes, self-discipline is hardly a popular notion. Yet it may be one of the most important lost virtues of our time. In Joyful Surrender, former missionary and beloved author Elisabeth Elliot offers her understanding of discipline and its value for people of all times. She shows readers how to - discipline the mind, body, possessions, time, and feelings- overcome anxiety- change poor habits and attitudes- trust God in times of trial and hardship- let Christ have control in all areas of lifeElliot masterfully and gently takes readers through Scripture, personal stories, and incisive observations of the world around her to help them discover the understanding that our fulfillment as human beings depends on our answer to God's call to obedience.

Hard times come for all in life, with no real explanation. When we walk through suffering, it has the potential to devastate and destroy, or to be the gateway to gratitude and joy. Elisabeth Elliot was no stranger to suffering. Her first husband, Jim, was murdered by the Waoroni people in Ecuador moments after he arrived in hopes of sharing the gospel. Her second husband was lost to cancer. Yet, it was in her deepest suffering that she learned the deepest lessons about God. Why doesn't God do something about suffering? He has, He did, He is, and He will. Suffering and love are inexplicably linked, as God's love for His people is evidenced in His sending Jesus to carry our sins, griefs, and sufferings on the cross, sacrificially taking what was not His on Himself so that we would not be required to carry it. He has walked the ultimate path of suffering, and He has won victory on our behalf. This truth led Elisabeth to say, "Whatever is in the cup that God is offering to me, whether it be pain and sorrow and suffering and grief along with the many more joys, I'm willing to take it because I trust Him." Because suffering is never for nothing.

In her first year as a missionary to a small group of native women in the Ecuadorian jungle, Elisabeth Elliot faced physical and spiritual trials. In Made for the Journey, Elliot captures the mysteries and stark realities surrounding the colorful and primitive world in which she ministered. More than just a recounting of her early days, this is a beautifully crafted and deeply personal reflection on the important questions of life and a remarkable testimony to authentic Christian obedience to God.

In our can't-stop world, where we frantically move through our days with hardly a moment of true rest and reflection, it's hard to comprehend the thought of being still, of leaving our anxiety and worry and impatience in the capable hands of a loving God. But that's exactly what Elisabeth Elliot calls us to do. Using the title of one of her favorite hymns as her unifying theme, Elliot offers an inspiring collection of reflections on living the Christian life. Illustrating biblical concepts with her rich personal experiences as a missionary, mother, wife, widow, radio host, and internationally known public speaker, Elliot writes with clarity and elegance on topics at once timeless and timely. This lovely new repackaged edition is perfect for the busy times in which we live.

In 1995 beloved Christian author Elisabeth Elliot wrote a simple story about a mountain climber, an ant, and a contact lens in her book, Keep a Quiet Heart. Over 20 years later the ant in that story is ready to tell his side of the tale. The Adventures of Arnie the Ant follows Arnie as he learns to trust without knowing exactly where the journey may lead.

Dans ce livre chaleureux, crit avec talent, Elizabeth Elliot s'adresse sa fille Val rie (alors sur le point de se marier) et, travers elle, tous ceux, hommes ou femmes, qui d sirent mieux comprendre ce que la f minit veut dire dans l'optique de Dieu. Elizabeth Elliot est la femme de Jim Elliot - le p re de Val rie - massacr avec quatre autres missionnaires par les Aucas ( quateur) en 1956, l' ge de vingt-huit ans. Dipl m e de l'Universit de Wheaton en 1948 et de l'Institut Biblique de la Prairie, elle devient professeur au Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary, o elle pouse le regrett A. H. Leitch. Elle est bien connue pour ses ouvrages d'une qualit et d'une pr cision qui lui donnent une place part parmi les auteurs chr tiens d'aujourd'hui.

I have deep feelings for this guy, but he says I'm like a sister to him. What should I do?""Why should a man still be expected to initiate romance?""Isn't it okay to spend time together if we're just friends?""If I never marry, will God take that desire away?" These are some of the many questions posed in letters to Elisabeth Elliot by readers of her bestselling book Passion and Purity. In this beautifully repackaged edition of Quest for Love, she responds with sound, biblical guidance, dusting off "antiquated" concepts such as commitment, integrity, honor, and servanthood, and showing how they still apply to dating and singleness today. Intertwined are hopeful true stories of discovering love through God's direction.

In her classic book, Elisabeth Elliot candidly shares her love story with Jim Elliot through letters, diary entries, and memories. She is honest about the temptations, difficulties, victories, and sacrifices of two young people whose commitment to Christ took priority over their love for each other. These revealing personal glimpses, combined with relevant biblical teaching, will remind readers that only by putting their human passion and desire through His fire can God purify their love. In a culture obsessed with dating, sex, and intimacy, the need for Elliot's freeing message is greater than ever. This beautifully repackaged edition will appeal to today's young people.

It's gone. I could see the yellow-spoked wheel of the spare tire, perched on the back of a 1934 Plymouth, disappear over the hilltop. The car in which I might have gotten a ride home from elementary school on this rainy day had gone and I was left behind." It's gone." The trainman stood at the only lighted gate in Penn Station. The train had gone, leaving me behind to figure out how on earth I was to make a speaking engagement on Long Island in an hour and a half. We've all experienced the desolation of being left in one way or another. And sooner or later many of us experience the greatest desolation of all: he's gone. The one who made life what it was for us--who was, in fact, our life. And we were not ready. Not really prepared at all. We felt, when the fact stared us in the face, "No. Not yet." For however bravely we may have looked at the possibilities (if we had any warning at all), however calmly we may have talked about them with the one who was about to die (and I had a chance to talk about the high risks with my first husband, and about the human hopelessness of the situation with my second), we are caught short. If we had another week, perhaps, to brace ourselves... a few more days to say what we wanted to say, to do or undo some things, wouldn't it have been better, easier? But silent, swift, and implacable the Scythe has swept by, and he is gone, and we are left. We stand bewildered on the sidewalk, on the station platform. Yet, most strangely, that stunning snatching away has changed nothing very much. There is the sunlight lying in patches on the familiar carpet just as it did yesterday. The same dishes stand in the rack to be put away as usual, his razor and comb are on the shelf, his shoes in the closet (O the shoes Molded in the always recognizable shape of his feet). The mail comes, the phone rings, Wednesday gives way to Thursday and this week to next week, and you have to keep getting up in the morning ("Life must go on, I forget just why," wrote Edna St. Vincent Millay) and combing your hair (for whom, now?), eating breakfast (remember to get out only one egg now, not three), making the bed (who cares?). You have to meet people who most fervently wish they could pass by on the other side so as not to have to think of something to say. You have to be understanding with their attempts to be understanding, and when they nervously try to steer you away from the one topic you want so desperately to talk about you have to allow yourself to be steered away--for their sakes. You resist the temptation, when they say he's "passed away," to say "No, he's dead, you know." After a few months you've learned those initial lessons. You begin to say "I" instead of "we" and people have sent their cards and flowers and said the things they ought to say and their lives are going on and so, astonishingly, is yours and you've "adjusted" to some of the differences--as if that little mechanical word, a mere tinkering with your routines and emotions, covers the ascent from the pit. I speak of the "ascent." I am convinced that every death, of whatever kind, through which we are called to go must lead to a resurrection. This is the core of Christian faith. Death is the end of every life and leads to resurrection, the beginning of every new one. It is a progression, a proper progression, the way things were meant to be, the necessary means of ongoing life. It is supremely important that every bereaved person be helped to see this. The death of the beloved was the beloved's own death, "a very private personal matter," Gert Behanna says, "and nobody should ever dare to try to get in on the act." But the death of the beloved is also the lover's death, for it means, in a different but perhaps equally fearsome way, a going through the Valley of the Shadow. I can think of six simple things that have helped me through this valley and that help me now. First, I try to be still and know that He is God. That advice comes from Psalm 46, which begins by describing the sort of trouble from which God is our refuge--the earth's changing, or "giving way" as the Jerusalem Bible puts it, the mountains shaking, the waters roaring and foaming, nations raging, kingdoms tottering, the earth melting. None of these cataclysms seem an exaggeration of what happens when somebody dies. The things that seemed most dependable have given way altogether. The whole world has a different look and you find it hard to get your bearings. Shadows can be very confusing. But in both psalms we are reminded of one rock-solid fact that nothing can change: Thou art with me. The Lord of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. We feel that we are alone, yet we are not alone. Not for one moment has He left us alone. He is the one who has "wrought desolations," to be sure. He makes wars cease, breaks bows, shatters spears, burns chariots (breaks hearts, shatters lives?), but in the midst of all this hullabaloo we are commanded, "Be still." Be still and know. Stillness is something the bereaved may feel they have entirely too much of. But if they will use that stillness to take a long look at Christ, to listen attentively to His voice, they will get their bearings. There are several ways of looking and listening that help us avoid being dangerously at the mercy of our (heaven forfend ) "gut-level" feelings. Bible reading and prayer are the obvious ones. Taking yourself by the scruff of the neck and setting aside a definite time in a definite place for deliberately looking at what God has said and listening to what He may have to say to you today is a good exercise. And if such exercises are seen as obligations, they have the same power that other obligations--cooking a meal, cleaning a bathroom, vacuuming a rug--have to save us from ourselves. Another means of grace is repeating the creed. Here is a list of objective facts that have not been in the smallest detail altered by what has happened to us. Far from it. Not only have they not been altered; they do actually alter what has happened--alter our whole understanding of human life and death, lift it to another plane. We can go through the list and contemplate our situation in the light of each tremendous truth. It is simply amazing how different my situation can appear as a result of this discipline. The second thing I try to do is to give thanks. I cannot thank God for the murder of one or the excruciating disintegration of another, but I can thank God for the promise of His presence. I can thank Him that He is still in charge, in the face of life's worst terrors, and that "this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us not 'us for'] an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen." (2 Corinthians 4:17, 18) I'm back to the creed again and the things unseen that are listed there, standing solidly (yes, solidly, incredible as it seems) against things seen (the fact of death, my own loneliness, this empty room). And I am lifted up by the promise of that "weight" of glory, so far greater than the weight of sorrow that at times seems to grind me like a millstone. This promise enables me to give thanks. Then I try to refuse self-pity. I know of nothing more paralyzing, more deadly, than self-pity. It is a death that has no resurrection, a sink-hole from which no rescuing hand can drag you because you have chosen to sink. But it must be refused. In order to refuse it, of course, I must recognize it for what it is. Amy Carmichael, in her sword-thrust of a book If, wrote, "If I make much of anything appointed, magnify it secretly to myself or insidiously to others, then I know nothing of Calvary love." That's a good definition of self-pity--making much of the "appointed," magnifying it, dwelling on one's own losses, looking with envy on those who appear to be more fortunate than oneself, asking "Why me, Lord?" (remembering the "weight of glory" ought to be a sufficient answer to that question). It is one thing to call a spade a spade, to acknowledge that this thing is indeed suffering. It's no use telling yourself it's nothing. When Paul called it a "slight" affliction he meant it only by comparison with the glory. But it's another thing to regard one's own suffering as uncommon, or disproportionate, or undeserved. What have "deserts" got to do with anything? We are all under the Mercy, and Christ knows the precise weight and proportion of our sufferings-- He bore them. He carried our sorrows. He suffered, wrote George Macdonald, not that we might not suffer, but that our sufferings might be like His. To hell, then, with self-pity. The next thing to do is to accept my loneliness. When God takes a loved person from my life it is in order to call me, in a new way, to Himself. It is therefore a vocation. It is in this sphere, for now anyway, that I am to learn of Him. Every stage on the pilgrimage is a chance to know Him, to be brought to Him. Loneliness is a stage (and, thank God, only a stage) when we are terribly aware of our own helplessness. It "opens the gates of my soul," wrote Katherine Mansfield, "and lets the wild beasts stream howling through." We may accept this, thankful that it brings us to the Very Present Help. The acceptance of loneliness can be followed immediately by the offering of it up to God. Something mysterious and miraculous transpires as soon as something is held up in our hands as a gift. He takes it from us, as Jesus took the little lunch when five thousand people were hungry. He gives thanks for it and then, breaking it, transforms it for the good of others. Loneliness looks pretty paltry as a gift to offer to God--but then when you come to think of it so does anything else we might offer. It needs transforming. Others looking at it would say e

Elliot shows readers how to take the armor of God's love with them into the fray as they face trials and hardships in order to weather all of life's storms with faith and soul intact.