Today
I was remembering the reasons we began providing certain things through ESM for
the missionaries to share with those they serve. When we first began this ministry,
we weren’t sure what God was asking us to do. It seemed too lofty, too out of
our hands & too ridiculous to assume we could do it. Of course…it is! But
God. Little by Little, year by year He has led us into new fathoms of helping missionaries
with supplies for their people.
The
very first thing I remember was Roy waking up one day and telling me he dreamed
of handing out IPods filled with an audio Bible, worship music and sermons.
Without wasting a moment he bought a book called “IPods for Dummies” and an old
Ipod and learned how to refurbish them. That began a ministry which has spanned
country after country and supplied the Word of God to many that would not hear
it otherwise. Many of our missionaries
ask to have one for their own possession (which we happily provide) and after 2
years will finally have gone through everything and ask for it to be updated.
That one item grew into providing laptops, computer centers for orphanages or
women’s centers, E-readers with a 200 book library & now IPhones are
beginning to replace the antiquated IPods.
Our
1st mission trip together after forming ESM was to Uganda. While there we visited a village called
Bombo. We took medicines and held a
clinic. We visited the school and then the new hospital where we were shown
around by the doctor. He was so proud of the ‘birthing room’ where they had
just received electricity, a table and a bed.
When we
returned from this trip, we knew ESM was to supply a comfortable, safe and
sanitary way for these people to have babies. We began collecting medical
supplies from hospitals and local clinics as well as meeting with a mid-wife to
secure information on midwife kits. Eventually God brought creative teams that
added baby blankets, onesies, booties, hats, rattles and then recently a momma’s
bag with a bible, journal, grooming and fun girlie supplies.
One day
innocently reading through an old missionary book of letters, I came across one
that forever changed me. It touched my heart in such a way that I have not
forgotten in these past many years. After reading it, I have always tucked a
doll in every box we ship.
One night, in
Central Africa, I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in
spite of all that we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny, premature baby
and a crying, two-year-old daughter.
We would have
difficulty keeping the baby alive. We had no incubator. We had no electricity
to run an incubator, and no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on
the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts.
A student-midwife
went for the box we had for such babies and for the cotton wool that the baby
would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water
bottle. She came back shortly, in distress, to tell me that in filling the
bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. “…and it is
our last hot water bottle!” she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying
over spilled milk; so, in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying
over a burst water bottle. They do not grow on trees, and there are no
drugstores down forest pathways. All right,” I said, “Put the baby as near the
fire as you safely can; sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from
drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm.”
The following noon,
as I did most days, I went to have prayers with many of the orphanage children
who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of
things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem
about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby
could so easily die if it got chilled. I also told them about the two-year-old
sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one
ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt consciousness of our
African children. “Please, God,” she prayed, “send us a water bottle. It’ll be
no good tomorrow, God, the baby’ll be dead; so, please send it this afternoon.”
While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of
corollary, ” …And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the
little girl so she’ll know You really love her?” As often with children’s
prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, “Amen?” I just did not
believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything: The
Bible says so, but there are limits, aren’t there? The only way God could
answer this particular prayer would be by sending a parcel from the homeland. I
had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever
received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send a parcel, who would put
in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the
nurses’ training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front
door. By the time that I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the
veranda, was a large twenty-two pound parcel! I felt tears pricking my eyes. I
could not open the parcel alone; so, I sent for the orphanage children.
Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the
paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty
or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I
lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out.
Then, there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the
children began to look a little bored. Next, came a box of mixed raisins and
sultanas – – that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend. As I put my
hand in again, I felt the…could it really be? I grasped it, and pulled it out.
Yes, “A brand-new rubber, hot water bottle!” I cried. I had not asked God to
send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of
the children. She rushed forward, crying out, “If God has sent the bottle, He
must have sent the dolly, too!” Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she
pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone: She had never
doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, “Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give
this dolly to that little girl, so she’ll know that Jesus really loves her?”
That parcel had
been on the way for five whole months, packed up by my former Sunday School
class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God’s prompting to send a hot water
bottle, even to the equator. One of the girls had put in a dolly for an African
child — five months earlier in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old
to bring it “That afternoon!” “And it shall come to pass, that before they
call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.” Isaiah
65:24
One year
after reading the story, Roy & I went to work with missionaries in Uganda
(again) and I met a little girl named Rachel. Rachel
had a bag of rocks. She took that bag everywhere and was kind enough to share
them with me. When I came home, I showed my friend Mechelle the pictures and
told her about Rachel’s Rocks. She decided all young children should have a
doll rather than a bag of rocks and started sewing Little Scraps of Love from
left over material. We put one in each backpack as well as shipping one in each
box of medical supplies or midwife kits.
One of
our biggest dreams is that through our website, blog and even Facebook page,
our missionary friends will begin to share not only their testimonies, but
their dreams and concerns and that by connecting they will be privy to many new
or untouched resources available to them. At the same time Roy & I will
expand ESM by providing as many resource options as possible!
