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 baby 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. l 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 looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed
raisins and sultanas-that would make a 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."
Do what works for you and
set a goal that you can achieve. Maybe start with 10mins 3
times a week. The key is progress! Keep moving
forward!