Epilogue
Epilogue
December 1, 1953: It is not raining at the moment, but the fresh-cut bamboo slats are chunked with fresh mud, and the other half of the tent, not yet floored, is slippery gum from an all-night rain on Sunday. We had to get this much of the floor in yesterday, and they are supposed to be bringing more bamboo today, so perhaps we will be fully floored this week.
Betty took matters in her own hands this afternoon while I rested (I am supposed to have had jaundice—almost since the day we arrived, November 11—and am still a part-time bed patient) and put down sticks between the tent and the eight-by-ten mud-floored kitchen, as yet only half walled.
She is there cooking now while I sit at the card table, decked with an aster-flowered tea cloth with a centerpiece of white candle and a graceful-leafed little forest flower set off beautifully in a tin can.
I don’t know how many men and women would have endured the kind of waiting and sacrifice that resulted (finally) in my parents’ October 8, 1953 wedding—his twenty-sixth birthday. Nor do I know how many would consider marriage off to a successful start if it meant living in the conditions they found themselves—a tent measuring sixteen feet square, pitched amid barely a clearing in the Amazon jungle. Some would see nothing else but the “tin can,” not the “flower set off beautifully” inside it.
But after journeying with me through their uncommon love story, I hope what you see in this all-too-common scene from their early married life is the hand of God’s blessing. They had given themselves to the Lord; they had given themselves to each other. And while it may seem an absurdly austere beginning, I think we’d trade a lot of our “stuff” for the strength of devotion, love, purpose, and simplicity my parents were experiencing in their tent.
“This is where God has sent us, and this is where we belong,” my mother said. “It is not for nothing that Thou hast brought us here.”
They began married life in Puyupungu, a tiny village that my father’s scouting team had located during that three-week exploration in September, deeming it the most promising for gospel influence. With no one else quite in the position to take on the challenge, my parents said yes. It’s what led to their saying “I do,” sooner than expected.
By late March they’d finished a little thatch house which gave them relief from the elements. They continued serving the Indians, setting up a little school for the children, ministering to them in countless ways, being the light of Christ. But as rebuilding began occurring in Shandia, the decision was made to restore it as their mission’s hub, converting places like Puyupunga into more like outstations that they could serve from a single base of operation. With this model taking shape, my parents returned to Shandia, where my father especially could focus on construction. Even my Grandfather Elliot came down to assist in the building project.
The house they eventually built for themselves there is actually the one I remember well. My mother and I lived in it until I was three and a half, before we went to live with the Aucas, and then again from ages six to eight, until we returned to the States. It was my mother’s “dream home,” luxurious compared to the thatched roof and bamboo walls they’d been accustomed to living in. They had talked and written much about what they needed and wanted in a house, and my father happily built it with the help of local Indians and Grandpa Elliot. It had cement floors, screened windows, and a corrugated tin roof, on which the tropical rains thundered with thrilling regularity. It also contained a kerosene-fueled refrigerator, a wood-burning cast iron stove, and a second story, where my mother’s maid lived with her daughter. My mother couldn’t have been happier, cooking meals and bread and cakes for her beloved and for me. And since she had a maid, she was able to work at her desk each morning, preparing Bible classes and translating some of the New Testament into Quichia. I, of course, was expected to entertain myself, a childhood task made easier by having the maid’s daughter to play with.
Some of my earliest memories involve washing my feet in the bathroom sink, and going to my cozy bed at night. My dad built it for me—a simple, junior-sized bed—and Mama made a pink and white-striped, ruffled skirt that neatly went under the mattress. We kept the bed in our family for many years before carpenter ants destroyed it in our North Carolina garage. But along the way, four of his grandchildren and even one of his great-grands slept in that same bed I’d enjoyed as a child in the jungle.
I was able to go back and see that house again, forty years after my father was killed, at the invitation of my mother. It was rather dilapidated, of course, but still standing and still being lived in, now by an extended family of Quichuas, who were thrilled that we’d come. The man who’d taken possession of it wanted us to go back and tell Americans that they could come down and stay there anytime they liked.
Whether we wanted to or not, they asked us to eat with them. They served us hard-boiled eggs and chicha, a local drink made from chewed, cooked manioc (yes, chewed into a liquid) that is kept in a package made with banana leaves. While sitting there, as my mother was carrying on conversation with them in Quichua, a young blond-haired man in motorcycle garb walked up the trail. He said he was a German, living in Quito, and wanted to know if this was indeed the house that Jim Elliot built. Imagine his surprise to find my mother and me there. He was quite overwhelmed to meet us, and we were thrilled to confirm to him his hopes of seeing my father’s house. Isn’t that God’s perfect ordaining?
But hasn’t this whole story been one of watching God at work, waiting on His timing, allowing Him to lay the path that kept them in the center of His will? As I draw it to a close, I again let my parents’ own words paint the moods, thoughts, and descriptions of their lives, now as husband and wife, first in Puyupungu, then again in Shandia.
JE (December 1, 1953): She is just what I always knew her to be, all woman, with her habit of being surprised and shocked at things I do and say (an amusing habit to me, and an incentive to keep saying shocking things), her tendency to use exaggerated words (“horrible,” “awful,” in tones of utter disgust), and to feel things strongly and with a love for me that I can neither understand nor appreciate, let alone be worthy of. We have had nothing but harmony, from our wedding night in El Panama to the last time we spoke. . . . The marriage adjustment, if it exists at all, is something that I am going through effortlessly—unconsciously, even. Such is the love we know.
My father took this picture of her in a rare moment of letting her hair down.
EE (March 25, 1954): God has answered prayer again . . . He has provided a house for us! I now sit in the pleasantest living room, at the little desk Jim made months ago. Two sides of the room are windows, looking out over the vast expanse of the Pastaza to the Andes.
One never knows what a good roof and dry floor mean till he has lived in a leaky tent nearly five months! How we thank God for this thatched house, floor six feet off the ground, of boards. Have finished the bedroom and living room, except kitchen to be done today. . . . Praise to Thee, Lord, for good shelter, for money and workmen to build it, for Jim’s health and ability to plan, direct, and help in the work.
JE (April 1, 1954): Pause late on a rainy afternoon. Gratefully settled in our home in Puyupungu for a week now. Been a long, but not unendurable five months in the tent. God has been faithful.
EE (April 7, 1954): Life can be very routine—rise at 6:00; breakfast 6:30; clean the house; devotions at 8:00; read, write, or study; cook dinner; radio at 1:30; dinner at 5:30; bed at 8:30. Lord, cause me to remember continually the reason I am here. Cause me to look at the things which are not seen.
And one more prayer I bring—O Lord, give us a son.
EE (April 10, 1954): Jim is out working on a fence to keep the cows off the airstrip. By simply walking across it when it’s soft (as it nearly always is), they can cause Jim hours of work smoothing it down.
He works so hard—comes in several times every day, soaked to the skin with sweat (and often rain), mud just saturating his shoes, socks, and pants up to the knee. I love him so much and look for the day when there will be no more airstrips or house-building to think of. (Will that day come, if we carry on a program similar to the work here at Puyupungu?)
Married life is all I had hoped for. Jim is always a thoughtful, loving, and most appreciative husband. He notices little things. He comments on food he likes; he has planted six or seven kinds of orchids which he watches and cares for with great interest; he continues to teach me in the things of God; he is just boyish enough to be lots of fun when occasion warrants; he handles Indians with what seems to me special wisdom; his spirit is so buoyant and cheerful, trusting in God’s faithfulness through what, to me, are often very discouraging times. How I praise God for him—no one could ask more of life than to be loved as I am loved.
My father at left, working on their Shandia house. His father is obscured in the background.
More or less finished. This is the house I remember living in.
JE (May 30, 1954): Betty and I were able to fly out of Puyupungu strip April 21 in separate flights. We waited a day in Shell for Ed and went on to Quito together the twenty-third. Met Dad with much thanksgiving at Puná on Tuesday 8:00 a.m. April 27. . . . We spent a week in Quito getting teeth fixed, attending IMF conference, and meeting people, coming down on truck to Shell with GMUers on May 14. Betty came here, and I went to Shandia to choose a house site. (O, God, may it be the right one!)
EE (July 23, 1954): Praise, praise to Him from whom comes every good and perfect gift. I am quite certain that I am pregnant. Jim and I are so happy about it. We have “agreed together as touching one thing”—we’ve asked God for a son.
JE (August 8, 1954): In Shandia now for several weeks with Ed and Marilou gone out for a rest. Just Dad, Rob, Betty, and me. Working on the house now, pouring cement mostly, and have finished the floor and walls except for surfacing.
EE (October 31, 1954): Don’t know how I allow such long intervals to pass between writings. I cannot plead busy-ness, but I have been very disorganized. Living down there in Pete’s hot, crowded little shack, eating meals at the McCully’s house, etc., did not make for a unified life. But now, thanks be to God, we are in our own home! Jim and I moved up here last Monday, though we continue to eat dinner at midday with the McCullys since we haven’t a pipe for our stove yet. I am so grateful to God for this house—so far beyond any house I had ever expected to have. But He gave it to us, and it is His. I want it to be used for His name’s sake, and to be a place of peace for the Lord’s people, as well as a lighthouse to these who live around us. I wonder if we shall spend the rest of our lives here? I dream of it being filled with children and guests—Lord, let it be.
EE (December 6, 1954): Three months to go until the baby is born—it seems a long time. But we thank God for the happy prospect.
EE (December 28, 1954): Ten weeks seems a long time for me to wait. It is uncomfortable lying in bed these nights—what will it be in the next two months?
EE (January 10, 1955): Marj Saint’s son was born on December 26. Wonder when ours will come? Wish it would come early! I have asked the Lord for a child that will glorify Him. The thoughts which I’m sure millions of mothers-to-be have had before me beset me now and again—Will he be normal? Will he live and grow nicely? What will labor be like?—but I am at peace, knowing that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him, and it is all His.
EE (February 9, 1955): If all goes as hoped, we should be parents by three weeks from now. How I long for the day to have Jim’s child—what a wonder! I’m sure all the discomfort of the present days will seem completely insignificant. . . . How I pray that I may be prepared in every way for the birth. O, that we might have a son who will grow up to glorify God!
EE (February 23, 1955): I expect to be going to Shell Mera tomorrow to await the baby’s birth. How I pray that it may not be delayed at all.
EE (March 6, 1955): On February 27, one week ago today, at 5:20 a.m., Valerie arrived. I had been in labor from 10:30 a.m. Saturday. Dr. Fuller delivered her here in the Saint’s house, with Liz, his wife, in attendance. Jim was with me every minute, which meant more to me than he will ever know. . . .
What a joy to hear her first cry, and to see our own daughter! She wasn’t red or wrinkled, and her head was perfectly shaped. Dear Jim—he told his mother he thought he would be disappointed if it was a girl, but he wasn’t at all. He loved her right away, and took her in his arms. How thankful I am! . . .
O, Lord—this child is one of Thy “perfect” gifts, which comes from the Father of Lights. We give her back to Thee, in gratitude, and ask Thy holy wisdom and love in guiding and caring for her.
What can I say but that they loved me and were thankful.
Clueless as to what a mirror is.
The carefree joys of being born in the jungle.
The three of us, together, in Shell Mera.
And this is where I think I’ll leave them, enjoying this precious moment in their love story—our little family of three, surrounded by friends, by faithful coworkers, swept up together in gratitude to God. He had answered their prayers—all those prayers for a son—with me. I think the Lord must have smiled.
Here, too, is where I fall on my knees in praise, thanking Him not only for knitting my life so uniquely into this story but allowing me to share it with you. May you take from their real lives the confidence and trust that God has designed you, too, for noble service in His kingdom, as You surrender to Him, obey Him, and daily learn to let Him lead where He alone is able to take you. Lo, He is your God. Wait on Him, devotedly.