11. Graduation and C.I.M. Candidature
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GRADUATION AND C.I.M. CANDIDATURE
I WAS ELECTED girl class speaker for the graduation exercises in December, 1926. I prayed for a message, taking as my theme, The Print of the Nails, based on Thomas’s words in John 20:25, “Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe,” making it representative of what the unbelieving world is unconsciously saying to the Christian church today. The heathen around us have not much respect or interest in a smug, ordinary Christianity. “If it costs you nothing, what proof have you that it has any value?” is their indifferent, shrugging attitude. But when they see in any life the print of the nails, they are challenged and, like Thomas of old, if they can be made to see Him at that moment, they will fall down and cry, “My Lord and my God!”
I felt this message deeply and wanted it to speak to other hearts as it had to my own. The valedictory messages had to be written out, checked for doctrine and grammar, and be memorized by the speakers. This bothered me a little. I didn’t mind memorizing the speech, but I had never been able to pour out my heart unless given the freedom of extemporaneous speaking. I did not know this at the time, for I had done comparatively little public speaking. All I knew was that I felt hampered, somehow, on reciting a memorized text. But rules were rules, and I fell in line, as I had tried to do throughout my school days.
My father came to Chicago for my graduation, and Miss Boyle sent me a white silk dress. She and I did not correspond—in fact, apart from the two-hundred-dollar gift at the beginning of that year, I had heard nothing from her. And certainly no one was told that I had no money to buy the required white dress for graduation! (Remember, I had lost my employment at Mrs. Mac’s.) Moreover, in those days, Moody Bible Institute required that girl students’ clothing have sleeves below the elbow and skirts nine inches from the floor. The 1926 styles were worn shorter than that, yet when Miss Ruby Jackson, Registrar of the Faculty, measured the gift dress, it fulfilled all the requirements and did not have to be altered at all!
Miss Boyle’s gifts to me ended here. I have never heard from her since.
As we went up to the platform, on sudden impulse I gave the text of my message to Anne Barr, our vice-president, just in case I got stage fright and I needed prompting. I had recited the whole thing more than once before our speech instructor, so it was not that I did not know it.
When my name was called, I went forward and faced that big audience. I did not feel as nervous as I expected to, and started in easily. But as I proceeded, I felt that I was merely reciting and not pouring out my soul. I felt the message was not going into the hearts of the audience and in my anxiety to give it the meaning it had for me, I forgot how the next paragraph started. It was only for a second, however, and Anne behind me prompted quickly in a low voice that not everybody heard, but to me it was a catastrophe. I got through the message, went to my seat, hung my head, and waited until the end of the program when I would be free to dash for my room. Once up there—during my last term I had a room to myself—I fell on my knees in an agony of humiliation and failure Through the heavy city atmosphere a pale December sun shone weakly on me, and then suddenly the Lord was there in the room. I felt His love folding me around. “Never mind, dear,” He was saying. “Failure or success, it is all over now, and My love is just the same.”
“The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by him; and the Lord shall cover him all the day long, and he shall dwell between his shoulders” (Deut. 33:12).
The words came to me as if spoken, and the tenderness that engulfed me was as the balm of Gilead to my agonized soul. Slowly I quieted, relaxed, rested back on Him, and drank deeply of His love. It was a wonderful experience and I was lifted up in spirit so that I no longer cared about any personal humiliation. I was deeply sorry to have disappointed the expectations of my class, but apart from that I was beyond hurt. I have never forgotten the outpouring of God’s love upon me that day when I felt such a failure.
After graduation came candidature at the China Inland Mission in Toronto. The 1926 candidates class had been held in August, when Kathryn Kuhn and her brother John, with many others, had been accepted, the party sailing for China in October. I was the only candidate applying in mid-winter, and as I would be leaving for my home on the Pacific coast, the Mission decided that I should come to Toronto immediately after graduation. Toronto being the place of my birth, we had relatives and friends there with whom my father stayed, waiting until he and I could travel west together.
Daddy Page came to the train to see us off. I do not know whether I was looking anxious or sad or just plain tired, but suddenly a tender compassion lit up his face and he leaned forward to say, “Don’t be afraid, Isobel. There is nothing to dread in candidate school. The C.I.M. has known you from a child.” I thanked him for this good cheer and for all his loving, fatherly care of me during my Institute days, and then the train pulled out.
The Rev. and Mrs. E. A. Brownlee were in charge of the Toronto Mission Home, but Mr. Roy Seaman—the Seamans were on furlough and staying at the Home—was the one appointed to start me on Chinese language study. Candidates learn to recognize the difficult radicals which roughly correspond to the English alphabet, and other simple beginnings. I was also to help and act as companion to the widow of one of the Mission’s donors, whose bereavement had made her distraught; her family felt the quiet, prayerful atmosphere of the C.I.M. Home might benefit her.
Dana, son of Mr. and Mrs. Brownlee, was living in the Home, and the only other young person I remember was Miss Ida McInnes. I had met Ida at Moody—indeed, it was she who had organized Daddy Page’s surprise birthday party and had introduced me to John—and I had learned to love her. She had graduated earlier and applied to the China Inland Mission, but did not pass the medical examination. China being closed to her, she became office worker for the Mission to Lepers, but was allowed to stay on in the C.I.M. Home until she could find a boardinghouse elsewhere.
Ida was “the embroidery” to my candidate days. She was devoted to the Lord, and we were one in the things of the Spirit. Her keen sense of humor was a safety valve for my youthful spirits. Quick, impulsive, and daydreaming, I had been an easy prey to faux pas all my life and was not in the Home twenty-four hours before I had made the first one.
Knowing the Brownlees’ reputation for perfect administration I am sure the fault was mine, but I did not know the daily schedule. Most likely they had told me while I was daydreaming! Conscious that this was more than probable, I felt shy to ask what the hours were, and decided to watch carefully the bells which summoned the household to meals and meetings. I got along well the first morning, but at half-past one in the afternoon I was startled by the clang of a bell. What did that call one to? I rushed to Ida’s room, but she was out. A girl was dusting in the corridor, so I asked her, “What was the bell for, please?”
She looked at me wonderingly and announced, “It’s the prayer meeting bell.”
A prayer meeting? And the candidate not attending? That would look bad!
“Sorry,” I said hastily. “I’m new here. Which room is it?”
She told me, indicating the office buildings, and I rushed over. The door was shut, but a murmur of voices within settled it for me. I knocked gently and opened it. In my excitement, I did not notice that only the staff was present!
“Excuse me for being late,” I murmured and sank into a seat. They received me politely, albeit a little blankly, and that day the staff prayers were very general! After the meeting Mrs. Brownlee came and told me gently that the half-past one meeting was for the staff only and that my presence would not be required.
How Ida laughed when I told her! “They probably discuss you at that meeting!” she teased, and from then on there were many pointed remarks as to when my presence was required and when it wasn’t. We had hilarious times in her room.
I was in Toronto some three or four weeks before being called to meet the Council. That is a formidable occasion and I was nervous, as I am not quick at thinking on my feet. I always do better with preparation and time to consider the best answer. The meeting came and went, however, and that evening after supper I was called into the sitting-room by Mr. Brownlee to hear the verdict. He said something like this: “The Council was quite satisfied with your answers today, and we in the Home have enjoyed your presence. But the Council has asked me to speak to you upon a very serious matter. Among your referees there was one who did not recommend you. The reason given was that you are proud, disobedient, and likely to be a troublemaker. This person has known you for some years, and the Council felt they could not ignore the criticism.”
“Who was it?” I asked quickly, simply dumb-founded.
“The C.I.M. does not betray the confidence of referees. We write to those who have had business associations with you as well as the referees you yourself give—and we promise to keep all reports in confidence. I cannot tell you the name, but I would like to discuss with you what havoc such characteristics can cause on the field.”
He then proceeded to do so. At the end of an hour of earnest exhortation, he pronounced the verdict: “The Council decided to accept you conditionally. There is an anti-foreign uprising in China just now which is very serious and we dare not send out any new candidates. That will be our public statement on this matter. For yourself alone, and we hope you will not spread it around, during your waiting period the Vancouver Council will be watching to see if any of these characteristics show themselves. If you prove that you have conquered them, you will then meet with the Western Council and be accepted fully, and sent out with the first party that goes. As we anticipate your victory in these matters, it was voted to pay your train fare to Vancouver, as en route for China. I can assure you I have not found it easy to say these things.” And indeed his face was sad and tired. I felt sorry for him, even with the misery that was numbing my own heart.
“Good night.” And I went up to bed, but, as you can readily believe, not to sleep. Who could be the unknown referee?
Proud. Disobedient. A troublemaker. This was the third time the adjective proud had been attached to me. The first time was by Daddy Page himself months before. He had read me an anxious lecture on the subject, to my extreme surprise, for pride was one of the human frailties of which I felt I was not guilty. I would have taken Daddy Page’s lecture to heart if he had not ended it by holding up to me, as one example to emulate, a certain fellow-student. That particular student stood high in the regard of the staff, but I happened to room near her and I knew that secretly she broke many Institute rules, also she lied about her age to her boyfriends, and so on. I was sure if Dr. Page knew what I knew, he would never have held her up as a pattern of conduct. So I concluded he did not know either of us and brushed the accusation aside. China was later to be a painful revelation to me of my own heart and frailty. From this distance I now know that Dr. Page had indeed sensed a real flaw in my life but had hold of the wrong label, that was all.
I was selfish. I had whimsically divided the world into two classes—people who interested me and people who did not. I felt I was not proud, because the people who interested me were often among the poor or the uneducated, but when it was so, my friendship for them was still as warm as for those who had social or educational advantages.
Toward people who did not interest me I must have appeared proud. I cold-shouldered them and brushed them off me as time-wasters. This was of course a serious flaw for a missionary, but I fancy its basis was selfishness rather than pride.
The next point was—disobedience. How I did get indignant! There were many rules at Moody Bible Institute which were difficult to keep. The rules have been revised since, and it is no longer so, but I had been meticulous in obeying simply because I had signed a promise to do so. I felt honor-bound to keep that promise. The little matter of laundry, for instance: we had washbowls in our rooms, but their use for laundry was forbidden. To rinse one pair of stockings a day was allowed, no more. There was no laundry in Ransom Hall, so I had to waste many weary steps going to another dormitory to do my laundry and waste more precious minutes because it was required that each time I get permission from the Matron to do so. And I could not always find the Matron. This was my most galling trial. The girl who had been held up to me as an example washed all her lingerie and sometimes even nightclothes right in her bedroom at hours when she knew the inspectors would be busy elsewhere, and dried them on her radiator! “The rule is unreasonable” was her only answer when I remarked on it. But I had promised to obey, so I dragged my weary self over to the other building every week. And now the C.I.M. had been told I was disobedient!
I had been told not to spread around this second condition of my acceptance by the Mission, but I did write a few friends. They wrote back quickly, indignant and sympathetic, and I was somewhat mollified. All except one, Roy Bancroft, a music student with a beautiful baritone voice and a consecrated heart. We had invited Roy out to St. Charles Reformatory to sing to the boys and help deal with them. I happened to be writing to him those days and impulsively told him. A letter came back quickly and I opened it with a smile of anticipation, thinking that Roy too would be indignant on my behalf.
But I got a shock.
“Isobel,” he wrote, “what surprised me most of all was your attitude in this matter. You sound bitter and resentful. Why, if anyone had said to me, ‘Roy B., you are proud, disobedient, and a troublemaker,’ I would answer: ‘Amen, brother! And even then you haven’t said the half of it!’ What good thing is there in any of us, anyway? We have victory over these things only as we bring them one by one to the Cross and ask our Lord to crucify it for us.”
These words “stabbed my spirit broad awake.” Faithful friend he was, not afraid to season his words with salt even as he did not forget to speak with grace also. I was on my knees in no time asking the Lord to forgive me.
I arose from my knees with a different attitude. Instead of resentment there was alertness to watch and see if these three horrid “Diabolutians”—pride,’ disobedience, rebellion—were really lurking in my camp The town of Mansoul should not protect them, if detected. This brought me into peace, even though I always shrank from the memory that I was to be watched for their appearance in my life.
Subsequently it so happened that in a most unexpected way I learned of my detractor’s identity and then I knew the reason for her hostility. It will suffice here to say that she was a teacher in a school which I had attended. She wished me to assist her in spying on my fellow-pupils. I felt that was unworthy and so had incurred her displeasure by refusing. When I learned this I was tempted to clear myself with Mr. Brownlee and the Western Council. But should I? I seemed to hear a voice say, “If that had been said of me, I’d have answered ‘Amen, Brother! And then you haven’t told the half of it!’ ” Dear old Roy—he was right. Why try to make the Mission think I was lily-white? They’d have personal experience before long as to just how earthly a person I was!
“No, Lord!” I whispered. “I won’t bother the Mission with it. But how princely of You to let me know—it is like a miracle. Only You could have done it.”
For the Lord is always kind;
Be not blind.
Kind? To let me end up at Moody, where I had striven so to be faithful, under such a cloud? To let me begin with the C.I.M. under such a stigma? Kind?
Yes. You see, the Lord foreknew there was a work to be done in Vancouver before I sailed for China, and if I had ended up Institute life with great éclat I would quite possibly have wrecked that work at the very outset. My self-confidence needed to be thoroughly jarred before He dare put this delicate affair into my hands. And He jarred it all right. My Master is thorough, and “no one worketh like Him.” But He had also been meticulously kind—just as soon as He dared, He showed me why. And that after-graduation ceremony experience of His enfolding love has blessed me all my life.
Only by searching can we find out what He is.
Again to jump ahead of my story, but to complete this little matter, when the door did open for China again Mr. Thomson wrote me a letter. I cannot quote it verbatim, but it ran like this: “I have never mentioned to you that little condition of the Toronto Council. From the first, both Professor Ellis and I felt there was a mistake somewhere, and I want you to know that so thorough was our confidence in this that I have not felt it even necessary to call the Western Council together. I telephoned each one of them, and we all want you to know that you are accepted by the China Inland Mission unconditionally and unanimously. Every one of them said that. And our loving prayers and blessings go with you.”
I bowed my head over that little letter and wept tears of gratitude. Yes, my Master is thorough. He wounds, but He binds up, and His balm of Gilead heals without stinging; it cools, refreshes, and restores in every part. He gives the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, and brings beauty out of our ashes.