2021 St. Louis Homeschool Missions Fair

A short time before leaving for China, it became my duty daily to dress the foot of a patient suffering from senile gangrene. The disease commenced, as usual, insidiously, and the patient had little idea that he was a doomed man, and probably had not long to live. I was not the first to attend to him, but when the case was transferred to me, I naturally became very anxious about his soul. The family with whom he lived were Christians, and from them I learned that he was an avowed atheist, and very antagonistic to anything religious. They had, without asking his consent, invited a Scripture reader to visit him, but in great passion he had ordered him from the room. The vicar of the district had also called, hoping to help him; but he had spit in his face, and refused to allow him to speak to him. His passionate temper was described to me as very violent, and altogether the case seemed to be as hopeless as could well be imagined.

Upon first commencing to attend him I prayed much about it; but for two or three days said nothing to him of a religious nature. By special care in dressing his diseased limb I was able considerably to lessen his sufferings, and he soon began to manifest grateful appreciation of my services. One day, with a trembling heart, I took advantage of his warm acknowledgments to tell him what was the spring of my action, and to speak of his own solemn position and need of God's mercy through Christ. It was evidently only by a powerful effort of self-restraint that he kept his lips closed. He turned over in bed with his back to me, and uttered no word.

I could not get the poor man out of my mind, and very often through each day I pleaded with God, by His Spirit, to save him ere He took him hence. After dressing the wound and relieving his pain, I never failed to say a few words to him, which I hoped the Lord would bless. He always turned his back to me, looking annoyed, but never spoke a word in reply.

After continuing this for some time, my heart sank. It seemed to me that I was not only doing no good, but perhaps really hardening him and increasing his guilt. One day, after dressing his limb and washing my hands, instead of returning to the bedside to speak to him, I went to the door, and stood hesitating for a few moments with the thought in my mind, "Ephraim is joined to his idols; let him alone." I looked at the man and saw his surprise, as it was the first time since speaking to him that I had attempted to leave without going up to his bedside to say a few words for my Master. I could bear it no longer. Bursting into tears, I crossed the room and said, "My friend, whether you will hear or whether you will forbear, I must deliver my soul," and went on to speak very earnestly to him, telling him with many tears how much I wished that he would let me pray with him. To my unspeakable joy he did not turn away, but replied, "If it will be a relief to you, do." I need scarcely say that I fell on my knees and poured out my whole soul to God on his behalf. I believe the Lord then and there wrought a change in his soul.

— Hudson Taylor, from A Retrospect 

Hudson Taylor (1832-1905) was a missionary for 51 years in China, and founded the China Inland Mission.

——

In February of last year, we held our 7th annual St Louis Homeschool Missions Fair. It was a wonderful time of fellowship and encouraging one another in light of what God is doing in other parts of the world. And we were reminded of our part in that work.  

Countries / groups represented included China, Colombia, Romania, California and the deaf. 

After an international potluck meal (these can be most adventurous) there were some presentations

The evening closed with a couple songs and prayer. 

It’s always a great time with likeminded believers, looking to see the gospel go where it is yet to be heard. We hope you can make it!

2021 St. Louis Homeschool Missions Fair

March 26, 2021

For more information or to sign up, email us at 

daveanddebklein@yahoo.com.  There is no fee, but RSVP is required by February 28, 2021. 

We’d love to see you there!

“...that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light: Which in time past were not a people, but are now the people of God: which had not obtained mercy, but now have obtained mercy.” 

1 Peter 2:9b-10

The Warrior and the Drop of Blood.

This story is taken from A Narrative of Missionary Enterprises in the South Sea Islands, written by John Williams. John Williams was an English missionary to Polynesia in the 1800s, and, with the help of native Christians who left their own home islands to join his missionary efforts, he spread the Gospel to many island nations where it had never before been heard. This story took place on the island of Raiatea, John Williams’s base in the South Seas.

- - -

    In my own church was an old blind warrior, called Me. He had been the terror of all the inhabitants of Raiatea, and the neighbouring islands; but in the last battle which was fought before Christianity was embraced, he received a blow which destroyed his sight.

    A few years after my settlement at Raiatea, Me was brought under the influence of the Gospel, and when our church was formed, he was among the first members admitted. His diligence in attending the house of God was remarkable, whither he was guided by some kind friend, who would take one end of his stick, while he held the other. The most respectable females in the settlement thought this no disgrace, and I have frequently seen principal chiefs, and the king himself, leading him in this way to chapel. Although blind, he attended our adult schools at six o’clock in the morning, and by repeating and carefully treasuring up what kind friends read to him, he obtained a great familiarity with the truths of the New Testament.

    On the first Sabbath after my return I missed old Me; and not receiving the hearty grasp of congratulation from him to which I was accustomed, I inquired of the deacons where he was, when they informed me that he was exceedingly ill, and not expected to survive. I determined, therefore, to visit him immediately. On reaching the place of his residence, I found him lying in a little hut, detached from the dwelling-house, and on entering it, I addressed him by saying, “Me, I am sorry to find you so ill.” Recognising my voice, he exclaimed, “Is it you? Do I really hear your voice again before I die? I shall die happy now. I was afraid I should have died before your return.”

    My first inquiry related to the manner in which he was supplied with food; for, in their heathen state, as soon as old or infirm persons become a burden to their friends, they were put to death in a most barbarous manner. Even for a considerable time after Christianity was embraced, we found it necessary, when visiting the sick and afflicted, to make strict inquiry as to the attention they received. In reply to my question, Me stated that at times he suffered much from hunger. I said, “How so? You have your own plantations;” for, although blind, he was diligent in the cultivation of sweet potatoes and bananas. “Yes,” he said, “but as soon as I was taken ill, the people with whom I lived seized my ground, and I am at times exceedingly in want.” I asked him why he had not complained to the chief, or to some of the Christian brethren who visited him, and his affecting reply was, “I feared lest the people should call me a talebearer, and speak evil of my religion; and I thought I would rather suffer hunger or death than give them occasion to do so.”

    I then inquired what brethren visited him in his affliction to read and pray with him. Naming several, he added, “they do not come so often as I could wish; yet I am not lonely, for I have frequent visits from God – God and I were talking together when you came in.” “Well,” I said, “and what were you talking about?” “I was praying to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better,” was his reply. Having intimated that I thought his sickness would terminate in death, I wished him to tell me what he thought of himself in the sight of God, and what was the foundation of his hope. “Oh,” he replied, “I have been in great trouble this morning, but I am happy now. I saw an immense mountain with precipitous sides, up which I endeavoured to climb, but when I had attained a considerable height, I lost my hold, and fell to the bottom. Exhausted with perplexity and fatigue, I went to a distance and sat down to weep, and while weeping, I saw a drop of blood fall upon that mountain, and in a moment it was dissolved.” Wishing to obtain his own ideas of what had been presented to his imagination, I said, “This was certainly a strange sight; what construction do you put upon it?” After expressing his surprise that I should be at a loss for the interpretation, he exclaimed, “That mountain was my sins, and the drop which fell upon it was one drop of the precious blood of Jesus, by which the mountain of my guilt must be melted away.” I expressed my satisfaction at finding he had such an idea of the magnitude of his guilt, and such exalted views of the efficacy of the Saviour’s blood, and that although the eyes of his body were blind, he could with the “eye of his heart” see such a glorious sight. He then went on to state, that the various sermons he had heard were now his companions in solitude, and the source of his comfort in affliction.

    On saying, at the close of the interview, that I would go home and prepare some medicine for him, which might afford him ease, he replied, “I will drink it, because you say I must, but I shall not pray to be restored to health again, for my desire is to depart and be with Christ, which is far better than to remain longer in this sinful world.” In my subsequent visits, I always found him happy and cheerful, longing to depart and be with Christ. This was constantly the burden of his prayer. I was with him when he breathed his last. During this interview, he quoted many precious passages of Scripture; and having exclaimed with energy, “Oh death, where is thy sting?” his voice faltered, his eyes became fixed, his hands dropped, and his spirit departed to be with that Savior, one drop of whose blood had melted away the mountain of his guilt. Thus died poor old Me, the blind warrior of Raiatea.

Messenger of Peace, the ship built by John Williams
and used in many of his missionary travels

As One Does In Chicago...

In March we made a trip out to Chicago for a CocoaConf. On most of our trips for CocoaConf, we send a delegation, and we were very happy that it worked out for us all to go this time!

We all help out in various aspects for a Cocoaconf, but usually most of the work is during initial set up and then teardown (during the conference we only need a handful of people there to keep things running). So while the conference is going on, the rest of us who aren’t busy helping hang out at the hotel, catch up on laundry, or (most exciting :) go sightseeing. The Lord has allowed us to see some pretty neat things on our trips for CocoaConf — since the conferences are held all over the country, we get the opportunity to explore lots of interesting and fun places.

This time, we visited Wheaton College!

(I'm not sure if that counts for typical sightseeing, but it's quite the sort of thing we like to do :)

We had a few potential places to see lined up, one of which was a museum at the Billy Graham Center. But then we learned the Billy Graham Center also houses an archive containing materials from many American missionaries. Our family reads lots of missionary biographies, and we were very excited to be able to see some of the original writings of missionaries we had read about!

So Mom got in touch with the folks at the Billy Graham Center, and arranged a time for us to visit.

It was exciting just to be at Wheaton, as some of our family's favorite missionary
heroes, Jim Elliot and Nate Saint, were students here in the 1940's.

After we arrived, Mom took the little boys to see the museum, leaving Hannah, Joanna, Bekah, Susanna, Sammy, and me in the Manuscript Reading Room.

(I think we all liked the fact that we got to be in a room called the Manuscript Reading Room — it just sounded so scholarly.)

Before we left for the Billy Graham Center, we pulled up their catalog page on their website, and we selected some collections of documents to look through. Everything was in numbered folders, packed in labeled file folder boxes. We only went through one box at a time, to keep from mixing things up.

First we looked at a box of materials related to/written by John and Betty Stam (missionaries in China).

John Stam's journal

We were able to take pictures of whatever we liked (as long as it wasn't restricted, and we didn't look at anything that was). Before we were through we had succeeded in draining the batteries and/or filling up the camera rolls on all of the four iPhones/iPods that we had brought with us. :)

Betty wrote this poem for her father (Charles Ernest Scott)

At first we were all rather nervous, and proceeded with all due ceremony — I as the oldest very carefully opening the first box and very carefully passing out the folders to the others who sat very carefully watching me. All done very carefully.

Joanna and Hannah

After a while we got over being nervous and abandoned further ceremony (while trying to maintain the aforementioned carefulness).

This was my favorite of the many poems in the Stams' folder.

Next we looked at some things from John and Isobel Khun (missionaries to the Lisu in China).

Isobel and her two children, Kathy and Danny.

Letters between John and Isobel before they were married.

Joanna and Bekah reading some Khun letters.

We also got to see a few things from Hudson Taylor (mostly scans of documents related to a trip he took to the US).

I was very excited to see some things from Hudson Taylor, but I had a hard time reading his (lovely :) cursive handwriting and didn't think to take more pictures for those at home who could! I did get a nice picture of his signature:

Suby

Last of all we looked at some things from Jonathan and Rosalind Goforth (missionaries in China in the late 1800's and early 1900's). We hadn't really planned it, but all of the missionaries whose writings we looked at were from China.

Another thing we hadn't planned was the order in which we looked at (something), and we ended up saving the best (or should I say biggest :) for last! The Goforths' manuscripts were close to twice as many as any of the others that we saw that day.

The manuscript for Goforth Of China

This page made me smile. :)

We got to look at the manuscripts for several of Jonathan and Rosalind Goforth's books
— several of them were handwritten in (very old!) composition notebooks

We had previous read this story (How "Old Autocrat" Was Won By A Sketch)
in Rosalind Goforth's book Miracle Lives of China, and Joanna found
the manuscript for it — in Rosalind's handwriting!

Looking at the manuscript for a book by Jonathan Goforth about
the Boxer Rebellion.

While we were busy being fascinated upstairs, Mom and the boys enjoyed looking around the museum downstairs.

The original score for the hymn "The Ninety and Nine"

They also took a spin around the Wheaton College campus...

We finished up at the archives around 5:30 pm. We spent about four hours there, but I'm quite sure we could have spent the whole day and had plenty to keep us busy! We had an amazing time and we're very grateful for the opportunity!

We grabbed a selfie before leaving (minus Suby)

Like I said earlier, our family reads lots of missionary biographies. It has been a tremendous blessing to us — to me personally, to hear and read the stories of great Christians of the past, and to see “at a glance,” so to speak, what God did in and through them. It was wonderful to able to see an touch the letters and journals of some of the heroes of the faith that we’ve read and heard of so much before.

One thing I’ve seen many times in the lives of many great Christian men and women is their relationship with Jesus. It came first. First they learned to walk with God, to love and obey Him. That relationship was central in everything else they did.  That’s what made them what they were.

From the book Borden of Yale '09 — William Borden was the son of a Chicago millionaire
who had dedicated his life to being a missionary to Muslims. He died in Cairo,
where he had gone to study Arabic, at the age of 26.

I’ve had to continually remind myself that Hudson Taylor, or David Brainerd, or William Borden, or any other Christian I read about, wasn’t just an extraordinary person. Each of them was a normal person that surrendered themselves to an almighty God, and He worked in them and through them. And that’s exciting, because that’s something that all of us who love the Lord can do too! We can have that same relationship with Jesus, and experience the same love and joy and strength — His love, His joy, and His strength. We might never end up in the Amazon or in Shanghai, we might never be martyrs, we might never have books written about us, but that isn’t the point, is it? The point is that God is glorified, and He is glorified when we surrender to Him and let Him work in us. And God will take care of the rest.

Well, I don’t know about you, but if I end up in Chicago again, I think I know where I might be spending some time! :)

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, 

let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, 

and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, 

Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; 

who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, 

despising the shame, 

and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Hebrews 12:1-2