Chapters (64)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- A Week’s Work in Birmingham
- I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- II
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- III
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Acknowledgements
- Further Reading
- About the Author
- By the Same Author
To her astonishment, her father did something he had never done before. He reached across and took her hand in his huge, warm one. It was a while before he said anything. She heard him swallow several times and she had the awe-inspiring realization that he was trying not to weep himself.
‘My dear,’ he managed eventually, in a choked voice. ‘My own life has not run smoothly in the ways I thought the Lord wanted for me. That is how I came to be in this . . . in this place, doing the Lord’s work among simple country people.’ He added swiftly, ‘People who, of course, are God’s children as much as any other.’
Margaret realized then the extent of her father’s disappointment; that the word he had managed not to say was probably ‘backwater’. He had regarded himself as destined for the great city missions, but he had not the constitution for it. Something in him, as a younger man, had broken down and the Church authorities had never thought him strong enough to be moved again.
‘I know your sister is likely to be destined for the missions.’ He gave a faint chuckle. ‘I had hopes for John, of course . . .’ He looked down for a moment, but then raised his head, his mouth turning up. ‘Annie seems to have the constitution of an ox and is full of certainty.’ He looked into her eyes and she was moved by the emotion in them. Never in her life had she loved her poor father so much or felt so close to him. ‘Perhaps some of us have to walk the quieter paths, where the trumpets of glory are heard but dimly.’
She still could not see him as having failed as he seemed to feel he had. She lay looking at him, this tall man who loomed so central in her life, and her eyes were full of love.
Her father laid his free hand on her forehead. ‘I pray hourly for your healing,’ he said. ‘Try and believe that all shall be well, my dear child. The Lord loves you abundantly and so do I.’
As he left the room, she let the tears run down her cheeks.
Soon after her eighteenth birthday, she began to feel a little improved. Having been shut away for so long in the house, she was frail, nervous of going out and uncertain of everything.
Annie, now sixteen, had completed her schooling and was busy in the village – Sunday school, running a Bible class, visiting and helping. She was already chafing to get away, a free spirit who argued with their father over almost every point, and seemed sure that some great mission awaited her.