Prayer for Rain

It was well on in May. We were gathered in the little schoolhouse at our Sabbath service. The lesson was the story of Elijah praying first for fire from heaven to burn the sacrifice, and then for the rain. Miss Baker told the story well, and a big speaking picture helped the Indians to follow it and to feel that it was real.

At the close of the lesson a tall, old Indian, named Teeton, rose to his feet. He was not one of the leading Indians. By some of the wiser ones he was looked upon as almost simple. But now he had a thought, and he was very much in earnest.

“Miss Baker,” he said, “that story true?”

“Yes, that story is written in God’s Book. It is quite true.”

“That a long time ago?”

“Yes, a very long time ago.”

You said last Sabbath, ‘Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and today, and forever.’”

“Yes,” replied Miss Baker, “Jesus Christ is God. He does not change as men do. He is the same yesterday, and today, and forever.”

The old man’s long arm and finger pointed first to the east window and then to the west, through which the Indian wheat fields could be seen, patches of gray-brown dust, without a single blade of springing grain, for no rain had watered the earth since the seed had been sown.

“No rain,” said Teeton, “no wheat. Indians hungry. Elijah pray for rain; rain come. You pray for rain today; rain come. Jesus send rain.”

Miss Baker was a modest woman. She did not at all pose as an Elijah. She turned to me sitting behind her and breathed, “What shall I do?”

I was young, and so perhaps not so timid as she was, but it seemed to me a challenge that could not be refused, and I whispered back, “You must surely go ahead.”

She got the courage she needed, turned quietly to the Indians, and said, “Yes, we will ask the Lord to send us rain. But you must remember He does not promise to give us the answer right away. Elijah had to pray seven times and look seven times before the rain came. Let us pray.”

In a few words she prayed, in the name of Him who offered Himself as a sacrifice on our behalf, that God would do as He had done so long ago and send rain upon the fields of His poor Indians, that they might know that He is indeed the God of heaven and earth. Then the meeting was dismissed.

As soon as we got out of the schoolroom, tall Teeton stood straight up and began to scan the sky. It was quite plain that he was looking for the cloud, and some of the wise ones were smiling and making little amused remarks. But Teeton was full of one thought and paid no heed to them.

Then we separated, most of the Indians moving off to their homes in one direction, while Miss Baker and I turned in the opposite direction, going to the mission house.

Teeton’s home lay in our direction, and he walked along with us, still attentively studying the sky. As we reached our gate, only a few rods away, Teeton suddenly stopped, and, pointing with his long arm to the sky, he exclaimed, “Little cloud, little cloud!”

Sure enough, there was a “little cloud.” But a very little one, and to me it did not promise much. But Teeton moved away, still eyeing the sky and murmuring, “Little cloud.”

It was a hot day. Our cows were in the yard, tormented with flies. Before getting dinner, I went out to kindle a smudge that the cows might get some relief from their tormentors.

I kindled it, but before I had gotten into the house, a breeze sprang up and scattered my fire, and it went out. But the wind relieved the cattle, and they wandered off to pasture.

Before dinner was ready, the sky was covered with clouds, and before we finished eating it, the rain was gently falling. Heavier and heavier it came, all afternoon, and when in the evening I came in dripping from going after the cows, Miss Baker said, “There will be no meeting tonight. No one will be out on a night like this.” So we sat down in comfort to our supper.

Fortunately, something called me to the door. The schoolhouse was full in view, and what did I see? The whole Indian population was gathered at its door. But it was locked, and they were out there in the pelting rain.

“Miss Baker,” I said, “give me the key. They are all there now.”

And we had a meeting, such a thanksgiving meeting, thanking the God of heaven and earth for sending His rain in answer to prayer.

That night we had not only the Indians that were in the habit of coming to worship, but they were all there, even those who had hitherto stoutly stood aloof from us.

That rain given in answer to prayer broke the opposition of heathenism. From that time the whole reserve was ours-ours to teach and train for Christ as best we could.