Our Weekly Devotionals

Letter 9 - November 9, 1901

Nabumali Mission Station, Bugisu. To her sister Margaret, Yorkshire

My dear Maggie,

The sun is setting now behind the hills, casting everything in a gold so soft it almost makes the hardships here seem like a dream. But I mustn’t pretend it is all beauty. Today, I had to burn two of Mary’s dresses - the termites had eaten through the hems, and the mould would not come out.

I sometimes wonder what people think when they hear “missionary wife.” They imagine polished tables and polite luncheons, perhaps. But I am more often found boiling water over a charcoal fire, chasing snakes from the chicken coop, or weeping beside another woman whose baby didn’t make it through the fever.

Today, I received a letter from Annie Cook, wife of Dr. John Cook in Mengo. She wrote:

“We buried a woman last week. She was only twenty-five. I washed the body myself. The other women were afraid to touch it. But I sang as I worked - ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus.’”

I read her words again and again. Because, Maggie, sometimes we women must carry a faith that bleeds quietly.

We’re the ones who stay behind when our husbands ride out into the hills. We soothe the children when the drums beat in the dark. We plant Scripture in small hearts long before they’re ready to read.

There is a woman here - Namakoye. Her husband forbade her from attending our classes. But still, she comes - barefoot, early, and always with a half smile. She listens from behind the schoolhouse. Last week, I heard her whispering the Lord’s Prayer in the Masaba language.

I don’t know how long it will take for her husband to notice. Or approve. But I know this:

“A bruised reed He will not break.” - Isaiah 42:3

That verse is for women like Annie. And Namakoye. And maybe for me, too.

With all my love,
Ethel