The success of the retreat pleased Eric greatly. Feedback from Oxford Group sessions typically produced similar reactions to his knowledge. Walking as a Christian, especially in the face of adversity, had always been difficult. And the chatter of looming war made living the faith even more challenging. Any theological perspective that could help was a benefit, and the Oxford Group’s perspective did help, even though some considered it politically and theologically controversial. The Oxford Group was unconventional in the way its meetings were organized—without singing, praying, or a fixed order of service, they didn’t resemble church services of the time—and its members were far from united in their political opinions, which made some people suspicious of their teachings.
Eric’s favorite mantra had become living a “God-controlled life,” a life that adhered to the Oxford Group’s principles. This way of thinking and living had spread through Eric’s circles of influence. The ensuing peace that came with living this way contained a hidden reward. The controversy directed toward the Oxford Group’s teachings was out of fear that one might be weighed down by submitting to the perceived oppressive will of God. Challengers of the Oxford Group’s practices thought they might find more freedom adhering to their own will in addition to God’s. Yet, ironically, it is only by being completely at peace with God’s will—in his control—that freedom in God’s grace is ultimately found. Great joy is found in the ability to live under discipline without the burdensome thought of discipline.
This distinct understanding and belief was vital to Eric and influenced how he grappled with his next big life decision—helping the rural Chinese discover faith in Jesus Christ. Eric could only chuckle during his quiet times with the Lord, wondering what possible way God would shake up his life with such a different call than he had previously imagined.
Humor had always been Eric’s lubricant for life. He kept his sense of wit churning through the tense times as well as the times of ease.
A classic example of Eric’s amusement happened shortly before Florence gave birth to their second child. Florence and Eric had debated the name of the new child. Florence had been vying for Heather, while Eric had been holding out for Carol, as the birth would be quite near to Christmas. One evening Eric told Florence he had written down the names on two individual slips of paper, then placed them in a hat. “I’ll be fair and allow you to be the one to draw the name out of the hat,” he told her.
Florence carefully considered the proposition as an air of seriousness took over her. This method seemed fair enough. She slowly reached a hand in, drew a slip, and unfolded it.
“Carol,” she read as her balloon of hope burst.
But what Eric had not revealed to Florence was that he had written “Carol” on both slips of paper in the hat. His straight face did not last long. Florence sleuthed the truth out between Eric’s giggles and smirks. After he gave his confession, she threw a cushion at him. Their laughter resounded through the new year.
On January 6, 1937, a second daughter arrived. Eric and Florence named her Heather.
A few weeks later, Rob and Ria rushed to Tientsin with their young son, seven-year-old James Ralph, who appeared quite ill. Doctors at MacKenzie Hospital confirmed their worst fears—James Ralph had tuberculosis of the spine and needed to return to Britain as soon as possible.
Rob booked passage for his wife and son, now secured in a body cast. Between the time it took for young James Ralph to recover and the political climate in China, Rob knew that when he said good-bye to them, they would not see one another’s faces again until his next furlough, scheduled for two years out.
Eric took pride in his flourishing family, and he pedaled Patricia around Tientsin on the front of his bicycle. But his mind wasn’t completely free for work and fun. He had been mulling over a now-familiar request—Siaochang.
In the summer of 1937, the LMS’s district council decided to transfer Eric to Siaochang, where he would serve God for four months in a rural community, with an eye on a more long-term transfer.
The district council of the London Missionary Society had their hopes set high to ease the volatile situation TACC faced. The college needed to reduce funding by one staff member. Eric had always been the logical choice. Cullen had been ordained as well but was in nowhere near the physical shape of Eric. Transitioning from Tientsin to Siaochang would be demanding, requiring a robust constitution. Sending Eric and his family to Siaochang would alleviate the financial predicament at the college.
Eric could not argue that the plan had merit and seemed to provide a workable solution . . . if he was willing to move his young family. The conveniences and amenities that Florence and Eric enjoyed in the large and prestigious port city of Tientsin would not at all be found in Siaochang. Rearing children would be significantly more difficult in such a rural setting and with a smaller social network.
As painful as the decision was, Eric knew that the rural areas of China were no place for his wife and children. Banditry, political fighting, violence, and human depravity were part of daily life. He decided that he would go to Siaochang alone and would visit with Florence and his girls only a few days each month.
Every moment of his life—the early years of being apart from his family, save Rob, and both his athletic and spiritual training—had prepared him for all that awaited him within the next few years.
He simply didn’t know it yet.
[57] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970),
