Libby Little: The One who warmed her heart

 One of my most popular posts was called Dan Terry: A Man of Velvet and Steel. It was written by a soldier in Afghanistan  and sent to my husband. I was so touched by it, I posted it and it had many hits or views. Dan Terry was an AID missionary and was murdered.  The same soldier wrote in an email about another friend and his wife Dr. Tom Little and Libby Little.

"You remember my friends, Dr. Tom Little and Dan Terry, who were murdered recently while trekking on a mobile medical clinic.  Tom's wife, Libby, is such a dear woman.  I remember talking with her on the streets of Kabul 30 years ago, when she told me of a former classmate of mine, who had a child that she couldn't care for and be the mother she wanted to be for.  Libby was so gracious in her words about my former classmate, and Libby and Tom adopted her child.  

The following article is a letter to the editor that Libby wrote about "suffering in service" a short time BEFORE Tom was murdered."

Here are some teasers excerpts. Take the time to read the whole article. You will be glad you did.

In today's world of instant access to news, mission agencies may feel compelled to "do something" when danger arises. Although the Bible gives examples of varying responses to danger, the mission agencies' "something," more often than not, may be to encourage or order an evacuation. What might have been a God-appointed time to embrace suffering and those who suffer may be prematurely aborted.

During a brief lull in fighting, a military convoy was organized to take foreign advisers and government sympathizers to a safe place. We were offered a place in the convoy. Our neighbors, however, assured us the worst was over, so the convoy came and left without us. As the fighting worsened, and streets were abandoned, our neighbors fed us fresh bread and sweet milk. Some took turns guarding our gate, motioning angry mobs to "pass by" our home. When the fighting ended, they referred to us as "the people who stayed."

Whenever rocketing began, they filed quickly through the gate and down the basement steps. With each incoming round of rockets, they moaned prayers and cried. In my own fearful state, all I could do was whisper the name of Jesus.

One of those women returned recently and told me that during those basement times, whenever she heard the name of Jesus she felt a warm sensation in her body. Later, when she left for a neighboring country, she sought out Christians who could tell her more about the One who warmed her heart. God blessed those days in the basement.

Photo of Libby and Dr. Tom Little 
Times Union.com