Amy Carmichael: 26 years old
From Amy's Journal
The rain poured. I had no idea where to go to get out of the typhoon tossing buckets of water on me. It seemed the missionary who agreed to pick me up from the dock hadn't arrive.
I looked at the Japanese men and women walking in the street. None of them seemed to understand me. I sat a little longer, and prayed for God to send someone to help me.
Two men stopped in front of me. I couldn't understand a thing they said. They waved their arms. I think they wanted me to stand up. I did. One of the men hooked a rope in the handle of my suitcase and tied it to bamboo poles. They set the poles on their shoulders and motioned for me to follow them.
I didn't know where they were going. Who they were. Or if I could trust them. But what was my choice? I could either go with my suitcase or stand in the pouring rain with nothing. I chose to follow them.
They walked ahead of me and chattered on in what I assume was Japanese. We walked along the dock and around a corner to the next street. I couldn't see hardly a thing for all the rain. Huge, deep puddles made it difficult for me to keep up with them. And then there were ruts in the road. Walking like a proper English woman was an impossibility on this journey.
The two men led me another block then stopped at a building. They opened the door and carried my suitcase inside. I followed them, hoping I would be safe.
One of the men showed me to a grass mat laying on the floor in a small room. He said something, which I assume meant I should sit and wait. I did as he asked. Then the two men left me alone.
The grass mat was the only piece of furniture in the room. No table, no chairs, nothing. And the walls were made of panels of very thin paper.
Rain water dripped from my clothes onto the mat. I felt bad because someone would have to dry it. I didn't mean to be a bother. I sat there, bored for about a half hour before the two men came back to the room.
One of the men motioned for me to follow him outside then pointed to a kuruma, which is what the Japanese call a rickshaw. I climbed up to the seat. The wind from the storm whipped at my skirt and made me feel cold. I tried to pull my shawl closer around me, but thanks to my wet clothes, it didn't really help.
I rode in the kuruma for a very long time. Finally, the driver stopped in front of a house. He lowered my trunk down to the ground then left.
There I stood, again, all by myself. I looked at the house before me and took a chance by walking to the door and knocking.
The door opened and an Englishman stood there staring at me as if wondering why this short, drenched English woman stood in a typhoon on his stoop. "Come in out of the rain. Come in."
He led the way to a dining room. "Would you like some tea to warm yourself? You can tell me your story." He looked English but spoke with an American accent. It sounded funny to me.
I sipped my tea and thanked God for taking care of me.
Come back next time. I have much more to share!
Resources used for this series:
Benge, Janet, and Geoff Benge. Amy Carmichael: Rescuer of Precious Gems. Seattle, WA: YWAM Pub., 1998. Print.
Davis, Rebecca Henry. With Daring Faith: A Biography of Amy Carmichael. Greenville, SC: Bob Jones UP, 1987. Print.
Dick, Lois Hoadley. Amy Carmichael: Let the Children Come. Chicago: Moody, 1984. Print.
Meloche, Renee Taft., and Bryan Pollard. Amy Carmichael: Rescuing the Children. Seattle, WA: YWAM Pub., 2002. Print.
Wellman, Sam. Amy Carmichael: A Life Abandoned to God. Uhrichville, OH: Barbour Pub., 1998. Print.
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