The following account is a personal testimony
from
Helen Roseveare M.D., Missionary
Physician
from England to Zaire, Africa.
One night
I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we
could do, she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter.
We would have difficulty keeping the
baby
alive, as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator).
We also had no special
feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly
with treacherous drafts. One student
midwife
went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would
be wrapped in.
Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back
shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber
perishes easily in tropical climates). “And it is our last hot water bottle!”
she exclaimed.
As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk so in
Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles.
They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.
“All right,” I said,
“put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and
the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm.”
The following noon, as
I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who
chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to
pray about and told them about the tiny baby.
I explained our problem about
keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby
could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old
sister, crying because her mother had died.
During prayer time,
one ten-year old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our
African children. “Please, God” she prayed, “send us a water bottle. It’ll be no
good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon.”
While I gasped
inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added, “And while You are about it,
would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she’ll know You really love
her?”
As often with
children’s prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, “Amen”. I just
did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do
everything, the Bible says so. But there are limits, aren’t there?
The only way God could
answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from homeland. I
had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever
received a parcel from home.
Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would
put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator! Halfway through the
afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses’ training school, a message was
sent that there was a car at my front door.
By the time I reached
home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two pound
parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I
sent for the orphanage children.
Together we pulled off
the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to
tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting.
Some thirty or forty
pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted
out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then
there were the knitted
bandages
for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored.
Then came a
box of mixed raisins and sultanas - that would make a batch of buns for the
weekend.
Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the … could it really be? I
grasped it and pulled it out - yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle.
I
cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could.
Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, “If
God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly too!”
Rummaging down to the
bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes
shone! She had never doubted!
Looking up at me, she
asked: “Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so
she’ll know that Jesus really loves her?”
That parcel had
been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school
class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God’s prompting to send a hot water
bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an
African child - five months before, in answer to the believing prayer of a
ten-year-old to bring it “that afternoon.”
“Before they call, I will answer.” (Isaiah 65:24).
By Tim Pedrosa
Be
kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of
battle.
We sometimes lose perspective of the difference we can make, when we
care more of our giving and care less of what we take.
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Tim
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