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About the Book
"Miracles from Heaven" by Christy Wilson Beam tells the true story of her daughter Annabel's miraculous recovery from a rare, life-threatening digestive disorder. Through faith, hope, and perseverance, the Beam family navigates the challenges of Annabel's illness and experiences extraordinary moments of healing and divine intervention. This inspiring memoir highlights the power of faith and the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity.
John and Betty Stam
The year 1934. Americans John and Betty Stam were serving as missionaries in China. One morning Betty was bathing her three-month-old daughter Helen Priscilla Stam when Tsingteh's city magistrate appeared. Communist forces were near, he warned, and urged the Stams to flee.
So John Stam went out to investigate the situation for himself. He received conflicting reports. Taking no chances, he arranged for Betty and the baby to be escorted away to safety if need be. But before the Stams could make their break, the Communists were inside the city. By little-known paths, they had streamed over the mountains behind government troops. Now gun shots sounded in the streets as looting began. The enemy beat on the Stams' own gate.
A faithful cook and maid at the mission station had stayed behind. The Stams knelt with them in prayer. But the invaders were pounding at the door. John opened it and spoke courteously to the four leaders who entered, asking them if they were hungry. Betty brought them tea and cakes. The courtesy meant nothing. They demanded all the money the Stams had, and John handed it over. As the men bound him, he pleaded for the safety of his wife and child. The Communists left Betty and Helen behind as they led John off to their headquarters.
Before long, they reappeared, demanding mother and child. The maid and cook pleaded to be allowed to accompany Betty.
"No," barked the captors, and threatened to shoot.
"It is better for you to stay here," Betty whispered. "If anything happens to us, look after the baby."
[When we consecrate ourselves to God, we think we are making a great sacrifice, and doing lots for Him, when really we are only letting go some little, bitsie trinkets we have been grabbing, and when our hands are empty, He fills them full of His treasures. --Betty Stam]
Betty was led to her husband's side. Little Helen needed some things and John was allowed to return home under guard to fetch them. But everything had been stolen. That night John was allowed to write a letter to mission authorities. "My wife, baby and myself are today in the hands of the Communists in the city of Tsingteh. Their demand is twenty thousand dollars for our release. . . . We were too late. The Lord bless and guide you. As for us, may God be glorified, whether by life or by death."
Prisoners in the local jail were released to make room for the Stams. Frightened by rifle fire, the baby cried out. One of the Reds said, "Let's kill the baby. It is in our way." A bystander asked, "Why kill her? What harm has she done?"
"Are you a Christian?" shouted one of the guards.
The man said he was not; he was one of the prisoners just released.
"Will you die for this foreign baby?" they asked. As Betty hugged Helen to her chest, the man was hacked to pieces before her eyes.
Terror in the Streets
The next morning their captors led the Stams toward Miaosheo, twelve miles distant. John carried little Helen, but Betty, who was not physically strong, owing to a youthful bout with inflammatory rheumatitis was allowed to ride a horse part of the way. Terror reigned in the streets of Miaosheo. Under guard, the foreign family was hustled into the postmaster's shop.
"Where are you going?" asked the postmaster, who recognized them from their previous visits to his town. "We do not know where they are going, but we are going to heaven," answered John. He left a letter with the postmaster. "I tried to persuade them to let my wife and baby go back from Tsingteh with a letter to you, but they would not let her. . . ."
That night the three were held in the house of a wealthy man who had fled. They were guarded by soldiers. John was tied to a post all that cold night, but Betty was allowed enough freedom to tend the baby. As it turned out, she did more than that.
Execution
The next morning the young couple were led through town without the baby. Their hands were tightly bound, and they were stripped of their outer garments as if they were common criminals. John walked barefoot. He had given his socks to Betty. The soldiers jeered and called the townâs folk to come see the execution. The terrified people obeyed.
On the way to the execution, a medicine-seller, considered a lukewarm Christian at best, stepped from the crowd and pleaded for the lives of the two foreigners. The Reds angrily ordered him back. The man would not be stilled. His house was searched, a Bible and hymnbook found, and he, too was dragged away to die as a hated Christian.
John pleaded for the manâs life. The Red leader sharply ordered him to kneel. As John was speaking softly, the Red leader swung his sword through the missionaryâs throat so that his head was severed from his body. Betty did not scream. She quivered and fell bound beside her husbandâs body. As she knelt there, the same sword ended her life with a single blow.
Betty
Betty Scott was born in the United States but reared in China as the daughter of missionaries. She came to the United States and attended Wilson College in Pennsylvania. Betty prepared to follow in her parentsâ footsteps and work in China or wherever else the Lord directed her.
But China it proved to be. At a prayer meeting for China, she met John Stam and a friendship developed that ripened into love. Painfully they recognized that marriage was not yet possible. âThe China Inland Mission has appealed for men, single men, to work in sections where it would be impossible to take a woman until more settled work has commenced,â wrote John. He committed the matter to the Lord, whose work, he felt, must come before any human affection. At any rate, Betty would be leaving for China before him, to work in an entirely different region, and so they must be separated anyhow. As a matter of fact, John had not yet even been accepted by the China Inland Mission whereas Betty had. They parted after a long tender day, sharing their faith, picnicking, talking, and praying.
Betty sailed while John continued his studies. On July 1, 1932, John, too, was accepted for service in China. Now at least he could head toward the same continent as Betty. He sailed for Shanghai.
Meanwhile, Betty found her plans thwarted. A senior missionary had been captured by the Communists in the region where she was to have worked. The mission directors decided to keep her in a temporary station, and later ill-health brought her to Shanghai. Thus without any choice on her part, she was in Shanghai when John landed in China. Immediately they became engaged and a year later were married, long before they expected it. In October, 1934 Helen Priscilla was born to them. What would become of her now that her parents John and Betty were dead?
In the Hills
For two days, local Christians huddled in hiding in the hills around Miaosheo. Among them was a Chinese evangelist named Mr. Lo. Through informants, he learned that the Communists had captured two foreigners. At first he did not realize that these were John and Betty Stam, with whom he had worked, but as he received more details, he put two and two together. As soon as government troops entered the valley and it was safe to venture forth, Mr. Lo hurried to town. His questions met with silence. Everyone was fearful that spies might report anyone who said too much.
An old woman whispered to Pastor Lo that there was a baby left behind. She nodded in the direction of the house where John and Betty had been chained their last night on earth. Pastor Lo hurried to the site and found room after room trashed by the bandits. Then he heard a muffled cry. Tucked by her mother in a little sleeping bag, Helen was warm and alive, although hungry after her two day fast.
The kindly pastor took the child in his arms and carried her to his wife. With the help of a local Christian family, he wrapped the bodies that still lay upon the hillside and placed them into coffins. To the crowd that gathered he explained that the missionaries had only come to tell them how they might find forgiveness of sin in Christ. Leaving others to bury the dead, he hurried home. Somehow Helen had to be gotten to safety.
Pastor Lo's own son, a boy of four, was desperately ill -- semi-conscious after days of exposure. Pastor Lo had to find a way to carry the children a hundred miles through mountains infested by bandits and Communists. Brave men were found willing to help bear the children to safety, but there was no money to pay them for their efforts. Lo had been robbed of everything he had.
From Beyond the Grave
But from beyond the grave, Betty provided. Tucked in Helen's sleeping bag were a change of clothes and some diapers. Pinned between these articles of clothing were two five dollar bills. It made the difference.
Placing the children in rice baskets slung from the two ends of a bamboo pole, the group departed quietly, taking turns carrying the precious cargo over their shoulders. Mrs. Lo was able to find Chinese mothers along the way to nurse Helen. On foot, they came safely through their perils. Lo's own boy recovered consciousness suddenly and sat up, singing a hymn.
Eight days after the Stams fell into Communist hands, another missionary in a nearby city heard a rap at his door. He opened it and a Chinese woman, stained with travel, entered the house, bearing a bundle in her arms. "This is all we have left," she said brokenly.
The missionary took the bundle and turned back the blanket to uncover the sleeping face of Helen Priscilla Stam. Many kind hands had labored to preserve the infant girl, but none kinder than Betty who had spared no effort for her baby even as she herself faced degradation and death.
Kathleen White has written an excellent and very readable biography John and Betty Stam, available from Bethany House Publishers (1988). She reports that Betty's alma mater, Wilson College in Pennsylvania, took over baby Helen's support and covered the costs of her college education. She added: "Helen is living in this country (USA) with her husband and family but does not wish her identity and whereabouts to be made known."
Resources:
Huizenga, Lee S. John and Betty Stam; Martyrs. Zondervan, 1935.
Pollock, John. Victims of the Long March and Other Stories. Waco, Texas.: Word Publishing, 1970.
Taylor, Mrs. Howard. The Triumph of John and Betty Stam. China Inland Mission, 1935.
the sluggard in me - four lies that lead to lazy
Come, follow closely, and gaze for a moment upon a rare creature in his native habitat. There he is, drooling upon his pillow an hour before lunchtime, creaking over the bedsprings like a door on its hinges. âHow long will you lie there? When will you arise from your sleep?â his mother shouts from the kitchen. Quiet, now: she has roused him. Here he comes, stumbling into his chair, and begins to feed. âWhatâs wrong with a little sleep, a little slumber?â he mumbles between mouthfuls. A dozen handfuls later, however, he stops, his hand submerged in his cereal like a sunk boat. He breathes heavily, chin against his chest, and begins to snore again. Meet the sluggard (Proverbs 26:14; 6:9â10; 19:24). He is a figure of âtragi-comedy,â Derek Kidner writes ( Proverbs , 39): comedy, because the sluggardâs laziness makes him ludicrous; tragedy, because only sin could so debase a man. The image of God was never meant to yawn through life. Yet those who are paying attention will also see something more in this tragi-comic sloth: themselves. We all have an inner sluggard, counseling us to sleep when we should rise, rest when we should work, eat when we should move. âThe wise man,â Kidner goes on to write, knows that the sluggard is no freak, but, as often as not, an ordinary man who has made too many excuses, too many refusals, and too many postponements. It has all been as imperceptible, and as pleasant, as falling asleep. (40) We donât need to look far, then, to see the sluggard in his native habitat. We only need to hear his âexcuses,â ârefusals,â and âpostponements,â and then listen for their inner echo. âI need just a little more.â A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest. (Proverbs 6:10; 24:33) The words sit in the mouth of the sluggard more than once in Proverbs. They are, perhaps, his motto, his favorite response to the wisdom of the diligent. âEarly to rest, early to rise . . .â they tell him; âA little sleep, a little slumber . . .â he answers. âAn ordinary man becomes a sluggard one small surrender at a time.â Sluggishness often hides beneath that eminently reasonable phrase âjust a little more.â What harm could a little  do? Whatâs one more snooze cycle? Whatâs one more show? Whatâs one more refreshing of the timeline? Not much, in itself: but much indeed when piled atop ten thousand other littles  and one mores . They may seem like âsmall surrendersâ (to use a phrase from Bruce Waltke, Proverbs , 131) â and they are. But an ordinary man becomes a sluggard one small surrender at a time. How do the wise respond? They know that diligent Christians are not a special species of saint. Like the sluggard, the diligent daily face unpleasant tasks. Unlike the sluggard, the diligent speak a different motto: âA little labor, a little energy, a little moving of the hands to work.â Instead of building a stack of small surrenders, they build a stack of small successes â taking little step by little step in the strength that God supplies. Over time, how we handle little  is no little matter. Little drudgeries, little tasks, little opportunities: these are the moments when the sluggard gains ground in our souls, or loses it. âThereâs always tomorrow.â The sluggard does not plow in the autumn; he will seek at harvest and have nothing. (Proverbs 20:4) Often enough, âjust a little moreâ achieves the sluggardâs purpose. But if, for some reason, his conscience should protest, he has another word at his disposal that rarely fails: tomorrow . Autumn was the season for plowing and planting in ancient Israel, and summer the season for harvest. We donât know exactly why the sluggard took it easy while his neighbors plowed their fields. Maybe the difficulty of the task daunted him, or maybe, as the King James Version suggests, the seasonâs chill deterred him: âThe sluggard will not plow by reason of the cold .â Either way, he no doubt fell asleep on many autumn nights warmed by the thought, âThereâs always tomorrowâ â until one day he woke up in winter. When the sluggard finally arrived at his chosen tomorrow , the time for plowing and planting had escaped his grasp. How often have we too discovered that tomorrow is too late? The conversation we should have initiated yesterday proves more awkward today. The essay we should have begun last week overwhelms us this week. The forgiveness we should have sought last month feels harder to seek this month. Autumn has passed, winter has come, and opportunity has slipped through our fingers. The wise learn to take the farmerâs view of life: when the time comes to plow, a farmer pays more attention to the season than to his feelings. And when the time comes to tackle our own difficult tasks, the wise do the same. âI would be putting myself at risk.â There is a lion outside! I shall be killed in the streets! (Proverbs 22:13; see also 26:13) Indulging a bad excuse is a little like feeding a pigeon: give bread to one, and twenty more will soon coo at your feet. Bad excuses breed bad excuses â and even worse excuses over time. And so, when a friend, family member, or boss refuses to entertain the sluggardâs littles  and tomorrows , he takes more radical measures: âHavenât you seen the lion roaming the streets? Iâll die!â Did any sluggard ever attempt such an excuse? Maybe. âLaziness is a great lion-maker,â says Charles Spurgeon. âHe who does little dreams much. His imagination could create not only a lion but a whole menagerie of wild beastsâ (âOne Lion: Two Lions: No Lion at Allâ). For our own purposes, however, we can consider a tamer version of the sluggardâs beast: âI would be putting myself at risk.â To our inner sluggard, a scratch in the throat is cause for a sick day, a little tiredness is reason to nap instead of mow, and a long day at work is justification for skipping small group. After all, our bodies and minds need  the rest, donât they? Care is required here, of course. Some people really do  work their bodies into the dust, forsaking the rest God gives and âeating the bread of anxious toilâ (Psalm 127:2). The sluggard, however, is prone to label as âanxious toilâ any work that meets with inner resistance. He forgets that overcoming such resistance is part of what makes diligence diligence . God made our bodies to bend and strain, our minds to crank and labor, our souls to strive and press. The lion called âLazyâ will counsel us to avoid the strain, but diligence will slay the lion. âWhat do you know about the pressures Iâm under?â The sluggard is wiser in his own eyes than seven men who can answer sensibly. (Proverbs 26:16) Confront a sluggard in his sluggishness, and you may find that he has a penchant for euphemisms. âHe has no idea that he is lazy,â writes Kidner on Proverbs 26:13â16. He is not a shirker but a ârealistâ (13); not self-indulgent but âbelow his best in the morningâ (14); his inertia is âan objection to being hustledâ (15); his mental indolence a fine âsticking to his gunsâ (16). ( Proverbs , 156) Our own sluggishness, then, often appears in our defenses against the charge. Once, as a single man, I told a mentor, âI need more time to myself.â âYou donât need  it,â he responded. Immediately, I raised the drawbridge, manned the ramparts, and launched inward mortars against the attack. What could he, a husband and father of three, possibly know about the pressures I was under? The self-defense is laughable now, but back then, wise in my own eyes, I couldnât accept that much of what I called âalone timeâ was better labeled âsluggishness.â The sluggard sees his own work as the hardest work, his own excuses as the best excuses, his own diversions as the most reasonable diversions â no matter what his friends, wife, or pastor may say. But the wise learn to develop a self-distrustful posture. Rather than responding to requests or challenges with an inward Donât you see my burdens?  they remember their proneness to folly, and learn to call the sluggard by his real name. The Christian and the Sluggard Between the Christian and the sluggard, Spurgeon says, âthere should be as wide a division as between the poles.â Heâs right. âChristianâ and âsluggardâ go together like âhusbandâ and âplayboy,â like âjudgeâ and âthiefâ: the latter destroys the integrity of the former. âIn Christ we find our pattern for work. In Christ we find our power for work. And in Christ the sluggard dies.â And why? Because Christians belong to Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ was not sluggish. He was no workaholic, of course: he could feast, rest, sleep, and develop deep relationships. But oh did he work. In the Gospels we find not the sluggishness but âthe steadfastness  of Christâ (2 Thessalonians 3:5): the diligence of one who never entertained âjust a little moreâ or âtomorrow,â but worked while it was day (John 9:4). He plowed in the autumn cold of life, forsaking every excuse not to save us. And he never cried âlion!â though he walked into the den (Psalm 22:21). Therefore, the apostle Paul can say to the sluggish, âSuch persons we command and encourage in the Lord Jesus Christ  to do their workâ (2 Thessalonians 3:12). In Christ we find our pattern for work. In Christ we find our power for work. And in Christ the sluggard dies.