Silver Chimes in Syria: Glimpses of a Missionary's ExperiencesNelson, William S.
Religion
Silver Chimes in Syria: Glimpses of a Missionary's Experiences
Nelson, William S.
Missions -- Syria
Once, on a pleasant summer evening, we were encamped near a Nusairiyeh
village. Among those gathered about us were an elderly peasant and his
son, a well-built, sturdy youth of seventeen or eighteen years. As he
sat before us this young man appeared to be in perfect health and vigor,
but when he rose to walk, his awkward gait revealed his misfortune, for
both feet were so badly deformed that he walked on his ankles and not on
the soles of his feet. The doctor was asked whether this defect could be
remedied. After a careful examination the lad was told that the
operation would be painful, and that some time would be required, but
that if he would come to the hospital, prepared to stay as long as
should be necessary, he would be able to come away, walking erect, like
other people. The faces brightened at once, and we shared in their
pleasure at the prospect of this deliverance. The next morning, however,
we were told that the family had talked over the matter and decided not
to have the operation performed. We assured them there should be no
expense, but they said it was not the matter of expense. Then we told
them of similar cases which had been successfully treated, but they
assured us they had no doubt of the doctor's skill. We encouraged the
young man to bear the pain for the sake of increased enjoyment in life
afterwards, but he said he was not afraid of the pain. What then was the
trouble? At last we learned the truth. So long as the lad could show two
such clubbed feet, he would be excused from military service; but if
they were made straight he would be called to the army; and he would
rather go through life a cripple than to give several years of his vigor
to service in the Turkish army. And he is no exception.
We were approaching a large town of bigoted people, wondering how we
should secure an opening for our message. I was riding slightly in front
of the doctor, occupied with plans for securing access to the people.
Suddenly I heard the doctor's voice behind me saying, "Boy, do you want
your eye straightened?" On looking back I saw a lad of about fifteen
years, with a decidedly crossed eye, beside the doctor's horse. He
promptly accepted the offer, and we hastened to dismount and tie our
horses. A table in the little roadside café was quickly cleared, while
the doctor got out his case of instruments from his saddlebags. The boy
was placed on the table and in an incredibly short time the cords were
severed so that the eyeball took its proper position, and we were
thoroughly advertised. By the time our camp equipage came up, we had
been provided with an excellent place to camp, and had nothing to
complain of in the reception of the people.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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