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ONE
The Big Question
The jingling telephone downstairs disturbed the
nighttime quietness in our little home in Lindsborg, Kansas. It was nearly
ten o’clock, the last day of February, 1941.
Throwing aside the heavy
quilt and grabbing her old chenille robe, Mother headed toward the stairs.
Who would be calling so late at night? With Dad on the other side of the
globe, it was easy to imagine news of an accident or a serious illness.
‘Heavenly Father, please don’t let it be bad news about my
sweetheart,’ Mother prayed as she hurried down the steps.
Reaching for the phone on
the kitchen wall, Mother answered cautiously, “Hello. Hello. Yes, this
is Lillian Danielson speaking...”
Laurence, the oldest of
us six children, had heard the phone, too. He stumbled sleepily into the
hall and plunked himself down on the top step, straining to hear what
Mother was saying. ‘After all, it’s my job to look after Mama,’ he
told himself. Indeed, though he was only ten-and-a-half years of age,
Laurence was man of the house ever since Dad had returned to the mission
field in East Africa last summer. Now, giving a shudder in the wintry
night chill and wishing he had draped a blanket around his shoulders,
Laurence waited anxiously, unable to make out a word Mother was saying.
The minutes seemed like hours.
Soon, however, Mother
trekked back up the stairs, her dark eyes beaming with joy. With a new
excitement in her voice, Mother urged Laurence, “Sonny, come to my room.
We need to talk. And perhaps the older girls should come too.”
The older girls were
myself, Eleanor, almost nine years old, and Evelyn, seven-and-a-half.
Barely awake, we stumbled into Mother’s room. There was no need to
summon Luella, four-and-a-half, and Lois, one-and-a-half, for they shared
Mother’s room. Rubbing their sleepy eyes and yawning, they sat up in bed
and looked around, wondering what the commotion was all about.
“Mama, I am going to
get Wilfred. He should not be left out,” Laurence announced abruptly,
returning soon with our three-year-old brother.
Now, with all six
children gathered around her, Mother began to explain the phone call.
“That was Dr. Swanson from the mission board, kiddies. He wants to know
if we would like to go to Africa soon and be with Daddy.”
The words were hardly
spoken before we joined in a spontaneous chorus of “Yes! Yes! Yeah!”
Now wide-awake, little Luella jumped and clapped, and Wilfred started to
bounce on the bed. Even baby Lois seemed to catch the mood, chiming in
with a loud “Daddy! Daddy!”
“But Mama, how
will we get there?” Evelyn asked when the cheering had quieted down.
“Dr. Swanson says a
ship named Zamzam is sailing
soon. Many missionaries will be traveling on the Zamzam,
and Daddy has asked if we can come with them,” Mother answered. She did
not need to explain more about Dad’s inquiry. We older children
remembered very well how our family had left Tanganyika (Tanzania), East
Africa, in May of 1939 to come to the States on furlough. Our baby sister,
Lois, had been born soon after our arrival in Lindsborg, our furlough
home.
In May of 1940, our whole
family had been ready to return to Africa; passage was booked on an ocean
liner and trunks packed. World War II, however, had begun. Each day’s
news brought troubling reports of growing uncertainty and restrictions
abroad. In the face of such turmoil, our family’s travel plans were
canceled, and we settled down in Lindsborg again.
The war had also caused a
critical shortage of missionaries on the field, and Dad was desperately
needed back in Tanganyika. He found no peace in his soul. Should he go
back alone? Mother understood Dad’s dilemma. Talking, praying, and even
weeping in each other’s arms, they had struggled to know and follow
God’s will. We older children, too, had been brought into the
discussions and prayers. Finally, with the family’s support, Dad had
volunteered to return to Africa alone for a shortened term or until the
family could join him.
So, on a hot Kansas day
in late July, 1940, Dad had left for Africa. In three days, Baby Lois
would be one year old, and Laurence had just turned ten. It was a
heart-wrenching farewell, but also a good-bye blessed with God’s peace.
Traveling by way of the Pacific, Dad had reached Tanganyika safely and had
taken up his missionary duties. Though the war in Europe had intensified,
the United States had not yet entered the conflict.
Now, seven months after
Dad left, we learned that we might soon join him in Africa.
“What did you tell Dr.
Swanson?” Laurence asked.
Mother looked at the
trusting faces of her six children. She chose her words carefully. “I
told Dr. Swanson we need to pray before we make such a big decision. We
want to do God’s will, not ours. He will help us decide.”
“But Mama, you said
there is not much time,” I interrupted. “How long can Dr. Swanson
wait?”
Mother hesitated. “I
told him I would send our answer tomorrow.” That did not leave much time
for prayer. The Zamzam was
scheduled to sail from New York on March 11th, and today was
February 28th. Dr. Swanson had less than two weeks to obtain
the necessary visa, which must come from Tanganyika. But before he could
do that, he needed to know if we were willing to travel at this time.
The answer was obvious.
Tanganyika had been the place of birth and childhood for most of us
children, and we were eager to return. As for Mother, she longed to be
back there again with her husband, Elmer, serving as a missionary wife and
mother.
However, Mother knew we
must follow God’s desires, not our own; we needed to talk it over with
our Heavenly Father. We knelt beside Mother’s bed and took turns praying
aloud. Even Baby Lois joined in, repeating a strong “Ah-men!” after
each prayer, sometimes causing us older children to snicker. Even Mother
could not keep from smiling.
But when Wilfred prayed,
Mother felt a lump in her throat. She would never forget last summer’s
farewell when Dad had left for Africa. Wilfred had jumped into Dad’s
arms and clung to him. The tears rolled down Dad’s cheeks, as he had to
unwrap his little son’s trusting arms and forcefully place him back down
on the floor. Wilfred’s weeping had been inconsolable as Dad climbed
into the waiting car and faded from sight. Now Wilfred prayed hopefully,
“Jesus, help us go to Daddy. We go see Daddy now. I wear my red cap.
Amen.”
When prayers were
finished, little Luella snuggled close and gave Mother a kiss on the
cheek, saying, “That kiss is from me.” Then she planted another tender
kiss on the other cheek. “That one is from Daddy. I know he wants us to
come. He misses me. And he misses you, too, Mama.”
Mother’s eyes moistened
with tears. ‘God has so richly blessed me.’ She sent us off to bed
again, tucking in Luella and Lois beside her. It did not take long for the
little ones to drift off to sleep again. |
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