A personal testimony
Trot ! Trot ! Trot ! Crinch creech, crinch, creek, stop. “Kala dharumanga andavare, yamma dhana punnianga andavare...” The chant of the beggars’ song wafted through the early morning air. I peeped through the window and saw five lepers trekking along the road and halting in front of our gate. “I must send them away before they place their ulcerous hands on the gate”—was my immediate thought. I quickly fished out some coins and threw them into their tin. —Trot, trot, trot... again the song—“Kala dharumanga andavare...” They moved out to the next house, push-cart and all. Slowly the sound of the song moved over to the next street and gradually died away.
“Poor fellows!” I thought. “I must give them something more. What can the few coins get them?” It was next Saturday and the same song again. This time I gave them a rupee note and their faces lit up and their screwed-up lips softened into a thin smile. I didn’t have the courage to smile back at them. I pretended as if I didn’t notice their smile and turned away. Third Saturday, when I emerged out of the house they all in unison folded their hands in the Indian style of greeting. Am I supposed to greet back lepers? I wasn’t so sure. But as days passed my heart softened towards those unfortunate ones. I learned to smile at them and greet them.
One day it struck me that these people too have souls—and I am not feeding their souls. I am feeding their bodies and sending them to hell ! So I started sharing the love of God with them. Neighbours’ glances and passers-by bothered me. Sometimes they would stop to see what was happening. After a few weeks I didn’t know what to tell them. So I resorted to the Children’s Bible. Starting from creation I went chapter by chapter. Now they listened with more interest and crowded closer to see the pictures, and there was expression in their faces. Sometimes I played the tape-recorder for them. But they were not ‘saved’ as I expected. They fought among themselves, lied to me and murmured.
Time rolled by. I discovered that one of them could read and gave him a gospel portion. I didn’t think much of it until one day one of our Deborah Team members (An outreach team of laywomen who use their spare time for God) informed me she saw a group of poor under a tree. One was reading a gospel and the others were attentively listening. It revived me. God is not unjust to forget our work and labour of love which we have shown toward His name (Heb 6:10). I gave them a full Bible.
I increased the alms I was giving them but I was still not satisfied. I remembered what Jesus said, “When you give a dinner or a supper, do not invite your friends, your brothers, relatives, nor your rich neighbours, lest they also invite you back, and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you; for you shall be repaid at the resurrection of the just” (Lk 14:12-14). This kept playing in my mind like a scratched LP disc and I invited them for my birthday lunch. An unexplainable joy filled my soul as they ate the chicken and rice, with sparkling eyes, sitting in our garden.
How can I help these poor ones ? I should generate some funds exclusively for them. The one tenth we set apart for the poor from our income vanished in no time. That day as my fingers fiddled over the keyboard of the piano my mind was running through the Bible, “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal” (Mt 6:19,20). That’s it. It was God’s voice for me. How often I had to clean and dust and flit my piano to keep the moth off the felt ! And I hardly had time for the piano. But it was no easy joke to give away my piano. It was like a member of our household. So I threw the fleece. I wanted confirmation if I had to sell it.
Shortly we heard Brother Bakhtsingh was preaching in Vellore and we went to hear him. I passed on my Bible that he might autograph it. He wrote some unfamiliar references below his few shaky lines. When I opened the Bible to read them... oh... can this be true? Gal 2:10... “Remember the poor !” There was another snag. What will my husband say ? But he gave a willing nod. It was as if God was nodding His head too when the Principal of nearby school (just a hundred metres away) offered to buy it for the school. So out went my piano and in came Rs. 10,000/-. We invested it in a Finance Corporation and the monthly interest of Rs. 125/- goes to the poor. The capital is earmarked for them. Nothing brings in nothing. But I believe in investing for souls. Recently as my husband suggested we designated all the coconuts from our five trees for the poor.
I learned some shocking truths. The man on the push-cart had been paying someone Rs. 1.50 everyday as rent for the push-cart. So we paid Rs. 250/- and bought him the cart. To get their two paise coins (which people liberally gave (!) but shop-keepers refused to accept) changed to currency they were sending the bag of coins to Chennai. Who was the good Samaritan who did that job for them? I wanted to know. But it was a broker who collected a good commission in bargain!
Once while on outreach with my friend we unknowingly passed by their abode—a banyan tree. Two figures darted from out of the shade and took us by surprise. “Here, amma has atlast come to our home. We’ll be back in no time.” They rushed and bought us two drinks. My friend looked at me and then at their distorted fingers clutching the soda bottles. I gestured to her to take it. But she politely refused. My hand stretched out as if by instinct. I couldn’t refuse their love. I drank it to their cheer!
The harvest was past, the summer was ended but they were not saved. I learned their names and prayed for them. Sometimes hopes surged to dizzy heights and then plummeted. Sometimes I sent the alms through someone and at other times I excused myself with a good excuse that it was breakfast time and I needed to take care of my family. Was it worth it to leave my more important works and spend time like that? My devotions were disturbed. But the story-telling and sing-song continued. Visiting professors lectured to them (of course they are no others than my relatives and friends who happened to be in our house on Saturday mornings). Four summers passed.
I had almost given up hope when suddenly this year (1987) there was a noticeable change in them. They had confessed their sins. There was a change in their conduct and behaviour. They wanted to be baptised! Oh joy! Now they were seven. I waited for a few weeks to confirm. I discouraged them saying they wouldn’t get any extra benefit after baptism. Yes. They were firm in their desire. I approached the local pastor, and the day was fixed for their baptism.
It was a sultry sunny afternoon. Anxiously I quickened my pace to the Church. Supposing they did not turn up? What a shame for me! Oh, no. There they were, having arrived before me and waiting under a tree—all seven of them. Praise God! As they were helped into the baptismal tank it suddenly struck me that I had not told them what the pastor would ask and what they should reply. How foolish I had been! Will these illiterate ones understand and answer properly? Supposing they fumble? My heart was beating wildly as the pastor asked his usual questions. The answers were most unusual, simple, child-like. “Of course, I know my sins are washed away. Have I not confessed them?” “How can I come for baptism without believing that Jesus will come again to take me?” I was thrilled to the core. The thrill of soulwinning. These “brothers!”
Raman was now regularly missing. What happened to him? I sent word and Raman came. He was ashamed to beg, having come to know Christ. He looked so different, wearing a full-sleeves shirt, a wrist watch, turban and a towel over his hands. He was hiring a rickshaw and riding passengers in the night. Daily he had to pay Rs. 5/- to the owner of the rickshaw. He was trying for a bank loan but the bank refused to trust him. So we purchased a rickshaw for him through our Mission, and now he is earning his bread.
Now I have given them a first standard book and the one literate person teaches the rest, so they all can read the Bible themselves. They have taken a few tracts and gospels to be given away to others! One of their friends is reading a gospel portion now.
The latest is, I am planning a Bible Study for them. Not that I’m going to hire a class-room. But they would study one chapter from the Bible every week starting with the first chapter of Matthew. I would ask them questions and reward them with a sweet for every correct answer. Pray for these brothers.
Do you hear a voice? A drowning voice? Hush, listen... yes it is there... echoing as if from the deep of a well—
“No man cared for my soul !” (Psa 142:4).
It is the cry, not of the ‘lost’ but the lamentation of those who pass under your very nose everyday without hearing the gospel !
Dr. Lilian Stanley
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91 9843511943
lilianstanley@gmail.com
Blessing Youth Mission
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91-416-2242943, +91-416-2248943
hq@bymonline.org
www.bymonline.org
Click here for more options
To buy books written by Dr. Lilian Stanley, kindly reach to us in the follwing address
Blessing Literature Centre
21/11 West Coovam River Road,
Chintadripet,
Chennai 600 002, India.
+91-44-28450411, 8806270699
blc@bymonline.org
A personal testimony
Trot ! Trot ! Trot ! Crinch creech, crinch, creek, stop. “Kala dharumanga andavare, yamma dhana punnianga andavare...” The chant of the beggars’ song wafted through the early morning air. I peeped through the window and saw five lepers trekking along the road and halting in front of our gate. “I must send them away before they place their ulcerous hands on the gate”—was my immediate thought. I quickly fished out some coins and threw them into their tin. —Trot, trot, trot... again the song—“Kala dharumanga andavare...” They moved out to the next house, push-cart and all. Slowly the sound of the song moved over to the next street and gradually died away.
“Poor fellows!” I thought. “I must give them something more. What can the few coins get them?” It was next Saturday and the same song again. This time I gave them a rupee note and their faces lit up and their screwed-up lips softened into a thin smile. I didn’t have the courage to smile back at them. I pretended as if I didn’t notice their smile and turned away. Third Saturday, when I emerged out of the house they all in unison folded their hands in the Indian style of greeting. Am I supposed to greet back lepers? I wasn’t so sure. But as days passed my heart softened towards those unfortunate ones. I learned to smile at them and greet them.
One day it struck me that these people too have souls—and I am not feeding their souls. I am feeding their bodies and sending them to hell ! So I started sharing the love of God with them. Neighbours’ glances and passers-by bothered me. Sometimes they would stop to see what was happening. After a few weeks I didn’t know what to tell them. So I resorted to the Children’s Bible. Starting from creation I went chapter by chapter. Now they listened with more interest and crowded closer to see the pictures, and there was expression in their faces. Sometimes I played the tape-recorder for them. But they were not ‘saved’ as I expected. They fought among themselves, lied to me and murmured.
Time rolled by. I discovered that one of them could read and gave him a gospel portion. I didn’t think much of it until one day one of our Deborah Team members (An outreach team of laywomen who use their spare time for God) informed me she saw a group of poor under a tree. One was reading a gospel and the others were attentively listening. It revived me. God is not unjust to forget our work and labour of love which we have shown toward His name (Heb 6:10). I gave them a full Bible.
I increased the alms I was giving them but I was still not satisfied. I remembered what Jesus said, “When you give a dinner or a supper, do not invite your friends, your brothers, relatives, nor your rich neighbours, lest they also invite you back, and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you; for you shall be repaid at the resurrection of the just” (Lk 14:12-14). This kept playing in my mind like a scratched LP disc and I invited them for my birthday lunch. An unexplainable joy filled my soul as they ate the chicken and rice, with sparkling eyes, sitting in our garden.
How can I help these poor ones ? I should generate some funds exclusively for them. The one tenth we set apart for the poor from our income vanished in no time. That day as my fingers fiddled over the keyboard of the piano my mind was running through the Bible, “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal” (Mt 6:19,20). That’s it. It was God’s voice for me. How often I had to clean and dust and flit my piano to keep the moth off the felt ! And I hardly had time for the piano. But it was no easy joke to give away my piano. It was like a member of our household. So I threw the fleece. I wanted confirmation if I had to sell it.
Shortly we heard Brother Bakhtsingh was preaching in Vellore and we went to hear him. I passed on my Bible that he might autograph it. He wrote some unfamiliar references below his few shaky lines. When I opened the Bible to read them... oh... can this be true? Gal 2:10... “Remember the poor !” There was another snag. What will my husband say ? But he gave a willing nod. It was as if God was nodding His head too when the Principal of nearby school (just a hundred metres away) offered to buy it for the school. So out went my piano and in came Rs. 10,000/-. We invested it in a Finance Corporation and the monthly interest of Rs. 125/- goes to the poor. The capital is earmarked for them. Nothing brings in nothing. But I believe in investing for souls. Recently as my husband suggested we designated all the coconuts from our five trees for the poor.
I learned some shocking truths. The man on the push-cart had been paying someone Rs. 1.50 everyday as rent for the push-cart. So we paid Rs. 250/- and bought him the cart. To get their two paise coins (which people liberally gave (!) but shop-keepers refused to accept) changed to currency they were sending the bag of coins to Chennai. Who was the good Samaritan who did that job for them? I wanted to know. But it was a broker who collected a good commission in bargain!
Once while on outreach with my friend we unknowingly passed by their abode—a banyan tree. Two figures darted from out of the shade and took us by surprise. “Here, amma has atlast come to our home. We’ll be back in no time.” They rushed and bought us two drinks. My friend looked at me and then at their distorted fingers clutching the soda bottles. I gestured to her to take it. But she politely refused. My hand stretched out as if by instinct. I couldn’t refuse their love. I drank it to their cheer!
The harvest was past, the summer was ended but they were not saved. I learned their names and prayed for them. Sometimes hopes surged to dizzy heights and then plummeted. Sometimes I sent the alms through someone and at other times I excused myself with a good excuse that it was breakfast time and I needed to take care of my family. Was it worth it to leave my more important works and spend time like that? My devotions were disturbed. But the story-telling and sing-song continued. Visiting professors lectured to them (of course they are no others than my relatives and friends who happened to be in our house on Saturday mornings). Four summers passed.
I had almost given up hope when suddenly this year (1987) there was a noticeable change in them. They had confessed their sins. There was a change in their conduct and behaviour. They wanted to be baptised! Oh joy! Now they were seven. I waited for a few weeks to confirm. I discouraged them saying they wouldn’t get any extra benefit after baptism. Yes. They were firm in their desire. I approached the local pastor, and the day was fixed for their baptism.
It was a sultry sunny afternoon. Anxiously I quickened my pace to the Church. Supposing they did not turn up? What a shame for me! Oh, no. There they were, having arrived before me and waiting under a tree—all seven of them. Praise God! As they were helped into the baptismal tank it suddenly struck me that I had not told them what the pastor would ask and what they should reply. How foolish I had been! Will these illiterate ones understand and answer properly? Supposing they fumble? My heart was beating wildly as the pastor asked his usual questions. The answers were most unusual, simple, child-like. “Of course, I know my sins are washed away. Have I not confessed them?” “How can I come for baptism without believing that Jesus will come again to take me?” I was thrilled to the core. The thrill of soulwinning. These “brothers!”
Raman was now regularly missing. What happened to him? I sent word and Raman came. He was ashamed to beg, having come to know Christ. He looked so different, wearing a full-sleeves shirt, a wrist watch, turban and a towel over his hands. He was hiring a rickshaw and riding passengers in the night. Daily he had to pay Rs. 5/- to the owner of the rickshaw. He was trying for a bank loan but the bank refused to trust him. So we purchased a rickshaw for him through our Mission, and now he is earning his bread.
Now I have given them a first standard book and the one literate person teaches the rest, so they all can read the Bible themselves. They have taken a few tracts and gospels to be given away to others! One of their friends is reading a gospel portion now.
The latest is, I am planning a Bible Study for them. Not that I’m going to hire a class-room. But they would study one chapter from the Bible every week starting with the first chapter of Matthew. I would ask them questions and reward them with a sweet for every correct answer. Pray for these brothers.
Do you hear a voice? A drowning voice? Hush, listen... yes it is there... echoing as if from the deep of a well—
“No man cared for my soul !” (Psa 142:4).
It is the cry, not of the ‘lost’ but the lamentation of those who pass under your very nose everyday without hearing the gospel !
Dr. Lilian Stanley
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91 9843511943
lilianstanley@gmail.com
Blessing Youth Mission
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91-416-2242943, +91-416-2248943
hq@bymonline.org
www.bymonline.org
Click here for more options
To buy books written by Dr. Lilian Stanley, kindly reach to us in the follwing address
Blessing Literature Centre
21/11 West Coovam River Road,
Chintadripet,
Chennai 600 002, India.
+91-44-28450411, Mob:8806270699
blc@bymonline.org
