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T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
February 1930
miss itj/b s Why “ Streams In The Desert” was Written B y M rs . C harles E. C owman
ETTERS pour into our missionary office from the four corners of the world asking for copies of “ Streams in the Desert.” We have come in touch with thousands of dear fellow Christians, weighted with burdens too heavy to bear, to whom the daily devotional readings have brought comfort and cheer. Many of the letters contain such sen tences as, “ What led you to compile ‘ Streams’ ?” “ Where did you find the helpful messages?” “ Were you ever a
raged beyond His control. The billows, which, in their approach, threatened to submerge him as they came on, lifted him up to the heaven he was bound for. All- the waves were crested with God’s benediction. God answered his prayer in His own way, permitting him to be shut in with himself that he might find the treasures of darkness, delivering him with such a mighty hand that, he was glad that the tempest arose, for the furious winds and tumbling seas revealed to him “what manner o f man is this.”
great sufferer or a shut-in?” May I take this opportunity to reply to these personal questions ? My beloved companion, the founder of the Oriental Missionary Society, and I had the unspeakable privilege of spending a number of years in the Orient as mission aries of the Cross. It was delightful ser vice, but where is the missionary, possessed with a passionate passion for souls, who is able to take life easy? Twenty years of Bible Training Institute work in Japan and Korea, then five years with one hundred workers in the villages of Japan, placing the Word of God in the 10,320,000 homes of the Mikado’s Empire, seeing hundreds in
If the great adversary sought by that stroke to mar or bruise a chosen instrument, he was certainly disappointed; and if he thought, by making the Lord’s servant often go heavily, to arrest the work, he was foiled. Charles Cowman stood still beneath the shadow of the Cross. It was my privilege to be by his side through the six long pain-filled years. Often Satan came, tempting us to faint under the pressure; but each time when the testings reached their utmost limit, God would illu mine some old and familiar text, or a help ful book or tract would providentially fall into our hands which contained just the message needed at that moment.
quiring their way to Zion, what blessed days! In the midst of these wonderful times came the angel of pain, dressed in her, somber robes. We were afar in the moun tain fastnesses of Japan, engaged in evangelistic work, when one evening, like a bolt out of the blue, came the stroke that completely changed everything in our lives. A doctor was summoned hastily and after a hurried exami nation he said to me, “ Your husband’s work is finished. Take him to the homeland immediately, if you would not bury him in heathen soil.” “ Worn out” was the term which the physician used. His only human hope was across the deep blue in the homeland. We boarded a steamer that lay at anchor, and put out to sea. What lay ahead of us? We could only trust and wait. Several times during the twenty years of missionary service, the climate of sunny Southern California had restored the tired nerves and renewed his strength. Would it not do so again? He never ceased to pray and believe that it might, but his closest friends knew that his mis sionary career was ended. Activity is not the only kind of service which fulfills God’s will. “ They also serve who only stand and wait,” wrote blind Milton. Not always, however, do we accept the Master’s guidance with submis sion and joy, when He calls away from the white fields to the lonely desert. What a change for this keen, active man! From the din of the battle to the seclusion of the sick chamber. From the glow and glory of the work he loved so dearly, to the utter abandonment o f it all. Would his faith fail now, at this crucial point? Would he still trust on through God’s silences? Ah, a triumphant faith was needed just here. God gave it, and he found that it was possible to praise God in the darkest hour that ever swept a human life. I f God was to give him songs in the night, He must first make it night. The refining fires never
One day, while walking along the seashore, wondering almost if “ God, had forgotten to be gracious,” we noticed a leaflet lying at our feet. We eagerly picked it up and found the exquisite poem, “ God smiles on His child in the eye of the storm.” W e caught anew a glimpse o f His loving face. His choicest cordials were kept for our deep est faintings, and we were held in His strong loving arms throughout those years, till we learned to love our desert, with its refreshing streams, because of His won derful presence with us. “ God does not comfort us to make us comfortable, but to make us comforters,” wrote Dr. Jowett. One day, when lonely and bereft, a sweet Voice whispered to me, “ Pass on to other troubled hearts some of the messages that were helpful to you throughout the years o f testing.” So a book was compiled, and the first edition of “ Streams in the Desert” was sent on its errand of love. There came a call for a second edition and letters were received, not only from America and England but from Japan, Korea, China, India, Africa, The Congo, Egypt, Australia, Alaska, Siam, and from the islands of the sea, from mis sionaries and Christian workers, asking for copies of the book. Another edition was published, but soon exhausted; then followed the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh. The eighth edition was entirely exhausted within three months, and the ninth edition, five times the number of the eighth, is now on the press. My desk is piled up with letters, many of them from the leading ministers and workers of the world, telling of the blessing that has come to them through reading “ Streams in the Desert.” I have learned this little secret—to “Measure thy life by loss and not by gain; Not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth: For love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice, And he who suffers most has most to give.”
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