There was a missionary in Calcutta who spent his time in preparing translations of the Gospel of John into all the different dialects spoken by native tribes. These Gospels were sent all over the country, wherever there were no missionaries, and wherever they were needed.
One day, while at work in his room, his servant announced the arrival of a man whose language even he did not understand, but who insisted on seeing the Sahib (master). When the man was brought in, he laid a little book on the table and pointed to it, while talking volubly in a tongue the missionary did not know.
On taking the book up, he at once recognized one of his own little Gospels, and noticed something written on the back page. It was a language he could not read, expert though he was in Indian dialects. So he sent out into the bazaars and Indian quarters of the city to find a man who could interpret the strange writing. At last one was found, and he read the words, “White man, come!”
It appeared that the man who brought the book, had been sent by the chief of a tribe from the far North West of India, beyond the border, where a white man had never been, but where the little book had in some way been carried, and where a desire for the Word of God had been awakened.
But what was to be done? The missionary could not leave his work, and he had not the means to send even a native Christian. As usual, man’s extremity is God’s opportunity; He had already foreseen the need. That very day the missionary got a letter from an unknown man in California, saying he had heard of his work for the Lord, and felt compelled to send him some money at once, to meet the expense of a missionary for any special mission he had in mind, and accordingly enclosed a draft for $1500!
Verily, God is!
ML-02/14/1960