Several years ago when my husband and I went out to the mission field I thought I had tasted the depths. When we climbed aboard that train in Niles, Michigan, and looked down into the faces of our sons, it seemed that we were draining the cup of woe to its last bitter dregs. For through our tears we saw those two young men gazing up at us bravely at that hard good-by, and we thought we had paid a great price. We had worked early and late, never despairing, never wearying, to give them their chance, even though the depression was biting deep and every victory exacted a price. And now we could not see them graduate; we could not hear them sing or play the organ or play in the band or preach for a long, long time. We were putting seven years between our dearest possessions and us. It was hard, but we had been schooled in a hard school and had learned to "endure hardness."
It was not long until we were on the sea. I began to wonder whether I had brought the right things in the big packing boxes stacked down in the hold of the vessel. I had tried to imagine and anticipate, and had sorted, disposed of, and added to, as well as I could. After I reached Africa I thought of things I had given away that I would have been glad to have, and I had brought a few absurdly worthless things. But when I got into my work I learned to my deep pleasure that the indispensable equipment of a good missionary does not take up a foot of packing space. I learned that a knowledge of the utter worthlessness of things, the deceitfulness of outward appearances, and a capacity for patience, love, and understanding were worth more than the thousands of pounds of things we had packed to use out there.
Worthlessness of Things
There were innumerable occasions when we thought we would have enjoyed some of the luxuries that are so abundant in America. We missed the radio, newspapers, electricity, gas, and comfortable furniture. But we learned that they were not necessary to happiness. We were there for eight months before our boxes arrived, and the other missionaries lent us sheets, blankets, and a few dishes. The mission house was furnished with things that wouldn't sell at a secondhand store here. Our first bed was void of springs, unless you would call the laced cowhide by that name. Later, when our boxes arrived, we were glad we had brought a mattress and springs, even though we set them up on boxes for several months because we had no bedstead. When I saw the queer, dilapidated "parlor suite" apportioned to me, I thought of my living- room furniture that I had sold for a song, but even then I realized that happiness and usefulness need not depend on beautiful furniture. It was a matter of making the most of what we had. Soon we had covered the unattractive khaki material on the davenport and chairs, and had put down rugs and hung pictures. The ugly sitting room, big enough to seat a conference committee, began to be home. We did not let things discourage or dominate us, but we subjugated them and made them serve us. It is amazing, though, how much doilies, scarves, rugs, vases, and books can do for a room. Our very life and health depended on screens, dry floors, and mosquito netting, but in addition we could do much to make things homelike and even beautiful, with little or no cost.
Deceitfulness of Outward Appearances
During my first few days on the mission I thought I had never before met such a poor, ragged, and sorry lot of people. I had never seen so much poverty, nakedness, and need in all my life. Then I saw Christians-women, in particular-terribly scarred, with blackish designs cut into their faces and chests. Ear lobes were slit and stretched. Such marks of heathenism can never be erased in this life. It was not a prepossessing picture, not a bit of beauty to ameliorate ugliness. But, oh, how· soon I learned that- "That which fairest is, but few behold; The mind adorned with virtues manifold." For there, walking the mission roads, living in simple mud huts, and sitting in our humble schoolrooms, were many people who will one day sit down with the great men of the kingdom in the better land. Kings and princes, joint-heirs with Christ, now in rags and bare feet, but they have laid hold on promises that will make them great in the kingdom of our Father. I have knelt and washed black feet in the ordinance of humility-feet so rough and so harsh that I had. the feeling for a minute that the communicant had forgotten to take off his shoes. I thought of the lush fields of the new earth, of golden streets these poor feet would one day tread-so different from the harsh, rocky barrenness of Central Africa I have seen tears streaming down black cheeks, for hearts were touched by the blessed ordinance that shows forth the Lord's death till He comes.
I have marveled in my heart, knowing how far these poor ones have climbed out of the depths of terrible heathenism. If you want to question appearances, take Amai Jessie, who always sits about eight seats from the front in the Malamulo church. She has never owned a shoe, and she would not know how to use a stove if she had one. Her bed is a mat, and her house is built of just plain mud. Yet cold, damp, rain, or fog does not keep her away from church. For Amai Jessie has tasted the providence and mercy of God. She spent years in our leper colony, for she was once a leper. She endured the excruciating pain of the chaulmoogra oil injections for years, hoping and praying that she would be made clean. The Lord rewarded Amai Jessie's faith, and she is clean, one of the elect awaiting the glad day when every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill shall be made low. Jessie, scarred by years of leprosy, will soon be changed "in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump." Her scars and heathen deformities will be transformed into the likeness of the glorious body of Jesus our Saviour. Her rags will be exchanged for the spotless robe of His righteousness.
Need of Patience, Love, and Understanding
We learned over there on the other side of the world to be patient, to wait, and to try not to murmur. Things go so slowly, oh, so slowly, until we feel like jumping up and down in our eagerness to get things done. "These people count not time by years," I once told my husband. He learned that primitive people cannot be burned. Elder. W. L. Davy, up at Luwazi Mission, always said that in order to be a successful missionary a person has to learn to wait. Africans believe that tomorrow is also another day. In staff meetings the native teachers delay progress by extensive, searching discussions of what we, in our impatience, would consider trivial. But people's feelings and rights are worth a great deal more than time or things, so we learned to wait and wait and wait and to be sweet about it. We had to remember that these people were schooled in a different environment, and had a vastly different background than we enjoy. We learned more fully what Paul meant when he said, "For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise."
In my missionary work I found that one must take time to be kind and sympathetic. No one IS ever won by a "brush-off" and a "rush-off." It is the personal work that counts.
Effort and time are required to do this, but it always pays. If we study the life of Jesus, we find that what we did informally bulks larger than what He did formally. Some people try to keep strict office hours and will not see people at other times. When I used to get weary of the constant press of People coming to me for help, I thought of the times when they sought Jesus out. Nicodemus went and searched out the Saviour at night, and received a lesson that has echoed through every generation. In contact with even humble villagers on the mission road I realized that I could witness for. Him by cordiality, friendliness, and happy smiles and greetings. For it is very true that however casually Jesus met a person, there was nothing casual about the way the meeting ended.
The stranger went on his way with greater courage and strength to bear his load along life's weary way. One day I was speaking in a heathen village. I noticed in the group who were listening a man with large brass earrings who frequently came to my door selling cabbages. Before I began to talk he whispered loudly and excitedly to his friends, "Let us listen carefully to what this Mamma says. She is always very kind to me when I go to her house to sell the vegetables." Oh, how glad I was that I had not passed the poor vendor of vegetables by as worthless! Jesus treated all with utmost kindness and courtesy. He recognized the dignity of humanity, and men longed to be worthy of His confidence. A missionary's wife has a mighty work to do!
She can-she must-stand by her husband with the tolerance, the patience, the love, sympathy, and understanding required to deal with primitive people. For "Christ came to break down every wall of partition." "By the gentle touch of grace, He banished from the soul unrest and doubt, changing enmity to love, and unbelief to confidence .... No question of policy influenced his movements. He made no difference between neighbors and strangers, friends and enemies. That which appealed to His heart was a soul thirsting for the waters of life."-Gospel Workers, p. 46.
And I have learned in my years as a worker for God that the biggest realities have to be tested and tried in one's own life and experience. It is hard to tell anyone that the truth will make him free unless one has tasted that sweet experience of freedom in his own life and experience. And it is useless· to advocate patience unless that virtue is one's own. Only by dying daily are we worthy of the blessed experience of being co-workers together with God.
