The Substance Of Things Hoped For

The Matchless Pearl A heavy splash was followed by many ripples and then the water below the pier was still. David Morse, a missionary, crouched low on the pier, his eyes riveted where a stream of little bubbles rose to the surface from deep under the water. In a moment his old friend Rambhau, an Indian pearl diver, appeared and clambered onto the dock, grinning. "Look at this one, sahib," said Rambhau, taking a big oyster from between his teeth. "I think it will be good." Morse took it and pried it open with his pocket knife. "Rambhau! Look!" exclaimed Morse, "Why it's a treasure!" "Yes, a good one," shrugged the diver. "Good! It's perfect isn't it? Have you ever seen a better pearl? " cried Morse, turning the pearl over in his hands. "Oh, yes, there are better pearls, much better. Why, I have one..." his voice trailed off. "See here -- the imperfections -- the black speck here, this tiny dent. It...

Before They Call, I Will Answer This beautiful story was written by a doctor who worked in South Africa... One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive; as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator). We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates). "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be consi...