Helen Roseveare, a
missionary doctor from England to Zaire,
Africa, told this as it
happened to her in Africa. She told
it
in her testimony on
Wednesday night at Thomas Road
Baptist Church.
The next Wednesday night Jery Falwell,
choked up and said, “I
almost feel guilty for standing in the
pulpit after the one who
spoke here last week.” READ it.
you will have goose bumps and weep with joy.
A Little Girl’s Prayer
One night I had worked hard
to help a mother in the labor
ward; but in spite of all 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, as we had
no incubator.
(We had no electricity to run an incubator.)
We also had no special
feeding facilities.
Although we lived on the
equator, nights were often chilly
with treacherous drafts.
One student midwife went for the
box we had for such babies
and the cotton wool 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
burst water bottles.
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, and sleep
between the baby and the door to keep
it free from drafts.
“Your job is to keep the bay warm.”
The following noon, as I did
most days, I went to have
prayers with any 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 chills.
I also
told them of 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 conciseness of our African children.
“Please,
God,” she prayed, “send us a water bottle.
It’ll be no good
tomorrow, God, as the baby
will be dead, so please send it
this afternoon.”
While I gasped inwardly at
the audacity of the prayer, she
added by way of a 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 me 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 me 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 I reached home, the car
had gone, but there, on the
verandah, was a large twenty-
two pound parcel.
I felt tears pricking my eyes. I
could
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 looked a
little bored.
Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas-
that would make a nice batch
of buns for the weekend.
Then, 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.
And one of the girls had put in
a dolly for an African
child-five months before-in answer to
the believing prayer of a
ten-year-old to bring it “that
afternoon”.
“Before they call, I will
answer!” (Isaiah 65:24)
Live as if Christ died
yesterday, arose this morning, and is
coming back tomorrow.