In December 1926, I was elected girl class speaker for the
Moody Bible Institute graduation exercises. I prayed for a message and
took as my theme “The Print of the Nails,” based on Thomas’ words in
John 20:25: “Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and
put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his
side, I will not believe” (KJV).
The heathen around us have not much respect for ordinary
Christianity. Today, the unbelieving world seems to say to the Christian
church, “If it costs you nothing, what proof have you that it has any
value?” But when they see in any life the print of the nails, they are
challenged, and like Thomas of old, if they can be made to see Him at
that moment, they will fall down and cry, “My Lord and my God!”
The valedictory messages had to be written out, checked
for doctrine and grammar, and memorized by the speakers. I felt hampered
reciting a memorized text. But I fell in line, as I had tried to do
throughout my school days.
Beloved of the Lord
On the day of graduation, I went forward and faced that
big audience. I did not feel as nervous as I expected to, and started in
easily, but as I proceeded, I felt the message was not going into the
hearts of the audience.
In my anxiety to give it the meaning it had for me, I
forgot how the next paragraph started. It was for only a second, but to
me it was a catastrophe.
I got through the message, went to my seat, hung my head,
and waited until the end of the program when I would be free to dash for
my room. Once up there, I fell on my knees in an agony of humiliation
and failure.
Suddenly the Lord was there in the room. I felt His love
folding me around. “Never mind, dear,” He was saying. “Failure or
success, it is all over now, and My love is just the same.”
“The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by him; and
the Lord shall cover him all the day long, and he shall dwell between
his shoulders” (Deut. 33:12).
The words came to me as if spoken, and the tenderness that
engulfed me was as the balm of Gilead to my agonized soul. Slowly I
relaxed, rested on Him and drank deeply of His love. It was a wonderful
experience, and I was lifted up in spirit so that I no longer cared
about any personal humiliation. I have never forgotten the outpouring of
God’s love upon me that day when I felt such a failure.
A Humble Start
After graduation came candidature at the China Inland
Mission (CIM) in Toronto. I was there for some three or four weeks
before being called to meet the Council.
That is a formidable occasion and I was nervous, as I am
not quick at thinking on my feet. I always do better with preparation
and time to consider the best answer. The meeting came and went, and
that evening after supper I was called into the sitting room of the Rev.
Brownlee, director of the Toronto Mission Home, to hear the verdict.
He said something like this: “The Council was quite
satisfied with your answers today, and we in the Home have enjoyed your
presence. But the Council asked me to speak to you upon a very serious
matter.
“Among your referees there was one who did not recommend
you. The reason given was that you are proud, disobedient and likely to
be a troublemaker. This person has known you for some years, and the
Council felt they could not ignore the criticism.”
“Who was it?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“The CIM does not betray the confidence of referees. We
write to those who have had business associations with you as well as
the referees you yourself give—and we promise to keep all reports in
confidence. I cannot tell you the name, but I would like to discuss with
you what havoc such characteristics can cause on the field.”
At the end of an hour of earnest exhortation, he
pronounced the verdict: “The Council decided to accept you
conditionally. There is an anti-foreign uprising in China just now,
which is very serious, and we dare not send out any new candidates. That
will be our public statement on this matter.
“During your waiting period, the Vancouver Council will be
watching to see if any of these characteristics show themselves. If you
prove that you have conquered them, you will then be accepted fully,
and sent out with the first party that goes.”
His face was sad. I felt sorry for him, even with the
misery that was numbing my own heart. This was the third time the
adjective “proud” had been attached to me.
Months before a close family friend had read me an anxious
lecture on the subject, to my extreme surprise, for pride was one of
the human frailties of which I felt I was not guilty. I had brushed this
aside.
China was later to be a painful revelation to me of my own
heart and frailty. I now know that he had indeed sensed a real flaw in
my life but had hold of the wrong label. I was selfish.
My Heart Revealed
I had whimsically divided the world into two
classes—people who interested me and people who did not. I felt I was
not proud, because the people who interested me were often among the
poor or the uneducated.
Toward people who did not interest me I must have appeared
proud. I brushed them off as time-wasters. This was of course a serious
flaw for a missionary, but I fancy its basis was selfishness rather
than pride.
The next point was disobedience. How I did get indignant!
There were many rules at Moody Bible Institute that were difficult to
keep. I had been meticulous in obeying because I had signed a promise to
do so.
I had been told not to spread around this second condition
of my acceptance by the Mission, but I did write a few friends. They
wrote back quickly, indignant and sympathetic. All except Roy Bancroft, a
music student with a beautiful baritone voice and a consecrated heart.
I happened to be writing to him those days, and
impulsively told him. A letter came back quickly, and I opened it,
thinking that Roy too would be indignant on my behalf. But I got a
shock.
“Isobel,” he wrote, “what surprised me most of all was
your attitude in this matter. You sound bitter and resentful. Why, if
anyone had said to me, ‘Roy B., you are proud, disobedient and a
troublemaker,’ I would answer: ‘Amen, brother! And even then you haven’t
said the half of it!’ What good thing is there in any of us, anyway? We
have victory over these things only as we bring them one by one to the
cross and ask our Lord to crucify [them] for us.”
Faithful friend he was, not afraid to season his words
with salt, even as he did not forget to speak with grace also. I was on
my knees in no time asking the Lord to forgive me.
I arose with a different attitude. Instead of resentment
there was alertness to watch and see if pride, disobedience and
rebellion were really lurking in my camp.
This brought me into peace, even though I always shrank
from the memory that I was to be watched for their appearance in my
life. I learned of my detractor’s identity, and I knew the reason for
her hostility. She was a teacher in a school that I had attended, who
wanted me to assist her in spying on my fellow pupils. I had incurred
her displeasure by refusing.
I was tempted to clear myself with the Council. But I
seemed to hear a voice say, “If that had been said of me, I’d have
answered: ‘Amen, Brother! And then you haven’t told the half of it!’”
“No, Lord!” I whispered. “I won’t bother the Mission with
it. But how princely of You to let me know—it is like a miracle. Only
You could have done it.”
Woulnds That Heal
“For the Lord is always kind; be not blind,” wrote Amy
Carmichael. Kind? To let me end up at Moody under such a cloud? Kind? To
let me begin with the CIM under such a stigma?
Yes. You see, the Lord foreknew there was a work to be
done in me before I sailed for China, and if I had ended Institute life
with great acclaim I would have wrecked that work at the very outset. My
self-confidence needed to be thoroughly jarred before He dare put this
delicate affair into my hands. And He jarred it all right.
My Master is thorough, but He had also been meticulously
kind—just as soon as He dared, He showed me why. And that experience of
His enfolding love after my graduation ceremony has blessed me all my
life.
Only by searching can we find out what He is. When the
door opened for China again, I received a letter from a member of the
Council, granting me unconditional acceptance by the China Inland
Mission, and sending me off with their “loving prayers and blessings.”
I bowed my head over that little letter and wept tears of
gratitude. Yes, my Master is thorough. He wounds, but He binds up, and
His balm of Gilead heals without stinging. It cools, refreshes and
restores in every part. He gives the garment of praise for the spirit of
heaviness and brings beauty out of our ashes.
Isobel Selina Miller Kuhn (1901-1957) was born in
Toronto, Ontario. Although she had been raised in a Christian home, she
had not always been willing to follow the call of God on her life.
During her time spent at a secular university, Isobel
put her faith on hold. A broken engagement pushed her close to the point
of suicide one night, but instead, she offered her life to God.
After reading about Hudson Taylor and the China Inland
Mission (now the Overseas Missionary Fellowship), she felt a call to
China and, specifically, to the Lisu people—a people group who live
mostly in China, Thailand and Burma.
Following a short stint as a schoolteacher and
preparation at Moody Bible Institute, Isobel sailed for China in 1928. There
she married John Kuhn whom she had first met at Moody.
The Kuhns finally reached Lisuland in 1934. They
established Bible schools and helped many of the native peoples to
mature in their faith and take on the evangelization of their
communities. Isobel’s health was fragile at this point, but she lived
among the people she loved for 22 years—first in China and later in
Thailand.
Isobel wrote several books on her life and experiences.
She spent her last years in the United States.
Adapted from By Searching by Isobel Kuhn,
copyright 1959. Published by Moody Press. Used by permission.
Abby Trivett 
Harbinger's Daily 
Bill Wiese 
