“Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall”

Someone has said, “Whom God calls He also qualifies.” And so it was. When God called Faith Stewart to the field, He also qualified and equipped her for the great work she was to do. Hindered in childhood by poor health and eyes that were not strong, she was not able to obtain the education that many young people attain. But through the many years of preparation, she made such good use of what she had that no person meeting her could ever discern any lack.

For several years she wrote articles for the Gospel Trumpet, and on her first journey to India, wrote enough material to last for three months for “Shining Light.” Her reports throughout the years of both the work in India and Cuba have been without fault. Her book, Living Faith, written in late years when most folk admit they are failing in many ways, has been a blessing to every honest heart that reads it. A woman from an extremely worldly church read the book, and the next Sunday found her in our service at Eaton, Ohio, asking to know more about the writer of the book.

We have spent much time in these later years in the Home, in intimate fellowship with her, and we have been made to marvel at her planning ability, her calm authority, and her ability to sense many situations and understand the people and show wisdom above the ordinary in times of special need for it. The “Shelter” in India was and is today a building of such size and architecture that no missionary need be ashamed. This building, the suitable arrangement of the Shelter hospital, the nursery, the teachers’ quarters, the cookhouses, about one half dozen outbuildings, the educational building, the Shelter industrial school, etc., were all planned by a woman who started out alone to work in India.

No salary was hers. She lived and served all her life without a personal salary on the mission fields. God supplied her needs and the needs of the homes. She only asked the approval and blessing on her labors. No missionary ever went forth and asked for less.

During the World War, there was much suffering on the mission fields. Nations were suspicious of each other, and this often brought hardships on the workers. It was about this time that the Board decided to send two new missionaries to the field to work in different stations of India. Both of them were of German descent, with distinctly German names, and immediately things tightened up. You and I know that when a man is truly saved and called of God, he truly loses his worldly identity and becomes one of the great family of God. “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”* (John 13:35) Love is the characteristic of every true Christian, and all Christians feel this to be true. But, alas, the world knows little and cares less about these things.

Immediately after this, the salaries of the missionaries were withheld. After much time and many conferences, the regular salaries were permitted to come through, but as Faith Stewart had no stated salary or regular amount and depended on personal mail to support her work, all that came to her was withheld, all money from the homeland held back. The mission began to suffer, and still no money was permitted to come through. Every form of management and economy possible was carried on. All usable material was cut up to make garments for the children. But clothing grew thin, supplies grew smaller, and how they managed through those long hard months, no one could ever tell after it was all over.

One day when they had eaten the small Indian cakes as thin as a wafer, made for breakfast, and drank a little tea, there was nothing in the house for food, and they prayed very earnestly that God would provide. God had been sending means from America. Could not He send it from the very land in which they lived?

Later on in the morning, the vegetable man came walking down the street with his great basket of wares on his head. In this instance, the basket was filled with fresh vegetables and a plentiful array. He came to the veranda and set down the huge basket and began to set out the vegetables. Sister Stewart began to remonstrate with him, telling him that there was no money to buy vegetables today. But the man insisted, and at last she sent inside for someone to come out and make this stranger understand.

When the person had conversed a moment, they turned again to her and said, “This man was selling vegetables down the street, and he came to the home of an Indian gentleman who bought the whole basket and has sent them to the Home for a gift.”

How happy they were that day as the good dinner was being prepared, for the same God who could send money for supplies all the way from America had shown them that He could work on hearts in the homeland in such extreme times as these. Also, this man was of another religious belief and not in sympathy with the Gospel message. How great! How wonderful!

At last the period of sacrifice was over, and the money was released to missionaries. As they had received none in all these months and the others had received theirs, there was quite a sum to be distributed. But the man who was the general overseer suggested that a part of the amount be used for a car for his use. So a part of the amount was sacrificed. There was a general relief that all had gone well at last, and once more funds were coming in.

Children in India, as in all the world over, love sweets. The Indian people are far away from this country and do not have the things to wear or eat that we do. Their food is very hot with peppers, and at the time when our missionary was there, when one wanted a refreshing drink, either a glass of lemonade was served, or a drink which they make themselves by letting water come to a boil and throwing in a number of hot peppers and cooling the same and serving with ice. The idea is to cause the heat within to drive out the heat from the body.

One day some kind friend left some candy for the children and workers, and it was divided, and the remainder left for the workers was laid on a table for them when they should come for it. Then later, someone went for it, and there was no candy on the plate. The children were all called in to be questioned one by one, and each declared herself innocent. So there was nothing to do but let the Lord work it out. Perhaps you think that this was much ado about a little thing, but principles must be taught and acted on if character is to be developed.

This happened during the war, and at that time they had never gone hungry, and God had provided always for each day as it came. But a strange thing happened. Just then no money came in, and no other provision was made possible. Only a tiny bit of rice came in, enough to make a small dish for the youngest children. The older children had only the rice water to drink, and they were hungry. All day the second day, there was nothing but the small allowance of rice for the babies, and the rest went without. On the third day, Faith Stewart wept bitterly as she saw the need and gathered them all about her and talked the matter over.

“But, Mama,” one of the girls cried, “Why is it that God never sends enough for all and only sends a little for the babies?”

“I do not know,” she replied, “unless there is sin in the camp, and God is waiting for it to be cleaned out. I am quite sure that not one of the babies came in and stole the candy. But we must pray earnestly, for this is serious. We must have food.”

Suddenly, from the rear of the group of girls, a beautiful child of eight years with lovely dark hair and a sweet face arose and made her way through the midst of the girls and fell at the feet of Miss Stewart, weeping bitterly.

“It is me,” she cried. “It is my sin, and all my sisters are suffering hunger because of what I have done.”

“Did you take the candy? Did you eat it all?”

“Yes, it was I who took it, but I only ate one piece and gave a piece to some of the other girls.”

“Every girl who ate a piece of that candy please hold up your hands.”

Several hands went up bravely, and then all went down on their knees, and a real time of sorrow for transgression and repentance and praying through followed.

The postman comes early in the morning in the hot country, and at six-thirty the next morning, he was at the mission with some news from home and a money order with letter. What rejoicing there was that God had at last sent money for food. But when the stamp was examined on the envelope, they found that the letter had lain in the post office—just about three blocks away—for three days, while they went hungry. They never forgot that experience.

Oftentimes, mission life is made hard by the very ones who are sent to help lighten the load. At one time, a young man and his wife came out to aid in the work. He was lacking in any experience, but like many today, he did not lack confidence in his ability as a missionary. The very day he arrived at the mission, he began to assert himself.

Among the converts of the mission was a high caste Indian and wife. The man had been an opium addict and used tobacco. Opium in India is quite inexpensive, and often when people suffer hunger, a little opium sufficed to dull the hunger pain and help them to forget it. This man had been converted and was at once cast aside by his family and thrown on the mercy of his friends. The only employment that was offered him was that of teaching a little country school, paying a very poor wage. His struggle to be rid of opium and tobacco was sad, and when he would fail, he would come for counsel and prayer.

The afternoon of the arrival of the young man in question, he came, and Miss Stewart mentioned the fact that she would have to be absent to talk to him.

“I am a missionary, and I can help this man!” he said.

“But,” she explained patiently, “it will be very difficult as you do not speak the language.”

So when the gentleman arrived, she excused herself and went out under a tree and sat, Indian fashion, on a mat spread on the ground as he sat opposite her on another and talked over the conditions. But soon the new missionary followed them and came out uninvited, and sitting down on the grass beside them began to counsel and give advice without knowing the case, the people, or the customs of the land. She was compelled, through courtesy, to interpret for him, but his arrogant spirit and lack of understanding caused her much embarrassment, and she had no doubt that the poor man returned home without the help he so sorely needed.

Down in the bottom of an old trunk that made the voyage with her to far-off India, she found some old pictures taken while laboring there. The album had fallen apart, and the leaves were separated and many of them gone. The marvel of it all is that there are any pages left to show what faith in God can accomplish. But she unearthed them and called me to her room and together we looked them over.

There was the first little house leased for about a year; a small, cheerful, homey little place where the first little Indian girl baby was brought and placed in her loving care. She was but an earnest of the little lives that began to find their way to the shelter of the Christian home. Then here was the photo of the second home,* a more pretentious building, more rooms and higher ceilings, with the few palm trees that graced the front. Then came the spacious grounds and buildings of the institution that became known in Cuttack, India, and in America, both then and to this present day, as “The Shelter.”

What a beautiful and an appropriate name! Where could one look to find a better one? Here were sheltered from the awful storms of life, from cruel customs that robbed innocent girlhood and made life almost unbearable, a great family living together in love and fellowship, in comfort and protection through the tender years. One by one we glanced at the pictures—the stately main building of two stories where sixty beds provided for that many girls, and the nursery for little ones from early infancy to six years of age.*

The next building was for girls from six to twelve years, where they might be rightly taught and trained. Only the older girls lived in the main building. Then came the twin buildings—the elementary school building and the industrial building—where spinning of thread and weaving of cloth, basket-making, sewing, and embroidery work was done by the older girls. These girls were self-supporting and gave their tithe to God.

In the “cookhouse,” two girls would take turns cooking for and serving the rest of the girls and caring for the kitchen. Then each put a small portion of their pay in the common treasury to pay for the food each week. There was a dormitory where some of the oldest girls with two of the teachers slept to save room and beds for new ones coming in from time to time. There was the bath house for all and the chapel for worship services.

In spite of all the work and activities of having gathered and cared for as many as one hundred and forty girls, others were brought to Christ by personal contact, by special services, and through the preached Word. These fine, adequate buildings came into being by faith. They were then and are today a monument to a life of prayer, toil, and faith. The erection of each one meant that God had spoken and acted in Heaven.

We also looked at the pictures of men and women and boys and girls standing or sitting in front of the chapel.* There seemed to be about two hundred of them. They all had been lifted out of the darkness of paganism into the precious light of the Gospel. We thought of Paul and his call, “Come over into Macedonia, and help us,”* (Acts 16:9) and there was a group as a living testimony in dark India that their call was not in vain.

There was satisfaction and joy in the fact that Faith Stewart grew strong in body and flourished in the hard climate of that country. God was blessing her in every way. The frail woman who came to India weighing only ninety pounds now, after laboring there for fifteen years, was in good health and weighed over one hundred and eighty pounds.

All along the way, through trial, waiting, and heavy burden, God had been always present. Perhaps at no time in her life was she more content. Dreams of many years had at last become a reality and plans at last carried out. She was in the land God had called her to serve, and all was well. The outlook with the boys’ school and the great things to be accomplished were even now in the offing. Her soul was lifted up in real joy and gratitude that the outlook after years of waiting and praying, then years of building and planning and laboring, had now brought forth, and as never before, she could forge ahead. What more could a God-called missionary ask?

After her first nine years of service, she had gone to America for a year furlough. As her return to India drew near, two young girls from the homeland had volunteered to go back with her to the mission field. Bird Barwick and Mona Moors were fine Christian girls, and it was with a lighter heart that Faith Stewart made the necessary preparation to return. She had looked forward to added assistance in the great field of labor. These girls were true and had labored with her in the four and a half years which had elapsed since her return to India.

So the work moved on. Beside the native ministers in Cuttack and Calcutta, some others had come and settled in other cities, among them a young man who was sent as a director over the missionaries.

The Bible speaks very plainly, saying, that if a man desire to be a leader in the kingdom of God and be over other men, he must not be a novice (1 Timothy 3:6). We are writing a biography of a child of God, and it is impossible to write the truth without mentioning this, the saddest and most tragic thing that ever happened in her life—an incident that affected her whole life and work. This worker moved to the new location in a city not far from the “Shelter.” He himself had no previous experience in the mission field, yet his work was to oversee the men and women there who, in the main, were seasoned laborers in the harvest field. These had borne the heat and labor of the day, and through experience understood the problems, the needs of the people, and the peculiar trends of those they served. The fact that he came knowing that he himself was inexperienced is not so much to be considered against him as the fact that others, who were older, and so considered much wiser, had sent him. They were the responsible ones.

One day he came calling with his wife at the Shelter. It was very hot, and Miss Stewart sent for a refreshing glass of lemonade for herself and the guests, and as she handed back the empty glass to the little dark-skinned girl who had served them, she made a kind speech and the child took the empty glasses and left the room.

“What did you say to that girl?” he asked as soon as they were alone.

“I said thank you for that refreshing drink,” she replied.

“What? You mean that you thank these people for even such a small service as that?”

“Yes. Do we not teach our children to thank others, and is there a better way than to do the same before them?”

“You’ll be spoiling them by such foolishness. It is better to keep them in their place.”

Having thus delivered himself, he soon afterward returned to his own city. But the woman whom he had rebuked, and who stood in that mission for all that was right and good, was troubled in her soul. Was this the kind of overseer that the Board had trusted to come to a mission field? If there was in the very beginning no love or compassion for the people of this land, how could he hope to be a true missionary, much less a qualified director over the work of others? And who was to blame? Someone or several had erred in their choice.

But putting these sorrowful thoughts behind her, she pressed on in her loved labor, ever looking forward to going farther and farther in her efforts. There are some things we will never know—that is, just what goes on in the hearts and minds of men, or just what powers are at work against the work of God.

In every great religious movement that ever organized and went forth to serve God, sooner or later there has come a letting down from the first high standards held, from the strict teaching of the doctrine, and the trumpet gives an uncertain sound. I say in every movement this is so, and we have only to look about and question the elders of these people to prove beyond a doubt the sad truth. The excuses are that the later leaders are more enlightened and broad-minded and that in the main, the pioneers of their faith were without question good men but very narrow. Also by taking a broader view, they say, many more may be won from the world.

But the scripture still says: “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) It still teaches modesty in dress, and we read, “In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; But (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works.”* (1 Timothy 2:9-10)

Then as the zeal and ardor of the first love leaves, there starts in that falling away. In our day, we speak of this condition as “old school” and “new school.” And this condition prevails in every group today. As for Faith Stewart, her consecration was too deep to be twisted or changed by the opinions of a few men who claimed to be leaders of any religious order or group. She was a stalwart product of the old school, hewing to the line, ready to live and serve God or die if need be. She went quietly on serving God, teaching, preaching, and holding the same standard that she had set up when she came to the field so long ago.

One day, feeling a great weariness and longing for a quiet place to rest, she laid down on a couch by an open window and fell asleep. One of the young girls who had accompanied her on her return to India was sitting on the veranda, resting also. Soon the sound of voices awakened her from a sound sleep, and as she was trying in those first few minutes to gather her thoughts she heard the young girl ask, “Why are you sending Sister Stewart home? Do you think she has lost out spiritually or doctrinally?”

“Oh, no. She is straight as a stick,” replied the voice of the new overseer from the nearby city. “We find no fault with her work here.”

“Then on what grounds do you plan to send her home?”

“I may as well tell you the truth. Wife and I have been sent out here to bring in a new system of work, and we know that she will never be able to conform to it. If the older missionary is removed, then we can, without hindrance, begin it soon.”

Shocked to a wide awake condition as she heard these words, Faith Stewart arose from the couch and went directly out on the veranda and, addressing the visitor there, she said, “Brother, I heard all that was said just now. It was not, however, intentional eavesdropping, for I was resting asleep on a couch just inside by that open window. What are these things that you know that I would not sanction?” But she did not receive the answer to this as she had hoped to do.

“What,” she asked again, “do the men who now constitute the Mission Board think of this procedure?”

Silently he pulled out a letter from an inside pocket and, not offering to let either of them see the contents, he began to read, “Regarding Miss Stewart’s case, the only sensible thing to do is to get her out of the field, and then go ahead.”

There were two outstanding things that seemed to stand in the way of her remaining in India. Through the years there, she absolutely trusted God for her health and depended on the promises of God at all times. Since this was not so with the overseer, it was a constant reproach to him, also the standard of living a holy life both in soul and body. The plain dress of the older saints was being abandoned, and the fact that she went on her way the same as years before also put him in an uncomfortable position before others.

Reader, do not criticize too freely, for the whole nominal Church of today has apostacised and fallen from her standards of a holy life. Men and women of consecration and true vision are being replaced throughout the whole church world by the younger and, sad to say, usually more worldly and inexperienced workers. And only God knows the awful damage done by those who would do the work of the Holy Spirit and seek to govern the Church.

The blow had at last fallen. Nothing in this whole world could have been a greater tragedy. The long years of waiting and praying for the opportunity to launch out, the glad years of sacrifice and labor, of joy unspeakable and full of glory. The years passed before her—the newest effort crowned with success, with a boys’ home leased and fifty boys at last being reared for God, and with one hundred and forty girls in the Shelter, and a congregation of saved souls raised up besides, everything going along—and now, with one fell stroke, all, all, must be given up.

There are, and ever will be, men and women who will stand out against an injustice such as this and defend themselves and seek justice. It did not occur to her to question or doubt. In a dazed and sad condition, she began to prepare for leaving the scene of her labors when at the very peak of attainment. How could she leave these girls? Each one had her own sad story of rescue. To these girls, she was mother. Their mothers were either dead, or had sold them to the priests, or had given them as a free gift to the idols, or sold them to the houses of sin. This kind woman had come in the nick of time and saved them, and they leaned upon her love and protection.

In short, she was “Mama,” and all that that name implies. It seemed sometimes that her heart was turning to stone in her awful grief at having to depart. Oh, the heartache and deep sorrow that an ambition can bring into the fold when that ambition is to rule over God’s heritage. Who can ever know the almost silent sorrow that filled the hearts of these little lambs? But in the great and awful day of the Lord, there will be a reckoning. “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”* (Romans 12:19)

The young girl who sat on the veranda that day was also asked to return home. She had taken a firm stand also on Bible-standard Christianity. It was noised abroad that Faith Stewart was leaving India, and many friends came to tell her of their sorrow at her departure. Poor little children. It seemed that they could not realize the awful loss and were dazed and confused.

And all this time, a silent heart cry was winging its way heavenward, “O Father in Heaven above, must I leave all that is dear and go forth again? Did I not plainly see, and didst Thou not plainly write it in the skies? And are they not here, dear little faces and outreaching hands? And, oh, who will there be to risk their lives and save these little ones from a life of sorrow and suffering?”

Heavier and heavier grew her heart as she made those last preparations for the saddest journey any missionary ever took. “O God, what great patience Thou hast with the sons of men. Thou that lookest down from heaven and knowest the very secrets of the heart; Soften the blow and temper the winds that blow upon Thy chosen.”

The sad day of departure came at last and the children, beginning to understand that this meant a separation and no return, threw themselves down at her feet, weeping in the utter abandonment of grief, and each trying to get closer to her to touch her for the last time.

Little, dark, upturned faces, little outreaching arms, still in beloved India. Close now, as close as they could press against her, but this time reaching out in vain because someone or several persons in the great land beyond the seas had failed to let God lead, and in their blindness took hold of the ark of God to right it for themselves, no longer submitting to the Holy Spirit’s leading, but feeling sufficient in their own wisdom to set in order the church of God.

Oh, the reckonings that will come at the day of Judgment! For as God condemned in the former days all who put their hands carelessly on His holy ark of the temple, how much more will He deal with those who take the holy plans that He has for His Church and His chosen and change them to conform to a modern and man-made system?

When the last tearful farewell had been said and the last needful thing done, she looked out once more over the spacious grounds, the scene of the years of her labor for God, feeling that this would be the last time that she would ever behold them, and then departed for Calcutta to take the ship bound for America.

The English gentleman whose wife had been healed came to see her off, and as they bade her goodbye, he said, “This is one of the most cruel things I have ever known.” And he and his good wife stood weeping until the train pulled out of sight.

They sat down in the seat together, Faith Stewart and the young girl who was to accompany her back to the homeland, and quietly and sadly, they started their long journey homeward. A few minutes later, the young woman, feeling a strange quietness, turned to look at her and found that Faith Stewart, who had gone through so bravely for the few days of preparation, in this last moment of her grief, had quietly fainted at last under the load.

Reader, let us draw a curtain gently over the past, the curtain that has been open for fifteen years, and even as she had closed her eyes in blessed unconsciousness of her grief, so let us draw the curtain and shut out the vision. India, the land of the call, must be from now on a part of the past in the life of E. Faith Stewart. She told me that she had prayed and plead with God to let her forget, lest she, with her broken heart, could not bear the load.

So closed the first fifteen years of the life service of a strong warrior of the cross.