The Ugly Duckling
“A girl!” The doctor announced proudly, lifting up the squealing little creature by the heels. But it was not to be a proud moment for the father. “Girl? Oh no! We wanted a son!”
Dr. & Mrs. Muthiah Pandian belonged to an old orthodox family in the town of Thanjavur of Tamilnadu. Dr. Muthia’s grandfather, Abraham Pandither was the famous musician and producer of Karunananthar group of medicines. His son Jothi Pandian was blessed with eight children of whom Muthiah was the first son. He married the first daughter of Mr. Daniel Thomas of Palayamkottai who was a minister in the State of Madras. Dr. Muthiah set up his Eye Clinic in Thanjavur. Their firstborn girl brought the joy of new parenthood into the home. The next were two boys who died of pneumonia at the tender age of six months. It was 1940 when penicillin had just come in vogue, very rare and very expensive. The few vials which they could fetch from a far off place could not save the precious lives. Naturally the birth of a daughter brought disappointment.
They named their daughter Lilian. To add to their miseries the child seemed to be forever sick. She vomited, would not digest the ingested milk, would throw rashes or faint after a feed. There was never a time when she was good. But when she was bad she was horrible, which she was always! Constant diarrhoea and milk allergy left her a pathetic puny figure. All the wealth of the parents could not buy her good health. But the babe was chosen before the foundation of the world. They had to buy predigested food imported from America to maintain her alive. The rich parents had everything they could desire for in life—plenty of property, high education so uncommon those years and honourable family status. There was no reason for them to seek God. But God had different plans for them. So He interfered in their life by the death of their two sons.
The great loss did not open their eyes to see the need for God.And then came this ugly duckling often evoking the parents’ prayer, “Oh God, you took away two sons. Why didn’t you take this one too?” Did God also not want girl babies? He allowed her life to linger on. The birth of two more sons brought consolation to the parents. But the blessing was to come through the unwanted child.
The child grew on with more problems. She became a severe asthmatic. Always peevish, crying, bitter, sensitive! There were times when both parents kept awake the whole night pushing her on a small wooden toy car from one end of the hall to the other to keep her loud mouth shut. But she grew up and went to school. She shone in her studies. She always stood first or second in her class in spite of frequent illnesses. Life was a struggle for survival. There was always an oxygen cylinder at home. The doctor was constantly visiting and giving injections. Once the father felt like requesting one of his doctor friends, not being able to bear to see the sufferings of the child, if she could be kept under anaesthesia till she died! The odds seemed to be against her. Children would run and play. But she would sit in her chair with a rug under her feet in the verandah watching the fun. Why was she not able to play like other children and be merry, was her oft repeated question to her mother. Her mother would console her. Probably God had chosen her for a special purpose and He did not want her to go the way of all other kids was her mother’s answer. Parents took her to many places in search of cure. But there seemed to be no magic panacea.
So the search took a different turn. Parents started attending religious meetings in the hope of divine healing. But before physical healing, their souls were healed. The peace of God started flowing into their hearts and home. The home was thoroughly purged. Abraham Pandither being a convert from Hinduism, the old marks of Hinduism still lingered in the family. Pictures and idols were removed. Hindu ceremonies were stopped. Family prayer was instituted in the home. God consciousness was instilled into the children.
This was the time when Lilian started experiencing the influence of God in her life. Let me stop here and allow her to continue her story in her own words.
It was pitch dark and it continued to darkle. Even in that darkness you could make out the slimy scum of that filthy pond. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have touched it with the tip of my finger. But now it hardly bothered me as it smoothly flowed through my hair, over my face; for I was keen on sucking the air to fill my lungs before my head went under water again. That log, that log ! Oh if I could only get at it, there was chance of my survival. I got it! But too small to bear my weight it sank with me. Then I came up and swirled around. “Hell !” Somebody said, “This is hell.” I woke up. I was happy it was a dream. But the cold shiver continued within and the dream haunted me.
Then again, a long list hung on the wall — a list of all who would go with Christ! I clammered with the crowd and scrutinized the list. Once, twice, thrice! No, my name was not there. I wanted to scream at the top of my voice. But my throat was blocked. The alarm screamed and shook me out. So it went on. Life was hell for me and death seemed the only way out.
The early seeds of faith were planted in my heart by my aunt Kausalya (Father’s sister) and her husband Dr. Karunakaran who used to teach choruses and Bible stories. It made a deep impact in my life.
In summer came Vacation Bible School. Tears ran down his dark face. This man, they called him Sam Annachi, he was crying! My eyes were focused on the beautiful green flannel graph picture of heaven with Jesus and a whole bunch of children. “You’ll lose this,” he said, soft and low. I barely heard him. I leaned forward. “You’ll lose all this, if you don’t accept Jesus Christ as your Saviour and Lord. You’ll go to hell.” Like a torrent my old dreams raced through my brain. By now they were dividing into twos and threes to pray. My companion went on praying even after they called thrice to stop and gather. I was praying that she would stop praying. Finally all knees bent he gave the altar call. My heart was beating fast. I wanted to accept Jesus Christ as my personal Saviour. I mustered up all the courage and prayed the prayer of commitment. Then another, then another. Many were saved that day. I was thirteen then.
The whole team of brothers bid us farewell and left. I wanted to go with them. But I knew they wouldn’t take me. I couldn’t play the guitar. I couldn’t talk about Jesus. And worse, I was a girl! I came back home. I restituted. I got reconciled with my parents and sister. My heart was light and singing. I wept for joy. I shouldn’t die. Silly!
Life was worth living. Life was good. I was not going to give up!
The world fell back. The glories of the earth receded. Christ and Christ alone was in the focus. My life style changed. Christ was all for me. I had no other reason to live. He gave meaning to my life. I stopped going with the gang of girls to play cards and crack filthy jokes. I lost interest in cinemas. My father bought me a lot of good books to read and I read them avariciously. My divergent thoughts started converging on one point— Christ. I must know more about this God. I must tell others about this God-man who changed my life. I must dedicate my life for His cause. Nothing else would satisfy me in life.
Years rolled by. Everyday I would come back from school and walk up to the terrace. I would sing. Then read the Bible. “Of the children of Asher after their families of Jimna, the family of the Jimnites of Jesur, the family of the Jesuites of Beriah, the family of the Beriites. “Skip,” my mind said. “Skip, its useless. You can’t understand.” My spirit revolted. “Then I can’t say that I read the Bible fully once.” So it went on. Once, twice, thrice, then I lost track of how many times I read the Bible. I always read the Tamil Bible in the morning and English in the evening. Reading the English Bible bettered my language and after so many years I appreciate its value when we go to non-Tamil states and in writing ministry. Nobody advised me to read the English Bible but just an inner inspiration. Today the familiarity with English Bible comes in handy to use the Bible commentaries and concordances and study aids which are mostly in English. Now I advise all .young people to use the English Bible which will pave an avenue for them into the riches of the Bible. After Bible meditation I would write down in my diary all the sins I committed that day. ( i ) Too much talking (ii) Got angry with mummy (iii) Could not control thoughts... Then I crossed each as I confessed.
One day I had a beautiful dream. I was climbing up a snow covered mountain and was struck by the beauty of a lovely dove-like bird. I ran to collect the feathers that fell down when they flew and stood gazing at the silvery hue. A passer by explained that it was the mountain dove called the Silver-arrow. Many years later God opened my eyes to understand Psalm 68:13 and still many more years later only I realised the signifi- cance of the dream for women’s ministry.
In spite of my best efforts a spiritual decadence brought me to the lowest ebb. Where is God? I thought as I gazed up the star-lit sky. A star fell down. I buried my face in the pillow. If there was a God, He was too far off. I was not pure enough to go to heaven. I wanted to sleep off but sleep evaded me. I walked and walked and walked for how long I do not know. The road was deserted but for the taxi that followed me close. I was scared out of my skin. There was no use running. No use shouting. I was all alone! The whole town was dandled in mother nature’s sound sleep. My blood went cold as the taxi nearly touched me. But the familiar face of the postman coming across the road with a letter for me warmed me up. No more of the taxi was seen. I hurriedly tore open the envelope. “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. Jesus.” I closed my fist so tight that the slip crunched under my fingers. I shouldn't lose it. If I did, then no one would believe that Jesus Himself wrote me a letter. The radium dial showed 3 am. My fist was clenched. I opened it excitedly. It was empty. But my soul was full and bubbling. Life was truly worth living with Jesus!
I studied in Sacred Heart Convent in Thanjavur. I was an aboveaverage student. In school I played Net Ball and at home tennis. My mother was a versatile writer. She used to write down my speeches for competitions and I bagged many prizes. Moreover the many good books that father encouraged me to read improved my English. I joined in plays and enjoyed acting.
One of my aunts, Mrs. Vedam kept on pressing me to take charge of a class in the Church Sunday School of over 1000 children (St. Peter’s SPG Church, Thanjavur). Reluctantly I agreed. But that was to be the foundation and training for my future ministry. Every Sunday at 2 pm my head would start reeling and eyes would be heavy with slumber. Sometimes I would give an excuse and stay back. But I learnt the basic principles of ministry and its hardships. Today when young girls tell me they were converted in my Sunday class my eyes fill and I tell the Lord, “If only I had known how fruitful that work was I would have been more regular and more sincere.”
Many things my parents did seeped deep into my heart. Once my father stopped the car and picked up five accident victims, packing all four of us children into the front seat and brought them to the hospital. He would make or buy toys for children whose diseased eyes were to be removed. We would sit with parents and pack Christmas gifts for blind school children. Parents would visit homes and jails to feed the inmates with a good meal and preach the Gospel. They set aside a portion of their income for God and a portion for the poor. My mother would bring in the poor to feed them, visit the hospital and preach to patients, talk to anyone anywhere about salvation. Many of the principles of ministry, I learned early in my life through the example of my parents. Later on I discovered that I followed in their foot-steps.
It was time for higher studies. “In another two years she will get married like her sister.” My teacher’s comment threw all the girls into a fit of laughter. “No teacher, I won’t marry. I will become a medical missionary.” I wouldn’t get married. Not on this earth. After my preuniversity class I applied for medicine.
My father was in a dilemma. He took me from one professor friend to another. “Can you speak good English?” “Yes.” “Can you stand the strain?” “Yes.” “Can you keep awake all night?” “Yes sir.” “Can you tackle emergencies?” “Yes sir.” “And what will you do when you get married?” A sheepish smile. “Ha, ha, ha, look after the children yea? And forget about medicine. That’s what girls do. Ha, ha, I tell you Doc, (to my father) don’t send her to study medicine. She simply can’t.” I wanted to hit him hard. This joker. I was boiling. But I got my way through. With my high maks in SSLC and first class in PUC and the grace of God I got in without any push or pull.
I entered medicine with a strong decision not to give my heart to anyone. That decision was like a barbed wire around me. Ragging over. First year over. I passed with a first class. Then came the bugging. I could see that he was in love with me head over heels. “O Lord, I shouldn’t marry. I shouldn’t. Not this heathen by gosh!” I repeated it to myself till I felt confident of myself. But next morning all decisions crumbled to dust. He had every quality a girl could desire for except that he did not know God. My heart would go thump, thump, thump at his sight. He was in the library. He was there sitting just behind me in the class and making me nervous. His eyes would closely watch my movements in the clinics. I looked over his shoulders. But I knew his eyes were fixed on mine. His, white and black eyes would slowly travel across the room, eye lids would flutter. I would know for sure the next moment they would quickly flash on me and fleet away. I wanted to watch the fun. So I kept my gaze on him and our eyes met. 0 madness! He really thought I was in love with him. Was I ? I didn’t know. I came home and cried silently. How could I be so foolish to give him such an impression? What would he think of a Christian girl who cheated him? How could I not show a bit of gracefulness but wear a flint-like face? How could
I offend him? Could I offend my Lord? Muddled thoughts were worse than brain fever.
The more often I failed in my decision to control my eyes the more I hardened myself against him. Stopped going to library. Kept my eyes so tightly closed in the class before the professor came in that sometimes when he arrived and the whole class stood up I was found sitting. I made it a habit to carry a pocket New Testament, not to allow my eyes to wander in the class, in the clinic or in the bus station. When I failed to control my eyes I wept. I confessed. Life was one miserable mess. I shuddered. How to flee youthful lust when lust lived inside the classroom? “O God, can’t you do something drastic? Don’t you see me struggling all alone? God, where are you? Do you hear me?”
One year, two years, three years, four years. The powers of darkness started to shake. The dark clouds were lifting up. I regained my balance. It was going to be alright with me afterall. He wore a forlorn look. I was happy. I had won the battle. I was standing on my feet. All these years I was witnessing to students, patients and others. I read the Bible, prayed regularly and continued my Sunday School ministry. Now when I look back, it makes sense to me. God was trying me and training me for my future ministry. I must know the problems of many young hearts. I must gently and confidently assure the little ones that to maintain one’s purity is possible. I must teach them the difference between temptation and sin. And I cannot do that with sincerity unless I myself go through it. Now I know why satan was so vehement on me to side- track me from my God-ordained path. Yes, he was afraid of my future ministry. Up, up, God! Down, down with satan! Christian life was thrilling. I was not going to give up.
I was now house surgeon in the Government Hospital, Thanjavur. I poured myself into the task. I was always at patients’ bedside sharing their physical, mental and spiritual problems. It was not uncommon for me to get a call from an agitated patient to pour out his heart about his troublesome son. I enjoyed the company of the sick and suffering. One day my chief asked me, “Lilian, are you living at home and coming to the hospital or living in the hospital and going home?” When I finished house surgeoncy he sent me with his blessing, adding, “Don’t do any PG course. You have enough knowledge. Start serving the people straightaway.” I was ready to face life.
I had to face yes, not life but death. “You must marry.” “I can’t.” “You can’t go on like this.” “I can.” Words exchanged at home. When orders came for Senior House Surgeoncy from Christian Medical College Hospital, Vellore, it was release from a cage for me. New college. New surroundings. No home. No parents. Loneliness crept into my bones. It looked as if I had reached the end of a blind alley. “Don’t leave me like this Lord. Please forget what I told you.” I prayed, “I want to marry.” Days seemed endless. Life became drudgery.
I was casualty medical officer. 10 O’ clock I collected my mail and sat on my table giving a glance to the impatient queue of patients waiting. The scrawly handwriting in green ink said it was a letter from my father which meant there was some news. Otherwise it is usually my mother who writes. “ There is a proposal for you. His name is Stanley, B.E., M.Tech. 24 years...” My heart gave a loud thud and stopped. I couldn’t read any more. I knew him. I had seen him. I had heard him preach a year ago. Tall, dark, lean. I didn’t remember anything more than that. My heart started with a rumble of the choking of car engine, slowly picked up speed and started to dance a disco. O joy! Could this be really true? I pinched myself to make sure it was not a dream. I was afraid. He may not like jokes. I joked profusely. If I committed a sin? How to live with a preacher husband? Finally I found out he was perfectly a human being and not an angel as I had feared! Suddenly the clouds cleared and I could see the marvellous scenaries of life.
He came to leave me in the hostel to complete my course. We were greeted by a big notice on my room door in LIQ. “Honeymoonersinside. Do not disturb!” “Good grief ! How long was it there? Giggles all around us. We laughed together. His eyes were wet as he kissed me goodbye. I couldn’t cry (I was not that type). But I loved that man. Life was good. Life was pleasant. I was going to live it through!
This was when the first Blesso was conducted in Thanjavur (1971). It was just a Blessing Retreat attended by about 200 youngmen. It became a runaway hit rightaway and the number started to steadily grow. The next year it was necessary to register it as an organisation and Blessing magazine served as its Newsletter. Contributions were collected and written down in our diary, “Income Rs. 10 !”
My husband wanted me to do Diploma in Child Health. I hated to study. I wanted to be active for God. But to please him I said, “Yes,” because I knew there were only 4 seats for the over 1000 applications. My heart literally stopped when I opened the brown official cover and read, “We are glad to inform you...” So I had no choice but to join the course. My husband also got a job in the CMC Hospital as Project Engineer and we stayed inside the campus.
Books, books, books. Patients, patients, patients. I vomited, I fainted, I slept in the class. Alternate day and night duties got on my nerves. When at 3 am I came home after attending to an emergency my engineer husband would not wake up at the loudest knock. Even if he did he only growled. Wretchedness.
I was desirous of receiving the Holy Spirit. My heart ached. Thirsty though I was, I had not received the Holy Spirit. It happened when I had been to Madras for an exchange programme and staying in a hostel there. With childlike faith I asked God to fill me with His Holy Spirit. The river flowed on and on and on till in ecstasy I wept as I spoke the heavenly language. As I got up from my knees the world looked brighter, colourful. How dare I said life was wretched. Life was most wonderful.
We tip-toed into the examination hall for the D.C.H. examination. I had finished with my case. The examiners looked like merciless tyrants. My turn came. I stood like a lamb to be slaughtered. My brows were wet with sweat. My professor was looking at my belly. Was it too big for seven months? What on earth was she thinking? “Lilian there is a bug in your coat. Must be the hostel.” I relaxed. I knew I had passed and pass I did. Life was not all that bad. I was not going to give up. I could do more.
Birthpangs came over me. I remembered my days in the labour ward when I used to wonder why every woman did not grit her teeth and not scream in labour. Now I knew. It was like a host of devils sitting on me. There was some complication and I was rushed into the emergency room. They got the baby out with great difficulty. Two days later they told me that because of instrumental injury my daughter’s right arm was paralysed; right sternomastoid ruptured; right upper eye lid was damaged and drooping; abcess at the suction cup site and probably a fractured right clavicle. I writhed in pain. My husband’s blood-shot eyes told me all night he had been crying. In the hush of the night I took the small pale limp paralysed hand in mine and wept. I wanted to run far far away—out of the world, if there was a way out. I felt mercilessly chained to life.
When she threw fits at the age of four months all investigations were done. The grim voice spoke over the table. “I am sorry. There is no chance of recovery of her hand. E.M.G. proves it. E.E.G. shows brain damage. She will be mentally retarded.” It wouldn’t have been worse if someone had hit me hard at the back of my head with an iron rod. I was too benumbed to speak. Was this happening to me? Once at home, God’s voice came clear, “With men this is impossible. But with God all things are possible.” There was no more fits!
One day her shoulder muscle twitched. With that recovery began. One day we saw her finger flicker. We rushed and gave a telegram to my parents, “Evangeline moves finger.” The impossible was happening! Her hand recovered 50%. Three years later she walked into the school. Her headmistress had a good laugh when she was asked by this tiny tot, “Are you a child of Jesus?” Back at the clinic, in her chart below the diagnosis was written, “Excellent recovery.” Life was challenging. I was growing. I could take up more. I would enjoy this life as long as God keeps me down here. It will not be out of context to mention here that the supposed to be mentally retarded Evangeline won medals in Revivo ’85 and Revivo ’86 for reciting the entire epistles of Philippians and I Timothy without a single mistake to the glory of God. She did her B.A. with Government merit scholorship. She earned an Associate degree in Christian Counselling in the United Kingdom and a Masters degree in Psychology. She now works as a Psychologist in the Christian Medical College and Hospital, Vellore. She is married to Jonas, a committed missionary-minded Christian, working in the same Hospital as senior Laboratory Technician.
We worked feverishly day and night. Morning my husband went to CMC Hospital and I had my private clinic. Night we would sit and do the magazine. Friends and partners helped. The first batch of missionaries were sent to Sitheri Hills. The ministry was expanding and my husband was away almost every week-end.
The second great trial came when we had to close down my clinic overnight which was earning us a large sum. Some bad elements irritated by our Jesus fanaticism jumped into my clinic and hanged my clinic boy. It is a miracle that he survived till the morning because they could not get a rope but used the plastic saline tube for hanging him. He was resuscitated back to life. But we decided to quit the place so that we could continue the ministry in peace. We wanted to earn a lot and spend the money for evangelism. But God was saying, “You mind my business and I will finance My work.” Till today God has been faithfully keeping His promise. Friends and well wishers give liberally to the ministry that till today we are free of debts.
That was the changing point in our life and ministry. So long it was ministry by men, we women being mere praying partners. But then my hands were deliberately freed. I did not want to take up a job or open the clinic elsewhere. The time had come for me to serve my Lord full-time. It was then the first annual camp for women was arranged. I was requested to write a column inviting women to attend the Camp. More than one person remarked that there was unusual life in those few lines. So my husband encouraged me to write an article for the magazine. I wrote, I corrected, added, deleted, referred to the dictionary, rewrote the whole thing. I burnt the midnight oil and made a fair copy. I proudly presented it to my husband, no, no, to the Editor of Blessing magazine. His eyes ran to and fro, up and down and said politely, “Er, huh, you see, I am sorry, this is not fit for publication.” My ego was crushed. I tore up the article to let out my anger, threw it in the waste paper basket and threw myself on my bed and wept. “I will never again write for your Blessing magazine.” Months went by before I could pull myself together and muster up enough courage to present another article It was published without my name. A few letters came in asking for the name of the author. So after 2 years L. S. was put under my articles. More letters. Now we had the courage to publish my articles under my full name. Gradually the gift of writing became evident.
My health improved considerably. Ten years ago a physician precribed an inhaler and since then I am leading a near normal life.
We found it necessary to rent a two roomed house for office to handle the correspondence, maintain the mailing list, parceling etc. Two years later it had to be shifted to a bigger house for want of space. In I979 the Headquarters building was built in Vellore.
One day I told my maid about the Holy Spirit and asked her to pray. I was shaken when she straightaway spoke in tongues. I told my husband, “I told her to receive the Holy Spirit and speak in tongues. She is blabbering.” “Shut up” my husband said. “Nonsense. She has more faith than you. She has received the Holy Spirit.” So I shut up. That was the last I questioned the genuineness of the experience. More received the Holy Spirit. My interest in the meagre medical practice and earning started dwindling. Life was glorious, life was thrilling.
Both of us were actively involving ourselves in ministry, and now and then we discussed doing it full time. One day my husband came home and announced, “I have resigned.” It was great relief to serve one Master. Soon we were travelling and ministering together causing the complete shut-down of my practice. The Association volunteered to pay my husband an allowance of Rs. 750/- and I was an honorary. We had to cut down on everything but the satisfaction and fulfilment we found in serving God superseded all other problems.
Once when we were leaving for a programme in the Gulf countries we lost our passports in Bombay. There was great tension. We approached the Air India officials. But how could they help anyone without their passports. It was very difficult to believe God for a miracle. But on the third day the passport was safely returned by the post office recovered from a post box in Bombay. Obviously the thief who pick-pocketed, finding no money threw the envelope in a post box. We reached Dubai three days late. In every trial the hand of God upheld us and carried us over the crisis. I thought that was the greatest trial that could come to me. I could now believe God for anything. Hardly did 1 know a greater trial was on the way.
It was the summer of 1981, the peak days of the year. We were returning from a Training Camp from Sitteri Hills. My daughter complained of headache. Tests revealed nothing. After a month she started to vomit. It gradually progressed and she took to bed. After another month her optic nerves started to swell and tests revealed she had brain tumour. A minor operation was advised to reduce intracranial tension. But I was not for it. She was not going to survive anyway. Why subject the child to torture? I wanted her to die peacefully. Her emaciated body was limply lying on the cot. Her eyes had lost the lustre and remained closed. She was 10 years old. I had collected 50 one rupee coins for her but never allowed her to play with them. I felt guilty now and poured the coins on her lifeless open hands begging, “Take it darling, take it. You asked for it.” But her fingers refused to clutch them. I cried thinking of the times I beat her.
Then she started to bleed inside her eyes. The doctors feared she might lose her vision and urged us to accept for the surgery. We were like worms thrown in fire. I would go up the terrace early morning only to find my husband had gone earlier and weeping. People visited our home and talked of faith. It made no sense to me. I had seen so many children die of brain tumour in my own ward. How could I believe? Would God do something unusual for me? Surely God was taking away my child. It was alright. Let Him take. We reluctantly got her admitted. During morning rounds they posted her for surgery at 7 am the next day. She was particular that I should bring a scarf to cover her shaven head. She was shivering out of fear. But that night they decided to postpone it by three days because of oxygen shortage. So we came home for three days. The next day I took out my old ophthalmoscope and peeped into her eyes. I found the swelling a wee bit less. We rushed her to the doctor. At first he laughed. “Who told you?” he asked. “I thought so doctor. Please see her fundus.” He saw and was stunned. What was adamantly there for six months had started to fade away. On the day she was to be operated she went and wrote her examination. So rapid was her recovery. God worked overlooking our little faith! I recalled the many things I spoke in my desperation and wept for joy! God is a very interesting person to live with! He plays many practical jokes! My good God! Our daughter is now a mother herself. I sing,
Because He lives I can face tomorrow
Because He lives all fear is gone
Because I know He holds my future
And life is worth the living just because He lives!
After spending over 15 years in the central Office in Vellore we felt we should move to the fields. So we shifted to the State of Karnataka for two years where missionaries of the Blessing YouthMission were labouring. The practice of dedicating young girls to a goddess and then using them as temple prostitutes or selling them in cities is prevalent there. I visited the temple along with missionaries and was heart broken. I started sharing this to prayer groups. A station was opened by BYM right at the town where the temple is (Saundatti), and a Church was built.
After our two years in Karnataka we moved to Orissa to be with the team of missionaries there. Orissa is a strong Hindu State and no one can be baptised without an afidavite. When we went there we were warned not to distribute or sell literature since many were beaten up and vans burned. However I could not contain myself. I started distributing tracts and selling the New Testaments. To our great surprise people flocked to buy. Now literature ministry is making headway in Orissa.
I have experienced the pulling down forces of every woman in every place. But I found that when I was faithful to God, He always honoured me. Though women are considered the least by all, God’s viewpoint is different.
As I kept writing and speaking with my husband’s backing I began receiving letters in response. People started telling me how they mustered courage to win souls, sell literature, obey their husbands, love their children, reach out to prostitutes etc. after reading my articles.
I often used to wonder if a woman could dream. I had many dreams which were never fulfilled because I married a preacher and had to travel from place to place. But now I am sure when a woman dreams, God let’s her realise it in a bigger way. I see my dreams fulfilled in thousands of lives who carry on my dreams. There was a time when I thought I was an ugly duckling. But today I praise God, He made me a swan.
Do you think you are an ugly duckling? Quit worrying. God is transforming you into His beautiful swan!
Dr. Lilian Stanley
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91 9843511943
lilianstanley@gmail.com
Blessing Youth Mission
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91-416-2242943, +91-416-2248943
hq@bymonline.org
www.bymonline.org
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The Ugly Duckling
“A girl!” The doctor announced proudly, lifting up the squealing little creature by the heels. But it was not to be a proud moment for the father. “Girl? Oh no! We wanted a son!”
Dr. & Mrs. Muthiah Pandian belonged to an old orthodox family in the town of Thanjavur of Tamilnadu. Dr. Muthia’s grandfather, Abraham Pandither was the famous musician and producer of Karunananthar group of medicines. His son Jothi Pandian was blessed with eight children of whom Muthiah was the first son. He married the first daughter of Mr. Daniel Thomas of Palayamkottai who was a minister in the State of Madras. Dr. Muthiah set up his Eye Clinic in Thanjavur. Their firstborn girl brought the joy of new parenthood into the home. The next were two boys who died of pneumonia at the tender age of six months. It was 1940 when penicillin had just come in vogue, very rare and very expensive. The few vials which they could fetch from a far off place could not save the precious lives. Naturally the birth of a daughter brought disappointment.
They named their daughter Lilian. To add to their miseries the child seemed to be forever sick. She vomited, would not digest the ingested milk, would throw rashes or faint after a feed. There was never a time when she was good. But when she was bad she was horrible, which she was always! Constant diarrhoea and milk allergy left her a pathetic puny figure. All the wealth of the parents could not buy her good health. But the babe was chosen before the foundation of the world. They had to buy predigested food imported from America to maintain her alive. The rich parents had everything they could desire for in life—plenty of property, high education so uncommon those years and honourable family status. There was no reason for them to seek God. But God had different plans for them. So He interfered in their life by the death of their two sons.
The great loss did not open their eyes to see the need for God.And then came this ugly duckling often evoking the parents’ prayer, “Oh God, you took away two sons. Why didn’t you take this one too?” Did God also not want girl babies? He allowed her life to linger on. The birth of two more sons brought consolation to the parents. But the blessing was to come through the unwanted child.
The child grew on with more problems. She became a severe asthmatic. Always peevish, crying, bitter, sensitive! There were times when both parents kept awake the whole night pushing her on a small wooden toy car from one end of the hall to the other to keep her loud mouth shut. But she grew up and went to school. She shone in her studies. She always stood first or second in her class in spite of frequent illnesses. Life was a struggle for survival. There was always an oxygen cylinder at home. The doctor was constantly visiting and giving injections. Once the father felt like requesting one of his doctor friends, not being able to bear to see the sufferings of the child, if she could be kept under anaesthesia till she died! The odds seemed to be against her. Children would run and play. But she would sit in her chair with a rug under her feet in the verandah watching the fun. Why was she not able to play like other children and be merry, was her oft repeated question to her mother. Her mother would console her. Probably God had chosen her for a special purpose and He did not want her to go the way of all other kids was her mother’s answer. Parents took her to many places in search of cure. But there seemed to be no magic panacea.
So the search took a different turn. Parents started attending religious meetings in the hope of divine healing. But before physical healing, their souls were healed. The peace of God started flowing into their hearts and home. The home was thoroughly purged. Abraham Pandither being a convert from Hinduism, the old marks of Hinduism still lingered in the family. Pictures and idols were removed. Hindu ceremonies were stopped. Family prayer was instituted in the home. God consciousness was instilled into the children.
This was the time when Lilian started experiencing the influence of God in her life. Let me stop here and allow her to continue her story in her own words.
It was pitch dark and it continued to darkle. Even in that darkness you could make out the slimy scum of that filthy pond. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have touched it with the tip of my finger. But now it hardly bothered me as it smoothly flowed through my hair, over my face; for I was keen on sucking the air to fill my lungs before my head went under water again. That log, that log ! Oh if I could only get at it, there was chance of my survival. I got it! But too small to bear my weight it sank with me. Then I came up and swirled around. “Hell !” Somebody said, “This is hell.” I woke up. I was happy it was a dream. But the cold shiver continued within and the dream haunted me.
Then again, a long list hung on the wall — a list of all who would go with Christ! I clammered with the crowd and scrutinized the list. Once, twice, thrice! No, my name was not there. I wanted to scream at the top of my voice. But my throat was blocked. The alarm screamed and shook me out. So it went on. Life was hell for me and death seemed the only way out.
The early seeds of faith were planted in my heart by my aunt Kausalya (Father’s sister) and her husband Dr. Karunakaran who used to teach choruses and Bible stories. It made a deep impact in my life.
In summer came Vacation Bible School. Tears ran down his dark face. This man, they called him Sam Annachi, he was crying! My eyes were focused on the beautiful green flannel graph picture of heaven with Jesus and a whole bunch of children. “You’ll lose this,” he said, soft and low. I barely heard him. I leaned forward. “You’ll lose all this, if you don’t accept Jesus Christ as your Saviour and Lord. You’ll go to hell.” Like a torrent my old dreams raced through my brain. By now they were dividing into twos and threes to pray. My companion went on praying even after they called thrice to stop and gather. I was praying that she would stop praying. Finally all knees bent he gave the altar call. My heart was beating fast. I wanted to accept Jesus Christ as my personal Saviour. I mustered up all the courage and prayed the prayer of commitment. Then another, then another. Many were saved that day. I was thirteen then.
The whole team of brothers bid us farewell and left. I wanted to go with them. But I knew they wouldn’t take me. I couldn’t play the guitar. I couldn’t talk about Jesus. And worse, I was a girl! I came back home. I restituted. I got reconciled with my parents and sister. My heart was light and singing. I wept for joy. I shouldn’t die. Silly!
Life was worth living. Life was good. I was not going to give up!
The world fell back. The glories of the earth receded. Christ and Christ alone was in the focus. My life style changed. Christ was all for me. I had no other reason to live. He gave meaning to my life. I stopped going with the gang of girls to play cards and crack filthy jokes. I lost interest in cinemas. My father bought me a lot of good books to read and I read them avariciously. My divergent thoughts started converging on one point— Christ. I must know more about this God. I must tell others about this God-man who changed my life. I must dedicate my life for His cause. Nothing else would satisfy me in life.
Years rolled by. Everyday I would come back from school and walk up to the terrace. I would sing. Then read the Bible. “Of the children of Asher after their families of Jimna, the family of the Jimnites of Jesur, the family of the Jesuites of Beriah, the family of the Beriites. “Skip,” my mind said. “Skip, its useless. You can’t understand.” My spirit revolted. “Then I can’t say that I read the Bible fully once.” So it went on. Once, twice, thrice, then I lost track of how many times I read the Bible. I always read the Tamil Bible in the morning and English in the evening. Reading the English Bible bettered my language and after so many years I appreciate its value when we go to non-Tamil states and in writing ministry. Nobody advised me to read the English Bible but just an inner inspiration. Today the familiarity with English Bible comes in handy to use the Bible commentaries and concordances and study aids which are mostly in English. Now I advise all .young people to use the English Bible which will pave an avenue for them into the riches of the Bible. After Bible meditation I would write down in my diary all the sins I committed that day. ( i ) Too much talking (ii) Got angry with mummy (iii) Could not control thoughts... Then I crossed each as I confessed.
One day I had a beautiful dream. I was climbing up a snow covered mountain and was struck by the beauty of a lovely dove-like bird. I ran to collect the feathers that fell down when they flew and stood gazing at the silvery hue. A passer by explained that it was the mountain dove called the Silver-arrow. Many years later God opened my eyes to understand Psalm 68:13 and still many more years later only I realised the signifi- cance of the dream for women’s ministry.
In spite of my best efforts a spiritual decadence brought me to the lowest ebb. Where is God? I thought as I gazed up the star-lit sky. A star fell down. I buried my face in the pillow. If there was a God, He was too far off. I was not pure enough to go to heaven. I wanted to sleep off but sleep evaded me. I walked and walked and walked for how long I do not know. The road was deserted but for the taxi that followed me close. I was scared out of my skin. There was no use running. No use shouting. I was all alone! The whole town was dandled in mother nature’s sound sleep. My blood went cold as the taxi nearly touched me. But the familiar face of the postman coming across the road with a letter for me warmed me up. No more of the taxi was seen. I hurriedly tore open the envelope. “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. Jesus.” I closed my fist so tight that the slip crunched under my fingers. I shouldn't lose it. If I did, then no one would believe that Jesus Himself wrote me a letter. The radium dial showed 3 am. My fist was clenched. I opened it excitedly. It was empty. But my soul was full and bubbling. Life was truly worth living with Jesus!
I studied in Sacred Heart Convent in Thanjavur. I was an aboveaverage student. In school I played Net Ball and at home tennis. My mother was a versatile writer. She used to write down my speeches for competitions and I bagged many prizes. Moreover the many good books that father encouraged me to read improved my English. I joined in plays and enjoyed acting.
One of my aunts, Mrs. Vedam kept on pressing me to take charge of a class in the Church Sunday School of over 1000 children (St. Peter’s SPG Church, Thanjavur). Reluctantly I agreed. But that was to be the foundation and training for my future ministry. Every Sunday at 2 pm my head would start reeling and eyes would be heavy with slumber. Sometimes I would give an excuse and stay back. But I learnt the basic principles of ministry and its hardships. Today when young girls tell me they were converted in my Sunday class my eyes fill and I tell the Lord, “If only I had known how fruitful that work was I would have been more regular and more sincere.”
Many things my parents did seeped deep into my heart. Once my father stopped the car and picked up five accident victims, packing all four of us children into the front seat and brought them to the hospital. He would make or buy toys for children whose diseased eyes were to be removed. We would sit with parents and pack Christmas gifts for blind school children. Parents would visit homes and jails to feed the inmates with a good meal and preach the Gospel. They set aside a portion of their income for God and a portion for the poor. My mother would bring in the poor to feed them, visit the hospital and preach to patients, talk to anyone anywhere about salvation. Many of the principles of ministry, I learned early in my life through the example of my parents. Later on I discovered that I followed in their foot-steps.
It was time for higher studies. “In another two years she will get married like her sister.” My teacher’s comment threw all the girls into a fit of laughter. “No teacher, I won’t marry. I will become a medical missionary.” I wouldn’t get married. Not on this earth. After my preuniversity class I applied for medicine.
My father was in a dilemma. He took me from one professor friend to another. “Can you speak good English?” “Yes.” “Can you stand the strain?” “Yes.” “Can you keep awake all night?” “Yes sir.” “Can you tackle emergencies?” “Yes sir.” “And what will you do when you get married?” A sheepish smile. “Ha, ha, ha, look after the children yea? And forget about medicine. That’s what girls do. Ha, ha, I tell you Doc, (to my father) don’t send her to study medicine. She simply can’t.” I wanted to hit him hard. This joker. I was boiling. But I got my way through. With my high maks in SSLC and first class in PUC and the grace of God I got in without any push or pull.
I entered medicine with a strong decision not to give my heart to anyone. That decision was like a barbed wire around me. Ragging over. First year over. I passed with a first class. Then came the bugging. I could see that he was in love with me head over heels. “O Lord, I shouldn’t marry. I shouldn’t. Not this heathen by gosh!” I repeated it to myself till I felt confident of myself. But next morning all decisions crumbled to dust. He had every quality a girl could desire for except that he did not know God. My heart would go thump, thump, thump at his sight. He was in the library. He was there sitting just behind me in the class and making me nervous. His eyes would closely watch my movements in the clinics. I looked over his shoulders. But I knew his eyes were fixed on mine. His, white and black eyes would slowly travel across the room, eye lids would flutter. I would know for sure the next moment they would quickly flash on me and fleet away. I wanted to watch the fun. So I kept my gaze on him and our eyes met. 0 madness! He really thought I was in love with him. Was I ? I didn’t know. I came home and cried silently. How could I be so foolish to give him such an impression? What would he think of a Christian girl who cheated him? How could I not show a bit of gracefulness but wear a flint-like face? How could
I offend him? Could I offend my Lord? Muddled thoughts were worse than brain fever.
The more often I failed in my decision to control my eyes the more I hardened myself against him. Stopped going to library. Kept my eyes so tightly closed in the class before the professor came in that sometimes when he arrived and the whole class stood up I was found sitting. I made it a habit to carry a pocket New Testament, not to allow my eyes to wander in the class, in the clinic or in the bus station. When I failed to control my eyes I wept. I confessed. Life was one miserable mess. I shuddered. How to flee youthful lust when lust lived inside the classroom? “O God, can’t you do something drastic? Don’t you see me struggling all alone? God, where are you? Do you hear me?”
One year, two years, three years, four years. The powers of darkness started to shake. The dark clouds were lifting up. I regained my balance. It was going to be alright with me afterall. He wore a forlorn look. I was happy. I had won the battle. I was standing on my feet. All these years I was witnessing to students, patients and others. I read the Bible, prayed regularly and continued my Sunday School ministry. Now when I look back, it makes sense to me. God was trying me and training me for my future ministry. I must know the problems of many young hearts. I must gently and confidently assure the little ones that to maintain one’s purity is possible. I must teach them the difference between temptation and sin. And I cannot do that with sincerity unless I myself go through it. Now I know why satan was so vehement on me to side- track me from my God-ordained path. Yes, he was afraid of my future ministry. Up, up, God! Down, down with satan! Christian life was thrilling. I was not going to give up.
I was now house surgeon in the Government Hospital, Thanjavur. I poured myself into the task. I was always at patients’ bedside sharing their physical, mental and spiritual problems. It was not uncommon for me to get a call from an agitated patient to pour out his heart about his troublesome son. I enjoyed the company of the sick and suffering. One day my chief asked me, “Lilian, are you living at home and coming to the hospital or living in the hospital and going home?” When I finished house surgeoncy he sent me with his blessing, adding, “Don’t do any PG course. You have enough knowledge. Start serving the people straightaway.” I was ready to face life.
I had to face yes, not life but death. “You must marry.” “I can’t.” “You can’t go on like this.” “I can.” Words exchanged at home. When orders came for Senior House Surgeoncy from Christian Medical College Hospital, Vellore, it was release from a cage for me. New college. New surroundings. No home. No parents. Loneliness crept into my bones. It looked as if I had reached the end of a blind alley. “Don’t leave me like this Lord. Please forget what I told you.” I prayed, “I want to marry.” Days seemed endless. Life became drudgery.
I was casualty medical officer. 10 O’ clock I collected my mail and sat on my table giving a glance to the impatient queue of patients waiting. The scrawly handwriting in green ink said it was a letter from my father which meant there was some news. Otherwise it is usually my mother who writes. “ There is a proposal for you. His name is Stanley, B.E., M.Tech. 24 years...” My heart gave a loud thud and stopped. I couldn’t read any more. I knew him. I had seen him. I had heard him preach a year ago. Tall, dark, lean. I didn’t remember anything more than that. My heart started with a rumble of the choking of car engine, slowly picked up speed and started to dance a disco. O joy! Could this be really true? I pinched myself to make sure it was not a dream. I was afraid. He may not like jokes. I joked profusely. If I committed a sin? How to live with a preacher husband? Finally I found out he was perfectly a human being and not an angel as I had feared! Suddenly the clouds cleared and I could see the marvellous scenaries of life.
He came to leave me in the hostel to complete my course. We were greeted by a big notice on my room door in LIQ. “Honeymoonersinside. Do not disturb!” “Good grief ! How long was it there? Giggles all around us. We laughed together. His eyes were wet as he kissed me goodbye. I couldn’t cry (I was not that type). But I loved that man. Life was good. Life was pleasant. I was going to live it through!
This was when the first Blesso was conducted in Thanjavur (1971). It was just a Blessing Retreat attended by about 200 youngmen. It became a runaway hit rightaway and the number started to steadily grow. The next year it was necessary to register it as an organisation and Blessing magazine served as its Newsletter. Contributions were collected and written down in our diary, “Income Rs. 10 !”
My husband wanted me to do Diploma in Child Health. I hated to study. I wanted to be active for God. But to please him I said, “Yes,” because I knew there were only 4 seats for the over 1000 applications. My heart literally stopped when I opened the brown official cover and read, “We are glad to inform you...” So I had no choice but to join the course. My husband also got a job in the CMC Hospital as Project Engineer and we stayed inside the campus.
Books, books, books. Patients, patients, patients. I vomited, I fainted, I slept in the class. Alternate day and night duties got on my nerves. When at 3 am I came home after attending to an emergency my engineer husband would not wake up at the loudest knock. Even if he did he only growled. Wretchedness.
I was desirous of receiving the Holy Spirit. My heart ached. Thirsty though I was, I had not received the Holy Spirit. It happened when I had been to Madras for an exchange programme and staying in a hostel there. With childlike faith I asked God to fill me with His Holy Spirit. The river flowed on and on and on till in ecstasy I wept as I spoke the heavenly language. As I got up from my knees the world looked brighter, colourful. How dare I said life was wretched. Life was most wonderful.
We tip-toed into the examination hall for the D.C.H. examination. I had finished with my case. The examiners looked like merciless tyrants. My turn came. I stood like a lamb to be slaughtered. My brows were wet with sweat. My professor was looking at my belly. Was it too big for seven months? What on earth was she thinking? “Lilian there is a bug in your coat. Must be the hostel.” I relaxed. I knew I had passed and pass I did. Life was not all that bad. I was not going to give up. I could do more.
Birthpangs came over me. I remembered my days in the labour ward when I used to wonder why every woman did not grit her teeth and not scream in labour. Now I knew. It was like a host of devils sitting on me. There was some complication and I was rushed into the emergency room. They got the baby out with great difficulty. Two days later they told me that because of instrumental injury my daughter’s right arm was paralysed; right sternomastoid ruptured; right upper eye lid was damaged and drooping; abcess at the suction cup site and probably a fractured right clavicle. I writhed in pain. My husband’s blood-shot eyes told me all night he had been crying. In the hush of the night I took the small pale limp paralysed hand in mine and wept. I wanted to run far far away—out of the world, if there was a way out. I felt mercilessly chained to life.
When she threw fits at the age of four months all investigations were done. The grim voice spoke over the table. “I am sorry. There is no chance of recovery of her hand. E.M.G. proves it. E.E.G. shows brain damage. She will be mentally retarded.” It wouldn’t have been worse if someone had hit me hard at the back of my head with an iron rod. I was too benumbed to speak. Was this happening to me? Once at home, God’s voice came clear, “With men this is impossible. But with God all things are possible.” There was no more fits!
One day her shoulder muscle twitched. With that recovery began. One day we saw her finger flicker. We rushed and gave a telegram to my parents, “Evangeline moves finger.” The impossible was happening! Her hand recovered 50%. Three years later she walked into the school. Her headmistress had a good laugh when she was asked by this tiny tot, “Are you a child of Jesus?” Back at the clinic, in her chart below the diagnosis was written, “Excellent recovery.” Life was challenging. I was growing. I could take up more. I would enjoy this life as long as God keeps me down here. It will not be out of context to mention here that the supposed to be mentally retarded Evangeline won medals in Revivo ’85 and Revivo ’86 for reciting the entire epistles of Philippians and I Timothy without a single mistake to the glory of God. She did her B.A. with Government merit scholorship. She earned an Associate degree in Christian Counselling in the United Kingdom and a Masters degree in Psychology. She now works as a Psychologist in the Christian Medical College and Hospital, Vellore. She is married to Jonas, a committed missionary-minded Christian, working in the same Hospital as senior Laboratory Technician.
We worked feverishly day and night. Morning my husband went to CMC Hospital and I had my private clinic. Night we would sit and do the magazine. Friends and partners helped. The first batch of missionaries were sent to Sitheri Hills. The ministry was expanding and my husband was away almost every week-end.
The second great trial came when we had to close down my clinic overnight which was earning us a large sum. Some bad elements irritated by our Jesus fanaticism jumped into my clinic and hanged my clinic boy. It is a miracle that he survived till the morning because they could not get a rope but used the plastic saline tube for hanging him. He was resuscitated back to life. But we decided to quit the place so that we could continue the ministry in peace. We wanted to earn a lot and spend the money for evangelism. But God was saying, “You mind my business and I will finance My work.” Till today God has been faithfully keeping His promise. Friends and well wishers give liberally to the ministry that till today we are free of debts.
That was the changing point in our life and ministry. So long it was ministry by men, we women being mere praying partners. But then my hands were deliberately freed. I did not want to take up a job or open the clinic elsewhere. The time had come for me to serve my Lord full-time. It was then the first annual camp for women was arranged. I was requested to write a column inviting women to attend the Camp. More than one person remarked that there was unusual life in those few lines. So my husband encouraged me to write an article for the magazine. I wrote, I corrected, added, deleted, referred to the dictionary, rewrote the whole thing. I burnt the midnight oil and made a fair copy. I proudly presented it to my husband, no, no, to the Editor of Blessing magazine. His eyes ran to and fro, up and down and said politely, “Er, huh, you see, I am sorry, this is not fit for publication.” My ego was crushed. I tore up the article to let out my anger, threw it in the waste paper basket and threw myself on my bed and wept. “I will never again write for your Blessing magazine.” Months went by before I could pull myself together and muster up enough courage to present another article It was published without my name. A few letters came in asking for the name of the author. So after 2 years L. S. was put under my articles. More letters. Now we had the courage to publish my articles under my full name. Gradually the gift of writing became evident.
My health improved considerably. Ten years ago a physician precribed an inhaler and since then I am leading a near normal life.
We found it necessary to rent a two roomed house for office to handle the correspondence, maintain the mailing list, parceling etc. Two years later it had to be shifted to a bigger house for want of space. In I979 the Headquarters building was built in Vellore.
One day I told my maid about the Holy Spirit and asked her to pray. I was shaken when she straightaway spoke in tongues. I told my husband, “I told her to receive the Holy Spirit and speak in tongues. She is blabbering.” “Shut up” my husband said. “Nonsense. She has more faith than you. She has received the Holy Spirit.” So I shut up. That was the last I questioned the genuineness of the experience. More received the Holy Spirit. My interest in the meagre medical practice and earning started dwindling. Life was glorious, life was thrilling.
Both of us were actively involving ourselves in ministry, and now and then we discussed doing it full time. One day my husband came home and announced, “I have resigned.” It was great relief to serve one Master. Soon we were travelling and ministering together causing the complete shut-down of my practice. The Association volunteered to pay my husband an allowance of Rs. 750/- and I was an honorary. We had to cut down on everything but the satisfaction and fulfilment we found in serving God superseded all other problems.
Once when we were leaving for a programme in the Gulf countries we lost our passports in Bombay. There was great tension. We approached the Air India officials. But how could they help anyone without their passports. It was very difficult to believe God for a miracle. But on the third day the passport was safely returned by the post office recovered from a post box in Bombay. Obviously the thief who pick-pocketed, finding no money threw the envelope in a post box. We reached Dubai three days late. In every trial the hand of God upheld us and carried us over the crisis. I thought that was the greatest trial that could come to me. I could now believe God for anything. Hardly did 1 know a greater trial was on the way.
It was the summer of 1981, the peak days of the year. We were returning from a Training Camp from Sitteri Hills. My daughter complained of headache. Tests revealed nothing. After a month she started to vomit. It gradually progressed and she took to bed. After another month her optic nerves started to swell and tests revealed she had brain tumour. A minor operation was advised to reduce intracranial tension. But I was not for it. She was not going to survive anyway. Why subject the child to torture? I wanted her to die peacefully. Her emaciated body was limply lying on the cot. Her eyes had lost the lustre and remained closed. She was 10 years old. I had collected 50 one rupee coins for her but never allowed her to play with them. I felt guilty now and poured the coins on her lifeless open hands begging, “Take it darling, take it. You asked for it.” But her fingers refused to clutch them. I cried thinking of the times I beat her.
Then she started to bleed inside her eyes. The doctors feared she might lose her vision and urged us to accept for the surgery. We were like worms thrown in fire. I would go up the terrace early morning only to find my husband had gone earlier and weeping. People visited our home and talked of faith. It made no sense to me. I had seen so many children die of brain tumour in my own ward. How could I believe? Would God do something unusual for me? Surely God was taking away my child. It was alright. Let Him take. We reluctantly got her admitted. During morning rounds they posted her for surgery at 7 am the next day. She was particular that I should bring a scarf to cover her shaven head. She was shivering out of fear. But that night they decided to postpone it by three days because of oxygen shortage. So we came home for three days. The next day I took out my old ophthalmoscope and peeped into her eyes. I found the swelling a wee bit less. We rushed her to the doctor. At first he laughed. “Who told you?” he asked. “I thought so doctor. Please see her fundus.” He saw and was stunned. What was adamantly there for six months had started to fade away. On the day she was to be operated she went and wrote her examination. So rapid was her recovery. God worked overlooking our little faith! I recalled the many things I spoke in my desperation and wept for joy! God is a very interesting person to live with! He plays many practical jokes! My good God! Our daughter is now a mother herself. I sing,
Because He lives I can face tomorrow
Because He lives all fear is gone
Because I know He holds my future
And life is worth the living just because He lives!
After spending over 15 years in the central Office in Vellore we felt we should move to the fields. So we shifted to the State of Karnataka for two years where missionaries of the Blessing YouthMission were labouring. The practice of dedicating young girls to a goddess and then using them as temple prostitutes or selling them in cities is prevalent there. I visited the temple along with missionaries and was heart broken. I started sharing this to prayer groups. A station was opened by BYM right at the town where the temple is (Saundatti), and a Church was built.
After our two years in Karnataka we moved to Orissa to be with the team of missionaries there. Orissa is a strong Hindu State and no one can be baptised without an afidavite. When we went there we were warned not to distribute or sell literature since many were beaten up and vans burned. However I could not contain myself. I started distributing tracts and selling the New Testaments. To our great surprise people flocked to buy. Now literature ministry is making headway in Orissa.
I have experienced the pulling down forces of every woman in every place. But I found that when I was faithful to God, He always honoured me. Though women are considered the least by all, God’s viewpoint is different.
As I kept writing and speaking with my husband’s backing I began receiving letters in response. People started telling me how they mustered courage to win souls, sell literature, obey their husbands, love their children, reach out to prostitutes etc. after reading my articles.
I often used to wonder if a woman could dream. I had many dreams which were never fulfilled because I married a preacher and had to travel from place to place. But now I am sure when a woman dreams, God let’s her realise it in a bigger way. I see my dreams fulfilled in thousands of lives who carry on my dreams. There was a time when I thought I was an ugly duckling. But today I praise God, He made me a swan.
Do you think you are an ugly duckling? Quit worrying. God is transforming you into His beautiful swan!
Dr. Lilian Stanley
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91 9843511943
lilianstanley@gmail.com
Blessing Youth Mission
13 Church Colony
Vellore 632006, India
+91-416-2242943, +91-416-2248943
hq@bymonline.org
www.bymonline.org
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To buy books written by Dr. Lilian Stanley, kindly reach to us in the follwing address
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Chintadripet,
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