The little girl sat with her easel and brush
And painted a picture in shades rich and lush.
She splashed with her paint each colourful hue
But her favourite shade would always be blue:
The colour of sea and the rich summer skies
The colour of love in her Mama’s blue eyes.
The cornflowers, forget-me-nots, bluebells in spring,
The flashing bright blue on the jay’s open wing,
The peacock, the blue-tit, they all share the view
That surely God’s favourite colour is blue.
‘But if this is so, as from Heaven He looks down,
Then why has He given me eyes that are brown?’
And so, as she prayed each night before bed,
She poured out her longings to God as she said:
‘I know, that there’s nothing that’s too hard for you,
So please change my brown eyes and turn them to blue.’
Each morning she’d rush to the mirror to see
Whether God had yet answered her desperate plea.
But as each day passed, with an increasing frown
She gazed back at eyes that remained deeply brown.
Had God heard her prayer, could His truth she believe?
Would He give her the answer she longed to receive?
Her young heart struggled till she came to know
That He did give an answer – the answer was ‘No’.
Years passed and the brown eyed small girl soon became
A lovely young woman who honoured God’s name.
She learned to trust Him and leave in His care
The needs of each day which she poured out in prayer.
And filled with God’s love and compassion and zeal
She lived to serve others, to help and to heal.
And her life, fully lived, for many years more
Saved children from death and gave life to the poor.
In Indian clothing, with ‘coffee-dyed’ skin,
She blended with others in their suffering,
And ‘neath the hot sun of India’s blue skies
The Gospel shone bright from compassionate brown eyes.
For God’s great good providence became clear to see
That He’d made and He’d fashioned her so perfectly.
For if she’d been blessed with her longed-for blue eyes
She’d not have been able to blend in disguise
And mingle with those she was able to save
From evil, from darkness, from death, from the grave.
Praise God for His loving kindness and grace
That’s chosen exactly the right time and right place
For us to live. And He’s fashioned us so
With all that we need to serve Him, and show
His love and His mercy, His strength and His might.
Praise God for His answers that always are right.
(Based on the true story of Amy Carmichael who served God for fifty six years as a missionary in India)
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