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Updated: May 6, 2025
They knew the hymn: If you cannot give your thousands You can give the widow's mite. And each gift you give for Jesus Will be precious in His sight. Mrs. Slessor was not well. Living in the crowded, dusty, smoky city made her sick. Mary found a little home out in the country. Here were clear blue skies and pleasant fields. Mary's mother was much better after they moved her.
"I would give anything to possess your beliefs," she said wistfully, "but I can't, I can't; when God made me He must have left out the part that one believes with." Nevertheless Miss Slessor said that for all her beliefs and unbeliefs she was one of the most truly Christian women she had ever met.
Enlightened women frankly told Miss Slessor that they despaired of ever becoming free from the toils of tradition and custom, and that there seemed no better destiny for them than the life of the harem and the ways of sin. It was a serious outlook for those who became Christians, about whom she was most concerned, and she could not leave the matter alone.
The entire negation of self which she evinced was remarkable, as well as her childlike faith and devotion to her Master and to His service. A lady was heard to say, "Well, after talking to Miss Slessor I am converted to foreign missions," Her mind was ever upon her work and her children, and she used often to say she was idling, there was so much to be done, and so little time in which to do it.
Everywhere people were talking of this great man who had given his life to tell the people of Africa about the Saviour. Mary made up her mind! She must go to Calabar! But what would her mother say? And if her mother agreed, would her church send her out to that field? Mary went to her mother. "I want to offer myself as a missionary," said Mary Slessor to her mother. "Are you willing?"
On her arrival she carefully planted one of the stems, and to her great joy it grew and flourished in front of her hut. "Don't think," she wrote home, "that there is any difference in my designation. I am Mary Mitchell Slessor, nothing more and none other than the unworthy, unprofitable, but most willing, servant of the King of Kings.
'Tis certain it won't be worse than here for you and the children." "Very well, then. I shall tell the children and we shall move before the week is out." When Mother Slessor went outside to call the children, she found Mary seated on the steps with her stick dolls about her. "Well, Mary dear, what are you doing?" "I am the teacher and these are the black children of Calabar.
When she told him that her mother was much interested in him, he was so pleased that he wrote Mrs. Slessor, and the two corresponded he a negro King in Africa and she an obscure woman in Scotland, drawn to each other across 4000 miles of sea by the influence of the Gospel. It was true that the results of thirty years' work in Calabar did not seem large.
"It often happens," she said once, "that when the purse is empty, immediately comes a new instalment. God is superbly kind in the matter of money. I do not know how to thank Him. It is just wonderful how we ever fail in our trust for a moment." On one occasion, when she was a little anxious, she cried, "Shame on you, Mary Slessor, after all you know of Him!"
"When I'm a missionary," said Robert, "I'll take you into the pulpit with me." This made Mary happy and she was much happier when Mother Slessor said, "Perhaps you can be a teacher and teach the little black children of Calabar. Now, children, I want to be sure you know your memory verse for Sunday school tomorrow. Let's all say it together."
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