Little Hands, Little Faces of India

How full became the years of labor in this beloved land of India, of darkness and sunshine, of culture and raw heathenism, of souls, precious souls, to be gleaned from its fields. Little hands no longer stretched out over the sea, but were now so close, so very close, and dear little faces with their sad eyes always pleading, it seemed, to be rescued. The modest building that first housed the “Home” soon became inadequate, and a larger one was needed. But on, ever on, was the watchword and the steady inflow of an ever increasing family of children of all ages brought in from the places of bondage where they were held, or from the famine fields. They came to the Shelter sad, starving, sick, or needy and filled the place.

So they soon began to look about for a more suitable and sizable building. And she writes:

How we thanked God that through earnest prayer and waiting upon Him, funds had gradually come in to build a suitable home. We were able not only to secure a tract of land suitable for such a home, but to erect a large two-story building with a wide veranda stretching along the entire length in front, and planned with the suitability for the care of little children.

When all had been done and the structure was surrounded by the spacious lawn, it was a monument to the goodness of God and His children here on earth. As need came and as funds slowly accumulated, a nursery building was put up. A school building was added later, and a beautiful chapel for worship stood on the grounds. Later still, as the girls grew older, a weaving shed was built.* Here the oldest were taught to weave, and the Government bought all the cloth they wove on their looms which was not used at the Home. They also wove baskets and other needed articles, and in time, the older girls became self-supporting.

This was a wonderful move in the history of the Home, and again she writes:

How we thanked God that funds gradually came in to build the “Shelter,” and thus afford a good home for us. When we were well settled and moving along nicely in our new location, two brethren from the States, making a tour of the mission fields and looking at different institutions as they traveled through the countries, visited India, bringing along a notebook of suggestions, hoping to be of help to me.

They said, “We have visited on our way to India places of like intention in many homes for children, taking down notes to share with you.”

“I will be very glad to have any help or ideas you may have obtained to aid me in the work and will appreciate your giving them to me.”

“No,” they replied, “we shall not need to do so. This Home is the best planned for little children that we have found in our travels, and we feel that we could add nothing to it.”

As they stood looking out over the mission area upon the general view and the good buildings erected, one of them said, “Where did the money come in for all this outlay?”

“I know one thing,” said the other. “It did not come from the Mission Board, for we have not sent it.”

“It has been supplied by God and faith in His promise,” said Faith Stewart.

With what happiness she received the word of commendation from those who had so reluctantly sent her to the field.

At one time, she again made the trip to Puri with the Government Water Inspector, hoping to rescue at least one child. They made their way into the home, and the Inspector went about his business. Faith looked about her, and saw, not very far away, five little girls, the youngest a baby of about nine months. (This child had been married to a god when she was only three months old.) The oldest one was ten or eleven years old.

Addressing the nurse she said, “Are all these children registered?”

“No,” she replied, “I cannot get away to get it done.”

“Don’t you know that the law requires that you register these girls?”

“Yes, but I have no one to care for them.”

“I will stay on while you are gone.”

The woman hesitated to leave a foreigner in charge, and seeing this, Faith Stewart drew back her wrap and revealed the Government Star of Inspectress, and the woman prepared at once to leave and do the work. As soon as the public woman departed from sight, she picked up two of the children, gave the smallest child in the keeping of the largest girl to carry, called to the other one to follow, and made her way to the closed coach.

Poor little ones. They, perhaps, felt very fearful of this strange white woman now taking them from their home to they knew not what further sorrows, but there were no ties of love. No one held them with endearing words or had fondled them. They must, in fear, obey those that ruled over them, and obey as slaves. So they meekly followed her, climbing into the strange coach and were well hidden from sight. Who knows but that something in the tone of the words of this stranger had a note of pity never heard before by these precious little ones, and stirred their little hearts in a new way and gave confidence to them in this strange white woman who had come so unceremoniously into their lives.

She sat in the coach among them; little hands, little faces, not in the gloom-filled skies still pleading for her love and protection, but close now, very close, as they hovered about her in their strange surroundings, leaning heavily on her now to rescue them from the horrors of a hell on earth. And so they reached their new home where food and shelter and loving care and happy childhood days awaited them, and where the childish mind in time could put aside the memories that haunted of loneliness, lovelessness, and the awful void of such a life.*

These rescues were not accomplished as easily as it may seem, for it brought anger and hatred from the keepers of these homes as well as from the officers and priests of the temples. Her life was in imminent danger as she went about lifting them out of these dens of vice.

At one time there came in from the famine fields, left alone no doubt by the death of their families, two little girls, perhaps two and three years old. After all, who among the natives could succor or show pity or compassion when they themselves were hungry and facing starvation? In their suffering and want, their little faces were the faces of the old, and their bodies so emaciated from hunger that their little legs and arms were bare skin and bone and looked too frail to bear the head and trunk. A dull expression of misery had stamped itself on their tiny faces and was enough to touch the most indifferent heart to pity.

These two were brought to the Shelter and fed and clothed and loved and cared for, and in four months, none could have recognized them as the little waifs who had entered.* These dear little ones stood hand in hand, restored by the grace of God and the loving pity of His servants, learning to live as sweetly and innocently and purely as protected little ones at home, and to know God and to learn to pray, to believe God for the very blessings of life, and even to ask Him for all things. But if all were written, this would be a story of many pages and too long to be written here.

Many of my readers will not have read Living Faith, and so we will note an incident of the child life in India which rightfully belongs here.

It was on Saturday morning, and everything in the Children’s Home was in commotion. They had definitely planned to take a lunch and go to the riverside that afternoon, giving the children a good time out in the open air. They were so happy about it all. But it was well understood that the work must be done up nicely before going, so they were all doing their very best. Everyone who was large enough was putting their strength right into the work and planning on a wonderful time that afternoon.

But alas for their plans. No sooner was dinner over, than clouds began to gather, and the sky became dark overhead, and soon the rain began to fall. What a disappointment it was to them all! But these children had long ago learned that God was their Father, that He is interested in the joys and sorrows of each of His children, and that He answers prayer for those who trust in Him. It was not very long until the children themselves held a conference and then away they went, some to one bedroom, and some to another.

So they began to pray, and every few moments, some child would slip out on the veranda to look at the sky to see if it was clearing. Soon, sure enough, the rain suddenly ceased, and, although the sky was still dark, the faith of these little ones was not daunted. God, their Father, had answered their prayers and stopped the rain. And could they not trust Him to finish what He had begun? They insisted that it would not rain and began getting ready, so we honored their faith and started.

At that time, we had a visiting missionary from another part of India in the home. She started with her umbrella, and the children remonstrated with her, but she was not equal to the test.

Knowing that they had asked in faith that God would clear the day so they could go, and as He had stopped the rain, they felt certain that He would not stop them. Why should anyone, then, take anything with them to protect them against the rain, just as if they did not expect a full answer? This, however, is the way that most of God’s children trust Him.

The riverside was soon reached, and, oh, what a joyful time they had! They played and had their lunch, and near dark, they all came home. The clouds remained scattered over the skies. The glaring sun was hidden behind them, making it an ideal day for an outing. Not a drop of rain fell, giving them a happy afternoon in answer to prayer. They trouped home, and as they entered the “Shelter,” the rain, as if held back by an unseen hand, suddenly turned loose just as the children passed in, and began to pour down, and it rained all that night. This was even more convincing to the children that God in His plan had an afternoon of rain, but had held back in answer to prayer.

What a lesson of faith in the goodness of God to His little ones. They never forgot it, and it was graven deeply on their minds that God loves to answer earnest prayer. This should be a lesson to God’s big children also. We should all take Him at His word, rest on His promises, and honor Him by asking largely that our joy may be full and also that His dear name may be lifted up among the people.

In later life, many of these children, when in places of need, or having problems too large to solve, separated from their beloved “Mama” by the wide ocean once more, would remember these times and be encouraged to go on trusting in the God whom they were taught to believe really loved them.

There are many people, yea, multitudes, walking in the dim vista of a common world, living a common life, who never rise above the ordinary nor ever associate with those who live in a higher realm. These say that the day of miracles has long passed, and those who are so foolish to believe differently about the matter are simply fanatics and a little queer. But for those who live close to the heart of God, who walk faithfully through field and fen, it is a beautiful reality.

It was an annual custom of the Shelter and its leaders to give at Christmas time a dinner for the poor and destitute of the country, thus making many hearts rejoice at the birthday of our Lord. Always the means with which to do this was a matter of faith, for the means must come in above the mission funds. There was a year when, after the preparation and all the work, and the dinner was in progress, that the crowds increased so that the supply of food began to run out. At last there was only the portion left for the faithful young girls of the Shelter who had labored to make this dinner possible.

About that time another group came to be fed. The girls turned anxiously to their missionary and said, “Mama, shall we give them our food and eat rice for our dinner?”

“No. Perhaps we can make them a meal of something else that we have. Go and look in the kettles.”

“But Mama, we have taken out all the food and have scraped the kettles for the last, and the pots are empty.”

However, in obedience to her request, they returned to look into the empty pots.

Just then a cry rang out on the air, and the girl who had looked in the pot said, “It was scraped to the bottom, and we put the spoon in again to see and look—food, plenty of good food for these people! God has sent food and put it in the kettle for us to give to these people!”

As they worked on in their labor of love, there was great excitement and much rejoicing at the miracle and the goodness of God in their very midst. Then she told them the story of the barrel of meal spoken of in the Bible, and how after it was shared, it never failed, and how with God, nothing is impossible. God, in His great love, had also been in their midst and honored their desire to share with the needy and sent in His own way the needed food when their own supply had fallen short.

Their joy knew no bounds, and in happy mood, tired, but joyfully, they served the newcomers and chatted together of the great miracle and of the greatness of God’s love who had provided when they could not. But did He not multiply the loaves and the fishes, and is He not the same today? The power of God is in no wise limited, nor His hand shortened that He cannot do all things. Only our faith can limit God, for we receive as we believe God. Not one of all His promises have failed.

It was not long until the girls began to save their pennies, and any little bit of money that was earned or given, for a secret purpose. They planned together in loving cooperation until the day came that an enlarged picture of Faith Stewart was purchased and hung on the wall of the “Shelter.” She was deeply touched by this display of esteem, love, and sacrifice which must have been made over quite a period of time to procure such a gift. She felt rewarded for dangers faced, the toil and sacrifice on her own part, when she saw the tribute of their loving hearts.

It was while laboring on this field that she was contacted by a British official. He had not looked with favor on her work as a lone American woman struggling in India in a work of faith. He looked down from his lofty position, and had been no friend to the work or its founder. But she went serenely on in her God-called labor, knowing that she was where He wanted her, caring only to please Him. This man was truly, in a sense, an enemy of the work, looking askance at the foolishness of praying for the sick and not giving medical help.

However, there came a day when this magistrate and his wife drove up and arrived at the door of the Shelter in his fine family coach. Faith waited with much misgiving, wondering what this visit would mean to her. Imagine with what relief she learned that, on looking over the records of various schools under his jurisdiction, the officer had found the most favorable report of her school, and that their general health was reported best of all the schools.

Finally he said, “It does not seem to matter whether prayers or medicine are stuffed down these children, so that they are healthy. This is our concern.”

With what relief did she receive the reason for his visit!

There came a day when this official’s wife took very ill. Slowly she grew worse in spite of all being done for her. Finally the family physician said to the husband, “Sir, your wife is suffering with cancer, and we have done all we can for her, but now we have come to the end, and we have no hope to offer you for her life.”

With what sorrow he received the news! There was no one in whom to turn. Science had failed, and he felt desperate in his helplessness. He knew the leader at the mission for little children believed in praying for the sick, and he had probably heard that wonderful answers had been given, but up to now, it meant less than nothing to him.

That this plainly dressed, humble woman of God, who went out in the famine fields, slums, and brothels of India, had anything to offer him, a British official of high standing in India, was unbelievable. But his suffering wife had heard of her and willed it so, and a drowning man will grasp at a straw. So he sent for Faith Stewart to come, and she went to the home of the rich and the great as readily and as humbly as to the poor.

He asked her, “Do you know that I have not been a friend to you?”

“Yes,” she answered, “I knew this.”

“And you are still willing to come and pray for my sick wife?”

“I am glad to be of any service that is possible.”

There in that sickroom, she laid her clean hands—hands that were ever occupied in the Master’s business, hands that were really no longer hers, but God’s, hands dedicated to Him in loving service—on the dying woman and prayed the simple prayer of faith. And God, looking down from Heaven, heard and answered. That day the wife of the British official was healed of cancer. To the surprise and great joy of the husband, she was raised up from her sickbed and made normal and whole. The cancer that had been eating her very life away was destroyed by the power of God, and she arose to again stand by the side of her husband in his work.

Thus an enemy of both pride and power was won over by the humble loving service that only a true child of God can give. And so true were these new friends that later, when the day came that she left India, this proud man sat watching and weeping on the platform until the train bore her out of sight in the distance.

There were other ways she was permitted to witness in this faraway land. There was a great social function given in the home of one of the officials to which she was invited and very graciously responded. Wherever she went, she was marked by her extreme simplicity of dress and dressed her hair as simply as possible. After all had assembled, another guest, a missionary also, offered to teach her to play cards as all the other guests were playing, but she refused and also did not partake of the liquor that was served. At an early hour, she excused herself and went home. She was sorry to embarrass her host by such a stand, but would not compromise. But the gentleman hastened to call the family coach for her use and sent his coachman to drive her home. Thus, although she stood alone for right, she was respected by these high class people of India.

But still came the helpless girls of India as they were rescued, or as they had other means of knowledge of a refuge.

One morning just before daybreak, there came a frantic knocking at the door of the mission. When it was at last opened, a little girl of perhaps nine or ten years of age hurried frantically into the room and begged them to close it at once. They began to question her but could get nothing from her except that she begged for shelter and said that she had heard of a home where Jesus was taught, and she had come to live in the midst and learn about Him. That was all, in spite of all the questioning and all the trying to find out, not one word of further information could be obtained.

She stayed on, happy in the life of the Shelter, although she had come there in the dress of a better-class Indian home. She seemed to be satisfied and willing to live on the level of the poor waifs of the lower class Indian girls. But time went on, and during one of the revivals held during the year, Bedu went to an altar of prayer and was really saved. Then came a time of confession, and she related to them her life story. It was the old story all over again, so often heard in India. She had been given in marriage to a grown man at the pitiful age of four years. Her life was pitifully hard and cruel under the rule of her husband and mother-in-law. At the age of nine or ten years it became unbearable, and she sought to find a way out of her misery.

Alas, there was no way until she, somehow in the mercy of God, found out that there was a refuge somewhere in the city for girls of India. A place where they told about Jesus the Savior and a place where love and protection was offered to the needy. She waited no longer but made careful inquiry as to where the place was located, and from then on, from day to day, watched her chance to escape.

Only a child in years, but through hardship and sorrow made much older, she planned her way and arose very early and, covering her face in the usual custom of the land and running silently through the streets just before daybreak, she had arrived, desperate, fearful, and weeping, pleading for refuge, and all the time afraid that some one had seen and might be pursuing her. For weeks after that, when someone came to the door of the mission, she would run and hide under a bed or anywhere to get out of sight until they had gone away. But God saw her sad plight and in mercy looked down and watched over her. No one was ever able to find her and claim her, and she lived on and grew up in the midst, a fine Christian girl, happy in her newfound home and religion.

Many indeed were the victories won in prayer those days. Little Ramah was brought to the Shelter from her sad condition of life. She seldom smiled, and was so quiet and sober that the other children seemed to feel sad with her. As she continued on in their midst from day to day, the sad spirit seemed to gradually leave, and at last she became a normal child playing and joining in laughter with the rest.

This went on for perhaps two years, and once more a change came over her. She seemed to withdraw from the other children and to wear the same sad expression. The children mentioned the matter to their missionary and asked that she look into the matter. So Faith Stewart began to speak to her, but could not get an answer, until she pressed the child, telling her that there was something wrong, and it was necessary for the happiness of all that she open her heart to them and let them help her.

Finally she responded, saying, “When I came to the Shelter, I was sad because my father and mother were both dead. They had died of leprosy, and I was afraid I would get it and have to go away from the home. Then everything seemed to be alright, and I almost forgot about the awful fear that used to come over me. But not long ago I noticed a white spot on my arm and knew it must be leprosy. Oh, Mama, you can’t realize how badly I felt when I saw that white spot! I was afraid that you would send me away from this home. So I have been trying to keep away from the other girls, not because I want to, but because I do not want them to touch me and get this awful disease.”

“But it is the law in India that all lepers must be segregated. And we must go at once to see about this for the sake of the other children.”

So with sad hearts they learned the secret of their little playfellow, and she was taken to a doctor, who pronounced the disease a real case of leprosy. But he said that there was no vacancy at the leper colony, and if it was possible, they must segregate the child and keep her a little longer, and they would send word as soon as things were ready. Then they took the sad little girl home and made arrangements for her.

Faith Stewart took her to a private room, and taking a piece of chalk, she made a white line straight through the center on the floor. Two beds were placed there, one on each side of the white line. Then she said, “I will not leave you alone, Ramah. See, here is a line across the room. I will sleep on one side of this line, and you will sleep on the other. But we will never cross over this line. We will see each other and be in the same room, but we will not get close. And the mission folk will all be praying for you.”

A short time went on with Ramah living in the room, and once a day she went for a walk out in the fresh air of the evening with her beloved “Mama.” But the leprosy was not healed, and the time was fast drawing near when a vacancy would be reported.

One day she said, “If you will pray for me, I will be healed and not have to go to the leper colony.”

“But we are praying for you,” replied Miss Stewart.

“Yes, but I want you to pray the prayer of faith,” replied the child.

Afterward, Faith Stewart said that she felt a gentle rebuke in the answer given, and went before the workers with the earnest words of the little child. And with more zeal and faith they pled more faithfully at the throne of grace. In a short time the spot began to fade, and the joy of Ramah knew no bounds as she watched from day to day.

Then one day came the message that a place had been made for her. She was to be brought at once to the Clinic, and after another thorough examination, she was to be taken to the colony.

The child was inconsolable. “But I am healed! I do not need to go now,” she protested.

“But we must obey the laws of the land, and these doctors do not know about our praying.”

“But don’t you believe that I am healed?” asked Ramah.

“Yes, but we must let these doctors be convinced themselves in their own way. We are sending you to them, but notice that we are not sending the clothing that they require, because we believe that you will be sent home again.”

So comforted with these words, the worker and the little child set out on their journey to the city where they were to have the final test. But the whole family at the Shelter was praying, and by the time they made the journey and reached the Clinic, every sign of the terrible disease was gone. The doctor was astonished and made a very thorough test, but could not find a sign of leprosy. In joy and confidence in the great power of prayer, they returned home. God had healed little Ramah and given her the desire of her heart and sent her home in victory. Now she was able to go once more among the children and play with them, and her heart was light, and she could smile and join in their childish fun.

What a great God is our God! And how few in the world really know that today we can receive the blessings of heaven if we only believe.