Lisa Barry: Have you thought about the people in your life that you may be influencing right now? It's a sobering thought, isn't it? Are my actions motivating my children to higher levels or making them think that they're an inconvenience? One person who motivated Elisabeth Elliot to higher levels was Amy Carmichael, whose daily death to self yielded an eternity of spiritual fruit. Elisabeth is going to share more about the legacy of Amy Carmichael as we continue in our series called "Women Who Have Influenced My Life." Let's get started.

Elisabeth Elliot: "You are loved with an everlasting love." That's what the Bible says. "And underneath are the everlasting arms." This is your friend Elisabeth Elliot, talking again today about my dear friend, Amy Carmichael, Irish missionary to India, woman that I never met in the flesh. But I feel as though I know her, and I've considered her one of my spiritual mothers for many, many years, ever since I was introduced to her when I was 14 years old.

Many of you know of the work that she established after she had spent six years as an itinerant evangelist in South India. She learned of the terrible wrongs being done to small children, who were committed to the Hindu temples for the purposes of prostitution. She first learned about the little girls that were put in those temples and could never escape, and then only a year or two later learned that a similar traffic was going on in the sale of baby boys.

So I'm going to read you a chapter from her book called GOLD CORD, which tells of the founding of the Dohnuvor Fellowship, the work that she established after she had been an itinerant evangelist.

"As far back as 1909, we had known of the sale of a baby boy for wrong uses. The thought of that child had held us in bonds. What did it matter that the little thing was not crying out for aid, like the poor little snared rabbit? He did not know enough to cry. He was too young. Gradually, the fact was forced upon us that just as unprotected girls are in danger, so are unprotected boys. We found that all over the country there are men on the watch for them.

The baby boys are sent to foster mothers, and when old enough, are passed on to trainers. Some are taken to temple houses and become musicians and teachers of dancing and poetry to the girls. Both the dancing and poetry are debasing. The whole life is vile.

Others are adopted by Muslims. This may mean ordinary adoption, but often boys are used for infamous purposes. Many become the property of the various dramatic societies of the south. The drama is wholly unclean.

When the work for girls began, I was alone. There could be no question of consulting with others. Immediately, 'I conferred not with flesh and blood,' the Apostle Paul wrote, 'Neither went I up to Jerusalem to them which were apostles before me.' There was something like that about our situation.

But later it was different. There were those alongside with whom it was right to confer, and their advice was, 'You have not the workers. There are not enough, not nearly enough, for what has to be done already. This cannot be your responsibility. Let us pray that someone else will take up that special work.'

As the years passed and no one did, we were very sorely tempted to wonder if we had missed the way. If we had stepped out in faith as we had done before, would miracles have waited for us round the first corner? It's never good to look back on guidance.

A long time afterwards, when the first group of baby boys had become school boys, we looked down the breakfast table and asked each of the English brothers who, as later pages will tell, had been sent to us, 'Where were you in 1909?' One answer was, 'I wasn't anywhere.' It would have been the answer of several of the Indian brothers, too. Creation and preparation had to be before the work that was appointed could begin.

During those years, we could only think of the boys whom the years were destroying and everything pleasant was shadowed by the thought, even as the bluest skies had turned black when first we heard the secrets of the temples. There are times when I covet words with an edge like a razor. Ignorance is not only the drowsiness, the silliness, but the wickedness of the soul, said John Dunn. This is true. The cruelest man alive could not sit at his feast, unless he sat blindfold. But ought we to sit blindfold?"

And as a footnote on that sentence, Oswald Chambers said, "Only by refusing to think about things as they are can we remain indifferent."

"'They burn them, don't they?' It was a pleasant, placid lady who asked the question. She was at lunch at the time. Francis Beeth of our fellowship was at home for her first furlough, and she had been trying to bring the children's danger to the hearts of Christian women. This one was interested.

'They burn them, don't they?' she asked, and not waiting for answer, continued tranquilly to lunch. Afar off, sorrowful things are perhaps endurable. It is always possible to disbelieve them.

Do you think I could sit in this chair if I believed that such things could happen? It was one who sat in high places who said that, and he leaned back in his chair and struck his fist in his open palm with a gesture of frank indignation. Notes that he did not read were on the table before him. They told plainly what was being done in low places, quite out of sight of the high. Would they have haunted his nights had he read them? I think they would, for he was not a cruel man. His very wrath absolved him from that charge. He was only blindfold. But for some of us, there is no merciful distance. We cannot sit blindfold.

While those pages were being written, a ceremony was being performed for a certain raja of a neighbor state. A young relative of the officiating priest told us about the ceremonies. First came the familiar. 'He ate of the five products of the cow, and he made a golden cow and gave it to our caste and feasted my caste men, thousands of them. Then'-and this was said in exactly the same every day tone-'Then there was also a special sacrifice-the sacrifice of a cow.'

'But how take life? And of all life, that of a cow?' 'We do not take life,' was the calm answer. 'The fire takes it. The raja must spiritually pass through that cow's holy interior.' I soften his speech a little. It was explicit.

'There is a special hut made and four of us are chosen to see that all is done correctly. The cow is taken into the place where the fire is lighted. The cow may not be killed, of course. Then the door is shut. What is done after that is not done by man. That would be a cow killing, which is unlawful. It is done by the fire.'

A rumor of this had reached us, but we had not believed it. 'Burned alive, you mean?' 'So it is said.' 'Are you sure? Have you seen it?' 'Yes,' the colorless voice replied. 'I can say I'm sure, but I have not seen. No Brahman could look at such thing. It would be unlawful and too much unpleasant. So the low caste people are appointed to do it.'

'But they kill the cow first, surely?' 'With a knife? That is forbidden. That would be cow killing. That would be a crime. To slay any animal is a crime. They're not allowed to do that.'

'But to burn it alive is horrible. Can nothing be done? Could we not go to the palace?'

'It has been done for many centuries,' was the gentle interruption, and the weak mouth smiled. 'What can be done against custom? And who could withstand the Brahmans? In my country, they have much power. They have power to curse the sun and air.'

'Even so, it was incredible. Perhaps the low caste men carry off the poor beast and deceive the Brahmans.'

'Do you think that they dare?' was the sufficient answer. Then patiently, as to a child unduly moved about nothing, 'It is not very often, only once at the beginning of a new raja's reign. And'-as an oddly happy afterthought-'it is not a big cow. It is only quite a little one.'

That was enough. We chanced to be near a blazing wood fire. 'Could you put your finger, not your big finger, only your little one, into that fire and keep it there?' Mechanically then, he raised a cold and flaxen hand. Even in that moment, I remembered that to shake hands with him was like shaking hands with the tail of a fish. Then recoiling, 'No.'

'But there is no way out of the fire for the little cow that has been put into it, and there is no way to refuse and no way out of the life which will consume all that is good in the little boy who is put into it. And will anyone be greatly comforted by remembering that he is not a big boy, but just a little one?'"

That's the chapter on how Amy Carmichael was galvanized into the necessity of rescuing these babies-little boys, little girls, helpless ones, as helpless as the cow that was burned alive. Children that, if not rescued, would spend the rest of their lives as prostitutes in the temples of India.

I want you to know that the work continues. There are no longer any boys there. It's very difficult to get dedicated men to look after the little boys. But there are over 400 girls and women. The Dohnuvor Fellowship of South India-Amy Carmichael established the work. It's still goes on, now led entirely by Indians. Will you pray for them?

Lisa Barry: If you'd like to learn more about the Dohnuvor Fellowship, you can find it in the book Elisabeth has written about Amy Carmichael's life. The title is A CHANCE TO DIE. In fact, you might be interested in a special collection of books by Amy Carmichael we've put together. It includes IF, HIS THOUGHTS SAID, HIS FATHER SAID, TOWARD JERUSALEM, GOLD CORD, and WHISPERS OF HIS POWER, all at the low cost of $30. Since she had an amazing influence on Elisabeth's life, we wanted to get you the full impact of her writings.

So give us a call or write for information about purchasing A CHANCE TO DIE or the AMY CARMICHAEL PACKET. Here's the address: Gateway To Joy, Box 82500, Lincoln, Nebraska, 68501. Our Web site can be found at gatewaytojoy.org. Gateway To Joy is a listener-supported production of Back to the Bible.

Tomorrow Elisabeth concludes this two-week series with a few closing thoughts. Let's meet back here then for another Gateway To Joy.