“For whom did you carry the rock?”
It’s a strange question, I admit, but it’s one I’ve been asking myself nearly every day since I read Betty’s biography.*
The question, and all its versions, (“but why did you carry that stone in the first place, Abi?”) has followed each time I’ve felt a twinge of entitlement or bitterness or like anyone owes me anything.
Why does this rock question carry meaning?
A young woman named Betty felt called to the mission field. She poured every ounce of her life’s passion into an isolated group, the Colorado Indians in Ecuador. The harvest was plentiful, but she stood in the gap as one of the few laborers studying the culture and the languages (actually, two of them).
After a long nine months of harvesting meticulous translation notes, she received word that all of her documents had been stolen along with her luggage. She never saw them again, and her observations would never birth a single resource, let alone a Bible translation.
Why would God waste the work of such a rarity — a talented Scripture translator willing to use her gifts for however long it took to reach an isolated people group? It was His gospel after all. Betty stared at the undressed truth that God’s sovereignty transcends what looks like efficiency to us. To her, it seemed like a storm without any rainbow, but God wove a fruitful plan for the woman who became Elisabeth Elliot.
Due to this experience with the Colorado people and what many would assume a “wasted year” in the jungle, Elisabeth Elliot was impacted by an apocryphal story (so it’s not Scripture), and now it haunts me too. It reminds me nothing done in the service of God is truly wasted, even when we are left confused by the results of our efforts.
Here is the “lovely little African legend about Jesus,” that Elisabeth Elliot said, “hit her between the eyes.” Jesus and his disciples summited a mountain and along the journey he asked them each to pick up a stone. John chose a large one, Peter a small one.
When they got to the top of the mountain, Jesus turned both stones into bread. Peter, of course, regretted choosing a small rock. Later, again Jesus asked Peter and John to pick up stones. This time, Peter found the largest stone he could muster. At the end of their day’s journey, Jesus brought his disciples to the edge of the water. There they were commanded to cast their stones into the water. Peter protested, thinking about the bread he’d hoped for, and his teacher answered, “For whom did you carry the rock?”
This story resonated with me because I carry various stones in ministry and my motives can fluctuate. Sometimes I choose the size of effort based on the give-and-take I think I’ll receive.
Why did I carry the rock? What if God never does anything with it? Or maybe He’ll turn it into bread I’ll never taste? Why did I mentor another believer? Why did I help with moving? Why did we share the gospel with our neighbor over and over and serve her until her dying breath, when she never seemed to turn to her Maker? Why am I in ministry at all? Did I carry that rock so I could have something for myself? Surely, God would reward His faithful servant. Why did we go on that rabbit trail of resources, training, and immersion in a culture? Is it a waste if God seemingly cuts the season short? If my marathon preparation never meets the race I expected?
God doesn’t work according to our measures of efficiency. Yet He never wastes. As soon as we recognize this, we’ll cease striving and spewing about what doesn’t feel logical or fair. Instead, our very purpose is “to the praise and glory of God’s grace,” and we rest all of our labor with the Chief Cornerstone who declares, “I will build my church” (Matt. 16:18).
We carry these rocks in obedience because He is good, because He can be trusted, and because He is worthy. Because God is good and big enough to hold something even as precious as the destiny of the Colorado Indians. He can hold even our unanswered questions.
If we’re doing His work for something other than God’s glory, we should get out now. Those are only the motions, and He doesn’t want empty lip service when our hearts are far from Him (Is. 29:13).
It’s a joy to invest in friendships with those delightful, easy-to-love souls who share our sense of humor, and enjoy talking about the same things as us. We’re eager to pursue vibrant personalities who also love to give back. It’s comfortable and rewarding immediately.
Did we seek to make disciples for Christ, or was it for us? He will not give His glory to another (Is. 42:8).
But purify our motives, Lord, and make us pure within. Let us seek to sacrifice out of hearts grateful for what You’ve already done for us, and for the eternal rewards you promise. Let us be willing to serve in ways which cost us, since you gave us Your costly love. Let us love the least of these, too. Cause us to hunger for the most magnificent, glorious purpose of magnifying YOUR name alone.
“But now we do not yet see all things subjected to him . . . for it was fitting for Him, for whom are all things, and through whom are all things, in bringing many sons to glory, to perfect the author of their salvation through suffering.” Hebrews 2:8b, 10
Hebrews tells us we won’t see all things subjected to Him right now – we’ll have the rabbit trails and speed bumps. So let us introduce others to glory, not for the mere hope of an earthly satisfaction, but for the One whom “from Him, and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be the glory forever” (Romans 11:35). Let His love be our reward even amidst aching loss, and let Him have the first place in our motives.
And we can say in spite of stolen time and jungle sweat, like Elisabeth Elliot did, “Of one thing I am perfectly sure: God’s story never ends with ‘ashes.’”
For whom are you carrying your rocks for?
*“Becoming Elisabeth Elliot” by Ellen Vaughn




