Me: I like your sand castle.
Prodigal: It is a masterpiece!
Me: So is God’s work.
This is from the book Where Angels Walk by Joan Wester Anderson
From 1923 to 1928, Edman and his wife were young missionaries in the Andes, Ecuador. They lived on the outskirts of the city where they could reach both the Spanish-speaking citizens as well as the shy, suspicious Indians who passed their doorway on the way to market.
But their assignment was difficult. “The people were unfriendly, and some were fanatical in their bitter opposition to our presence in their city, ” Edman recalled. “On occasion, small crowds would gather to hurl insults as well as stones. The Indians from the countryside were especially timid about being friendly with us because of intimidation by the townspeople. As a result, it was often difficult for us to shop for the bare necessities of life–fruit and vegetables, or charcoal for the kitchen stove.”
Perhaps more burdensome than physical hardships was loneliness. The young couple was never fearful, but with a complete lack of a support group-even one encouraging friend in this unfamiliar land-their emotional isolation must have been intense. And because of their awareness that some stranger might harass them or get into their house to steal, they kept the grilled gate on their high iron fence locked at all times, probably adding to their sense of disconnection.
The couple often fed hungry strangers or attempted to buy necessities from passing Indians, and one noon as they ate on their patio at the back of the house, they heard a rattling on the gate. When Edman went out with the key, he saw a barefoot Indian woman standing on the other side of the gate, one hand inside the bars knocking on the chain with the padlock. She wore beads and the large heavy hat of the mountain women, along with a dress of coarse woolen cloth and a brightly colored homemade belt. On her shoulders was a bundle, and a blue shawl, but she did not appear to have merchandise of food to sell. Edman hadn’t seen her before.
As he approached, she began to speak softly in the mixture of Spanish and Quichua typical of the Indians who lived close to town. Pointing to a Gospel verse the Edmans had posted on the porch, she then asked, “Are you the people who have come to tell us about the living God?”
Edman was startled. No one had ever asked him that. “Yes, Mamita (little mother),” he answered. “We are.”
The woman then raised the hand that was still inside the gate and began to pray-for blessings upon the couple’s house, for their courage to follow His guidance, for joy in the task. Finally, she blessed Edman, withdrew her hand, smiled at him, eyes shining, then bowed and turned to go.
He had been taken aback at her friendly support that he was speechless. Then, realizing that it was hot and the Indian woman should be invited inside to eat and rest, he quickly unlocked the gate and stepped through to call her back. In the time elapsed, she could not have gone more than five or ten yards in any direction. But she was not there.
“Where could she have gone so quickly? It was at least fifty yards from our gate to the corner of the street, and there was no opening along that stretch.” Edman ran to the corner–assuming that is she had gotten that far, he could surely see her–but again, no woman, no passages into which she could have slipped. He went to the nearest open gate and asked two men repairing a wheel if an Indian woman had passed or come in.
They both looked up. “No, sir.”
“I mean just now.”
“Sir, we have been here for an hour or more,” one answered,” and no one has entered or left during that time.”
Psalms 86:4-5
Gladden the soul of your servant, for to you, O Lord, do I lift up my soul. For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving, abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you.
Jennifer Van Allen
www.theprodigalpig.com
www.faithincounseling.org
