Mary Shaw was kind enough to send me this write up that she used at a recent women's retreat. She said that after reading it, that she hoped we could still be friends. My response was that I am honored to be her friend. I think her testimony shows how God uses ordinary people with their flaws and weaknesses to do extraordinary things in order that we will be amazed by Him. Time to meet Mary Shaw!
I’VE
BEEN SHOVED AROUND
“You want to be a success? Know
what you want to accomplish!”
“Keep your eye on it! Don’t get off track!”
(That’s what they tell us; but nobody told me!)
I
was born and ‘growed’ in Pittsburg, Kansas… did my ‘growing up’ during the
Depression Years… went through elementary school… high school… had no great
expectations, just supposed I’d work awhile… get married… raise a family. No romantic ideas about it. Life was all right, and I was happy just
ambling along. Pittsburg, Kansas, suited
me just fine, and I expected to spend the rest of my life right there.
I
went to church from the time I was born.
I loved church… the singing… the nice people… the love… the social life…. It was comfortable, and I was happy just to
be a part of it. When I was about
nineteen, we had a special speaker: Dr. Vincent Bennett, a Bible teacher from
John Brown University. He was a little
Englishman with a delightful personality and a British accent that was fun to
listen to---so I paid attention. By the
time he finished, I was thinking seriously about what Jesus had done. God loved me… I knew that. But He wanted to be a vital part of my
life…. That night, I asked Him to make
me the person that He wanted me to be.
Dr.
Bennett suggested that I ‘come to John Brown University.’ What?! Out of the question! I was working! I had to work! I had
an important war-time job… sputter, sputter.
None of my siblings had gone to college… and… and… and on and on…. The real reason was that I was afraid
to go to college. I hadn’t taken college preparatory courses…
didn’t think I was smart enough. Besides,
I was afraid to leave Pittsburg, Kansas.
So, Dr. Bennett
left town, and I continued helping Montgomery Ward customers apply for
war-time-rationed plumbing and heating appliances. That went on for two or three years, but
every time Dr. Bennett came through town he’d call and urge me to
reconsider. In late July of 1944, he
called and said: “Great news, Mary! Mr.
and Mrs. Huff said they’ll pay your way for a year if you’ll go to JBU!” I groaned and muttered to myself, “Why don’t
people let me alone!” I didn’t want
to go, but how could I refuse? I struggled for weeks: yes – no-- yes – no –
yes – no – well... okay.
Huffs were to
drive me to JBU on Sunday, one day before registration for the ’44 fall
semester. The Saturday night before, I
couldn’t sleep. My bags were mostly
packed, but I was miserable… I felt I was being shoved around against my will. The
next morning, I went to church, faced the Huffs, and told them I was not going
to go. I took my place in the choir, at
peace with myself and the world. Just
before the sermon, the selected hymn was “I’ll go where you want me to go, dear
Lord; I’ll be what you want me to be.” Ouch! I slipped out the side door of the choir
loft, went home, finished packing and got back to church as the service was
closing. I stood in the back of the
church, tears in my eyes, and told the Huffs I’d go. I had my last Sunday dinner at home, and they
drove me to Siloam Springs, Arkansas.
John Brown University was a little bitty
Christian college… just right for me!
Everyone was gracious, and I felt right at home. Because it was war time, enrollment was low,
especially among male students, but I scarcely noticed. To keep expenses down, all students had to
contribute three or four hours a day in a service assignment… what would mine
be? Good friend Dr. Bennett went to bat
for me, and they assigned me to KUOA, the 5,000 watt commercial radio station
on campus. I loved it. I also loved the Bible courses and the
Christian atmosphere… they were just what
I needed to grow spiritually. I went for
a year—and stayed four. Because I had
worked for six years after high school, I knew how to work and how to study. That helped me win scholarships for the next
year… and the next, and the next. During
the summers, I was hired by the radio station, earning cash toward my following
year’s expenses.
By May of 1948,
I had earned a bachelor’s degree in English, a natural follow-up from my high
school major, English. I still had a
little debt, but the Lord fixed that for me—the school needed an interim
registrar for part of the summer, and I was named to fill the slot. Fun! After
the new registrar arrived, there was a void in the English department and…guess
what? the head of the department said, “Put
Miss Shaw in… she can do it.” So I
taught Freshman English that year. I
loved that too. It went well
enough that they told me I could have the job permanently if I wanted, but
would have to get something more than a Bachelor’s degree.
Years before, I
had been afraid to go to college in my own home town. Now, since I was ‘experienced,’ I marched
right up and enrolled in State Teachers’ College---in Pittsburg, Kansas! I enrolled in the Language and Literature Department,
and by May of 1951, I had earned a master’s degree: “I’m an English teacher!”
Just then, I got
a letter from a former JBU friend who was in Peru with Wycliffe Bible
Translators. She was having a great time
in Peru and said, “Mary, you ought to take that course at the University of
Oklahoma, the ‘Summer Institute of Linguistics.’ It’s run by Wycliffe Bible Translators, but
you don’t have to be a missionary!” Why
such a remark? She knew I had always
avoided any possible urge to be a missionary….
However, ‘Descriptive Linguistics’ was a standard graduate course
offered by the university, and in my career as an English teacher, that credit
would look good on my resume. I had the
money, and the time… “I might as well go!”
I didn’t notice at the time, but I was being shoved around!
At the Summer Institute
of Linguistics, we ate, slept, and breathed linguistics---for eleven
weeks. For me, it was hard
work. I just wasn’t made for all
that theoretical stuff! But I liked
those Wycliffe people, and their goals.
It made sense to provide the Bible for people who always had to rely on
somebody else to tell them what it said.
Oral transmission of God’s Word was often warped, or intentionally
biased. Not fair. They should be able to read it for
themselves. At the end of the summer,
some of those people I admired were saying, “Mary, I wish you’d join
Wycliffe!” Me? I’m not spiritual enough. Not
smart enough. Not brave enough. I’d have to submit a statement of faith…
they’d never accept me… but I probably should apply…. I did apply, halfway hoping I’d be
refused. I wasn’t... I was in!
I spent another
full summer in linguistics, and learning the principles of Bible
translation. After that, it was time for
jungle training camp. What?! I’d never been an outdoors person… never even
gone camping. But I was supposed to
learn how to live in an environment I’d never known before… how to meet
problems I didn’t expect… how to survive if I should ever be lost in a jungle! The training camp was in the southernmost tip
of Mexico, a good place to learn skills I had never cared to pursue. I loved it.
We had a wonderful Wycliffe staff who knew how hard to push us, and when
to pamper us. After twelve weeks they (and
we) knew whether we should forget about being Bible translators. Surprise…they didn’t tell me to ‘forget it.’
The Lord
provided me with a great buddy through all my Wycliffe training (if He hadn’t, I
doubt that I’d have made it). Helen
Neuenswander was a registered nurse, another Kansan, and also a graduate of
JBU. We almost automatically formed a
team, and in July, 1953, we were sent to the Achí (ah-CHEE) people, Mayan
descendants in Guatemala. We moved into
Cubulco, a little rural town that was ‘half Indian and half Ladino’ (about half
of the inhabitants spoke Achí; the other
half were ‘Latinized’ and spoke Spanish).
But the mountains around town were full
of Achí speakers. What was that line in The Wizard of Oz? … “We’re not in Kansas anymore!”
Our aim was to
live among the Indian people, but the
only place was in a Ladino house on Main Street. We moved into two rooms, and found an Achí
girl to come and help us learn the language.
Though Helen was a nurse, we kept that a secret--- we were there to translate,
not medicate! Surprise… our landlady ‘forgot’ to keep it a
secret…. That became clear when one
‘visitor’ after another came “to see the nurse.” Those visits soon were taking all our time… not
the way it was supposed to be. (Shoved
around again!) But it wasn’t all bad. We made friends and
learned two languages. Our Spanish was muy poquito… and our Achí was starting from scratch… (or itch, or
colds, or tummy aches… you learn a lot
of anatomical terms when all your visitors are sick.) For instance: we learned that in Achí, you
can’t say ‘head’… or ‘hand’, or ‘foot’… it has to be ‘my head’, ‘your head’, ‘his head’…. body parts have to belong to
someone! So do many personal items… clothing, homes, relatives. ‘Husband’ is literally ‘my man,’ ‘wife’ is ‘my woman’…
so if anyone gets married, he must be ‘possessed’! (Joke!)
But, weren’t we thrilled when we
found out that same rule-of-possession applied to ‘Lord’… one has to say ‘my Lord / your Lord / our Lord’…. Beautiful!
We
found other ‘treasures’ in the Achí language… ‘my heart hurts for you’ is the way to say ‘I love you’… ‘I lost it out of my heart’ means ‘I
forgive you’ … ‘my heart sits down in you’
is the way to say ‘I have confidence in
you; I believe in you.’ God gave us
that one when one of Helen’s patients told her: “I don’t understand, but I’ll
take the medicine the way you say, because my heart sits down in you.” With those treasures, here is the way John
3:16 comes out: “God’s heart hurt so
much for the people on earth that he sent his son this way, so that anyone
who sets his heart down in him would not be destroyed, but would have a
life that never ends.” I didn’t
really like ‘linguistics’… but I loved translation… what a joy to work
full time with Achí speakers putting God’s Word into their language!
Thirty
years later, we published the New Testament.
We had a big celebration in the city hall, with participation by state
and city officials, the Catholic priest, and pastors of the two
Protestant churches. When it was over, Helen said, “Now we can
build that hospital.” What
hospital?! The one she’d had on her
heart for years… one to serve the local people in Cubulco…
one in which the Achí language would be
spoken and understood. “Helen, that’s
crazy… we don’t have the funds… we don’t have the personnel… we’d never get
legal permission … and., and…” I don’t think she heard me… and besides, she had
God on her side.
They
say, ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’!
In November, 1984, we began to build.
The work went on sporadically (as we had help) through ’85, ’86, ‘87,
’88, ’89. Helen was fighting Hodgkin’s
disease, a losing battle, and she died January 9, 1990. The hospital wasn’t quite finished, and I
thought, “Lord, it’s not fair! I didn’t
want this hospital in the first place!”
But I didn’t say it. If I had,
He’d have said, “Mary, there’s no way I’m going to let you try to run this
hospital!” He already had someone
waiting in the wings. Helen had previously talked to Bob McRae, the
Guatemala director of “Advancing the Ministries of the Gospel.” Director McRae and his staff stepped in,
finished the hospital, and put it in operation.
It was beautiful! And I was as
proud as if I had thought of it myself. Today,
it’s still a lighthouse in Cubulco, as the “Centro Medico Christiano, La
Señorita Elena” --- Helen’s vision, and God’s fulfillment.
Yes, I’ve been
shoved around, but isn’t that what I asked for when I was nineteen? The Achí have the New Testament in their
language, churches are flourishing, and the Old Testament (by native
translators) is almost ready to publish. It’s been a satisfying life. But, what would
it have amounted to, if the Lord hadn’t shoved me around?!
(Mary Shaw, September 15, 2013)