Villagers Screamed: "Foreign Devils"

By Mary Vee

Glady's Thoughts

photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

If someone had asked me what a missionary did in a foreign country, I would have said, "Tell people about Jesus, help the community, and start a church."  Well, wouldn't you?

But that wasn't my assigned work in Yengcheng, China. I scraped dirt from mule's hoofs, fed and cleaned them, and the area where they stood. Who'd want to stand near me?  I really stank. 

I tried to finish the work while the muleteers ate then join the story time to learn Bible stories in their language.

When word spread to other muleteers that our inn offered stories each evening plus a clean place to sleep, and food all for the same price as other inns I didn't have to drag the first mule into our court anymore.

Jeannie Lawson and I worked hard in the mornings and evenings. In the afternoons, I studied Chinese with Yang, our cook. Sometimes I'd go for a walk or join Jeannie Lawson on her walk.  

Yangcheng was built on the tip of a mountain where a trail had been for muleteers. Every traveler had to go through one gate, pass through the town, then go out the other gate to complete their journey. Unless someone wanted to tumble down the mountain, they had to go through the city. 

On one walk, Jeannie stopped and sighed. "We need to tell more people about Jesus. This Sunday, we'll walk to a village and tell Bible stories."

"But won't they throw dirt at us?"

"I'm sure they will. They'll call us names and try to run us away. But we'll stand outside the village walls and tell Bible stories. You'll see. In time their curiosity will force them to listen."

The next Sunday we walked to the closest village. Chinese villagers ran out to us, scooped up mud or dirt and threw it at us, shouting "foreign devil, go away."

Jeannie marched forward to the village wall. I wished I could ignore the mean words like Jeannine. It broke my heart and reminded me of the times kids from school called me names.

Jeannie found an good place to stand outside the village wall. She chose the story of Jesus' birth.  Her words seeped into empty air. The people had stomped back inside their village.

Jeannie kept telling the story as though a crowd of people sat on the grass.  I looked around and saw no one there. After a moment a few villagers crept out of the village and sat close to the wall. As Jeannie kept talking, more villages joined them. They moved closer to us to hear better. 

My heart pounded with joy. Jeannie was right!  

I feel like a real missionary. Now, I don't mind cleaning mules or any other chore.

I'd like to tell you more. Come back next week.

Gladys  

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Mary Vee