We ended that busy day upon our knees. Although we could see no way out, we were resting now and found ourselves praising our Lord. In coming to the end of self, we had come to the beginning of His power. We were leaving the solution to Him whose way is best, for He knoweth the end from the beginning. That Monday morning my poem, “Intercession” was written: “How blessed is the will of God We called the officials whom our new friends had sug gested. Although they could promise nothing, they asked if we could be in their office the next day. We could, we assured them, and that Monday- following the evening service we started on the all-night drive that should bring us to that city the next morning. A severe thunderstorm broke upon us as we traveled, but our little boy slept peacefully through the night. We found the officials co-operative and understanding. After a long series of questions, fingerprinting, and the like, we were told they would be able to issue the permit for our little girl’s visa. “But,” they added, “you must wait until your return to California to pass the Home Study before she will be permitted to come to America.” Silently we prayed. Again we explained the situation. Was there anything that could possibly be done? The official left the office for a few minutes. “Lord, is this Thy will?” we prayed. “We thank Thee for the permit, but is this all . . .?” The official reentered the room. “Mr............... will see you,” he said, and we were ushered into the office of the supervising official. This top official sat, friendly and relaxed, while his questions reached into every phase of our lives. Occa sionally he turned from the business at hand to. talk with Gary. “A fine boy,” he said. Once he rose and drew Gary toward him, pointing out the office window to a boat making its way down the Mississippi River. When we spoke of our summers spent in camp work and among underprivileged children, interest shone in his eyes. After what seemed to be hours of questioning, and looking over our papers and reading recommenda tions, the supervisor rose again from his chair, smiled and held out his hand. “This completes your Home Study,” he said. We must have looked rather dumbfounded as the words took effect. “You mean our little girl can come . . . perhaps on the next plane . . .?” we asked. “Your little girl can come,” he said, and smiled again. Surely God had prepared this man’s heart before our coming, as only He can do. Gary didn’t seem too surprised. Hadn’t we prayed? My mind turned again to the times I had found him faithfully saving his pennies for his sister’s passage money. “God, give us faith like a little child — faith that looks beyond circumstances, to Thee!” It is some months now since that afternoon at O’Hare Field, Chicago, when a jet plane set down on the run way, and a little girl, bewildered and frightened, be came a part of our family. Lynn Joy is now a happy little one, speaking English with zest, singing about Jesus, and learning her Bible verses. Both of our bunks are filled — but more than that, our hands are filled with busy tasks and our hearts are filled with praise to a Heavenly Father who wrought His miracle in answer to prayer. Lynn Joy is the very last child processed under the Old Immigration Bill. That leads us out upon the tide . . . Until our prayer becomes like Thine With depth of ocean stretching wide.”
“Lord, when we have left it all to Thee . . .” we ask, “Why hast Thou made it impossible?” His answer is not audible, but we can feel Him drawing us near that we may lean upon Him as did John, His beloved disciple. In the hours that followed, the pre cious words of Psalm 31:19 became our own: “0 , how great is Thy goodness which Thou hast laid up for them that trust in Thee before the sons of men.” Leaning upon that, we remembered our prayer, “Let Thy hand be in this, Lord.” Here was God taking us at our word. Did we truly seek His glory? Then it must be by “His way,” for we had no solution to offer. We would simply have to trust Him. To be in the will of God —- what security; what else compares with it?
“For what is joy unless He guide? And what is sorrow when we know His living presence by our side?”
In the midst of this we were drawn to our little direc tory book. It was not the latest, but in it were the names
Lynn and Gary Zwall of hundreds of adoptive parents, and children brought into America from Korea by a modern-day George Muel ler—Mr. Harry Holt, the Oregon farmer, humanitarian, and Christian. Whs there such a child in some South Dakota town not too far away? Leafing through the list of names, we found only one. Suddenly we felt awed as in the presence of Someone who had made provision for His own before they called. For that child was. listed under the town, Marion, South Dakota, with population of perhaps three- hundred — the very town where we were holding meet- ings. Now it was time for the Sunday services. Our Lord met us that day with the blessing of His Word as we ministered to others. There was opportunity, also, to meet the new friends. “Contact the officials who helped us,” they advised.
39
JUNE, 1963
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