Stories from Heaven's Library - Vol. 25
For Young & Old
Featuring:
When He Called Me
Unto Them That Sat In Darkness
WHEN HE CALLED ME
--As told by Louisa Bannard
(Caption under first picture:)
"The Great Commission is not an option to be considered, but a command to be obeyed." --J. Hudson Taylor
The Call
It wasn't so much what he said that caught my interest, but rather the manner in which he said it.--The slender figure with the intense expression and earnest manner who spoke so imploringly of that land beyond the sea--China!--A land where millions of souls marched the dusty roads not knowing of the Savior's love; a land where so many have died without ever hearing the dear Lord's Name; a land that called out for missionaries to come, to live and die upon her soil in order to give her the truth.
But do let me arrange my thoughts more clearly. I first decided to come to the meeting to listen to James Hudson Taylor speak about his mission in China, for the simple reason that I had little better to do. I was happy to fill an evening listening to this renowned lecturer, rather than sit at home. I had come to know Jesus in a personal way several years earlier, and dearly loved to spend time in fellowship with others who also knew His love, but I did little in actual service for Christ. Other than occasional visits to the neighboring sick or distributing baskets of food to the poor, "active service" was not common, or even accepted, among women of my social standing.
After having found my Savior and resting in His joy and peace, I discovered much of the previous discontentment and anxiety that so vexed me had vanished. Instead, my days were filled with peace, and I looked forward to the prospect of a happy, quiet and harmonious life, basking in my many blessings. I had a wonderful family who loved me dearly, encouraged my interests and provided well for me. We resided at our family estate, and my father, who had passed away, had left ample provision for us all in his will. I was active socially, and was soon to announce my engagement to a kind and goodly gentleman. Yet somehow beneath this ordered existence, and while attempting to rest content, a gnawing question would often pervade my thoughts: Is there something more the Lord would have me do to serve Him?
Charles Endfield, my suitor*, was a most dear man and, moreover, a close family friend who from childhood had cared deeply for me. As children we were always together; we shared all our secrets. As we grew, everyone commented on what a handsome pair we made, assuming we would one day be married. I felt I knew Charles perfectly--as well as he knew me. Though we were not yet formally engaged, we had discussed announcing an engagement some time in the coming year.
Charles encouraged my interests in religious matters, feeling that a good wife must first be a good person, and religion was a suitable way to become just that person. We both attended church regularly, hoping that some of the goodness to be found there would rub off on us, and consequently on the family we assumed we would start soon after marriage.
Unfortunately, good people are at times the most complacent people. With a comfortable life ahead of us and little in sight that could disturb the course we had determined for our lives, I was in fact a most dull soul. Like an unsharpened sword lying in a sheath, waiting to be brandished by the Master, I needed the rubbing and grinding of the polishing stone to make me the instrument He intended for me, His servant, to become.
As I said, perhaps it wasn't so much what dear Mr. Taylor said that caught my interest, but the manner in which he spoke, as if inspired from Heaven itself. He spoke with a reasoned simplicity and such a frank and open manner, yet with a determined assurance of God's care and provision. He seemed to me a very joyous man, yet, at the same time, one who carried an enormous weight: the weight of the souls for whom he felt responsible--the souls of a nation. It seemed he cradled that nation to his bosom and loved the dear Chinese people as one would love a child, or even a bride. This was not religious duty; this was the compelling force of God, as he spoke of the needs of China.
He explained the difficult conditions of the field. He spoke of the persecution that both native believers and missionaries faced. He recalled times of great difficulty and despair, and also times of utter joy and fulfillment as he preached the Word of God in the unreached inner regions of the country. Missionaries had long established their work in the coastal areas, but the dangerous and untried inland provinces were untouched simply for the lack of laborers willing to go. Conditions called for foreign missionaries to identify with their Chinese neighbors to such a degree that they were required to eat, dress, and live entirely in Chinese fashion. In times past such a thing had been virtually unheard of, and even regarded as scandalous in some circles. But as Mr. Taylor's successful mission work became better known, his ideas became more accepted and were later emulated by other missions.
Something compelled me to move down the aisle after the lecture ended. I was more than halfway to my destination before I perceived fully in my mind what I was doing, and the decision I was reaching. Some would say that a decision so quickly reached showed a lack of prudence. But as I walked forward, I knew that this was what I had been seeking for these many years, although I had hitherto been unable to express my longing in words. It was not so much that I made a decision quickly, but rather that I quickly recognized the answer I had sought for so long. This was God's call! A force other than my own will propelled me as I walked across that wide auditorium.
Mr. Taylor stood with his back to me, speaking to a group of men. Though I am not a particularly bold person, I felt I had to speak to him, so I stationed myself behind them and waited. After some time he turned to me, and I noticed the graying hair above his deeply lined eyes that met mine with an expectant look.
"Yes, my dear?"
Suddenly I felt shy. What was I to say?
"Umm Mr. Taylor, please let me introduce myself. I I am Miss Louisa Bannard of Chelsea. I found your lecture most interesting!"
I paused and Mr. Taylor also waited, eyeing me curiously. Gathering my courage, I took the plunge.
"If I may be frank, sir, I came to your lecture wanting merely to pass an interesting evening. After the first quarter of an hour, I thought surely God must be calling me to offer some sort of assistance to your missionaries in China, and that I could perhaps make a financial contribution. But something did not feel quite right in my heart. I listened for half an hour, and I thought I should do more: I thought perhaps, besides making a monetary donation, I could give of my time to promote your cause to other individuals. I also thought I could sew for the mission, or perchance collect items which could be of use to missionaries. Yet still I felt uneasy. After listening to your entire lecture, I now feel compelled to say that although God could use my money and my influence, or even my stitching, I believe that what He wants to use is me. Mr. Taylor, could China use a young girl such as myself?"
Hudson Taylor smiled and paused before he answered. He looked at me as if he wondered the same thing. I will never forget his reply. "My dear young lady," he said kindly, "that depends entirely on whether you are truly willing to be used."
A Man's Foes
I opened my eyes and needed a few moments to remember where I was. The early morning sun beamed a few delicate rays through the uneven roof tiles, flooding the rafters of my small room with a rosy light that revealed much dust and a number of resident spiders. The large, unpainted shutters on the windows that led to the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard were still tightly closed. The thin straw mat which covered the wooden summer bed, upon which I slept, was soaked with perspiration in even the coolest morning hours. "China," I whispered to myself, and smiled. "I am home in China."
What prayers had been answered to accomplish this journey! What intercession had been offered and what miracles God had done to open the door for me to be able to give my life in service to Him in this great land. Musing on this always brought certain scenes back to my mind, scenes of more than two years earlier, when it looked as if China would remain a faraway dream.
* * *
"Good Lord, Louisa! Have you lost your mind?"
The faces of my sister, my mother, and the most pained expression of Charles loomed before me.
I bit my lip, realizing that my timing had been truly awful. A gathering on my sister's birthday was no time or place to announce my decision to become a missionary, knowing what a shock it would be for my family. I had much to learn, and God was attempting to teach me to conduct myself more wisely.
I had spoken with Charles earlier, and with hindsight I could see the naivet in which I expected him to be as enthusiastic about my plans as I was myself. Was he not a Christian? Would he not also embrace this call if only he knew of China's need? So I thought at the time, or rather so I wished. Perhaps my attitude can most aptly be described as wanting to have one's cake while eating it too. I wanted the Lord, I wanted China, and I felt I should certainly be entitled to have Charles as a companion in my venture, as well as my family's approval. Surrendering all on the altar of sacrifice, and giving up something good in order to gain God's best, was a new concept to me.
When I first broached the subject of my fervent desire to be a missionary in China to Charles, he was silent. We were in the garden, and in the excitement of trying to convey all that the Lord had revealed to me, I did not notice the tremendous inner upheaval my animated speech was causing within him. I so wished for him to see the need of China. Oh, if he had only been there to hear Mr. Taylor speak! I thought if I could explain it more clearly he would surely be convinced, as I was, that this was God's call for us.
"Louisa," he stopped me after I had spoken excitedly for a full twenty minutes without pause, "do let me say that all this has been most surprising!"
"Yes, Charles, I know it sounds sudden, but don't you see ."
"Please wait, and let me finish. I had no idea that such thoughts would ever occur to you. You know I believe in God, and we have discussed the importance of our beliefs together many times, but a missionary?--To China? I I don't quite know what to say," he stammered. "And that you feel called? Why, you act as if God could still speak today! I've never known you to speak of such fanaticism. It seems absurd!"
"Oh no, Charles! It's not absurd, it's a wonderful thing, it's "
"Please, Louisa, hush now! Let me think on this matter."
"But Charles!" I called, as he walked away, unwilling to talk more.
That evening I sat at my sister's birthday dinner celebration and faced a stunned trio. I assumed Charles only needed time to comply with the Lord's commission, and forged ahead. As soon as I announced my plans to my mother and sister, however, I could see from the hurt expression on Charles' face that he felt I had betrayed a trust. While I had not said in words that I would wait to speak of these things to others, because the matter was not settled between us as a couple, to make it public as I did was premature and inconsiderate. Yet perhaps it was the Lord Who blinded me to common courtesy, for the words and events that unfolded in the next few days were to change the course of my life.
I was completely unprepared for the reception my news received, simply because my family had always been uncommonly supportive of me. We were a close-knit family, so I had blindly expected enthusiasm rather than reproach.
My mother could not stop sobbing when she realized I was in earnest. I spent most of the evening listening to ghastly tales of unspeakable pagan rites in faraway lands. It was clear just what they felt the fate of foolish young women who ventured to such strange places would be. In between sobs, my mother continuously uttered, "No never!" Never had I seen her so distressed.
My sister was equally angry. "Louisa, how could you! Whatever would Father have said if he were still alive? Your behavior is utterly, utterly unfair--to yourself, to your family, and most of all to Charles!"
Charles sat grimly, watching my mother and sister try their utmost to convince me. I searched his eyes, looking for a glimmer of understanding, but found only despair. Never before had we been at such an impasse*.
I could understand their fear and anger. The life expectancy of a missionary in China in those years of the late 19th century was short. Disease took its toll, and many felt the political situation was a powder keg* waiting to ignite. Their arguments were sound: The life I was desiring bore absolutely no resemblance to the life I was presently living. I was proposing a difficult journey of several months to the other side of the world. I would live amongst a strange people whose ways I did not understand and whose language I did not speak. It would mean years of separation, hardship, and most likely an early death. I had responsibilities at home, and obligations to Charles.
But I had received a call from God. Of that I was certain, there was no doubt. I had seen no vision; I had heard no voice, no trumpet call or rolling thunder. Yet I knew that God had spoken most clearly to my heart--and my call was to go to China. What could I say to convince them?
The next morning I fared no better. The servants whispered that my mother was nearly beside herself with anguish.
After numerous attempts to convince her that my wishes were reasonable, she silenced me with her hand. I had rarely seen her act in such a manner. Mother's lips were taut* as she attempted to control her anger. She spoke with a tone of utter finality.
"I am a Christian woman. I fear God and have always attended church regularly. Charities and the poor are known to me, and no one can say I do not give to God from such as we have.
"But Louisa, what you propose is too much! Such sacrifice is unthinkable. I will never, ever concede to this! You have your obligations to Charles as long as he is living. Your word is your honor and the honor of our family. You must not break that trust and dishonor him or us in this way. I will hear no more of this!"
She swept from the room and I thought my heart would break. Her words kept ringing in my head. I loved Charles; I owed him my hand. But God had called me. I felt so confused!
Three days passed--days which I spent praying, reading my Bible and desperately seeking God's will. I blamed myself for the hasty way in which I had presented my plans. I questioned the Lord about why my way would be blocked so steadfastly by my mother if this indeed was the path He had designed for me. I had been raised from a child to do the bidding of my dear parents, and I knew they wished only the best for me. Yet here I was, called to obey God rather than man, as my reading of the Scriptures so clearly directed.
At last I made my decision, and having done so, found instant relief. There is certainly no rest for the double-minded and half-hearted, and though the decision was difficult, the relief which flooded my being once it had been made felt like sunlight bursting through the clouds and warming my face. Having opened my Bible that third day to the book of Psalms, chapter four, verse three, I read, "But know that the Lord hath set apart him that is godly for Himself. The Lord will hear when I call unto Him."
Yes, that is me! I thought. The Lord has set me apart for Himself, to use.
I again opened my Bible and it seemed as if the Scriptures jumped from the page. In Matthew 10:36-38, I read, "And a man's foes shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me and he that taketh not his cross and followeth after Me is not worthy of Me."
Yes, I would take up my cross. I was willing to be disowned, to be made of no reputation in the eyes of my family, my fianc and others; to be regarded as rash and unheeding if need be. I knew that regardless of their approval--or lack of it--I would have to follow God's call. But before announcing my resolute decision, I prayed a final prayer.
"Dear Lord, You know that I have determined in my heart to follow You. Thank You for the grace and strength You have given me during this time of trial and testing. Thank You for keeping me and guiding my heart to follow You to China. Renew me now! Give me the strength to do this thing--to cast my all with You. Nothing in my hand I bring, for even my dearest ones are forsaking me. I give them to You.
"Thank You for this test. But Lord, if there is any way to make them understand the course which You have set before me, I pray that You will work this miracle in their hearts. If not, I will trust You all the same, but if You would, then please do this thing. Amen."
I sank back in my chair and felt utter peace, as if my prayer had already been answered. Little did I know that it was being answered even as I prayed, but in ways I would never have expected.
Charles
I had not yet spoken, for I had just entered the reading room where my mother sat, purposely ignoring me, pretending to be engrossed in her novel, when the servants rushed in.
"It's Master Charles!" they shouted. "Send for the doctor immediately!"
Mother and I rushed to the entrance foyer in time to see them carry a limp form inside. The sight of blood caused my heart to quicken and I suddenly felt faint. "Lord help us!" I prayed. My pale-faced mother gripped the banister and shouted for the servants to bring Charles into the main parlor immediately.
As the men attended to him and the maids fetched water and bandages, the gardener hastened to explain the dreadful accident that had occurred. Charles was riding to see us when his horse lost her footing on the side path leading up behind the stables. He was thrown, but suffered little injury other than a sprained foot. But when attempts to remount proved futile, he limped to the retaining wall to rest in the shade of the large stone edifice*. Suddenly the ancient wall collapsed, burying Charles under the rocks. Now, as the servants carried him into the parlor, he was barely conscious.
While waiting for the doctor, tears streamed down my face. Was this the result of my wish to be free to serve the Lord? Was this some sort of dreadful curse visited on my loved one because of my determination to go to the mission field at all costs? Why? I never wished Charles to die, only for them to understand! I gazed fearfully at Charles' white face and choked back feelings of guilt and condemnation. Suddenly I heard a most distinct voice in my heart, speaking calmly and clearly.
"Wait, and fear not! I am working in the hearts of those you love, because you have trusted in Me."
I sat bolt upright. The Lord had spoken to me! Though I didn't fully understand all that was happening, I felt a flutter of hope and strength knowing God had His hand upon us even in this terrible hour. Still I wondered why
It took the doctor nearly an hour to reach our estate. During the examination, I paced the hallway with a heavy heart. Mother sat in a chair and wrung her hands. I could see by her dark glances that she blamed me for having put us all through such agony. I knew my mother had suffered deeply after my father's death. She had loved him tremendously, and they had had a fond and enduring marriage. I often thought there was nothing he would not do for her while he lived. But my thoughts were interrupted as the door opened and the doctor emerged.
One look at his face told me everything. Charles was dying. He had suffered extensive internal injuries, the doctor explained, and though he had done all that he possibly could, there was little hope. Charles' family was summoned immediately, and both his mother and father stayed with us. It was far too dangerous to move Charles again, even to their home, which was but a mile from our own. We stayed with him constantly, valuing what few earthly moments we had left with our dear one. Together we all were to witness the wonderful miracle that took place, as we listened to Charles' dying words; words that were to change things for us all in so many, many ways.
The Second Chance
The ringing of the bell drew my wandering thoughts back to the present--breakfast would be ready soon! My bare feet touched the tiles, the only cool place in the room, and I quickly washed myself in the clay basin beside my bed. With a sigh, I drew my long, hot Chinese robe over my head. "Well," I comforted myself, "English fashion would be no less confining." But I did wish I could eliminate the leg wrappings, which were particularly uncomfortable in this humid climate.
I knew, however, how very important it was for us, as foreign missionaries, to dress, act and live as much as possible like the Chinese people we were trying to reach. Suspicion of foreign ways ran rampant. Hideous rumors flew in the markets, as old women described the atrocities that "foreign devils" would commit. "No one is safe," old grandmothers warned darkly. "Foreigners steal children, murder them, and use their body parts in strange rituals!"
Thankfully, when we took steps to make ourselves as much like the Chinese as possible, fear often gave way to curiosity, and in time, curiosity to spiritual hunger. Often as I walked the narrow streets surrounding our home, one of the bolder neighbor women would approach me, and perhaps hold up her long sleeve, which more than covered her hand, next to mine. She would smile and comment, "Look, we are dressed the same!"
So I was now used to Chinese fashion, and I could see the wisdom in endeavoring to become someone the people of this country could understand. If I was not so strange, perhaps my God would not be so strange. If they could see that my dress and actions were similar to theirs, then was not my heart also similar? Did not I, who slept on the same type of bed and ate the same type of food, experience the same type of sorrows and joys? And if my God could help me, could He not help them too?
As I brushed my hair into the tightly bound bun so popular among the women in this particular city, I watched the cook bring more wood for the fire. I knew steaming bowls of rice porridge would soon be waiting for all of us, so I would have to hurry.
Not too fast though, Louisa--or Lu Yisi, as I was now known. If I was in too much of a hurry, I would forget to walk in an appropriately humble posture, shoulders sloped. After spending so many years of my childhood being drilled in the importance of standing erect, that was a hard custom to get used to.
I opened the shutters and the full heat of the day greeted me. It reminded me of that day in England, which was now a world away
* * *
"Open the door, open the door! They must come in! You mustn't stop them!"
The pale, sweat-soaked figure lay thrashing upon the bed, calling out disjointedly. We opened the shuttered windows to give him more air. But which door was he referring to? The door to the parlor was already ajar.
Charles had lain unconscious for two days, then on the third he seemed to rally. He spoke to us and took a little nourishment. Our hopes were dashed, however, when high fever set in on the fifth day, and with it a great restlessness and agitation. By the end of the week we all knew there was little time left, and those of us closest to him were at his side constantly.
I had prayed and prayed, asking God to do some miracle to spare his life. I knew the Lord had promised that he was working in the hearts of those I loved, and I clung to that promise as a man overboard would cling to a rope in a raging, stormy sea. The time Charles lay injured had indeed worked in our hearts, causing us all to pray like never before, and to set aside our divisions as a family--at least for the time being.
"Eliza! Eliza, listen to me!" Charles called my mother. How odd that he would call her by her Christian name, for he never referred to her as anything other than Mrs. Bannard. My mother drew near and held his hand, trying to calm him.
Again Charles called out, "No, no, Eliza! You mustn't shut the door again! Don't you remember? You did that so long ago. Don't shut it for our Louisa, dearest, as you did for me!"
"Charles, whatever are you saying?" my mother questioned, looking very haggard and worn. She mopped Charles' brow with a cool cloth.
Suddenly Charles ceased tossing on the bed. We all leaned closer. Was this the end? His eyes opened and he gazed upwards past us all. A wonderful calm filled his face, and he smiled.
"Eliza, don't you see? Louisa's going is the second chance. Don't you remember that day so long ago on the bridge, when you told me to choose between you and the call I felt for God's service?"
My mother stiffened, gave a little cry, and turned as white as the sheet upon the bed. What was happening? Whatever was Charles talking about? The rest of us stood silent in awe.
"Eliza, I've come with a message for you. Charles will be with me soon. Don't fear for him; he shall be very happy in this wonderful place. It is his time and the Lord's plan is being fulfilled. Heaven is such a wonderful place! And, dearest, I love you. We shall all be together in God's time in this wonderful Heavenly Kingdom. You know it is I, don't you, dearest?"
"Richard?" my mother whispered my father's name, her eyes wide. "How can this be?"
"Dearest Eliza, God's ways are merciful, and He sends comfort to the comfortless and a sign to them that seek, through the sure word of prophecy. Don't you remember that I cried, Eliza? You never saw me cry again, did you? But that day on the bridge, I cried. So many tears flowed from my broken heart, because I was choosing you over the call I received to serve God. But you, my dearest one, would not marry a poor pastor."
Overcome with emotion, my mother buried her face in her hands and sobbed loudly. We watched in wonder. Was this actually my father speaking?
"You knew, darling, that my family would not approve of my desire to join the clergy. Knowing this, you begged me not to tell them, not to upset you and my parents. You did not see that in serving God, I would bring a blessing to you all--the blessing of giving a loved one to God.
"But the Lord sees your heart, dearest one. He understands that you were afraid. Your heart was full of fear--fear of the future, fear to trust God with your reputation and family. Much was the same for dear Charles. He did not understand and attempted to dissuade our Louisa from her call.
"But that day on the bridge, weak as I was, in my love for you, I compromised. Instead of serving God, I followed my father's wishes and entered into my family's business."
With great effort Charles turned his head to my mother and pulled the hands from her face to look fully into her eyes. His dark eyes glowed with a warm understanding love. For a moment, it seemed as if she was again meeting the gaze of my dear father who had left us seven years before.
"Eliza, don't you see?" Charles' voice was growing faint, but he spoke emphatically. "This is our second chance. Jesus, in His love for us, has called our daughter Louisa to be His ambassador. Charles understands now, and he wants you to understand also. He says he is so sorry. Open the door, Eliza, to all those dear souls who will come in through the Heavenly gates. Please open the door, Eliza!"
Charles took one last breath, and a calm and restful smile came over his face. Perhaps he knew that bearing this message from my father had been the most important thing he had accomplished in his life. As we gazed in wonder, my darling Charles slipped away into Jesus' arms.
It was a long time before any of us could speak. An air of wonderful peace filled the room, as we knew something strange and miraculous had happened. Yet we were full of questions; there was so much I didn't understand. I was barely conscious of the others who talked in hushed tones as they filed out of the room. I knelt by my mother's chair and looked up into her solemn face.
"Mother, " I stammered, "what does this mean?"
She looked down at me as she stroked my hair. "Louisa, how I wish I could say it were not true. But things that were spoken in the dark have come to light. This is indeed a sign to me, and I know now that your dear father, who cared for us so deeply, still watches over us from his new home in Heaven."
She wept softly as she continued.
"That day he referred to on the bridge I remember it well. On that day, before we were married, I made your father choose. He loved me dearly and trusted me with his deepest thoughts and fondest dreams. He told me he had experienced a marvelous call in his life, and had felt God speak to his heart. God had called him to become a minister!
"Oh, Louisa, how frightened I was! With that type of future, I knew our parents would never agree to our marriage! We were from families of influence--such a thing couldn't be! I begged him, pleaded with him, and finally I threatened him. I made him choose--which no wife has the right to do--between God and me.
"Your father chose me that day, Louisa. But it was a bitter victory for me as I watched him stand on that bridge and sob. They were the last tears he ever shed, for no more tears could be cried after such a torrent.
"Besides me, no one knew of that conversation, or even of your father's wishes to become a minister. When Richard chose me, he shut the door of his heart to God's ministry. We never spoke of these things again, and I doubt if he would have spoken of them to another, for it was such a wound to his soul."
She took my shoulders in her hands, looked me straight in the eyes, and spoke with such earnest intent, "Dear daughter, your father has said that your call to the mission field is our second chance to do the right thing. Though I am still frightened and don't understand everything, I know God wants me to give you to Him. I dare not refuse a second time. Now I do this freely, and with my blessing. I thank God for sending me that message from Heaven, from your dear father, to help me choose rightly!"
Clasping me to her bosom, we both shed tears of thankfulness, wonder and love for our Savior Who could perform such a marvelous miracle.
* * *
I stood on the open door of the balcony, my face lifted to the warm morning sun that flooded the courtyard of my simple home in China. The memory of my father's final message to us to "open the door to the souls of China" was in my heart and on my lips. Below, the sound of hurried footsteps in the direction of our common dining hall reminded me that the hour grew late.
"Dear Jesus," I prayed, "though I only have a moment, I want to thank You for the wonderful privilege of being here. Thank You for calling me to be Your servant. Please help me in my tasks today. You called me and brought me here in such a miraculous way. Now lead me each step. Help me to love these dear people with Your love. Help me to give myself to China as You gave Your life for us. Help me to understand and know them, and to do what I can to help open the doors of this land to You, I pray."
I turned and hurried down the stone steps to my bowl of rice porridge--and the waiting souls of China.
To be continued
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(Fact box on James Hudson Taylor on page 2)
James Hudson Taylor (1832-1905). English missionary who, when he was only five years old, decided he wanted to become a missionary to China. When he was a teenager, he borrowed a book on China from a minister in town, who asked him how he proposed to go to China. Taylor replied that, like the Apostles of old, he would trust God for all his needs. "Ah, my boy, as you grow older," said the minister, "you will get wiser than that." Despite this disbelieving churchman, Taylor started preparing for China at the age of 17 and arrived there at the age of 21, after a five-and-a-half month ship voyage. He landed in the midst of a civil war at Shanghai. Rebels held the city, and there were many other fearsome circumstances to overcome. Despite many hardships, he founded the China Inland Mission, which was responsible for putting thousands of missionaries on needy fields. In a radical departure from the churches of the day, he accepted missionary candidates who had no college training, and required his missionaries to identify with the Chinese by wearing Chinese dress. Becoming Chinese was a complicated process for the blue-eyed, blond-haired Englishman. The baggy pants (two feet too wide around the waist) and the flat-soled shoes with turned-up toes would have been trial enough, but to blend in with the Chinese people, black hair and a pigtail were essential. So Taylor gave up most of his hair to the barber, dyed the remainder, plaited a pigtail, and wore Chinese spectacles, truly becoming one. The more he traveled throughout China, the greater became his burden for the souls there. His vision was to muster up 1,000 evangelists, who he hoped could reach 250 people a day with the Gospel, thus evangelizing all of China in a little over three years. He never reached his goal, but by 1895, 30 years after its founding, the China Inland Mission had more than 640 missionaries investing their lives in China. Before he died, Taylor said, "Had I a thousand lives, China would claim every one."
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Unto them that sat in DARKNESS...
It was a cold and stormy winter night in the mid-1800s. The snow was packed high and deep. During these long winter evenings I would stay snuggled up in blankets on a chair by the fireplace, to keep warm while I read. Reading was my hobby, and that night, there in that quiet place, while everything was dark and peaceful, I was to hear the call that would change my life forever!
My name is Martha, and I was the eldest in a family of five. My mother and father were God-fearing parents, and they raised me and my brothers and sisters in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Together, we lived a happy and a peaceful life.
I grew up in a small village, in the midst of the beautiful countryside. A peaceful river gently babbled through the village, and all around there was vast open country, dotted by farm houses, traversed by horses and carriages. My peaceful world was so different then, as this was some hundred years ago when life was much slower. I never thought I would leave this little haven; I was sure that I would marry, have a family, grow old and die there. Yet this night, as I read stories of countries and peoples far away, I felt God calling me to be a missionary.
I loved helping people, I loved children, and I had a desire to do good for others. I was young and energetic. I had read such stories many times before--stories of others who had gone to distant lands to help people--but I never thought that I would one day be one of them. I felt incapable of doing something so great--of leaving the country of my birth to go to a land I knew nothing about.
As I felt the burden that God had pressed upon my heart that night, I fought it. How could He use me? I knew Jesus and I loved Him and was content in my worship of Him, but I didn't ever think that I would be able to serve Him in such a capacity. But the conviction in my heart only grew stronger, and as He spoke to me, this burden became like a fire burning within me.
And so it was that, at the age of eighteen, I told God that I was willing to do what I felt He was asking of me. But I had to be sure. After all, I didn't even know where He wanted me to go. So I asked God, "Where do You want me to go? I am willing, because I believe You have called me to Your service, but I need to know where You want me to go. Please show me."
Then it was that I saw the pictures--dark pictures of suffering: of children lost and lonely, of heathens worshipping idols, of poverty, misery and a multitude of hopeless and lost souls. I knew from the pictures that God was calling me to the great dark continent of Africa. He told me to start preparing, and that He would make the path He had chosen for me clearer as time went on.
So I prepared. I started by borrowing books, atlases, encyclopedias and anything I could find that talked about that great continent. To do this I had to travel to a nearby town, larger than the one we lived in, where I could have access to a central library. As I studied these books and maps, I felt that the Lord was leading me to the very heart of the dark continent--the lands of the Congo.
I made an appointment to see the founder of a missionary school. This school was sending missionaries to Africa and Asia, and already had various missions set up in these places.
After stating my case, and explaining how I had felt a call from the Lord, the man--a professional minister, who had studied both the ministry and medicine, and had once been a missionary himself--looked on me somewhat surprised, and quietly replied, "Why don't you wait a couple more years to be sure that this is what you want to do. Life in these countries is very hard. There are many dangers. You will be leaving your family and loved ones, and you may not be able to see them again for years. Perhaps this is all just a fantasy, a childlike passion of your heart. Let me give you some advice: Wait a few more years and study if you like. Who knows, maybe you will find some young man eager to take your hand in marriage, to start a family, and then your passion will change with the years."
All I could do was look at him with tears in my eyes. "But, sir, I have found my passion: this burning desire in my heart to go and help! I cannot go on living life selfishly as I have been, for if I do, I will be failing God. Please, if God truly wants me there, then what difference does it make if I am young and inexperienced?"
When he saw that I was sincere and convinced of my calling and would not be dissuaded, he let me know of some missionaries already in Africa, and of their different missions across the continent. One couple in particular, a man and his wife by the names of Hans and Olga, drew my attention. They had both gone to Africa when they were younger, and had been there for many years. I immediately felt a certain bond with them, and determined that I would write them that very day.
I traveled back to my little village, armed with yet more books and study material. I hadn't, as of yet, told my family about this desire in my heart and what I was preparing for, for I felt that I would have to be confident of my destination--and I had also needed some time to count the cost, so that I could be fully persuaded in my own mind before trying to convince them that I was indeed making the right choice. I knew it would be hard on my parents to hear that I was planning to leave, as we were a close family. I also dearly loved my brothers and sisters, and I knew that leaving them would come at a great personal cost for myself as well. Only God would know whether I would ever see them again.
Finally the day came, when I felt the time had come to make my decision known. That night, around the dinner table, as we were enjoying a pleasant conversation about the happenings of that day, I told everyone that I had an announcement to make. My heart was pounding with excitement as I prepared to break the news to them. "I know you won't believe me," I began hesitatingly. "I know you may not understand, but I feel I should tell you now that I have decided to become a missionary--to Africa-- and I have already made preparations to go there."
You should have seen the looks on their faces! My younger brothers and sisters simply sat there stunned and quiet.
My father was the first to speak. "Martha, Martha, come now! You're only eighteen! We wouldn't think of letting you go so far away, even to be a missionary. It is simply foolish. Why, you'd be risking your life for people you don't even know. Come to your senses!"
My mother remained quiet. She didn't know what to say or how to react, though I could tell she could see my desire and burden, and that she had a flicker of trust that God was calling me.
I was young, yes, but I was no longer a child. I had hoped that my father would see this, and that he would not try to stop me from fulfilling what I knew was God's purpose for my life. I proceeded to tell them of the research I had already done, how I would be able to travel there by boat and join one of the established mission outposts there.
By now my younger brothers and sisters were quite excited about the idea; they wanted to come along, and started asking me all sorts of questions about Africa, and about the things I had come to know through the research and study I had done.
Over the next few weeks, we had many conversations, and my father slowly began to accept the idea, although I could tell that it was not easy for him to do so; it would be a tremendous sacrifice for him, for he loved me dearly. But our faith in God helped both my father and my mother to know that He would take care of me somehow. And so they both began helping me in my venture. Things did not, however, go as swiftly as I had hoped, and it was some months before the time finally came for me to begin my great adventure.
As the day of my departure drew ever nearer, the excitement and anticipation began to wear thin, and I was besieged with doubts. I heard voices in my mind, "Oh, you'll never make it." "You'll die of disease as soon as you get there." "You're wasting your life on a foolish whim." But I knew these thoughts had not come from the Lord, for they only made me feel fearful, worried and depressed. It was a constant struggle to push these thoughts aside and to continue with my preparations, without trying to analyze my decision, because, from a purely practical viewpoint, it was a pretty crazy thing to do.
Finally the long-awaited day arrived. It was on a beautiful spring day that I said goodbye to my family and to my friends, and to most of the village, who had come to see me off. By now, everyone had heard of my decision, and they had all helped me get together everything that I had needed for the journey, many of them even pledging to send funds whenever they could.
The entire voyage was to take about two months. First by carriage to the capital city, then by train to the port town where I was to take the boat, and then a month or so would pass at sea before I would arrive on the African coast. How I was to travel on from there to my final destination in the Congo, I didn't know. I couldn't believe that I was actually on my way. Every emotion welled up within me--excitement, anticipation, fear, worry, gladness, joy, then sorrow and pain.
Thankfully, I was to travel with another person--a man in his early thirties--who was on his way to the same mission in Congo. His name was John, and he was a doctor who had also been called by God to be a missionary. As the slow days of our long, and in some ways uneventful, voyage by boat passed, we got to know each other quite well, and it wasn't long before a special friendship grew between us. We had so much to talk about--of how we had felt God's call, of the preparations we had had to make, and how finally, after having been through many ups and downs, we were now both on our way. Then our friendship slowly began turning to love, though we were too shy to make this known to each other. But we enjoyed our times together and got to know one another well.
Setting foot on land was a joy for me, as I was not much for boats, and was often very seasick on that trip. On the other hand, as soon as I stepped into this strange new world, I felt like getting back on the boat again. I was suddenly struck with a fear, a realization of, "My God, what have I done? Am I prepared for this?" This was so different from anything I was used to or knew. But the dark, beautiful faces all around me compelled me to go forward. Just as suddenly, I remembered why I had come here, and such a strong feeling of love for these people welled up in my breast that I knew there would be no turning back.
Upon arriving at our destination in Congo, we were met by Hans and Olga, the couple who took care of the mission outpost, and whom I had been communicating with. They put us up, helped us get settled, and taught us the customs of the land, how to speak to the people, how to approach them, how to live this new and unfamiliar style of life, and how to keep on the lookout for harm and danger.
In time, it was decided that we would establish a small branch of our mission in one of the distant villages, further out in the country.
As John and I set off to our new location along with our guides and a trail of natives carrying our belongings, as well as goods and medical supplies for the village, little did we know all that the Lord would have in store for us there.
We were happy and excited, and looked forward to starting our lives in this new mission. As we traveled deeper into the wilderness, I had my first chance to see much of the African wildlife in their natural habitat. It was beautiful and fascinating. On one side we saw a herd of zebras; on the other, giraffes were calmly nibbling on the high trees. Further down, a small herd of elephants lumbered across the plain, while gazelles and monkeys looked on. The land was still wild back then, and we saw almost every animal you could imagine--we even saw lions, though from quite a distance.
As exciting as it was, the journey was also tiresome and perilous, as we had to travel much of the way on foot. We were hot, and it was unpleasant at times. But the determination in our hearts to do our best for Jesus kept us going, and His promises of protection kept our hearts at peace. All we wanted to do was give our lives for Him and for the people of this nation. Many of them sat in spiritual darkness, worshipping their own gods; they didn't have the light and love that we knew Jesus had for them. Our prayer was to help them to see it.
We knew we would have to proceed slowly. We couldn't rush things or try to push God on them. It could be dangerous to be too forceful, as many here had come to know the white man as an invader, an aggressor who captured and sold their people into slavery. We knew that the only way we could help them and win them over to the love of Christ was to go slow, sowing the seeds of His Words in love, and showing them this love in our deeds and actions.
The little village where we set up our work became our next base, from where we often went into the surrounding villages, towns, and tribes, to teach the people about God's love. We didn't have big results all at once. It was hard work, slow work--plodding along day after day, caring for the children, the elderly, the sick, doing whatever we could to help these people and show them our love, and the Lord's love for them--and it was the Lord's love that sustained us.
In time we had many friends, and the local people came to love and accept us. We set up a little school, as well as a chapel and a small clinic, and many would come from all around this remote area to receive medical help, and to hear stories of the great and wonderful God of the universe--the One Who had created them and wished to help them.
John and I married, and we began having children. We lost our first child to disease at a very early age, but the Lord gave us three others. We had a little girl, Carol, a little boy, Fredrick, and our youngest, Samuel. They were the joy of our lives, and together we lived a truly happy life. Although there were many times that we had to battle with difficulties and struggle with disease--sometimes even being near death ourselves--Jesus always raised us up to continue the work that He had given us. We were later joined by another missionary couple, who came to help us in our mission. We worked well together, and quickly became best of friends.
One morning, as I was going about my chores in the house and caring for the little ones, we heard the sound of a large crowd coming towards the mission house. I could hear people in the village running and screaming. My husband had set off early that morning to another village to tend to some of their sick. As I looked out of the window, I saw that a large band of warriors had come and surrounded our house. By their looks and the war paints they were wearing, I knew that they were from one of the more aggressive tribes that we had not been able to reach yet.
These people had become angry because one of their members who had been wounded had been found by my husband, and had been brought to our camp for medical treatment. He had stayed with us from that time on, not wishing to return to his warlike tribe.
I told everyone in the room, including my children and the other two missionaries who were with me, to get down on the floor and pray. All we could do at that moment was to beseech the Lord for His help. Tears streamed down my face as my little daughter bravely prayed, "Jesus, please help us! Please protect us! You're bigger and stronger than all of those people put together. Please don't let them do anything to harm us. And please keep Daddy safe, wherever he is right now!" I knew that the Lord would honor that prayer--the sincere faith of a little child. How I wished I had that much faith, but at that moment, I have to admit that I was pretty scared. Yet I knew that I had to remain calm and peaceful, so that my children would not become fearful.
As the hostile crowd did some kind of warlike dance around our house, the Lord showed me to step out and speak to them. So together with our translator--the man from their tribe who had come to live with us--I stepped outside, my children and several other missionaries behind me.
"Oh God," I whispered my prayer, "help me to have the boldness of a lion, yet to speak meekly, and without fear."
We slowly came forward onto the porch of our little house. The cries and stomps abated somewhat as the warriors curiously watched us, wondering what we would do. Then I stepped down off the porch, the translator next to me, and walked into the circle that was forming around us, and then up to the man who appeared to be the leader of this raiding party.
As I silently stood before him, wondering what to do next, the shouts and rants and raves resumed and became even louder, especially when the others saw the man from their tribe with me, who had converted to Christianity. It was easy to see that they were ready to kill us on the spot. Looking into their eyes I could see the hatred, anger and violent spirit that inhabited these people. But then I looked deeper, and saw the fear, anguish and torment of their darkened spirits. In this moment of truth, my heart broke for these savage people, and I was overcome by the power of the Holy Spirit. I began to speak with such boldness, and a tenderness and brokenness that I'd never felt before. It was as though the Holy Spirit was speaking through me, directly to them, only using me as a channel.
"Wait, my friends, good men! Let me speak before you lay your hands on us! We are not afraid to die! For if we die, we know that we will go to a better world, one where the great Spirit and God of the universe will receive us into His arms and into His everlasting Kingdom. You can take away our lives, but you can't take away our God--not from me, or from any of the people here who have come to love Him. His power will live on long and strong even after we're gone. The love that He has for you is unchanging. He loves you so much that He gave His only Son to come to Earth and to live as a mortal man among us, and then, in the end, to die for us--taking the punishment for our sins upon His own body, which was nailed to a cross.
"Yes, He loves you, just as a father loves his children, for we are all His children. Though you worship other gods, He is the only One Who can truly make you free. I look at you, and I see fear. But Jesus can take that fear from you, and replace it with love. He told us, 'Perfect love casts out all fear.' Won't you accept His love? Won't you let Him set you free? Won't you put aside your hatred, your anger, and make a place for Him to change you, to come into your life, and to make you happy?"
By the time I finished speaking, the crowd had grown quiet and seemed awestruck at the authority with which I spoke--or I should say, the Lord spoke through me. Then the leader of the band came closer to the translator. "Tell this woman that any God Who can replace fear with love, Who can give boldness, as I have just seen, in the face of death; any God Who can give peace in the face of destruction, and give one such love and tenderness, must be great. I can see that light--that light shining all about you and your people. We were ready to destroy you and burn your village, but the words she has spoken have saved your lives."
As the translator finished interpreting these words, we all lifted up our arms with tears of thankfulness to Jesus, Who had kept us once more in the face of destruction. The man then stepped forward. "Come," he said. "Come with me to my village, to my tribe, to my people, and speak the words you have spoken here today."
It was the most amazing experience I'd ever had--to see a man's life change so drastically before us in a matter of seconds. I knew that it was a supernatural working of the Spirit, for only the Lord could have touched this man's heart in that way, to change not only him, but his entire tribe.
The husband of the other missionary couple and myself went with them right then, as we knew that we had to seize this golden opportunity immediately. We spent a few days at their village, and were able to share the message of Jesus' love with all the people of their tribe, which became another extension of our little community of villages and tribes who had accepted the Lord's love.
During our years in Africa, we had many more beautiful experiences of the Lord's supernatural power, working miracle after miracle for us and through us.
Although it never seemed to us that we were accomplishing much in the face of the overwhelming need of this great continent, after coming Up Here, to Heaven, we've been able to see just how many lives were touched--and changed--because of our willingness to sacrifice and give our lives, to do what little we could to fill the place that God had called us to fill. It has truly been worth it all. We never became famous on earth, but the Lord sure thanked us and rewarded us Here, beyond our wildest dreams.
If there's anything I can say to all you missionaries out there, it is to keep plodding along, doing the little things day after day. Those little deeds of love and kindness go such a long way. And children, you are also very important! My children grew up with the sweet natives, playing with the other children, learning the language and customs of their land--they truly became one with them. Everywhere we went they were able to communicate with the natives even better than we could. By my children's happy shining faces and their wonderful sample of love, they drew many to the Lord and played an important and key role in our work there.
So many are dying without the love of Jesus, but you can give it to them through your smiles, your words of kindness and love, and your actions. I'm very proud of you, and Jesus is proud of you. It's so exciting to see all of you being faithful missionaries out there! I know how tough it can be at times, so I really admire you--and the Lord, oh, He really admires you. And all the hosts of Heaven, they jump for joy when they see you giving your lives faithfully for Him, and doing what you can to help others and to bring them the light of salvation. So whether you are on the poor mission fields or in your home country, make sure you're doing what you can to change the world, even if it only seems to be a little bit. Someday you will see that it has been worth it all!
(Definitions included throughout booklet:)
*suitor: a man who is courting a woman
*impasse: a road without an exit, meaning a situation so difficult that no desired progress can be made
*powder keg: a small barrel for holding gunpowder, meaning a potentially explosive or dangerous situation
*taut: tense, tight
*edifice: a large building
(Text in pictures for "Unto Them that Sat in Darkness")
Second picture: Oh Jesus, help me!
Fourth picture: Tell this woman that any God Who can replace fear with love in the face of death must be great.
[End]
Copyright (c) 1998 by Aurora Productions