Calvary Love

I've been carrying around a gem of a book for about 20 years simply called If by Amy Carmichael. I'd like to share a few of her "If statements" on this Good Friday.

If interruptions annoy me, and private cares make me impatient;
if I shadow the souls about me because I myself am shadowed,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I take offense easily;
if I am content to continue in a cool unfriendliness,
though friendship be possible,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I wonder why something trying is allowed,
and press for prayer that it may be removed;
if I cannot be trusted with any disappointment,
and cannot go on in peace under any mystery,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If the ultimate, the hardest, cannot be asked of me;
if my fellows hesitate to ask it and turn to someone else,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I say, "Yes, I forgive, but I cannot forget,"
as though the God, who twice a day washes all the sands
on all the shores of all the world,
could not wash such memories from my mind,
then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I refuse to be a corn of wheat that falls into the ground and dies
("is separated from all in which it lived before"),
then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I ask to be delivered from trial
rather than for deliverance out of it,
to the praise of His glory;
if I forget that the way of the cross leads to the cross
and not to a bank of flowers;
if I regulate my life on these lines,
or even unconsciously my thinking,
so that I am surprised when the way is rough
and think it strange, though the word is,
"Think it not strange,"
"Count it all joy,"
then I know nothing of Calvary love.