The family is gone now, four members in heaven. The first to go was the baby, born in Africa to this missionary couple. The beautiful infant son died for the lack of modern medical aid. (I’ve seen his photograph.) We roll forward for decades. The next to go was the daughter, adult and married. Cancer took her ten days or so before her father died. I had his funeral service, and made all final arrangements including a headstone installation. Some years later the wife and mother passed away, at about ninety years of age, at the retirement home where I had taken her and her husband 18 years earlier. This ended a bitter-sweet earth life of a Christian family. I knew them well, and became the most trusted person to the couple between 1970 and 1990.
We got to know one another well after they came to see me. They had placed a temporary investment with the college I served. The value had declined a bit in the corpus of the annuity. She was most concerned, but was comforted with my explanation and assurances. We became friends, and, together with my wife, we related interests. The couple had served years in Africa as missionaries, and had made quite an excellent reputation as effective colleagues. She was the daughter of missionaries to South America. He was British, feisty and great company. He became widely known for his effectiveness in working with African youth, reaching tens of thousands of scout age boys and girls for both personal and spiritual development. She was outstanding in various talents, especially in language felicity. They went through harrowing experiences, as when threatened with death by thirst in the desert, he packed the flat tires of his Model T Ford with newspaper and was able to get to a water hole. She was given a hysterectomy on a kitchen table in her African home, without anesthesia. This, and a great deal more, was taken with strong faith and selfless acceptance to effective ministry.
On news of their daughter’s interest in an ethnic fellow in America, the mother set sail for California. Her husband followed later. The daughter’s choices were not accepted by mother. Mother’s public persona declined. Bitterness entered. The couple never returned to Africa. He became a prison chaplain in California. With her skills, she was easily employed. They continued to live as frugal missionaries, accumulating some wealth. Everything was measured by its cost. Little pleased her. Few felt at ease with her for long. She disinherited her daughter. She questioned others’ motives, and felt everyone should do things her way. She criticized, and made it difficult for those who served her. She felt life had become harder than under the rigors of primitive African life, and told me so. The comforts of American life were not to be enjoyed.
She reminded me of the Psalmist, in his imprecatory Psalms, feeling so down that he would appreciate fierce destruction of his enemies. We, like David on occasion, bifurcate ourselves. Disappointments can trip us downward – or upward. As the sun melts one element, and bakes another, so the Son of God permits choice in his children to experience melting or hardening. My prayer is to be melted, and then formed to his preferred image. Toward the end, my friend mellowed a bit, but life was over. With some melancholy, I remember her and sense her faith even in her disappointments. She may have felt a failure in her daughter’s choices, so lost the ability to leave matters to prayer, and she lost the ability to be ministered unto. Having ministered well, she missed some transitions related to personal and professional life. *Mark W. Lee, Sr. — 2016, 2020