Her love for her Lord began quietly. No grand event. No dramatic preaching. Just girls from her university accommodation offering friendship over coffee, speaking naturally about Jesus, opening their homes and reading Scripture as though it were alive and precious. Helen had known church and faith as an intellectual exercise, but this was different. This was personal.
One evening, alone in a dark room, she cried out, “God, show me You’re real.” When she lifted her eyes, they fell upon the words of Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am.” The final word (God) was missing from the statement, but in that moment, for the first time, Helen truly understood that God was her answer. From that moment on, in every joy, sorrow, hardship and trial, He would be her reason, her hope and her Beloved.
Isn’t it wonderful to think that her friends likely had no idea what their simple faithfulness would lead to? A coffee. A conversation. An open Bible. Through those ordinary acts, God set in motion a life that would bless thousands. It should make us wonder about the quiet opportunities placed before us. The neighbour within reach. The colleague who lingers to talk. The invitation we could extend. Nothing done with and for the Lord is ever small. No kindness is wasted. No loving witness futile.
Years later, that same young woman who had met her Lord in the stillness of Cambridge would meet Him again in the depths of suffering. Serving in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Helen saw beautiful answers to prayer, yet endured horrors beyond words. Beaten, assaulted and held captive, but not crushed. Instead, she knew her God afresh. Helen later wrote of how the “why?” fell away, and was replaced by an overwhelming sense of her Lord’s presence. Peace flowed in the midst of wickedness and suffering. The God she had first encountered in stillness proved Himself just as real in suffering. He had been her answer at the beginning, and He remained her answer still.
I don’t think we could ever exhaust the lessons to be learned from this faithful life, but perhaps Helen’s greatest lesson for us all is beautifully simple: to know more and more of the Lord in more and more of life.
To know Him as Jehovah Jireh,[1] our provider. To know Him as Yahweh, the great “I AM” and our equipper. To know Him as Jehovah Rapha, our healer. To know Him as Jehovah Nissi, our source of protection and victory. To know Him as Jehovah Raah, our shepherd and guide. To know Him as Jehovah Shammah, the One who is there in every moment of joy and every moment of sorrow.
To know Him as Adonai, our Lord, and to submit our lives to His ways. To know Him as Jehovah Shalom, our peace, even in moments of unrest. To know Him as Immanuel, God with us, and to welcome Him in. To know Him as Yeshua, the God who saves.
To know Him not only in the light-filled rooms of answered prayer, but in the shadowed places where questions linger. To make the goal of life not achievement, not recognition, not even impact, but knowing Him, loving Him, walking with Him and doing His work.
And so Helen’s story gently turns the question toward us. Are we content to know our Lord only in theory, or do we long to know Him in the whole of life? Are we willing to shine in small ways? Are we willing to trust Him in hard times? The same God who met Helen in a quiet Cambridge room is the One whose desire is to meet us today. The light has not dimmed.
“And this is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent” (John 17:3).
[1] See here for further reading on this and other “Jehovah” titles.
