I RECEIVE A NEW NAME.
Sadly my father wended his way down the mountain. All was hopeless.
Heaven had forgotten to smile upon him. Then he noticed ahead of him
a small crowd surrounding a foreigner. He was a missionary from the
neighboring town, and was busy selling books and preaching to the
worshippers of the goddess. Father stepped up, partly out of curiosity
and partly remembering the good deeds of the foreigners in the famine
district.
The crowd were inclined for some fun at the stranger’s expense; but
he answered with such good humor and politeness as to win their good
opinions. Then he commenced to preach. He did not abuse the idols—there
might have been trouble had he done so—but he told of a True Spirit who
was loving and good. Father listened. Who could that Spirit be, so full
of love? Not the god of thunder whom everybody feared, for he struck men
dead in his wrath. Not the fierce god of war, or the pitiless Niang-niang
rejoicing in the sufferings of the smallpox victims.
As the missionary spoke his face glowed. He told of Jesus, who went
about doing good and at last died for men. There were no Chinese gods
who would do that, father thought. They would take your money, but
die for you?—well, that was nonsense. Eagerly he listened to the
wonderful story. The stranger noticed him. At the close of his address
he approached father. “Your name, honorable sir?” he asked. “My unworthy
name is Lee,” was the response. Quietly and earnestly the stranger looked
into father’s face. “Sir,” he said, “I noticed you listening intently
just now; may I respectfully ask you, Is there peace in your heart? Do
you yet know the grace of God in forgiving sin?” Forgiving sin—that was
what my new parents had sought for so long; and the missionary’s words
went home. My father made a confused answer, but bought a book the
stranger recommended him, and hurried home lest it should be known that
he had talked with the foreigner, and was in danger of eating the foreign
doctrine.
That meeting was the turning-point in my father’s life. The book he had
bought pointed out a new and living way of obtaining release from sin.
Many visits were paid to the chapel; and once the missionary came to our
village and stayed at our house. Little by little my father’s prejudices
were overcome, and the new doctrine entered his heart. At first mother
was bitterly opposed to it. To draw her away from her gods and win her to
this persecuted faith was no easy task; but gradually the light dawned
for her, too.
The neighbors got to hear of the visits to the chapel, and much petty
annoyance was the result; but father’s patience and sincerity disarmed
suspicion, and his happiness was so manifest as to be a constant witness
to the truth. They were happy days for me, and my new life was such a
change from the old that it all seemed a dream. One day the missionary
heard my story. “You have come out of much tribulation,” he said. Then
turning to father, he remarked, “Why not give her a new name?” “Yes,”
said father, “we will not call her Yin-dee any more, but Ping-an—Rest and
Peace—for that is what I have now found in Christ.” So that is how my
name was changed.
Then it was suggested that I ought not to grow up ignorant, but should
learn to read and write; for in the Christian religion there is no
difference made between girls and boys—all are alike precious to Jesus.
The missionary told us that at Han-yang there was a school for girls,
where many were living and being taught useful things, and, best of all,
were taught the story of Christ. How excited I was at the prospect of
going, though not a little afraid of so strange a place!
At last the longed-for day came and I found myself with my father landing
at Han-yang. At first I was bewildered by the busy crowds and clung to
father’s gown as I walked along. How I trembled with excitement as we
reached the school, and I think father felt as nervous as I did. But we
were inside the gates at last. In a large yard we saw a group of girls
playing. I gave a gasp of surprise. How could they run so? Then I saw
that their feet were unbound, and the small, pointed shoes had given
place to comfortable ones, which didn’t cause them to hobble along. I
smiled a welcome at them, and wondered how long it would be before I
could run as they did.
We were shown in and introduced to the matron, a Chinese lady, who made
us feel quite at home, and after a chat two foreign ladies came in. At
first I could only stare, and I nearly forgot my manners; but I found
that though they were dressed strangely they spoke my language; so my
fear left me and I was soon enrolled as a scholar in the David Hill
Girls’ School, and proud I was of the fact, too. Truly my new name suited
me—I had found rest and peace.