A Goodly Heritage

“The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.” — Psalm 16:6 (KJV)

Elisabeth Howard was born on 21 December 1926 in Brussels, Belgium. She wasn't Belgian. Her parents, Philip and Katharine Howard, were American missionaries working with the Belgian Gospel Mission. While she was still a baby they went home to the United States, so she had no memory of the country she was born in. To her family and friends she was Betty, and Betty she stayed for most of her life. The world would come to know her as Elisabeth Elliot.

Her father joined the staff of the Sunday School Times, a weekly paper from Philadelphia that gave Bible lessons to Sunday school teachers all over America, and in time he became its editor. Her great-grandfather had made it famous. So Betty grew up among people who wrote for a living, cared about words, and judged a sentence by whether it said exactly what it meant. The plain, precise way she wrote as an adult started in her father's office.

The family lived in Germantown, in Philadelphia, and from 1936 in Moorestown, New Jersey. There were six children: Philip, Betty, David, Ginny, Tom and Jim. These were the years of the Great Depression, and money was never plentiful. Nothing was wasted. Nobody complained about it; it was simply how things were done. That training in being content would serve her well in a forest clearing many years later.

Twice a day, every day, the family gathered for worship. They sang a hymn, all the verses, until the children knew scores of them by heart without trying. Their father read the Bible and prayed: for each child by name, for the country, and for missionaries all over the world, many of whom had sat at the Howards' own table. The children memorized Scripture. They were expected to obey the first time. Summers were spent in the mountains of New Hampshire, at Franconia, climbing hills, picking berries and learning the names of birds and trees. She loved it more than anywhere.

Betty grew up tall, quiet, bookish and painfully shy. She felt awkward and plain beside other girls. In 1941, at fourteen, she was sent to a Christian boarding school in Florida, the Hampden DuBose Academy. The headmistress, Mrs DuBose, was formidable, and she singled Betty out. She told her plainly that shyness was not a virtue to be indulged. It was a way of being wrapped up in yourself, and a Christian has a duty to look outward and put other people at ease. Betty was frightened of her. She also took her seriously. She learned to stand straight, look people in the eye, talk to strangers and speak in public. People later thought her calm was natural. It wasn't. It was learned, at some cost.

At evening chapel Mrs DuBose often read from Amy Carmichael, an Irish missionary in South India who had rescued children in danger. In her little book If, every entry ends with the same line: “then I know nothing of Calvary love.” Betty was captivated. She later called Amy Carmichael her first spiritual mother. By the time she graduated in 1944 she knew what she wanted to do with her life: translate the Bible into a language that had never had it.

Notice two things. First, a “goodly heritage” in the psalm is not the same as an easy one. Betty's family was strict, not rich, and not perfect, and its six children went in different directions. Her parents could not make their children believe. But they gave them the words, and in her case the words took root. Whatever your family gave you or didn't, God can still give you his words. Second, being shy is not a sin, but it can become a hiding place. Betty learned that looking outward is something you can practise.

One thing to do this week: pick one person you usually avoid because talking to them feels awkward, and ask them one real question about themselves. Then actually listen to the answer.