Twenty-one-year-old James Gribble, a streetcar conductor, scanned the avenue ahead, but his mind swirled with visions of the future. Life was treating him well in Philadelphia with its many amenities in 1904, compared to his hometown of Mechanicsburg, PA. What opportunities might lie ahead?
Then it happened. A woman stepped off the still-moving trolley, caught her skirt under a wheel, and was pulled under. She died at the scene.
James agonized over the terrible accident. “Oh God, deliver me, and I’ll serve you!” he wrote in his journal.
That Sunday James attended church and accepted Jesus into his life. That evening he was baptized.
On Monday while reading his Bible, James came to Matthew 28:19a:
He told his pastor, “I think God wants me to become a missionary.”
For several years James received mentoring and instruction, then joined the African Inland Mission. To his delight, the team included a pretty young doctor, Florence Newberry. In 1908 they established a mission station in West Central Africa and started ministering to the nearby tribes.
The station was located in what is now the Central African Republic, south of Chad.
James wanted to become better-acquainted with Florence, but patients kept her busy from morning till night. Suddenly genius struck. James could pretend he was sick!
During the appointment he suggested courtship. Florence preferred they remain friends, still devastated over a previous beau uninterested in foreign mission work.
Twice more over the next four years James would approach her about courtship; twice more she declined.
James and another missionary traveled inland to establish a new station.
West African tribesmen, 1912
Soon his partner became ill and had to return to base camp, then James succumbed to black water fever. He expected to die.
Afterward James wrote about the vision God gave him on his sickbed—a panoramic view of the tribes of West Central Africa. God said, “Thou shalt be instrumental in carrying the gospel to these.” James knew then he’d survive.
During a prayer vigil in 1912, Florence’s thoughts turned to James. Her heart had warmed toward the trustworthy and kind missionary, so passionate about sharing Christ with the African people. Florence sensed the Spirit whispering to her, “Why not?”
The two were married within a few months.
Sometime later Florence developed appendicitis and required hospitalization. For thirty days they traveled the three hundred miles to the nearest hospital.
As she slowly recovered, the doctor told James, “You must take her back to America. She cannot live in the tropics.”
Florence did return home and six months later James followed. They lived in Chicago for several years while Florence regained strength. Their only child Marguerite was born there in 1915.
Daily James would pray over a map of Africa. He found his attention drawn to a town named Bozoum, in Ubangi-Shari (now the Central African Republic). He wondered why.
Bozoum is located in the northwestern province of Ouham-Pende.
The couple shared their hope with area churches: to establish base camps across central Africa as a barrier against encroaching Islam. When they returned in 1918, two nurses and another family joined them.
The group desired to enter a French-controlled area, but it took eighteen months to receive permission. They named their base, Camp-Wait-Some-More.
Finally able to move on, they arrived in Carnot. While waiting there another eighteen months, they spent their time learning the language and praying.
A new official arrived, and James made an appointment with him.
He asked James, “Where do you intend to set up camp, now that you’ve received permission?”
Permission?! James was stunned. “Where would you recommend?”
Then came Surprise #2. “I think Bozoum would be a good place.”
Now James knew why God had inspired him to pray particularly for this town.
In 1921, Florence and James became ill again. She had to return to the States, taking their daughter with her. Eighteen months later Florence traveled back to Africa, but without Marguerite. Though an anguishing decision, the couple determined she should remain in America to attend school.
In 1923 a young recruit was due to arrive, but he died within miles of reaching their mission station, causing more heartache.
James wrote:
Not long after, James succumbed to black water fever again; this time the forty-year-old did not survive.
He’d previously written to Florence, “I shall be content with the lowest seat in heaven if only there I may sit and see the redeemed of the Lord come in from those fields where I have a been a pioneer missionary.”
Except James had not witnessed one person becoming a Christ-follower during his years in Africa.
Some might say those years of pain and hardship had accomplished nothing. And what about God’s promise: ““Thou shalt be instrumental in carrying the gospel to these?”
James had been instrumental, by bringing others to join in their work. Even his own daughter returned to Africa, ministering with her husband for thirty-one years.
James had served as a foundation builder—constructing base camps, encouraging others, and giving himself to prayer. He followed in the footsteps of the Apostle Paul:
Today, 70% of the population of the Central African Republic are Christians.
In my mind’s eye I see James in heaven, greeting saint after saint from West Central Africa, just as he imagined. But instead of sitting, I think James is standing and celebrating with all his heart.
Sources:
Photo credits: http://www.flickr.com; http://www.rawpixel.com; http://www.picryl.com; http://www.flickr.com; http://www.commons.wikimedia.org; http://www.nara.getarchive.net; http://www.commons.wikimedia.org.
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