Missionaries - Swallen Family Letters - 1932

Alumni ASSOCIaTiON
Wheaton College + Wheaton, Illinois 60187

ADDRESS CORRECTION REQUESTED

ivette R. Swallen
hth Avenue North
ersburg, Florida 33701

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al lhe OUNCE Ya
Sherwood and Yor. : Mw wan BD. Hall
Weight

(ONE SIXTH OF A SQUARE MILE oF Missionary Activity (120 Acres)

WOMEN'S HIGHER BIBLE SCHOOL 50 STUDENTS

Primary and High
School for Missionary
Children of all Korea

120 Students

Boys’ Academy
570 Students
Union Christian

College Agri-
cultural Station

Industrial Shops

Union Christian
Men's College

171 Students

15 City Churches

15,000 Christians

0 Country Churches
in Province

99,458 Christians

WOMEN'S STATION BIBLE INSTITUTE 150 STUDENTS.
a

WOMEN’S INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL 100 STUDENTS.

Pyengyang Presbyterian Compound

Entrance to compound

Union Christian Hospital Buildings
West Gate Church

Seminary Administration Building
and Dormitories

Dr. Engel’s Home

Dr Clark's Home

Dr. Robb’s Home

Dr. Reynold’s Home

Dr. Park Home

Domestic Science Building of Girls’ Academy
Administration Building of Girls’ Academy
Miss Snook’s Home and

Girls’ Academy Dormitory

Y. M. C. A. Residence

Men's Bible Institute Buildings
Mr. Hamilton's Home

Mr. Lutz's Home

Mr. Kinsler's Home

Dr. Blair's Home

Dr. Robert's Home

Mr. Hill's Home

Dr. Bernheisel’s Ome

2. Women's Bible Institute & Bible School
2 Mr. Philip's Home
Mr. Mowry's Home
Lady-Workers’ Home
Dr. Bigger’s Home
Dr. McCune’s Home
Miss Doriss’ Home & Lula Wells Institute
Dr. Moffett's Home
Foreign School Teachers’ Home
Foreign School Dormitories & Infirmary
Mr. Reiner’s Home
Foreign School & Athletic Field and Gym.
Dr. Baird's Home
Mr. McMurtrie’s Home
Anna Davis Industrial Shops
Bc Academy Building & Dormitory
Union Christian College Library
Union Christian College Science Hall
Union Christian College
Main Building & Dormitory
U. C. C. Auditorium-Gymnasium
and Ayademy Boys’ Farm Fields
42. Dr. Swfllen’s House Between 17 apd 187
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Men's Bible Institute

Students

Girls’ Academy

280 Students

Presbyterian
Theological
Seminary of all Korea
120 Students
Local Church
Congregation 1,500

Prayer Meeting 1,000
Sunday School 2,400

Union Hospital
14,682 Patients
47,680 Treatments
Four Missionary Doctors

Five Korean

775 Sunday Schools
in the Province

45,537 Pupils

Primary Schools

5,455 Pupils

8 Kindergartens

1,100 Pupils.

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ae | AN ILLUSTRATED: NEWS-WEEKLY~ FOR» THE- HOME’ &

* GRAHAM PATTERSON, PUBLISHER °

OR many years I have
been dismayed by the
difference between the
dictionary definition of
““parent’’ and the definition as
accepted by the average group
of men and women in the com-
munity. I have addressed in
school cireles, church cireles,
in towns large and small, a
great many parents’ associa-
tions and parent-teacher
ciations and have found almost
without exception that parents are mothers! This
seems to be the case whether the speaker be a man ora
woman and regardless of the topic to be presented or
discussed. Parents, for all purposes of child-study,
for consideration of child-welfare, child hygiene, recre-
ation and amusements, school curricula, moral,
ethical and religious training, even when meetings are
held in the evening at the place and hour supposed to
be most convenient to men, parents still seem to be
mothers. Yet despite this rather discouraging fact I
insist upon following the definition of the dictionary
and believing that fathers as well as mothers are
parents, sharing equally the responsibility for the erea-
tion and preservation of the sons and daughters of
earth.

I look often at various types of men and their young
sons with deep interest and with earnest effort to
understand. The boy perhaps has done something
that at the moment displeases his father and by angry,
impatient word and gesture is sent hurrying from his
presence; or the young son is asking the man who
brought him into the world, some question about this
old planet upon which he finds himself. I wait for the
father’s answer to the keen questions of a fresh young
mind eager for knowledge. Sometimes one question
is answered, in rare instances five or six questions,
then the newspaper wins and the boy is sent away
with his ‘‘everlasting questions.’

I want to call out to the young father shouting at
his son, ‘‘Now, I won't answer another question to-
night; go ask your mother. Go to bed. You ought
to be in bed now. No, not another word!’”—I want
to say to him, ‘‘ Young man, just a few years and your
son will ask you no more questions. You will give him
a lot of information about life in general, about com-
mon sense and behavior, his behavior in particular.
Information and knowledge will drop generously from
your lips, but your son will not pay the slightest
attention. Now is your great chance to answer ques-
tions. You would better take it

But the average father does not take it and the son
goes to bed unsatisfied and rebellious, leaving me to
ponder on the ways of parents with children.

fg THE first place I can never, struggle as I may,
blind myself to the fact that this man and this
woman brought these questioning, wriggling, never-

a@sso-

Atel, D

Parents

It Is the Fathers and Mothers Who Make

Today and Determine Tomorrow

By MARGARET SLATTERY

still-a-moment human specimens into existence. In
obedience to law and for the gratification of the in-
stinect for the perpetuation of life, these children came
into being. Somewhere along the way they became
thinking minds, human spirits, living souls. They did
not ask to come. Only on the stage in the appealing
and poetic play do little souls clamor to be born. No,
you who are parents, you dared to launch these spirits
upon the sea of human experience. They had nothing
to say about it, they could not choose their parents,
their race, their color, their social status. They had
nothing to say about the time or place of the lz vunch-
ing, not a word to say about the language they should
speak, they could not choose either poverty or riches.
If the sea of life should buffet them and the storms
beat upon them with such fury that in despair one
day they should ery, ‘‘I wish I had never been born,”
it will be a futile ery. You have made them live. You
have forced upon them without their asking for it this
thing called Life. Here they are—your sons and your
daughters.

Perhaps one of them is now ealling to you from his
little white crib, over and over, with great persistence,
‘Mother—moth-er, I want a drink of water!’’ The
stairs are long and you have traversed them scores of
times since morning. And, too, the child had a drink
of water just before he went to bed. It is very hard to
think of parental responsibility under these cireum-
stances, but the fact remains. Or it may be that some
father, persuaded against his will to read this article,
feels two little sharp elbows on his knees and a clear
little voice is asking, ‘‘ Daddy, what makes a chimney
smoke for? Where does the smoke go, Daddy?
Daddy, what does God eat? ‘Course He eats! How
can He not eat I know you are man, the
affairs of state or city, business purely personal, the
struggle and anxiety that crush the heart out of you,
have surrounded you all‘day. You don’t care where
the smoke goes and you are annoyed, a little shocked,
at the daring of a mind that frames such concrete
questions about God. You don’t think much about
Him yourself. You are not at all in the mood for the
consideration of the question of parental responsibility,
but the facts are there. You created that little thing.

a weary

wre MONLY

He is dependent upon you for
life—his body, mind and spirit
More than that, what he is in
the long days to come will
depend upon what you, his
father, and the woman who is
his mother do to him now that
you have given him—Life.

S' YMETIME since, on a won-
derful spring day, I stood
in the room where a father
and mother were looking at
a tiny little red thing, all hidden—except the ery
in dainty, delicate blankets. It was a boy, a perfect
specimen of humanity. The other two children were
girls and in spite of the fact that to the Anglo-Saxon
man both boys and girls are supposed to be of equal
value, there was a ring of special rejoicing in the
father’s voice when he announced, ‘‘It’s a boy. Poor
little beggar,”’ he said, looking down at it, with pride
that gave real meaning to the words.

It was a beautiful home into which this boy had
come; wealth, culture, refinement, generations of
strong, earnest Christian character were his inher-
itance. I had recently returned from a trip around
the world, looking at its childhood What would
happen, I asked myself, if I Should take this precious
bundle of possibilities from its nursery and returning
to China exchange it for a tiny almond-eyed little boy
in a well-to-do home on a very narrow and very dirty
street in a walled town far from haunts of white-faced
foreigners. I let myimagination, building upon the facts
of inheritance and environment. picture what would
happen. With the little son of the cultured Christian
home in my arms I cross the Pacific, land at Shang-
hai, take passage on the Yangtze, going for days up
that mighty stream until I reach the terminal
wharf for the big river boats. On smaller craft, then
by chair, I make my way to the humble home, leaving
the white-skinned, straight-eyed baby there with a
motherly Chinese woman, giving her instructions to
bring him up as her son. After searching about for
a while I take from the arms of his mother a little
Chinese boy, a perfect physical specimen. Back do
the Yangtze, across the Pacific I come with my bundle
of oriental babyhood. I give him to the care of an
understanding woman in a home of wealth, culture,
refinement and opportunity

Twelve years pass. I am ready now xchange
my boys, to give to the oriental lad and the oceide ntal
and his own land. I ask the
America and
upstanding little
fellow. His e slant, yet one thinks little of it
His skin is ivo but one thinks little of that. He
is as tall as the 1erican boy of his
He is dresse rican boy in a prosperous
is dressed. The Chinese brought
and books he

to ¢

lad each his orn people
parents of my Chinese boy
claim their son a fine,

to come to
sturdy,

years

home parents are

to his room where surrounded by games

hs at work the details of a home-made radio-
graph. He looks at his parents with great curiosity.
Why have they come? Are these the people about
whom he has readin school? Relations of the laundry-
man at. M Street, the folk who eat rice and other more
dreadful things it is said! What a costume! They
begin to speak. Is it a language? Can they really
understand each other? At lunch he watches their
attempts to eat with knife and fork. In spite of him-
elf, he laughs. Their courteous host serves a Chinese
dish and he observes their skill with chop-sticks and
is fascinated. After lunch they tell him the truth
Here are his father and mother. He is to go home to
China. He is a son of the Orient—their son. But he
will not go. He flees in terror to his Anglo-Saxon
mother by adoption. He shrieks for his white-
skinned blue-eyed father, though his own eyes are
deep lustrous dewy brown with almond-shaped lids
secking to hide them. He will never leave them. He
is an American boy, he is not Chinese, he cries, and
in all save his hody he speaks the truth. Whether
or not in long years to come he would if sent back to
China ‘‘revert to type” no one can say
Meanwhile the blue Anglo-Saxon bo
farthest hills of the Yangtze border, sees for the first
time his American parents. Sereaming with fear at
their approach, he calls at them, his face half-hidden
in his Chinese mother’s gown, ‘‘ Foreign devil, foreign
devil!’’—the only English words he knows. He rushes
to the street, through the mud, past the pigs, over the
dogs, to seek his playmates, to show them the curios-
ity, the ridiculous foreigners with their unspeakable
clothes, the foreigners who could not eat with chop-
sticks, though the best ivory ones were given them,
the foreigners who did not know how to drink tea
properly. The Anglo-Saxon man and woman talk
together. In astonishment the boys listen. Is it a
angus: =~—Can xy tand each ather? ow
the Chinese father tells the boy that these are his
parents, he must go with them. His skin is fair, his
eyes are blue, his hair is light and it curls, but he eries
aloud in terror, he calls upon the gods, he will not go—
he is a Chinese boy, he begs his Chinese father
rescue him. And in all save in body he is a Chinese
boy. His sins are the sins of Chinese boyhood, his
thoughts are the thoughts of a Chinese boy of twelve.
If he is taken to America, in the years ahead he may
completely ‘‘revert to type,’’ but no one can say how
long it will be, if ever, before the twelve years’ training
of the Orient shall drop away and leave him Anglo-
Saxon in mind and character as he is in face and form.

upon

beyond the

under

HE lusty ery of the new-born son of America,
there in his dainty nursery, brought me back to
realities. But my dreaming has truth in it, and my
picture is made out of fact. With that little human
thing wildly waving its tiny red hands,
its parents may do as they will. It can
learn to speak French, Russian, Chinese,
Hindustani, with equal ease. It can
learn to sit on a mat, or on a chair or
squat in the dust. It will eat with chop-
sticks as a Korean, Japanese or Chinese,
or with fingers as a Hindu. It will be
Catholic, Protestant or Hebrew, Mo-
hammedan, Taoist, Confucianist or
Buddhist. It can not decide for itself for
long years to come either its language,
its food, its moral and ethical standards
or its religious faith. What challenge
and what hope! These children brought
into being by you are yours to make
them what you will. The consciousness
of it ought to thrill you with joy at
what you may do or with fear lest you
should fail.
Two distant parts of
our country are spending the month in
the hotel where I find myself, close by
Their tables are on either side
of mine. There are four children in one
family, the oldest fifteen, the youngest
ree years. Five children make up the
ther family, the youngest two years
, the oldest thirteen. In one familys
1e children roll every letter ‘‘r’’ in
svery word. They use a very flat ‘a.’
In the other family hears no
rolling ‘“‘r’’ but the broadest of
“a's.” It is most interesting to hear
the parents speak—then the children’s
ttle echoes in pronunciation, intonation, vocabulary
The family of five greatly enjoys life
to be no need for discipline at table. There is often a
shout of laughter. Sometimes they play a game
Father and the oldest boy have some great joke on
each other that rejoices the rest of the family. It
makes merriment at every meal. The boys always
remain standing until their mother is seated. Each
day seems to have a program of happy events. The
younger children go to bed early because ** tomorrow
we will a a! the program with them eh
night as they discuss it Rain makes no difference
except in raincoats and rubbers. On Sunday they
go to church. Mach child seriously drops his money
into the plate. They find the places in hymn book
and psalter for each other. They sing with all their
hearts. Sunday afternoon they go to the woods,
never to the shore or I would so love to
follow. 1 am very curious as to what them
so eager for that Sunday afternoon

Ses tee
families from

1e sea.

one

There seems

enjoy

the rocks.

makes

F ONE were looking for a study in contrasts in

human life, he would find no better one than that
of these two families For all that the first family is,
the second is not. Arguments and tears at the table
silent father, a scolding mother. The father
leaves the table before the others have finished.
Protesting, the others wait for their mother. Getting
the younger children to bed is an agony in which ali
the hotel shares. No outbursts of happy laughter, no
tramps, no corn-roasts Father will not take the
younger children in bathing. Sometimes mother wil)
not—it is so hard to dress them—so they spend the
morning pleading. At last they move mother as far
as the beach. Yesterday the youngest child walked
straight into the waves, all dressed, his little pail in
his hand. One would hardly blame him—the tempta-
tion is so great. Sunday the family always goes on a
little trip in their car. It takes almost half an hour
of coaxing, bribing and threats to get them seated,
so dreadful is the quarrel over who shall sit in the
small seats, the front seat, the back seat. is a
relief when they have gone

““Mr.and Mrs. B. are so fortunate in their children,”
“They have
such happy dispositions and they are so well behaved.
The poor C’s have such wilful children—so hard to
manage.”

I felt no sympathy for ‘‘the poor C’s.”’ They have
made their children. They are the products of
environment and training. Neither of the boys ever
stood in his mother’s presence, but one can not con-
demn them. They have never seen their father do it.
Even the littlest boy answers his mother in very rude
fashion—just as the older children do, just as their
father does. The ten-year-old daughter lies to both
her father and mother. I can not condemn her. I
heard her mother twist the truth the other day in such
fashion that it completely deceived the father.

These four parents who brought these eniidren ito
the world, two fraiming them wisely with great
patience, at a sacrifice of their own personal desires
and pleasures, two @iaking discipline a matter of
convenience, refusing® absolutely to give up their own
present desires for the future good of their children,
have each their reward. The lawf consequences is a
powerful law, and parent@@an not escape it. Troubled
mothers may look helplessly upon their sixteen-year-
old daughters, eriticize them, upbraid them, weep
over them, but the fact remains they made them. A
little girl six days old, six weeks old, six months old,
may be made into anything. At sixteen it is late—
in most cases too late.

—ae

said one of the guests to me yesterday.

June I saw a sad-faced man, who
making an heroic struggle against

NE morning las
is Just now

great odds in the business world, taking the train for a

colleze town. He told
me his errand. His
son, a freshman, was
in serious trouble
“He has meant
nothing but trouble,’ he said. ‘‘Trouble in the
sophomore class in high school and trouble ever since!
This is the end. I'm through with him.”

It was a hard thing for an upright man to face. Yet
that father, honest enough according to his own
standards, was known as a shrewd bargainer. He was
““a good business man,’ men said, nodding their heads
sometimes as they said it. While he was about his
business in the years when his sons were growing up,
meeting the ’teen years, facing their difficulties, he
knew no more about them than if they were bo: .
in his home, for whom he had to provide cet
things. Now the law of consequences met him
disinterested father and a weak-willed indulgent
mother who took the easiest way and the product
his son—a keen disappointment, bringing
upon him, demanding money, time and
now when it was too late for any one of them to help
much in the formation of character.

One afternoon, a few wee later, when college

r

disgrace
attention

had

closed, I met a father and his three sons, twenty-four

and just going into business with him, twenty-two

and twenty years of age, bound for the golf course.
“The Jolly Four” they eall themselves

avedhisstick atme. ‘‘It,will beafearsomegame

ather brandishing the vietor’s sword,” he called

They were such stalwart, splendid physical speci-
mens, so clean, so free, so normal, so thoroughly in
love with life, all four of them. Many a man looked
on with envy. But I knew from the long years what
it had cost that father to produce these splendid sons
whose lives he now so fully shared. I knew what it
had cost their mother. I knew how they had spent
their evenings, their Saturdays, their summer vaca-
tions, their holidays for years and years in order to
produce this fine type of American youth. Those
were the hard years of patience, of toil, of seed-sowing.
These are the years of rich reward.

At least eighty per cent. of the responsibility for the
bodies, minds and souls of the youth of our day rests
upon those who have brought them into the world
their parents. Even the most tolerant of judges who
has had experience with life can not put more than
twenty per cent. of the responsibility upon the com-
munity. Little by little parents have been shifting
their responsibility, ten per cent. here, ten per cent
there, until many American cities are filled with
parents unwilling to take even fifty per cent. of the
responsibility for the product called modern youth
But that does not change the facts. Those who have
given them life are before God and the future re-
sponsible for their product.

Certain it is that without you who have dared to eall
these souls to life and destiny, there would be no
world. And certain it is that without you, the
splendid host of you, who having called them to life
have given the best that you are and have to make
them worthy products, strong, high-minded and pure,
thes worid
endure life.

wuuid ot bu aw place Where: air eward

HEN I see you with your babies in your arms I

often wonder whom you are holding there so care-
fully—what great soul that shall lead the world to
peace, that perchance shall lead it to vietory over
famine and disease. When I see some earnest father
with his little ones by the hand, or his sturdy son
strutting along beside him, I often ask myself, ‘*Who
walks there beside him? Some future leader of the
troubled men of commerce and trade, some soul who
shall overcome hatred and greed, one who shall shape
anew the destinies of great nations?’’ No one can
say. You may hold in your arms the great leader for
whom America waits. You may, at this moment, be
tucking him snugly in bed.

That cold raining February day, in the year 1809,
three inen stood talking around the
stove in the little Kentucky village
store.

“What's the news?”’ said one.

“Wall,” said his neighbor, ‘‘no special

news—nuthin’ important. They’re

doing the same old fool thing up in

Washington; there was cargo lost at

had some cotton on board; widow
too bad. Ob yes, and
another baby down to
incoln's—a boy. No, nuthin’ im-

portant. News been short lately.”

Could he only have had the prophet’s
eye and looked down the years—Feb-
ruary 12, 1809—a new baby down to
Ancoln’s—a boy! How could that
jumble mother know that every school-
soy would one day know that date
How could she know that to millions of
people it should be the day of the birtt
of hope. How could she know the
day, standing in the highest place of
1onor and trust that the American
veople can bestow, his homely, honest
kindly face, upon which sympathy
merey and love had carved many a
ine, turned toward the group of states-
men in the hour of his triumph, he
would say, “All that Tam I owe to mj

What greater reward could a mother

sea,
3’s cow died

they're got

some

angel mother
ask than this?

I do not know how I should feel if I looked down at
night into little faces knowing that I had brought them
into this puzzling, troubled old world with its mixed
measure of pain and joy. I do not know how |
should feel if | looked up at some sweet girl upon the
platform at Commencement or at some strong lad
quite ready to ‘‘get into the game,’’ and know that /
had brought them into being, called them without
their consent into the problems and the opportunities
life brings. But of this I am sure, if I had failed them
if through self-indulgence, carelessness or unwilling-
ness to bear the burden, I had done for them less than
my best, I would ery aloud to them God

Fo forgive!’ I should rise from my knee
repentant, to repentance by renewed
effort and wiser love

and to

prove my

which

and lecturer o1

This ts the
Mi Slattery,

second of a series of three article

world-famous author
relating to the younger ger

Christian Herald at
( They Forgi

eration, has written
The third
published

request.
—will be

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