Intimate Glimpses of a Warrior of the Cross

Recently in conversation, a certain minister said that he enjoyed reading the Bible because, in dealing with the lives of its great men, the writers had spoken frankly and truly, depicting their characters as they were. No doubt, but God inspired them to write so that we may profit by their mistakes.

In seeking to write the story of the life of Faith Stewart, we felt led to write a chapter on “intimate glimpses,” and God helping, we will strive to speak truly.

First, let us remember those days of her childhood. Those were the days when parents not only clothed and fed their children but trained and disciplined them as well. Only today, a Cuban professor of English, who was writing an article about the life of Faith Stewart for one of the leading magazines in Cuba (which has a large circulation in South America), asked if Faith Stewart’s ancestors were Quakers. This he asked because of her adherence to a rigorous, disciplined life. We informed him that such was not so.

Her parents were of Scotch descent, and also were faithful and loyal to the teaching of their native religion as taught in the Presbyterian Church. But in those days, there were lines drawn and rules obeyed, and parents who were worthy were respected by their children.

You will remember that she obeyed her father’s summons when he walked down the aisle in front of the whole gathering at the revival services, and meekly followed him out of the place to her home.

But though she literally obeyed him outwardly, she listened to the voice of God, and with all her soul, she continued that search for the sanctifying grace of God, and did not cease until she received satisfaction.

A few years later in life, after her marvelous healing of tuberculosis, a new truth was presented to her. She not only stepped out whole-souled, but when given the choice of discarding the truth and trusting science for her healing or leaving the home so dear to her in every way, she, quietly and sadly, with a full knowledge of what the decision meant, took her stand for truth and paid the price required without hesitation and never turned back on the trail. That trait of character has been outstanding even to the last days. Time and again, in the course of her life, she has had to make decisions and take a stand for or against.

By taking such a stand and holding to her principles and ideals, she suffered again and again great financial losses to the work, but she could not and would not let down that standard so dear to her heart.

When she went among the saints in the early days, there was a definite stand against worldliness both in amusement and in dress. She began to wear the three-quarter and full length sleeves and to dress more plainly otherwise. From that day to the end, she dressed in the plain manner of the early Christians of the church of God. She always seemed to have a quiet scorn of styles and changing modes of apparel.

She had a wealth of auburn hair which in past days she wore piled high on her head. In the late years, it had turned white overnight when she faced the bandits in her home. But it was beautiful and long, and when she lay upon her bed or was resting at home, she often wore it in one or two long braids or coiled loosely on the back of her head.

One time she was asked to visit an organization in New Philadelphia, Ohio; a Christian group of women of the W.C.T.U. Some of these women were of the “better class” and were very becomingly dressed in the mode of the day. She was dressed extremely plain, and in a garment which had been made in the United States which offered no chance of being fitted as it was being finished; consequently it did not fit too well.

It is very doubtful if she even thought of the difference as she walked serenely down the aisle of one of the most fashionable churches in the city, among the ladies present, and to the front of the room. But those who were looking on could not help seeing the dignity and poise with which she walked toward the speaker’s place.

As she stood before us and lifted her head, a calm, sweet expression settled over her countenance, and she started to speak, immediately commanding the respect of every woman in that group.

Faith Stewart, at no time in her life, was a pretty woman in the sense that the world terms pretty. Her features were rugged and typically Scotch. The firm line of her mouth, her good, strong face with an ample nose, her broad forehead, and the definite line in her cheekbones gave her an austere countenance. But when one looked at her, one could see character and strength written in that face.

The inner beauty of her sacrificial life shone forth, and the inner strength gained through victories won gave her a dignity and commanding presence far excelling beautifully molded features or a shapely form or modish clothing.

It was interesting that day to see that, after her address, these attractive women crowded around her, eager to meet her and to talk personally to this unusual woman. And later, they inquired often about her, not forgetting either the message or the messenger.

She was ever frank to speak her convictions to those of us who were about her. I remember especially one occasion, being the very person she addressed.

Coming down one year to attend the annual convention in Havana, I brought among other attire a two-piece dress requiring a thin blouse underneath. This blouse I never wore without the jacket over it. Upon attending the meeting in the morning at Almendares, I was asked to preach in the evening service. Inquiring, I found that a return could be made to El Hogar, where I could make a quick change and hasten back just in time for the evening meeting. Faith Stewart was ready and waiting when I arrived, and I rushed in my room to make the change. As rapidly as possible, the blouse and skirt were donned. Then she called, “Sister Henry, you are always so prompt. Can’t you hurry and get here faster?”

So I snatched up my jacket, Bible, and purse, and ran hurriedly to the front room where she stood waiting. She gave me one look and said, “My dear, I can see straight through that blouse.”

“So can I,” I replied cheerfully, “but I’ll be putting on this jacket pronto if you will just give me time.”

She turned, and we both rushed to the waiting station wagon, and soon the jacket was put on over the offending blouse. It was ever her firm belief that all should be examples of the teaching of modesty in dress.

This reminds me of an incident that came to my mind this week. We had the privilege, while here at Los Pinos, to drive perhaps thirty-five miles to the city of Madruga to meet some new friends who were interested in knowing more about the mission.

In perhaps the second year after her arrival in Cuba, Faith Stewart had been asked to speak in a special service at a Bible seminary to a group of students preparing for mission work in Cuba.

She went, choosing for her subject, “The Lowest Standard by Which We Can Reach Heaven.” That standard is, of course, a holy life, for “without [holiness] no man shall see the Lord.”* (Hebrews 12:14) The students were awakened, convicted, or pleased, as their hearts permitted.

A time of holiday was just before them, a day when the resident missionary would be free for calling. One of the young girl students came to her, asking for the privilege of returning home with her to visit the mission in Havana. She granted the permission, and the student gladly came with her.

There was another student present whose heart was hungry for a life of righteousness, but was too timid to ask permission to visit the mission also. The disappointment was so great that she cried in her room until she felt physically ill.

Not long after that she married and went with her husband to the United States for preparation in mission work. They remained in a southern state for six or eight years. Then for several years, they worked in mission work, seeking to hold up a standard of holy life. This life was to be lived, for God says in His word, “Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him.”* (1 John 2:15)

In time, sorrow and trouble came to these fine people, as those under whom they labored seemed to think that they lifted the standard of Christian living too high. Although the Bible admonished God’s servants to “lift up a standard for the people,”* (Isaiah 62:10) they were finally compelled to resign their mission work.

Then the wife, who had never forgotten Faith Stewart’s talk on holy living, said to her husband, “I do not feel happy. God has called us to do missionary work, and we have years of preparation, and it does not seem right for us to be idle in the work of the Kingdom. Let us again contact Miss Stewart.”

So, years after that address to the students, they came to visit at El Hogar, and to say that they desired to live and preach a high standard, inspired by Faith Stewart that day long ago.

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Often we have heard it said that it is not good for a woman to be at the head of an outstanding mission work. That honor, they claim, should be given to a man. If that be true, then that man should go out in the rugged days of hunger, loneliness, disappointment, and hardships and raise up that work and prove himself worthy. Then, and only then, has he proved himself.

If he has not vision, burden, and stamina to labor and bring forth, has he, think you, qualifications to govern and head such a work? No!

“Not to the strong is the battle, not to the swift is the race,
Yet to the true and the faithful vict’ry is promised through grace.”*

Faith Stewart labored in two foreign lands out of nothing but her faith in God, and her vision and burden for the lost raised up in each place a monument of lasting honor unto the King. She not only guided the workers, but personally counseled her great family of 75 to 90 children at a time, and found time to preach, write reports, and tend to business. And in most of the cities where she sent workers, there stands a building paid for and in use. She was a business woman as well as preacher and missionary.

An outstanding characteristic of Faith Stewart was her readiness to forgive those who wronged her, sometimes deeply. Down through the years, the very fact that it was a work of faith in Cuba and not lined up under some board has caused many to seek to take advantage of the situation.

Workers came and went, and many sad experiences were hers, but for all personal wrongs, she quickly forgave.

When native Christians laboring in and with the mission sinned flagrantly or wronged God’s cause and later desired to come back, there has been a requirement not only of repentance, but public confession and a time of proving satisfactorily their sincerity. This to some may seem hard, but it was for the work’s sake. The work must be kept clean. She insisted on that standard.

On one occasion, we were attending a great national convention where thousands of people stroll daily over the campus and grounds between services. From all over the United States and other countries, men and women arrive. Ministers and laymen came to attend the many services and sessions.

Although several years before, all connections were severed with the Missionary Board, yet she came once more on the grounds because she had great numbers of dear friends and was wondering how to arrange for meeting them.

“Look,” I said to her, “my tent is centrally located, and this piece of awning makes a nice veranda. Here are plenty of chairs. Either take your friends inside or sit out under the awning in the cooler place. Meet them any time.”

She accepted the offer. Soon people, passing to and from services, began to hear that Faith Stewart walked on the old campgrounds, and they began to pass by to meet her once more. A very attractive woman came and stood beside the tent for awhile, watching the people who came and went, conversing with Sister Stewart. Finally she said, “Do you know what I’ve been doing? I’ve been standing here taking special note of the type of people who are interested in Faith Stewart. In spite of her extreme plainness of attire and humble outlook on life, some of the finest-looking people on these grounds are her friends.”

She had spoken truly, for from all over the grounds came men and women proud to be listed as her friends, and they were the cream of that great assembly.

Then I noticed another person approaching, and although I had never seen this woman nor had a description of her, I felt that this was surely the person who had so long ago betrayed the confidence Sister Stewart placed in her in the early days in Cuba. She came nearer and said, “May I speak to Miss Stewart?”

By that time, Faith Stewart had walked some distance away with a friend and stood there conversing.

“She is very busy,” I said with no great warmth of feeling for one who apparently had never repented of the wrong she had done.

“I’ll just wait for her,” she replied; and as soon as possible, she hurried forward saying, “My dear Faith, how I have longed to see you!”

I stood near watching that scene, and saw how Faith Stewart, in calm of spirit and in kindness to this woman who had betrayed the trust put in her, permitted her to kiss her cheek, talking as kindly to her as to these trusted friends.

And when this visitor insisted a little later that she accompany her to a certain place for a special visit, Faith gently but firmly refused, explaining frankly why she must do so. Yet she had no malice toward this person who had been so insincere throughout the years. She had long ago forgiven the great wrong.

Because of her vigorous, unswerving stand for what was right and just, she (strangely enough) had enemies all through the years. These would not see the fine qualities of leadership and resented the firm stand, and consequently sought to oppose her in many ways.

Few people who knew Faith Stewart realized that she was one of the most sensitive at heart, shrinking from the sneers, insults, and false rumors spread about her. Also it seemed to cut her to the quick when, because she had stood uncompromisingly as the years passed, some former friend would ignore her or purposely slight her.

She grieved so sorely under some of the blows that fell that she would actually become ill. Such was the case one year when she decided to visit again one of the campgrounds where she had been a welcome visitor for years.

But an evil influence had been put out by a few unscrupulous people to hinder the work by falsely accusing her of committing something ridiculous and ungodly. The rumor was carried to the grounds, and without investigation, she was not even permitted to have any part whatsoever on the grounds that year.

When she at first learned of the rumor, she was stunned. Then she walked over the grounds to the room of one of the ministers. Sitting down in his presence and looking fully in his face, she asked him, “Brother, do you really believe that rumor?”

“No,” he said, as he looked in her honest eyes and saw only purity and truth.

“Then,” she asked quietly, “what are you going to do about it?”

A fear of what others would say or think if he should publicly stand by her kept this otherwise good man of God from doing what, no doubt, his conscience told him was right. So he did nothing.

For a missionary of practically a lifetime of years in service, known practically in every state, to come on a campground and not even be permitted to take the humblest part in a service, was putting a question at once on their prestige, and none knew this better than she. So she felt that she could not remain on the grounds longer.

Slowly and with sorrowful pain, she returned to the tent and knelt down beside the bed to pray, but great sobs shook her tired body, and she could not pray for weeping. Later, without a word of bitterness or complaint or an accusation against those who were set to destroy her, she arose. She began to pack her clothing in the small suitcase she had brought, and bidding us goodbye, she walked off the campground as calmly as though she had not just received a crushing blow.

Broken in spirit, she returned to her field a sick woman, made sick with heartache brought on by evil ones. And on the campgrounds those who caused the sorrow did not seem to understand that, on that day, a spirit, a soul bright and shining, a benediction to any gathering of those who love God, was driven from their midst forever. She never mentioned it afterwards; she had forgiven freely one of the most unjust and shameful things ever done to a faithful missionary, and by those who should have appreciated her.

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Some of the workers in Cuba were speaking about her the other evening, especially about her thoughtfulness for others. She was thoughtful in an unusual way of folks about her. Sometimes we would have a little something different in our plain fare, and she would take a portion and say, “Please take this to little Antonio” (or whoever was ailing); “he is not well today.” Or she would remember someone down in the city in need and share with him.

Once I had painted her an oil, a scene of cold and snow, something to remind her of her early life in Iowa. She loved the snow and cold of her native state, and so I had sat down to paint the faraway country scene. When it was finished, she was quite happy about it.

When she had the few dollars in her hand, she said to me, “Now I can buy a cheap frame for the painting, and we will hang it up on the wall where we can enjoy it.”

A few days went by. One worker was sick with stomach trouble, so some of the personal money went to buy the food that he could eat. A young woman was ailing and away from home, so a little was bought for her to cheer her up a bit. Day by day, that money went, until finally she said to me—after I had complained a little that we now could not buy the frame—“You see, don’t you Sister Henry, that I couldn’t keep any, and now will have to wait for that picture frame.” And wait we did for several months before we were able to have it on the wall in her own bedroom.

Untiring service was an outstanding trait of this unusual woman. When she came to Cuba, she arrived on Thursday, and by Sunday afternoon was holding a service to begin her mission work. Her tireless efforts to serve God and her fellow men was one of the secrets of the great success of her work in Cuba.

When others about her failed to have that drive, burden, and vision, she mourned for strength to get out in the harvest fields again.

In the land where she labors, sinner and Christian hold her in highest esteem. One evening, she and I and two others were going through Havana. When the conductor came to her, a look of pleased surprise passed over his countenance.

“Abuelita [grandma], how many are on the bus with you?” he asked.

“There are four of us,” she replied.

“Don’t pay; I will pay your fare. You deserve the best the whole city can give you,” he said, and walked on down the aisle.

School teachers, bus drivers, clerks—all paid deference to her as she walked in their midst. Bankers, businessmen, and ministers of other churches honored her and spoke well of her. And the American consul spoke highly of her work and its influence in Cuba.

We have been amazed at times at her courage and her brave and fearless spirit. In the days of her labor in India, she faced the wrath of the influential priests in order to rescue the little girls from their degraded circumstances. In Cuba, her life was threatened by the Communists, who put her name on their death list. Still she went out any hour of the night if she was needed.

When driving at one time on a long trip in the country, they were returning late on one of the very bad roads of those days. The tall grass was head high beside the road as they passed along. Suddenly the grass parted, and a horse stepped out directly in front of them. Blinded by the lights from the car, he stopped, but it was impossible to stop the car in time to save him.

It happened that two soldiers had been waiting for a bus and offered to pay their fare if privileged to go along. They were kindly taken in, and not long afterward saw the accident happen.

The horse was thrown high into the air and its body divided in two by the impact. Kicking in agony of death, it fell crashing in the top of the car, its blood pouring in as he writhed in a death struggle.

Yet she was ready to drive anywhere she was needed as soon as the car was fixed and ready.

It was late in years before she abandoned the boat for the plane, but with the same calm courage, she faced this new venture.

She, up to and including the last year of her life, went back and forth across the channel to the United States. One of these times while in the States, she boarded a plane at Mobile, Alabama, to go to Daytona Beach, Florida. While at the airport waiting on the plane at Mobile, a strange burden fell on her and a great heaviness of heart.

She could not understand and turned to her friends who had accompanied her to the plane, saying, “Pray for me; I don’t know whether I dread to travel alone or why I have such a heavy burden, or what it means, but I feel very heavy-hearted.” But the feeling did not leave, and excusing herself, she entered the ladies’ room and prayed. Bidding goodbye to her friends, she boarded the plane and sat down. The load still lay on her heart, and she determined to spend the time on the plane in prayer and did so.

Dinner was served as they neared Tallahassee, Florida. Cushions were laid down, and trays were placed and the food served.

Suddenly, without warning, the plane took a nose dive straight down. The trays full of food went in every direction, and people who had loosened their safety belts were thrown in different directions. The stewardess who had been standing in the aisle was thrown under the seat in such a way that it took the efforts of three of the passengers to release her.

The plane slowly righted, but then suddenly turned on its side. Passengers were really frightened by this time, but it slowly gained a proper altitude, and, righting itself, went on to Daytona Beach.

The pilot, sitting in his place, spoke comforting words to the people, telling them that the incident could not have been avoided, also that the company would pay any expense of dry cleaning necessary because of the incident.

The next day the newspapers printed news of the affair. Out of a clear sky, another plane had approached them, but was seen too late to avoid a crash in mid-air. There was but one one hope of survival, and that was to dive below at the very moment under the oncoming plane.

The report continued to say that only a real feat of flying could have successfully done what was done that day. Then Faith Stewart knew why God had laid a heavy burden on her heart and why she could not get relief but had to keep praying. Afterward she said to me, “Prayer alone that day saved a crash in mid-air and the loss of all lives on board.”

The years dealt severely with Faith Stewart, and her step grew slower. Her eyesight was not as good, and she found it harder and harder to hear what we said. Once she remarked, “I feel so alone sitting at the table with others or in a group, for I can no longer hear clearly unless facing the speaker, and I get so little of the conversation.”

In the late years, she suffered the effects of two definite strokes, at different times. God would heal her, and in a short time, another affliction would seize her frame.

It was at the close of convention one year when she was in her seventies that an annual board meeting was held, with all the matters at hand to be taken care of. She was so worn at that time that she was scarcely able to attend meetings, but by putting forth a great effort went in and sat through the weighty discussions. At the close of this meeting, rising to go, she fell, completely exhausted. She was placed on a bed, where she lay for about five hours. She suffered a stroke, and was brought home and put in her own bed.

When we returned home, she was still bedfast and not able to feed herself. She lay there a long time. Finally she was able to get around by holding onto the chairs or other articles of furniture.

It was while in this feeble condition that God spoke to her. “Get ready and go to the Manassas camp meeting this year.”

“But Lord,” she replied in real surprise, “You see what condition I am in. How can I go?”

“Go, and I will go with you, every step of the way.”

Throughout the years, she had done many daring things and feared not. Now she was old and broken and sick in body, and the task of going across seemed impossible.

The workers at the Home were just then gathering for prayer in the front room, so she made her way to them.

“The Lord has told me to go to Manassas camp meeting,” she announced, thinking that a great protest would come, and she would have to argue it down.

To her surprise, not a word of protest or dissent arose, and each volunteered to do something to help her on her way. But when she was ready, she was so feeble that two of the brethren had to go along to assist her on the plane. She was met at Key West by two faithful friends in Homestead and taken to their comfortable home where she soon retired to her room.

Everybody was out of the house. She was lying on the bed, and soon fell into a restful slumber. Suddenly, she was awakened as though someone called or purposely awakened her. She awoke in utter amazement.

A gleaming white light filled the whole room. Looking upward, she saw with her physical eyes, angels circling about in the white light shed about them. Lying there and gazing in awe and wonder, she began to think about what such a visitation could possibly mean.

“Lord,” she whispered at last, “is it possible that You have brought me over here to take me home?”

Long ago she had said that her desire was to leave this world from the land of her calling. And so it was with real disappointment that she began to think the end had come. But the answer came softly back, “This is My seal on your obedience, and the angel of the Lord will encamp round about you every step of the way.”

Telling of her experience later on, she said, “That was the most marvelous trip I ever took. My friends put me on the train, and to my utter surprise, I was given a compartment. My shoes were polished by a porter; everything that could be done was done for me. When I arrived at the city where I was to go, a train employee came to me and said, ‘Don’t worry, Mother, we will have the train stop right in front of where you get off, and you will not have to walk at all.’

“And so it was, every step of the way. Miracles of kindness from utter strangers, and best of all, I was steadily improving all along the way. God kept His promise, and used men and women who had been born into the Kingdom, and it seemed truly that His angels went before me and prompted their responses and quickened their minds to know what to do for my needed comfort. All this is not strange. It is really true to scripture. ‘He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.’* (Psalm 91:11)”

She traveled much up to the very last year of her life, and many were her experiences coming over from Cuba to the homeland to present her work to those who had vision and burden for souls.

Once, when journeying through Indiana, she remembered that it was just about time to go to the Burnside campmeeting in Pennsylvania. She accordingly made inquiry about the fare and found herself just four dollars short.

So with no more ado, she purchased a ticket for Altoona, Pennsylvania, some distance from Burnside, and went aboard the bus for that place. Alas. The only seat vacant was one by an intoxicated man who constantly annoyed her by falling asleep and leaning over against her. After some time, a gentleman across the aisle arose and left the bus. She looked across at the vacant space left and made a decision.

“May I sit in that vacant seat?” she asked the remaining passenger.

“Certainly,” he replied, “I have been feeling sorry for you for some time. You are welcome.”

She arose at once and occupied the space. The gentleman asked her what was the reason for this trip at her advanced age. She explained that she was a missionary and handed him one of her reports on the Home in Cuba. Then, tired and sleepy, and finding the time already advanced far into the night, she fell asleep.

Not long after that, she felt the touch of a hand on her arm and awoke to find her fellow passenger standing in the aisle with his suitcase ready to leave the bus at the next stop. He said, “I felt I must speak to you before I leave and shake hands with you. I have read your booklet and find it very interesting.”

He reached forward and shook hands, leaving a ten dollar bill as he did so. God had graciously supplied the means to go to Burnside camp. So alighting at Altoona, and having one and one-half hours to wait for the next bus, she purchased her ticket and ordered a warm meal. Truly, “no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.”* (Psalm 84:11)

The years had sped by until four score years were nearing her pilgrimage of life. Her shoulders were bent from the load that she carried, and she spent much time on her bed, looking so tired and worn that those who labored with her often pitied her.

But when some question had to be solved and some matters discussed, she exerted will power to the limit and arose and sat throughout the meeting.

Few indeed were the times that she ever received any special honor just for some little thing as a birthday celebration. But in the latter part of January, 1958, she crossed the channel and went over to Miami, Florida to visit a home where a friend lay dying and had sent for her. While she was absent, those who remained at home went about planning a surprise.

This would indeed be a gala occasion. But they were so rare in her life that once when someone, in late years, presented her with an orchid on her birthday, she seemed plainly distressed. Between desire to show appreciation to the kind friend and the embarrassment of decorating the front of her dress after living over seventy years so severely plain, she had quite a decision to make.

Like Paul, she knew far more about persecutions, losses, tests, and trials than the little happy things that fill the regular life of most of us. Then she conquered the habit of years. Was the orchid not made by God? Who better should wear it than one of His own? So she wore it.

So on this special occasion, a great effort was made by those at the Home. Congregations near were notified, and pastors were invited to come in with some of the lay members.

Then she returned home, and because her life had been a life of giving and not much receiving, she planned to serve her birthday cake to the workers, who had so little of the extra things of life.

The day before the birthday celebration came, she went out over the grounds. There she saw one of the boys, who on closer inspection, proved to have on a soiled shirt. She spoke to him, “Go at once and change your clothes.”

“Oh, I can’t. I must keep my clothes clean for tomorrow,” he explained. But still she did not comprehend.

On her birthday she ate supper with the Woods family. Afterward there was quite a delay in getting off to services, until she remonstrated at the lateness of the hour.

Finally they reached the chapel, and, going in, found it filled with people. She wondered greatly at the crowd and exclaimed, “Why, where will we get a seat? We will never get out of here in a reasonable time.”

Just as she sat down, the pastor of the Spanish congregation came down from the platform to escort her to the front in honor of her eightieth birthday.

Then and only then, it dawned on her that the unusually crowded room, the very air, the happy joyous singing of the audience, and the presence of each and every child and worker at the Home, meant her birthday celebration.

They presented their gifts, no doubt most of them a sacrifice of loving hearts. From the congregation at Esperanza, a box of candy; from Coterra, a large decorated tin box of cookies; from the Jamaican congregation, an umbrella and a small desk set; from the Spanish congregation in Havana, a pocketbook; from Santa Fe, a coin purse; from Rio Seco,* a beautiful handkerchief; from Martinez, a towel set; from Pinar del Rio, a chicken; from the home missionaries, an orchid; etc.

In all the years of her labors, this was the greatest celebration of her birthday. And how fitting! Should not the years that had held so much and been so full of unremittant labor have some recognition at the end of the road, even for one small loving hour? So that evening, wearing the orchid, she walked among them in honor and received the gifts of loving appreciation due one who had so freely given her all.

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When Faith Stewart left India with a breaking heart, she asked God to help her forget the past and give her a new vision of fields of labor for the present. But after her leaving, loving hearts through the years did not forget her in that distant land.

A letter came from far off India, a letter from one of her dear girls who had tried for twenty years to get her address and once more get in touch with her, and finally the letter found its way to the island of Cuba. What memories crowded back into that picture as she sat down to answer the letter.

Then there was the group of young men students of India whose ship came into harbor at Guantánamo, Cuba. They came ashore and traveled all the way to Havana to look up a woman who had left India thirty years ago, but whose name was still loved and honored by their parents; they came to see the person who had brought security and happiness to their elders. Also, a year later, a young man wrote (in English) a beautiful letter to her telling her of the high esteem in which his mother held her and how she, his mother, owed her life and knowledge of Christ to Faith Stewart.

How merciful! After years of time, with new burdens, new people, and new land, God was gently reminding her of those she labored among in dark India and showing her that, despite the long, weary years, they had not forgotten.

For many, there is a serene old age and long hours in which to reminisce over the many adventures in life, and in many lives, over dreams come true. But not so in the life of our missionary. With eighty years, she still pressed on and bore on her shoulders, yea, on her heart, the load she had ever borne since going to Cuba.

When the United States lacked, Cuba suffered, and out in the fields, the ministers’ families grew desperate, waiting for the aid that did not come. In her room gathered the workers for prayer until the load was lifted. Like Mary Slesser in Africa, she may have had burdens hard to bear, but she would not give up her children.

The last years in Cuba found some of the children grown and away from the home nest. Angel was in the Air Force, Alepio out on the ocean in a fishing fleet, Agusto a policemen, Yorenti an aid in a hospital, Edwardo in a good position, Celestino a printer, Luisa a ministerial student, Soita married and at La Finca, Ruby in business college, Rafaela a housewife, Luz Maria the wife of Francisco Lopez, a minister, and Anita the wife of a missionary to Haiti. The fruit of toil and faith in God.

There is an outstanding fact in the history of El Hogar. From the day that the home opened in Santa Fe to this day, bringing in children from all walks of life and in different physical conditions, there has never been one death among the children who have been sheltered at the Home.

“Her children rise up and call her blessed.”* (Proverbs 31:28)