A Chance to Die by Elisabeth Elliot (best book recommendations .TXT) 📕

could teach English, so the older girls sat at her feet and learned whenever they found time between helping to care for younger children and babies. As a family, all were given to understand that each must share in what it takes to make a home.

One day in 1905 “Jesus came to Dohnavur.” That was how Amy described what happened in the little village church next to the compound. All were together—school children, workers, bungalow servants, some of the Village Christians. What started out to be an ordinary meeting turned into “a hurricane of prayer” which went on for four hours. Amy saw it as a revival, a great answer to her constant prayer for a building made of gold, silver, and precious stones rather than wood, hay, and stubble. She was disappointed, however, that only the Family seemed to be revived while the church members went on as usual. When would the Spirit of God sweep over the nominal Christians of South India? She struggled to avoid criticism, yet she could not suspend the faculty of judgment. The church was not as living and vital an organism as it should be, and the impact of the little company that lived alongside was so far very weak. God chooses the foolish to confound the wise, the weak to confound the mighty, but nobody seemed to be confounded at all.

The need for medical attention for the babies led to the opening of a branch nursery in Neyoor, a journey of a day and a half from Dohnavur by bullock bandy, where there was a London Missionary Society medical station. Soon there were fifteen Dohnavur babies there. Ponnammal (“God’s golden gift to the work”) was put in charge, though she could ill be spared from Dohnavur since Mrs. Carmichael had gone home. At first the women under her, young nurses and older women who were recent converts, objected to doing work which was beneath their caste. Ponnammal had learned from Amy that “motherwork,” like any other honest labor, is God’s work—not to be despised, but offered up to Him. Amma had taught her the aim of the Keswick people: nothing less than to walk with God all day long. The nature of the work itself made no difference whatever. This was a shocking notion to those indoctrinated in caste, but Ponnammal set the example for the others by quietly doing what they did not care to do. Her spirit created a new climate in the place, and the time came when there was not one nurse who would refuse to do whatever needed to be done.

Amy arrived one day for a visit, finding the babies “out to air” while the nurses did their morning work. Some were laid on mats, some swung in hammocks hung from a tree, some were in swings. “They seemed to understand it was useless to demand attention just then, and were very patient and contented. But the moment the nurses reappeared, each little infant began to protest. . . . They considered being put out to air a tiresome proceeding, only to be put up with when nothing better was in prospect.”

The Family could not live without money. Where was it to come from? Other missions had their ways of raising it. But such methods were not a part of the Pattern Shewn in the Mount, as Amy called the principles she believed God had given her for the Family. He had given her money for The Welcome and for every need since. Why not expect Him to go right on doing it? Amounts were nothing to Him. Nor did He lack methods. If it took ravens to feed the prophet Elijah, God sent ravens. Why shouldn’t He send ravens to Dohnavur if He wanted to? If He feeds birds and clothes grass and flowers, why not look for the same provision?

We do not tell when we are in need unless definitely asked, and even then not always; for often the leading seems to be silent, except towards God, and we fear lest our little children should seem to crowd in among the many claims to help which must press so heavily upon the hearts of givers at home, and intercept anything which should be sent elsewhere. We rely upon the verses which assure us that our Father knows our needs, and we take it that with such a Father, to know is to supply.

We remember a time of threatened famine, when prices were suddenly rising and £20 was needed to lay in a stock of paddy (unshelled rice). That week brought us a single gift of £20 from a friend in England, whose very name up to that time was unknown to us. So the paddy was poured out in a great heap on the ground, and measured, and we paid for it with light and happy hearts. Again we remember a day when a letter came telling us of a child in danger far away. Sufficient money to meet necessary expenses must be sent off that same afternoon, or she would be otherwise appropriated, and from that appropriation there would be no release. We had not enough money in hand to pay for the chief charge, the long journey of those who would bring her to us; and no money could possibly reach us, even if we sent a coolie with a cheque to cash, for two days from that time. While we were reading the letter, our good postman, who is a sort of visible Raven, came up joyfully with a roll of rupees in his hand. The older children, who are in our confidence, know the look and the meaning of such a roll of rupees, and there was a glad call of “Money order!” It was from Canada, enough to cover all the expenses connected with that little child’s deliverance. We piled the silver on the floor and knelt down round it and thanked God. It meant the redemption of our dear little Puck.

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