The Seed from the East

By Mrs. Harry Holt and David Wisner

The story of Harry Holt and his love for underprivileged children. Here is the account of an Oregon farmer and his wife and six children who opened their home to eight orphans who had been abandoned by Korean mothers and American fathers. And the Holt Adoption Program went on to help provide homes for many more Korean children—here is the story of how it all began.—Print ed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barakaldo Books
• Release date: May 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781839744143

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Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

THE SEED FROM THE EAST

by

MRS. HARRY HOLT

as told to

DAVID WISNER

Table of Contents

Contents

Table of Contents 4

Dedicated 5

CHAPTER I 7

CHAPTER II 18

CHAPTER III 38

CHAPTER IV 118

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 138

Dedicated

to

Jesus Christ, my Lord,

the

Author and Finisher of

our faith.

The profit from this publication is to be used entirely for the relief of orphans.

Heavenly Father...If it be Thy will, give us some way of serving Thee; a humble way, a way of Thine own choosing that will glorify Thy name. We petition Thee through Thine own Son, our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

As a family, our knees have pressed the floor, repeatedly, asking the above request. In the year of 1955, God answered our prayer in a most wonderful way.

The reason for this book stems from the numerous letters we have received concerning the adoption of mixed-race children in Korea. We have written here some of the miraculous accounts of the manner in which God changed our lives.

BERTHA HOLT

CHAPTER I

IT ISN’T as though Oregon is the only beautiful place on earth. Many places are perhaps even lovelier. But people who have never seen the rugged splendor of the scenic Willamette Valley have missed at least one of the garden spots of God’s creation. Of course, we like it. We live here.

At the southernmost tip of the valley is a quiet little town called Creswell. Our farm is but a few miles beyond. It is here among the beautiful Douglas fir trees that my husband, Harry Holt, and I have lived for many happy years. We have enjoyed a simple wholesome life...unfettered by the chains of materialism...and yet, God has blessed us exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think.

I shall never be able to share with you the full account of what has happened to our family. As you will soon know, our days are composed somewhat the same as those of any normal American home. The varied activities of any given week would make lengthy reading but most of the happenings would sound familiar to you; especially if there are children in your home and you all share in that thrilling project...life.

The years have not been without heartaches and setbacks. These, too, are a part of life; but for us most of the sadness has been all but obscured by the warm, bright vitality of the children. Six times we have been so blessed.

The first child, Stewart, was the only boy. The girls came to us in this order: Wanda, Molly, Barbara, Suzanne and Linda. As we received them we prayed that God would give us the wisdom to bring them up in the nurture and admonition of their Lord.

One afternoon, in the fall of 1954, the two youngest girls, Suzanne and Linda, were walking up the lane to the house with a neighbor girl, Wanda Robertson. This was a regular weekday occurrence, as the school bus always made its stop on the road down below.

Do you suppose your folks’ll be going to hear Dr. Pierce? inquired the Robertson girl.

I don’t know, said Suzanne, ...who’s he?

He’s the man who tells about Korean widows and orphans. We hear him on the radio. He’s the president of an organization called ‘World Vision,’ and he goes all over the world trying to help people...’specially missionaries. Wanda stopped, for a moment, to catch her breath.

The word missionaries caused Suzanne to ponder a moment in complete silence. She reflected on the many times she had heard either her father, or me, speak with high praise of the wonderful efforts made by the missionaries in countries that otherwise would not hear of the Lord Jesus Christ.

I don’t know... Suzanne said, almost to herself, We don’t go out much at night...but where will he be, in case Mama and Daddy might want to go?

At the high school auditorium...in Eugene, said Wanda, with no small amount of enthusiasm, ...and if you do go...could I go with you?

Suzanne smiled at this, but hastily replied she was certain Wanda could go ...that is, if Mama and Daddy decide to make the trip.

Wanda took the road to the valley. Suzanne and Linda continued toward the house. They gave the mail they had taken from the box a quick once-over...just to make sure there was nothing for them.

Overhead the Oregon sky was sullen with its mid-December overcast It served as a sombre backdrop for the fringe of grayish-green tree tops on the mountain up ahead. The green pasture, covering the base of the giant hill, was dotted with the woolly forms of sheep busily seeking the sustenance of life. Through the naked branches of the apple orchard, the girls could see the rambling farm house where they lived, Suzanne was moved to hurry on ahead. Linda, with her school books in her arms, lingered behind...still lost in the thoughts of youth.

When the front door opened with its characteristic squeak, I was at the ironer in the kitchen. As I pressed the sleeve of Stewart’s blue shirt, I could hear the clatter of clothes hangers as they took their usual downward course.

Mom, called Linda, as she hung up her coat, Why are Queenie’s feet tied up? What are the bandages for?...and, as usual, question number three was voiced before I could deal with question number one. Did Wanda take her to the vet?

Before I could answer, Suzanne’s voice, partly muffled by a hastily contrived cheese sandwich, sang out with the reminder, We musn’t forget to buy our music books. Day after tomorrow we start taking piano lessons...after school...in Eugene.

Not to be outdone, nor swerved from her concern for the livestock, Linda started all over again, Mom, did the goat have mud fever?...like Wanda thought? And then came question number five: Did the doctor put medicine on her feet? And without waiting for my usual consideration for question number one, Linda added, I hope when I buy my horse, he won’t get mud fever!

As Suzanne watched me lay the folded shirt across the rack, the look on her face indicated another question. As I reached into the basket for another shirt, I heard her say, Mom...do you suppose Daddy would go to hear a man tell about orphans and widows?

Evidently my questioning look prompted her to provide me with more of the facts.

...Dr. Bob Pierce—tomorrow night—at the high school in Eugene. He’s going to show a movie, too, called ‘Dead Men on Furlough.’ And some pictures of orphans and widows in Korea.

As I continued my work, I thought for a moment.

Yes, I said, I’ve heard about Dr. Pierce. In fact, I’ve listened to him broadcast. I’d like to go but I think Daddy has already made plans. He’s been wanting to go to the mission in Eugene, and I think it’s tomorrow night. We’ll ask him when he comes in.

Momentarily satisfied, Suzanne headed for her bedroom to don her jeans. As she left the kitchen, she tossed the information over her shoulder that Wanda Robertson wanted to go with us if we decided to go.

As I basted the roast in the oven, commissioned Linda to shine silverware and greeted Suzanne’s return to the kitchen with a pan full of potatoes to be peeled, I continued to think about the subject of Korea and the great need that must exist in such a country.

Suddenly the kitchen door burst open and Wanda, our twenty-year old daughter, ran in to tell us that Faybelle (one of her dairy cows) was about to calve.

...tonight...or tomorrow sure, Mom! she said, panting for breath between each sentence. Just think! Faybelle is going to have a calf...and I just know it’ll be a heifer...and I’m going to name her Lassiebelle. Oh, Mom...she’ll have the nicest spoon-shaped ears, and big, dark eyes...and she’ll have long eyelashes, just like a glamour girl. And she’ll have a black tongue...and black feet....

Oh, Wanda, I said, with feigned sternness, how can you be so crazy about a calf? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another situation that needed some attention.

Suzanne! You’re slicing those potatoes too thick.

You’re so particular, Mom, complained Suzanne. These potatoes aren’t very good.

But you needn’t he wasteful.

Calves are beautiful, continued Wanda. They’re so much prettier than colts. Lambs are cute, too, but not for long. Anyway, Lassiebelle will become a beautiful, registered Jersey cow...just like her mother.

What will you say when you have a baby? I asked. How will you ever find words to describe her?

Babies are in a class by themselves, was her undaunted reply. There’s nothing on earth as sweet as a baby.

It suddenly occurred to me that Wanda had typing yet to do for her father. After being reminded, (and still smiling from her thoughts about babies) our oldest daughter departed from the kitchen. Presently, the sound of the type-writer clicking away in the den told me she was back to her unfinished work.

Looking through the kitchen window I saw Harry and another of our daughters, Barbara, walking toward the house through the lower pasture. Barbara, eighteen, was carrying a red gasoline can. From the way it was swinging in her hand, I could tell there was little or nothing in it. This meant that Barbara and her father had spent the day at the power-saw in the woods.

As the two approached the groups of sheep that had clustered here and there, the woolly animals would press against them like giant sponges. Even in the house we could hear them bleating. Had I not looked I still would have known that our shepherdess and her father were returning home.

Well, said Harry, as he entered the kitchen, we got two more piles of brush burned. Eventually we’ll have the pasture cleared out; but... and he sighed, ...there’s a lot yet to do.

After mentioning that no one had wrapped the pump yet and one of these nights we’d have a freeze and no water the next morning, he turned his attention to the roast beef I was getting ready for supper. Hmmm...that smells good. Is that from the new steer we butchered...or is it still Sir Prize?

This, I informed my hungry husband, is Sir Round. Tomorrow I’ll have to find room in the freezer for the hams and bacon of Hildegard and Penelope. We’ll have to finish the ice cream tonight or we won’t have room in the freezer.

The kitchen door opened and twenty-one year old Stewart dragged in.

Oh...my achin’ back! he groaned as he relieved himself of his lunch box and shook some of the sawdust off his cap.

Well, what happened to you? I asked.

My partner was sick, said Stewart, eyeing the mashed potatoes,...so I had to pull the heavy end of the green chain at the saw mill all day. We usually each do it a half-day. My hands got so stiff I could hardly handle those four by fours. They weigh a lot more than I do...and they have to be handled from one end. I got a bark sliver in my eye, too. And then came the most startling news of all; I’m so tired I don’t think I’ll be able to watch that basketball game tonight.

Time to eat! came the call from the other room. Stewart suddenly forgot his aches and pains and straightway made for the table.

As the rest of the family gathered around...all talking at once about his or her own particular subject, I put those things on the table that are always left until the last minute, and then I was seated.

The conversation suddenly gave way to silence. We bowed our heads as Harry conveyed our thanks for the food before us and for the many blessings of the day. After the Amen, and a moment of respectful silence, the conversation was suddenly underway again with new vim, vigor and vitality.

I leaned back in my chair to relax. How I loved this scene. Here was tangible evidence of the goodness of God. We were healthy, happy and well-provided for.

After supper each member of the family fell to his given task and together we made short work of the dishes and straightening up. The family then dispersed to various parts of the house. Harry and I were alone.

According to Suzanne, Dr. Bob Pierce, of World Vision, is going to speak at the high school in Eugene tomorrow night. Would it be possible for us to go?

No... said Harry, I don’t think so. I’ve made plans to go to the mission in Eugene. I would like to see Pierce. I’ve heard of him on the ‘Haven of Rest’ program.

Well...I was just wondering. The neighbor girl, Wanda Robertson, wanted to go with us if we went.

Ohh? said Harry, looking at me, strangely, for a moment, Well, we’ll see. I’ll tell you in the morning.

I knew what we’ll see meant. It meant that Harry wanted to think...and pray about it. I learned later that the inquiry by the girl outside the family impressed Harry as a possible indication the Lord would have him change his plans.

The following morning, Harry told me to inform Suzanne we would go to the World Vision meeting and that Wanda Robertson was welcome to go along.

The middle of the day brought the family together again.

I think I’ll sell some of my cows, Wanda announced at the table.

Why? was the reaction from all sides.

"Well...I’ve decided I want only registered cows. Eventually I’ll have enough for a herd. Faybelle will calve today or tomorrow and I know she’ll have a heifer. Evabelle will have one next month and I’ll name hers ‘Bonnie-belle.’ The ‘Belle Dairy Herd’ will soon be increasing."

We continued to eat as we quietly considered the emphatic remarks still ringing in our ears.

Barbara (who is not one to waste words) broke the silence.

Two of my sheep are sick. They’re coughing. I’ve put them in a pen by themselves. I hope they’ll get well.

There was a sympathetic nod of heads around the table. Then Daddy had something to say about the beach buggy he was constructing in the basement.

I think I’ll power the beach buggy with a saw-motor. I wonder if I’ll need a license for it.

The beach buggy was a special project. We all had an interest in it. We all wanted to see it materialize. Each year, when the pollen count is high, Harry is forced to leave the valley because of his serious hay fever condition. We are not far from the coast and a few years ago we built a cabin where we could all go (as a family) during the worst part of the hay fever season.

Harry has always loved the rugged beauty of the Oregon shoreline and would walk the beach for hours were it not for the fact that in 1950 he suffered a severe heart attack. Since then, the doctors have prohibited such strenuous activity as wading through the sand. The beach buggy was designed for exploring the shoreline with a minimum of physical effort. It’s a three-wheel affair with a ‘Henry-J’ rear-end and back wheels.

It suddenly occurred to me to remind the family to finish early with the chores.

We’re going to hear Bob Pierce tonight, I told them. I want everybody to be ready on time. I wish Molly could go. I’m sure she’d like to hear about Korea. But girls in nurses’ training don’t get many nights off.

That evening Molly wasn’t the only one who couldn’t go. Wanda, still in her jeans, waved from the barn’s labor room as we drove by. However, in addition to the Robertson girl, we picked up three more neighbors; so the car hung low as we drove to Eugene, fifteen miles away.

At the high school, the parking lot was full and we finally had to settle for a place nearly two blocks away. We were late when we entered the auditorium and were forced to sit almost on the front row.

Among those seated nearby were several ministers from the town of Eugene, and Dr. Prank Phillips, whom we recognized as the head of Youth for Christ for the Pacific Northwest. We later learned that Dr. Phillips is also the Executive Secretary of World Vision, Inc., the organization through which Dr. Pierce renders his effective ministry.

We arrived just in time for the showing of the first film, Dead Men on Furlough. It was the touching story of a martyred Korean pastor. We were given a glimpse of the brutal manner in which the communists will separate a family, inflict bodily injury upon them and even murder them to achieve their own perverted aims.

According to Dr. Pierce, the shameful killing we saw re-enacted upon the screen was but one of some six-hundred Christian Korean pastors. Their only crime was to refuse to deny the Lord Jesus Christ.

The second film was a documentary entitled Other Sheep. It dealt primarily with the war widows and orphans of Korea. It showed the work World Vision is doing on the foreign field. It also showed the tremendous need that is yet to be met. As Harry and I sat there, spellbound, little did we realize how that night was to forever change our lives.

One sequence of Other Sheep was made up of scenes taken at what is called the Severance Center, near Seoul. It is a place where amputees are taken in, fitted with wooden arms or legs, (or both) and taught how to once again be useful members of society. In a country such as Korea, an amputee, unless helped by a missionary project, is doomed to the life of a beggar. To the Oriental, this is a life of shame and humiliation.

Dr. R, A. Torrey, the son of the famous Reuben A, Torrey, is in charge of the amputee project. Dr. Torrey, himself, is an amputee.

Another sequence of the film dealt with the orphans of Korea. The recent war left countless thousands of tiny children without parents. It left widowed mothers with large families for whom they had no means of support. Many of the mothers were forced to either abandon their children or give them away to anyone who could provide them with food and shelter.

A great number of the children were actual casualties. Their small bodies were ripped and torn by the hellish metals of war. Some were left blind; some deaf and dumb. Some could not speak because of the psychological effects of what they had been forced to endure.

As we watched these kiddies silently singing Jesus Loves Me with their fingers, I fought back the tears. Were it not for the orphanages of World Vision, and other Christian organizations, most of these children would have died the agonizing death of starvation. Praise God for His love that moves us with compassion for others!

Another great need was shown with scenes of a leper colony. We shared the mingled emotions of heartbreak and joy as we saw how the tiny children of these lepers were being cared for by the dollars of Christian American people. If helped in time, the children might escape the ravaging effect of the dreaded disease. Of course, it breaks the hearts of the parents to be separated from their loved ones, but the lepers gladly accept the sacrifice in order that their little ones can have health and happiness. The tragedy, as pointed out by the narrative, is that available funds do not begin to meet the need. There are hundreds of children doomed to leprosy because there are no other provisions made for them.

Then came the scenes that shattered our hearts. We saw before us the tragic plight of hundreds of illegitimate children...GI-babies...children that had American fathers and Korean mothers...children that had been hidden by remorseful mothers until it was no longer possible to keep their secret. Finally the children were allowed to roam the streets where they were often beaten by other children who had never known Koreans with blond hair...or blue eyes.

Following this documentary evidence of the shameful result of undisciplined conduct, Dr. Pierce related to the audience more of the things that he, himself, had seen. He told how he had driven a jeep by an army dump on one occasion and noticed what looked like a human form almost hidden beneath the garbage and flies. He stopped the jeep to investigate and found, beneath grime and indescribable dirt, a little boy. His skin was light. His eyes were blue. His hair was brown. He was a GI-baby. He had been left there to die.

The Koreans are very race conscious, Dr. Pierce said. Mixed-race children will never be accepted into Korean society. Even the youngsters, themselves, are conscious of the difference. At a very early age they seem to sense that something is wrong.

Dr. Pierce continued with severe criticism of the men who had turned their backs on those tiny, outstretched arms.

I looked at Harry. He was motionless and tense. I knew every scene had cut him like a knife. I was hurt, too. There is so much we have never known. We had never thought of such suffering and heartbreak. We had never heard of such poverty and despair. We had never seen such emaciated arms and legs, such bloated starvation-stomachs and such wistful little faces searching for someone to care.

Until recently, Dr. Pierce said, the U.N. troops have been very instrumental in helping to care for the orphans of Korea. Now that the troops have moved out, food for the orphans is a matter of immediate concern.

Money was needed. Ten dollars a month could support an orphan in Korea. Not only would the child be fed, it would also be clothed and given shelter. Most important of all, this small sum would provide Christian education and supervision. For the sponsor, World Vision would see to it that a card was sent bearing the child’s picture and as much information as was available. The sponsor would be allowed to send, through World Vision, letters, clothing and toys.

As they passed out the envelopes for those who felt they could contribute to this worthy cause, I thought to myself that surely we could do something. I heard Harry whisper, Have you a pencil? Sign up for two orphans. He looked in his billfold and I hunted for the pencil.

Dr. Pierce then asked if there was anyone in Eugene who would volunteer to go to Korea to help with the orphans.

I can’t promise you good wages...or good food...or comfort. You might be killed by the communists. You’ll have to work long hours and be subjected to Asiatic diseases. And, of course, you’ll be far from home. But I need help. I work day and night and I can’t keep up with it. I need people to help write letters...to carry out ashes...to nurse sick babies, or just change diapers. Is there one person in Eugene who will volunteer to help me?

The auditorium was very quiet. He waited but no one