A Matter of Perspective

I have taken it upon myself to preserve and circulate some important family history. I am creating a new (digital) edition of a little booklet written by my great-great-grandmother, Hripsime Kassarjian. She was an incredible woman of God. Her book is my window into her world ... and it satisfies my grief at having been born after she had gone to be with our LORD. Here is a piece of her life, in my hands.

Life can cloud us, can't it? The sludge of negativity and discontentment slows us down. That moment-by-moment comparison game always yields a winner and a loser. I get so quickly sludged down into a kind of 'slough of despond,' as in Pilgrim's Progress. It starts out innocently enough, and then turns fatal. The lies which draw me deeper into myself, my pity, my heavily-guarded pride ... will sludge me into the bottom of the slough, unless a hand reaches out to pull me back to the grassy banks.

Sometimes, that hand is reaching out from eternity. As I transcribe her story, I cannot help but see how small and ugly my attitude and problems really are. She survived four wars - and the Armenian genocide. She was separated from her brother for forty long years, believing him to be dead. Her years as a school girl were spent as an orphan, not sure of her birthday, without the comfort of parents to love and support her. She and her classmates spent their days between class and hiding in barricades from the Turkish soldiers who came to kill. When the Muslim Turks sought to obliterate the entire race of Armenian people [due to a primarily religious conflict], she kept her faith. She understood that her very life rested in the hand of God. He kept giving it back to her. She kept praising His name. Her hand reaches out to me even now ... pulling me out of the dirty mire of self-pity and into the light.

You may be wondering about her name. What does it mean? Here are her words, from the preface:

"I was named after an Armenian princess (the daughter of an Armenian King). She was a very beautiful young girl, eighteen years old, who had become a Christian at the end of the third century, A.D.

There was a prince, the son of a Gentile king, who intended to marry her, if she would give up her faith in Jesus Christ. He tried to persuade her for some time, but without any result; so she was put in jail. Everyday this prince would visit her to find out if she had changed her mind; her answer was always the same. She would say, “It is far better to die for my dear Savior, Jesus Christ, than to marry a Gentile prince.” Finally, she died in jail. She was called a saint. Of course, I am not worthy to bear her name, but many parents like to name their daughters in memory of that dear princess, who held fast her faith and her deep love for Jesus Christ, her Savior."

All worthiness aside, it is a fitting name for a woman who held so strongly to her faith and her Lord in spite of all obstacles, a lifetime of suffering, and overwhelming grief. Between the lines of her story, there is a deep love for Jesus. May that love speak to me right now, today, and tomorrow, and into eternity.