CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
DADDY'S GIRL
aes Millers' first child, Murray, was two and a half years old when Isobel came into the world. One day the little fellow impulsively tried to pick up his newborn sister. Finding her quite too heavy an armful to carry downstairs to his mother, he left her, hanging head down, on the edge of the bed.
-No one in the house knew of her plight. But God, having a special purpose for that life, just then prompted the nurse to run upstairs. There she discovered the week-old baby girl, blue-faced and scarcely breathing! Immediate attention soon restored the tiny heart to its normal rhythm.
Who could have guessed that the saving of little Isobel's life would have such significance to thousands of forgotten people of the world? Not even Samuel Miller himself, though known far and wide as a visionary, then dreamed of his infant daughter's potentialities—how far this baby's feet would travel, and how wide an influence her small round fist would wield when she later grasped a pen!
She was born in her maternal grandmother's home at 60 Henry Street, Toronto, Canada. Octavia Selina Irish actually was from Ireland and a woman of great character. Of course, it was for her that Isobel was named Selina.
That was December 17, 1901.
Such a genial young fellow as Sam P. Miller must have had many a friend to congratulate him that day on the birth of his second child. And no doubt he was never thanking God for the safe arrival of this baby; praying too, that he might be a good father to her. Though fallib eas any of us, he was nevertheless,
ersonally acquainted with his Father in heaven, and ough the years repeatedly showed himself a true father, with a feeling of responsibility to God for her life. So Isobel Selina
Miller came into the world with a real heritage, the greatest parents can give a child; that of godliness.
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Perhaps, as he gazed at his infant daughter, "'S.P.'" wondered if she would take after his side of the family. Would she be short like himself and his plump little Irish mother, Nanette Transdell
Miller? Or would she stretch out, long and lean like his tall father?
When Samuel himself was born, his parents were home missionaries arhong the sailors of Liverpool. His father, a Presbyterian clergyman, founded a home for seamen's widows and their children. But when Sam was about twelve years old, his parents went to Canada. On a small Ontario farm the boy grew up, while his father farmed and preached.
In the pioneer missionary family, of course, there was no money for higher education. In spite of this, Sam's older brother,
Dr. Joseph Ormsley Miller, worked his way through the University of Toronto. Later he founded Ridley College for boys in St. Catherine's, Ontario, becoming its first principal.
He helped Sam enter Wycliffe College, for Sam had the intention a qualifying himself for the ministry in the Church of England. Perhaps the young fellow was too full of fun to be industrious. At any rate, he left college after only a year's work.
Later he applied to the British and Foreign Bible Society to go to China as a colporteur. He was accepted, but something happened to cancel that particular ship's sailing and Sam never reached the foreign field.
While living in Toronto "S.P." and his chum, Fred Irish, attended the Presbyterian Church of which Dr. McTavish was then pastor. One Sunday evening at Christian Endeavour, Sam met Fred's pretty sister, Alice Irish. Alice's blue eyes and artistic temperament promptly did something to Sam's heart!
Alice, born in Valleyfield, Quebec, was half Irish, but the Irish half did not come through her father, who bore that as his surname. Her mother's family, boasted descent from a disinherited son of the Earl of Enniskillen. The tradition was never verified, however, and when Alice's sister was once asked to corroborate Alice's version of the earl story, she laughingly retorted; "Oh! Alice was always romantic!"
Whether or not she was romantic, Alice was certainly very musical. Studying at the Toronto Conservatory of Music, she became the medallist in only her second year. When she was just
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about to be graduated, tragedy struck her life. Her father's investments failed. As a private banker, he conscientiously protected his clients to the full extent of his personal fortune.
Then he went into bankruptcy. He soon died heartbroken. That same year Alice's brother Fred died of tuberculosis. Then Alice herself suffered a breakdown.
With such burdens weighing Alice's young life, it is easy to see how she gladly accepted the love of her brother's close friend, kindly Samuel Persse Miller; Persse, she always called him. Alice was 23 when they were married.
Their baby Isobel came into the world with much natural enduement from both sides of the family: the personal magnetism of her father, the artistic sensitivity of her mother, intellectual capacity, business ability, Irish wit from both sides of the house.
But she was Alice's baby in temperament.
The little girl with a sprinkle of freckles on her tilted nose grew into an attractive child. She soon shaped into the pattern of her aternal aunt—brown starry eyes, smooth dark hair, and slim ines. A certain set to her mouth prophesied the determination that drove her through life. But her pretty smile was always ready, especially when she saw her father approaching. She was
Daddy's Girl from the first. Murray was his mother's choice.
Family friction was the inevitable result. Though Sam and Alice Miller loved the Lord, and made a genuine effort to give their children a Christian upbringing, they showed some of the human inconsistencies common to all of us.
Isobel and her brother were near enough of an age to be companionable. Murray remembered their childhood as being different from most youngsters. "Dad was working for the Victor Electric Company. He helped build their first X-ray machine. His speciality was clectric therapeutics, and that meant nm up agencies all over the United States and Canada.
Isobel and I, with our parents, were always moving to different cities—Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Philadelphia, St. Louis—going to new schools and Sunday schools, and making new friends. It was rough on our education for countries and states have such different standards. This mobility did teach us, however, how to mix and make friends without too much difficulty—I can remember, when we lived in St. Louis, Dad would often come
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home late. Isobel and I would be asleep when he would come into our room and shout, 'Ice-cream!' Isobel would open her mouth while her eyes were still shut! As long as money was rolling in, we had the best of everything."
Of course the little girl fondly regarded her indulgent father as the most wonderful man in the world. "He was extravagantly generous, afid so as a child I adored my daddy who never came home from a trip without bringing us lovely gifts. Mother would often rather have had the money than the expensive pocketbook, jewelled comb or gold locket but of course I was too young to understand that. My father never had any conscience about going into debt especially if he owned any assets, a house or furniture.
But as I grew up I hada horror of debt. I think this feeling must have come to me through my mother."
S.P. with his great sense of humour and hearty laugh made a good salesman. His sales talk and personal magnetism were convincing, and he verily expected that his pot of gold would ap with the next rainbow. "Son," he would say to Murray, "you may never be a millionaire but try to live like one." His son's own comment was, "Most of the time Dad made real good money, but could he ever spend it!"
When money flowed in freely but rolled out like a river at flood, the young mother anxiously tried to build dykes around pools of it for the family's everyday needs.
In these circumstances, Mrs. Miller taught the children to pray for their daily food. As Murray tells it: "During 1910 we fived in Pittsburgh. Dad was on the road and we never knew where our next meal was coming from. I can remember our kneeling and asking God to send us some money as there wasn't any food in the house. Always the next day a letter would come with enough money to tide us over."
These were valuable lessons for each of the four Millers.
How better could God show them that He was the real source of their supply, a Heavenly Father whose eye is towards the righteous, and His ear is open to their cry! What more practical way for the children to learn to run to Him with all their troubles?
And so Dad's daughter was beginning her ABCs in the primary schools where the Holy Spirit is the teacher. Did her primer's first page look something like this?
DADDY'S GIRL
Lesson I A. Ask God. He can do anything.
" B. Believe God. He can be trusted.
C. Come to God. He loves you.
Later, as God's daughter, Isobel was thankful that her Instructor _ started her early in His school, for the lessons were not so simple as they had 'at first seemed to be. These ABCs needed much reviewing. Yet, even to a child, God stooped to demonstrate
His loving care, showing her that though her clever daddy might unintentionally fail her, her Heavenly Father would not.
Doubtless it was the very warmth of Dad's heart that melted the money out of his pocket, for Isobel said: "As a child, I was quite accustomed to people I hardly knew hailing me to tell me how kind my father had been to them. Once a perfect stranger mig me in the middle of a busy downtown street to tell me such a story, with tears."
For a few years the Millers lived with Grandma Irish or near her in their own home. On visits, too, her arms were always open to them. The youngsters loved her dearly. But a parting had to come. When Isobel was about eleven, her parents made the big decision to venture across the continent and settle in Vancouver, B.C. The spectacle of the Canadian Rockies was
Isobel's first introduction to the wonders of giant mountains!
For the next twelve years she could always look up at the eat "Lions" proudly presiding on their peaks above Vancouver
Ciste: Now that the roving family had finally taken root, the Millers lived in their own substantial house at 342 Seventeenth
Avenue. At school Isobel applied herself to her studies, and she soon emerged at the head of her class. Her mother gave her piano lessons, read and told her delightful stories. "Mother was one of the best storytellers Ihave ever heard," said Isobel. She pleasantly pictured _ am remembered phase of their home 'ite: "As Mother, at her piano, improvised in the evening firelight while the rest of us listened eagerly, Daddy would say, 'Now Alice, that's lovely. You must write that down tomorrow morning; it will go well with the boys at the mission.' (We used to go as a family to one of the Rescue Mission halls in the slums—Daddy to preach, Mother to play, Brother Murray and I to sing to
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those poor human derelicts.) Those were the days when God added all other things, too, because His kingdom was first sought. . . . In his prime, Father was a soul winner."
For their family the Millers built a commodious resort home at White Rock, beside the blue Pacific. There they had the best of entertainment. It was the homemade kind, sparkling waters to play in by day and the fun of singing around a big bonfire on the each at night. On Sunday evenings on the pier under the setting sun, they would hold gospel meetings. There the swish of the 'ocean made the hymns sound far better than in any church.
What pure fun to store up in the memory banks of the young brother and sister! Murray drew on these deposits when he was bogged down in the trench mud of France during the first world war. And such memories steadied Isobel, too, as her battles began in the spiritual realm.
Even as a girl, Isobel met frustrations with strong reactions.
There were rebellious times when she wanted to run away from home. Usually, however, she appeared to be just a bright, happ child, and everyone supposed she was a Christian. "Of course!" they thought, "isn't her father an elder in the Presbyterian Church . . . a lay preacher? Isn't her mother a leading light in the missionary society? And Isobel is such a good girl!"
Church and Sunday school, church and Sunday school; Isobel was always there. Daily she took a few minutes to read the Bible and say her prayers. Yet no one seemed to realize that she was simply being carried along by the momentum of her parent's example. "Born of the flesh," but not yet "born of the Spirit"! Her experience did not include obedience to the authoritative Word of Jesus Christ: "Ye must be born again."
But did such a girl as Isobel Miller need to be "born again"?
—_ She was soon to enter into the conflict that eventually answered that vital question for her.