A Tree Beside The Waters 41
A TREE BESIDE THE WATERS
nice to backslide. We were the first family to turn Christian; and the white man is coming back, he said. He is to move into Deer Pool village just up the road. He'll bring lots of medicines, he said."
"That won't be for a few months yet," puts in the second son. "Ma will be gone if you wait that long. Everyone in the oe: is talking about you for not calling in the wizard. If she ies——"* "All right," cries out the old man, pushed to extremity and fearing public opinion. "We'll have to backslide, then. But you boys call the wizard. I won't."
At that word one of the sons arose quickly with a "Sure.
I'll go!"' and disappeared while the young girl buried her face in her hands and waited there, motionless.
Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is. For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit (Jer. xvii. 7, 8).
On the outside a quiet little figure; on the inside a raging, scorching fire.
Was it all going to be lost now—this new found joy and freedom? She had thrilled to the resurrection story, but even more
(we must be truthful) to the answer that the Lisu teacher had given her. "Yes, it is for women too. Women learn to read and write just as much as the men." Blessed Christ, who brings emancipation to women of all lands! How her heart had surged with hope. Only seventeen years old, but she had chafed inwardly at all the checking which her bright mind had received.
""Go to school and learn Chinese? Oh, no! That is for the men.
Don't hanker for what you can't have. Women's part is to farm, weave cloth, bear children, serve the men. You'll get into trouble if you try for anything more than that!"' Always restrained, held down, pressed into the old female mould, reminded that she was mere chattel belonging to the men.
Face buried in her hands, her hot heart communed with itself, with her past, trying to reach out to the future, but every
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direction was dark, hopeless. When the roots of our inward being reach no farther than our own thoughts, they find but dry ground. " That spreadeth out her roots by the river.' She was not yet aware that the Fount of Living Water was already within. She had not learned to "spread out her roots," to thai forth in the spirit and touch the throne of grace. Poor little sapling! So newly planted. Many another has been uprooted, when the same sharp
Wind blew. But searching within her own heart she found a tay of hope. Mr. Payne had said he would move in with his wife, and live, perhaps, at Deer Pool! That was only some four miles away! She could steal up there and learn. No. She wasn't going to backslide. The vision of a new and wonderful life had opened up before her. Go back into dark heathenism, with its virtual slavery? No. Better die first. Her underlip set firmly and she raised her head, for the wizard was being ushered in the door.
I do not know how she escaped taking part in the incantation which followed. A chicken, or pig, or cow (depending on how important the sickness was) would be killed, its blood offered with incantations, its meat cooked, and a big meal prepared.
She would be called upon to cook that. Her only chance of escape would be—absence. If she were not home and did not return until all was over, she would be free. But she might have to take a beating for neglect of such an important occasion. I have seen women who had been beaten—saw one so bruised that she could not stand on her feet for several days afterward; and I saw another who had been hit on the head, and suffered periodically all the rest of her life from frightful headaches.
Years later when the young girl of this story had become one of the best readers and writers in the Lisu church (men included) I asked her, "Homay, how did you do it?"
"They punished me if they found me going to chapel at Deer Pool," she said simply, "so I used to reckon the days and make my firewood hunting on Saturday evenings and Sundays."
(Of course the heathen do not count time by weeks so the would lose track of the Christian worship day). "Then I'd hunt it on Deer Pool mountain! Slip in and enjoy the Saturday night prayer meeting, and the three services on Sunday. Of course now and again they'd find out and I'd have to pay for it, but
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on the whole it worked fine! I'd go back with a big load of firewood on my back."
Her application for baptism, however, was turned down.
Do not blame the Lisu teachers too much. Remember their disappointment when they heard that the very first family to turn Christian in the canyon had gone back. Of course no one paid much attention to the carelessly added, "except the oldest daughter.'? What does a girl reckon anyway, in oriental thinking? And who was near to see whether Homay partook with the family or not? In the beginning of a work it is good to be very careful whom you baptize—they set the standard forever after.
And so this young Sapling felt the keen Wind of Humiliation.
She was up for catechizing with the other candidates for baptism.
She could answer all the questions, better and quicker than most, yet they would be accepted and she told "'to wait till her affairs were clear."' She endured that for two and a half years.
Even more than her family were involved—she was married.
A few months before the gospel feet reached the canyon, her parents had held a drinking-wine affair, which is the Lisu heathen name for wedding, and her husband was supposed to enter her family as son. He was just a chit of a lad and Homay never liked him, and would not go near him (that is why I do not include him when speaking of her "family''). He did not seem to mind, for he was not at all faithful in staying with her parents. The marriage had been arranged for by the two fathers, and though the bridegroom would be consulted to some extent, he did not need to be enthusiastic over it. He also had turned
Christian, with the coming of Andrew, but just as easily backslid when the others did. Homay never lived with him, and at length, when he eloped with another girl, she was secretly praising the Lord for such a deliverance. But her family were insulted and very angry. They had paid a big price to his parents for the privilege of having him enter their family (and do their farm work) and now that money was lost; at least, it would take a lawsuit to get it back, as his family excused his conduct on the grounds that he had not bargained for a "Christian" wife. Bitter words were her portion day and night; very bitter they could be, for her mother had died, and the wizard said it was because
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they had called him too late, so that also was added to the abuse poured on her head. A divorce had been obtained, however, and once more she was free. ""We'll marry her to a heathen who will knock this nonsense out of her'? was a threat which toned down her exaltation; earnestly and quietly she strove to win her father's pity by faithful work at home and obedience to him in all but that one thing.
Now she was learning to use her "roots." Up there at Deer Pool, Mr. and Mrs. Payne had lived for many months, and during that time she had the privilege of hearing them preach in chapel. She learned that she had "'roots"—that she had the power, in the secret chamber of her spirit, to reach out and communicate with God. Her roots had "'sensed"' the river, and though outward conditions remained dry, and even antagonistic, down in the secret place her roots were reaching out thirstily, eagerly for the living water! She found that God answered her prayers in Jesus' name. Why He had allowed her mother to die, she could not understand. She discovered too that her prayers were not always answered immediately, and very frequently not in the way she had expected, but always sooner or later there was an answer. What an elation was hers! That she had a secret power with which she could overcome, and often change adverse circumstances, a power which her father and brothers were helpless to combat. She felt free, liberated! Gratitude made her decide to be His slave, for love's sake. As she went quietly about her work her heart talked with itself. When she saw the other heathen girls angered with injustice, chafing at their bondage, she said to herself, "I am different from them. I have eternal life. I have it now, within me, and it works!'' Gently she would try to tell them about it, too.
At this time two big things were uppermost in her prayers.
The matter of her marriage, and the longing to be free to worship. Daily she slipped up her secret stairway and laid these two matters before her new Father. Then one day a man from Deer
Pool came into their shanty with a smirk on his face and asked for her parent. When the latter came, this man opened up the subject of Homay's marriage to a Deer Pool boy (whose name, later, was Philip). I do not know all the details of that transaction.
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Christian Lisu do not pay money (called a dowry) for their wives. The dowry was a heavy bondage in heathendom. Young men often cannot afford to marry because of it, or are all their lives burdened with the heavy interest and unable to get it paid off. The Lisu church has decided to give its daughters free of charge, and of course no Christian may marry a heathen with the church's consent. Philip paid some money for Homay.
Whether it was the costs of her divorce, or whether he had not yet publicly turned Christian, I do not know; but it seemed like
God's answer to her prayers. True, Philip was not particularly attractive to her, but he planned they both should be Christians, so once again it seemed that she had conquered her family by remaining quiet and submissive on the surface, but warring valiantly and earnestly in the spirit. The marriage was delayed, however, so she still had to pray on for freedom to worship.
The answer to this was unexpected. She had been blessed and filled with joy at a visit from another white woman missionary.
The Paynes had gone on furlough, and Mr. and Mrs. A. B.
Cooke (successors to Mr. Fraser in the Lisu work) had volunteered for the Upper Salween. All Lisu loved Leila Cooke. Her kindly radiant spirit shone through her face, and just to be with her was a blessing. I once heard one of their servants say, "No wind ever blows under the Cooke wing." Although on this occasion
Leila was just passing through on her way to Pine Mountain village, a long day's journey north, Homay felt the comfort of that "wing." After some months had passed, a note came for her from Mrs. Cooke, and she was all prepared to obey whatever it said. It told her that the Cooke family were again on the move, but that Mr. and Mrs. John Kuhn were coming in to the Oak
Flat district. Leila Cooke ended with, "Mrs. Kuhn will have no servants to help her and I am sure she would be grateful if you would cook for her. Do you think you could?"
Cook to the missionary? I am sure she giggled at first and said, "'Ma srghe!"" (meaning "I don't know''), for they all do.
No Lisu likes to be a servant. Poor as they are (and we always try to house and feed them better than they would get at home) they love independence. But the more Homay thought of the new proposition, the more attractive it became. To work with a
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white woman might not be too bad; certainly not with Mrs.
Payne and Mrs. Cooke. And then there would be the freedom to go to chapel services any time she liked. And every evening there would be a service, probably, where she could learn more.
Learn to sing! How she loved to sing the hymns, and she had discovered she could learn even the men's parts, tenor or bass, quite as accurately as they themselves! And the missionary's home was the centre of activity, with the evangelists coming and going, and all that. It would be fun. Would her father allow it?
Well, there was the oriental way of doing that. Luckily it was December, the slack time of the year. Farm work had ended.
The women were spinning and weaving cloth for the family clothes. Weave a bit later at night, and a bit earlier in the morning, and she would get it all finished. Then just tell her father, "I'm going up to Pine Mountain to help the new Ma-Ma for a few days' and—off she'd go. As the "'days'' lengthened out
—well, a nice gift out of her salary would be the most potent argument to silence Dad! So again she was victor over her circumstances through prayer and faith alone. What a good
God to plan this wonderful salvation, a saving grace that is useful every day of one's life, let alone its consummation at death! And so this young Sapling was drinking deeply of the river of life, and shooting up straight and strong.
I was perfectly unconscious of the good things God was planning for me, when, on our entrance into the Munition of Rocks, my husband stopped our carriers before a sprawling little Lisu village. "Belle," John said to me, "there's a nice
Christian girl in one of these huts and we're going to have lunch with her. Be nice to her; she stands alone and needs comfort. She can speak a bit of Chinese too, so you can talk to her"'
(I had not yet learned any Lisu). Mrs. Cooke had written to me, "It is hard to get Lisu servants and in this mountain land you cannot live without help. Pray for some, even before you come in." But as I curiously picked my way past the pigsty, trying to manceuvre my three-year-old daughter into a Lisu shanty, servants were nowhere in my thoughts. The little Lisu girl who needed comfort, and lunch (clean, if possible, please?) were uppermost. There she was—a short, plump little person running
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out to greet us; face slightly "dour" when in repose, but now lit up with a joyous smile as she cried, ""Ma-Pa! Ma-Ma!" Then remembering that I had not yet had time to learn Lisu she changed it demurely to the Chinese greeting, "Yang-si-mu, ing an?"
I liked her the moment I saw her, I noted her tidy dress, how carefully she was washing her rice, and the air of ability which was hers, despite slow movements. I had not had a chance to inspect many Lisu girls, and she noticed my careful observation and laughed with embarrassment; so I said, "Don't be afraid if I look too hard. I haven't seen many Lisu girls before!'' I never dreamed that she thought I was inspecting my new cook!
She was so lovely with Little Daughter, too—saw that she had the softest rice to eat, washed out her bowl again, even though it was already clean, supplied her with a warm seat beside the fire, and so on. It was a happy meal, but we had to push on.
I thought I had said goodbye to her, when, the next day at noon, didn't our little hostess of the day before appear at our lunch stop, a roll of bedding on her back and all prepared, apparently, to go on with us!
"Do you think she is going to come with us?" I asked John.
He too, was puzzled, but came nearer guessing it. "Wonder if she is not planning to be your helper?'' he suggested. Hardly able to believe such good news I essayed a question, "Are you going to come with us and—stay?"' Whereupon she laughed and said, "If you want me!"
The story of our arrival that night is told elsewhere.* But thus she became one of us, and from now on, our little Sapling was free to deepen her roots, and drink in her living water, with nothing to hinder. I think maybe you would like to get glimpses of her from our circular letters, because they were written down, not in the light of what happened afterwards, but "uncoloured,"' just little home things, but very revealing.
They will incidentally give you glimpses of what composed the white missionary's life during those early days. In our first circular, dated December, 1934, we wrote:
1 Precious Things of the Lasting Hills, China Inland Mission.
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I will lift up mine eyes to the hills For my help comes down from the height, Lord, Thy strength is the strength of the hill
And I cradle my heart in its might.
Here we are at last—in the mountain fastnesses of West Yunnan, with the stillness of God's country all around us, broken only by the surly roar of the rough Salween River hundreds of feet beneath us, or the musical tones of Lisu voices drifting over from some unseen place on the steep mountain side.
Come with us on our evening walk along this narrow path that skirts the edge of Pine Mountain. Let's stand beneath this old tree for a moment and lift up our eyes to the hills. Did you ever see such a chaos of mountain peaks? There is the highest topmost range, a jagged line piercing the blue, and thrown against it to right and left as far as the eye can reach are masses of sharp crests, precipitous pinnacles, queer knobs, slim pine-wooded ridges, round dumpy foothills, and at their base, the Salween River cutting its snake-like path through and around the solid rock. Wonder and awe fills the heart at first, and then joy comes; joy that the Creator of all this has said, "And I will walk among you, and will be your God, and ye shall be my people."
One evening as I was walking here with Homay, I heard a voice that sounded very near. I looked up and down (there is only up and down here, no level spot) but could see no one. Then Homay smiled, and pulling my sleeve, pointed way, way down, a' hundred feet or more beneath us where a second path crawls along the hillside. "It's
Pu-fu-si-pa praying," she said simply. My unaccustomed eyes gradually made out a figure in the middle of the dusty road. This dear man had been trying to carry a heavy load up to his home, and being weary, he had set it down by the roadside and he himself was kneeling in the dust of the path, talking to his Lord. The mountain wind had brought his voice up the slope until it sounded quite near. Yes, you may pray in Lisuland—wherever you like; and if anyone does happen to meet you, they accept the fact simply and pass on.
Now we must go back. See! the sun is finally withdrawing from those highest peaks, the cold grey-blue mantle of winter twilight is falling around them, and we must hurry back home.
Home? Oh, you don't see anything like a home on this wild mountain side. Look keenly—clinging to the hill in front of us, can't you see three or four little brown shanties? Here we are !—walk in.
Our Lisu house has only braided bamboo mats for a floor over the earth, so we live much like kittens in a basket. The roof is formed of
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wooden stakes laid on the beams and held down by logs. There are no nails used in the building, everything being tied together with bark.
It's true, the walls are rather porous and, as a matter of necessity, the weather is a member of the family, coming in and going out at will. One morning at breakfast, a little white cloud walked in our door! It vanished the next second—guess we scared it away! The clouds up here are a continual marvel of beauty. I have seen them go coasting down the mountain side like gleeful children or fairy beings.
Sometimes they coax and cuddle around the shoulders of the great smiling peaks or tumble merrily down their sides, or rise in still soft beauty from their feet, as the sun draws them with his hot magnetic rays.
The human children of these mountain fastnesses are much like them— clinging with tender hearts to those who love them, but delighting too in a good romp, play, or something to laugh at! However, they also have their still moments, when the heart of them reaches out yearningly toward Him they call their "Sun of Righteousness."
The Christian festival engaged our thoughts for the next month, but after that it was decided that the white missionaries should change their place of residence from Pine Mountain
Village to Oak Flat Village. The Christians at Pine Mountain had proved shallow and the deacon body felt they were uncin of the presence of a missionary. Mr. Cooke had heartily approved the change, so our next letter describes it.
January, 1935.
And now for our "flitting"! About three miles crawling up the southern trail, and still on the Pine Mountain range, the path comes to a kind of huge knoll, dotted with old gnarled oak trees. The rock cliffs, with here and there a lacy pine tree to add colour, lift abruptly above this high little tableland, and scrub-tree covered mountain sides sweep steeply down from its edge. Here is the village of Oak Flat where
Me-do-me-pa, "The Shepherd," lives and where Pade-John has a log cabin home. The latter also owned a large field at the lower edge of the knoll, but when he learned that Ma-Pa Cooke thought Oak Flat a desirable centre for the white missionary, Pade-John came forward with his sunny smile, and said that he would like to give this piece of ground for Ma-Pa to use free of charge, as long as he wished. So in January we moved to Oak Flat Village.
About this time an incident occurred which changed Homay's life. One late afternoon I was about to give Little Daughter her
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evening bath, when Homay came running into the room, flushed in face and excited. She was followed by the laundress who laughed and said, "Homay's fiancé has arrived!"'
I had not known she was engaged to be married, so, hastily leaving Kathryn in the tub to be washed by Homay, I went to the back door, and saw Philip for the first time. I did not like him—at least not for my beloved little cook. I thought he looked shallow and mercenary, and indeed since then he has justified those doubts. I returned and looked at her.
"Homay, you are not engaged to him?"
She flushed and giggled nervously.
"My child, you must not marry that fellow! Don't you know that if you marry a man who is not as spiritually minded as yourself that he will pull you down? 'Be not unequally yoked together' means spiritually, as well as Christian to unbeliever."
"T have already said yes to him, Ma-Ma," she answered auuietl "We are engaged; what can be done about it?"
"Oh, break your engagement!" I cried hastily. I did not know then that a Lisu engagement is like the old Hebrew engagement, almost as binding as marriage. "If you marry that fellow you will wreck your service for God! Anything but that!''
She was silent, and I said no more. Later I was afraid I had said too much, as indeed I had, so I never mentioned the matter again. But I had sown a seed, and I believe it was of God.
Outwardly she was the same, but the secret roots were reaching out in question to her Fount of Living Water. One day she asked me for permission to go home. She was gone for several weeks.
I had forgotten about Philip, but when she returned to us, others told me that she was now free, the engagement had been broken. I asked her about it, but she was not inclined to talk.
Yes, she was free; her father was furious—money must be paid back to Philip's family.
"Father always calls me—introduces me, now, to others as his 'Dry Daughter,' " she said to me, so quietly that I was not conscious of how deeply the reproach stung her. ""A dry tree" is a barren woman; in the Lisu mind it is a stigma much more dreaded than actual deformity, I think. "A dry tree"—for
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$1 Christ's sake? The little Sapling's roots must have clung desperately when that hurricane Wind of Temptation struck. To her dying day she never ceased to wince inwardly at the sting of that name, even after its use was impossible.
Now for more extracts from the old circulars.
June, 1935.
Homay is developing. She has twice brought messages at our local services, quite a departure for a woman. I asked Lisu teacher John what was the hindrance to there being Lisu Bible-women as well as men teachers, and he said, "None, except there is no woman fit for it." Let us pray Homay into fitness.
One day Ah-sah-me-pa came to ask Ma-Ma for help. A deacon of Spirea Flat Village had had his leg torn open to the bone by the kick of an animal. There was only one thing to do—summon Homay (always delighted to go trotting along behind), pack some medicines and go.
(My husband remained with Little Daughter.) Despite its pretty name this village leaves the impression of just steepness and gravel. It is in a fold of the mountain, and its only view is the other side of the "fold"; although lower than Plum Tree Flat it is even steeper.
Arrived, I cleansed the wound (with a houseful of people watching me of course), and then asked where we were to sleep. Ma-fa-tsai-ma looked around the little hut. There was the bed her sick husband lay on, and opposite was the one her children slept on; at the head of this latter stood two square wooden cupboards. "Oh, you and Homay can sleep on top of the cupboards!" she said. Well—I looked at Homay's short fatness, and she looked at my long thinness, and our vote was unanimous.
Us for the chapel: Our rejection of the proffered sleeping quarters gave no offence, and when we went to service that evening, we found two big planks already set on the benches in preparation for our night's repose; so I had the unique experience of participating in Sunday evening service, sitting on the top of my bed!
On the way home, travelling on a high trail, whom did we stumble over, resting in the middle of the path, but Pu-gia~me! (She was the third of the three servants who came to help us at the first, but her conduct did not approve itself to the Lisu church, so they had asked us to dismiss her and then word came that she had really left the Lord and this was the first time we had met her since.) Now here she was, all togged out with the big silver earrings and ornaments of a heathen girl.
She looked abashed at seeing us, but there was no escape. As my Lisu is insufficient I left her with Homay and the last I saw, Homay had
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taken her in her arms and was weeping over her—but Pu-gia~me remains obdurate.
However, those tears were not wasted, for the very next circular records this:
Some weeks later Pu-gia-me unexpectedly returned and announced that she wished to come back to the fold. As she gave due warning, they were ready for her. That was a time when I was ill, but John said that it was splendidly arranged. She was made to confess to all the church, and then in audible prayer to the Lord. They put her through a kind, but very firm cross-questioning. (The Lisu believe in apostolic discipline and offenders have no easy time. But Pu-gia-me took it as if she really was sorry and meant her repentance.)
Homay was my dear companion in trips among the villages.
She looked after Little Daughter (who loved her devotedly) when I was occupied with preaching and ministering to the Lisu, and my heart could rest about it, for she was chaste and dependable and I knew little Kathryn would be safe.
In July, 1935, we went as a family on a tour of some of the northern villages. We had some blessed experiences, but little
Kathryn became infected with malaria. From then on John and I felt that we must be willing for separation. It was a pale-faced, thin little girl whom we brought home, so we decided travelling in that country was not suitable for white children, and that while one of us went, the other must stay at home with Kathryn.
John always has declared that the Munition of Rocks is not a woman's country, so the one to itinerate was mostly himself.
However, more than Little Daughter had found the above trip too much physically. We learned from this experience never to try to itinerate in the Rainy Season. It takes such a toll of health that it is not worth while, unless God definitely leads to put aside this rule. This was one of the reasons which led us to hold our long Bible schools in the summer, when rain made itineration impossible for the white man.
John's next trip was to Goo-moo, the story of which will be related later on; but it was while he was away in Burma that I became sick with a disease unknown to me, later diagnosed as erysipelas. The circular of this time records that Homay was
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called back to her own home because of the sickness of her father. He died, and she returned to me just a day before I was compelled to go to bed. I was six days' journey from the nearest white person, many days away from a doctor, and my husband
"somewhere in Burma," beyond communication. So you can know what it meant to me to have Homay back. She, like all
Lisu, knew nothing of caring for the sick. It was that experience which taught me. what the Lisu suffer when they are ill. I had high fever, felt sticky and dirty and longed so for a bath. Day after day passed in that condition—I was much too weak to wash myself. At last I asked Homay if she would not try to wash me. She was all love and pity, but when I asked her to bathe me she looked completely baffled. She went and got a basin of hot water, dipped her hands in it and rubbed her wet hands over me—that is all she knew how to do, and I was too weak to direct her, though the tears came with disappointment. How much enlightened countries owe to Christ! He is the origin of those studies which bring alleviation -to the suffering; in every land the first hospital is always founded by Christ's messengers, the missionaries. We ought to think how much we owe Him, and to those who brought Him to us and be willing to share our knowledge! ""We are debtors."
The Lisu came every night to sing and pray for me, but as I was obviously getting worse, Job (again evangelist in those parts) decided to go for help to the distant Chinese city of Paoshan. In two weeks time he was back with Nurse Kathleen
Davies and Miss Winifred Embery, and from then on I was properly cared for. But medical orders were adamant—I must go out to Chinaland for a while, where I could get better food.
I asked Homay if she would go with me and stay with me, so I could continue my Lisu studies with her. She gladly consented. The circular of October, 1935, says:
Homay's father has died. Legally now she becomes the chattel of her heathen brother, and we are told he intends to get money for her. He has the power to sell her as a bride into a heathen family or even sell her as a slave; pray for her. We would like to buy her ourselves and let her work out her redemption gradually by serving us, but there are difficulties.
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So all was not easy for our dear little cook. But I remember on the way out, as all of us were gathered about an inn fire one evening, our Lisu carriers started to sing hymns. I heard one oung evangelist whisper to Homay who squatted next to him,
'Sister, sing bass with me!'' She could sing it better than he, and he wanted to learn the bass from her!
We were out in Chinaland for three months, and I tried to have prayer in Lisu with Homay each day; first to practise my
Lisu and secondly to encourage her to pray daily for the other members of the Lisu church. One evening as we were kneeling together at my bed I felt urged to pray for a dear deacon at Small Hemp. But I could not remember his name exactly and, hunting through my mind for it, I was praying something like this, "And bless dear old A-va-ni—no. A-va-tse? No. Oh, Va-chikya-pa!'' Whereupon Homay fell back upon the floor, opened her mouth and simply howled with laughter. I felt she was too excessively merry when I was merely reaching around in my mind for his name, when I was brought to remember what his name meant. All their names have meanings even as we have
Mr. White, Mr. Baker, etc. And Lisu use their names without thinking of their meanings. However, my feeling around for this man's name had brought its full meaning back to Homay.
In her ears I had said, "And bless dear old Pig-Dirt, no—PigGrease ?—no. Oh, Expel Pig-Dung-Man!"' And it had broken up our prayer meeting!
I might say here that the heathen Lisu give their children these horrible names in order to deceive the evil spirits into thinking the child is refuse, like its name, and thus they will not "steal'' it; in other words, that it might not die. But such names are so repugnant that we often give Bible names in their place, if the Christian proves earnest. Homay was given the name ''Phcebe,"' but almost no one used it; because we fed come to love her as Homay, I believe, and Homay means simply
Ho-girl.
Those days in Chinaland, Homay watched over Little Daughter, did our laundry and was by no means idle, so at the end of the month I handed her the salary of five Chinese dollars, as usual.
She stood looking at it in her hand as if dissatisfied; at last she
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picked out half of it and returned it to me. "Take this back, Ma-Ma, please. I am not doing a full day's work and my conscience would not be happy ifI took money for full time labour."
I record this little incident so that you may see what lovely fruit was growing on this little Tree. I know of no keener test for any Christian, white man or yellow, than his reaction to the greed for money. I would like to testify that Homay is not the only Lisu Christian we have found to be pure from this taint, but let us not pass over it lightly. Those days she went on the Chinese market where she beheld hundreds of useful pretty nicknacks she would have loved to own, but could not afford to buy. "A conscience void of offence toward God and toward men''; White man or woman, do you prize that above all else?
Another little incident from old letters gives a picture of the tenderness of this young Lisu heart. We were able to get back into Lisuland in time for Christmas.
January, 1936.
Going into the kitchen last Sunday morning I was brought to a halt by the sight of Samuel, head between his knees, sobbing; Job at his right hand weeping audibly; Homay at his left crying into her dishpan; and Me-do-me-pa trying to look as if he were not going to be next.
"What are you crying for?" I whispered to Homay.
"Because Job is crying over Sam's affair," sobs Sister Sympathy.
Sam's affair (of which you will hear more later) is this. He was married to a girl, Philip's sister she was, whom he said he did not love, had not lived with, and so wished to get rid of; he had intended to reveal this by flying off to Luda, as a sort of ultimatum. That morning
Job had gone to him and told him that this might not be, and the big young fellow took it so hard that all in the kitchen were dissolved in tears with him. As one knelt beside the lad and sensed the furious tide of hot youth, one felt utterly impotent to stem it, and could only cry in one's heart, "Oh God, Thou alone art sufficient to bend this strong young neck to the yoke!" And it was an hour or so before the gentle
Lord of Calvary got possession of that vigorously resisting young nature. But as he arose to his feet quieted, we tried to prepare him for the loneliness of cross-bearing—no one can help us bear our cross but Jesus; it is one thing to surrender among tender sympathetic friends, but quite another to go back alone to the hut and its unwelcome presence.
Homay knew so well what that struggle was. Knew how she herself had felt tied to a heathen; remembered her bondage to Philip, and
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though she had experienced God's power of deliverance, her tears flowed for the agony of this struggle. It was not always the missionaries in their study room that helped the church. The kitchen, where there was a Lisu Tree-Beside-the-Waters, was felt, somehow to be a place of power; and what the mistress sometimes might not be able to accomplish, the cook had ability to perform!
During these days Homay was sharing with us another experience. The little old Lisu shanty in which we had now lived for a year or so was considered unhealthy, and it was suggested that we build a better home. All had to be done from the standing tree on the mountainside, and the February, 1936, circular tells a bit of it.
There is a bare spot on Sunset Ridge where some thirty noble and beautiful trees have given up their lives that the missionary might have a safe dwelling in Lisuland. Day after day it was—
Anon a sound appalling, As a hundred years of pride Crashed, in the silence falling, And the shadowy pine trees sighed.
Day after day, "out of the copse the stroke of the iron axe," accompanied by the chip-chip of long Lisu knives that had to hack off the bark, and turn the round trunk into square beams, with the nasal sizzsizz of the great saw which further converted them into joists or beams.
Noontide brought Ma-Ma, Kathryn and Homay down the hillsides with baskets, and soon beside a pine-chip fire a picnic lunch was spread out. Then a long, hard afternoon; and dusk saw Daddy wearily climbing the trail homeward, perfumed like a pine forest and covered with shavings!
After three weeks of such preparatory work, we were told that the day had arrived when we must flit. Up behind the Shanty was a rickety, black-sooted little log cabin, the only empty house in the village. So we attacked it with brooms, hung up some cheery texts and pictures, brightened it with our old but still gay travelling rugs, tucked into it those indispensable comrades, the baby organ and our dear books
(arranged on cretonne-curtained shelves hastily shaped out of packing cases!) and the cabin looked so cosy that we quite fell in love with it.
It was a sad day when the beloved though leaky old Shanty had to be torn down, but joy returned when a solid, sturdy framework began to rise in its place.
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$7 But before the walls were up, the February rains descended on us black and relentless. Allyn and Leila Cooke were scheduled to arrive on a certain date and we were all to hold a Bible school for the Lisu. As the day approached we had only a wall-less but roofed-over house, no kitchen, and rain still descending.
John was laid low with a very bad tooth, his face terribly swollen, and too ill to stand on his feet, let alone superintend the weaving and nailing up of the bamboo walls. Homay had to cook meals with only a lean-to roof over her mud stove, and the ground beneath her feet a constant puddle. How she ever did it I never knew, but she was so sweet and serene with it all that she was a benediction to us. I quote from the March circular:
"They will never be able to make it, Ma-Ma. It's been raining for days, you know, and the roads are too bad in such stormy weather.
You need not expect them this week." The little group of Lisu women, shivering in the cold drizzle, nodded their heads to confirm Ah-be-pa's words.
"Well, but they said in their letter that they would arrive to-night or to-morrow, and we cannot but prepare for them, can we? Let's get the bedroom completed anyway, and as much of the dining room as we can accomplish, and let the rest of the house go."
Lisu do not usually work in such weather, but the faithful little group agreed, and despite their thin garments, and the penetrating damp chill, they threw themselves into valiant effort, Homay cheering them on, occasionally with cups of hot tea, or steaming honey water. And by Saturday night the two rooms were walled and ready for occupation.
Then, as we were in the midst of finishing touches, a cry came echoing over the knoll—"They're coming!' and John (now better) came running in upon me, "Belle! Cookes are here! Cookes are here! Just climbing the hill now!" The next moment we parted as if a bomb had burst us asunder—he to the right to welcome our guests, and I to the left to the bedroom to pull out dresser scarfs and linen that had been packed away from the building dust.
Up through the thin drizzle, our beloved friends plodded. "Why, none of us thought you'd ever get here to-day !"" we cried, as we shook hands. "Well, we had promised we would," was the simple answer that covered the two nights they had had to sleep with insufficient bedding, for they had become separated from their coolies, and the hard bitter day, up before daybreak, pushing on through biting cold and wet, not even stopping for lunch, and all because they had "promised." Allyn and
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Leila Cooke are a never-ending inspiration to us, a joy and comfort for which we continually thank God. Before going on to Luda they had said they would join us in holding a short term Bible school for the Oak Flat district Lisu, and God rewarded their faithful sacrifices by pouring out unusual blessing during the week's session.
But all through those hard days, the little cook, so serene and thoughtful of others on the outside, was carrying a secret heartache. Her brothers were threatening her, anxious to turn her into money whether it be by selling her to a heathen for wife or as a slave. So once more the little Tree was shaken by the Sharp Wind from the Bitter Heights. And once again her only strength was to send down her roots, secretly, deeply to draw on her Living Water.
There is a viewless, cloistered room, As high as heaven, as fair as day, Where, though my feet may join the throng,
My soul can enter in, and pray.
One hearkening even, cannot know When I have crossed the threshold o'er, For He alone who hears my prayers Had heard the shutting of the door.
Amy Carmichael.
And once more there came an answer. Evangelist Joseph proposed to her and was accepted. That story is told in Precious
Things of the Lasting Hills and Homay is the girl there called "Heart's Desire.' How her brothers were prevailed upon to give her to him, I do not know.
And now we were called upon to separate, for the Kuhn family was needing to go on furlough. John had been out ten years and I, eight.
Before we left, however, Leila Cooke had written to me, "Would you be willing to lend Homay to me until you come back? I do not know her equal and I would like to have her with me in Luda so as to be an example to the other Lisu girls up here, who are far from attaining to Homay's spiritual position."' Of course both Homay and I were delighted that she
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$9 should be under such a safe wing until the day of her marriage to Joseph, and so we parted.
Furlough brought us the new delight of Lisu letters, and among others was this one from Homay herself.
You-who-have-gone-back-to-the-foreign-country— Ma-Pa, Ma-Ma, and Kathryn, Ma-Pa, Ma-Ma and Kathryn whom I love, whom J never can forget, whom I deéply regard in Christ Jesus, whom I long to see. Oh dear. I think of you three and send you a handshake on paper. After we parted
I wanted to see you, loved you, and many tears came out. When we came to Luda from Oak Flat, Sunday we paused at Lu-mu-teh and were there three days. The following Wednesday we went to Luda. The (Chinese) laird at Lu-mu-teh wants to hinder the building of the chapel and put two of the villagers in jail; Saturday they were imprisoned and Tuesday they were freed. Sunday early, Mr. and Mrs. Cooke, the villagers and many others of us before breakfast prayed (for them) and God answered our prayers. Tuesday, toward evening, they were released, thank God!
By God's help I was enabled to walk all the way from Oak Flat to Luda in peace. Ma-Pa, Ma-Ma, you three, I would like to know if you arrived safely at the foreign country. Oh dear. Ma-Pa, Ma-Ma and Kathryn I thank you; we lived together over a year and by God's grace (during that time) there was nothing happened to be regretted.
I thank you. I learned how to study a little, while I was with you, and learned how to do a few things. I am so glad. Oh dear. Ma-Pa, Ma-Ma and Kathryn I can't tell you how I long to see you and touch your hands a little, and take you, Kathryn, around a little. I can't forget your faces; it's as if I hear your voices in my sleep. Oh dear. When you get to your foreign country, don't forget us but pray for us all the time, thank you— please forgive any mistakes I've made in writing this; thank you. The writer Homay Phoebe who loves you and will never forget you.
Her letter was enclosed in one from Mrs. Cooke which tells that Homay's engagement may have to be broken. She says,
"We are sorry to hear that Homay's younger brother wants to make trouble. Homay feels that it is not so much that he wants a bridal price, as that he wants her to marry the blue blood instead of an ordinary Lisu. She says the folks in her village like to claim they are not Lisu but Chinese, and they want her to marry one of the same class, They all think her brothers
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would be satisfied if she decided to remain single all her life, and she is quite willing. But Job does not feel that she had better tell her brother that as yet, and Moses feels the same. It is difficult to know what to say about it. I am sure you are praying. I feel sorry for Joseph, for she is the second one he has sought for a wife."
Always the dread fear of the "dry tree' life following her!
But it caused her roots to go all the deeper; and by fall (1936) her third hope of a husband and family were gone—but in a most unlooked-for way.
While we were at Orcas Island, a letter came from Andrew (sorry I cannot find it or I would translate) giving the heartbreaking news that our dear Joseph is with his Lord. He was returning from, Goo-moo, where he had been teaching, and was on his way home to get his bride, dear Homay, when he was drowned. The day was hot and he and his companions decided to have a bath; Joseph could not swim and got out of his depth.
Samuel and Lysias were with him at the time, and they buried him and carried his things back home for him.
When John first read this out to me, it just seemed as if I could not allow it to be true. It was so hard to have lost one beloved teacher the year before, and Joseph was one of our priceless ones—a pure spirit, absolutely devoted to his Lord.
He could have been a farmer like the rest, but he left it all to carry the gospel message to others of his own race. For a year's labour he received merely his board and lodging and fifteen local dollars for clothes. Poorest of the poor, he was rich in another kind of goods—"as poor, yet making many rich."
One of my last memories of Joseph is of the testimony meeting one Christmas. The testimonies were a blessing to us all and Joseph kept quiet as long, doubtless, as he could; then he sprang to his feet, and with his face so radiant it was almost glorified he cried out, "I haven't anything to give to God, but all that I am and all that I have, I give back to Him.'"' And now God has gathered in the complete offering.
Our hearts wondered about dear Homay, and how she would receive this sad solution to her problems. A letter from Mr.
Cooke (also mislaid, so sorry) told us she received it bravely.
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After a while they heard her singing softly in the kitchen, Have Thine Own Way, Lord, and Looking This Way. Then after a time she went out into the little house where Miss Ward had died, and had prayer. Brave little Lisu sister, what are God's plans for your life now? Back to the old place where she is, humanly speaking, unprotected.
Lisu-like, her next letter never mentions it:
Ma-Pa, Ma-Ma, you three— Whom I love and can never forget, whom in the name of the Holy
Spirit of the Trinity I behold in my heart all the time, I send you a hand-shake and greetings on paper. Oh dear. Are you happy now in your own country? We love you and long to see you beyond expression.
Oh dear. Ma-Pa, the letter you wrote to me has come, and I received it October 15, and my happiness knew no bounds. Oh dear. Ma-Pa, thank you for that letter. You said you had arrived at Grandpa Miller's home, and we thank God. Are you now also in peace? You said you had been to a summer conference where you received much spiritual food, and I thank God. You had received three letters from me; now
Ma-Pa, did you really and truly cry when you read them? Oh dear.
I truly long to see you more than I can express. Since I have been at Luda my physical strength has grown, pray for me that my spiritual strength may increase also. Oh dear Ma-Pa, I am in much prayer that you will come back to us; we at Oak Flat would be delighted if that were God's will. Now Mr. Fraser arrived at Luda on November 5, we do thank God.
Oh Kathryn [I had guided the little girlie's hand in writing Homay a note, and also stuck in a part of the snap on which Kathryn appears and apparently one of my own feet], So happy I was to get your letter, and also for the picture. Ma-Ma, I can see your foot but not your head; this is not satisfying! Oh dear. Ma-Ma, have you forgotten Lisu words?
Please write me a Lisu letter, I long to read one from you. When I think of you I weep and love you very much. Oh dear. Ma-Ma, the writer is the one who wants to see you, thinks of you, and to whom you gave the name of (Homay) Phoebe. Oh dear. Ma-Pa, Ma-Ma, and Kathryn, dwell in peace!
But we see by this that now the pioneer of the Lisu work, our provincial superintendent, Mr. J. O. Fraser, had arrived at Luda where Homay was staying. He and the Cookes were working on the revision of the Lisa New Testament. Inevitably he got
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to know Homay. In that northern district where the tribes are farther away from the Chinese civilization, and so are cruder in the living, Homay's neat capable cleverness must have shone like a diamond among rough pebbles. Her fiancé's death having been noised abroad, proposals of marriage began to flow in!
The great, brilliant superintendent at the translator's desk, and the little Lisu housemaid . .
. what connection could there ever be between such? But it was part of his greatness that he always had time and loving ee for the humblest life near him.
He heard of those proposals and was greatly amused. As they began to mount up in numbers and passed the fifty mark (if I remember rightly) he suggested jocularly to the Cookes that they have refusals of marriage printed for Homay—it would save her so much time and letter-writing! But he was pondering what he knew of the strange movings of Providence in this young life, and one day he called her to him.
"Homay, have you ever thought that perhaps God is calling you to a single life, in order that you may serve Him in a sphere new to Lisuland? You know the Lisu church has few Biblewomen. All its evangelists and teachers are men. Yet men cannot reach women like a woman could. Would you consider giving yourself to the Lord for His ministry?"
With all his spiritual penetration I do not think that Mr.
Fraser knew what a knife he had plunged into Homay's heart.
Outwardly she was always serene and quiet—she had schooled herself for so many years to keep her inner thoughts from showing on the surface, bs she had wonderful control of herself. She would not appear to have been "stabbed," and he of course did not know of the stigma-name of "Dry Tree," and that it had been a horror to her all these years. Even if he had known, he would have put the question, for he never feared to face-up any soul to God's highest demands; and I have often wondered, would Homay's story have had a different ending if she had accepted his advice? But Homay had never seen a woman single for Christ's sake—her Lisu white missionaries were married, why couldn't God use her, married? I do not say she was unwilling; but her answer was, "If God asked me to remain single
I would do so; but I cannot now promise never to marry."
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She must have left his presence with a hurricane in her heart.
Was it necessary to be a "dry tree" physically, to bring forth spiritually? And there was such a handsome, consecrated young evangelist now casting eyes upon her. Mrs. Cooke had written to us of this boy, Daniel:
Daniel has given his life to the Lord's work. Please thank the friends at home who have been praying for him. God has answered prayer in the breaking, of his engagement to the heathen woman to whom he was betrothed in childhood. It was a real fight with the powers of darkness, but God made Daniel victorious. Daniel's heathen brother said he would kill Daniel rather than let him free from the engagement. Daniel ought to have had plenty to pay back the bridal price but the father and brother refused to let him use his share of the property. For one year's wages as evangelist David received twenty-five dollars. When the father saw Daniel would not be forced to marry the girl, he asked
Daniel to give him twenty dollars to get rid of her. Daniel gave it to him and of the five dollars left of the whole year's wages he handed me fifty cents to help pay the coolies to carry (Teacher) Moses when Moses was too sick to walk.
But a new and exciting page of experience was about to be turned for Homay. Cookes were asked to go on a long journey south to investigate the field of Bana, which had been offered to the China Inland Mission. And they had invited her to go with them! What fun! A long trek through beautiful Lisuland.
Then (thrill of thrills) a motor bus ride into Burma, along the Burma Road. Homay had never seen an automobile in her life.
After that a train ride—and she had never seen a train before!
Then an exciting day in the city of Mandalay—her first glimpse of modern civilization. Then once more familiar trail-trekking, and the mission station of Bana was reached, where several other tribes beside the Lisu were being evangelized. But amidst all these thrills, in the Secret Place she was wondering about the bearing of fruit for God. In her next letter Mrs. Cooke wrote:
Homay is here with us and is a constant joy to us. The other day I found her out in the kitchen counting the kernels on one ear of corn.
She asked me to help her and we found 538 kernels on one ear. She wanted to know the number so that she could glorify God for His power in making so much out of one grain of corn. Then another day
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she was looking at some caterpillars, and when I came along she said, "Isn't it wonderful that these can all turn into butterflies?" And then another day I was telling her about the verse in Hosea where it says,
"T will be as the dew unto Israel" and she said Teacher John (the Lisu evangelist who died in 1935) said, in preaching, "We must not feel that God forgets us, for He does not even forget the little leaves, but sends a portion of dew for every little leaf." I often find Homay off in a quiet ge with her portion of the New Testament and a pencil. And at night after she is in bed I hear her softly repeating scripture verses before she goes to sleep. As you think of Homay you will pray that God will provide His own escort to take her home from here when we leave for furlough. She is about thirty days' journey from home. Her sister and three Lisu men are here to return with her, but as it is necessary to sleep out in the open while travelling, we feel it would be more to the glory of God if she had an older man or a missionary to escort the party.
Into these thoughts walked the postman, with a bunch of Lisu letters from Luda. Among them was one from Daniel to Homay! Evidently she had been expecting this proposal, and had made up her mind, for the return mail to Luda took her acceptance of his offer of marriage. Mrs. Cooke said that Homay's reply to him was very sweet, and that she had said, "I am sure that I love you, but wait until there are no doubts in your own mind about your love for me." That, of course, was just a bit of coy teasing!
However, the happy little acceptance note arrived in Luda station where Mr. Charles Peterson was living alone at the time. As he read it, he sat filled with grief and bewilderment.
For he had just been bowled over in spirit to hear that Daniel, their shining splendid Daniel, had fallen into sin. A period of idleness at home had brought temptation. Laziness, even if under the guise of "rest,"' is no preparation for overcoming, and Daniel had fallen. Of course, had Homay known this, she would never have said yes; so what should he do? Thinking it might touch and revive Daniel, Mr. Peterson took it to him, but Daniel read it with darkening face. He knew of course, that he now was not worthy of her, and that his fall had cancelled this sweet little answer. And so ended this engagement of Homay's also.
Of Daniel's reclamation, largely due to the earnest intercession
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of a faithful prayer partner in Seattle, you will hear later. But when Homay and we met again, she was still single and free.
We were back in Lisuland (from furlough) four months and then, on April 21, in the afternoon, a cry came, ""The Bana party is arriving! They are coming up the hill now!" How we dropped everything and ran. There being neither telegraph nor telephone and almost no postal service in the canyon, expected loved ones could not announce their arrival beforehand. Yes, there was my dear Homay, not seen for two years now, but she was plump as usual, and her laugh and hug were as warm as ever. Along with her came Luke, A-che, another Luda Lisu unknown to me, and her sister Ruth. We took their picture to let others see the Bana party almost as we saw them.
You can imagine how Homay and I hugged one another, each of us conscious of the absence of a little form who had never swerved in her devotion to "Big Sister Homay," and who remained always, as Homay's precious white baby (Kathryn had gone to school at Chefoo). Almost immediately, with tears flooding her eyes she asked, 'What is the latest word of Kathryn,
Ma-Ma?" And so I shared with her the latest letters from Little Daughter.
And now we found that our Homay was too advanced for her old position as cook. She had learned to use the Lisu typewriter, and of the three Lisu whom the Cookes tried out in typing the manuscript of the Lisu New Testament, Homay was the most accurate. So she became a sort of secretary to us. She oversaw the housekeeping, the buying in and measuring of the year's supply of grain, charcoal, salt, potatoes, etc., but she gave half of each day to typing out copies of the various New Testament
Books for the Bible students, of whom you will be hearing anon.
(It was half a year before the printed New Testament reached us.) At the month's end, when we went to give her her small salary, she again handed half of it back to us saying. "Ma-Pa,
Ma-Ma, I would like to contribute the half of each day to working for the Lisu church by typing, as my gift to God. I will do that for nothing. The other half of each day, we will reckon as working for you, and for that I will take wages, if this is agreeable to you!"
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It touched us very deeply—as you may imagine, but we have long learned the truth that God is no man's debtor. To be rich toward God is to be rich eternally; and so we accepted her offer.
And now we faced the coming true of a vision given to us while on furlough, but before I mention that, I want to quote from the circulars again, so that our station personnel, when referred to, will be intelligible to you.
A New MiIssIONARY We had brought a Christmas gift to the Lisu on our return in December 1937, in the. person of a new missionary, Victor Christianson. He worked with Earl Carlson among the Chinese over a year ago, and when he heard of the latter's death he felt that God had asked him to take up the fallen torch, among the Lisu. I think I can best describe our new comrade to you by a picture. Our first day out was very long, and dark overtook us while we were still on wild mountain tops. The end of the stage was a very long steep and rocky descent, the last miles of which were made by feeble moonlight. Indeed three of the Lisu carriers did not reach the village at all, but had to spend the December night, huddled supperless, in the middle of the road. Those of us who managed to get to the inn were very weary, and I was not slow in getting to bed.
Victor had to sleep in the main room, a very public place. As he was having his devotions, an old (Chinese) lady in the house asked him about the Book he was reading, and tired as he was he started to teach her.
As I lay there on the other side of the thin partition I heard the kindly voice going on and on patiently explaining the way of salvation, regardless a his personal fatigue and a waiting bed—she had never heard before and very probably might not again, so it was told her in full before he slept. And in my heart, as I lay and listened, I praised God for His missionary in lonely mountain places.
Then another worker was brought to us, but before I quote concerning that, reference should be made to a young missionary hero who laid down his life while serving the Lisu in the northern field of Luda. While the Cookes were at Bana, and later when they went on furlough, the Luda station was in charge of two white men—Mr. Charles B. Peterson and Mr. Earl Carlson.
This book is about Lisu "Nests" and so I do not feel free to interject missionary biographies, but one might well be written about the noble young life which Earl Carlson laid down in that . far-distant corner of the mission field. He was smitten with
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typhus fever (we think it was), taken while toiling unremittingly among the Lisu villages. There was no doctor to tend him. One was sent for, but he arrived too late. And so Mr. Peterson had to see his chum laid to rest on the little knoll outside his kitchen door. Mr. Peterson continued on alone, but the Mission felt it was too precarious, so the following quotation will explain itself.
Our FAMILY ENLARGES
On January 15 we had the glad privilege of welcoming Charles Peterson to Oak Flat. Charles is one of "our own" boys; we use that designation only of those young missionaries who spent their initial days in Yunnan in our home, as language students, in years past. So Charles is no new friend. If I had to describe him in one word I think I would choose "'faithful."" No matter how trying his post, you cannot tempt Charlie away from it until he feels the Lord has said, "Go." Both the superintendent and fellow missionaries urged him to take a holiday after Earl's death, and "come out," but he quietly refused.
However, it has been decided to vacate Luda temporarily as a main station, and work it by visits, as an outstation of Oak Flat. Under such advice Charlie moved, and so we are the wealthy possessors of two other workers, Charles and Victor.
To go back to our "vision"; it was that of holding a Rainy Season Bible School for three months, June through August, of each year. The main purpose was to teach the Bible to the Lisu evangelists. We had soon discovered that these dear zealous young fellows were really ignorant of the scriptures—much too ignorant for their work. Of course they had never read the whole
New Testament, and they had done the best they could with the four Gospels and Acts, which they possessed. To win heathen to Christ, one does not require much more knowledge than the plan of salvation and John iii. 16. But to build up a church after they are won is a different matter. There were now many babes in Christ waiting to be shown the next step, and since the Lisu
New Testament was available in manuscript form at least, we felt the need for a prolonged session over the Word. Mr. Fraser. was delighted, and urged us on. A full-time Bible school was an impossibility; we had the oversight of a field four days' journey in length, and more if you counted the outstations. The Luda district, just committed to our oversight, was six days' journey
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away. The pastoring of hundreds of believers, steadily increasing in number, demanded visitation. And we were the only medical help anybody had within the radius of three or more weeks' travel, at that time. We could not possibly spend all our time at a Bible school.
We chose the Rainy Season for this purpose as our experience, related in previous pages, had taught us that it was dangerous for us to travel at that time of the year. Also, the summer being the farmers' busiest time, the Lisu teachers had then much less to do. People lived in their fields to protect the growing grain from birds and animals, and the villages were partly empty.
So we chose June to August for Bible study. Of this work I hope to devote a whole chapter later on. Just now, its effect on Homay is all I will relate.
We began that first school (R.S.B.S., we called it, standing for Rainy Season Bible School) with a session of heart-searching and cleansing. Although it was mainly for men, a few girls attended it at first, and Homay always took in as many classes as she had time for.
One of those first days, John and I were seated at our table, deep in work when Homay came slowly up to us and stopped, waiting for an invitation to speak. Her face was so grave that John said immediately, ""What is it, Homay?"
""Ma-Pa, I have a confession I must make to you." As she spoke tears began to well up in her eyes.
"All right, don't be afraid," her pastor answered kindly.
"Before your furlough, when we were building the house here, I—I lied to you once, Ma-Pa,"' and at that word the flood gates broke and the tears streamed so that it was hard to get the rest of the story.
"T found a penpoint on the ground, after everything was torn up, and I did not ask if I might have it, but just took it—I knew you'd give it if I asked; and I found a twig and made a stem for it, and it worked as a pen quite nicely. But one day when I was using it, you came by and said, "Where did you get the pen,
Homay?" and I was scared and before I thought I had answered, "Mr. Cooke gave it to me,' and then you walked away. I was not happy afterwards, but I was always too ashamed to confess it
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to you. You might have thought I was in the habit of telling you lies and I've never lied to you in anything else."' By this time she was shaking so with sobs that we tried to stop her. But she had more to say.
"Then you left for furlough, and we went to Bana; but always in the services, when sin was mentioned, that penpoint came up before me. I confessed it to the Cookes, but still I got no relief.
Then I told Teacher Luke, and he thought it was too small a matter to worry about, but still I was not happy.
"And then on the way back from Bana, we stopped at Paoshan where Miss Anna Christensen was holding meetings, you remember, and she spoke of unconfessed sins, and said even little things might keep us from God, and so I made up my mind to tell you about the penpoint."
By this time all of us were weeping, but I hope this little story will speak to some reader, who has been told by the Holy
Spirit to confess a sin, perhaps a seemingly unimportant one, and you are not obeying, because Satan tells you it is too small a matter. There is no path to peace or blessing until you confess.
Confessing to other people than the ones involved, like Homay tried, is the devil's own snare to keep you in bondage. And the fear of confession is his delusion also. After confession was all over, and the tears dried, what joy and lightness of heart! And her Ma-Pa against whom she had offended, and whom she deeply loved, only cherished her all the more because of her obedience to the Spirit in the little thing, and her great desire to be a clean vessel for God to use.
And now we have a surprise for you. The circular of August, 1938, recording the end of our first R.S.B.S., has this paragraph.
WEDDING BELLs
That busy day before closing day, about four in the afternoon, Job performed a ceremony which made Thomas and Homay man and wife for life. I do not know how it came about, but feel it was more of a comfort marriage than a hot love affair. She is the best to be had in Lisuland, as Thomas well knew, and Homay was conscious that she could not-say yes to a more faithful or finer Christian, so I think that was how it happened; but happiness seems to increase in their hearts every day. Homay was dressed in a combination of orange silk and
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dark blue cotton. Rhoda was her bridesmaid (and a very pretty one) and Luda-Peter was best man.
I played Lohengrin's Bridal March as they entered and left the chapel, and the whole ceremony was holy and quiet—a lovely memory.
Thomas is to be kept in this district for a while at least, and they live in a little house right next to ours, for Homay continues to help us in typing and in the house work. (Dorcas has gone home to her family in Luda.) Thomas is a Stockade Hill boy. A deep sorrow in his life (one that need never have happened if he had not obeyed his conscience before the promptings of his heart) made an evangelistic trip away from home seem attractive to him. And so he was sent to the Munition of Rocks, and worked most of his time in the Luda district. As a strange providence had it, he paid one evangelistic trip to Goo-moo, and while there heard of dear
Joseph's drowning and was asked to conduct Joseph's funeral. So as it turned out in the end, the one to bury Homay's fiancé was the one who married her! As the Luda district was temporarily under the Oak Flat district, the Luda evangelists were all summoned to R.S.B.S. and thus Homay and Thomas met.
Both were very nervous. Thomas lost ten pounds between the date of the engagement and that of the marriage. And our usually serene Homay, when asked by Job (at the wedding ceremony), "Are you pleased to take this man as your husband?" opened her mouth to answer, "Pleased," but only a wheeze came out! Her mouth was so dry with nervousness that she could not get her voice to work. Astounded, Job said, "What?" whereupon, her eyes beseeching him in agony, again her mouth opened, and again only a wheeze emerging, Job was loyal.
"Oh yes, she says, Pleased!'' he announced to everybody, and proceeded.
Then when the bridegroom was to put the ring on her finger, his hand shook so, that he could not pick up the ring; so again
Job silently came to the rescue, and put the ring on her finger in lieu of the bridegroom. But these are small matters—the Lisu consider it went off very nicely.
Their honeymoon (which Lisu do not take) was a trip to Goo-moo, Burma, which will be recorded in the story of Goo-
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moo. The Goo-moo Christians loved the pair of them so much, however, that when the time for our departure came (Homay and Thomas had gone with us) they begged us to leave the newlyweds with them to teach them the Bible for six months; and we gladly consented. They were given the little house which the Goo-moo Christians had built for us, and six happy and useful months were spent over there in Burma.
In the beginning of 1939 a shadow passed over their sunshine.
The February circular has a note— Thomas has been incapacitated for work by a strange illness giving him acute pain. It sounds like a serious hernia, but we really do not know. His valuable ministry is being hindered—pray.
And now 1939 R.S.B.S. was coming upon us. During the time that the Cookes were on furlough, the Luda teachers came down to study with us, and this time, to our joy, Daniel appeared with them. He had returned to the Lord, and felt the need of studying the Word. His deacons had recommended him, so were glad to receive him along with the other students from Luda. Their arrival is told in the following circular:
And another delightful reunion was the following Monday night— a cry from the kitchen sent me flying through the doorway. It said,
"Teacher Job has returned!" As I came up to his humble doorway I asked, "Didn't Rhoda come too?" and a meek "'Yes" from the direction of the garden revealed the lassie herself, braids hanging down her bosom, coming from the vegetable patch with something for supper. She got a kiss on the spot and then Homay pulled my hand and whispered with a meaning smile, "Daniel's in there!" thrusting her chin (native fashion) in the direction of the hut. She did not seem the least embarrassed, in fact I think she was secretly pleased that she could now show the one who had been faithless to her, just what a fine husband God had eventually given her. I hurried into the crowded shanty (for everybody was there to welcome them) and was happy to see Job's face once more, and sure enough, there in the corner, hanging back as if ashamed, was
Daniel—he has come for the Rainy Season Bible School and is doing odd jobs before it begins. He is paying his own way for these three months of study. He listens to the messages very earnestly and one can see why the Cookes loved him so much. The next evening, when a little group of them including Homay were present, Daniel apologized to her in front of them all—she herself told me so with shining eyes—
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and once more I thought how God works out all things, even the heartbreak of unfaithfulness to the one who loves and cleaves unto Him.
"You must learn, you must let God teach you, that the only way to get rid of your past is to get a future out of it. God will waste nothing." —Phillips Brooks.
But Thomas's trouble did not clear up. He was a good student usually; in fact in 1940 he led the whole student body. But this year of 1939 seemed to be going to be a failure. The August circular says:
I had no sooner spoken of Thomas' glowing face in last month's issue, than the Enemy put a blight upon it. Praise God he could only touch the outside, but he did hit hard. Thomas got severe pain in his head and around the left eye, and then after about a week of suffering, the pain passed, but left the sight impaired. The right eye has now become affected. Do pray for him—he is only twenty-six years old and he and Homay are expecting a little gift from God in December.
I remember well those days. We could not diagnose his trouble; as a matter of fact, it was double hernia, but at the time the whole pain was in his eyes and he seemed to be going blind.
Now blindness in a mountain land, where everything is perpendicular, is an awful affliction. Well that Homay had learned to send her roots out to the Living Water! Yet even so, when such a storm hits a young tree, the upper part of it can be badly shaken.
And one morning I shall never forget. I was called to see Thomas again—he could see out of neither eye and was in severe pain.
I could do nothing for him, and felt my uselessness. So I just put my arms around the anxious little wife and whispered,
'Don't worry, dear. God is faithful and remember you are like a daughter to us. You and Thomas will always have a place in our home." She broke down and wept, which was most unusual for her, who had such wonderful outward control.
In answer to prayer, Thomas was healed sufficiently that he was able to finish R.S.B.S., but at the end of the school, it was plain that he must seek medical help. In Burma there was a mission hospital where they were very kind to the Lisu, and Thomas knew that if he could only get to that faraway place he would receive attention free of charge. That autumn and winter we itinerated a lot and were seldom home, so I do not
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remember when Thomas left. I only know that later I discovered that his little wife had given all her savings to pay his expenses there and back. Here I would like to say what a good wife
Homay was. She was a very nimble seamstress and I think she had secretly made up her mind that her husband was to be the best dressed and best cared-for of all the evangelists. Living still in our home, she was at the source of supplies; when cloth or books came in, to be sold to the students, she made the first selection and bought the very best for Thomas. I once teased him, "Don't you know what a lucky man you are, to have such a wife?"
"T sure do," he replied with such a happy laugh that I felt he was not being spoiled, and I was glad that happiness had come to them both.
It was a regret to me that I could not be present when her first-born arrived. No longer a Dry Tree! God knows how to lighten our loads. How joyfully she prepared for that baby.
Lisu do not usually make any preparation for a coming child, except, perhaps, to sew it a hat! "Why, you can't tell whether it is going to live or not!" they will say when you suggest a few garments to welcome the wee newcomer. Such a thought shows how high infant mortality is, and is expected to be. Over half their babies die. But Homay had lived with missionaries and had learned some hygiene; so an array of knitted bonnets and small clothes were carefully being added to as the months rolled on.
Baby was to come in December. Thomas was still away and no letters were possible. The Kuhn family had to leave on a long three months' trip to Village of the Three Clans, but fellow workers were present to carry on the work of Oak Flat district.
Mr. Peterson was on furlough, but Mr. Christianson had married Miss Cath Galpin, and she promised me to do all in her power to help Homay when her time came. I knew she would, but at the same time, she was a stranger to the lonely little mother.
But my duty called me north and I had to go.
When I learned that Homay and Thomas were expecting a little one'I wrote and told Kathryn that God had promised to give Homay a baby for Christmas, but had not said whether
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He would give a boy or a girl. Her reaction was the following letter to Homay which so amused us that I copy it here.
Chefoo.
October 31, 1939.
My dearest Homay:
I think of you a lot and pray for you too.
I cannot speak Lisu now except yes. I hope you will teach me some Lisu when I see you again, because it is fun learning other languages.
Mummy has told the secret that God told you, and I think it is a very nice secret. I will love the baby. I will tell you a name if it is a girl—
Kathryn—not because its my name because it is the gift of God, and if it is a boy—John—that is only to help you.
I love you very much.
I am having a good time at school am learning very much it is only twenty-eight more days till the holidays.
With love from, KarTuryn K.
Homay was thrilled that her "white baby" should want to name her own real baby, so when a son appeared she named him John. Though that was his legal title, she herself always referred to him as "Oldest Hemp" (Thomas' surname is Hemp).
I could not understand it, until I "thought Lisu'' and saw that she was looking forward to many more little Hemps; and then
I realized how the name "Dry Tree'' had stung, all through the years. Always she referred to her baby as "Oldest Hemp" with a smile which spoke of the secret hope that there would be many others.
When we returned in March, 1940, baby John was already quite big and very cute, but cried a great deal. He just cried night and day, and Homay was exhausted long before he was.
Germs of a serious illness were already working her body, but this we did not know. Homay had been the healthiest Lisu I have ever met. Every other helper had periodic hours in bed with malarial headaches at least, often more serious diseases, but not Homay. Plump and flourishing, she seemed immune to everything, so when we came back and Cath Christianson told me that Homay had moved out of our house and was living in a room off the Lisu church kitchen, and that she never seemed
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to have time to do anything but look after little John, I was worried. A baby takes a lot of time and young mothers can easily fall into the habit of letting the baby steal their quiet time with God—and that is fatal spiritually. I sought out the little mother and watched her for some days. She seemed lazy—so unusual for the energetic girl of the past; she disliked to haul water to wash John's baby clothes and would sit by until our laundry girl had finished and then beg for the wash water.
Then in April, one evening as the Infant Brigade (of whom you will hear later) were in the midst of their singing lesson, a gunshot rang out through the dark. Immediately we were all out of the room and into the night. Pushing up the trail, I could just discern other villagers emerging from their huts. A white horse was coming with someone leading it! Job! and behind him Luke, Andrew, their wives, and—Thomas! I believe that was our first word that he was even alive, after the hospital treatment. Here he was, cured—and anxious to behold the baby he had never yet seen.
After joyful greetings we all hurried back to Luke's house where, snug and cosy by the fire, we felt at leisure to ask questions. Thomas was entirely healed! How we thanked the Lord and how mystified we were to hear that an operation for hernia was what fixed him up, eyes and everything!
Of course little John was hauled on to his Daddy's lap for much inspection and hugging. There were the other teachers who also had stories to tell, so that Thomas and his little family were able to slip away to the privacy of their own room next door.
Events followed one another and it was R.S.B.S., 1940, before my attention was drawn particularly to Homay again. Thomas appeared one evening and said, "Ma-Ma, I'm concerned about John's mother" (the Oriental way of mentioning one's wife).
'She has had no appetite for a long time, and her legs are swelling. Do you think you have any medicine that would help her?" He looked very anxious about symptoms that seemed unimportant to me. Homay had always had fat ankles. I examined one medical book, but none of the diseases attendant on swollen ankles seemed to fit. From then on I watched the little
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mother as closely as possible in a busy life that did not often, now, touch hers. She looked all right, but was so lethargic and sluggish that I began to think that maybe it was a spiritual problem and wrote the American prayer helpers to pray for her. I had her in for an interview, too.
"Homay, are you reading the Word and praying, like you used to?"
"No, Ma-Ma," she answered immediately. "There isn't time now and I have not the strength. Baby cries so at night that I am too tired in the day.' She had a sort of "What's the use"' attitude, that it made me anxious for her. Never having known her to be sick, I did not dream that a dread disease had already laid fast hold upon the still plump little form. She knew herself to be ill, yet she was not in actual pain, so that no one but Thomas took it seriously. I myself thought it was a spiritual matter and exhorted her to remember that the spirit needs food as much as the body. Poor little Nest; it was a sad wind blowing upon it.
At the end of each R.S.B.S. the Lisu teachers are reappointed to districts where they usually remain for the following twelve months. Thomas was sent to Village of the Olives, across the river from us, and the Christians there had prepared a nice little house for him and his family. Homay was reluctant to leave us, although no medicines we had given her had helped her. I urged her to go, thinking that some active testimony for the Lord might be her greatest help. So we parted rather sadly on each side.
For the next few months I had many important things to take my mind off Homay's "lethargy," as I thought of it. Mrs.
Christianson had become seriously ill, her life was in danger, she had to be taken out to a hospital, and eventually she and her husband had to return to America. We ourselves were called upon to make a long trip south to Stockade Hill district, there with the parent church to hold one of the first Bible studies since the New Testament came into their hands—for they had had no missionary for many years, and at present writing still have none. This was important work.
So it was Christmas before we returned to Oak Flat and I found a lot of Lisu letters awaiting me, among them one from
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cig Thomas which said something like this: "I hope you will forgive me for not travelling around my field here. Homay is so ill that I cannot leave her. I fear it is a destroying sickness. But I teach every night in this village."
Then it was I became alarmed, and as Leila and Allyn Cooke were expected back from their furlough, to arrive soon after Christmas, we sent one of our mules to Village of Olives for Homay to ride, and urged Thomas to bring her that Leila
Cooke might try to diagnose her case. Homay came, outwardly a little thinner, but that was all that was apparent. Inwardly she seemed back at the place of victory. Her face had once more that quiet peace upon it.
Perhaps thy way is weary oft, Thy feet grow tired and lame; I wearied when I reached the well, I suffered just the same:
And when I bore the heavy cross I fainted 'neath the load; And so I've promised rest to all Who walk the weary road.
S.C. U.
I had no opportunity to talk with Homay personally that time, so I do not know when it was that the Little Tree awoke to the fact that the one thing needful is to spread out our roots unto the river. Then, "'it shall not fear when heat cometh, but its leaf shall be green."
Homay's "'leaf" was so green that neither Leila Cooke nor I thought it was "'a destroying sickness.'" We proposed her going out to a Chinese hospital and offered her our mule to ride, but as I remember it, she refused, saying she had not the strength to make such a trip. "I always thought that horseback riding was restful," she said with a smile, "I never imagined that it can be as tiring as walking, until I had this trip over from Village of the Olives." And I laughed too, recollecting the many boneaches of a whole day in the saddle through such a country—and how the Lisu expect you to be quite rested after "sitting all day," at the end of such a trip!
So back they went and we prayed for her daily, but with no
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special concern until February, when Orville Carlson (who had now joined us, to take his dead brother's place in the Lisu work) made a trip to Village of the Olives to conduct a Bible school.
He brought back an enthusiastic report of the growing little church there, but added that he was burdened for Homay.
"She does not complain of pain, but seems to have no strength to do anything. Just crawls out into the sunshine in the morning and lies there hour after hour. It is pitiful. We ought to pray for her."
From then on, we did, very earnestly, and yet a faith to claim healing never came to us. I was really alarmed now, and the next month, after conducting Bible school in a neighbouring village, I came over and spent a week-end at Village of the Olives.
I was shocked at the sight of Homay. She had simply wasted away. She said she had no pain, but daily diarrhoea (medicines for this had long ago been given her without effect); and it was plain to see that death was stamped upon the thin, wan face.
Deeply moved at her obvious condition, I probed for the most important thing—the health of the spirit. And I can still see the light that sprang on to her wasted features as she smiled and answered, "The Lord's will be done, Ma-Ma; I'm happy to accept His will.'"' Tears came with the smile, but did not overflow. Neither of us mentioned what we knew caused them— namely, the question, ""What will happen to Baby John?' I did not dare offer to take him, for I was committed to a life in which travelling occupied most of the year. And at that time we had no dependable woman working in our home, only three irresponsible boys, The Infant Brigade, of whom you may hear later. So the question had to remain unanswered.
As the earthly vessel was wearing thin, the treasure within was shining out. All of her Christian life one of Homay's favourite hymns was, Have Thine Own Way, Lord, and now that the supreme test was being put to her, those words were always her answer. The Christians there told me that Homay was simply a marvel to the heathen women of the village. They used to come just to see and talk with the young teacher who was not afraid to die, nor even rebellious.
The Tree Planted by the Waters...
"shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease
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from yielding fruit." The little group culled out of the heathenism during that year of dying were among the choicest of the Munition of Rocks.
As for ourselves—we had work calling for us, and could not stay to see her through the Valley of the Shadow, except in spirit. Our circular letter, telling of the gathering of R.S.B.S. students for 1941, has this paragraph:
Tue DisTANT TRIUMPH SONG Among all our wonderful forty we missed Thomas' face. "Homay is too ill for me to leave her," he wrote, "'and I can hardly bear to look at her" (she was so wasted). "My heart is breaking to see the others going off to school and I must stay behind, but there is no help for it."
Then one night after those weeks of heavy rain, as I was about to open the evening service, someone said to me, "Thomas has come!
He came in just now, carrying his little son on his back." The news, though long expected, pierced with the sharpness which only the last enemy to be destroyed can inflict. Thomas' coming meant only one thing. Hardly able to speak for tears, I asked, "When did Homay pass away?"
"Sixth of the sixth moon," was the answer. Then I had to go in to prepare for service.
The next day our Thomas was in class. He is very brave, but when opportunity afforded I asked him to tell me of Homay's last days. He said her faith was triumphant to the end. Spiritually she seemed to grow stronger as the body grew weaker. There was never a murmur against this decree of her Father's, although she was only about thirty years old. Fellow villagers say her patience under suffering made the heathen marvel. But when it came to telling her last words, which were ones of pity for himself and little eighteen-months-old John, Thomas broke down; so I said, ""Write to me." With no one to care for baby,
Thomas had at first said he would go back to his relatives and his own old home, but the pleadings of the flock in Village of the Olives made him hesitate. Here is his note:
""Ma-Ma, I want to answer you now. I wanted to answer you when we were talking together, but I couldn't, because of grief. First I said I was going back to my home, but that was for sorrow of heart. Now I would like to say this, if God shows me the way, I will go back to Village of the Olives. The brothers and sisters there were not satisfied that I should not, and neither am I. For they are more to me than my own people—all in that district are. But I cannot forget Homay; before
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R.S.B.S. I cried all day—not for her, but for myself and for Baby John.
Homay's last words were, 'I cannot eat. If God is going to take me I will go, but it will be hard for you and baby.' After that her speech was not clear; she felt so sorry for Baby John."
Asked to speak at the Sunday main service, Thomas chose 1 Thess. iv. 13-18 and used it as a testimony to his faith in the resurrection.
"We sorrow not as others who have no hope," he quoted. Then we held a memorial service for her who is rejoicing in her Saviour's presence. Since turning to Him, Homay's life among her fellows was without reproach. She went to Him having no cause to be ashamed— what a glorious finale!
Thou wast their rock, their fortress and their might; Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.
Alleluia!
And up in Heaven, her old friend, Mr. J. O. Fraser, pioneer missionary to her tribe, he who had given up a brilliant career in the homelands that these poor despised "earth people" might know the way of salvation, was already there to greet her. I would like to ask you, dear reader, what of the many other tribes' girls, just like Homay (for there are many more) who would love to accept and follow this Saviour, if only they knew how! What of the many other little Wind-blown Nests, who seek desperately for a Cleft in a Rock to shelter them, but cannot find Him, if you and I do not go and point out the Way?
What of the thousands of young Saplings who wither up and perish under the scorching fires of Life, because no one has told them of the River, and the secret path their roots may take, to drink of its coolness?
Friends, let us live and work for eternity.
Nest for Singing Bird What a God, who, out of shade, Nest for singing bird hath made.
Amy CARMICHAEL.
Wy en Homay was just a new believer, struggling to worship God at Deer Pool chapel under the cover of fuelhunting, another young girl was also entering into the joy and emancipation of Christ's salvation.
Deer Pool Village is one of the most magnificently beautiful village sites in the canyon. The trail climbs gently up from a deep ravine until it reaches that face of the mountain which banks the Salween, and there, some eight thousand feet high, it runs on the level around the neck of the mountain until it has to curve back into another abyssal drop. And below this level pine-needlecarpeted path are the tiers of little Lisu shanties. There are two mountain knolls side by side on the trail which make a natural divide, so that the village is in two parts, and in between, by the side of the level trail, a little chapel has been built. 1 wonder if Homay and Leah first met there? I know that the heathen Lisu women do not usually travel; many of them never visit even neighbouring villages until they become Christian. So it is quite possible that as Homay left her wood basket at the door and slipped in on to one of the women's benches, she often found herself beside Leah, who was only a year younger than Homay.
But such a contrast the two young lives presented! Both girls were in earnest and both became outstanding Christians; both loved to sing and became good singers. But the one had to believe in secret, surrounded every day by heathen talk and heathen habits; and the other was one of a fine Christian family,
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free to go to the uttermost for God. Leah, as she sits in chapel beside Homay, can reach out and touch her mother, one of the most devoted Christians in the community, and two dear little sisters are sitting beside her eagerly trying to learn. Across the aisle is her father, partially blind but with a light from heaven on his face, and in his arms is a baby boy who grew up to bea sturdy little Christian. Lucky Leah, easy to be a Christian under such circumstances, isn't it? Yes, but wait. This little family Nest is already built well into the Cleft of the Rock, it is true, but the Evil Spirit, so long ruler of the Munition of Rocks, has plans laid to dislodge that Nest.
In the meantime let us share the joys of those early days.
The Lisu teachers told us that the first Christians in the canyon were not stable, except those at Deer Pool, who became a joy and inspiration so sweet that it gave courage and hope to push farther in. "God is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him,"
. .. 80 to Deer Pool Village was given the honour of becoming the first mission station in those parts. Mr. Talmadge Payne and his wife moved in from Chinaland, and made their home in one of the Lisu huts, with a tent pitched at the side. I wonder what were the feelings of the first white woman to enter the canyon of the Upper Salween! I can but record my own impressions when, some years later, I followed in her footsteps.
By the time we had climbed the long trail the sun had set, and we were ushered into a tribal shanty where we were to spend the night. But I had caught a glimpse of the breath-taking scenic beauty of this village site, so, setting down my hat and things, I hastily went outside to view the panorama before darkness hid it from me. The back of the shanty rested on the ground; the floor, to make it level, was supported in front on stilts, and as Lisu have no nails the floor boards were just laid loosely on the stilts. I stepped gingerly on the warped planks which wobbled at each of my steps, for underneath me was just air—the ground beneath was a steep cornfield which dropped away from under the house like a gigantic toboggan slide of some seven thousand feet, to the Salween river, unseen, far below. I crouched there nervously afraid to look down again at that disappearing slope, but enthralled with the beauty around