Tramp for the Lord (16 page)

Tears were streaming down her face as she talked. “Was it not enough to have five children? Oh, how my heart cried out at God. And there were times when I wished He would take the baby from me.

“The time for the birth was here. I was very weak, and there were no doctors nearby. We had no one to leave the other children with, so my husband put us all in the car and drove us into a town where there was a good mission hospital. There we stayed until the baby was born.”

The tiny child stirred in her arms, stretched her little arms and yawned. How precious she looked! The mother’s voice grew soft. “When we returned to our house with the new baby, we learned that in the short days we had been gone the dreaded Mau Mau had come. They had murdered every white person in the entire area. Had we been home, we would have all been killed.”

She hugged the little baby to her breast, tears flowing down her face. “This little darling was sent by God to save all our lives. Never again shall I rebel against His ways for our lives.”

My times are in thy hand
.

Psalm 31:15

I
t was my first time in India, and I was to speak at a conference of missionaries in Vellore. However, when my plane arrived in Bangkok, I was told the next plane to Vellore did not leave for three days.

“But this means I will have to miss the first three days of the conference,” I said.

“We are sorry, but there is no way,” the man at the ticket counter told me. However, the airlines did make arrangements for me to stay at a hotel until the next plane left.

Arriving at the hotel, I asked the kindly Indian man who was in charge of my arrangements, “Is there no possibility that I can catch another plane to Vellore?”

“The airlines are making every effort,” he assured me.

“Then we must pray that God will help them,” I said.

“Do you
profess
to be a Christian?” he asked with a startled look on his face.

“Yes, I do,” I answered. “I am a
professor
of Jesus Christ. And what about you?”

He hung his head. “I have been, but I am what you call a lost sheep.”

“Hallelujah!” I said. “Then you are just the one sheep for whom the Shepherd left the ninety-nine to find.”

We talked a long time in the lobby of the hotel. Finally, I asked the man if he would be willing to come back to Jesus. “Oh, yes,” he said. “For I believe God kept you here just for this reason.”

We prayed together in the hotel, and then I said to him, “Now that God has used me for this miracle, will you pray with me for another miracle—that I might arrive in Vellore in time for the conference?”

The man leaped to his feet. “While you pray, I must run an errand. I’ll be back shortly.” With that he was out the door, leaving me sitting among my suitcases.

Half an hour later he was back. “Make quickly ready for the plane,” he said. “I think God has performed your miracle. We have discovered another plane going by a different route to Vellore.”

“Did you arrange that?” I asked.

“I did,” he smiled as he hoisted my bags to his back. “But don’t thank me. I must thank you for bringing me back to the Shepherd.”

We rushed madly to the airport, and I found the plane was supposed to have left long before. However, they were holding it just for me. Panting, I climbed the steps to the plane.

“Ah, Professor,” the stewardess said as she closed the door behind me, “we were afraid we would have to leave you.”

“Professor?” I asked. “What’s this?”

“Oh,” she smiled sweetly. “We know all about you. Our hotel agent told us that you are an important
professor
from Holland who has to give significant speeches in Vellore. That is why we have held the plane on the ground until you arrived.”

I took my seat near a window. Outside the once-lost sheep was grinning and waving. I waved back.
Surely
, I thought,
God not only had a special reason for keeping me in Bangkok, but He must have an equally important reason for wanting me in Vellore
.

I was right. My first talk to the missionary conference in Vellore was the next morning. I spoke on the reality of God’s promises in the Bible. After the service I slipped away from the crowd and strolled in a beautiful garden near the conference center. It was alive with color: green and red crotons mixed their rich colors with the dark orange of the copper plants and the rainbow hues of the flowering shrubs.
How wonderful
, I thought,
to be in the center of God’s will
.

“Excuse me,” a shy voice said from behind.

I turned and recognized one of the English missionary ladies. Her body seemed weak. She hesitated to speak but at last said, “Do you really believe in God’s promises?”

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“Do you believe the Lord still heals the sick?”

“Of course,” I answered. I motioned for her to sit with me on a stone bench near a flowering hibiscus. First, I read to her from the Bible where Jesus said we would lay hands on the sick and they would be healed (see Mark 16:18–20). Then I told her of a recent experience in Indonesia.

“I was staying in the house of a dear Chinese pastor and his wife,” I said. “Since we were so busy, the wife had no time to cook: so a member of their church, another Chinese lady, came every day in a ricksha to fix me a good Chinese meal.

“One morning I was sitting in the house and looked out the window. I saw this dear woman stumbling up the pathway. Her head was bleeding, and her dress badly torn. I rushed out to meet her and helped her into the house. Her ricksha had collided with another ricksha, and she had been badly injured, hitting her head against a metal part of the primitive vehicle. Since Chinese people were not popular in Indonesia at that time, no doctor would come to see her. Instead, they just brought her to the house and let her out.

“I knew her condition was serious. I also knew that the doctor would not come to the Chinese pastor’s house either. Therefore, I just laid my hands on her and prayed in Jesus’ name that she be healed. She was restored instantly.”

The missionary lady was listening intently. “Must you know a person’s type of sickness before you pray for them?” she asked.

“No. I’m not a doctor. I do not heal. It is the Lord who heals.”

“I am very ill,” she said quietly. “Will you lay hands on me and pray?”

“I will,” I said. She slipped off the bench and knelt in that beautiful garden while I put my hands on her head and prayed for her to be healed in the name of Jesus Christ.

She rose slowly to her feet. “Now I will tell you my sickness,” she said. “I have leprosy.”

I had been in leper colonies, and suddenly I was filled with a great fear.
Oh
, I thought,
this is far too difficult for the Lord. I wish now she had told me ahead of time so I would have known not to pray for her
.

Then I felt ashamed and asked forgiveness for my small faith and unbelief. After all, it was not I who said He would heal the sick—but He who had said it.

Some years passed and I lost the name and address of the lady missionary, although many times I remembered that time in the garden and continued to pray for her. Five years later I was back in India, staying with friends of the Pocket Testament League.

One afternoon there was a knock at my hotel door. “Do you remember me?” a beautiful lady asked.

I looked at her and said, “I have seen you before, but I do not remember who you are.”

“Do you remember a time in Vellore when you laid hands on a leper patient and prayed in Jesus’ name that she be healed?”

“Oh, yes,” I exclaimed. “I surely remember you. But you are a different person.”

She smiled. “The Lord wonderfully healed me. The doctors say I am absolutely healed from leprosy.”

“Thank You, Lord,” I said aloud. “Your name be glorified! You are always ready to meet our needs, even when our faith is small.”

The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever
.

Isaiah 40:8

I
t had been a hectic half year. I had flown from New Zealand to Korea where I had spoken in more than two hundred and fifty meetings in a three-month period. I then returned to Hamilton, New Zealand, for a brief visit before continuing to India.

In New Zealand I had stayed with a family who were memorizing verses of Scripture, using the Navigators’ system. I was thrilled to find so many of the new converts in New Zealand studying this course. Since I knew less Scripture in English than I did in Dutch, I too determined to start memorizing Scripture. I knew that once the Word of God was hidden in my heart it would be with me always.

Leaving New Zealand full of new zeal, I arrived in the state of Kerala, India, where I was to speak in a series of small conferences far back in the jungle. My Indian companion met me at the airport and took me to a small place on the river where a canoe was waiting. We climbed in and started our slow trip down the peaceful river. Slowly our little craft glided over the shallow waters. Except for the rhythmic sound of the paddle and the occasional murmur of the soft wind in the trees, there was nothing to be heard.

My Indian companion was the leader of a home group. Twice a year the home groups in the area come together in a conference to study the Bible, pray and plead for revival. I was to speak three times a day in several such conferences which would be held in a
pandal
(a wide roof protecting the congregation from the hot sun). There are no walls, so the breeze may pass through; and the people sit on the grassy floor.

As the coolie paddled our canoe down the river, my Indian companion told me of the great longing in his heart to win souls for Jesus Christ.

“Yet I am not successful,” he said. “I always give my testimony, but I am not able to persuade people to make a decision.”

“Do you use the Sword of the Spirit, the Word of God?” I asked him.

“I fear I am not very adept at handling that Sword,” he admitted. “Just at the critical moment, I am never able to find a text that fits the situation.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” I confessed. “I sometimes have the same problem. However, I am now memorizing certain verses of Scripture which I call my First Aid Course. These are emergency Scriptures which I apply to the wound until I can look up the rest of the Scriptures which will bring further healing.”

My Indian companion brightened. Then I told him of a recent experience in Canada where I had learned that it was not me, but the Word of God coming through me, that won people to Christ anyway.

“I had just finished speaking to a class of university students,” I told him as the canoe glided down the quiet river. “I was relaxing on the veranda of one of the dormitories when a very educated woman, who had attended my lectures, sat down with me.

“‘What you just told the students was very interesting,’ she said. ‘But you are too narrow. I am an expert on world religions. I have traveled to many countries and have had long discussions with the leaders of many religious groups. I have discussed the road of life through time and eternity with Muslims, Brahmins, Shintoists and many others. All of them know God, even though they do not believe in Jesus Christ. I am sorry to have to disagree with your talk this afternoon, but you put too much emphasis on Jesus Christ and do not allow that other religions are just as good as Christianity.’

“I was embarrassed,” I told my Indian companion. “Then I remembered something a friend had once told me. ‘You are not called to convince anyone,’ he had said. ‘You are simply called to be an open channel for the Spirit of God to flow through. You can never be anything else, even though you may think so at times. Follow the pathway of obedience, let the Word of God do its own work, and you will be used by God far beyond your own powers.’

“Therefore I said to the woman, ‘Your argument is not with me, but with the Bible. It is not I who say these things, it is the Word of God. Jesus said that no man can come to the Father but by Him (see John 14:6.) If you wish to dispute someone, dispute Him.”