She Did What She Could The missionary journal of Bernice Johnson SHE DID WHAT SHE COULD The missionary journal of Bernice Johnson Second Printing, 2002 First Printing, 1997 Andrews Memorial Baptist Church 2 SHE DID WHAT SHE COULD The missionary journal of Bernice Johnson Acknowledgments Three of the Gospels tell the story of Mary of Bethany who anointed Jesus. She broke a box of very precious spikenard and poured it on His head and feet. When the disciples objected, Jesus said, "Let her alone..........She hath done what she could." (Mark 14:6-8) Bernice Johnson gave what she had and "she did what she could." This book will take you on a journey of her missionary life in Haiti. During her 37 years in that country, Bernice has recorded in a diary and in letters, her life as a missionary nurse. Working in primitive conditions, she ministered faithfully for the God Who saved her. He used her in countless lives to bring the message of the love of Christ to those who were lost. Missionaries are sometimes considered "above" the average Christian and "above" temptation. We think that they don't have problems like "we" have. But as you read this story of Bernice's life, our prayer is that you will see that missionaries are all human beings with the same feelings, aspirations and weaknesses, and the same needs as other Christians who stay at home. May your heart be burdened for souls who are lost; may you be challenged to pray and to give; and may you be willing to go that others might be saved. After reading, proof-reading and typing this book, I am reminded of the verse in Isaiah 9:6, "His Name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." God is all of these to Bernice and more. He showed His love in her salvation and His wonderful grace throughout her life. Truly, "Who is so great a God as our God?" (Psalm 77:13) Many people have helped in preparing this book for publication. A big thank you goes to Becky Harris for typing and advice, to my daughter Joanna Isley who helped on the computer, and to my husband Ralph for proofreading. Thanks also goes to many of the people of the Andrews Memorial Baptist Church as they prayed for us as we worked on this book. (It was truly a labor of love and a joy to work on.) Most of all, we thank Bernice for sharing her experiences with us. Jean T. Anderson Inquiries may be made to: Andrews Memorial Baptist Church 301 West Elm Street Graham, North Carolina 27253 (336) 228-7801 3 SHE DID WHAT SHE COULD The missionary journal of Bernice Johnson Introduction: Early Memories Dominating my memories of childhood are the turmoil and frustrations of the great depression. (Stanley, N.D.) My Norwegian parents emigrated to America when mother was pregnant with her fourth child. I would be the fifth and three more would follow. The 6th child died in infancy and the second born died at age 21 the week I graduated from high school. Our home was much too small for so many children. We were crowded and the older ones felt pressured to move out and be on their own earning money instead of going to high school. The depression was on and money was scarce. Our diet was mostly meat and potatoes with plenty of eggs and milk as we lived on a farm but fruits and vegetables were luxuries. I remember sometimes our potatoes were no bigger than marbles but we ate them. Mother was a jewel, sweet tempered and gentle and had it not been for her steadfastness our family may well have fallen to pieces. She came from a loving family that eked out a living on a small farm. Her father was an itinerant preacher or evangelist. They were Lutheran, the state supported church, born again, practicing Christians. Dad, on the other hand was something else. He had a stormy, sad childhood that affected his entire life. He was an only child except for a much older half sister, and when he was five years old his father mortgaged their small farm and took the money and went to America leaving his wife with the debt. Overworked and sick she died a few years later leaving the eight year old child virtually an orphan. From there on he was shifted from relative to relative, highly exposed to tuberculosis which took the lives of one after another. The child was extremely lonely, felt unwanted and unloved, an added burden to reluctant relatives. He longed for the day when he would become of age, fifteen, and be out on his own. Eventually he realized his ambition--to sail the seven seas. Not until he married mother did he leave his "first love" and settle down and raise a family. His stories of harrowing experiences on the sea, fighting shipwreck in a hurricane excited me. I don't know how many times I asked, "You a sailor and never learned how to swim? Weren't you scared?" I don't know much about his life as a sailor but one time when the boat was docked in a Brooklyn or New York harbor he somehow found himself in a "mission house", heard the gospel and was saved. He gave up sailing when he married. Dad was not an ideal husband nor a good father. Our affections were much stronger for mom than for him. I know that he loved us but he didn't know how to show or express it. Criticism was frequent but compliments rare. Mother got the brunt of it and it would infuriate me when I would see him mistreat her. He did not harm her physically though he did sometimes threaten her. It was his words, his temper--the emotional abuse. And during those depression years, most of my childhood, when the pressures and frustrations were so great, dad just about lost it. After our move to Idaho in 1937, and with only two children left at home, abundance of food and few financial pressures dad's conduct improved tremendously. In '47 and '48 the Lord took both of them home to Himself. So many times throughout the years as I have thought of my parents, the love, affection, and admiration I had for my mother would stand out. We could talk about anything, we were close, and she was an encourager. But when I would think of dad it would be with a tinge of sorrow, a feeling sorry for him, the lonely and miserable childhood that affected his entire life. His inability to overcome his weaknesses. I wonder how much worse he would have been if he had never gone to that little meeting house and gotten saved. He had many good qualities but he had some bad ones that he was never able to overcome. I don't think he ever forgave his father for leaving him but clung to that root of bitterness. I had to deal with my own un-Christ like attitude towards dad and it wasn't easy. Forgiveness doesn't come easily, it’s a battle, but oh the peace and joy when it is done. I was in Haiti when I dealt mine the final blow. I have often wondered how I got interested in missions and how my childhood had any bearing on it. Both my parents always had a concern for the needy and hurting and surely some of that rubbed off on me. Dad was especially concerned about orphans and often made contributions. He remembered his own childhood. During high school years I would always attend the Pentecostal tent meetings that came to our town each summer. I loved the Singing and the preaching but made my exit when all the "speaking in tongues" started at the alter. I wanted no part of that. To me it was utter confusion. I 4 SHE DID WHAT SHE COULD The missionary journal of Bernice Johnson attended the Lutheran church with my parents Sunday mornings but went to the Baptist church in the evening taking part-in their youth program. When we moved out west, and then I to Spokane, I began to hear about missionaries as I attended a Baptist church. I got a bigger boost when I switched to Broadway Baptist which of course was very missionary minded. But before that exposure, there was the desire to help the poor, the down and the out but I didn't know how to put it all together. When I really got exposed to missions, then it clicked. The rest is history. Testimony and Call "God, I'm a thief. I don't want to go to Hell. Help me to be a Christian so I can go to Heaven. Amen." The prayer was short and to the point but it was from my heart and I meant every word of it. I was ten years old and had developed a habit of stealing. First it was nickels and dimes from my mother's coffee tin on the upper pantry shelf. Before long, I was pilfering in the local stores taking candy and small trinkets. I'm sure I was suspected by a clerk or two but my parents were completely unaware and I was never caught. I attended Sunday School regularly and knew there was a Heaven and a Hell, but no one ever spoke about the need of being "born again," not even the minister.