This beautiful story was written by a doctor who worked in
South Africa. One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward;
but in spite of all we could do, she died, leaving us with a tiny, premature baby
and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby
alive; as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator).
We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived
on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student
midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the
baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot
water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the
bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates).
'And it is our last hot water bottle!' she exclaimed. As in
the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might
be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on
trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.
'All right,' I said, 'put the baby as near the fire as you
safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts
Your job is to keep the baby warm.'
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have
prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave
the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about
the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough,
mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby could so easily die if it
got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her
mother had died.
During prayer time, one ten -year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with
the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. 'Please, God' she prayed, 'Send
us a hot water bottle today. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will
be dead, so please send it this afternoon.'
While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she
added, 'And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the
little girl so she'll know You really love her?'
As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot.
Could I honestly say 'Amen?' I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh,
yes, I know that He can do everything; the Bible says so. But there are limits,
aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by
sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four
years at that time, and I had never, ever, received a parcel from home.
Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a
hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the
nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door.
By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there on the verandah was a
large 22-pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the
parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the
string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper; taking care not to
tear it unduly Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were
focused on the large cardboard box.
From the top, I lifted out brightly-colored, knitted jerseys.
Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the
leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of
mixed raisins and sultanas - that would make a batch of buns for the weekend.
Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it
really be? I grasped it and pulled it out. Yes, a brand new, rubber hot water bottle.
I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He
could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out,
'If God has sent the bottle, and He must have sent the dolly, too!' Rummaging
down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully-dressed
dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, 'Can
I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that
Jesus really loves her?' 'Of course,' I replied!
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months, packed
up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting
to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put
in a dolly for an African child – five months before, in answer to the
believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it 'that afternoon.'
'Before they call, I will answer.' (Isaiah 65:24)
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