Living Faith

Willing to be Stirred as a Pot of Paint

Helen Roseveare

• Publisher: Christian Focus Publication
• Year: 2007
• eBook ISBN: 9781845509538

1

STIR ME TO GIVE

Stir me, oh! stir me, Lord, I care not how

But stir my heart in passion for the world:

Stir me to give, to go, but most to pray:

Stir till the blood-red banner be unfurled

O’er lands that still in heathen darkness lie,

O’er deserts where no cross is lifted high.

Faith in receiving, and therefore in giving

“By faith Abel offered to God a better sacrifice than Cain ... God testifying about his gifts.

“By faith Enoch was taken up ... he obtained the witness ... he was pleasing to God.

“By faith Noah ... prepared an ark for the salvation of his household ... and became an heir of the righteousness which is according to faith” (Heb. 11:4-5, 7).

As I began to live the life of faith (that is, exercising the sixth sense of faith) I slowly began to see and understand that everything in life relates to God. This living faith which creates a vital relationship between the Creator and each of His creatures is a free gift of God, available to all and to any who will accept it. This living faith is the most tremendous fact of the Christian way of life. It is, in itself, independent of feelings (though our appreciation of it frequently involves an emotional response). It cannot be earned or merited. It must be accepted as a gift, and then practised as a way of life. I have had to learn continuously to “live by faith,” rather than by feelings.

This vital relationship to God has to be constantly asserted as a fact, resting on the historic events of Calvary and the empty tomb and independent of whether I happen to feel saved, or at peace, or in touch with God, or whether I happen to be discouraged, filled with doubts, or sensing personal unworthiness.

Thus, faith, as it takes over the direction of our wills, leads us into the “life of faith.” As we learn to live by faith, by exercising that sixth sense which enables us to live in a constant relationship with God, so our actions will become the fruit of faith, bearing witness to its reality. One evidence of the fruit will be the growing exchange of the spirit of the world that demands to “get” for the Spirit of God who desires to “give.” This spirit of giving is one of the most obvious fruits of faith. God’s love manifests itself in giving:

For God so loved the world, that He gave ... (John 3:16),

The Son of God, who loved me, and delivered Himself up for me (Gal. 2:20),

whereas the overriding spirit of the world is one of getting.

“What do I get out of this?” is the natural man’s immediate response to any new situation.

In the early days of our spiritual lives, there is often much to encourage and inspire our faith. This was certainly true for me personally – remarkable answers to prayer (too detailed and too numerous to be shrugged off as coincidences) and financial deliverances in times of need (sometimes accurate to the last penny and designated exactly, with no foreknowledge on the part of the donors). Initially we may think that our faith is increased by these miracles of God’s giving. We feel this is so. Actually our faith, which is God’s gift to us, cannot be increased; it is our realization of the fact of our relationship to God that grows.

Later, God may withhold some of the more startling, or more miraculous, manifestations of His giving, in order to establish us in the realization of our faith, independently of its fruit. At this time, our appreciation of the spirit of giving as the fruit of faith will gradually change from the childlike joy of receiving that which is given, to the adult joy of giving that which others may receive. Our faith, now firmly established, will be demonstrated in a spirit of self-giving that would have been inconceivable to us before the Spirit of God took over our lives.

This giving and receiving by faith may frequently manifest itself in what many call the miraculous. Though initially the believer in God too may see these events as miracles, yet slowly his understanding develops, and he comes to realize that these are the outcome to be expected of God’s gift of faith. These miracles do encourage and stimulate faith, but ultimately we have to realize that they are not themselves proof of faith. If they were, then their absence would indicate a lack of faith. This is not necessarily so. Faith can exist without such miracles, though it is true to say that these miracles can only exist in the presence of faith.

This is certainly going to be a lifelong learning process for most of us. What can be seen and touched and measured and described often appears so real, while that which cannot be seen with human eye or felt with human hands, that which defies measurement or description, easily appears unreal.

As I began to see myself as I presume God saw me, I could hardly believe that even a great and mighty God could ever change me and fashion me into the likeness of His Son. I felt I knew so little of this life of faith; like Thomas, I always wanted to touch and see and handle and measure. Besides which, there was so much in me that I came to hate, things that I was ashamed of, thoughts that I would have done anything to be without. My motives often seemed all mixed up; selfishness and an attitude of “What do I get out of it?” seemed to pervade so much of my thinking. Could God really remould me to be like the Lord Jesus? That became the desire of my life; and God declares that all things that He brings into our lives are with the express purpose of doing just that! Could it be true?

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, who are called according to His purpose. For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son ... (Rom. 8:28-29).

I also began to worry about what would happen if dark periods came, times of discouragement or even disillusionment. Would I be able to believe then? When I heard the testimonies of some missionaries and read of the experiences of Christians behind the Iron Curtain, I felt I could never be like them. Would I crack up under strains like theirs?

In the following years, there were times of darkness when I lost consciousness of the presence of God, when I felt I had no faith, and when I had no feeling of emotional enjoyment of the unseen and eternal. Doubts assailed, and the devil hinted that this life of faith was all a hoax.

There were times of bleak discouragement when nothing seemed to go right. Sometimes it was just the lack of material needs despite believing prayer, such as no roofing to complete the leprosarium dispensary before the wet season started, or the absence of an urgently needed antibiotic when the courier brought the monthly hospital order. Sometimes it was the apparent failure to make spiritual headway when students all seemed indifferent to the Bible teaching; when workmen were content with a shoddy standard inconsistent with our Christian testimony; or when in my heart I became irritable with God; grumbling at the long hours and heavy load of responsibility.

There were times of disillusionment. God had to break through the glamour surrounding the name missionary and make me “real.” He had to show me myself as I really was, not as I pretended to be. I had to learn to accept myself as He accepted me, and therefore to accept my colleagues as He accepted them, but in the process, there were some dark months. There came the time when enthusiasm waned, and I came to realize that enthusiasm alone, apart from faith, was insufficient to complete the job. There came the time when the very vision dimmed, and God had to show me that even the vision alone, apart from faith, was insufficient to keep me going. There came the time when the highest aspirations seemed illusory, when companions and colleagues all seemed willing to settle for something less than the highest of which we had dreamed, that we had glimpsed, and that had fired us to throw away all else for its realization. It was as though cold water was poured all over the “flame of sacred love on the mean altar of my heart.”

Could I go on believing? Would faith be extinguished? Could it be? Could it live, when all around seemed dying?

Will your anchor hold in the storms of life,

When the clouds unfold their wings of strife?

wrote Priscilla Owens.

* * *

The conversion of Olga, the communist hockey captain during my first year at Cambridge University, was one of the first real answers to prayer that established my assurance of faith. I tried to bargain with God that if Olga were converted, and came into a full assurance of faith (this seemed about the most impossible thing for which I could ask!) then I would cease to doubt and vacillate and question the fact of faith. Olga was converted – truly, soundly converted – and my faith was established. When I later heard Olga’s side of the story, how she had come to faith in God “because of your unshakeable assurance,” I felt a little sheepish when I realized the graciousness of God in “pandering” to my childish demands. How good of God to work on our behalf despite each other!

I was to speak at a women’s meeting one Sunday afternoon, a three-penny-ride away from Worldwide Evangelization Crusade (WEC) headquarters (about a three mile journey). I did not have three pence. Nor did I have the time available to walk. I kept my eyes on the gutter hopefully as I went to the nearest bus stop but no “stray” three penny pieces that day! The bus came, almost empty. I climbed the stairs to the upper deck and made my way to the very front seat. I felt bad about getting on without my fare but simply did not know what else to do. What would I say when the conductor eventually reached me and asked for the three pence? He would turn me off, and I would still have quite a long way to walk ... but less than the whole three miles, I reasoned, trying to calm my conscience that was clearly telling me that this was hardly an honourable way for a Christian to behave.

At the next bus stop, a crowd boarded the double-decker, and a lady sat down beside me. Eventually the conductor reached us. This lady passed him six pence, and asked for two three penny tickets, one of which she passed to me. Amazed, I just stared at it, then at her. I blurted out a thank you and then asked her why she had bought my ticket. Did she know me?

“No,” she said, surprised. “I suppose I don’t. I honestly don’t know why I did it. I just know God told me to.”

I looked at her closely, puzzled and a little awestruck. Suddenly she looked at me and added, “Are you by any chance our speaker for this afternoon’s meeting?” and she mentioned the hall to which she was going.

In a very small voice I humbly acknowledged that I was. “That must he why God prompted me to buy your ticket!” she concluded with a lovely smile.

Yes, God was concerned about even the smallest details though He did not need me to sink to methods of deception and fraud to help Him achieve His purpose!

Other lessons had to be learned at the same time. I was travelling daily twelve miles to a hospital in West London from Crystal Palace, as a fifth-year medical student. There was a spell when I could not pay the needed train fare, and so was forced to cycle there and back daily. Then one day the front tyre burst, and I did not have money available to buy a new one. I tried patching it, but after two hopelessly frustrating days of effort I gave up and walked to the hospital. For three days, I set off at six o’clock to be on time for the nine o’clock ward rounds. After the last lecture, at six in the evening I walked home to supper at nine. On Saturday morning, in my pigeon hole in the letter rack, there was an envelope with my name typed on the outside and a five shilling book of stamps inside.

Thrilled, l went to the office and exchanged the book for five one-shilling pieces. Hurrying to the local shops, I bought a new tyre for my bicycle and with the change, a new inner tube. I used up all of the precious five-shilling gift. The afternoon soon saw the tube and tyre fitted and the bicycle ready to take me to the hospital on Monday morning.

Sunday was our monthly day of prayer at mission headquarters, and I joined with staff and candidates for the morning worship service. A thank offering was accepted as part of our worship, but I passed the plate by, having nothing to put in. At lunchtime, our British home director drew my attention to this and asked why I had not given a thank offering. He eyed me quizzically.

Colouring, I muttered that I had nothing to give, vaguely ashamed, with a sense of failure. Everyone else had enough faith to receive from God provision of their needs plus that which could be given away to others.

“But you did have something to give,” he replied.

Annoyed and embarrassed, I denied this.

“But, Helen,” he persisted, “you received five shillings yesterday in the office. Why did you not give the Lord His share? At least six pence belonged to Him by right” (five shillings equalled sixty pence, the tithe of which would have been six pence).

“But,” I exploded, “I used the whole five shillings to repair my bicycle for work!” Again, there was a vague sense of shame or guilt or failure, I wasn’t quite sure which; I felt his eyes boring into me, as though he could read my thoughts. I could have done without the inner tube probably, an honest voice inside was reasoning.

“Helen,” Mr Grubb spoke quietly and kindly, “if you had given God His share first, He would have seen that you had all you needed.”

I could hardly believe him or accept what seemed a harsh “rule of life,” and yet that was probably the beginning for me of learning the blessing of putting God first in everything. Cash tithing became a lifetime habit, partly in obedience to scriptural teaching, partly as a private agreement of love between myself and God.

* * *

My acceptance into the family of WEC was another milestone of faith for me. I knew, without any doubt or hesitation, that the staff were a spiritual group of men and women in close touch with God. If I was unfit to be a member of their family, if they sensed that I was not truly called to be a missionary, if they could not believe to see God change me into the image of His Son, I knew they would tell me. I knew that I was not worthy; I had no illusions there. They accepted me – not without a battle, maybe, but nevertheless they did accept me! – and my faith was further established that I was in the will of God for my life. Being accepted into the family was far more convincing to me as part of the life of faith, than any mere receiving of finance for specific needs without having made the latter known.

This latter aspect of the life of faith became for me, as it were, the tangible, external sign of invisible, inward grace. There were always financial needs, as for example, the weekly contribution for board and lodging, and it was always with a sense of exhilaration that one saw these weekly needs met. Sometimes an anonymous gift would arrive in the letter rack, or an envelope might be pressed into one’s hand at the end of a meeting. Sometimes one knew the donor, other times not. Sometimes the needed gift came to one directly, at other times someone else might say that he had received double his needs and that God had prompted him to give to meet my needs also. Whatever the means used, God supplied.

When the time came for me to go to Belgium for eight months for language and medical studies, again God showed Himself faithful in providing the fare, the fees, and the weekly sum for board and lodging. It did not come all at once, but it came. I learned to trust Him, and, knowing that He would not fail, I did not need to panic if deliverance were delayed until the day it was needed! It was never late and did not have to be early.

The following year, even greater sums were needed for buying personal and medical equipment and the fare out to the Belgian Congo (Zaire of today). There was basic peace of heart, knowing that God would supply all that was necessary as He had promised:

My God shall supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus (Phil. 4:19).

Faith was not really greatly stretched. Certain problems came to the forefront at that time, in understanding the principle of faith involved in obtaining financial deliverance. Was it right to help by dropping a hint of the need or by selling some unnecessary article? Was it right to expect from certain sources or to go to a meeting hopefully to give testimony, knowing that that church had given two hundred pounds a little while previously to another candidate? Was it right to “pray” about the needs every day till the provision was realized, knowing that God already knew and had heard the prayer the first time?

I did sell my medical textbooks, realizing about ten pounds – and then regretted it throughout the next twelve years of isolated practice when I could have done with every possible reference aid. I tried to sell my violin, but I was only offered five pounds for it, and I knew it was worth a great deal more; throughout the next twelve years I never regretted having it with me in Congo, for the joy it gave me and for the help it was in leading church worship. The people whom the Lord used to provide the means were all wide awake to the needs and sensitive to His prompting; they did not need me to tell them! In fact, the giving was sometimes so accurate to the specific need that one was tempted to wonder who had told them.

I went to one meeting, our mission’s annual rally in an area of the United Kingdom where there was a reputation for extremely generous giving every year. Certainly in the back of my mind I felt this could well supply most of the money needed for my fare out to Africa. I received nothing. It was a salutary lesson to me. There was a very generous offering that was all sent to WEC headquarters for use in the leprosy and medical section of our work overseas, but God saw fit not to channel any to me that I might keep my eyes on Him and not on particular possible donors.

I remember the following week, going to another part of the country and there being asked to speak at a small, humble gathering. I was taken out to tea afterwards, and as the result of a quiet conversation, a gracious lady, recently widowed, gave me all of her doctor husband’s instruments. It was a tremendous gift. I was humbled and somewhat overwhelmed by the loving trust she placed in me to use it all to the glory of God. Our small hospital at Nebobongo used that doctor’s surgical instruments and medical equipment for the next twelve years.

God reminded me to keep my eyes on Him; He knew the sources He wanted to tap for all the needed supplies. I had no need for anxiety.

From the earliest days, for myself, I did not feel free to pray repeatedly for specific needs. Thus, when once the travel agents had told me what my fare would be, I laid the matter before the Lord and then practically forgot about it. Over many years, He has not allowed me to worry about the financial aspects of things. There have been other things that I have worried about, but somehow it was never hard to trust Him to supply all that was needed, in His own perfect time, where money was concerned. When big projects were involved, I used to ask Him to send me ten per cent of the needed total as a token of His good pleasure. Then I would step out in faith, believing that He would provide the remaining ninety per cent as it became needed. If the ten per cent did not materialize, I would question whether it was His will to move forward in the proposed action. When we started the reconstruction after the rebellion in 1966, at Nyankunde, our builder gave me an estimate of $15,000 for the classroom-library complex for the nurses’ training school. Within three months, quite unexpectedly, we received $1,500 from an American government fund to aid self-help development programmes, which confirmed and underlined my confidence that the project was His, and that I could trust Him to complete it. He did. It took two and a half years, from the initial submission of drawings to the opening of the new buildings, but we never once fell behind in payments for labour or goods. To God be all the glory!

* * *

Sometimes the way He provided was almost shattering in its exactitude, and I marvelled at those who had been so in touch with God that they had given exactly what He wanted given, at the very moment that He wanted it given – not that one should marvel at the perfect stirring of the Holy Spirit in the minds of believers. Presumably one should expect this as the normal, rather than see it as the exceptional. One day at the end of my first year in Congo, exhausted by the noise and heat in the busy polyclinic, I had slipped over to my home for a mid-morning break. I just felt that if I could have ten minutes’ quiet to think straight, I could face the rest of the day better. On the veranda of my home stood an African man with his little wife, carrying a baby, and a two-year-old toddler clutching his hand. I did not want to see anyone just then and had to stifle back a rising feeling of annoyance. We went through the usual courtesies, and then he went on just standing. I was forced to ask him what he wanted.

“Work,” he replied immediately.

With a relieved sigh, I explained that I did not employ people; I pointed to a house on the far side of the village where another missionary lived, who might be able to help him.

“No,” he said, somewhat stubbornly. “I was sent to you to get work.”

Puzzled, I asked what sort of work he wanted.

“I’m a cook,” he replied quickly, adding, “I’ve been cooking for missionaries for eighteen years.” (Fortunately he did not say that he had been cooking missionaries for eighteen years!)

“Why have you left your last employer, then?” I asked cautiously. If he had a reputation for burning the cakes, I was not keen to employ him!

Silently, looking straight at me, he rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt, and there at the top of his arm was the mark of leprosy.

Oh, no, Lord! I ejaculated in my heart. It was not that I was afraid of leprosy. I honestly was not. But this would mean another clinic squeezed in every week into my already over-full timetable. We would have to have a separate building, separate equipment, and medicines. In those days, public opinion was such that I could not treat leprosy patients in the general outpatient department. God should have known that I was already working nearly eighteen hours a day, utterly stretched. It was really unfair of Him to expect any more of me ... and similar thought...

Table of contents

• Testimonial
• Title
• Indicia
• Contents
• Dedication
• Preface
• Prologue
• 1. Stir Me to Give
• 2. Stir Me to Go
• 3. Stir Me To Pray
• Epilogue
• About the Author
• More Books from Christian Focus
• Christian Focus