<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1>A RETROSPECT</h1>
<h3>BY</h3>
<h2>J. HUDSON TAYLOR, M.R.C.S., F.R.G.S.</h2>
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<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
<h3>THE POWER OF PRAYER</h3>
<div class='cap'>THE following account of some of the experiences
which eventually led to the formation of the <span class="smcap">China
Inland Mission</span>, and to its taking the form in which it has
been developed, first appeared in the pages of <i>China's
Millions</i>. Many of those who read it there asked that it
might appear in separate form. Miss Guinness incorporated
it in the <i>Story of the China Inland Mission</i>, a record which
contained the account of <span class="smcap">God's</span> goodness to the beginning
of 1894. But friends still asking for it in pamphlet form,
for wider distribution, this edition is brought out.</div>
<p>Much of the material was taken from notes of addresses
given in China during a conference of our missionaries;
this will account for the direct and narrative form of the
papers, which it has not been thought necessary to change.</p>
<p>It is always helpful to us to fix our attention on the
<span class="smcap">God</span>-ward aspect of Christian work; to realise that the work
of <span class="smcap">God</span> does not mean so much man's work for <span class="smcap">God</span>, as
<span class="smcap">God's</span> own work through man. Furthermore, in our privileged
position of fellow-workers with Him, while fully recognising
all the benefits and blessings to be bestowed on a
sin-stricken world through the proclamation of the Gospel
and spread of the Truth, we should never lose sight of the
higher aspect of our work—that of obedience to <span class="smcap">God</span>, of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</SPAN></span>
bringing glory to His Name, of gladdening the heart of
our <span class="smcap">God</span> and <span class="smcap">Father</span> by living and serving as His beloved
children.</p>
<p>Many circumstances connected with my own early life
and service presented this aspect of work vividly to me;
and as I think of some of them, I am reminded of how
much the cause of missions is indebted to many who are
never themselves permitted to see the mission field—many,
it may be, who are unable to give largely of their
substance, and who will be not a little surprised in the
Great Day to see how much the work has been advanced
by their love, their sympathy, and their prayers.</p>
<p>For myself, and for the work that I have been permitted
to do for <span class="smcap">God</span>, I owe an unspeakable debt of gratitude to
my beloved and honoured parents, who have passed away
and entered into rest, but the influence of whose lives will
never pass away.</p>
<p>Many years ago, probably about 1830, the heart of
my dear father, then himself an earnest and successful
evangelist at home, was deeply stirred as to the spiritual
state of China by reading several books, and especially
an account of the travels of Captain Basil Hall. His
circumstances were such as to preclude the hope of his
ever going to China for personal service, but he was led
to pray that if <span class="smcap">God</span> should give him a son, he might be
called and privileged to labour in the vast needy empire
which was then apparently so sealed against the truth.
I was not aware of this desire or prayer myself until my
return to England, more than seven years after I had
sailed for China; but it was very interesting then to know
how prayer offered before my birth had been answered in
this matter.</p>
<p>All thought of my becoming a missionary was abandoned
for many years by my dear parents on account of the feebleness<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</SPAN></span>
of my health. When the time came, however, <span class="smcap">God</span>
gave increased health, and my life has been spared, and
strength has been given for not a little toilsome service
both in the mission field and at home, while many stronger
men and women have succumbed.</p>
<p>I had many opportunities in early years of learning
the value of prayer and of the Word of <span class="smcap">God</span>; for it
was the delight of my dear parents to point out that if
there were any such Being as <span class="smcap">God</span>, to trust Him, to obey
Him, and to be fully given up to His service, must of
necessity be the best and wisest course both for myself
and others. But in spite of these helpful examples and
precepts my heart was unchanged. Often I had tried to
make myself a Christian; and failing of course in such
efforts, I began at last to think that for some reason or
other I could not be saved, and that the best I could
do was to take my fill of this world, as there was no
hope for me beyond the grave.</p>
<p>While in this state of mind I came in contact with
persons holding sceptical and infidel views, and accepted
their teaching, only too thankful for some hope of escape
from the doom which, if my parents were right and the
Bible true, awaited the impenitent. It may seem strange
to say it, but I have often felt thankful for the experience
of this time of scepticism. The inconsistencies of Christian
people, who while professing to believe their Bibles were
yet content to live just as they would if there were no
such book, had been one of the strongest arguments
of my sceptical companions; and I frequently felt at
that time, and said, that if I pretended to believe the
Bible I would at any rate attempt to live by it, putting
it fairly to the test, and if it failed to prove true and reliable,
would throw it overboard altogether. These views I
retained when the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> was pleased to bring me to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</SPAN></span>
Himself; and I think I may say that since then I <i>have</i> put
<span class="smcap">God's</span> Word to the test. Certainly it has never failed me.
I have never had reason to regret the confidence I have
placed in its promises, or to deplore following the guidance
I have found in its directions.</p>
<p>Let me tell you how <span class="smcap">God</span> answered the prayers of my
dear mother and of my beloved sister, now Mrs. Broomhall,
for my conversion. On a day which I shall never forget,
when I was about fifteen years of age, my dear mother
being absent from home, I had a holiday, and in the afternoon
looked through my father's library to find some book
with which to while away the unoccupied hours. Nothing
attracting me, I turned over a little basket of pamphlets,
and selected from amongst them a Gospel tract which
looked interesting, saying to myself, "There will be a
story at the commencement, and a sermon or moral at the
close: I will take the former and leave the latter for those
who like it."</p>
<p>I sat down to read the little book in an utterly unconcerned
state of mind, believing indeed at the time that if
there were any salvation it was not for me, and with a distinct
intention to put away the tract as soon as it should
seem prosy. I may say that it was not uncommon in
those days to call conversion "becoming serious"; and
judging by the faces of some of its professors, it appeared
to be a very serious matter indeed. Would it not be well
if the people of <span class="smcap">God</span> had always tell-tale faces, evincing
the blessings and gladness of salvation so clearly that
unconverted people might have to call conversion "becoming
joyful" instead of "becoming serious"?</p>
<p>Little did I know at the time what was going on in
the heart of my dear mother, seventy or eighty miles away.
She rose from the dinner-table that afternoon with an
intense yearning for the conversion of her boy, and feeling<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</SPAN></span>
that—absent from home, and having more leisure than she
could otherwise secure—a special opportunity was afforded
her of pleading with <span class="smcap">God</span> on my behalf. She went to
her room and turned the key in the door, resolved not
to leave that spot until her prayers were answered. Hour
after hour did that dear mother plead for me, until at
length she could pray no longer, but was constrained to
praise <span class="smcap">God</span> for that which His <span class="smcap">Spirit</span> taught her had
already been accomplished—the conversion of her only son.</p>
<p>I in the meantime had been led in the way I have
mentioned to take up this little tract, and while reading
it was struck with the sentence, "The finished work of
<span class="smcap">Christ</span>." The thought passed through my mind, "Why
does the author use this expression? why not say the
atoning or propitiatory work of <span class="smcap">Christ</span>?" Immediately the
words "It is finished" suggested themselves to my mind.
What was finished? And I at once replied, "A full and
perfect atonement and satisfaction for sin: the debt was
paid by the Substitute; <span class="smcap">Christ</span> died for our sins, and not
for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world."
Then came the thought, "If the whole work was finished
and the whole debt paid, what is there left for me to
do?" And with this dawned the joyful conviction, as
light was flashed into my soul by the <span class="smcap">Holy Spirit</span>, that
there was nothing in the world to be done but to fall
down on one's knees, and accepting this <span class="smcap">Saviour</span> and
His salvation, to praise Him for evermore. Thus while
my dear mother was praising <span class="smcap">God</span> on her knees in her
chamber, I was praising Him in the old warehouse to
which I had gone alone to read at my leisure this little
book.</p>
<p>Several days elapsed ere I ventured to make my beloved
sister the confidante of my joy, and then only after she
had promised not to tell any one of my soul secret.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</SPAN></span>
When our dear mother came home a fortnight later, I was
the first to meet her at the door, and to tell her I had
such glad news to give. I can almost feel that dear
mother's arms around my neck, as she pressed me to her
bosom and said, "I know, my boy; I have been rejoicing
for a fortnight in the glad tidings you have to tell me."
"Why," I asked in surprise, "has Amelia broken her
promise? She said she would tell no one." My dear
mother assured me that it was not from any human
source that she had learned the tidings, and went on
to tell the little incident mentioned above. You will
agree with me that it would be strange indeed if I were
not a believer in the power of prayer.</p>
<p>Nor was this all. Some little time after, I picked up
a pocket-book exactly like one of my own, and thinking
that it was mine, opened it. The lines that caught my
eye were an entry in the little diary, which belonged to
my sister, to the effect that she would give herself daily
to prayer until <span class="smcap">God</span> should answer in the conversion of her
brother. Exactly one month later the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> was pleased
to turn me from darkness to light.</p>
<p>Brought up in such a circle and saved under such
circumstances, it was perhaps natural that from the commencement
of my Christian life I was led to feel that the
promises were very real, and that prayer was in sober matter
of fact transacting business with <span class="smcap">God</span>, whether on one's
own behalf or on behalf of those for whom one sought His
blessing.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</SPAN></span></p>
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