Chapter 3

CHRISTINE'S STORY

I was born in Lynchburg, Virginia, on December 1, 1915, the second child of Howard and Sallie Camden. My paternal ancestors, the Camdens, I was told, had come from Ireland to the United States in the early 1800s and founded the city of Camden, New Jersey. Our branch of the family eventually moved south to Buckingham, Virginia, where my father was born, and the first of 13 children.

Dad's parents, when standing side by side, presented quite a spectacle. Grandfather, a giant of a man, stood a full 6 feet 3 inches. Grandma, by contrast, barely reached 5 feet and never weighed more than 90 pounds. But what she lacked in size, she more than made up for in energy. Her considerable brood was further increased when her sister and brother-in-law were tragically killed in a horse and buggie crash. (Their horse ran berserk as a result of a nearby bolt of lightning and they were thrown out against a tree.) Without hesitation Grandma took in their orphaned children, a 3-year-old son and baby girl. Later, two homeless waifs wandered into the neighborhood. Grandma hurt for these "unloved ones," so they were also adopted, increasing the juvenile population of the Camden home to a whopping 17!

To preserve some measure of order in that crowded household called for both discipline and regimen. Grandma Camden was more than equal to the task. Up every morning at dawn she baked two huge pans of biscuits to go with fried ham, fried potatoes and eggs. That was the beginning of a daily schedule which she orchestrated with incredible skill and firmness. Grandma tolerated no back talk, and her orders, given in a quiet voice, carried with them a force that was truly awesome. As a child visiting my grandparents, I recall that once my dad had, in exiting the house, let the screen door slam. "Howard," Grandma called in a firm little voice.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Come back in and close that door properly."

Though in our home, Dad was very much the man in charge, I watched with amazement as, in an instant, he was once again his mother's boy, complying with her request in dutiful obedience.

My mother's maiden name was Elam and her mother, a Lee, was related to that most distinguished southerner, Robert E. Lee. Her father had fought under the great general in the Civil War and was for a time held prisoner by the Union Army. When I was nine she gave me a yellowed letter which she, as a child, had received from her father during his imprisonment. He had admonished her to "be a good girl, mind your mother and love Jesus with all your heart." For years I treasured this wonderful bit of family memorabilia, but alas, it was stolen when our house was broken into one summer.

My brother, Howard Burnell, was six years my senior. Most of his friends called him "Cam," but to me he was always "Bubber," a holdover from my early childish attempts to say brother. He was tall with dark, wavy hair and definitely had the "good looks" of the family, so girlfriends were numerous. But his pre-teen years were difficult because of a heart problem and bouts of St. Vitus Dance. Doctors forbade any participation in sports, and he was often admonished to "be careful." And he was doubtless overindulged in other ways. Though he gained a measure of health in his adult years, there were months when he suffered great pain from tic-dou-lou-reux, spasmodic neuralgia of the face, and a condition for which there is no effective medication. He was truly a gifted salesman with a very outgoing personality, an extremely likeable person, but not a happy one for he became an alcoholic and went through three marriages. We were all grateful that he was eventually in recovery from his addiction through the help of Alcoholics Anonymous. I was heartsick when he died very suddenly of cerebral hemorrhaging at the age of 53. I've always wished we could have been closer. When we were children Mom took us to church and Sunday School but after going off to a military academy for college, he distanced himself from the church for many years. So he was long the subject of our prayers. After Mom's death I felt, more than ever, my responsibility to pray for him and I truly expected to receive a cable in Taiwan telling us he had come to the Lord. The cable came — but it told only of his sudden passing.

My dad, in his earlier years, had taught Sunday School but during my growing-up days had neglected church. It was not until he was 74 that he opened his heart to the Savior. We were home from China at the time and together were listening to Charles Fuller on the Old-fashioned Revival Hour.

At the conclusion of the message, I turned to him and said, "Dad, don't you feel it's time for you to give your-self to the Lord?"

"Yes," he responded, "it is time. I'd like that." Together we knelt by the sofa in the living room and he asked Christ to come into his heart.

Thus, as is the case in so many homes, it was Mom who assumed the burden of spiritual leadership. A staunch Christian who loved to read her Bible, she took us children to the local Methodist Church every Lord's Day. When she was a girl she somehow had learned of Asbury College in Kentucky and longed to go there. Her father, however, would not hear of it.

"Too far away" was his judgment. For a young Virginia girl to go all the way to Kentucky for schooling just wasn't right. In consequence, Mom enrolled in Blackstone, at the time a two-year college for women.

By the time I was nine, Dad was having health problems. The doctors suggested that, for his sake as well as my brother's, a move to a warmer climate would be advisable.

This meant selling the big old house in Richmond and loading up our Studebaker Touring car. Of course there were no "thruways" then, and most roads couldn't even be called "highways." I remember one "corduroy" stretch that was made entirely of logs laid crossways, very close together. I don't think we exceeded the 10-MPH speed limit there! And then there were no motels so every night we pitched a tent and camped. Our car had a canvas top. When it rained we'd scramble to put up the isinglass curtains — and, of course, it often stopped raining before this was accomplished. But in all, it was a happy trip, which took just under three weeks. It was a very special "family time" for we were all together 24 hours a day with no radio or cassettes to distract us or help fill the time.

We arrived in Winter Haven, Florida, in 1924, the beginning of the land boom. Prices of everything had begun to skyrocket. We paid the then exorbitant sum of $150 per month for a duplex which we shared with another family, the Davises — wife, husband and son, Junior, age 7 at that time. Our two families became life-long friends. We each paid $75, renting out the upstairs rooms to single men for a little extra income.

With the land boom there was plenty of work for contractors. Dad agreed to build homes on a large sub-division being developed by a local woman of dubious character. Somehow she was able to get out of the so-called "binding agreement" and prospered, while Dad lost everything, including the $12,000 he had received from the sale of our property in Richmond.

But he, a gentle soul, was not inclined to seek redress through a court of law. He found work in the northern part of the state, driving the long way home every week-end for almost two years, until we moved to Jacksonville where we lived throughout my high school years.

I graduated in January 1933, a month after my eighteenth birthday. This was during the trough of the Great Depression. I worked almost a year in a "five and dime" for money was in scarce supply. But I continued to hold to the hope of some day going to college. From a catalog someone had given me, I had decided that Maryville College in Tennessee promised the ideal environment for Christine Camden. Mom, however, had other ideas.

Since her own aspirations to go to Asbury had been thwarted, she both resolved and prayed that if at all possible her daughter would have this opportunity and gain the blessing that she had been denied.

That summer, while I was visiting relatives in Virginia, Mom called to say that she and Dad felt they could finance at least my first year of college at Asbury and application papers were on their way to me in the mail.

I arrived at Asbury on the afternoon of the last day of registration, but from the moment I set foot on campus I realized I had entered an environment quite unlike anything I had ever known. I had never been "wild" in my outlook on life, and I had been to the altar several times in special meetings which I'd attended with Mom all during my growing-up years. But these Asbury young people had something I knew I didn't have. Joy and goodwill seemed to inhabit the place, and the friendly smiles and hellos from students and faculty were clearly not "put on." More than this, people talked of their faith and relationship with Jesus Christ with a joy and naturalness I hadn't encountered elsewhere.

When I found myself paired with Jimmy, a P.K. freshman (destined to become a missionary to Korea), for the junior/freshman reception on the night of my arrival, we agreed that we did not know Jesus Christ in the intimate way that many of our classmates did. A few weeks later, during the fall revival, I committed myself completely to the Lord, an act that for me marked the beginning of a totally new life of faith and devotion.

President Henry Clay Morrison, already a legend, was a towering presence at the college. Though away much of the time in revival meetings, when he returned to campus everybody knew it. Tall and with a states-manlike bearing, his long white hair was swept back congregating in curls on the back of his neck — a hair-style younger preachers would occasionally imitate. When he preached with bold gestures and flashing eyes, he reminded one of an Old Testament prophet. I can still see him pushing imaginary buttons on the big pulpit in Hughes Auditorium to enact his famous drama of the elevator ride to heaven and hell. Frequently, he would announce his return to the campus by entering the dining hall at noon, breaking out in a lusty verse of "I'm Bound for the Promised Land." All of us loved him. After lunch we would gather about on the Administration Building steps for an impromptu sermon. As he waxed eloquent, his big resonant voice could be heard all over the campus.

The Depression was hitting our family hard and Dad was struggling to stay in business. After the conclusion of my freshman year I agreed to transfer to William and Mary College, where I could live at home thus reducing expenses. But being back in a secular environment after my year at Asbury came as a shock. How I missed that beloved campus and the precious Christian friends I had made there.

Six weeks into that fall semester at William and Mary I decided to make a suggestion to my folks. "Dad," I said, "if times are such, and I know they are, that you can't manage to keep me at Asbury until I graduate, what would the possibility be of my going back there next semester and finishing my sophomore year? I'd much rather do that than to have two and a half more years at William and Mary."

So, the second semester found me back in the Bluegrass, among the stately white-columned buildings on the semicircle and with the friends that in so short a time had become very dear. My wonderful parents, knowing how I loved Asbury, worked overtime at any jobs available to give me that precious privilege. I never felt worthy of such loving care.

I dated fairly frequently, and sometimes our "gang" (about 10 of us) did things together. There were always Monday afternoon hikes and Saturday night programs or basketball games as well. Those were good days.

I don't think I ever felt "in a rut" or that life was dull. Of course, I didn't have much spending money. I did dorm or kitchen work to help with expenses, and Mom and Dad took care of tuition, books, etc., but there were seldom any leftovers. I remember once a $5 bill fell out of a letter from home as I opened it. Lying across my bed I read my letter and then looked for the money. It wasn't on or under the bed which I practically tore apart. Five dollars! I had seen it. I wasn't dreaming, but where was it? I just couldn't lose that much money, and probably the folks had gone without something to send it. The only possibility I could think of was the base-board. I tried a nail file but to no avail. I needed help! Dr. Cross, our housemother, came with a long butcher knife. Bless her heart; with all her "dignitude" she was down on her knees behind my bed. She was finally successful, and I was rich!

Sometimes, too, fellow classmates brought new experiences. Joe had arrived on campus my second year. He was several years older than most students and mainly interested in speech and drama. He was in school on a shoestring, couldn't afford a dorm room and lived above a nearby store. But he had a great personality and was very popular. We had a few dates but I remember only one.

It was a Monday afternoon hike. (Mondays were our free days.) I wore a new dress, simple, brightly flowered cotton (the code book in those days banned slacks for girls and hose were always a must). Joe chose to walk through fields where there were no paths and where I'd never been, but the trees were fresh and beautiful in their spring attire. We came to a brook, cool and rippling over the clean, washed stones. No doubt he already knew it was there and had decided that we should be on the other side! Without a word, he suddenly scooped me up in his arms and waded into the water. I was flabbergasted. I immediately kicked — violently, so violently that he lost his balance and we both fell, kerplop, in midstream. We crept to the far bank and so back to campus. Covering those two miles, my "el cheapo" dress began to shrink, and by the time we reached my dorm it was definitely a "mini" and would never have passed the regulation code. Praying that no one would see me, I crept silently up the back stairs.

I suppose I was foolish to even hope that Joe would forget about that hike, but beginning that very evening, with all of our gang at our table in the dining hall, he, sitting across from me, kept sticking his spoon in the tines of his fork, marching the two across the table and dropping the spoon into his glass of water. This must have continued off and on for the next 15 meals or so. Of course, nobody else understood that little drama, and, thankfully as far as I know he never talked, but I practically died of embarrassment.

By the end of my sophomore year, I had turned down three marriage proposals. (Joe's was not one of them!) They were "nice boys," but there were no regrets for I felt with a certainty that none was the Lord's choice for me.

Then came Meredith. It was mid-semester of my junior year. Before classes started, the fall revival was held at the Methodist Church. And, as was usually the case, we students, before the singing began, craned our necks to see the new faces of students who had just arrived. There were two or three whom we didn't recognize — one especially with curly, auburn hair that towered skyward. None of them, however, particularly caught my eye.

In the second semester of my sophomore year I had chosen Social Science as my major, definitely intending to become a social worker. So, for this semester my assigned course was Rural Sociology. At the same time, in case their future pastors might at some time serve in small-town or out-of-the-way churches, divinity students were also required to study the ways of rural society. And that is how, that spring of ‘37, I found myself seated in a basement classroom of Hughes Auditorium next to Meredith Helsby (the one with the towering auburn hair)-who had just come to Asbury from Gloversville, New York. Since neither of us were very interested in the many statistics concerning rural America, we often whiled away the lecture hours with tic-tac-toe, never thinking our paths together would lead beyond the class-room doors.

Our friendship developed and feelings for one another deepened, but there was one great obstacle which loomed increasingly on the horizon of my heart. Meredith had made an irrevocable commitment to go to China as a missionary. He was clearly looking for a wife to accompany him to that distant land. And although I was decidedly in favor of foreign missions, I most definitely was not called to China, Africa, India or any other "Timbuktu." So I struggled to quiet my heart.

In September of 1938 following my June graduation, we broke up tearfully for by that time we were deeply, hopelessly, in love. He had come by way of Richmond on his way back to seminary for his last year of studies. We had a wonderful two days together, but we both felt the Lord was saying no to any continuance of our relationship.

Thus we said good-bye. We would not see each other, nor even write. (Once, however, I did send a box of goodies to him and his roommate, John, being careful to address it to both of them.) The Lord gave me no indication that there would ever be a green light ahead.

Our self-imposed silence lasted from September through January of the following year. The absence of letters, however, did not mean that Meredith was out of my thoughts, prayers, or heart. I had given him entirely to the Lord but felt no inkling of any possible change. Still thoughts of him intruded continuously, and every day brought fresh evidence that I was truly in love. But China? What to do about China?

I continued to bring the subject before the Lord with agonizing earnestness and not a few tears. Then slowly, gradually crept into my heart a sweet certainty that Meredith was indeed God's choice for me. So, if God had called him to that distant land, then China was also God's place for me. And 600 miles away, at about the same time, Meredith felt the clouds lifting and an assurance filled his heart.

We began writing again in February, and in March he hitchhiked to Richmond for a blissful reunion. He never did ask me to marry him, but before the visit was over he got down on his knees and very tenderly asked me to go to China with him. ---

[Later, when the Communists pushed us out of the country of our first love and we were reassigned to India, I decided that his "go-to-China" proposal was now inadequate. So, although I arrived in Allahabad, India, six months after he got there, I announced that I expected a fresh, more proper, down-on-his-knees, will-you-stay-with-me, reiteration. And, you know what? He loved me enough to do it! ]

--- Then together we knelt and gave Him our all for His service wherever He would send us. Never have we felt the presence of the Holy Spirit nor the blessing of the Lord so exquisitely ours. We set the wedding date for December 23 of that same year.

Now, as I think back over my life and His hand of care and keeping upon me, I am very sure that back in '38 when our hearts were crying out, "Go on, get engaged, do what you want to do, it'll be all right," — had we followed our own feelings, we would never have known the wondrous joy of togetherness in Him and in His service that He has given over these past 53 years. How blessed am I and are we to know ". . . You are my God, my times are in Your hands."

I returned to Asbury for Meredith's graduation. I also met his parents at that time. Meredith wanted to wait until he got home to tell them of our engagement, but in the meantime my heart was happy knowing these two dear saints were to be my family, too. The next evening following graduation, we invited a few, special friends to meet us at Jewels Corners, about a mile from campus and well-known to Asburians as a great place for a party. In truth, it was a lovely, old homestead, refurbished and beautifully equipped to more than satisfy one's gastronomical needs. We placed a small card announcing our engagement between two cookies, tied it with narrow, ribbon streamers which led from the center-piece of white roses to heart-shaped place cards. Meredith gave me a lovely, gold Gruen watch for which, I later learned, he had promised to pay a Lexington jeweler $5 per month. Then he shared with our guests our future plans, particularly emphasizing China. To us, it was a never-to-be-forgotten evening.

Since OMS required that missionaries have experience in either teaching or the pastorate, Meredith took a position on the faculty of Owosso Bible College in Owosso, Michigan, starting that fall.

Two days before Christmas we were married in my home church, Highland Park Methodist, in Richmond. Meredith's best man was his younger brother, Bob, and his groomsman, John Vayhinger. I asked Mary Yeaman, a dear friend, to be my bridesmaid and Belle Elam, my cousin, to be maid of honor. Also, Belle's brother Herman, who was then a divinity student, assisted my pastor in the ceremony.

Meredith's mother and dad were driven down to Richmond from New York by his brother, Bob. It was a happy time for all of us, a time too when his parents and mine could get acquainted. After the festivities Bob took Mother and Dad Helsby to Maryland to visit relatives there. And since we were unable to finance a "proper honeymoon," we were allowed to take over their temporarily empty parsonage for the week they were away. Understandably we didn't see many folk during that time except a few close friends like the Fountains, whom Meredith wanted me to know. Of course, we did attend Dad's church on Sunday, and there the people crowded around us. But Meredith hadn't gotten accustomed to saying "my wife," so to cover his nervousness he announced, "I'd like you to meet my mother's new sister-in-law!" Of course I've never let him forget that I'm not his aunt!

We arrived at Owosso Bible College in late evening of the last day of Christmas vacation. As dean of men, Meredith was required to live in the boys’ dorm. So it was planned that I move into his room with him, and a small space at the other end of the long hall was partitioned off as my bathroom. Meredith reminded me that I would probably be introduced to the faculty and entire (curious) student body the next morning during the regular chapel service. That was an hour I was definitely not looking forward to. But I knew it was a must and prayed I'd somehow be proper and acceptable.

I found the president, Reverend Mills, very warm and friendly. He invited Meredith and me to sit on the platform with him. There were a few announcements and some welcoming remarks. Then the president said, "Before the morning message let’s look to the Lord in prayer." Every head bowed. And then, "I will ask Sister Helsby to lead us."

I had covered my face in my hands but this startling word brought my head up. I peeked through my fingers at those seated in the small auditorium in front of me. Sister Helsby? The only Sister Helsby I knew was Meredith's mother, and I didn't see her anywhere. Then Meredith, seated next to me, leaned over and kicked my foot. Suddenly I realized, "I'm Sister Helsby!" And I hadn't even gotten used to answering to "Mrs. Helsby" yet!

I've always wondered what I prayed about in that first chapel service. But I knew with a certainty that in this, my new life, there would be experiences I'd never dreamed of. How right I was. But those were good months, and the faculty and students at Owosso Bible College became dear friends.

The salary during these depression years was minimal. We took all our meals in the college dining hall but once a week splurged by going out for dinner at the local hamburger stand, fittingly named The Swallow. This Spartan beginning, perhaps not the ideal way to commence married life, was yet full of joy and gave us a lifelong appreciation for the common material blessings which so many in our favored land take for granted.

Soon after our engagement in March of '39 we had applied to, and were accepted by, the Oriental Missionary Society. Now it was September 25, 1940, and with our teaching year behind, here we were ready to board the S.S. President Pierce in Los Angeles, en route to Shanghai. Mrs. Charles Cowman, president of OMS since her husband's death, was on the dock to see us off. She shared with us that September 25 was a significant day for her, too. Later we learned that this was the sixteenth anniversary of her husband's death. She also presented us with a copy of her second book, Springs In The Valley, which had just been published. On the fly leaf she had written, "To my beloved fellow missionaries Meredith and Christine Helsby, September 25, 1940." And underneath she wrote, "And Jesus Himself drew near and went with them."

Three days on the other side of Honolulu each passenger was presented with an "evacuation notice," informing us that the U.S. Government was advising that all "non-essential Americans" leave the Orient. War was raging in Europe and the prospects of American involvement in conflict with Japan seemed inevitable. We pondered the word "non-essential." In the eyes of our government who would be deemed more non-essential than a young teacher, with one year of experience, and his greatly pregnant wife? We opened Springs In The Valley and Mrs. Cowman's words from the Word took on new meaning, "And Jesus Himself drew near and went with them."

We were met in Tientsin by OMS missionary, Uri Chandler, who shepherded us to Peking aboard a not very plush train.

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