Chapter 15
AFTER FORTY YEARS
It was forty years after the day on Brighton Beach when he finally decided to found the China Inland Mission, and Hudson was sitting in a mission station in South of the Lake. It was the last of the eleven provinces that had opened to his missionaries. Four Streams, North of the Lake, South of the River, West of the Mountains, South of the Clouds—one by one mission stations had been occupied in all of those inland provinces, but still the hostile officials of thickly populated South of the Lake refused to allow Westerners with their religion of Jesus to settle there. For over thirty years Hudson had prayed for the door to open, and now at last even in South of the Lake the China Inland Mission had its workers.
Hudson looked out of the window across the roofs of the city to the distant horizon. It was his very last day on earth, although no one knew it yet. He did not know it himself. He was thinking more of the past than the future as he turned to talk to his companion.
“It is a wonderful privilege we have, to be able to bring everything to God in prayer, isn’t it?” he said with a smile. This was one of the things that impressed him most. God had done so many of the things he had asked Him to do. Answering his prayer for twenty-four workers had only been one of them. Hudson had gone on praying for more missionaries, and God had gone on sending them. Twenty years ago he had prayed for seventy more, and God had sent them. Then, a few years later, he had prayed for another hundred, and God had sent them, too. Now there were more than eight hundred memberss in the Mission, scattered over the whole vast interior of China, in which not one province remained where Jesus was not preached. Many were those obstacles that had been encountered, yet sooner or later they had been overcome. Even now there were difficulties—there always would be—but Hudson knew that as he prayed, God would solve them all.
“A wonderful priviledge—to be able to bring everything to God in prayer...”
“Yes...” The younger man looked across at the old missionary, and said slowly:
“You know, I sometimes feel I can’t bring everything to Him. The big ones—yes. But many things seem too small to pray to God about. The feeling that they are too small really hinders me from praying...”
Hudson, white-haired and stocky, seemed almost surprised. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said. Too small to pray about? Some of the very small things in his life led to very big things. Giving away the least amount of money he had over fifty years ago, had started him on the path of faith and obedience; the prick of a pin was so small that he scarcely noticed it, yet it had almost cost him his life; a pigtail was really a very small thing—yet how large it had loomed when he was the first and only missionary to wear one! One of the shortest prayers of his life had been when he prayed on the Brighton Beach for twenty-four skilled, willing workers, but had not that prayer started the Mission for Inland China? Who could say what was big and what was not?
“There is noting small, and there is nothing great,” he said, after a slight pause. “Only God is great.’” And then, as though summing up all the experience of the years, he added simply, “We should trust Him fully.”
He went to bed very soon after that, for he was tired. It had been a happy day. In the morning he had gone to the chapel to speak to the Chinese Christians—men and women of South of the Lake, who had found “the Way.” In the afternoon he had had tea on the little lawn in the garden, and met all the other missionaries in the city, who had come to visit him. He had enjoyed it all very much, but now he was tired, and thought he would not go downstairs for supper.
“We’ll bring it to you in bed,” he was told, and he went into his room. Twilight fell over the city. The outlines of the distant mountains faded into the darkness, and in the sky overhead the stars appeared. It was very quiet. After a time light footsteps were heard on the stairs, as the supper tray was carried up. The door of Hudson’s room opened, silence again, followed by quickly running footsteps and a cry from the top of the stairs.
“Doctor! Doctor!” He came immediately. But as soon as the looked at the happy, peaceful face on the pillow, he knew he was not needed.
* * *
“Venerable Pastor, Venerable Pastor,” whispered the young evangelist, bending over the quiet form on the bed, holding one of the old hands in his two warm ones. He had come in from an outstation that very day, in order to see the famous old missionary of whom he had heard so much. And now he must speak to him, even though his words would not be heard.
“Venerable Pastor, we truly love you. We have come today to see you. We longed to look into your face. We too are your little children—Venerable Pastor, Venerable Pastor. You opened for us the road, the road to Heaven. You loved us and prayed for us long years. We came today to look upon your face.
“You look so happy, so peaceful! You are smiling. Your face is quiet and pleased. You cannot speak to us tonight. We do not want to bring you back; but we will follow you. We shall come to you, Venerable Pastor. You will welcome us by and by...”
But Hudson had been welcomed. As one of the Chinese women said as she looked at him, her eyes full of tears, but a smile on her face, “Ten thousand times ten thousands of angels have received him!” And above their welcome rang one Voice he had learned to listen for on earth, and which he loved beyond all others—the Voice he had heard, long ago, saying “Go for Me to China.” But this time the Voice said, “Well done! Good, faithful servant! Enter into the joy of thy Lord!”
And Hudson entered.
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