I like it when people write something and then want to share it. Kathy Schnell forwarded this story to me. It is written by her sister, Luanne Krabbe, and is being shared with Luanne's permission:

Abou Ben Adhem

Some years ago I knew a man in his 80's who recited a poem for me. He was of an age when children learned "recitations" and he loved to amaze me in that he could still recite after so many years. The poem that lodged in my mind after hearing it only one time was beautiful in a mysterious mixture of Arabian Nights, humor and holiness. The first line began with a strange exotic name which I could never remember, but the haunting & righteous message of the poem never left me.

The old man passed on and so did ten years or more. I never saw him again after hearing that particular poem. I wondered if I would ever find that poem again, knowing only the spirit of it, but not enough words, not the title or author.

One day as I walked into the public library, I met another old friend. Pearl Larson was a retired missionary who had lived 30 years in Cameroon, in West Africa.  

Pearl was 28 and an unmarried or "maiden lady" when she went to Africa. It was at the beginning of WWII and transportation was not by air, but by ship. When she got there, she was not sure what she would be doing. For the first 2 years she tried to teach and start a school, but she knew only English, not French, so it was not working out very well.

A visiting clergyman "volunteered" Pearl to adopt an orphaned new born who no one in the community would take. In fact, the child was on the point of being put into the grave with its mother. With no refrigeration, no extra food, there was no way for the family members to raise an orphan. In that land, "kwashikoror" is the name of starvation of the toddler age child who is displaced at the breast of the mother with a new born.

Mothers sometimes have the awful choice to make of which of her own babies to feed. Pearl had no choice. She bought goat's milk from a tribe of Swahili shepherds and boiled milk every morning & every night, cooled it and fed the baby. It did not take long for more orphans to be left on Pearl's proverbial doorstep. There were times when she would have 25 bottle fed infants. She told me that when she would wake up in the morning, and think that she'd have a minute to say her prayers, she'd be interrupted because everyone needed something from her.

By the time Pearl returned to Iowa, she had raised to adulthood almost 300 new born and orphaned children who really were what we'd have to call "throw away children" because their fate was to have been to be buried with their dead mothers.

So back to the day at the library...Pearl greeted me with the words,"I'm so excited. I just found the poem that I've been looking for."

I said, "I wonder if it's the same one that I've been looking for."

The page she showed me began "Abou Ben Adhem, (may his tribe increase)...." and was indeed that poem, by Leigh Hunt, that I hoped would come back to me again.

Pearl's funeral was today and I honor the sacred way that  Pearl & Ben Adhem lived.  In the moonlit room I keep in my soul, she is a lily in bloom.

Copyright by Luanne Krabbe

Abou Ben Adhem

by Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
'What writest thou?' - The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered 'The names of those who love the Lord.'
'And is mine one?' said Abou. 'Nay, not so,'
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerily still; and said 'I pray thee then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.'
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names who love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.