Biddy Chambers and The Ministry of Interruption

Biddy Chambers lived a “ministry of interruption.”

We watched a video once of Kathleen Chambers, only daughter of Oswald Chambers and his wife.

Kathleen was four when her famous father died and most of her stories about him came from others’ memories.

But about Biddy, Kathleen knew much.

The American interviewer asked about Biddy’s daily work while she compiled My Utmost for His Highest.

(Biddy took down all of Oswald’s talks in shorthand and spent the thirty years after his death transcribing them into books. All the books by Oswald Chambers  are because of Biddy).

Kathleen didn’t remember much because Biddy didn’t spend a lot of time working when her daughter was around.

“You mean she didn’t sit down every afternoon for hours and type?”

Kathleen laughed. “Oh, no. She was always stopping to talk with the people who came looking for her.”

My husband shook his head at Kathleen’s remarks.

I started to cry.

My reaction to interruption.

I saw, suddenly, that  Biddy Chambers, like another one of my “mentors” Edith Schaeffer, delighted and thrived in what I call “the ministry of interruption.”

Being interrupted was their work for the Kingdom of God. Click to Tweet

I dwell there, too.

I just haven’t always appreciated it.

Traditionally, I take the summer off from my job to write.

Several years ago, I spent that summer on a novel, as yet unpublished, called Waking Dreams of Hope. It’s the story of a brilliant young woman trapped by a pregnancy into a life she doesn’t want.

Even though she knows she should appreciate it and recognizes God gave her the desire of her heart in another area– it just took a surprise pregnancy–she’s a wreck. Her plans got interrupted.

Her frustration reflects years of my life (though not the pregnancy part).

I wrote that book sitting at this desk in our family room while life took place round about me.

Several teenagers were home, young women lived with us, friends dropped by, the phone rang– it was seldom quiet and serene, though rich and full of life.

Every day I tapped away, crafting my story.

Volunteering for interruption

But because I was home, I also increased my volunteering on a local crisis pregnancy center hotline. Whenever I had no plans to leave the house–“just write”–I often took an extra shift on the hotline.

I talked to a lot of people that summer, in my house, on the phone, and even through IM-ing. Because I was there, I could listen and solve problems, make suggestions, oversee household projects and write my book.

Some days it was lovely.

Other days anguished frustration built up–I just wanted to write my book! Some of the book’s scenes left me weeping as I poured out the jumbled feelings of my heroine.

But then someone would ask, “are we really out of peanut butter?”

Invisible steam erupted from my ears, but I reminded myself, “they’ll be gone in a couple years. This is now. Take the time.”

I was better at it some days than others.

“Look down stairs. I’m sure I bought more jars.”

Was I just a foot servant in the ministry of interruption? Click to Tweet.

A phone call and a woman in crisis. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? Who would help her?

I listened. I made suggestions. Sometimes I cried with her.

And then I went back to the novel.

I got to the penultimate chapter by the end of the summer, 85,000 words in, and realized I didn’t like it.

“So what’s the deal here, Lord?” I whined. “What was this summer all about? Typing practice for me? I already type 120 words of minute, how much more speed do I need?”

God didn’t say anything.

I like to look at situations from a slightly different angle when I’m thwarted. I call it “turning the prism.” Was it possible God was doing something else that summer?

What if the Lord had engineered my life contrary to my expectations? 

Was my real purpose to minister and God used the “excuse” of me writing a book so I could be available to others?

What if the point of our lives, really, is a ministry of interruptions? Click to Tweet

The novel languishes in cyber-space. I reread it recently and it’s actually pretty good, full of wisdom and truth. Maybe some day that woman’s awakened dreams of hope will bless readers

But the relationships, the babies born, the children fed, the grace bestowed that summer–that’s work that will last for eternity.

Just like Biddy’s and Edith’s.

“Are you crying?” my husband asked on Saturday.

I nodded. “For joy. God is doing something in my heart.”

Thanks be to God–and to his servants for their example throughout the ages.

How about you? How do you react to interruptions?