CHAPTER 1
WHEN THE SPIRIT CAME
Bombay: 1972
"Where have you been?" Alan's anxious look told me the whole story. Iwas three hours late. Though only a few miles from home the painfulwaiting lent plenty of opportunity for imaginations to run wild. I couldhave been in the hospital or I could have been abducted or any ofanother thousand horrors!
I was supposed to be home by six o'clock but now it was nine. Exhausted,I sat down and began to tell of wonders and miracles. When the HolySpirit is poured out ordinary activities soon turn into extraordinaryevents till every day has the expectation of the extraordinary. I had goneto shop for a few necessary items for the house and should not have beenmore than an hour, but then I met Frances.
She was grabbing a few last minute essentials for the birthday party. Inher excitement she was talking so fast. "Everyone is coming" she said,"Yes aunty from Thana and I've called my friends from work and mygrandmother is coming. You know she needs someone to bring her somy cousins will be here too. Oh, I think we will be about forty in thehouse. What an opportunity! Yes, we're going to tell them about Jesus,yes and we've got music. Ajit is coming with his guitar. We have beenpraying so much, I know they will all be saved tonight."
Continuing to explain myself I said, "Alan I could not refuse the pressinginvitation, I had to go to the birthday party." In those amazing days, anyand every opportunity was used to share the gospel in an all-out effortto bring family members, friends and neighbors to Christ. These newChristians were so overjoyed with their new life that they could not keepquiet. Anyone was a target for their loving witness, even if they had tocompel them to listen!
Just trying to walk into the crowded home was like an obstaclecourse as I was hugged continually being passed from one set of armsto another. The music was already blaring; no one seemed to careabout forcing the whole street to listen in. The birthday party wasthe cover for an impromptu evangelistic outreach. Frances raised hervoice and called Leroy to tell what had happened to him. With thesame enthusiasm Leroy told his story. He had always gone to Massand said the rosary, and even went to confession, but now somethingwas different; he had met Jesus. He gave a clear, simple testimony ofa revolutionized life now overflowing with joy and love for God. Hewas evidently filled with the Holy Spirit, his words carried power ashe spoke so naturally expecting Jesus to do the same miracles today asHe did when on earth. Once he was religious, now he had life. Oncehe tried to keep rules, now his delight was to obey the Word of God.Stories flowed and questions were asked from all corners of the room.Then demons began to manifest.
"What could I do? Alan, I couldn't get away; I was casting out demonsand praying for the sick and many were being led to life in Christ." Thesenew Christians were not satisfied for anyone to accept Christ as Lord andSavior without them obviously being filled with the Holy Spirit. Theseordinary new Christians would encourage all the converts to receive thepower of the Holy Spirit so that they too would cast out demons, healthe sick and preach the word. The gifts of the Spirit abounded amongthem. As the revival moved through the Catholic area of Bombay suchscenes were repeated many times. These passionate, gregarious peoplehad life, they would not keep quiet; they sang about it, talked about it,and shared Jesus with everyone.
This period of time in Bombay was amazing with wonders as theHoly Spirit was poured out. It was hard to imagine that Frances andher family had been as lost as the guests at the party only a year or sopreviously. And here I was standing in the middle of a miracle; I wouldnever have thought that the decision we made just nine short yearsbefore would bring us to Bombay and revival.
But let me begin at the beginning to help you understand from where wehad come.
CHAPTER 2
OUR ROOTS
Alan's parents were from Liverpool, England. The northern influencewas always obvious in the family, especially in the food they ate. Theyhad four children and Alan Maurice was the third child born August 19,1930 in Wimbledon, Surrey, famous for the lawn tennis championships.
The family made their home in Harrow, Middlesex, about fifteen milesoutside central London. Alan's childhood years coincided with theterrible days of World War II. Like all families that lived through thosechallenging times, his parents felt the impact upon their everyday life.Alan's father, a civil engineer, travelled the country with responsibility forrepairing the rail bridges and keeping the railways running during theenemy bombing.
His grandmother was converted in the Welsh Revival. The genuinespirituality of this wonderful lady influenced the whole family. Two ofher sons went into the Baptist ministry, and to this day, there are thosein the family line who serve God in various places of the world. Alan'sfather, as an engineer, chose a different course for his career.
Alan had the privilege of growing up in a good church-going familywhere his father served as a deacon in the local Baptist church.Unfortunately the home was not a place where fervent Christian attitudeswere expressed or spiritual things discussed. Reading the Bible andpraying with their children was never part of their family life. Religionwas considered a personal thing, so they did not seek to determineif anyone was truly saved and, it would seem they never asked thosesearching questions of their children either. One by one the childrendrifted away into good, respectable, God-fearing, but not God-centeredlives. Alan had nothing against the church or God, but that kindof religious life just seemed irrelevant; the attitude of multitudes ofmaterialistic people today.
The whole family tended to be insular, finding it difficult to talk aboutpersonal things. Alan's father covered it up by being more extroverted inhis ways, always ready with a joke, as well as being a merciless tease to thechildren. Alan remembers him as a good responsible father, even thoughhe was not overtly affectionate to any of his children and one who couldquickly lose his temper over trivial things.
Alan, under duress, suffered through church attendance three timeson Sunday. He attended church service morning and evening as wellas afternoon Sunday school, without having any memorable spiritualencounter. At school there was a daily half hour Christian assembly buthe remained spiritually untouched. Although there were those about himwho did live a true Christian witness, it failed to make an impressionupon him.
War was declared when Alan was nine years old. Living near to Londonmeant that the family was never far from action. One time when he wascycling to school a V2 rocket landed in the garden of a house nearby. Hewas blown off his bicycle by the blast. Getting up from the ground, hesaw a bus at the bus stop with all its windows blown out and a crowd ofpeople groping their way from the bus with blood streaming down theirlacerated faces from the flying glass. Even school children were in dailydanger, with death and injury for all to see, but there is no hint thatthese horrible events pressed Alan to seek the Lord.
I am convinced the Lord preserved Alan's life on that occasion andagain on another. It was the day for celebration when at last the war wasended. Everyone in the road was out preparing a street party. Alan, withhis friend, was working on the amplification system for the day's events.Something was not working well, so after testing the system they decidedto earth the equipment more efficiently. Alan standing on the dampground grabbed the bare wire to earth it, but someone had turned on thepower. Suddenly 240 volts were crashing through Alan's hand. He fell tothe ground unconscious. Fortunately, most men were well trained in firstaid as they had to always be ready to help any who were war casualties.
With not a moment to lose, Alan was receiving artificial respiration, whilethe mother of his friend was beside herself thinking her son had killedAlan. He was soon revived with the help of the excellent treatment fromthe neighbors, though his hand was badly burned. The Lord was watchingover Alan; He had plans for him that would be revealed at the right time.The day would come when he would serve Him and do all His will.
Alan gained entrance to the local grammar school; he was a good studentwith a natural inclination to the sciences. When the time came for himto leave school, the perfect opening was presented with a position in theKodak research laboratories, which would use his scientific abilities andgive him further training. It was an easy decision. He was being offered agolden opportunity when many young people in the post-war days couldnot go to study for a university degree. He enjoyed life, including playingrugby football; even breaking his nose did not deter him. Later, that breakand a number of other such injuries caused him much trouble.
My family background was very different. My father, Edgar Bowden,was born into a large London family in 1908. His twin brother died ininfancy. Family and neighbors supported each other when new babiesarrived or in times of trouble. Mrs. Milledge, a big-hearted friend andneighbor, willingly offered an extra pair of hands and tiny baby Edgarwas passed over the fence so that she could give him the undividedattention he needed. If anyone had any spiritual influence in my father'slife, it was Mrs. Milledge, his godmother. When she was dying, myfather, who always had affection for her, took me to her home and thereon her bed, was a cherished bible. She was always a devout Anglican.
At fourteen years old my father was apprenticed to his own fatheras a carpenter and joiner. They constructed pianos for a large Londonfurniture company. The family was nominally Church of England, butthere is no evidence that anyone served the Lord or even attended achurch. My father was a good-looking young man and it did not takelong for my mother, Violet Booth, a very attractive young woman, to fallin love with him. They were married in 1931.
My mother's parents were also from London. Her father Alfred AlbertBooth served in the Royal Artillery for twenty-one years, with some ofthat time spent in India. After his discharge from the Army, he marriedRose Casey from a London Irish family and then he became a schoolcaretaker. Violet, born in 1912, was one of three children.
There seems to have been some Christian influence from mygrandfather's side of the family. When D. L. Moody was in London,twice he took my mother to the crusades. Possibly, it was about this time,that as a young person, she made a confession of faith and was baptizedin a local Baptist church. Unfortunately, whatever happened to her thennever grew into a mature Christian life so that I have no memory ofeither parent ever visiting the church or having any spiritual life.
My parents moved out of London into an area of new development inHoddesdon, in Hertfordshire. There they purchased a new house andestablished themselves for many years to come. It became home for theirfour daughters. I was the second born and arrived on October 9, 1934.
Our childhood years were the war years. Living twenty-five miles out ofLondon meant that we did not have to endure the heavy bombing thatwas the horrific nightly experience of those living in the city. I was onlyfive years old when war was declared, so although the tensions of lifemust have influenced me, I do not remember being frightened. To thecontrary, I recall sitting on the window sill in the bedroom watching theair battles overhead with the curtain wrapped around me so that no lightcould escape from the room.
There were many occasions when enemy planes would be flying overheadand we would scan the sky for the notorious doodle bugs with theirmenacing drone wondering where they would fall. The V2 rockets madetheir presence known by the very loud characteristic whoosh; then wewaited for the explosion that erupted only moments later.
Every conceivable thing was rationed, but we never went hungry. Aswe walked to school every day we picked up shrapnel fallen from the"dog fights" the night before "to help the war effort". If the air raid sirensounded, the whole class would walk in an orderly "crocodile" down intothe dugout, the underground air raid shelter, that took up a part of theplayground.
My father was drafted into the Royal Air Force in 1943 and was sent tothe war in the Far East, where his unit travelled behind the British trooplines repairing aircraft. As he walked off to the station carrying his kitbag over his shoulder, I sat on the red-tiled front door step and cried andcried. My Dad was my friend and now he was gone. I missed him sovery much. He used to protect me as my relationship with my motherwas never a happy one. I became a sullen withdrawn child and thoughonly eight years old, would spend as much time as I could in my friend'shouse next door rather than be home.
My mother found life on her own very hard. Father had left almostimmediately following the death of another little daughter who hadstruggled for life. Sadly, this was their second infant bereavement. Homewas not a happy place.
Our mother sent all us girls to the Methodist Sunday school on Sundayafternoons. I'm sure that gave her a needed respite from four demandingyoungsters, but perhaps she also remembered her own youthful decisionand wanted us to have that same opportunity to hear the gospel. I havemany treasured memories from those childhood Sunday school days.Kathy Taylor, severely crippled with rheumatoid arthritis and confined toa wheel chair, was my favorite Sunday school teacher. She left the deepestimpression upon me. I was only about seven years old, but she madeJesus so real that I never wanted to miss a Sunday.
About this time, a young African pastor came and spoke to the children.We rarely saw any black people, his appearance as well as his stories ofmissionaries intrigued me so at the end of the meeting I spoke to him.I had been looking at his hair and wanted to feel it so he lifted me ontohis lap and I put my hand on his head touching his strange springy hair.That Sunday afternoon God spoke to a little seven year old girl and setthe course of my life forever. As I went home with my sister I skippedahead saying, "I want to be a missionary when I grow up! I want to be amissionary when I grow up!"
During the long summer holidays we children would play in the fields.For me they were a place of wonderful freedom. From my earliest days Iwas fascinated with nature and all the handiwork of God. When otherswere playing, I would collect wild flowers and examine everything thatgrew and I would be so excited if I found a plant I had never seen before.I would be intrigued with insects, the beauty of cobwebs and sight andsounds of the different seasons. Those loves have endured over the yearsand have been handed on to my children and grandchildren. I rememberlying on my back in the garden looking at the wide, blue sky and beingfilled with the wonder of its vastness. Somehow in my mind God was upthere.
Once the fields were cleared and the harvest was reaped, we childrenwould pick up the gleanings, which were choice pickings for thechickens. Prisoners of war from Italy and Germany were the man-powerfor the farms. They worked in the fields bringing in the grain as most ofthe able-bodied men had been conscripted into the armed forces.
I shall never forget the day my younger sister got head lice. My motherwas beside herself. She shouted, "You must not go near those prisoners",thinking that was where my sister had contracted the head lice. Themen missed their families and always talked to the children. Mother wasunable to get any treatment for my sister and resorted to dousing herhead with kerosene. Many years later I saw the same treatment used inIndia. My sister's screams terrified me so that I dreaded ever getting headlice. That night in bed with my head under the covers, I talked to God.I asked him to never let me get head lice. There in the dark, the prayerof a little girl was heard as I transacted in faith not even knowing what Iwas doing. I knew God had heard me and I knew I would never get headlice.
Many years later when I was travelling in Nepal with our youngest sonDavid sitting beside me on a bus going from Kathmandu to Pokhra,that prayer of faith was lifted out of the past into a very pertinent now.Squashed in the back of the bus next to a diminutive Nepali lady, wewere being bitten by bugs coming out of the seats as they found in us agood meal. If that was not enough, looking hard at the little lady pressedup against us I saw head lice, lots of them walking in her hair andhopping around! My first instinct was to try to protect David and myselffrom them, but out of nowhere, the Lord spoke to me. "Eileen, don't youremember?" I was immediately transported from the back of the bus tothat holy place under my blankets years before. The transaction of faithby a seven year old still held good many years later in the back of a busin Nepal. I never got head lice all the years in India though there werealways plenty to catch!
