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would cross Mary's face, who closed her eyes for a few moments of silent prayer; gradually the tense lines would relax and peace come to her. Then she would open her eyes to fix them determinedly on the speaker, as if refusing to let outside thoughts distract. Song of Solomon 2: 14, 15: "O my dove, that art in .
. the secret of the stairs ... let me hear thy voice .
. take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines.'
Mary was learning the secret of the stairs.
"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 Has heard the shutting of the door."
Dohnavur.
Her feet in the throng, her soul stealing quickly up the secret places of the stairs, that is how the little stone of fire endured.
What a fiery purging this experience was, one can only glimpse, never really know. A heathen wife would have replied with a flirtation; that is the Devil's way out, and there were plenty of young men who would have helped Mary quickly, if she had shown the least desire to tease Lu-seng in that way, because Olives is a large village, and has an unusual number of men, heathen as well a Christian. And Mary was notably attractive. But she had followed the Devil's advice once, and now knew that she was out reaping .the harvest. Christ had a way of escape too—to let Him fill all the empty places in our hearts. She chose to try it with this heavenly Lover, to meet Him in the secret of the stairs, and confide the sorrows of her soul to His loving pure heart.
It was months before Ma-ma discovered the reason for this use of "the stairs" in chapel. Ma-ma pondered: should she speak to Lu-seng and Lydia about it? To say it was a theft
STONES OP
FIRE that would be a strong word. To insinuate a smirch where no smirch had ever been would be to arouse an anger that might be hard to pacify. Bishop Taylor-Smith's words, "Sometimes to meddle is to muddle," kept ringing in her ears; and yet to know that Mary was being thus tormented in worship service, that also was hard to bear. Ma-ma found herself watching, and when she saw Mary's face grow grim and her eyes close, Ma-ma would pray also, "O Lord meet with her. Give us a solution to this."
And when the look of peace ironed out the pain on that young face, Ma-ma would pray silently, "Thank Thee, Lord. Oh how wonderful Thou art." Ma-ma marvelled that this constant torment never kept Mary from chapel. Every evening, no matter how hard she had worked during the day, nor how ill she felt, she was there, and always in her assigned place. Stone of fire.
It would have been easy to Mary to say to herself, "I won't go to service if those two keep hurting me like this," or "Well, I can sit in a different seat, where I cannot see them." She did neither. She never missed a service and never took another seat.
"Passion held by principle." Unconsciously too she was learning her new lesson: worship of God and love of Lu-seng were being disentangled, permanently.
Chapel service now was meeting with God, nothing else. She was allowing her soul to be tried in the fire, that it might come out pure, with only the image of the Master stamped upon it.
After descending that secret stairway of prayer she opened her eyes with a resolute focusing of her attention upon the Scripture exposition, or the hymn words, and she kept them there, refusing to let them wander. Thus she grew in sweetness and power. At least two other young girls in Olives were won by Mary and nurtured up in the faith by her—Abigail and Euodia. Furthermore, during the Girls' Bible School of February, 1949, the village of Little
Olives sent a message to Ma-ma after Mary had spent a weekend with them. It said: "We have received much spiritual help from this girl student: please send us more like her each week."
But the time came when Ma-ma, with a definite burden, felt that she must speak to Lu-seng about the matter. Mary was ill, the Communists were pressing down the canyon (as will be told in the following chapters) and Ma-ma knew that peace of
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heart must be brought to the little sick wife. She prayed for the opportunity, and one afternoon Lu-seng walked in when there was no audience.
"Lu-seng, sit down a minute" she said.
"I have had something heavy on my heart to talk to you about. It weighs me down more than these political dangers ; it is this matter of a rift between you and Mary. When I was here in December, 1947, I saw that there was warm love between you two and I rejoiced.
Now things are different and your little wife is very sick. Samuel Ju says that Mary has been fretting about something for two years.
I did not ask him what, for it is not our business. But I feel that you ought to investigate and make things right.
It may be something careless that you are not conscious of, or a spoken word that hurt and which you have forgotten. There is obviously something that is causing tension and I think that it ought to be removed as soon as possible."
Lu-seng's face was sober.
"I do not know of anything," he replied.
"I think it is just incompatibility of temperament."
"Nothing of the sort" said Ma-ma warmly. "I do not believe it. But I think you could fmd out if you tried."
"Well, I certainly would want to confess it, if there was anything," said Lu-seng thoughtfully and quietly. "It would be my duty before God to do that, if for no other reason.
I will go and ask." And he left the room. Ma-ma went up to her room to pray.
Later on in the day Ma-ma had reason to seek Lu-seng-ma, and so she went down the hill to the latter's house.
She was not at home, but Lu-seng and Mary were. Mary lay on the plank bed by the fire, a serene smile on her face, with Lu-seng sitting close by, playing Ma-ma's victrola to her. The whole atmosphere of peace and happiness filled Ma-ma who left quickly with a prayer of thanksgiving.
Those many journeys up the secret stairway for Mary had not been in vain.
The delicate cleavage of the precious stone is not for its ruin, but for its perfect redemption.
Made only of Desert Dust "Do you know that lovely fact about the opal? That in the first place, it is made only of desert dust, sand, silica and owes its beauty and preciousness to a defect.
It is a stone with a broken heart.
It is full of minute fissures which admit air, and the air refracts the light. Hence its lovely hues and that sweet lamp of fire that ever burns at its heart, for the breath of the Lord God is in it.
"You are only conscious of the cracks and desert dust, but so He makes His precious opal. We must be broken in ourselves before we can give back the lovely hues of His light, and the lamp in the temple can burn in us and never go out."
Ellice Hopkins.
MARY was ill. The first intimation of it had come during that Christmas when the missionary lady doctor had visited them.
Mary, who as usual did the cooking for the Christmas crowd out on a cold and windy hillside, caught a head cold in consequence. But others were more seriously ill in their household (both Lu-seng-pa and Timothy had to call in the doctor's help), so she said nothing about herself. But one day as she and her mother-in-law were beating out the corn, a sharp pain like a knife-cut shot through her jaw and head, very severe for a few moments; then it was gone.
Occasionally that sharp pain returned, never for long: then in March she suddenly had a haemorrhage from the nose and Ma-ma was called in.
Mystified, she tried different medicines and prescribed rest.
It was difficult to get rest, for Paul was sick and cried at night, often making her get up and carry him back and forth, even though, being four years old, he was heavy. Also it was planting time and she must help. Thirdly,