MAY, 1946
205
MOTHER Mrs. Willard 'M. Aldrich
aware that he is extraordinary. All these years he has cheerfully either ridden a b i c y c l e or walked. His letters are hilarious, filled with a rip pling wit that moves one to tears, for it is apparent that he laughs at ad versity and gives himself to the limit in loving service. The money sent for Christmas to get himself some extras he used to buy cloth for the Christian widows in his parish of a thousand towns. “A man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.” It is twelve years since this veteran has had a furlough, but he refuses to complain. Last summer I was on a train ap proaching Buffalo. As I stood up to get my luggage, I noticed a smiling face far down the aisle. The snow- white hair of this gentleman did not prevent my recognizing him as a dis tinguished missionary who was a guest in our home one whole summer when I was a boy. He and I had con ducted a tent meeting together. He did the preaching and I gave out the hymn books at the door! His very name is an inspiration to thousands of young people from San Diego to Boston. He is a Sir Galahad of mod ern missions. For him it was not the quest of the Holy Grail, but the quest of the untrodden trail. He has entered new areas and blazed trails that oth ers might have courage to follow. Eight times he has been captured by bandits in a foreign land, and always, like Daniel, he has been delivered. By the time you read this he will be packing to “go back.” This wonderful business of being a missionary is a lifetime commission. “Endure hard ness.” The daring of faith pleases God. A young missionary needed some land for his Bible school work. The field behind the bungalow where he lived was very suitable. The soil was just right for making bricks for student dwellings. Every day at sunset the missionary and his wife walked around the field and thanked the Lord for it. Meanwhile William E. Black-
stone had received some money to be given to missions from the two lay men who so generously helped in the building of the B i b l e Institute of Los Angeles. Imagine the joy at the mission house when a draft for $750.00 arrived, designated for “Bible school work.” But the price of the field was $1000.00. The missionary went to Bombay by train, “Missionary Special Class,” which was a board bench for a berth, and prepared to cash the draff. Now, in foreign countries, Amer ican money varies in value, according to foreign exchange. God put some elastic in that draft, for that very day American money rose to a higher value than at any time before, and, instead of receiving in Indian rupees the normal amount for $750.00, he was given the equivalent in Indian money of $1,000.00. "Count on the faithfulness of God.” HE KNOWS If the pattern of life looks dark to you And the threads seem twisted and queer. To the ONE who is planning the whole design. It's perfectly plain and clear; For the Master-Weaver knows best, you see. When He works in His threads of gray. And they'll only make brighter the rose and gold Of another happier day. —Anon, I Before I became a missionary, I was a high school teacher. One of my stu dents, Bob, was born in Tibet, where his missionary parents lived on “The Roof of the World.” Bob was an excel lent athlete and an all-around, excep tionally promising young man. In col lege he excelled. As graduation ap proached, he received some alluring, unsolicited business offers. With a smile, he turned them all down. No one could fool him. From his child hood, he had seen missionaries in ac tion. He knew that the Christ who had filled the lives of his parents with such joy would be with him, too. He went back to Tibet. He has been a very, very brave man amid heart breaking hardships and dangers. He has made long arduous treks into hitherto inaccessible areas. Famous explorers have sought his aid, promis ing worldly fame, but he says he is too busy as a missionary to descend to mere exploration. He seeks not honor, but souls. "Turn your eyes upon Jesus.” He has' promis-'d to ho "with you alv.ay.” Refuse to be sideLackedl
T)ERHAFS there will be some willing ■V angel who could take this mes sage up to you, Mother, or maybe they will tell you of it up there where all the glory is . . . Jane said one rainy day, “Mommie, why couldn’t ‘Nana’ come down on the rain to see us?” I wish you could, Mother . . . it has been a long time . . . and you’ve never seen my babies. But more than that, I’d like you to know that I k n o w m o r e of what “Mother” means, now that I have my own who call me “Mommie.” It makes my heart fill with thank fulness to remember what you did for me, what you were to me and what you gave me of yourself. From you I learned the beauty of soft yellow and brown, the loveliness of the lines of tree trunks, the way w h i t e p u f f y clouds go scudding across a blue sky. How could I have missed beauty? You were always pointing it oyt, even to the way a certain type of grass holds aloft its feathered head with such grace. But there was other beauty, Mother. It makes a mistiness to remember our "occasions” when you’d take me for a “special day.” We packed a lunch and we ate it in a sort of market-restau rant. You had a cup of coffee and I had ice cream. There wasn’t money to go to a regular place, but the shining eyed adventurer didn’t mind and now I know what it meant to you to make the effort. Thank you, Mother, for giv ing of yourself to me. And then the things you went with out . . . how could I have been so un seeing as I gloated over my shoes “just like the other girls!” I remember, Mother, how you’d play the piano in the evening. “Be the soldiers marching,” and they would march through the room. “Now be the water tumbling on the rocks at the foot of the falls!” And the great cas cading thunder would be there. Pre cious the memories of you there at the piano! Then there were the talks we had together. You showed me that “things” are of least importance, and to be pitied is he who builds his life around “things.” You gave me richness even though our home was very humble. That night you left us, M o t h e r , Daddy knelt by your bed just after you had gone and we p t , “Oh, Mother, you’ve had such a hard life! I had so little to give you . . . " I stood and ( Co:iiini:sd or, Fuge ¿3?)
Heathen Gongs; these needy ones h&Ve no music in their hearts.
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