A
Little Girl’s Prayer
Helen
Roseveare, a missionary doctor from England to Zaire Africa, told this as it
happened to her in Africa.
“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. 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
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 send 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.
Our God really IS AN AWESOME GOD.