I WONDER how many of my readers had the privilege of knowing personally Mr. Willie Burton, one of the great pioneers of the well known Congo Evangelistic Mission. I think he was one of the most talented and yet at the same time one of the most unassuming gentlemen I have ever met. Wherever he was, whatever he did, he always radiated such a godly influence that one was inevitably drawn nearer to the Saviour. To have him stay in your home was an unforgettable experience. Every meal was a benediction. His inexhaustible fund of Congo stories, so dramatically told, was far better than any television programme. He was an absolute genius when entertaining the children, and to hear him read a chapter of John Ackworth's book, Clog Shop Chronicles was the highlight of any family gathering.
On one occasion when Mr. Burton was staying with some friends of mine in Leeds, a colleague and I agreed to take him by car to a little isolated spot near Pickering in Yorkshire, to visit the elderly mother of our Elim Missionary, Olive Garbutt. As I was escorting Mr. Burton to the car from the front door of the home where he was staying, he paused for a few moments in my friend's garden, giving his attention to several clusters of little blue flowers which were similar in appearance to a miniature hyacinth. Turning to me he asked, "What is the name of this lovely little flower, Brother Miles?" I had to confess that I hadn't the faintest idea. He looked at me almost severely, and said, "What, you live in a beautiful country like this, with all these magnificent flowers and you don't even know their names?"
I did not know what to say for a moment. I almost felt as if I were sitting in the back row of a Church where a powerful gospel sermon had just been concluded and that I was under deep conviction and speechless. I certainly had to acknowledge that my education was not by any means complete. Mr. Burton immediately eased my embarrassment by pointing to the garden next door. As we looked over the fence, he said "Look, this gentleman's garden is full of these attractive flowers and even he doesn't know the name of them, but never mind, we'll get to know". I felt somewhat better after that.
We continued our journeys through Tadcaster, and on through beautiful York, with its magnificent City walls and gates, getting a close-up view of the majestic, stately Minster.
Some ten miles or so beyond York we pulled in at a quaint little cafe, where we had coffee. Adjoining the cafe was a large white gate with the word 'Private' prominently affixed. Beyond the gate was a typical English garden, in which were flowers of every variety. A middle-aged lady, whom we discovered afterwards to be the owner of the cafe, was busy attending the garden.
Mr. Burton, seeing this delightful garden, instantly remembered the little blue flower. Alighting quickly from the car, he proceeded through the white gate, ignoring completely its prohibitive sign; he politely approached the industrious gardener and entered into a lengthy conversation with her. Then we observed that they moved to another part of the garden and brother Burton beckoned us to join the company. After a brief introduction, a delighted Mr. Burton said to me, "Now, brother Miles, I'll tell you the name of the little blue flower", I believe it is sometimes called the 'Grape Hyacinth', but Mr. Burton had discovered its true name; a name which I am ashamed to say still escapes me. (Muscari armeniacum. F.R.)
The sequel to this incident is remarkable. We did not need to go into the cafe for our coffee. The good lady took us into her private apartment and lavishly met our needs. Nor was this all the lady, who had recently suffered a sad bereavement, was hungry for God and the comfort which only He can give. How tenderly Mr. Burton ministered to her, committing her into God's loving care! A real friendship was established that day. Mr. Burton arranged to send her the Congo Report Magazine regularly.
How wonderful are the ways of our God, a contact had been made, a work of grace accomplished, divine comfort administered, all because of the name of a little blue flower.
'God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform'.
The lady has now left the district, but we saw her afterwards on several occasions and she was always happy to talk about the things of the Lord. The Lord who loved the lilies of the field, used the little blue flower in my friend's garden to bring together a needy lady and a prophet of the Lord. It is recorded of Jesus, "He must needs go through Samaria".
Wherever there is a genuine need, God will always meet it, even sometimes in an unexpected way.