Table of Contents

Canada to Africa and Back

Canada 1932 – 1954

A Life-Changing Decision

What a Journey!

East Africa in the Fifties

Destination Africa

Homeward Bound

African Heat to Canadian Freeze

Returning to a Troubled Africa – 1959

Back to Durban

Family Life

A Special Visitor

David’s Stories of Divine Protection

Headed Home Again

From Canada to Mexico

Settling into Canada

Move to Toronto

God Provides Through the Years

Forever Listening

Growing Pains and New Ministry

Vaya Con Dios (Go With God)

Praying, Listening, Obeying

Church Growth and Outreach

Miscellaneous Christmas Memories

David Tells of Mexican Miracles

Elizabeth Tells of More Miracles

Constant and Enduring Growth

Beginning Again

Emergency in Guadalajara

God’s Preparations

“Great is Thy Faithfulness”

Pilgrims with Purpose

Memoirs of Our Journey

Elizabeth Tolman

Pilgrims with Purpose – Elizabeth Tolman

Copyright © 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

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First edition published 2012

LIFE SENTENCE Publishing, LLC

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ISBN: 978-1-62245-009-1

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To my family, future generations, and my readers who I trust will be blessed by going with me on my life’s journey.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank those who have encouraged me to write our story to preserve the memories of the many times and ways that God has guided and protected us. First, I owe so much to my husband, David, who shared his knowledge of our Lord with me and invited me to travel this journey of faith with him.

A special gratitude must go to Johnny Miller and Jack Matthews for their help and encouragement to finish this project. My appreciation goes to Sheila Wilkinson for editing and to my publisher Jeremiah Zeiset of LIFE SENTENCE Publishing for his faithfulness and vision.

Introduction

Come with me on a journey that will span 80 years and 175,000 miles.

Expect ups and downs, disappointments, heartaches, and challenges, but the rewards will outweigh all of the hardships. To help you prepare, I penned the poem “A Pilgrim’s Prayer.” It speaks of the hardships we endured throughout our years on the mission field, proclaiming our love for God, our love for a dream, and our love for each other.

As you proceed through these pages, you will travel to Africa and return to Canada, then to the United States, and finally, settle in Mexico. You will experience with me the verse that I claim for my life, “Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever.” (Heb. 13:8) Your companionship brings joy to our journey.

A Pilgrim’s Prayer

How blessed we are to walk with You,

To see Your hand in all we do.

In retrospect we look behind

And see Your way has been so kind.

At times our trials seemed so strong,

Pressed beyond measure – nights so long,

But now we see Your purpose there

And know through faith You did prepare

A blessing only You could give−

A road to walk, a life to live.

We live as daily pilgrims, Lord;

Our manna is Your living Word.

It is our guide from day to day;

We study, listen, and obey.

Our pilgrimage is nearly through,

Yet we have much still left to do.

We know Your strength and Your desire;

We feel within Your burning Fire.

Your Holy Spirit lights the way

And turns the nighttime into day.

Our strength You promise to renew

Until our goal is reached for You.

Through rivers deep and mountains tall

We’ll travel on, forsaking all.

Our eagle wings will bear us high,

Our strength renewed as days go by.

Our pilgrimage, years past begun,

Will lead us on to hear – “Well done.”

Psalm 84:5 Blessed is the man whose strength is in You, whose heart is set on pilgrimage.

Prologue

After the operation I was reading and praying when Philip entered the room. He looked very shaken and at a loss for words but finally managed to say, “Mom, the doctors want me to talk to you. You are diagnosed with stage four, terminal cancer throughout your body. Because you wanted the truth, they have said that you have from six weeks to three months to live.”

I was numb at his words and in shock. How could this be possible? I had been tired but not sick. Surely this could not be true. Surely my journey would not end like this.

Part I

Canada to Africa and Back

Chapter 1

Canada 1932 – 1954

I arrived on planet earth during the great depression of the early thirties. My parents, Clifford and Audrey Devins, were medical doctors who met while attending the University of Toronto. They married in 1919 and settled in the small town of Aurora, Ontario, Canada.

My father had no money, but he took over the practice of a retiring doctor. Dad was a general practitioner with a specialty in surgery. Mother, a pediatrician, worked closely with him. They lived in a small, old wooden house that had two bedrooms, a small office, and a waiting room.

In 1923 their first child, John Bulmer Devins, was born. Even though one eye had been badly damaged during birth, he was a happy, healthy baby.

Life, however, proved more difficult. A few days after Christmas in 1926, a delivery boy dropped his cigarette in the woodshed, and flames soon engulfed the whole house. My parents and the baby escaped, but they lost everything else. They rented a small apartment while a “fire-proof” house was built. That house stands to this day. The following Christmas, tragedy struck again. Baby John caught meningitis, and his little body succumbed to the infection.

In the spring God blessed my parents with the birth of my brother, William John. On April 18, 1927, Bill arrived, strong and healthy. Five years later on May 5, 1932, I made my entrance to this world.

By then we were living in the new fireproof house that had a regular office and waiting room for Dad and another for Mother. My childhood was carefree and happy. I loved both of my parents, and Dad and I had an incredible affinity for one another.

Although we lived in the town to be close to the people, we also had a large farm in the country. It contained an old barn and a log cabin, but had no electricity or telephones. Best of all, for Dad and me, it had live animals, including two hundred sheep. Each afternoon we traipsed out to check for lost or injured sheep. In the winter we fed them in the barn. Our roosters, my dog, and my horse also lived in the barn. What more could anyone want!

We lived well even though many patients had little or no money. They paid with produce, baked goods, and work.

One fine lady cleaned the house for us every week. Another cut the good material from Dad’s old shirts and made me blouses. Often a farmer who owed money sent his daughter to work for us. With the offices in the house, someone had to be there at all hours.

Following those years of the Great Depression came the war years. These brought deprivation to many, but we still had our farm contacts. Even the rationing of meat and butter was not a problem, because our country patients often paid with these.

When World War II ended in 1945, we thought our little problems were over. Then tragedy struck again. My forty-eight-year-old father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. On Thanksgiving Day, 1948 his busy and productive life ended. We knew little about prayer, but Dad’s last words to me were, “Elizabeth, I know that Jesus is real, and my last prayer is that you will find Him.” A few hours later he died.

I was devastated. No one could tell me where Dad was or what happened when a person died. Would I ever see him again? For weeks I was in a fog going through the motions of high school and doing necessary tasks. We sold the sheep. We sold my horse. Dad, my best friend, was lying beside my brother John under a pine tree in the Aurora Cemetery.

Enter David

I attended a Christmas party at the home of my good friend, Nora Knowles. She also invited a boy named David whose family had recently moved into their neighborhood. He impressed everyone at the party with his ability to play the piano.

David and I became friends, sharing many interests and enjoying the outdoors and biking. We both attended Aurora High School and often met at the corner and walked together. He had moved from the city, but quickly adapted to free skiing and skating in the country.

David’s background was very different from mine and provided a new outlook on life for me.

His father, Siemon Tolman, was born in Amsterdam, Holland, on December 10, 1904. After surviving the First World War, he sailed for Canada, landing in St. John, New Brunswick, Canada. The year was 1923, and he was just 19.

After working many different jobs, Siemon Tolman set up his own business, selling fine china and crystal chandeliers from Europe. He also sold oil paintings, many painted by himself and his talented wife. In 1947, tired of the busy city life, he decided to move to a smaller community and set up a family business. He wanted his business to be close to his home but within easy driving distance to Toronto. He lived to be almost 62 and passed away suddenly in November, 1966.

David’s mother, Eveline Hackett, was born in Wales on January 20, 1905. Her father died when she was a small child, leaving her and her mother to fend for themselves. Finding little work in Wales, Granny Hackett and Eveline sailed for Canada in August, 1921. Eveline was only 16.

Eveline occasionally met a pleasant young Dutchman, Siemon Tolman, in a butcher shop and then in a club for new immigrants. They were married on April 11, 1928.

Siemon and Eveline lived in northeastern Toronto for about fifteen years where their four children were born, including John David in 1932. One day on a Toronto street car, they met a Christian traveler who shared his testimony, and they were converted. Because of their strong faith, David, as the family called him, grew up in a Christian home.

In 1947 the Tolmans moved from Toronto to a quiet town, Aurora, Ontario, (the same Aurora, Ontario where I lived). One summer afternoon, with a heavy heart, I was remembering my Dad. I asked my friend David what he knew about life after death.

We talked for a long time. He told me that Jesus paid the price for my sins on Calvary and rose again from the dead. Because He lives, He will forgive my sins. I can live in complete peace and joy here and dwell forever with Him throughout eternity. I learned that I could have a Friend called Jesus, who would never leave nor forsake me and could renew the joy of living that I had experienced so many years ago. I reached out for this Friend as I had never reached out to anyone and found peace and joy that has never left me.

Our friendship blossomed after that. On my 18th birthday, May 5, 1950, we were both baptized in water in the name of Jesus Christ in a Pentecostal church in Toronto.

I began at the university the following September and was able to attend the church and study the Bible. In 1952 I graduated from Teachers’ College and began teaching in a school in one of Toronto’s poorest areas. Situations and depravity that I had never even read about surrounded me.

One five-year-old boy really touched my heart. His home was filthy. It was furnished with a TV and blankets on the floor for beds. His parents seemed non-existent. An elderly woman who cared for the three children was a perfect personification of my childhood picture of a witch.

One weekend I was permitted to take him to my home. David bathed him twice and cleaned the scabs and lice from his infested scalp. His clothes were garbage, but the new ones we purchased completed the new look. He kept saying, “It feels so-so-so good.” He could not sleep on a bed, so we put a blanket on the floor.

I loved the children in that school. My two years there were a joyful learning experience.

David and I were married on Easter weekend 1953 in the same church where we had been baptized. The beautiful wedding was simple with family and friends; the presence of the Lord graced every part of the ceremony and reception.

Chapter 2

A Life-Changing Decision

Everything seemed ordinary as we ate our dinner one Wednesday night and rushed from the apartment to take the subway and street car to the church. Tonight, however, a missionary from Africa was to speak to the congregation.

What joy! One thing that had attracted David and me to each other was our mutual interest in Africa. A missionary doctor who had spoken about her life and work in equatorial Africa had enthralled me when I was only nine. That was in 1941 when many still considered Africa to be the dark and dangerous continent. The African tales of David Livingstone and George Stanley and books such as Prester John and King Solomon’s Mines had fascinated David as well.

As a married couple we had gladly accepted our responsibility. We promoted foreign missions in the church, helped organize the annual foreign missions convention, and corresponded with people serving in many countries. Therefore, when we arrived at the pastor’s office, he immediately introduced us to E.L. Freeman, who had been serving in South Africa with his family since 1948.

“This is the couple I was telling you about,” said the pastor. “She is a teacher, and he is working in medical research. They are Canadians and could support themselves. What do you think?”

We were in the dark. What was going on? How did we fit into the picture?

Before the evening was over, we learned the details. The Freemans desperately needed a couple to help them in their work. Some Americans were ready and willing to go, but under the present political system only Commonwealth citizens could immigrate to South Africa, and none seemed willing to go.

We were excited and pleased. To be considered and virtually accepted by the recommendation of our pastor encouraged us. We believed this was of God. We were ready, but we did not have the money for such a trip. To travel that great a distance required much planning and money.

The International Missions Board could not pay our salaries or expenses for the trip because we were young, inexperienced, and unknown to all, except our local church. Undaunted we made the commitment to go when my teaching contract ended in June, 1954, trusting that we would have sufficient funds by that time.

That was November, 1953. I had a teaching diploma and was earning $2200 a year teaching in Toronto, Canada. David was earning a comparable wage. After investigating the prices and ways to travel, we realized that a lot of hard work lay ahead of us. Thankfully we had no debts, but also had no savings.

One Saturday night a few weeks later, as we walked through a very wealthy area close to our small apartment, we noticed beautiful crystal chandeliers hanging in various rooms and shining through the windows. David immediately had an inspiration.

“Chandeliers get very dirty here in the city. I learned from my father how to dismantle and clean them. Let’s go from house to house and offer our services. We can work every Saturday and make extra money.”

I quickly learned to wash and dry the beautiful crystal prisms as David dismantled the fixtures and then hung the pieces. How they sparkled when the grime of years was removed. One satisfied customer led to another, and soon we had plenty of business to keep us working most Saturdays and some week nights as well.

We lived on one salary and saved the other, along with our earnings from the cleaning business. We were soon able to buy two tickets from Cunard Lines for our voyage from Montreal to London, England and two tickets on the British Union Castle Line from London to Durban, South Africa. All seemed in order and working well until…

I awoke one morning in late June with a sharp, throbbing pain in my side. Within a few hours I was in Toronto General Hospital diagnosed with a serious health problem and facing the cancellation of our well-planned schedule.

I had learned a few weeks before that I was expecting our first child. We had agreed to say nothing before our departure to anyone, including our parents. They were convinced that we were embarking on a foolish and hazardous undertaking and needed nothing else to add to their anxieties.

Praise God! Twenty-four hours later I walked out of the hospital, still pregnant, but now everyone knew. Talk about worried friends and family. Five days later we flew from Toronto to London, England via Labrador in order to arrive on July 1st, ready to sail for South Africa.

Chapter 3

What a Journey!

What a flight it was, our very first! No one had told me you could see red streaks like flames coming from the engines of the BOAC Super Constellation. I was terrified! The Constellation was the world’s first pressurized commercial airliner.

The icebergs in the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the North Atlantic fascinated us. The never-ending sunlight in the late June sky was astonishing.

Arriving in London, we had one day before embarking on our ship. We woke early in the old and stately Piccadilly Hotel built on Piccadilly Circus. This major intersection of theatres, entertainment, and shopping was the place to experience all of old London—the double-decker red buses, the old fashioned taxi cabs, and everywhere people and more people.

Shortly after breakfast we joined three of David’s relatives from Stockport, Lancashire who came to sightsee with us. Our communication problems with them at first seemed insurmountable. Embarrassingly, they understood our English, but we could not follow their accent at all. With the help of guides and policemen who had no trouble interpreting our relatives’ “strange” words, we literally “did up the city.” All too soon it was evening and our new friends took the train to go home. We tumbled into bed, exhausted but content.

Early the next morning, our friendly cabby showed us sights we had missed the day before. He circled around to St. Paul’s Cathedral and pointed out many of the bombed out areas remaining from World War II.

When we finished our sightseeing, our cabby dropped us off at the London docks. What a thrill for us as we boarded the huge Dunnottar Castle, a mail ship of the Union Castle Lines. We found our tiny stateroom at the very back of the ship. To save as much money as possible, we had chosen the back of the ship and the lowest level of the cabins. We had a porthole, but not much else.

The floor space was so small in the cabin that one person had to stay in a bunk while the other stood on the floor to dress. If we wished to bathe, we told a bath steward. He would bring us a tub of hot salt water which removed the dirt; then the same male steward brought in fresh water to rinse off the salt. My Victorian mother could not have bathed the whole trip.

Leaving London, we met a diverse group of fellow travelers. Dinner was the main event of the day where everyone came dressed for the formal meal. The head waiter seated us at a table of ten truly interesting tablemates. A native of Somalia ate at our table. He was returning home after earning money to purchase another wife. A dentist who had spent many years in India also sat with us and had many interesting tales to tell. He taught us which spoons and forks to use and the proper order for the many courses served. Several nuns, returning to their schools in Africa, joined us; all were friendly and willing to tell their tales.

An Exceptional Friend

After dinner we went up on deck to watch the final loading of cargo and mail before the ship left the dock. A young man stood beside us and after a few minutes began a conversation.

“I can tell you are Christians,” he said. “Are you going to Africa to do mission work?”

When we answered in the affirmative, he told us that he, too, was a Christian. He had gone to Edinburgh University several years before to study medicine, but was from Aden on the Red Sea. He had become a Christian at the university. For his vacation he was returning to Aden to tell his family of his new found faith and introduce them to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.

“I am praying that they will accept me,” he added quietly, “but if not, since they are Muslims, they will feel it is their duty to kill me.”

Abdullah became a wonderful friend while we traveled together. He had an insatiable hunger for the Word of God, and we spent many hours of study together. Tales of his homeland and his uncle, a wealthy man with stables of racing camels, fascinated us.

Our ship made many stops giving us opportunity to explore and learn about new places. Abdullah was always by our side. We visited the Rock of Gibraltar, Marseilles in France, the port city of Genoa in Italy, and then crossed the Mediterranean Sea to Port Said on the Suez Canal.

Abdullah told many jokes about the Arab people, but also warned us about them. As he was Arab himself, he could laugh at their foibles.

“Remember,” he said as we went ashore to see a small part of Egypt, “if an Arab shakes hands with you, be sure to count your fingers.”

We explored the small dusty tourist shops in the sweltering heat. As we entered one shop, we were given an ice cold Coca Cola. Although it did not fit with my concept of Egypt, we welcomed the cold drink.

However, in that shop we almost met our Waterloo. Abdullah only spoke in English so the proprietors did not realize he could understand their language. We had already made an arrangement for signals if a price was fair or not. When one price was clearly out of line, he was so shocked he answered them in Egyptian, and we had to beat a hasty retreat. A few minutes later we saw some friends about to purchase what they thought was ivory from a street vendor.

“Don’t buy that,” we warned. “It’s only plastic.” Uttering a shriek of rage, the vendor chased us. How we ran! We did not stop until we were safely up the gangplank and on board our ship. After that, we kept quiet.

The next day we watched both sides as we sailed slowly through the Suez Canal. Sand dunes sprawled on either side for miles; British air force jets screamed overhead, shooting rockets into the sand. Soldiers on maneuvers hurled grenades on both sides, accentuating the tensions of that area in 1954.

In the morning we awoke to choppy seas and sand everywhere. We were in the middle of the Red Sea, fifty miles from the east and west shores, and yet we were surrounded by sand coming from fifty miles inland to the west. We felt like we were sailing through the desert itself. Naturally, we had to stay inside, but the sand penetrated through the closed portholes.

To make matters worse, the spindle on the air conditioning compressor on the ship snapped. We only had small fans to cool us from the oppressive heat. Our cabin was an inferno. The temperature on deck was 127º F in the shade, and the Red Sea water temperature was 98º F. The large canvas swimming pool on the ship was filled with water from the Red Sea. People plunged in to cool themselves, but found the water nauseatingly warm.

During the night the storm abated, and when we awoke, we discovered we were docked off shore at the port of Aden. We were relieved to have a chance to go ashore for several hours, but we were saddened because Abdullah had to disembark here. The three of us prayed together, not knowing what the future held for any of us.

Aden was a new experience for two young Canadians accustomed to clean towns, trees, and greenery. The temperature was well over 100º F before 7 a.m. Tired fishermen pulled their boats up on shore, turned them over, and slept under them in clothes that appeared to be the same ones they had worn for days or even weeks. Flies swarmed around all types of garbage covering the dusty streets. Odorous camels strolled through the streets, and people sat in dingy open cafes, drinking demitasses of thick coffee and chatting with friends.

We joined some of Abdullah’s relatives who had come from their desert homes to meet him. They greeted us warmly and invited us to have a cold fruit drink with them in one of the small cafes.

Finally it was time for us to return to the ship and for Abdullah to leave for his home. We had exchanged addresses, and he assured us that if all went well, he would write; if not, we would meet in eternity. That was the last time we saw or heard of him. He did not show up in September for his final year at the University in Scotland, and we could only speculate what had become of him.

Elizabeth boarding ship - London, England

Chapter 4

East Africa in the Fifties

How good it was to be back on the ship again and know that our food would be clean and tasty and our beds comfortable! What a blessing it was as we rounded the horn of Africa and moved into the Indian Ocean with the air so fresh and dry! We quickly found jackets to protect us from the chill of 80ºF.

In the Indian Ocean we encountered rough seas caused by the southeastern monsoons. We met two Indian girls who were university students traveling from Aden to India for their school break. They were medical students studying in Birmingham, England and had many questions about Christianity. They seemed to want to learn more about Jesus.

Later, during dinner, the winds rose close to one hundred mph, and a wave washed over half the dining room. That night our beds teetered and tottered, and all of the port holes were closed.

By morning the winds dropped and allowed us to be on deck. I won five shillings by placing second in a table tennis tournament. David took movies of the rough sea and movement of the ship. We played deck quoits and went to bed.

Because many passengers planned to disembark in Mombasa, Kenya, there were many parties on board. We watched whales spouting close to the ship as we ate a sumptuous buffet dinner. We crossed the equator at 5 a.m. Later we were given special certificates proving we were Equator Crossers and making us feel like real world travelers.

That morning we approached the beautiful city of Mombasa, Kenya, where many of the passengers were to disembark. As we waited off shore for a place to dock, we saw the beautiful palm trees, flowering plants, and the colorful red tiled roofs of the houses.

While waiting, we visited with two missionary families returning to their fields of labor. Little did we know that our friends, Don Jacobs and his family, would many years later be the key to our acceptance in the Mennonite community of Waterloo County in Ontario, Canada. Finally, about seventy passengers left the ship, and by 4 p.m. we began our exploration of the town.

Mombasa

Mombasa was rich with sweet-smelling, colorful flowers and coconut palms. Stalls on both sides of the streets sold roasted corn, coconuts, and all kinds of tropical fruit. We even found a place to buy some tropical clothes for David.

Totally exhausted, we rested alongside the road. A kind British soldier drove us back to the ship in his jeep. He was lonely. The Mau Mau Rebellion was almost over, and he was anxious to get home.

That same soldier picked us up the next morning. With his authority to travel as a military officer, he showed us many places out of bounds for civilians. He took us to the old Arab and Indian dhow harbor. A dhow is a long slender sailing vessel with one or two masts. In January these dhows travel about 2000 miles, eight miles from shore, and arrive at their destinations without compass or chart, navigating by taking a measurement of an angle with a Pole Star and the horizon. They trade trinkets, cloth, and other goods. In March at the end of the monsoons, they return to their home ports.

Our British soldier left us to spend the afternoon at old Fort Jesus where several hundred years ago the slaves were chained, waiting to be shipped to Europe and America. The old buildings are now a prison. Fascinated, we walked over the white sand beach as crabs, sand spiders, and other strange tropical marine creatures fled from our feet.

The next morning we found the Pentecostal church. Pastor Bud Sickler from Pennsylvania was the missionary in charge. We went with him and his wife to participate in a street service in the afternoon. A good crowd gathered to listen and sing; their attention was excellent. Afterwards, the Sicklers invited us to eat with them in their humble home.

Amazingly, we saw lizards inside the house, eating some of the many flies. A large cockroach scurried about the bedroom. The windows had no glass, only shutters. This was common in most of the houses, hotels, and restaurants. Our first taste of African missionary life astounded us.

For three days we explored the markets and other areas of the town, being careful to observe all the precautions, and we had no troubling incidents. One night we saw many large sharks circling in the water around the ship, waiting for the food that the cooks threw out.

While in Mombasa, we were able to visit an Indian evangelical church where the service was interpreted into several languages. We ate our evening meal at a hotel for a break from the ship’s food. Indian waiters in immaculate white uniforms served us food that was excellent. However, the large white spiders dropping from the ceiling and the lizards crawling on walls distressed us.

As we returned to the ship, we saw many beggars. Some were missing toes and feet; others were missing hands and other body parts from leprosy.

The Blacks who loaded the ship were very poor. Tattoos covered their bodies, and large holes disfigured their ears. While they worked, they sang with a strong rhythm and stomped their feet to the beat.

Finally the passengers began to board, and it was time to leave for the port of Tanga. Our British soldier friend returned in time to say goodbye, but also to search for a suspected stowaway army deserter. This man was wanted for arson in the city of Mombasa. The Sicklers also came on board to say goodbye. We were sorry to leave them but later met with them several times. Many years after that (1995), we lamented to hear of Pastor Sickler’s death.

Tanga

Leaving Mombasa, we sailed south for Tanga, Tanganyika (Tanzania), another little port town of about 30,000 people. We took a two-hour boat cruise along the harbor and shoreline and recognized the extremes of poverty and wealth on each side. In the water natives fished from old dugout canoes and hauled in their catch near the old caves where their families lived. Beautiful mansions of the wealthy with manicured lawns and flowering trees and shrubs graced the other side.

Tanga had no paved streets, but beautiful fragrant flowers adorned the city. A permanent pontoon bridge intrigued us as it rose and fell with the tides. We purchased carvings of ivory, ebony, and sandalwood and delicious fresh fruit. Once again in the evening the large hungry sharks visited our ship.

Zanzibar (Spice Islands of Africa)

How exciting it is to travel by ship! We went to sleep while leaving Tanga and awoke the next morning to the faint but fragrant smell of cinnamon. Where were we? We soon found out. We were just offshore from Zanzibar, one of the romantic Spice Islands of the Indian Ocean and one of the most interesting ports of call in Africa.

People of many Eastern races and African tribes thronged the narrow dusty streets. The palace of the Sultan, the Government offices, and an old fort garnished the picturesque seafront. In addition to cinnamon, Zanzibar is the source of most of the world’s cloves. The island was also the center of the East African slave trade.

Because of the shallow water of the harbor, we took a launch from our ship to land. Larger vessels transported the cargo and mail to shore. We toured various coconut plantations, cobra-drying yards, and even the remains of the harems of the Sultan who ruled from 1888 to 1900. Surprisingly, these Natives resented having their pictures taken, so we were careful to be discreet. The appearance of many veiled women in the bazaars revealed the predominance of the Muslim religion.

Returning to the ship we found many Indian merchants had been allowed to set up their wares on the First Class promenade deck. We rested on deck, ate litchi fruit, and watched young boys dive from the tourist deck for coins that were thrown in the water.

The next two-and-a-half days we recuperated from our exploring and sightseeing while we sailed southwest towards the port of Beira in Mozambique. We played deck games, learned how the quartermaster sailed by compass and the stars, and even steered the ship. When it was dark, we learned to locate the Southern Cross, Scorpion, and other southern constellations. What an experience!

As we sailed twelve to forty miles from shore, many types of gulls and sea birds surrounded us. In the morning we rose to see a golden sunrise and the ocean covered with jelly fish which were about three feet in diameter.

Mozambique

Beira was a very low lying city with parts below sea level. It was a new modern city built on a swamp that is constantly being reclaimed. We spent three days exploring the museums, beautiful streets, and expensive department stores, but didn’t buy anything. Compared with the interesting places we had visited, Beira seemed European and lacked local color. When our crew finally finished loading a huge cargo of copper, zinc, tobacco, and cotton, we slowly pulled out of the harbor.

We awakened at sunrise as we entered the harbor of Lorenzo Marques. The setting was much more picturesque than Beira, with wide paved boulevards and flowering flame trees on all sides. The coastal hills and greenery invited us to take many pictures and buy numerous post cards for family and friends.

At this port the crew loaded crates and crates of oranges and other citrus fruits. We realized we were almost at our destination with our last port to disembark, the city of Durban, South Africa, only a day away.

Chapter 5

Destination Africa

On August 9, 1954 we awoke early, realizing that the ship was moving very slowly. We hurried on deck, and through the fog we spotted the vague outline of the coast which appeared much more rugged than Lorenzo Marques. By 8 a.m. the immigration officials boarded, and finally at 10 a.m. they allowed us to go ashore.

Our friend, E.L. Freeman, and another American missionary, Samuel Jensen, and two other men from Transvaal waited for us. We passed through customs with our suitcases and began a whirl-wind tour of Durban. The Jensens opened their home to us, and we discovered that we were born the same year as the twin babies they had lost in an epidemic in Liberia, Africa. They treated us royally.

We attended a Colored service in a house, and I soon learned that although my accordion was welcomed, I had to play by memory or by ear, because there was no room for a music stand. We gave a brief nervous testimony in English, listened to a sermon in Afrikaans, and then returned to the Jensens’, exhausted but at peace. For six weeks the motion and humming motors of our ship had rocked us to sleep. How strange to have no noise and no motion.

For the years we were in South Africa, the system of apartheid was in operation. Complete separation of the Color groups included work, church services, transportation of people, and also treatment of people in the home. The groups were basically Blacks or Natives, mixed bloods, people from India, and Whites (Africaans and European origin). Those caught not following the rules could be jailed or deported.

After a farewell to our kind hosts, the five of us crowded into Brother Freeman’s car for the long drive to Pretoria, our new home. We climbed in steppes from the coastal plains, rapidly rising to Pietermaritzburg with the Drakensburg Mountains in the distance.

In rural Africa most of the men work in the mines or in the cities. We saw women and children in their native dress (or undress) washing clothes in the shallow rivers, herding cattle, or tending to the many chores that made up their busy days. Everything was new and different, and the day sped by. We arrived at the Freemans’ home in the early evening to be welcomed by their five children ranging in age from six to sixteen years.

The following days we visited some local churches and learned how to live in an urban environment of the Fifties in the Transvaal. The huge market supplied everything imaginable. We learned to shop, to bargain, and to purchase—skills that benefited us throughout our travels. We also recognized the necessity of learning the Africaans language.

We attempted to prioritize our lives. First, David needed a job, a little more difficult in this part of South Africa as Afrikaans was the widely spoken language. Most understood English, but preferred not to use it.

Finally, the South African Bureau of Standards hired him because of his laboratory experience. We would never become rich on his salary, but we could rent a reasonable house, help in the Mission work in the evenings and weekends, and have sufficient money left for our needs and for the child we were expecting in January.

Kruger National Park

Brother Freeman needed to travel north to visit a black national pastor in the village of Sabie. This village was near the Kruger National Park, a game reserve. We had time to go with him, see how the Black churches functioned, visit the park for two days, and return for David to begin work. We eagerly said “yes” and prepared to leave Pretoria that night because we wanted to arrive the next morning at the reserve. This enabled us to have two full days, but only pay one night’s lodging.

We were aliens and trespassers in country that was owned by lions, cheetahs, leopards, poisonous and constrictor snakes, and who knows what else. However, we threw our equipment for the night into the rondavel (round native hut) where we were to sleep, ate a quick breakfast prepared for us by a native boy, and hurried to the car with cameras poised to explore Kruger Park.

The animals blended with their surroundings. We heard that a huge African elephant could be right in our path, but appear to be a huge rock. The graceful, dappled giraffes disappeared into the sunshine and shadows of the low scrubby thorn trees. Imagine our surprise when we rounded a turn in the unpaved road only to face a pride of lions.

What an experience that day was! Our list of animals and birds grew, and as we went to sleep that night, we heard the lions roaring in the distance. At first I questioned if the fences around our huts were strong enough, but sleep soon put an end to all my concerns.

Sabie Church

The next day we drove to a church in Sabie where our attendance had been announced. The mud church with its thatched roof was literally packed. How those people loved Brother Freeman! They greeted us warmly because we belonged to him. Many spoke only their native language which varied from group to group, but Brother Shai, the pastor, and his wife, Mari, both spoke fluent English and interpreted for us. We learned that no instrument was necessary for their anointed singing. One brother had a drum, and as another brother started the hymn or chorus, the others joined in perfect harmony a cappella. At one point they sang the melody of “This Is like Heaven to Me.” I felt as if I was no longer on earth, but hearing a heavenly choir. Brother Freeman preached, and his English was interpreted into several different African languages.

After the service we partook of a simple meal, and then headed back to Pretoria, arriving in the early hours of the morning. What an experience—one we would never forget!

David began his work the following Monday, and God blessed us with a house to rent on the side of a mountain just a block from the Freeman’s house. Since we had no car, we used the buses to get into the city and one of the Freeman’s cars for ministry trips in order to carry the accordion, flannel graph board, lessons, and other supplies for the services.

We adapted to our new way of life. I helped Brother Erasmus with the Colored services during the week, and David joined us on the weekends. David also accompanied Brother Freeman to the Native churches which had all-night services on Saturday night. Many people walked miles for the all-night services; they finished early on Sunday to allow time to walk home and be ready for work on Monday.

In addition to understanding and helping in the ministry, we mastered the weekly market shopping. I also learned how to make laundry soap, diapers, and other items for our baby. The weeks flew by.

Our First South African Christmas

Our first Christmas in the tropics was HOT. Sister Freeman arrived home Christmas Eve much to the excitement of her family. I was thrilled to finally meet her and discover that she had midwife training and would be with me when our baby arrived in about a month. Our Christmas meal consisted of ice cold watermelon eaten outside under the shade trees. A slight breeze made the heat tolerable. Of course, air conditioning was unknown, and I can’t recall seeing any electric fans.

Two weeks later the men assembled a large tent in a Colored area called Claremont, not far from our house. Even though a good work was established, we understood the need to reach more of the community. Every evening I played my accordion before, during and after the services. David ministered, praying for people who were sick or had other needs. Large crowds gathered, and many people accepted Jesus as their Savior, were baptized, and added to the church.

A Wonderful Gift

One Saturday night, around midnight, I was taken to the local maternity home. Due to a flu epidemic, few midwives or nurses were available. Our doctor arrived after my husband and Sister Freeman had delivered our baby daughter. Ruth was born at 5 p.m. on the hot, stormy Sunday afternoon of January 30, 1955. Not an experience I ever wanted to repeat, but when I saw our perfect little daughter, I knew it was worth it all.

The tent services continued, and even before Ruth was two weeks old, I cradled her in my accordion case while I played for two more weeks. It was very different from having a baby in Canada, but we were happy and blessed. What more could we ask?

We settled into a routine with the services continuing. Many people wanted to care for Ruth, but we learned to choose someone older, clean and careful—someone who would not permit others to pinch her or carry her out of our sight. On a trip to Rhodesia we visited a Native village where the women had never seen a white baby, particularly a little blonde girl. They wanted to rub her skin to see if the white would come off.

Visit to Rhodesia (Zimbabwe)

Some Canadian missionaries had invited us to visit them in Rhodesia. At our first opportunity we boarded an African train and sat on wooden benches for two nights and two days until we arrived in Bulawayo.

We stayed with a kind missionary whose housekeeping left a little to be desired. At night we slept with Ruth in the missionary’s bed, covered by mosquito netting as a precaution against the widespread malaria.

Much to my horror I discovered ten huge rain spiders hiding behind the picture molding in our bedroom. Their long legs protruded on both sides of their hiding place. During the first night I woke often to shine my flashlight, counting them to make sure they weren’t joining us in bed. I knew they were harmless, but was intimidated by their size.

Divine Protection

Before leaving Rhodesia, we took a trip to Victoria Falls. David Livingston was the first European to discover the falls. He named them after Queen Victoria. We had reverently walked around David Livingston’s grave marker under the floor of Westminster Abbey in London. To walk where he had walked inspired us.

What an experience to stand beside a large statue of David Livingstone and view the tremendous cascade of water just as he had seen it over a hundred years ago!

As we walked along the dirt path that led to the falls, we encountered a large family of baboons who weren’t the least bit afraid of us. As they approached, David picked up a rock to frighten them away. The baboon leader then picked up a much larger rock. David put his rock down, and we left. We discovered it was not wise to wander around, because lions also roamed along the path. Fortunately Jesus protects us in our ignorance!

Ruth with Daddy & Mommy in Southern Rhodesia

Chapter 6

Homeward Bound

On July 14, 1956 I gave birth to our first son. After our experience with Ruth’s birth, we decided to have the baby at home with a highly recommended German midwife. Also, because we did not want our families to worry, we didn’t tell them that we were having another child. All went well, and a few hours after delivery, I sat up in bed and wrote a letter to my mother in Canada, telling her that she had her first grandson, David Nathaniel.

Soon after Nathan’s birth, we booked passage to England and then on to Canada by ship. According to our original plan, we stayed in Africa for only two years. The trip to England was a wonderful rest. The two children received excellent care in the Union Castle Line’s nursery; we were only responsible to take them to eat and to put them in bed at night.

One highlight of the voyage was a friendly Welsh soccer team. At night David and I sat near the back of the ship by our cabin, and I played my accordion as we sang choruses and hymns. One night the team heard us and came to sing with us. How those young men could sing! Their beautiful rendition of the Twenty-third Psalm still comes to mind every time I hear the song.

After a brief visit to the Canary Islands, we arrived at Southampton and boarded a train to Stockport and Oldham to visit David’s relatives. Traveling through England with its neat hedgerows and small farm cottages was a great contrast to the vastness of the African plains.

The Heardman clan showed us the damage from World War II, still in disrepair. After a few days of royal treatment, we bade them goodbye, took a train to Liverpool, and boarded the new Cunard liner, Carinthia. At last we were headed home to Montreal, Canada.

The Carinthia was much larger with more amenities than the older Union Castle Line ships. This vessel had stabilizer fins fitted on the underside, and we would later find out exactly what that meant. The first few days were wonderful. The qualified nursery staff cared for our children. David and I spent time enjoying deck games and table tennis as well as studying and relaxing.

During the third night at sea, we were awakened by the rolling and pitching of the ship. We were jerked from one side to the other as the stabilizers maintained the balance of our tossing ship, making its way through a mid-Atlantic hurricane.

The next morning only a few people ate breakfast. The crew had raised the edges of the tables and wet the tablecloths to prevent the dishes from sliding to the floor. They chained Ruth’s high chair to the floor, but we each had to hold on to it to keep it from falling over.

We went out on the enclosed outer deck. What a sight! One moment we could see only sky, and the next moment, as far as we could see above us, only green foaming water. All day and the next night the captain stayed at the helm, and although the ship was running at full power, we made little headway. Many passengers stayed up all night, worried that the ship would sink, but we stayed in our cabin with our two babies strapped in their beds. We managed to sleep and awoke to calmer waters in the morning.

Two days later, and about six weeks after we left Africa, we entered the St. Lawrence waterway and passed the citadel city of Quebec. How low the shores seemed after our African mountains. We searched the dock as we approached Montreal where members of our families were waiting for us. Grandparents rejoiced to see and hold their grandchildren for the first time, and while we were thrilled to be reunited, we had left a part of our hearts in the spectacular continent of Africa.

Shimba Black Festival - Natal S.A.

Chapter 7

African Heat to Canadian Freeze

We soon realized we were following our promises to family, especially parents, more than hearing the perfect will of the Lord in our lives. The ensuing months were some of our most difficult yet. The greatest need was money. David began working with his father, and we lived in a small apartment in my mother’s home.

All of this was temporary, but we did not realize how much so. Early that winter a disastrous fire destroyed the business of my father-in-law, and David narrowly escaped with his life. God, now what?

A few days after the fire our pastor requested that we visit a church in the town of Pembroke, Ontario, about a hundred miles northwest of Ottawa. The founding pastor needed someone to take his place when he left. We decided we could move, and on a cold, snowy February day we arrived with our two children and few belongings.

Our apartment was at the back of the new church building which did not yet have siding for extra insulation. For weeks the temperature inside was about 50º F and outside it hovered around -25º F. As I hung our son’s diapers on the clothes line, they instantly froze. Our icebox was so cold we seldom had to buy a new block of ice.

Day after day the snow fell and the wind blew, and day after day David had to dig our car out to drive five miles to town for food and supplies. It was so bad one Sunday that men from the church had to shovel the parking lot so cars could park; then dig them out again, for both the morning and evening services.

Eventually the snow melted. Spring arrived, and everything turned green, fresh, and warm. The church grew with new people coming, and we delighted in our beautiful view of the Ottawa River below us and the forests on either side.

Miraculous Provision in Time of Need

One Sunday morning after we prepared for Sunday school and the morning service, only one person arrived. This elderly man, who washed dishes at a nearby army camp, was faithful but rarely spoke. Where were the others? What had happened? Our sole income came from the church and had to pay the utilities also. David put his tithes from the small morning offering aside for the evening services and added a few more pennies to make the amount a little bigger.

In the evening there were no people at all. Only then did we learn that all of the men worked in the lumbering camp and mill which shut down for two weeks of vacation. The men had all taken their families to New Brunswick to visit extended families there. No one thought to tell two strangers that this would happen.

The next morning we assessed our situation. We could fast if necessary, but what about the children? We reminded Jesus that we trusted Him and depended on Him to supply food for our empty shelves and ice box.

A few minutes later a stranger knocked on our door. He told us he was a farmer who sold milk to the loggers who now were away.

“I would like to supply you with two quarts of milk each day for the next two weeks,” he said. “There will be no charge.” Then he added, “Do you eat dog food? I just butchered a calf, and we feed the dogs the heart, the liver, and the tongue. Do you eat those?”

We assured him that we did, and he returned as promised in the afternoon. He said, “I am ashamed to give you only these so I added a good sized steak. OK?”

For the next two weeks, people came by with homemade bread, vegetables, fruit, and many extras. Since the beginning of our marriage, we had never eaten so well.

Not only did God provide the food that we needed, He also took care of our transportation. I had started a women’s prayer meeting in the town every other week. The second week as I prepared to leave the house, I reminded David that the fuel gauge on the car was on empty. I didn’t know what to do, as we had a policy to never charge anything.

I arrived at the house of the first lady to take her to the meeting.

“Please pass by the next service station,” she requested. “The Lord told me to fill your tank with gasoline.” How faithful is our God!

Never Alone

Another series of violent winter storms ushered in our first Christmas in the Pembroke church. By December 30th the weather had cleared, and the highways were plowed. David set out to attend a District Ministers’ meeting about one hundred miles from home, planning to return in the evening. By afternoon, however, another blizzard had moved in and soon all the highways were closed.

He called me so I wouldn’t worry and told me to lock the doors and not even to step outside. When I woke in the morning, I had a high fever, headache, and weakness throughout all my body. I took the children upstairs and collapsed on the couch.

In a few minutes two-year-old Nathan stood beside me. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

I knew I did not have the strength to walk, let alone prepare food for the children. Almost immediately Nathan stood by my head, and I felt his cool hand on my hot forehead.

“Jesus,” he prayed, “Mommy’s sick, and Ruth and I are hungry. Please make her all better—RIGHT NOW.”

His simple request, ending in a shout and with unwavering faith, resulted in an instantaneous change. I felt my temperature dropping and new strength surging through my body. In fifteen minutes I was standing beside the stove fixing pancakes, their favorite treat. David returned that midafternoon, and I had New Year’s Eve supper ready for all of them.

How we praised Jesus for answering the simple prayer of a little boy-a boy with no doubts, only unwavering trust in our closest Friend and Companion!

All was going well. We enjoyed the challenges of northern living while rejoicing in the increase in the church. Then an unexpected announcement came. An older, more experienced pastor had decided to move to our area, and the Pembroke church had invited him to take over the ministry there.

They asked us to leave immediately in case he changed his mind. We appealed to the people for a few months until spring. We had no place to go during another very cold winter. They agreed and again we prayed, knowing that somehow an answer awaited us.

Two pastor friends heard what had happened and came to visit. One offered us a rough cottage on the summer camp grounds for a home; the other wanted us to help him in his church that was only about twenty miles away from the cottage.

David made several trips from Pembroke to Lansdowne to move our possessions, and we set up housekeeping in the cottage. I persuaded David to buy whitewash for the walls so I could more easily see the large wood spiders that hid on the unpainted interior.

A lean-to attachment to the cottage was divided into two sections. In one we put a small bed for the two children, and in the other a double bed for ourselves. These filled the rooms. In the morning we could look through the chinks and knotholes in the walls to see the weather. If it was raining, we doubled the mattresses so they wouldn’t get wet. The camp restroom was about five hundred yards away, or we could use the privacy of the surrounding woods with plenty of poison ivy.

We had no running water, but David installed a small pump in the river near the boathouse and connected a hose which he attached at the back of the cottage. By flipping a switch in the cottage, water came out of the hose, and we could carry it into the house for washing ourselves and our clothes.

We ministered in two different churches, picked strawberries, participated in radio programs, and Vacation Bible Schools, fulfilling any opportunity that arose. David sought regular work, but even with his experience, nothing seemed available.

Soon the camp meetings ended for another year, and the cold fall days were upon us. We had a garbage can type stove that we lit and burned until the metal around the pipe in the roof glowed red; then, for safety, we’d put the fire out.

Once again, when we were at a point of desperation, God intervened. A kind, elderly pastor offered us the upstairs apartment in his old farmhouse nearby. We gratefully accepted and moved in. After the cottage, this apartment was magnificent. We had two bedrooms and a bathroom with running water. Some family members of the pastor lived below us with small children, and we became good friends. Another winter in the snow-belt was upon us.

We soon realized, however, that the thermostat that controlled the heat of our apartment was beside the big wood cook stove downstairs. Our rooms became so cold we put our eggs and milk in the refrigerator to keep them from freezing. Many times we reminded the people below that we were cold because the furnace would not come on because of the heat of their stove. In spite of our housing difficulties, God rewarded us with good health and continuous areas to minister and help in the area churches.

God Redirects

This could not last forever, but job opportunities did not open to David, so we decided to fast and pray and seek the will of God in our lives. What were we to do? Soon we both were receiving the same message, “Go back to Africa. I did not tell you to leave.”

This was the greatest test of our faith yet. We were able to work hard at three jobs when there were just two of us, but now, with four and no work—what would happen? We were given only one scripture to hold on to, “Faithful is He that calls you, and He will do it.” (I Thessalonians 5:24)

How? When? Where? We were full of questions but short on answers. We visited many churches in the province. Some gave small offerings; others could not help at all.

Then came the day when we booked passage on a Norwegian freighter from Montreal to Durban, South Africa, leaving on May 5, 1958. We wanted to take our 1955 Chevrolet and pack it with our goods to save paying extra for cargo space. A friendly train station agent had a freight car in which we could put our other goods for the trip to Montreal.

We wrote to Christian friends who had sold some property and asked for a loan of a thousand dollars. We promised to repay before we sailed. We then returned to bid farewell to our families and visit our home church where we had been married and had worked for two years. An interim pastor serving there thought that we were crazy to return to Africa. He stated that as long as he was in charge, we would receive no funds from the church.

However, some of the people were sympathetic and gave us a paper bag with an offering inside. Once in the car, we counted it carefully. It was well over one thousand dollars, enough to cover all of our expenses, with the exception of the debt we had promised to repay.

The next day we said goodbye to our families. With our two children and as much as we could pack in the car, we headed for Montreal, planning to board the ship on May 5th.

Arriving at the dockside two days later, we discovered that the cargo was not yet loaded. We would have to spend two extra days in Montreal, but we had no idea where we’d spend our nights.

Loaves and Fishes

Missionaries who had returned from Ceylon were in charge of the English church in the city. They had a small apartment and offered to let us sleep on the couch in their living room with the children on the floor. We gladly accepted and attended their small church the following night. David preached a simple message, told how we were obeying the Lord to return to Africa, and sat down.

The pastor asked the few people there if they would like to give us an offering. The loaves and fishes multiplied. When all was finished, we sent a check to our friends to repay what they had loaned us and had a little extra in our pockets as we boarded the Norwegian freighter, Thorshope, the next day. God had worked one more miracle.

The Thorshope was painted sparkling white with a blue whale designed on the funnel. The only passengers on the ship were the four of us and three other people. After our living conditions of the past two years, it was luxurious.

Our beautiful suite had two beds for us and a smaller room for the children. In addition to being carpeted, our rooms had windows which provided a beautiful view. A large radio-record console furnished beautiful music and clear radio. Easy chairs and a large sofa added to our comfort, and the ample writing desk made a delightful work area. We ate our meals in a special salon with the Norwegian captain and the first mate. The food was sumptuous and consisted of three different buffets each day.

Thorscarrier Freighter – St. Lawrence River, Canada

Part II

Returning to a Troubled Africa – 1959

Chapter 8

Back to Durban

Matadi, Belgian Congo, Africa

After three-and-a-half weeks at sea, we approached the coast of the Belgian Congo and discovered that we would be going up the Congo River as far as Matadi to exchange cargo. Even though serious riots threatened to break out in the area, we were allowed to go ashore for a few hours with a warning to stay on the main streets. How good it felt to walk on firm ground after so many days at sea.

The people did not appreciate our presence in Matadi. The rioting was so violent that some groups had even destroyed buildings, and we decided to return to our ship. On the way, we passed a circus parade in the street, and the children were thrilled to see elephants, lions, tigers, and other animals.

At dinner that night, the Captain asked Nathan what he saw in town. As Nathan named the different animals, the Captain scrutinized us carefully, surprised that we would allow such a “big story.” Finally we told him, “Nathan saw a circus parade with many animals.”

We later heard that the next Thor ship that went to Matadi took many Europeans as cargo. They were fleeing the burning city. They left houses, cars, and valuables, and crowded on deck with a few cherished possessions, thankful to escape the carnage behind them.

Jesus Still Calms the Waters

After exploring Cape Town for a few days, we headed back to sea and around the Cape of Good Hope on our way to Durban. We soon understood why it was also called the Cape of Storms. Where the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet is extremely rough.

For the first time, the children became sea sick. We took them out on the open deck in the fresh air for our weekly Sunday school and sang the chorus, “He spoke the words that calmed the waters. He walked upon the stormy sea.”

With all the faith of an innocent four-year-old, Nathan called out, “Jesus, please make the sea be still.” Within minutes the waves became rollers, and the sea was almost still. At lunch a few hours later, the Captain commented that in the twenty-five years he had been sailing around the Cape in that direction, he had never seen the waters so calm.

Nathan immediately replied, “That’s because our Jesus made the waves be still.” The Captain looked at him carefully and admitted that probably was true.

Durban, South Africa – Our New Home

A week later in Durban, the Freemans welcomed us back. Carrie Eastridge, Nona Freeman’s mother, also joined the welcoming party. We went to Sister Carrie’s apartment where we would stay until David found work, and we found a house. Work was difficult to find even though English was the major white language of the state of Natal.

A few days later I sat on the beach with the children and overheard two men talking behind me. I listened more carefully when I heard them mention a trip they had made to Toronto, Canada and time they had spent with a good friend, Dr. Murray Young, a specialist in insulin research. I introduced myself and told them that my husband’s first employer in Connaught Laboratories in Toronto had been Dr. Young. They asked why we were in South Africa and then told me to have my husband meet them the next day to arrange employment for him.

Within a few days David had work in the laboratory of the large Lever Brothers plant on Maydon Wharf in Durban. This job had good hours and provided sufficient funds to meet our needs. Again, the same Jesus who called us ordered our path and provided for our need.

Dangers in Durban

A few days later we found a suitable house on the Bluff, an easy drive around Durban Bay for David’s work and on a bus line if we needed it. We were close to Brighton Beach where we could take the children, although swimming was not a possibility since the nearby whaling station attracted sharks.

We settled into a comfortable routine. Ruth entered a fine government school close to our house, and David found excellent bus transportation to and from work.

We were asked to start a Sunday school and adult teaching services in an Indian area near our home. A kind Hindu man let us use his large shady porch which gave us protection from the tropical heat. We had a large group of children in attendance and many adults, including three of the wives of our host. Interest grew and soon the eldest son of our host had permission to be baptized.

Our congregation increased to include small children and even the father of our host. He was the eldest listener and had proof that he was several years past a hundred, but in full control of his physical and mental faculties.

Dangerous snakes thrive in Durban. The black and green mambas and puff adders were very common. We visited the Durban Snake Park and purchased a kit with anti-venom and other materials to use in case of emergency. The nerve poison of the mambas is so toxic that a bitten person has only a few minutes to administer antidote before death occurs.

One day while weeding my flower beds, I found a young green mamba and transferred it to a large tin. I knew the Snake Park paid for live snakes, and we always needed more money. While preparing lunch, I glanced at the tin and saw the snake trying to get out. Immediately, I poured boiling water over the emerald green snake, killing it and turning it a beautiful turquoise. Better a dead snake than being bitten while trying to earn money!

We began to hear murmurings of problems within the country. One neighbor who was in the Reserve Army served on duty several nights a week. The apartheid system was not working, and many grievances were legitimate.

One morning about 3 a.m. I woke to a different noise in front of the house. Looking out the window I saw a Saracen and many government soldiers surrounding our home. My husband took a flashlight and went to investigate. Our servant girl had been stripped and bound in her little house up the hill, but was quickly released, and the soldiers left. A few nights later another group of men tried to break in our front door. Again my husband took a light and his revolver to investigate the commotion. The group dispersed without causing further problems.

Majorka Village, S.A.

Nathan and a puff adder - Durban, S.A (dangers from snakes & men)

Chapter 9

Family Life

All was quiet for a while as we anticipated the arrival of a new baby in June, 1960. With the assistance of a kind, friendly doctor, I planned to use the large, clean Salvation Army Maternity Home in Durban for the birth. On the way to the hospital, we listened to a rousing John Philip Sousa march on the radio and decided if we had a boy, he would be John Philip.

The birth proved to be very difficult, and by the time a specialist was called about 1:00 a.m., both doctors decided that our baby was dead. Thankfully I had passed out before they told David that my life was in danger. Desperate and distraught, he prayed, “Lord, please let someone, somewhere, a true intercessor, pray for us right now and work a miracle on our behalf.”

Weeks later we discovered that a wonderful Christian prayer warrior from our home church in Toronto had been busy cleaning her kitchen when she felt she must pray for me. She did not know why. She went to her room and prayed for several hours until she felt the release of an answer.

We serve a God of miracles. Philip lived, but the diagnosis of death was changed to one of brain damage. He lived, however, to become a wonderful, active missionary, dedicated for years to the ministry in Mexico; his health is excellent. As for me, in a few hours I was ravenously eating a big breakfast and went on to have two more healthy sons in the following years.

Another Move

Life was going along pleasantly. The children were well and happy. Neighbors were nice, and David’s job not only supplied our needs but also gave generous holiday time. This could be used or accumulated and added to another year. Our garden behind the house produced wonderful vegetables, and a mass of colorful African daisies and other flowers adorned the once drab street side.

One day our landlord appeared, looking very serious. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I said I did not intend to sell the house, but you have everything looking so nice that I have a buyer. You will have to move at the end of the month.”

Finding another nice house in our price range would not be easy. Durban included many racial areas, some out of bounds to Whites, others borderline areas and dangerous. There was nothing on our side of the bluff so we proceeded to the north side of the city. We prayed diligently, and Jesus gave us assurance that He had a house for us.

Finally we found it, sitting high on a hill that overlooked the city with fresh, cooler breezes from the ocean and a quiet street with little traffic. It was perfect. Much larger rooms than our present home, a large front yard, and a wild mango bush delighted us. It came complete with a garage. An excellent government school was within walking distance, and two little girls lived on our street. They were Ruth’s age, and she became close friends with them. Nathan was ready for kindergarten, and he found friends as well. A bus route that David could take was only a half a block away.

Another worker had taken over the work we had begun among the Indians. We began helping Sister Eastridge with the Spark’s Estate Colored Church which was just a few miles away.

We had wonderful, friendly neighbors who were always ready to help with the children. One lived across the street and went to the large central market with me. This market was wholesale and retail. My neighbor helped me understand the auctioning system.

Another neighbor had problems walking, so she loved to keep the baby while I filled her shopping list. I learned to bid on fresh barracuda fish which were so large that we divided them among the three families. Baby foods were not available, but Philip thrived on vegetables and cottage cheese put through a sieve and had ground guavas for his desserts.

Once a week, when school finished at 1:00 p.m., the children and I packed a lunch and drove to the beach. They enjoyed swimming in the children’s pool, building sand castles on the wide beaches, and feeling the fresh breezes from the Indian Ocean. David would meet us there after work.

Services in the Spark’s Estate Church, Sunday schools, and home meetings kept us busy. As we began working with Indians and Coloreds, all of the services and teachings were in English, especially in the state of Natal. We invited neighbors to our house Sunday evenings for a hymn-sing and a short Bible lesson. Encouraged by their interest, we rented a small hall in the area for White services on Sunday evenings.

Chapter 10

A Special Visitor

We had a pleasant surprise early in 1960. My mother wrote to us that she missed her grandchildren and had never seen Philip. A friend who had visited South Africa encouraged her to visit us; she decided to do that.

This brave woman made the long trip alone, but took advantage of the time to tour England, a long-time dream. She flew to London, England, and then boarded a mail ship from London and traveled through the Suez Canal to Durban.

By the time she arrived in Durban early in May, 1960, South Africa had left the British Commonwealth, resulting in much unrest and dissatisfaction. Some ships from the American fleet anchored in Durban Bay, ready to rescue American citizens if the need arose. All was calm, however, as she came ashore on a cool, foggy winter morning. Ruth remembered her well. Nathan was friendly with everyone, and even ten-month-old Philip went to her waiting arms.

Mother was a blessing to us. Due to the political problems, she planned to stay only a short time, but her visit lasted five months. Everything was so new to her; she took wonderful pictures of things that were commonplace to us. She enjoyed being in the center of the city and went to a friendly English-speaking Methodist church, taking Ruth to the Sunday school and children’s services.

A Scottish woman who had been my Mother’s companion on the ship invited her to visit a sugar plantation in Zululand. Mother bravely boarded a third class bus which had chickens and a pig tied to the roof, traveling all by herself.

Busy, But Very Happy

Numerous services, the regular jobs in the house, and David’s work in the factory filled our lives to the brim during this time. On our days off, we visited attractions in and around Durban. The ocean-side invited us to spend time by it, and a beautiful tea garden beckoned the whole family.

The wild monkeys in the tea garden, however, made an attempt to steal our windshield wipers. We also explored the Valley of a Thousand Hills in Zululand and a huge electric power dam called Nagle Dam. We packed picnic lunches and enjoyed ourselves immensely.

God blessed us with the friendship of a young Canadian missionary couple who had come to Durban with their little girl. David had some holidays coming, and Mother longed to see more of South Africa and its beautiful wild birds. This couple agreed to stay at our home and care for Ruth and Nathan who were both in school.

Taking baby Philip with us, we treated Mother to a circular motor trip, traveling to Cape Town, through the Kalahari Desert to Pretoria, and back to Durban. We would be gone about three weeks.

We had a wonderful time. Philip was a good traveler; the accommodations were clean and meals good. Mother added almost one hundred and fifty new birds to her bird-watching life list. The most interesting, a Martial Eagle we saw while crossing the Karoo Desert, appeared to pose as we took photos. The Martial Eagle is the world’s largest eagle, capable of carrying a young lamb aloft to its nest.

When we arrived in Pretoria, shocking news reached us. The missionary family we had left with the two older children had encountered problems. The husband had contracted scarlet fever and was in an isolation hospital. We were told that his wife and our two children were quarantined in the house until all danger passed. We decided to head straight home. Needless to say, we were warmly welcomed. The danger was over. The missionary family returned to their apartment, and our children returned to school.

Mother had already extended her stay twice, but knew she must return to prepare her home for the Canadian winter. Venturesome as ever, she flew from Durban and spent several days at Victoria Falls in Rhodesia. From there she flew to London, England and back to Toronto.

Union Castle Line ship rounding Cape of Storms

Chapter 11

David’s Stories of Divine Protection

David tells some of his own experiences

In the Midnight Hours

While I was working at Lever Brothers on Maydon Wharf, ships docked at the facility and deposited their cargoes. We processed our imported ingredients into soap and other products which people could use.

For a brief time in 1961, I was responsible on Sunday nights to ensure that the plant’s hydrogen production was at least 99% pure. Several hundred employees arriving the next morning needed a sufficient supply for manufacturing purposes.

One particular Sunday I had ministered at the Colored church that entire day. As the evening arrived, I took my family to our home on the outskirts of Durban and caught the last bus into the city to begin work at 11:00 p.m. Buses and trains shared the same terminal, and I had to climb a flight of stairs, walk over a long iron bridge above the trains, and cross several tracks before descending to the road which led to the Lever Brothers factory on Maydon Wharf.

The night was very dark and lonely. Widely spaced street lights provided the only illumination down this nearly deserted walkway. The street was devoid of vehicle traffic.

Suddenly my eye caught a movement near the shadows of a warehouse across the street. Two men emerged from the darkness and started crossing the roadway in my direction. The sinister way in which they walked toward me made me uneasy and triggered an instinctive urge to pray for God’s protection.

“Lord,” I cried out, “usually I feel secure on the street at this time of night. But these men seem to want to do evil. Protect me.”

The men began to separate; one took to the road and the other remained on the sidewalk. As they moved closer, I planned my defense, positioning myself so I couldn’t be forced against the tall chain link fence on one side.

My prayer intensified, “Lord, I have a wife and three children who want to see me come home. I need a miracle now!” Even though I didn’t make a sound, I shouted to God in my spirit.

Suddenly a Volkswagon van screeched to a halt alongside me, distracting my attention from the men about ten steps away. The front passenger door flew open, and the driver barked, “Get in!”

I leaped onto the seat without question, leaving my would-be assailants to guess what had happened. As I slammed the door to safety, the men ran away into the darkness. Driving hastily from the curb, my rescuer asked, “Do you know that those men were probably going to rob and kill you?”

“I was becoming aware of that,” I replied.

“I saw you were in danger so I got over here as fast as I could.”

I took a closer look at my timely rescuer. He was dressed in British fashion with an accent to match. He pulled up to the employee entrance of the factory and said, “Farewell.” Then he was gone, off into the night. I wasted little time getting into the building.

Reflecting upon the incident later, I concluded that I had been rescued by the Lord, or at least by one of His representatives. Whether the person in the van was a man or an angel, I cannot doubt that it was God Himself who heard my cry and delivered me “out of the mouth of the lion” the instant I most needed help.

Tensions grew between the government and the people in South Africa. Many of our South African friends left their homes and relocated to Europe, Australia, or New Zealand. Riots became more and more frequent, and we were now considered foreigners, not Commonwealth citizens, since South Africa was no longer Commonwealth colony.

Recollection of Tragedy

In addition to a good income, I had good benefits that assisted us in doing the Lord’s work. I drove a small group of ministers to a convention for pastors in Pretoria, South Africa. This convention lasted several days. One afternoon, the Lord instructed me to leave one day early and go home as quickly as possible.

When I explained to my companions the urgency I felt, they agreed to alter their plans. Early the next morning we hurried down the highway to Durban.

In the Highveld, or highlands, the two-lane road narrowed, and we were about five thousand feet above sea level. Traffic was light, but I devoted my full attention to driving on the hazardous stretch.

A farmer, driving an overloaded pickup truck with eight people, traveled in the opposite lane. Suddenly, he veered into our lane and collided head-on with a car a short distance ahead of us. Upon impact, the passengers in the pickup flew like rockets from the truck’s bed. They lay on the ground, some injured, some dead. The family of five inside the car suffered the same fate. We did whatever we could to aid the injured until trained medical help arrived.

Unfortunately, not many victims survived. I remember three children who cried out in pain for their parents who could no longer hear or respond to them. As a father of three about the same age, I was haunted by this memory for many weeks to come.

Later that day we came to Pietermaritzburg, a beautiful city high in the mountains to the northwest of Durban. The road through the idyllic setting, however, was equally hazardous.

As we descended to the valley, sharp curves through the mountain passes presented the same need for careful driving. Sure enough, we encountered another equally tragic circumstance.

A Native bus careened down the slope at a speed much faster than the curves would safely allow. The driver lost control, and the bus rolled several times down the embankment. As before, facing death and injuries, we confronted the daunting task of rescuing and comforting helpless victims of a terrible tragedy.

As we neared the driveway of my home in Durban that evening, we did not expect one more ordeal. On the veranda of my home were five young black men attempting to break through the front door while my wife and children huddled inside.

Upon our arrival, the intruders leaped over the railing and scattered in several directions into the darkness, escaping into the heavy foliage surrounding our neighborhood. With great relief and thankfulness I entered the house for a reunion with my family. We contacted the police to report the intrusion. We later learned that the same five men had attacked and killed a different homeowner that same night.

Thus the Lord brought us through a very difficult day, beginning with obedience to His instruction in the morning, two tragic accidents in the daylight hours, and ending with deliverance from desperate enemies. Thankfully we had learned that when God speaks, we must obey.

Piedmont Road, Durban S.A. (scene of near tragedy)

Chapter 12

Headed Home Again

The day after David’s return we went to the Cleaners and did a little grocery shopping. We returned about noon to find the house windows wide open and the doors unlocked. Inside, the house was an unbelievable mess.

I had left a pot roast simmering on the electric stove. The heat had been turned up to high, and our roast was like a small block of charcoal. Mattresses were on the floor, goods strewn all over and almost everything was gone. Even our large guard dog was missing. A few things had been dropped by a tangled mango bush behind our house.

The loss for us was astronomical. We had the clothing on our backs, and David had his two suits at the Cleaners. The children’s clothing was mostly gone. Sheets and towels had been used as carriers. Weeks later we were still searching for our stolen articles.

A few days later, some unknown men attacked our eight-year-old daughter and her friend as they walked home from school. Jesus was with them, and others came to their rescue before they were raped and killed. After that a friendly black policeman came each morning to take them to school and later brought them home again. We greatly appreciated this, but it did not serve to ease the fears of the children nor stop the nightmares, especially for Ruth.

We prayed and asked for guidance. Our Canadian pastor wrote to us, advising us to return to Canada for the sake of the children. He explained that not only were the children in danger, but we were under martial law. That meant we could not leave the house from 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. and most of our services had to be cancelled.

With heavy hearts we closed up our home and sought passage to Canada. We said goodbye to our close friends that we would never see again and to a beautiful country we had grown to love. Attending the farewell services in the churches where we had labored was difficult, but the people understood our responsibility to our three young children.

We sold the furniture, found a home for our dog, and were ready to return to Montreal on another Norwegian freighter. An uneasy moment transpired when Ruth and Nathan reacted to a vaccination for small pox. They broke out in a type of chicken pox. We couldn’t cancel our booking; the children were not sick, just marked. We dressed them well, covering the marks on their arms and legs with clothing. I covered the skin that showed on their faces and hands with calamine lotion, and they wore big sunhats.

We passed through emigration and sailed that night without being discovered. With tears in my eyes I watched the shoreline of Durban disappear. Would we ever return?

When we stopped in Cape Town to take on cargo, our old friends came to meet us and spend time with us. The Jensens were the missionaries who had greeted us in Durban in 1954. We had stayed in their home our first two nights in South Africa. Our family had grown from two to five since that time, and their welcome and kindness enveloped all of us.

Accommodations on the ship were the same luxurious facilities we had enjoyed four years earlier. The children had a small bedroom adjoining ours with twin beds for the two older children and a large crib for Philip. The crib was anchored to the floor in case of storms or rough seas. Large windows on three sides allowed the children to safely see the ocean and watch the flying fish.

Philip was averse to wearing shoes and always wore inexpensive plastic sandals. The one pair we had on board disappeared the second day. Ruth told us that Philip had thrown them in the sea before she could stop him.

Because it was summertime, the children of the captain and some crew members were on board, and the older children made some Norwegian friends. The buffet meals thrilled them, and all had excellent appetites.

Part III

From Canada to Mexico

Chapter 13

Settling into Canada

Twenty-eight days of relaxing travel and excellent food left us well rested and a little heavier than when we left our African home. We reached the Gulf of St. Lawrence and soon passed Quebec City. Who would be waiting for us in Montreal? No berth was open for us, so we had to anchor out in the river for the night. In the morning we docked at shore and enjoyed a great family welcome, all but my mother seeing Philip for the first time.

Because we hadn’t eaten breakfast on the ship, we stopped to eat at a restaurant close by. When I ordered a Coca Cola before eating, my wise mother asked, “Are you expecting again?”

What could I say, but yes?

We relished the reunion with our families, but knew it wouldn’t last forever. With three children and another on the way, we had much to set in order. Our few possessions—what was in our suitcases and a few items we had left in Canada four years earlier—were not enough to furnish a home. We had sold our Morris 1000 car in South Africa, but because of a new law regulating international money transfers, we were never paid for it.

My paternal grandmother had been very ill and passed away the night we returned to my mother’s home in Aurora, Ontario. Even though this was a sad time, God blessed us in the midst of it. We could choose some goods from her unoccupied apartment to furnish a house we were going to rent.

The house contained a stove and refrigerator which were old but useable. We were given a much-needed dryer, as the basement was too low to put up lines, and the yard was too small.

We soon had the house furnished with the basics and with sheets for curtains. David found lab work in North Toronto, less than an hour’s commute. All was in order.

The first Canadian winter that our children would remember was soon upon us, and we were prepared. Ruth and Nathan were able to walk to the public school and soon made friends. Philip, a lively two-and-a-half-year-old, was content at home or playing in Grandma Devins’ large yard a few blocks away. The date for the birth of our new baby was set for March 21, 1963. We lived frugally, but were content and protected from the severe winter.

Christmas came and went with new customs and new experiences for the family. In the New Year we prepared for two major events—the wedding of Aunt Ruth, David’s sister, and the arrival of the new baby brother or sister.

Philip’s Surgery

By January we discovered that Philip had very enlarged tonsils. The doctor commented that he was fine at present, but if he contracted an infection, and they swelled more, he would need a tracheotomy to breathe. We prayed, discussed the situation, and decided to have them removed.

I dreaded the separation from him, but when we arrived at the famous Sick Children’s Hospital in Toronto, my fears were alleviated. The staff demanded the child be left the afternoon before the surgery, and the parent return the following morning to take him home.

Philip took one look at me and one look at the large room filled with tricycles and toys. He said goodbye and left without a backward glance. He had found the three-year-old idea of paradise.

Philip appeared fine when I came for him the next morning, but was a little reluctant to leave. I reminded him that it was his sister’s birthday, and he could come to the party. I prepared the usual party fare for ten-year-old children—hot dogs, chips, carrot and celery sticks, and, of course, the cake. Philip seemed occupied, so I finished getting ready before the children arrived.

Making one more check of the table, I discovered Philip stuffing salty chips in his mouth as fast as possible. Hospital staff had told me that for forty eight hours he should only have soft, bland foods to prevent bleeding. My pediatrician mother was due to arrive. I panicked, hid the few remaining pieces of evidence, and was busy feeding him creamed soup when she came in the door. Thankfully no problems arose, and no more chips remained in the house.

Three and Counting

When March 20th arrived, the cold and snowy Canadian winter persisted. Mother kept our children while my sister-in-law drove me to Toronto for a regular visit with my doctor. The roads were bad, but the snow appeared to have stopped. In spite of this, Dr. Rogers told Joan to go on home. They were forecasting another storm for the evening, so he decided to keep me in the hospital in case the baby arrived. He was right.

My husband drove home before the storm arrived in order to care for the three children. At about 2:30 a.m., Mark made his appearance, with no complications. What a blessing to have another healthy and loved baby in the home!

After a few weeks, we were back in a routine. When she was not in school, Ruth hovered over a contented Mark. Nathan and Philip were thrilled for another boy in the family. Spring arrived after I returned home, and the daffodils and tulips bloomed.

We drove about twenty-eight miles to church on Sunday mornings. The children enjoyed their Sunday school and children’s church. We reconnected with our friends and spent time with David’s family who lived nearby.

On Mother’s Day I was proud to be invited to the platform to receive a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers as a reward for having the youngest baby in church. But as I came down to my seat, I was called to the nursery where Mark was extremely ill and vomiting.

Quickly we asked for prayer and returned to Aurora where his grandmother could examine him. She thought she knew what was wrong, and she and I took him to the Sick Children’s Hospital where she had interned in 1918 and 1919 and still knew some doctors well.

The head pediatrician of the hospital examined Mark and called for immediate surgery. A tumor had formed where the stomach connected to the small intestine, allowing no food to pass and causing the vomiting. Haste was crucial for he had already lost about twenty-five percent of his weight at six weeks of age. Mother returned to Aurora to the other children. Until our pastor arrived a few hours later, I was alone with my prayers and my concern for our beautiful new son.

After what seemed to be hours later, Dr. Snelling arrived and took me to the intensive care unit. There lay Mark with tubes everywhere and an IV attached to the shaved soft spot in his skull. Somehow I knew he would be alright, but my faith wavered. The doctor was very matter-of-fact.

“Go back to your other children; they need you. Today is Monday and if he lives, he will be here at least ten days. I shall keep your Mother posted, and we’ll contact you if there is any change.”

How I longed for the African system where you could stay with a family member in the hospital. I sadly returned home and avoided looking at the empty bassinet. I assumed that he was receiving excellent care, but what could we do? David had to use our only car for work, and my mother was busy. Twenty-eight miles from Mark, I could do nothing but pray and look after my husband and three children...

I heard nothing until the following Friday when I received a strange and ominous phone call from the hospital. “Please come as soon as possible and get your baby. We have done all we can do for him.”

In my agitated state of mind I was certain that Mark had died, and I was to go and bring his body back to Aurora. Mother was still home, so I took her car and went to the hospital. When I arrived in the main lobby, the receptionist told me she would page our doctor. I was to wait for him there.

In a few minutes I received an astounding and miraculous surprise. In walked Dr. Snelling, the head of the hospital. He carried a large white bundle with a wide blue ribbon and bow around it. It was Mark—alive and well. The tubes were gone and even his five day incision was healed. The only sign of his illness was his partially shaved head and the soother taped to his mouth to keep him from crying.

“He’s fine,” Dr. Snelling informed me. “Take him home, love him, ask your Mom how to best feed him, and I’ll see you in six months.”

I did exactly as he said. My delighted mother and husband waited for the other children to return from school. What rejoicing and praise in our home! Truly Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever when we place our trust in him. Today, forty-eight years later, Mark is strong and well. He has a wonderful Christian wife and two children in their twenties who are following in the footsteps of Jesus.

The children adjusted well to their new schoolmates and system of teaching, but it was obvious that a change must be made before the next winter. Commuting to Toronto in the winter months was expensive and dangerous, and the children saw little of their father. He came home late in the evening and attended school classes on Saturdays.

Winter 1963, Canada

Chapter 14

Move to Toronto

The answer seemed to be to move to Toronto. We made our decision a matter of serious prayer as we considered buying a house. We looked in areas with good schools close by, shops within walking distance to buy groceries, and hopefully, some green grass where our adventuresome boys could explore and run off some energy. Just as we were becoming discouraged, we visited with my mother’s lawyer and family friend. He gave us good advice which we followed.

He suggested we find a place out of the heart of the city, but close to reliable transportation, with a minimum drive for David to work and also to our church. He also recommended getting the cheapest house in the most expensive area we could afford.

With these guidelines we set out and soon found the ideal place which met all our needs. The house was on a hill with a wooded ravine at the bottom. It was one block from a hydro field with many acres to roam, and close to good bus transportation and almost new schools—kindergarten, primary school and junior high within walking distance.

We had no previous debts but also no money. By borrowing from all sources we knew and living extremely frugally, we made it. At the end of June, 1964, we moved into our two-story brick home with four bedrooms, a yard in the front and back, and garage for the car and other storage.

A friendly neighbor visited me one day and looked a little puzzled. “My home is furnished in Canadian Colonial; what style is yours?”

I smiled, seeing my Grandmother’s patched carpet, our sheeting curtains and hand-me-downs from everywhere. “I guess you would call it Early Salvation Army,” I answered. She returned the smile and seemed satisfied. We were happy, and that was all that mattered.

The Score = 1 Girl + 4 Boys End of Game

In time for our first Thanksgiving in our own home. On October 8, 1964, we welcomed a new little boy to our family, Timothy Stephen. His brothers enjoyed two baby boys in the family, and Ruth was satisfied that she did not have to share her small but comfortable bedroom with a baby sister. We were at the bottom of the economic scale, but our neighbors were friendly.

The three older children were all in the same school, half a block away. Ruth was in grade 6, Nathan in grade 4 and Philip in kindergarten. Mark, eighteen months, and Stephen, a few weeks old, still had some time at home. We were blessed with a family Christmas in our own home with grandparents and other relatives joining us.

A Horrific Accident

On the last Sunday morning of January, 1965, our new house was bustling with activity as we prepared for the morning service at our church. We had four youngsters and an infant to feed and dress, plus ourselves to get ready. David also needed to clear the car from the night’s snowfall.

David’s Account

All was in order as we left our home and took the old Cummer Road, a narrow, two-lane paved street that connected us to the main city streets. As we approached the first curve, I saw a larger car in the opposite lane coming toward us, out of control on the icy pavement.

I moved our small two-door Ford Falcon as far off the road as possible, stopped, and turned off the key. To my horror, the driver completely lost control and continued to veer toward us.

In the blink of an eye, his Ford Mercury collided with our small Falcon head on. Shattered glass and the thunderous sound of crumpling metal were the last sounds and sights I heard before everything went black.

I awoke to the screams of the children in the back seat. I tried to call to them, but my jaws seemed to be broken, and I couldn’t form words. I managed to get out of the car and saw that the bent steering wheel had caused the splintering of my jaw and knocked out many of my teeth.

Looking at the passenger seat area, I saw a gaping hole in the windscreen and Elizabeth’s still body slumped beside it. Stephen lay in her lap, motionless, as the sights and sounds of the accident’s aftermath struggled for clarity in my consciousness.

Suddenly the passenger door swung open, and a pair of long strong arms reached into the front seat and gently pulled Stephen from his mother’s lap. As I gained more consciousness of the intense pain of my own injuries, my eyes focused upon the man placing a cupped hand to Stephen’s mouth. The rescuer took a deep breath and pressed his lips into the infant’s face and exhaled, desperately willing the child to breathe on his own.

Elizabeth began to move. I heard the faint wail of the police and fire trucks as they approached the horrific scene. Unable to help myself or the others, I bowed my head in surrender to the care and compassion of the approaching first responders and, most importantly, to God Himself.

The Seventh Day Adventist Hospital where we were taken was renowned for its highly skilled staff and excellent care. Among the doctors was a plastic surgeon who happened to be in the hospital that Sunday morning.

Elizabeth went to surgery first because bleeding of her head and neck needed to be stopped immediately. After four hours of surgery she had a new nose, partially shaved head, and a multitude of stitches covering her face, scalp, and neck. As she was wheeled out, I was wheeled into the same operating room. The team worked without taking a break, continuing their lifesaving task.

That team, led by the same plastic surgeon, worked for hours realigning my separated jaw to fit my lower mandible. They attached wires to large buttons on the outside of my cheeks to rigidly hold the construction in place and sutured the facial skin to begin the natural process of healing.

I awoke in my hospital bed to the sound of a familiar voice saying, “Where is he? Where is he?” My mother-in-law was desperately searching for me in hopes of telling me that my children only had a few bruises, and that she would be in our home looking after them.

I learned that the older children were merely shaken up and bruised by the accident, suffering only minor cuts, but otherwise miraculously unharmed. Stephen, however, was more seriously injured. The impact threw him into the dashboard of the car, followed by the crushing force of his mother’s helpless body lurching forward. We had no seatbelts at that time.

Even though the breath had been knocked out of him, the bones of his tiny ribcage were spared from damage. The man who plucked Stephen from the car was a fireman who was skilled in resuscitation, and his quick administration to Stephen saved his life. Ironically, this same fireman was the driver who caused the crash. The man responsible for so much destruction was the savior of Stephen’s life.

My greatest concern was for my wife. I was lucid enough to realize that no one was mentioning her to me. Finally a kind nurse, realizing that my anxiety was impeding my rest, placed me in a wheel chair and took me out into the hall close to the nurses’ station.

Because no rooms had been available, Elizabeth had spent a day or two in the hall under the close supervision of the staff. I didn’t realize that she was unable to see due to cuts in both eyes, but she recognized my voice and was able to assure me that she wasn’t dead.

The nurses feared that she would only remember her baby as he was then, at three months, and never see him as a man. Two days later she opened her eyes and saw two people walking toward her. As they approached, she recognized her mother and brother. Within a month she could read and see clearly with glasses. How merciful is the Lord!

Our four precious children – Canada

Chapter 15

God Provides Through the Years

Life in Willowdale, a suburb of Toronto, was a happy time for the children. They made friends on the street and in school, and all but Ruth lost their South African accent.

Ruth started to think and pray about a career. Should she follow the growing computer trend? Be a doctor like her maternal grandmother? A teacher? We encouraged her to investigate the different fields, not only for finance but for enjoyment and a means of reaching others with the love of Jesus.

One day a door opened for her to become a Candy Striper, a volunteer worker with various jobs in a large hospital near our home. She had the opportunity to learn about many medical careers. She worked four hours after school, two days a week. She wore a pretty white and pink striped uniform and looked very professional. We realized how quickly our children were growing up and how short a time they would be under our care.

Ruth enjoyed her work, but soon identified some positions which were not to her personal liking. She ruled out nursing and laboratory work and was contemplating other medical professions when she was asked to help in the Physical Therapy department.

She was happy because she had found her niche, working with children and adults to improve their recovery. Although other opportunities would open up to her, she has completed thirty-six years in her chosen field, now serving in a rehabilitation hospital in Kitchener, Ontario, Canada.

I surprised Ruth one afternoon when she discovered me in a bed in the orthopedic department. David was in Montreal on business for several days. With the help of Grandma Devins, Ruth was headed home to care for her two youngest brothers and get dinner ready.

I had suffered for months with an undiagnosed ankle pain that had no resolution. Finally, when I could take no more and when all the children were in school, I went to the hospital, determined to stay until somebody found a solution. X-rays revealed a possible tumor on the inside of my ankle; surgery was scheduled for the next day.

David was too far away to be contacted, so Grandma stayed with the children until I was home again. Because the doctors feared a bone tumor, I had to sign a permit for amputation if necessary.

I had surgery at 7 a.m., and when I woke at 6 p.m., my kind orthopedic specialist was waiting at the foot of my bed. I immediately felt to see if my left leg still existed. He told me that after opening my lower leg and ankle, they discovered a place where it appeared there had been an abnormal growth. The tumor was gone, but the tendon on the side of my ankle had snapped, and stitching it together was tedious work.

For five months I was in a foot-to-hip cast. It appears that a Higher Power had attended to the growth. David returned the next day, and after ten days I was discharged from the hospital.

David’s Account of God’s Provision:

As the new decade dawned in 1970, the firm where I worked since our return from Africa began altering their business model from a manufacturing industry to a downstream packaging enterprise. Their need for quality control personnel diminished, and the time came to put me on notice.

“I realize you have a family to support,” the corporate executive told me, “but we’re reaching a point in our plans where your job will no longer be needed. I advise you to start looking elsewhere for employment.”

Such news could not have come at a worse time. Around 1970, the Canadian economy was entering a big slump. We had learned that God is in charge of all aspects of our lives, but I remember thinking, “Lord, why didn’t this happen when economic times were good? It is going to be hard finding work now.”

After many months an opportunity came from a company which manufactured confections. They were looking for someone with my qualifications to take over their quality control department and help develop new products. One condition was moving to the city of Kitchener, about an hour’s drive from our present home. In spite of this, the paycheck was good and there were excellent benefits, so I accepted the position.

We put our Toronto house up for sale and began preparing for the move. The economic slump didn’t make the transition a smooth one, and we were forced to move before the Toronto house was sold.

After about three months, we found a buyer for the house, but due to the distressed market conditions, we lost several thousand dollars on the deal. The only benefit was that our responsibilities and ties to that city were now behind us, and we looked forward to a new beginning.

Locating a church became one of our first priorities after arriving in Kitchener. The group we had belonged to in Toronto had no churches near Kitchener, so we prayed that the Lord would lead us to the best place for all of us.

Not a Coincidence

One snowy Saturday in March, David took us on a short trip to investigate more of our new city’s countryside. We headed north out of the city, and he smelled maple syrup processing, one of his favorite treats. We stopped the car and sent Nathan to climb a snowbank in search of the sign post to direct us to the closest town. He reported that a short distance away was a small town (seven hundred people) called Hawkesville. Surely we could find the maple syrup we were seeking!

We drove into the town but couldn’t find our desired treat. We passed a small church with a driveway that was cleared sufficiently in which to turn around and go home. We did not discover the name of the church as the sign was buried by snow.

The next day was Easter Sunday. We yearned to be together to worship the risen Savior. David surprised me in the morning by saying, “You know the church where we turned around yesterday? That’s where we are going this morning.”

I was shocked, to say the least. What kind was it? Would we be welcomed? What would the children think? Dad’s word was law, so with little grumbling we traveled the seventeen miles to Hawkesville. The church lot was cleaned out, and many cars were already parked with a steady flow of people entering.

We sat in a back seat in the small crowded building, and immediately people began to greet us. Before long we had five invitations to share an Easter dinner with church families. I could imagine inviting a couple—but a family of seven?

We accepted the first invitation which came from the elderly pastor and his wife. We had already figured out it was a modern style Mennonite church. Some of the older women wore small white prayer bonnets, but most dressed similarly to us. We enjoyed the service and the beautiful a cappella singing.

We had a delicious turkey dinner and in our fellowship realized we had much in common with Simeon and Edna Hurst. They had spent twenty-five years as missionaries in Africa. Most amazing, the couple we had enjoyed as our ship neared Mombasa in 1954, Don Jacobs and his wife, had been the Hurst’s supervisors while they were in Kenya. This was not a coincidence, but God giving us a common link that gave us favor in the Mennonite community.

Simeon Hurst had retired as pastor the day we arrived, and as they had no one to fill in, we were invited to become a part of the congregation. By the next Sunday we were teaching the men’s and women’s large and attentive Sunday school classes. I also played the piano for the services. Each Sunday we were invited to a farm home for Sunday dinner, and doors opened to several more of their churches in the county. This was God ordained.

We attended pot luck suppers, cook outs, and winter fellowship Bible classes where we could share scriptures. I attended the winter quilting bees held each Monday morning. When they found that I was not as quick with a quilting needle, they asked me to give Bible studies while they sewed. Six women sewed on each side of the frame, and they could turn the frame quickly. I was a hand-sewing hindrance.

After more than two years, the group found a Mennonite pastor and our work was terminated, but not our fellowship. My last activity was a summer Vacation Bible School with a large class of fifteen to sixteen-year-old youth. The curriculum was the Book of Acts, and I was asked to teach it as I believed it. The Lord gave me wisdom, and after two weeks, Brother Simeon came and baptized nine of the youth by immersion in the name of Jesus. We were scripturally sound in their eyes.

Daddy reading Bible story - Canada

Chapter 16

Forever Listening

David Tells of His Responsibility

I would like to say that our troubles were over, but in fact we were only given a short reprieve. After the house in Willowdale was sold, my new boss announced that they were moving operations to a facility in Toronto, five miles from our old home. This news, of course, devastated our whole family. Not only had we lost a considerable amount of money and time in the move, but we loved the new life style and peacefulness of our surroundings. The children had friends and attended excellent schools.

As it turned out, the Lord gave us plenty of time to prepare. It took more than a full year for the company to implement its plans. In that time, we saved money and considered our options. I thought about keeping the home in Kitchener and commuting to work, but that meant a wearisome 160 mile round trip each day. We had moved to escape that situation, so I was not open to doing it this time either.

Another thing to consider was the church. In the short time since we finished our work with the Mennonites, a small church had grown in the basement of our house in Kitchener. A move back to the city meant that we would need to turn that work over to someone else.

As the time approached to decide, I felt compelled to remain employed to provide for the family and entrust the work to someone else. We shifted our attention to searching for a new house in Toronto.

The Lord spoke to us to calm our anxiety and refocus our priorities. “I want you to remain where you are and to trust me. Bring everything before me and be certain that I will direct you.” The message was clear and gave us assurance that we should wait to sell the house.

For several months I made the long commute to and from work, listening for whatever the Lord might say. While waiting for God to open a door, I decided to do my part and knock—long and hard. My continuing prayer during this time was simple and incessant, “Lord, if we must stay here, help me to find another job close by.”

One Saturday morning at my usual prayer time the Lord asked me, “What job do you want?”

Now this response was both challenging and contradictory.

The same question came a second and third time.

“What job do you want?” “What job do you want?”

I suddenly understood that I hadn’t really prayed for anything. I concluded, “I’ve just been sending the Lord a general plea for a job.” Even as blind Bartimaeus did in the Bible, I had to tell Jesus specifically what I needed.

I began to list everything I needed. I wrote specific things, such as job duties, responsibilities and salary. When the list was complete, I brought it before the Lord, saying, “Here is the job I am looking for.”

Immediately He spoke to me, “All right, thank-you.”

The following Monday morning on the long drive to work I prayed, “Lord, I’ve told you everything about the job I want.” My statement was more to reassure myself than to remind Him. “You’re going to have to help me, for this type of praying is different than I’ve done before.”

“Trust Me!” The Lord’s voice was so forceful that I looked around to see where it came from. He didn’t say anything else. I drove on in confidence.

Several uneventful weeks passed until one Friday a sales executive from another company walked into my office to chat. He asked me how I liked my job.

“How do you really like it?” I briefly reflected about the economy as he added, “The reason I ask is that I want you to work for me.”

“Well, what do you offer?”

On a pad he wrote the job description, salary, and conditions. As he named them off, it was as though he had the list I had written several weeks earlier. Each item replicated what I had asked for.

“This is only for starters,” he said. “As you work with us and progress in the job, other benefits will be yours.”

I regained my composure and promised to give him my answer after I talked it over with Elizabeth. I knew what Elizabeth would think. It was a fantastic offer and opportunity, exactly what I had asked of the Lord!

I accepted his offer the following Tuesday and agreed to go through the formalities of testing and interviewing with his company. This allowed for the proper time to tender my resignation with my current company. Word came that the new company had accepted me. I wrote a letter of resignation and planned to hand deliver it to my boss in the morning.

At 9 o’clock the following morning, I slipped the letter into my pocket and started for my boss’s office. As I walked down the hall, the Lord spoke, “Not yet! Don’t give him the letter.”

Obediently, I turned around and headed back to my own office. The next hour passed with anxiety. I had to resign that day so I could start work with the new company.

The plant manager came to my door and announced, “I’m having a meeting in my office at 11 o’clock, and you must be there. Don’t be late.”

I arrived at the meeting and found several department heads in attendance as well. They discussed general plans about production and work conditions, but then the topic turned to me.

“We’re sorry, but we are going to have to eliminate your job. We advise you to start looking elsewhere immediately.” I offered to resign so that I wouldn’t waste company time in a job search.

My boss said, “You need a few days to determine what you’re going to do. Stay here until you find other work.”

They were looking out for my best interest, but they didn’t know the whole story. I told them I would let them know my decision after the weekend.

On Monday I announced I would work the rest of the week, and they should have my final check ready by Friday. Had I turned in my letter of resignation when I first intended, they would have accepted it without giving me severance pay. The Lord prevented me from making this mistake, and I was able to start a new job with more money in the bank.

The Lord asked me to pray specifically about this new job. By doing this, when the job was presented to me, I knew without any doubt that it was the one made especially for me.

Chapter 17

Growing Pains and New Ministry

By 1974 our daughter had almost finished college, was about to enter into her career as a physical therapist, and was contemplating marriage. That spring the company employing my husband surprised us when they asked if he would be interested in a position with them in Guadalajara, Mexico.

We did not take the offer seriously for we were enjoying our lives where we were. Nathan had finished high school; Philip and Mark were enjoying high school and junior high, and both were in marching bands and other musical events. Stephen was overjoyed to be a goalie in a children’s hockey team which was coached by his future brother-in-law.

Who would want to uproot the family and live in Mexico? Fine to visit, but live there? Not us!

A few weeks later the older children attended a youth convention in another city, and we drove there on Sunday to enjoy the final service and bring them home. On that trip, Jesus dealt with us and reminded us that we had not even prayed about the offer. Maybe He had opened that door for us.

After that, we knew we had to find out the truth of the matter. To help us make the decision, we took a trip to Mexico to see the need and ascertain our direction. We said nothing to anyone, not even the family, until we knew for sure. We visited Guadalajara, explored the area, met the people, visited a church, and spent much time alone in prayer. Determining that we had received a call to Mexico, we returned home and began to prepare, planning to move in 1976 to allow time to complete everything necessary.

Wedding Bells

Besides being a year to prepare for a move to Mexico, 1975 was a year for weddings.

We tried to persuade Nathan that he and his fiancée were too young, but they were of legal age and determined to marry. They had no money, but did not desire a formal wedding. On February 14th, with a couple witnesses present, they were married and proceeded to their parents’ homes for pictures and snacks.

Ruth and Tim Kinzie planned their wedding to be two weeks after she graduated from college in April. Even Ruth’s seventy-nine-year-old grandmother helped with the exciting plans. She wanted everything the very best for her Ruth.

We wanted to use a church close by because Tim’s family lived across the street from us. We were able to use a beautiful Brethren church within walking distance of our homes.

April was a busy month. Ruth graduated on April 12th. She was a bridesmaid for a college friend on April 19th and had her own wedding on April 26th.

What a handsome couple they were! Tim looked so happy and proud. We learned later that when he was watching the new family across the street and saw Ruth, he told his mother, “That’s the girl I’m going to marry.”

They have enjoyed a happy Christian marriage, and God has blessed them with three beautiful daughters: twins, Beth, a nurse, and Stephanie, a missionary and teacher in Mexico, and Rebecca, the artist of the family.

A Family of Seven – Now Five

Ruth and I were both used to cooking for our family of seven. Downsizing was especially hard for her. At least once a week I received a call, “Mom, please send a couple of the boys over. Tim doesn’t want leftovers all week.”

Excitement filled the air when we told the three boys of our intended move to Mexico. They were undaunted by the idea of going to a new country, leaving their bands, sports, church, and friends, and learning a new language. My mother would be eighty just before we left, but she could stay in her own home, supervised by my retired brother who lived close by.

Circumstances, however, had changed in Mexico that year, and it appeared that the company’s offer would be suspended. But God had called us, so we had no choice but to continue with our plans. Our house sold quickly, and we planned a garage sale before leaving near the end of June, 1976.

Loaves and Fishes

The last Sunday night we were in our home, a group of young people from a nearby city came to visit us. We had little food in the house, for we did not expect guests. Ruth had made an apple cake, and we had a half gallon of ice cream. What could we do with thirty youth sitting on our living room floor (no furniture left) and the stores closed?

Ruth and her husband had the answer, “If Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever, He can multiply our cake and ice cream just like the loaves and fishes.”

I stayed out of the kitchen (perhaps from lack of faith) as they dished out the dessert. None of the Tolmans partook, but all of the young people had a generous helping, and then the supply ended.

Truly, how often do we have not, because we ask not?

David submitted his resignation to the company, and to his surprise they liked his work, admired his Christian principles, and tried to persuade him to stay. An official of the company would be flying to Toronto to add his voice to the Canadian staff to convince David to remain. The pressures mounted—had we really heard from the Lord?

While at prayer, I received a definite word from Jesus for my husband: the official would arrive the following Monday, but he would become very ill and return home to enter the hospital. Without his presence, the pressure on David would cease.

Monday morning, the official arrived as planned, took ill before lunch, and was driven to the airport to return home on the company jet. Those in the office in Toronto regretfully accepted David’s resignation.

Time flew with the making of all the arrangements for new passports, the home schooling of our three sons, and completing other last minute details.

Philip turned sixteen on June 22, 1976 and came home that afternoon the proud possessor of a driver’s license. This meant he could assist in the driving on the long trip to Guadalajara, Mexico.

Chapter 18

Vaya Con Dios (Go With God)

Traveling with our little trailer piled high with suitcases, home-schooling texts, and a few dishes, pots, and pans intrigued our sons. Extra space inside our small Plymouth station wagon was not available. Philip was tall, while Mark and Stephen took up room in the back seat as well. David rode in the front seat all the time; Philip and I helped with the driving.

In early July, Memphis, Tennessee was HOT. We had no air conditioning and were not accustomed to the heat. We found a room with two double beds: one for my husband and me, and one for Mark and Stephen. Philip used a nylon mesh lounge chair. Nobody wanted supper in the heat, but we purchased two large watermelons and ate them both.

Our most important American stop came several days later in San Antonio, Texas. We knew enough of its history and reputation that we were very interested. We arrived mid-afternoon to look for a motel.

To our horror, there was not one room available in our price range. A convention of Jehovah’s Witnesses had booked all of them in the city.

What were we to do? Then I remembered that our pastor in Toronto, Canada had given us a phone number of a pastor there.

“Please call him when you are in San Antonio,” he said. “He’s a wonderful person. You’ll love him.”

We located a pay phone, and with trepidation I dialed the number. The response was warm and friendly as I explained who we were, who our pastor was, and why we were in San Antonio.

“I have a room in reserve at a motel close to you,” replied Pastor John Bell. He gave us directions and told us that he and his wife would come and meet us at 7:00 p.m. We drove up to a nice motel, a step up from the ones we had used thus far, and much to the joy of our hot sons, there was a swimming pool on the grounds.

We were clean and refreshed when they drove up. Brother Bell, tall, slim, and white haired, introduced his small, dark-haired wife, Ruth. She took one penetrating look at the five of us and exclaimed, “Praise God! This meeting is of Him. You will become part of us, and we shall become an integral part of your ministry.” We could feel the anointing of the Lord on these people and knew her words were true and inspired.

We chatted for a while, and then Brother Bell spoke just before they left, “The Lord wants me to tell you that you must stay with us for another four or five days. Severe storms will be passing through northern Mexico where you will be traveling, and you will be in danger with your small vehicle. You shall stay here in the motel, and our church will look after your expenses for lodging and food. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I shall expect you to be in church for both services. I want my people to get to know you.”

To experience such love and kindness was so unexpected that I began to weep. Sister Bell put her arms around me and whispered, “You are in the will of God, and time alone will reveal the wonderful plans He has for you and these fine dedicated sons.”

Their services the next day flowed in the Spirit of God, and the friendliness of the people was contagious. We left on the morning of the fifth day to cross the border into Mexico at Laredo, Texas.

As we drove south from Laredo, standing water in the villages and along the sides of the highway showed us there had been violent storms while we were patiently waiting in San Antonio. We spent a cool but comfortable night in Saltillo, Coahuila, Mexico and headed southward toward our destination, Guadalajara, Jalisco the next morning.

Our sons had never seen mountains before and were spellbound as we wound our way through the narrow passes and around the dangerous curves.

A very basic home-made utility trailer built on a VW sedan frame had been given to us before we left Canada. As we soon learned, on the rough Mexican roads, its rattles announced our arrival with loud jingle-jangles. This brought the housewives running to the street with their garbage buckets. Our jingle-jangles sounded like the garbage trucks used in many of the towns and cities we passed through. What a laugh we had!

Stephen’s Birthday

We settled in our newly rented home in Guadalajara only a month before Stephen’s twelfth birthday. To say our funds were limited was an understatement. Because of a drastic devaluation of the Mexican peso soon after our arrival, David’s chance of employment was terminated. We had no promised support money, but God assured us that He was our source.

Stephen had only two requests for his birthday: a cake from a Mexican bakery and a small model airplane to assemble. These very modest requests were impossible to supply.

Stephen had no worries; he had a friend who never failed. “Don’t worry, Mom,” he encouraged, “Jesus told me that everything would be alright.”

We sat down to eat our regular Mexican dinner consisting of beans and tortillas. The cool misty rain outside did little to bring sunshine into my heart. At 2:20 p.m. as we were finishing, Stephen clapped his hands and said, “Now for my cake!”

I almost burst into tears when I heard someone tapping on our gate. Who could it be? The only family we knew would not be out at this time in the rain. As I ran outside, I could see a taxi parked in front of the gate, and with a large umbrella the driver shielded two ladies carrying something covered with a large white cloth.

One of them inquired if someone inside had a birthday. I stammered out, “Yes, my son is twelve years old today.”

She smiled and thrust the covered pan into my trembling hands. Before I could ask who they were, they were gone.

With tears streaming down my face, I returned to the house and unwrapped the most beautiful cake I had ever seen. It was huge with many layers and creamy icing in the layers and covering the top. To make it extra special, rows and rows of cherries decorated the top—Stephen’s favorite.

Stephen’s grin was infectious. “I told you my friend promised me a cake, but you wouldn’t believe me.”

Later that evening a missionary couple came to visit. They brought Stephen his model airplane and shared some of the cake with us. What an increase in faith we experienced!

Today, even though Stephen’s children are grown, when I visit them at their mission station in Mexico, they say, “Grandma, please tell us again about Dad’s miracle birthday cake. That story is so-o-o neat.”

The next day I visited the bakery that was a few blocks from our house. I recognized the owner as one of the women that had come the previous day. She was friendly and pointed out a large beautiful house a few doors away. “There’s where the Senora lives who ordered the cake,” she explained.

I rang the doorbell, and a servant answered and beckoned me in. As I waited in the beautiful living room, an attractive young woman, whom I also recognized, entered smiling. She spoke excellent English.

“Thank you so much for the beautiful and delicious cake you brought yesterday,” I said. “Please tell me how you knew our son was celebrating a birthday and had prayed for a cake?”

She looked confused. “I didn’t know about your son. I just knew there were some foreigners who had moved there recently, but nothing more.” Then she went on to explain, “I was feeding my two year old daughter and felt a voice speaking to me. The voice told me to go to the bakery and order specifically that kind of cake, complete with cherries, and take it to your home for dinner time. It seemed strange, but so real that I had to obey. Who spoke to me?”

I explained about Stephen’s request for a cake from a bakery and his love of cherries, along with his complete and sincere faith that Jesus had heard and answered his prayer. She was tender and touched as I explained that the Lord usually works through people who are listening to His still small voice and are obedient. She was on her way out, so I left, and at home strengthened the faith of our family as I recounted my visit.

This was the last time I saw her. In two weeks she and her family had moved to Mexico City because of a family emergency. She was in our neighborhood, listening to a voice she could feel, in time to provide the answer to our son’s prayer.

Schooling and Moving

First and foremost my main task in the home was schooling. To take three intelligent and ambitious young men to a different country, with different customs, and a different language and not prepare them for their future occupations would not have been fair.

Neighbors across the street who were multilingual soon learned that our sons were responsible, friendly, and kind. They loved to go out a night or two a week, but had little success with baby sitters. Philip asked for the job and was soon earning spending money and being tutored in Spanish. Mark and Stephen found friends also, and their Spanish rapidly advanced.

One day the three of them were walking a few blocks from home carrying tennis racquets, hoping to find a park with a tennis court. No such luck! A car pulled up beside them, and a Mexican lawyer asked if they would like to use his private court.

They were amazed, but followed him a few blocks where he had not only a tennis court but a fronton court as well. He lived a block away, so he took them to his home and gave Philip a key to the area.

“Anytime I’m not using the courts you are welcome,” he said, “and I might even come and see if you can beat me.” What an opportunity!!

Philip and David made a quick trip to the border when they heard that a van had arrived with a few of our goods inside. When they returned, we all had our own bicycles again, mattresses for our beds, and a few more household goods.

I struggled to teach some of Philip’s grade 12 subjects. We had no lab for physics or chemistry, and some of the work in those subjects and the math were beyond me. At times we knelt beside the bed with the texts laid open before us and literally prayed, “Lord, you are the author of all knowledge. Please teach us to understand this section of study.”

A few weeks later a young man with a degree in math and physics arrived at the language school David attended. He was glad to tutor Philip. By the month of May all three of my students received their grades from Canada and had done well. Praise the Lord and thank you, Jesus, for your help.

At that time Ontario, Canada had a five year high school program. Philip desired to do the grade 13 level which I was not comfortable teaching. He earned enough money to fly to Canada and became a member of Tim and Ruth’s family in Kitchener. He returned to a new high school and became captain of the senior football team.

He also began a weekly morning Bible study that grew from filling a small room to filling a much larger one. He did not talk of his successes, and several years passed before we knew that he had won a cup as the best all-around student for that year. He knew then, and knows now, how to shine for Jesus!

Once again, after we discovered that our landlord needed our house for his daughter, we had to move. Some other missionaries were leaving Mexico which allowed us to rent a larger house in a good area, close to transportation and shops. The house had space for a sewing room, a bedroom for the two boys, a school room, and a small apartment at the back of the second floor. David had a small study on the main floor along with a living room, dining room, and kitchen.

We learned a neat trick. On the night before garbage collection in the wealthier areas, people often put good things out to be taken away. We found a dining room table that still serves the Bible school here in Tepic today. We also found an excellent sofa with incredible springs and frame, which has been covered three times, and sits in our living room now. Kitchen utensils, flower urns, and many other items were free for the taking and useful.

Chapter 19

Praying, Listening, Obeying

Shortly after we moved, a group of young people asked David to drive them to the city of Colima near the Pacific coast for special youth services. As it was a long drive on a narrow two lane road through the mountains, he promised me that he would stay overnight and drive home the following day.

That night it was Stephen’s turn to pray. During his prayer he asked Jesus to protect Dad as he drove home in the night on the dangerous road. After his prayer, I told him that his Dad had promised not to drive home at night.

Stephen was adamant, “Jesus told me that one of the young people had lied. If she was not at her work tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m., she would lose her job. He had agreed to leave and will be here at 3:00 a.m.” At 3:00 a.m. I heard the car honk outside and went down to open the gate for my exhausted husband. Stephen knew God’s voice.

Dismissal

We attended a church we had encountered on our exploratory trip in 1975. We desired to help teach, but, with the exception of a few instances, nothing seemed to open up. I learned that in the church, women were made to be seen and not heard. Men sat on one side of the building, and women with their large families and many small children sat undisciplined on the other side. When my husband spoke, he was given a microphone; when I spoke, I had to shout to be heard.

“You people don’t really fit here,” the pastor said. “Your ideas are too radical, and you do not understand our ways. There is a young pastor on the other side of the city who has strange ideas like you. I think you would get along with him.”

The next Sunday we drove to the northern part of the city, called Zapopan, where we found a small cement block building. A couple of bicycles were parked outside but no cars.

The pastor ran out weeping as he approached us, “I saw you last night,” he cried. “I had a dream. I was so discouraged I was ready to leave and go to the States again to work. The Lord showed me the four of you clearly and said he was sending you to help and encourage me.”

Although Mexican born, Jesus Sarabia had worked several years in the harvest in California. His heart’s desire was to evangelize and teach his own people. He had begun this work several years before, but he only had seventeen loyal members. Still, he knew he was where God wanted him to be.

We attended his two services, and although the people were very poor, their worship was rich and genuine, and we felt the presence of the Lord. That momentous beginning carried on for many productive years, until Brother Sarabia died in a car accident in 1993.

How good it was to be ministering and have apt and eager pupils who had an insatiable appetite for the word of God. I taught the ladies’ Sunday school class. David taught the men’s classes and ministered in other services. Until our Spanish improved, Brother Sarabia interpreted for us. We obtained Spanish video teaching tapes that covered many needy areas for the youth and adults alike.

David majored in teaching the “each one, reach one” concept, and that quickly caught on. You made a friend by being friendly. You invited your friend to church, and they became one with you. Then the two of you worked together, and each brought a friend.

It was so simple; they accepted and practiced it daily. 1+1=2; 2+2=4; 4+4=8; 8+8=16 and, thus, the church grew and grew with youth, families, and singles until it was literally bulging at the seams.

Neighbors asked a policeman to check and see why there was so much noise and the singing so loud. He came as requested, walked to the front, and surrendered his life to Jesus.

Another night a man, filthy from lying in the gutters and staggering from drinking, entered and literally crawled to the front. I was playing my accordion, and he fell down close by. The stench from his unwashed body was overpowering, but I stayed.

Halfway through the preaching God touched him. He stood up, steady, odor free, and praising Jesus at the top of his voice. Within two years he finished our Bible School classes and began his own church in another part of the city. He was fifty years old at the time of his conversion.

The New Church

A new building was essential. Thankfully, several years prior to this, Brother Sarabia had purchased a piece of land on a corner, a few blocks from the old church.

This corner lot was an ideal location and would be within walking distance for most of the people. To them it was nothing to walk one or two kilometers over rough lava rock roads.

The church continued to grow as did the construction of the new building. Several of the men took much time away from their work, and one brother actually trusted the Lord to supply the needs for his large family as he worked on the building for ten or more hours each day. In the meantime the evangelism by the members continued, and teaching on the value and means of true praise and worship brought new life to the congregation.

Comments from some of the other pastors and church members in the area were amusing. “What’s Brother Sarabia think he’s doing? He’ll never fill a church that size with people. I think he’s going to build us a conference center.”

The building continued until the day when, with a simple roof in place, deep sand for a floor, and many boards arranged on stone blocks for extra seats, the new church opened. The congregation that overflowed two services in the old building began to fill up the large vacant space in the new one. Watching the finishing process brought great joy.

The ladies were given a small amount of talent money each Sunday and challenged to double it by the following Sunday. Many set a table outside their humble homes and sold simple evening meals. Others brought remnants of fabric and hand sewn clothing and doilies for others to sell. Their responsibility was to provide money for the floor.

The men worked with a professional carpenter who was a new member of the church. They worked extra jobs and bought wood. They made sturdy and attractive pews which were stained and varnished. Others laid the cement base for the tile floor.

They were proud as the building was readied for the formal dedication. It was their church, a church of sacrificial giving and working, and they took care of it. The men sanded and varnished the beautiful new pews, installing them as soon as the varnish was dry. So many hours of work had gone into them that the men checked the children regularly during service to make sure they kept their feet off the back of the benches in front of them.

Anyone who was caught sticking chewing gum under the seat, regardless of age, had to check all the pews and clean off all gum that they found as their ‘punishment.’ The mockers who asked if the pastor was building a convention center were amazed when it became necessary for two separate services each Sunday afternoon because of the sheer number of attendees. God gave Pastor Sarabia a dream and fulfilled it.

Chapter 20

Church Growth and Outreach

In addition to the phenomenal growth in Pastor Sarabia’s church, many changes took place in the family that had accompanied us to Mexico. We trained new leaders and helped new groups grow from his expanding congregation. Home meetings were being started in every section of greater Guadalajara where a small nucleus of believers could assemble. Each group met once a week with a Sunday school and adult Bible class.

The newly trained leaders were sent to the different areas to work with the members, and on Sunday afternoons all were encouraged to attend the main church in addition to a weekly night service if possible.

As soon as a group had fifty tithing members, their leader became their official pastor, and the group looked for property to build their own church, or they’d find a suitable building to rent. They became a separate entity in close fellowship with the main church. Their pastors and other leaders attended the Bible school classes. This involved a lot of teaching material and time but was successful and provided room for newcomers.

Meanwhile, Philip finished his courses in Canada, saved money for an inexpensive six-week tour of Europe, and returned to the United States to complete a year of Bible School.

We traveled to some supporting churches in the United States and also visited Philip in Ft. Worth, Texas. He was working hard to complete his Bible school curriculum as a foreigner without status to work in the United States. He prayed and God provided.

With the large grounds around the church and school, he found employment in the constant maintenance of the property. He had always loved to cook, and the other young men in his dorm paid him to do the cooking of their main meal of the day. One job paid for books and tuition, the other for his food needs.

While with him, we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. We couldn’t afford a special dinner, but we did have a wonderful evening roller skating. With the permission of the pastor, the church rented a roller skating arena one Friday night each month, and Christians were invited to join them, skating with Christian music and activities.

The last vocation Philip wanted was to be a missionary, especially in Mexico, knowing the rough road we had traveled. He considered a medical career with hopes of working in the remote areas of Northern Canada. While completing high school in Canada, he had earned his pilot’s license, and all he needed was medical education and a plane.

However, the Lord had different plans for him. One morning during prayer, he felt an over-powering love for Mexico and the Mexican people. This love was so strong that his plans for the future seemed far off track. He began a forty-day fast to obtain confirmation for such an important decision.

Finally, on the last day of his fast the Lord confirmed to him that he was to become a missionary to Mexico. In all of his excitement he was eager to tell us and received permission to visit us for a week. Without notifying us, he set out on the long journey, traveling many hours to the Mexican border, and then fifteen more hours to Guadalajara.

One morning I heard someone at our front gate. I looked out and saw a youth I didn’t immediately recognize. It was Philip. He had no money for a taxi, and it was too early for the city buses, so he had walked three miles from the terminal to our house. He was so thin I was devastated, but welcomed him with open arms.

David and I rejoiced that he would be near us. His plans were to go to the city of Tepic, Nayarit, about four hours from our home. He intended to work under a fine Mexican pastor with a thriving church to improve his Spanish and have hands on experience with the Mexican youth.

Traveling With Sons

In the meantime, our son Mark had finished his high school courses with high honors and was headed for a year of Bible school in the United States. We had requested that all three boys spend at least a year in a Bible school in the United States to help them relate to the culture they had been away from.

After much prayer and deliberation, he decided to go to Gateway Bible College in St. Louis, Missouri.

At this time we were driving a Chevy diesel pickup, but needed another small car to cover the different services and the times when we went in different directions. We headed toward Canada to see our mothers and our two children who still lived there. This was to be our last trip for the five of us.

When we arrived in Canada, we were thrilled to find a person who wanted to provide the needed car! We visited a Volkswagon agency in Toronto and there, for a good price, was a nice bright green Volkswagon Rabbit diesel. We bought the car and parted ways. David and Mark took the pickup and visited some churches and a couple of camp meetings en route to St. Louis.

Philip had promised he would stop in Ft. Worth for his belongings and help with an interchurch youth camp near Weatherford, Texas. Stephen opted to come with us in the new car, and we parted company in Indiana.

As usual we had limited funds, so we decided to find a reasonable motel near St. Louis where we could get some breakfast, leave early to take the car for its first warranty check in St. Louis, and get well into Arkansas that next night. We found a dealership that would handle the warranty check for us. They told us to come back for the car about mid-afternoon.

All three of us walked along the edge of the road because there were no sidewalks. We were hot, dusty, and perspiring profusely when we saw the buffet style restaurant that one of the mechanics had suggested. The prices were excellent, and we were famished. We washed up, prayed, and headed to the buffet. I thought I was eating a lot, but my sons were so hungry I was ready to move to another table. The waiters were watching closely as they made trip after trip back for more platefuls. They had been trained to clean their plates before asking for seconds, and their plates were sparkling clean. I lost count of their returns.

Finally, Philip discovered the love of his life—ice cream. In Bible school it was not included in his food allowance, and in Mexico none of us could afford it. Back they went, again and again until I threatened to leave without them.

We arrived back for the car and met the irate mechanics and manager. We had made a major mistake. Because of the danger of car theft in Mexico, David had devised a cutoff switch that tied in with one of the controls on the dash. We had forgotten to show them the secret turnoff switch which we had automatically set when we parked the car. After a futile search, they literally had to pick up the car and move it when they worked on it. Since it was a free service, they gave us frosty, curt replies as we thanked them for their work.

We headed south on I-44 through Missouri. I took over the driving until I heard a siren behind me and pulled over. The young state trooper was surprised to see a small family and asked me how fast I was driving.

Forgetting that our Canadian car was in metric kilometers instead of miles, I calmly replied, “125, sir.”

He obviously knew nothing about the metric system. “I clocked you at 75 miles per hour,” he replied. “Go ahead, and please slow down.”

Thanking him, we turned toward Arkansas as soon as possible. We drove along the winding highway and hills until we came to a small motel. The owner was friendly, the rooms were reasonable, but there was no restaurant or shop in the village. As it was late and the boys were hungry, our kind hostess made them each a grilled cheese sandwich. We slept soundly until morning.

Five hours later we arrived at the Bible school dorms. We had a good meal and knew for a few days our financial worries were over. Stephen was to be a camper, and Philip and I would be paid workers.

The camp was excellent with co-operative campers and outstanding staff. The three of us enjoyed ourselves, but our hearts were in Mexico. As we packed the little Rabbit for Mexico, the sides bulged with our regular luggage and much of Philip’s accumulation from school. We crossed the border without a search, but with a few dollars of tips. The customs officers on the Mexican side marveled how three adults and all those possessions could fit in one small vehicle.

The little loaded car proved its worth for economy and power as we climbed the mountains toward home which was nearly 6,000 feet above sea level. Diesel fuel was very cheap in Mexico compared to the Canadian and American prices, so our costs to return to Guadalajara were minimal.

Philip Flies

Philip prepared to begin his calling. A pastor in Tepic wanted him to work in his church, helping with praise and worship and the youth. A couple in the church offered him a little apartment at the back of their nice house, and gave him part-time work in the Volkswagon agency.

Philip was content and busy in Tepic, but he missed flying. He sometimes walked to the airport to see the planes and talk to the pilots.

One day a Mexican air force officer came up to him and asked his name. “I understand that you are a pilot,” he stated. “Do you drink? Do you need a woman in your life?”

Philip was puzzled about what was happening; he knew it was more than a casual curiosity and answered a decisive NO to all.

“I am the pilot for the state governor,” he announced. “Right now we are looking for a new man to take the place of his co-pilot. He has turned up drunk several times and has a woman in every stop. I have observed you for several weeks and talked with some of your friends. You are very different, and I like your attitude. Please come with me. I shall teach you how to fly his two engine plane.”

Within days Philip was flying with the pilot and sometimes flying the plane alone. He learned the location of many hidden airstrips in the mountain villages and many of the safety measures necessary for flying in the mountains. We did not realize at the time how useful this information would become to the ministry.

One morning Philip called and told us he planned to spend the night with us in Guadalajara. What a treat! The day passed, however, without him showing up. Late afternoon and evening brought no sign of him, and we became worried. What had happened? Why hadn’t he notified us of a change of his plans? We phoned Tepic and found out that he had been driven to the bus depot in the morning, and as far as they knew, should have been in Guadalajara around noon.

At the insistence of Brother Sarabia, we went to the police station, leaving a group of our friends praying at the house. Never had I experienced the tension and sorrow as we described him and showed his picture to the officer in charge of missing persons.

“Don’t get your hopes too high,” he said. “He’s a foreigner in a position usually given to Mexicans, and that alone puts him in a dangerous place with many jealous people.” He promised to begin a search and keep in touch with us. We returned home and began a prayer vigil.

Morning brought no answers or relief. Phone calls were unanswered. We drove to Brother Sarabia’s church where many of our friends gathered; some of them had prayed all night. We wearily joined them as Brother Sarabia went to the office to answer the phone. He came to me with tears in his eyes.

“Philip has been found. He will soon be in Guadalajara, and you must make arrangements.” What could we interpret from this strange message? Was Philip dead and we had to arrange for his body? With the numbness of extreme sorrow, we returned to our home to await further instructions.

Late at night we heard a knock at our gate, and Philip vaulted the wall and entered the room.

“PHILIP,” we screamed as we threw our arms around him. He seemed shocked at the greeting from his normally reserved parents, until we explained what had happened. When we had become coherent he told his side of the story.

Before he could board the bus, the governor’s pilot arrived at the bus depot and told Philip he had to fly the governor to Mexico City. Philip called the house where he lived and asked them to inform us that his plans had changed. The servant forgot to make the call.

Near Mexico City they encountered dense fog and were forced to land in a small airport about fifty miles away. The pilot and governor drove to Mexico City and asked him to stay and guard the valuable plane.

He requested that they contact us and tell us what had happened. By the time they reached Mexico City, they had forgotten. Just to be sure, Philip tried to place a call from the small airport but could not get through to our home.

The next morning he took a bus to Guadalajara. He arrived late and was shocked to hear the reason for our incredible greeting. After this, jealous pilots threatened his life, and he stopped flying for the governor. The Lord had something better for his future, his training, and his knowledge of mountain flying and hidden airports.

Our Growing Family

Stephen was lonely without his two brothers, but behind our house was an old motel unit, home to some University students. He had been watching them play soccer in the yard and decided to introduce himself. They invited him to join.

Fernando, one of these boys, came to our door very late one night. He was bruised, had several shallow wounds and was shaking so much he could hardly talk. His brother had lent him a car to help him get to his classes. The police had stopped him because he had out-of-state plates and no letter giving him permission to drive the vehicle. Rather than call his parents, they began to beat him to get him to confess to car theft.

Finally they gave up, called his home and set him free. He was afraid to go to his room and was at our door to ask if he could spend the night with Stephen. Fernando was a fine Christian youth and begged us to let him live with us.

Our family of three was now four and, unknown to us, was about to increase again. After hearing a knock at the gate, David let an American couple in. They were about our age and also shaking from fright. They came to Guadalajara to study at a Spanish language school close to our house. They had only known Jesus a short time, but desired to do mission work in Mexico.

When they entered the hall that led to their apartment that night, a stranger with a gun threatened them. Someone came into the building, scared the robber and he fled. They were frightened, had heard we were missionaries and asked to spend the night. We had a small upstairs apartment that we didn’t need. The next morning, we agreed to rent it to them and to supply their breakfast and the main meal of the day. They needed safer quarters, and we needed extra money. All was well.

Carl told us that he had been an American Air Force officer in a paratroop group in Vietnam. He had a problem with his parachute opening and was injured during a jump, but survived. He was sent home to America on an inclining stretcher and told he would never walk again.

He was completely healed in a Christian healing campaign. Within days he and his wife were saved, Spirit filled and led to go to Mexico to become workers for Christ.

At times it is unusual walking with Jesus, as we never know where He will lead us. Now we were a family of six. I was cooking, cleaning and washing for all of us, homeschooling Stephen in his last year of high school and teaching women’s groups in several churches. We all worked well together.

David spent several hours a week teaching our newest guests the Bible truths and doctrines they had never known. Fernando helped me with some of Stephen’s advanced sciences and mathematics, and best of all, our financial woes were settled since our boarders were willing and able to pay.

One night after I returned from a service, David recounted an interesting event. A young banker and his wife from Tepic, whom we had known for several years, had been transferred to Guadalajara. They befriended a new neighbor, a single mother with two teenagers. She appeared to have little money, so they ran an electric wire to her house for lights. They testified to her of the love and care of Jesus.

That night she stated that she wanted to become a true Christian, but they were stumped as to how to pray with her. They brought her to David, who was able to minister to her and pray with her as she dedicated her life to Jesus,

What a change! Her past forgiven and set free from binding habits, she obtained a position with a foreign office in Guadalajara. This position provided a car and sufficient funds to meet her needs and pay her children’s college expenses. My husband baptized her a few weeks later, and she is still one of our closest friends in Guadalajara.

More Than We Can Ask or Think!

I was alone in the house one day when the phone rang. I answered, and an unknown woman’s voice asked if I were Elizabeth Tolman and did my husband have a pilot’s license? I suspected this to be a crank call, but the voice was sincere, and the language was English.

Cautiously I replied, “My husband does not fly a plane, but my son Philip does.”

“Praise the Lord,” she answered. “I knew I heard right from the Lord, but just had the wrong person. Could you use a plane in your ministry?”

I was completely taken by surprise. “I must talk to my husband,” I said. “Give me your number, and I shall call you this afternoon.”

David was amazed and quickly phoned Philip. “Have you been praying for a plane?” he asked.

“Why yes, I have. There are many places where we could enter much faster and safer than these third class buses. Brother Sarabia has even mentioned what a blessing a plane would be. He has contacts in isolated communities where encouragement is needed and others where the Gospel has never been preached.”

Needless to say, we called back and set up a date when Philip and I would fly to their home in Ohio. He would stay and learn how to fly their tail-dragger plane. I would stay with him a few days, fly the short distance to visit my mother in Ontario, Canada, and then return to Mexico. They paid for our tickets, and in a few days we would be on our way.

Philip and I prepared to go. We had tickets for a comfortable flight from Guadalajara to Dallas, to Chicago, and then into Cleveland, Ohio. We expected to arrive about 4:00 p.m., and Sister Martin promised to be at the airport to meet us.

Our plane was late leaving Guadalajara, but we weren’t concerned. Little did we realize that we would not have another meal for almost twenty-four hours. Airline people were waiting to inform us that our plane to Chicago was already loading. We ran, Philip carrying our two suitcases and me trailing behind. It was useless; before we covered the long distance to our next flight, the plane had moved onto the runway.

What were we to do? There appeared to be no other flights available; we were hungry and had no money. We were told that we could get a flight to St. Louis and pick up a flight to Cleveland from there. We arrived in St. Louis.

Knowing that the airport was close to the Bible school Mark was attending, and that he worked in the kitchen, we thought he could borrow a car and bring us something to eat. He agreed to try to get us something from the kitchen. The hardest part was to convince him that we were actually in St. Louis.

Mark arrived with a brown paper bag that we hoped contained FOOD. He seemed almost ashamed to hand it to us. “It’s all I could find,” he explained. “The kitchen was locked, but I knew where there was a secret tunnel that opened near the dessert counters.”

In the bag were about two dozen chocolate chip cookies. Not a really balanced diet, but we divided them up and even gave two to Mark. After visiting a bit, Mark went back to the dorm; our flight was to leave at nine o’clock.

As we ascended, I had a tremendous headache and noticed other passengers rubbing their temples as well. Soon there was an announcement that we were returning to St. Louis because the cabin had lost pressure.

Two hours later we boarded again. At least we were safe, and hopefully no luggage had fallen out. This take-off went well, but at midnight we slid to a landing in Cleveland in the midst of an off-lake winter blizzard.

Sister Martin was waiting for us and took us to an all-night truck stop for something to eat, but it was closed due to the blizzard. We drove fifty miles to our destination, which took two hours because of the storm. By then we were so tired that food held no interest, so we opted for sleep instead.

We awoke in the morning to delicious smells coming up the stairs from the big farmhouse cook stove. The snow was still falling, although the blizzard had subsided.

Obviously, Philip would do no flying for several days, until the small runways were clear. I promised to keep in touch, and a friend drove me back to Cleveland to take the flight to Toronto, to the delightful surprise of my eighty-five-year-old mother.

“The blessing of the Lord makes rich and adds no sorrow with it.” What a blessing that winter storm was for me! It was a week before I could get a ticket for my return flight, so I was able to see my entire family still living in the area and enjoy some beautiful snowy weather.

Flying and Ministry in Mexico

Brother Sarabia was thrilled to have a plane at his disposal. He hoped to visit churches each week to teach and evangelize. It was hard to inform him that it cost over eleven dollars an hour to fly the plane, plus many places had landing and parking fees. We set up a schedule of places to go—places where time and almost non-existent roads made travel complicated.

Philip’s experience and the teachings of the Governor’s pilot had already paved the way. He was known in many areas and had been trained in short takeoffs and landings to which this tail dragger plane was suited.

He had flown into many mountain areas to deliver supplies for Conasupo, a government agency that supplied the needs of isolated communities. The great God we serve knows the future, and when we listen to Him, He has already gone ahead and opened the way.

One of the trips I was able to take with Philip was very different and interesting. David had an appointment with some churches in the areas of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico and El Paso, Texas. Philip calculated that we could fly cheaper in the Cessna 180 than a commercial flight, so that’s what we decided to do.

We planned to stay on the United States side for the safety of the plane, but had to stop in Ciudad Juarez to register our flight out of Mexico. The temperature on the ground was about 107º F, and the hot air rising from the ground wanted to keep the plane in the air. At last, we were safely down; all the paper work was in order, and we crossed to El Paso without incident.

Two days later we left David and started the return trip to Tepic. What a hassle when we arrived in Juarez! We were searched and searched again and then had to go through immigration.

They fired questions at Philip. What is your name? Where were you born? South Africa. What is your citizenship? Canadian. Where do you live? Tepic, Nayarit, Mexico. Where is the plane registered? Houston, Texas.

Mentiroso, mentiroso,” (liar, liar) the officer screamed so loudly that people were staring at us. “It is impossible to have papers from all these places. You must give us this stolen plane and get out of here before you are jailed.”

We had no money for the bribes they wanted, but were not ready to let them have the plane. What could we do but pray? The officer was still very angry, but finally, to save face, he told us to leave quickly and never come back again.

We had meant to fill up with fuel but didn’t want to linger. Philip decided we could make it to the city of Durango where we had friends. This northern area of Chihuahua and our map for visual flight showed a few scattered small lakes. On the ground, there were lakes everywhere because of the recent storm.

My co-piloting was put to the test. We encountered some rough weather, thunderstorms that put us off course. When were radioed ahead, we were informed that Durango was closed, but we could land and refuel in Torreon.

We wasted no time, and with good instructions flew straight home to Guadalajara. We tossed about in the heavy clouds of an approaching storm but managed to land. We tied the plane down just as high winds, hail, and rain struck the airport.

How we praised the Lord for His excellent timing and safety! A friend had received our call from Torreon and was waiting to take us to our home; we were soaking wet, but safe. Jesus never fails when we trust in Him.

Evangelizing With the Cessna

From north to south and east to west, Philip piloted David and Brother Sarabia for revivals and teachings. After three years, however, changes came to our peaceful areas.

Philip flew to Guadalajara for some parts and business, and we had gone to meet him. We sat on a grassy hillside as Philip landed, but to our shock, armed soldiers surrounded him and led him away. Just recovering from a heart problem, David did not need this. I ran down to see what was happening.

Philip and I were shoved into the back seat of their vehicle while a guard in the front seat kept his gun on us. When we arrived at the police station, we learned that we would not be held; they just wanted the plane. We were to leave as quickly as possible, say nothing about what had happened, and go to Guadalajara.

Philip called the Tepic airport and informed the commander there what had happened. He was given instructions but told not to tell us or anyone else. It was very wise because there would have been no sleep for us that night.

Before sunrise Philip took a bus to Magdalena where the soldiers were stationed. As he had been informed, it appeared that all the soldiers were sound asleep. With his extra set of keys, he quietly went to the open hangar and wheeled the plane out onto the grass runway.

He jumped in, took off, and was airborne and out of shooting range as the first soldiers awoke and realized what had happened. He did not stop until he landed in his home base of Tepic, and the plane was put under heavy guard in the hangar. Only then did he call to tell us what had happened. Another miraculous rescue!

Shortly after this there was an escalation of violence in the country. The drug trade flourished, anti-American sentiment rose, and we learned that some small planes with American lettering had been shot down.

The Lord had warned us that this blessing would only be for a few years, and we realized that the time had come to take the plane back to its home in the United States. Philip crossed the border without incident and sold the plane.

Family - Mexico

Chapter 21

Miscellaneous Christmas Memories

The Pity Party

As I sit here in my house in Camichin de Jauja on Christmas Eve, 2011, memories of Christmases past are stirred. These memories are as vivid as the days when they happened. I am told that with age memories of the past become clearer and better. This is one advantage of being house-bound on Christmas Eve, but happy and useful to Jesus.

We had lived in our own house for two years, and we appreciated the many advantages of home ownership, including not being evicted as houses were sold. We lived closer to the new home of Brother Sarabia, and several times a week he came to receive more Bible teaching and prayer. This particular year was more difficult and different than any others.

Philip was involved in Christmas activities in Tepic where he had moved after Bible school. Mark and Stephen were in Canada, and a serious situation there made it imperative for David to fly to them a few days earlier.

The day before Christmas I was having a serious “pity party.” Never had I imagined being alone for Christmas. Our celebrations had varied from African to Canadian to Mexican, but alone, never!

I grumbled and mumbled and every minute the situation grew worse. When the phone rang and I went to answer, I was in no mood to break off my negative reaction to the situation.

It was Brother Sarabia. “I have a flat tire and no spare. An elderly woman wants to be baptized this afternoon and have a special supper at her home afterwards. She lives about forty-five minutes away in San Esteban. Could you possibly drive us there and bring your accordion? We need some singing.”

What could I say? In spite of everything, the cloud lightened to a subtle gray but still remained. I put on warmer clothes as San Esteban was over 6000 feet above sea level, and it was already quite cool in Guadalajara.

As I wound my way up the mountain sides on a narrow, lava rock road, the view far below was spectacular. My mood lifted with the altitude. When we reached San Esteban, a small group of believers with a very elderly woman stood at the side of the road.

She was so excited and smiling, but I was horrified as I saw the steep mountain path we had to descend to the stream below. It was so cold we could see our breath. How cold would the water be in that mountain stream? One of the brothers carried my accordion, and about twenty of us stumbled and slid down to the stream’s edge.

Brother Sarabia winced as he stepped into the water, but not the elderly woman. She was ecstatic. She was in no hurry to leave the water as she emerged from baptism, but stood with her hands raised, worshiping and filled with the Holy Spirit. When we returned to the road, we insisted that she ride in the car in spite of her wet clothes.

We drove the mile to her home. It was a small, low, adobe one-roomed house with a mud floor. I had to bend low to enter the door, and again as I emerged from the unlit house to the small sandy yard at the back. Outside was a rickety table covered with two dusty sacks for a cloth.

A group of adults were watching us, as well as a group of runny nosed, dirty, and poorly clad children. Balancing on an unsteady stool, I glanced to my left and saw a small lean-to with a few chickens, two malnourished cows, and a ragged, aged donkey. Two small naked boys sat and enjoyed all that was happening.

How could I eat? What was inside those so-called tamales? I could only guess. At this point Jesus spoke to me clearly.

He stated, “The stable where I was born for you was like this one, not like the clean and odor-free ones in your churches and plazas. The flies buzzed around Me and those with Me. Our donkey was tired, dirty, and hungry.

“Was there grumbling and complaining? No! All were rejoicing and praising God for My birth—My parents and the tired shepherds that had run to see Me after receiving a message from an angel. How can you not praise Me in this place?

“An old lady soon to be with Me is ready and will rejoice to see Me before you do. One soul is worth more than the whole world, and you are not willing to suffer even a little inconvenience for Me. Repent of your attitude, My daughter. You are Mine. You promised to do as I direct and praise Me in all situations.”

Tears were streaming down my face as I picked up my accordion and led out with praises from my heart for Jesus. Brother Sarabia also felt a special message from the Lord, and we wept together. It was a Christmas Eve never to be forgotten. Although not the last I would spend alone, never would I forget the situations of His birth, wrapped in swaddling clothes in a humble stall and manger for me.

Out With the Sheep

On another Christmas I was not alone, and we did manage to return to our home for Christmas Day. It started with a phone call from Philip, who was now married with two wonderful children—Damara, age five, and Simri, eighteen months.

He had planned an adventurous trip through the high Sierras, northwest of where we lived. He and his wife and several young people planned to visit two or three remote villages where there were small churches with no pastors, with the goal of bringing them together with other believers. Some of the youth and his two children would ride in the truck with us.

We agreed. A week before Christmas we drove to Tepic in our Ford pickup and took the whole group to Huajicori where we would part company for five days. We were to meet again at Llano Grande for Sunday services and, hopefully, baptisms as well.

Our first challenge was to drive across the rather wide Acamponeta River. The ford was not marked. A kind villager offered to lead the way; we followed closely to avoid treacherously deep water. Proceeding on the dirt road, we made our way to the small mountain village where we spent the night.

When seeing the facilities, or rather the lack of them, we opted to sleep inside the truck with the two children. The five young people slept on top of a corn bin outside the small cottage.

In the morning we heard there had been unseasonable rains further up the mountains, and the clay-sand road was very dangerous. It was before cell phones, and we had no way of contacting Philip, so onward we went.

The dangerous possibility of the truck going over the edge was very real. There were many times when everyone except David got out of the vehicle. The rains had created great gouges in the road. The mountainside was on one side and a drop of hundreds of feet on the other.

We met up with another group who lived below our destination so we traveled together, helping push each other out of the deep mud. We had brought along gifts of plastic pails, tubs, and other items for our destination, which we shared with these helpers.

Long after dark and without food, we reached a small stream. We were told we could drive across, but became hopelessly mired. The villagers from Llano Grande helped us across the icy, fast-flowing mountain stream, and one of them promised to stay by the truck until morning.

We arrived at the small village and were welcomed with hot herb tea, tortillas and beans. They had set up a shelter for us, made with sticks and a roughly thatched roof. Our beds consisted of four poles with a ‘mattress’ of heavy woven ropes to support us and our blankets. It was COLD.

We lay on one blanket to stave off the cold air from below and piled the others over us. Forget about changing clothes. David had one narrow bed, and the two children and I shared the other. Damara slept beside me and Simri on top of me. Because of that, we were warmer than David. In the morning the few men from the village used horses to pull the truck out of the mud.

The kind ladies fed us beans and tortillas for four straight days. Not much variety, but the food was delicious and we were hungry. Damara went with me to the river’s edge as we washed Simri’s diapers and our few clothes in the icy water. She worked hard, but the turbulent river made me nervous.

About 3 a.m. on Sunday morning we were awakened by singing as Philip and his group walked in from their side of the mountains. He led a group of about twenty Christians. They each had a blanket and promptly rolled up on the sand and fell into a deep sleep.

When the sun started warming the frigid air, everyone arose. Some of the shepherds from the lower pastures returned when they heard there would be a service. They brought fresh cheese, which was a treat to our tortilla and bean diet. We had a blessed service and afterwards about ten new believers were baptized in the icy river.

That night we gave Philip and his wife and children our beds. We drove our pickup to a high plateau and in the bright moonlit night turned on our radio. In the clear high altitude we reached an American station playing Christmas carols.

We were in the pasture land under a clear, cold, starlit sky with some shepherds sleeping in their blankets and watching over their sheep by night. It was December 23rd; we were almost prepared to see an angel. What an experience!

The next day we headed down the mountain. The mud had dried and although the gouges had not been repaired, we were not in wet slippery clay. We arrived at the Acamponeta River; however, we found it flooded.

What were we to do? Philip, never at a loss for ideas, spotted a huge tractor on our side of the river. The driver knew the river and where the ford was situated. They covered our diesel truck with plastic to prevent water damage and slowly towed us across. I opened the window and dipped my hands in the water below.

We returned to Huajicori and found a mechanic to clean the mud out of the bearings and brakes. We were back to our comfortable beds in Philip’s house in time to celebrate a wonderful Christmas dinner together. Yes, we had tortillas and beans, but roast turkey as well. Praise God!

Help arrives after all night wait - Zacatecas, MX (do angels build fires?)

Chapter 22

David Tells of Mexican Miracles

In this chapter I shall endeavor to increase your faith with a summary of some real miracles clearly from Jesus when we needed Him most. He knows the future, He knows the road ahead, and He knows the outcome of every situation before it happens. His foreknowledge becomes part of our walk with Him as we pray, listen, and obey. As several of these involved my wonderful husband, and I was only hearing and praying for his wisdom and safety in each trip, these will be as he recounted them.

“Fill Your Tank with Fuel”

We had not been in Mexico very long when David encountered the following situation as told in his own words:

One morning I planned to leave the house early to go to the bank, change some money, and tend to a few other errands. I knew by now that banking here wasn’t easy. They sent you from one executive to another while masses of paper work were completed and signed. Finally you went to a teller and completed your business. The ordeal often took hours. I knew that if I could be near the head of the line when the doors open at 9 a.m., I might get served a little faster.

That morning everything at the house went like clock-work. I was nearing the bank when I heard that small voice I recognized so well.

“David,” the Lord said. “Go to the nearest Pemex station and fill your tank with fuel.”

“Lord,” I questioned, “Why? My tank is almost full, and I have just a short way to go.”

Again I heard the same message. I couldn’t deny that I had a clear command from Jesus, and I must obey. I drove to the nearest station, and as I had expected, many vehicles were ahead of me. I inwardly fumed, but could do nothing but wait.

Finally I was served and went on my way, more than half an hour later than my careful plans. As I approached the plaza where the bank was located, I was not allowed to enter. From where I was parked, I could see flashing lights and hear sirens on all sides. Right at nine o’clock, when I wanted to be standing at or inside the door, gunmen had pulled up to rob the bank and customers. Now the medics were taking out the dead and wounded.

Jesus knew the best way to speak and have me obey. If I had known what was taking place, my curiosity could have caused my death. How I praised Him for His care of me!

How God deals with Murderers

We had enjoyed a good Sunday afternoon service in a partially finished church in the village of Las Veredas, Nayarit. We used the church for the newly established Bible school, Rios de Agua Viva, where I taught for several weeks. I wanted some extra rest and study time, so I left in my Ford pickup to drive to Philip’s home in Tepic, about twenty miles away. Philip and Stephen followed in another vehicle.

I left the village and turned onto the Tepic highway. As I passed the next village, I noticed a man standing on the edge of the road with a .357 magnum gun in his hand, and it was pointed at me. I immediately increased my speed as one bullet went into the side of the truck.

Next thing I knew, he had fired again. This time I should have been hit directly, but an extra fuel tank I had built in the bed of the truck had a seam which the bullet struck. It ricocheted in pieces on either side.

I kept going as fast as possible on the dangerous mountain curves, but realized two men were following in another pickup. As they neared, they were unable to manage a sharp curve, and their vehicle flipped over.

I didn’t slow down until I reached a larger town. I was shaking when I left the pickup and showed the police the bullet holes in the side and behind my window.

By this time it was getting dark, and these policemen would never make a village raid under those conditions. I drove them to the village, but it was obviously very dangerous for all of us to be there.

I called Elizabeth, my wife, in Guadalajara and told her what had happened and asked her to pray that our sons would make it safely home. I assumed they had really been the target, but I had been hit instead. Their influence in the area had affected the growing and selling of drugs.

Soon Philip and Stephen reached Tepic. We were together again, but the danger was great with those killers on the loose.

I drove home the next day to find a way to alert our intercessors of the great probability of tragedy. There was no internet then, so the only means we could afford was regular mail which was s-l-o-w at best, but almost impossible so close to Christmas.

We put together a prayer gram and went to the central post office the next morning. On the way, the Lord showed Elizabeth a heavily bearded man meeting her at the door of the post office asking for the letters. When we arrived, the man stood in the doorway waiting for us, obviously an employee of the system.

As he reached for the letters in her hand he said, “Give me your mail. It will go through immediately. Don’t worry.” We obeyed without question, and within three days we were getting phone calls from our intercessors: a real miracle of the messengers of God.

Within the week both of my attackers were dead. One was killed in a bar and the other in a shoot-out with the police in a graveyard. Again we were reminded that we serve the Captain of the Lord of Hosts, just as did Gideon.

WAIT!!!!!

After a good week of teaching to an attentive class at the Rios de Agua Viva Bible School in Tepic, I was on my way home to Guadalajara. The new tollroad between Tepic and Guadalajara was now open, saving time and making the old two lane mountain highway much safer.

I had made good time thus far and was looking forward to being with Elizabeth in the quietness and peace of our home. I pulled off at a service center to rest and stood beside my truck, watching the mix of cars, trucks and tractor-trailers going by in both directions.

After resting a bit, I was ready to battle the two-way traffic to the busy city of Guadalajara. I put my key in the door to open my pickup when I heard one word—WAIT! It was so unexpected and so clear that I spun around to see who was talking to me.

There was no one, so again I decided to open the truck and heard—WAIT! Realizing that the Lord was speaking to me, I spun around and took the key out, leaving my truck locked.

“It’s fine, Lord,” I replied. “I’ll wait all night if you tell me to.” There were many large trucks pulling out to go toward Guadalajara, many cars and small trucks as well. I took special note of them and waved a mocking good-bye as they left. “Sorry, boys, I’d be with you, but I guess I’d better wait as I was told.”

After ten or fifteen minutes, I asked again if I could leave and felt a peace that assured me I had permission. Quickly I accelerated into the traffic and again heard that voice. “Slow down. I didn’t tell you to speed. Take it easy.”

Again I obeyed. At the final curve as I headed out of the mountains, the traffic slowed to a halt. As we began to move slowly forward, I observed a tragedy on the highway in front and to the right side of me.

A tractor-trailer had come around that final curve too fast and lost control. He had crossed the road and obliterated many of the vehicles and drivers that I had playfully bid goodbye to a few minutes earlier.

If I had not LISTENED and OBEYED, that would have been my fate. Again, the faithfulness of Jesus had been my portion, and I rejoiced that I had for many years learned that when God speaks, you must listen and obey.

Chapter 23

Elizabeth Tells of More Miracles

Although it was rare, at times we didn’t travel together for supplies or parts. On one such occasion David and Philip prepared to travel to Laredo, hoping that with two drivers they might cover the distance in one day or, at most, a day and a half.

As was our custom, David, Philip, Mark, Stephen and I joined hands in prayer before they left, to pray for their safety on the road, protection from bandits and stray animals, and anything that might delay them or cause them problems.

As we finished praying, the Lord told me to give them this message, “On your way to the border when you are stopped at a fuel station, you will meet some men who appear friendly and appear to have car trouble. They will approach you and ask you if you could carry a parcel for them to Laredo. It is an urgent parcel, and they could be delayed a few days. DON’T TOUCH IT.”

About noon they stopped at Morelos Junction in the state of Zacatecas for fuel and to stretch a little. They saw an American car with the hood up as if there was a problem. Beside it were two men who seemed to be watching them.

They spoke to David first and then went to where Philip was standing by the car. As soon as Philip saw them, he remembered the warning they received that morning in prayer. These men repeated the same request to him, but he pretended not to know English and spoke to them only in Spanish. They became agitated and angry and offered a considerable sum of money for Philip to make their delivery.

David returned to the car and they left while the angry men made gestures at them. David and Philip desperately needed the money offered, but knew whatever the contents of the package were, they were not good. If discovered, they could either be imprisoned or even be killed. We used to sing an old chorus, “The Lord knows the Way through the wilderness and all we have to do is follow.” How true!

Do Angels Build Fires?

We had attended a wonderful fellowship meeting of Mexican missionaries in the city of Saltillo in northern Mexico with five days together of good Bible teaching, fellowship, food, and fun. We closed out about noon, and David, Stephen, and I headed toward Guadalajara.

Contributing to our happiness were five hundred carefully packed Spanish Bibles in the bed of our Chevrolet pickup. Brother Sarabia’s churches needed them, and we were pleased that someone had been able to get so many into the country.

It was February and very cold as darkness fell, and we headed past the city of Zacatecas and into the steep mountain ranges. There was little traffic on the two lane highway, and the cold intensified. Stephen was driving when all at once we heard a loud squeal from under the truck.

He pulled off the road and stopped. He and David went out and discovered that transmission fluid was flowing from under the truck. David had some extra engine oil, which he put in the transmission.

He began to drive, but soon we heard the same squeal again. We were on a downhill slope, so he decided to coast, hoping to find a spot to safely pull off the road. There were no shoulders.

As soon as we came to a safe place to park, we stopped and got out to assess the situation. Being miles from any town where help was available, there was nothing we could do at the moment. It was very dark and cold at five thousand feet above sea level. We decided to allow Stephen to get a ride to the nearest town, Jalapa, to see if someone could tow us in. At last a car stopped behind us and offered Stephen a ride.

Shortly after they left, David looked out into the darkness, and far up on the mountain nearest to us saw a light coming toward us. There were no houses, barns, or any sign of habitation that we had seen or could see now, just blackness and the approaching small light. As we huddled together for warmth, we kept saying, “good guys or bad guys?”

Eventually, the people with the light came to the passenger window. David hesitatingly rolled it down a crack. They appeared to be indigenous people, small and dark, and they spoke to us in Spanish, “We saw you were in trouble and came to help you. It is very dangerous here, and a large truck could easily hit you in the darkness.”

We knew they spoke the truth. But how could they have seen us in the darkness when we had no car lights on? Next thing we knew they were collecting brush and cactus fronds and had built a large fire in front and behind the pickup.

They told us to rest; they would be nearby. “If there is a problem, just honk your horn, and we’ll come. We’re here to protect you,” they said.

We huddled together. In our leaving we had not considered a warm blanket and only had a small one that we took turns using. We could not run the heater. The fires burned brightly all night, and it appeared that no more fuel was added. As dawn broke, Stephen and a friend who had been staying at our house arrived with his pickup and a chain to pull us to safety.

When Stephen had arrived in Jalapa, the few police on duty were having a party and were too drunk to help anyone. He had taken a night bus to Guadalajara and walked several miles to our house. Dale Stoops, our good friend, towed us into the nearest town where a mechanic replaced the small but devastating leak in the transmission gasket.

A small café nearby fixed us hot chocolate to help us thaw out. What had happened to our new friends? We had taken a photo of them each proudly holding their first Bible before we drove away. The fires died down as soon as help arrived, and our “helpers” went away as mysteriously as they had come.

We return to our question—“Do angels build fires?” We think so!

Divine Protection

Maria de los Ángeles was a sincere and obedient Christian. Her life of dire poverty, trying to support nine children and a violent drunken husband, seemed hopeless. One day she and her fifteen-year-old daughter were able to attend a ladies’ retreat. As we were about to dismiss, I told her daughter to teach her mother 2 Timothy 1:7. By the next night Maria knew it well, and it served as a great comfort to her.

As was her custom when her husband was away, she gathered the children around her, and they began their evening prayers. Almost at once someone knocked forcibly on the flimsy door of their shack.

Peering through the curtain, she saw her drunken husband and another person armed with pistols and shouting, “Open up. I’ve had enough of your religion. You and the children will die tonight, and I’ll be free.”

The door wasn’t secure, and as they trembled in fear, all began to recite, “God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power and of love and a sound mind.” As they continued, the noise stopped, and they saw the men fleeing in the darkness.

The next morning Maria’s neighbors were at the door. “Who were they,” they gasped, “those tall armed soldiers that were guarding your house? They were so tall and so strong.”

Maria assured them that because her family had trusted in the word of God, Jesus had sent warrior angels to protect them. The husband was never heard of again. Maria’s nine children are all serving God—as pastors and as pastors’ wives. When we obey—He meets our need.

A Personal Miracle - 1990

When God called us to move to Mexico, one of my greatest concerns was for my eighty-year-old mother, but I knew my brother loved her greatly and would take good care of her. I was sent a plane ticket to visit her for three weeks each year.

“Lord, I shall go where you say, live where you desire without question or complaint. I shall make two requests of you. 1) May my three sons we are taking with us become men that love you supremely and be used in Your service. 2) May I be at my mother’s bedside when it is her time to be taken from this life.”

I knew already that our three sons were true and obedient Christians, but mother was still living and now over ninety years old. David and I were attending a conference in Nashville, Tennessee. We had promised two pastors from Arkansas that we would visit their churches in March of 1990; we were to be with them the following Sunday.

David nudged me during the service. “The pastors we are to visit have already gone. Here are their cards. Please go to the phone in the kitchen, call, and tell them we cannot come.”

“What do I tell them?” I asked amazed.

“While you are at it, call Nathan and tell him that we will be with him tomorrow night.

The first pastor was very understanding. The second was very upset. “I’m not accustomed to people backing out at the last minute. You must be going to a bigger church.” What could I say?

Nathan was concerned because of ice and snowy conditions in the Smoky Mountains. However, we went and arrived safely.

The next night my brother Bill called. “Mom does not look well tonight. You must keep in touch with me as you travel.”

While I was showering, God spoke to me and told me to go to Toronto, Canada in the morning. Nathan assured me that his company always had seats reserved on the planes, and at 8 a.m. I was on my way.

A family member who met me at the airport said that my Mom was in hospital, but not seriously ill. They were doing some tests, but she was talking and being her usual feisty self.

I entered my brother’s house as the telephone rang. Since I was alone, I answered the call from my mother’s cardiologist. “Your mother just had another slight heart attack. Her heart is good for her age, and I want your permission to implant a pacemaker immediately.”

“What will the pacemaker do for her?” I asked.

“It will give her at least a few more months to live but in a nursing home. You would not refuse her that privilege, surely.”

One year earlier we promised to honor my mother’s wishes that she did not want to stay at a nursing home, and that nothing must be done to keep her alive. She desired to go when her time came. Neither my brother nor I would annul that promise.

I hung up as my brother and his wife walked in the door. Bill was upset and ready to call the doctor when his wife reminded him that my mother’s wish must be granted.

Mother was in a private room, resting with her eyes shut and no extra measures to keep her living. Bill and Joan went to get lunch and left me with her. She was in a semi-coma, but responded with pressure on my hand and smiles as I told her I was at her side and would stay with her. I repeated her favorite Psalms and sang her favorite old hymns as her vital signs gradually diminished.

When my brother returned with my son Mark, she was quiet and still. No pain, no trembling, just peace and a smile on her face. Everything was so beautiful. I no longer worried. She would have died on the operating table had I given permission for the pacemaker.

I was there for her viewing and for the funeral at her church, and then, all was over. The ground was frozen and burial was not possible for several months. Yes, Jesus is so faithful. My two requests were answered.

The last request—to be with my Mother at the end—was possible because David knows when Jesus speaks to him. He is always listening and obedient. If we had gone to the promised churches, no one could have contacted us. The only number my brother had for me in the United States was through Nathan. Therefore, we were sent across the snowy, icy mountains to wait for the call at his home, which was the answer to my prayer.

Chapter 24

Constant and Enduring Growth

The New Main Church

As Brother Sarabia’s new church was finished, the membership increased drastically. Mexicans love to be in the midst of exciting happenings, and the thought of attending the largest Apostolic church in Mexico made them want to worship with us. On the recommendation of David, the church started regulating new members.

Because of the regulation, the new members were either from traditional Protestant churches, the Roman Catholic Church, or un-churched people who knew little or nothing of the Word of God. Two services a week were devoted to worship and teaching. An ongoing Bible school trained leaders for the new centers.

We experienced no divisions within the group, and the unity made the flow of the Spirit of God real and alive in all the services. There were miracles of healing, finance, family ties, and other necessities of the day and times.

A separate morning and afternoon service became necessary, and soon those were both filled. The centers which had their own Sunday school and a midweek service were also increasing. We taught the people tithing as a basic duty for a Christian. As the centers grew, their leaders baptized more believers.

It was decided that a center of fifty baptized members could become a branch church. They could continue evangelizing their area and add new members while looking for property for a building, or until they could rent suitable quarters.

Within a few years some fine congregations were established, and many attractive and useful buildings raised, paid for, and filled. These churches in turn began centers, and soon the numbers were beyond our biggest dreams.

Services were interesting with their trained worship teams, Spirit-directed worship, tambourine teams, and other areas of ministry. We taught in the leadership classes in the centers and in other churches that desired the same kind of evangelism and results. I was still homeschooling, so David traveled with Brother Sarabia, visiting cities to teach the principles of outreach and to establish them in the Word of God.

A Deep, Dark Valley

We rejoiced in the work of God all around us. We were blessed not only by what Jesus was doing in the churches, but also in our families. Philip had already built his first church in Tepic and was working in the small villages. His dream was to reach the people in the villages where missionaries seldom worked.

The cities, however, provided better living conditions for families, and contained more people to evangelize. He had begun the Bible school, Rios de Agua Viva (Rivers of Living Water), to train leaders for evangelizing the State of Nayarit and the rest of Mexico, as doors opened. This gave both David and me another avenue for teaching.

Mark and his new Canadian wife, Cindy, spent a year with us and were very helpful in the teaching and music ministries. They returned to Canada where they are involved in ministry today.

Stephen married in Mexico, and he and his wife, Marcela, worked with Philip. They taught in the city of Xalisco, Nayarit, where our largest church in the state is located. A door opened for them in the desert town of San Pedro, in the State of Coahuila, in northern Mexico. The missionary who had built a missions complex became ill, and his supervisors asked us to send someone to work there. Stephen and his wife were willing and left soon after the wedding.

In May, 1993, I was in California teaching at a ladies’ conference, while David held the fort at home. The conference finished, and I stayed with friends in Oxnard, California and ministered in several churches.

I was drifting off to sleep about midnight when I heard the telephone ring and knew instantly that it was a call for me. I answered and my husband, in a broken voice, said, “Elizabeth, Brother Sarabia is dead.”

I could not believe what David said until he repeated it, “Elizabeth, Brother Sarabia is dead.”

It was like hearing of the death of one of my own sons. We had lived near each other, shared good times, hours of teaching, and traveled together in a wonderful unbroken fellowship for sixteen-and-a-half years.

After telling me all he knew of the details, David hung up. I couldn’t weep and felt numb; I felt as if it was a horrible nightmare. I ministered in two services the following day, but I knew those in attendance would not be moved or taught by my sorrow.

Brother Sarabia, his wife and oldest son, Chuey, had been driving in a small pickup near Stockton, California. Brother Sarabia was instantly killed when he lost control; the vehicle flipped over the guardrail and was hit by a car coming in the opposite direction.

A newspaper reporter, who was driving behind him, recorded what she had seen: “It was a clear day with no clouds above. However, as the car slid to a stop, it appeared to be covered by an unusual cloud. I stayed until the rescue helicopter arrived. First they took Sister Sarabia and Chuey who were unconscious, but not badly injured.

Then, as they lifted the body of the driver (Jesus Sarabia) into the helicopter, the cloud rose with the helicopter and then disappeared. I shall never forget the sight.”

I somehow managed to finish the two services the next day and then made plans to travel to the home of Sister Sarabia’s parents in Stockton, where the rest of the family had gathered and where his body had been taken. My kind friends insisted that I make the journey in a small plane, for which I was very grateful.

As I flew over the high Sierras, I looked down at the deep valleys which were full of orchards and gardens. Jesus spoke to me, “My daughter, you feel you are in a deep valley and for a long time have been on the mountain top of My glory and blessing. Notice, where are the fruitful trees and gardens? They are in the valleys where the soil is rich, and there is an abundance of water. The mountain peaks give a beautiful view, but they are rocky and barren. Do not desire to leave the valley. I am allowing you to enter for a time. It will prove fruitful not just to you and your family, but to generations of people in the United States and in Mexico for many years to come.”

I stayed with the family for several days, and then left to teach a seminar on soul-winning in a church near Visalia, California. An American funeral was sponsored by many of Brother Sarabia’s friends in the United States, and then his body was returned to Mexico where his people overflowed the large church in a wonderful tribute to one who lived to pray, to listen to the voice of Jesus, to obey Him, and to love the Mexican people.

In January 1993, the Lord revealed to us that we would pass through several deep valleys that year. We knew He would walk with us, but the death of Brother Sarabia and the death of David’s brother in Canada came to pass at almost the same time, and it was a sad time for us.

Dedication Letter

By David & Elizabeth Tolman

Tribute to a Great Soldier of Jesus Christ

– David & Elizabeth Tolman

In May we entered the deepest valley since coming to Mexico seventeen years ago. On May 8, 1993, Pastor Jesus Sarabia, forty-nine years of age and pastor of the main church in Zapopan (1700 members), was instantly killed in a car accident while driving to the wedding of his youngest daughter. We had worked hand in hand with Brother Sarabia for sixteen years, starting with seventeen members in 1977, and we rejoiced in the fruit of his labors.

Among his accomplishments in his ministry were the following: Over 5,000 baptized in the name of Jesus; establishment of twelve self-supporting churches pastored by leaders he had trained; seventeen mission centers directed by men from the main church.

His unique ministry covered the areas of apostle, prophet, evangelist, pastor and teacher. He wrote several books and received his Doctorate in Theology in February 1993.

Chapter 25

Beginning Again

What Is The New Direction?

We had no direction for the continuance and growth of this ministry. As the shock and sorrow gave way to new planning, many ministers and members fasted and prayed. Ministers of like faith, but not like capacity or compassion, appeared from many parts of Mexico and the United States. It is amazing how many people received a call to the thriving, vibrant church of 1,700 members.

The first direction we received was that the new pastor must have been trained and discipled under the leadership of Pastor Sarabia. He must have Brother Sarabia’s characteristics of love, compassion, humility, and a dependence upon the direction of the Holy Spirit. These requirements ruled out many of the “position seekers.”

After many discussions, the ministers voted, followed by a congregational vote. In spite of a very small but divisive element of those who desired control, the Lord over-ruled, and a new pastor was chosen. He did not campaign for the position, but was like David, faithfully shepherding his small but growing flock when he was chosen on the day of the final vote. This faithful man fulfilled the role according to all requirements the Lord had set forth.

The life of the church shone, and the growth physically and spiritually continued. One afternoon the new pastor felt a strong compulsion to go to the church office and clear out all his personal goods and equipment which had not been purchased by the congregation, including his computer and electronic equipment. He obeyed even though it seemed a strange thing to do.

At 6:30 p.m. that evening, police came and padlocked the door of the church. They placed a sign forbidding anyone from trying to enter. When we arrived, we found weeping, angry, and confused parishioners and the pastor in a state of collapse.

We discovered that if you had political ties and a little extra money, your will became law. Several of the rejected applicants for pastor from other areas of the country had banded together, and the original congregation was never again allowed to use their church for services.

A Challenge and Solution

We planned a meeting of the pastor, ministers, elders, and ourselves. Across the main highway but in close proximity to the stolen church was a building, nearly complete and used by the new pastor as a teaching center. The men of the church banded together and worked day and night.

Although unfinished, it was suitable in size and facilities for the services the following Sunday. Many did not attend that first service. Some were confused and fearful, not understanding how God would let such a terrible thing happen.

Gradually the building was enlarged with an upper floor for more teaching and Sunday school, quarters for the small children, and a kitchen. The facility was not elegant, and we lacked many of the advantages of the former building, but the people worked and were faithful.

The majority joined together under the directive leadership of Pastor Julio Jauregui. We taught and counseled when we were in the area, for many decisions still had to be made. Some of the branch churches chose to be with the “pirate group,” but the majority stayed in close fellowship with the new assembly.

We continued teaching in the many centers and groups connected with the new Santa Margarita church and began reaching out into other areas in the Guadalajara area. We helped with the Bible school in Tepic and with Stephen’s work in San Pedro, Coahuila, which was being re-organized and showing signs of outreach. Many in the area were coming to know Jesus as their Savior.

Changes

Without our knowledge, we were about to be moved to a different home. We had lived in an area with much violence, but it was convenient to the churches and to the home of Brother Sarabia. His family had recently moved to a new home that he had built for them. We prayed for direction, and an amazing thing happened.

For many years we helped an elderly Canadian couple who wanted to live in Mexico, but had problems understanding the language, the customs, and the business ethics (or lack of ethics). The husband passed away, and his widow was unable to cope. We were glad to help her, but were never offered more than any extra expenses we incurred.

As her health deteriorated, we found honest and kind helpers for her in the church—people who were knowledgeable about weaknesses in the elderly and worked with love and honesty. We were assured by her doctor that she was in good health and could live many months more, when she suddenly died.

We were out of the country but had made arrangements with Philip in case of an emergency. He carried out the necessary paper work and funeral plans.

After our return, I received a call from her lawyer of many years. His first question shocked me. “Did you realize,” he said, “that your friend has left you her house, its contents, and all that she has in Mexico?”

We knew the house well. It was old and near a golf course in a guarded community. We also knew that financially there was little left due to her lengthy time of weakness and needing twenty-four-hour help for many months.

We suddenly owned two houses and two cars. The second car was a great blessing as many times we headed to different ministries at the same time. What were we to do with two houses? After much investigation and prayer, we decided to sell our home and move to the guarded area which offered more safety and cleaner air.

Selling was an easy decision, for there were shops, schools, and good bus transportation in the area. In December of 1997 we left the home where we had lived happily for fifteen years and moved to Rancho Contento on the outskirts of the city of Zapopan.

The house was musty and lacked good electrical wiring and plumbing, but the skilled men in the church took care of that. We had a beautiful garden and grass all around the house and patio. Our former house had a lawn so small that I cut the grass with my sewing scissors.

Our great friend and mentor from years past in San Antonio, TX, Pastor John Bell, came for a visit. He was thrilled with our inheritance and especially with the beautiful, free nine-hole golf course. He was an avid golfer and soon convinced David to take some lessons and play regularly. Even though he lived over sixty years without golfing, David soon became good enough to golf with some friends in the area and became a skilled player.

New Administration Differences

As it happens, the new pastor was different from the former pastor, who exuded confidence and had an anointed ministry. The new pastor met the qualifications the Lord gave us, but his lack of experience with a large congregation and his personality differences caused some confusion.

Some members left and returned to the Apostolic group who had taken over their former church. Others went in different directions, and some entered into ministry in areas where they had felt called for years. Doing what he felt would give him more confidence, the new pastor aligned himself and became licensed with another group, similar in doctrine, but more legalistic in their beliefs and ways.

As they were definitely not interested in women in ministry, my teaching sessions and seminars ended when one of their executives showed up. My husband was a threat to them because of the close ties he had with Brother Sarabia.

Few words were spoken, but we felt that we were being subtlety given the “left foot of fellowship.” We went before the Lord in intercessory prayer to discover His will in the situation. We would stay if He directed or move to wherever He sent us.

In the meantime, a fine minister that we had trained under Pastor Sarabia came to visit. He had been ministering in a center with a group of unchurched people. He had not wavered in the essentials he had been taught, but was frustrated by some of the new rules he was expected to accept.

He knew in his heart that many of his new converts would not understand and perhaps be lost. He and his wife spent hours in our home in prayer, receiving counsel. We knew what the Lord wanted of him, but he too must learn to hear for himself.

He finally received the answer he had been seeking and moved with the majority of his group to a new area on the city’s outskirts where there were no buses, electricity, or water. Today he has a fine church building that he and the congregation erected. He is happy as a member of the registered religious association of which our son Philip is president.

Chapter 26

Emergency in Guadalajara

I had been invited to speak at the annual ladies’ retreat for Destiny Church in San Antonio, Texas in September 2003. This retreat was to be held in the beautiful town of Kerrville, Texas, and I was looking forward to the change and rest. I flew to San Antonio from Guadalajara, and a dear friend, the assistant pastor’s wife, met me at the airport.

We enjoyed lunch together, and then I rode with her to the hotel about one-and-a-half hours north. We enjoyed a spiritual feast with prayer and praise, many sharing in the Word and the fellowship in English. Although the Lord has given me the Spanish language which I love, I feel more at home in English.

After the retreat, I was given a wonderful and unexpected gift—a ticket to Toronto, Canada to visit my daughter Ruth and my son Mark, their spouses, and my grandchildren. Mark met me at the airport, and I enjoyed several days with him and his family, a home of love, laughter, and peace.

Ruth, our only daughter, arrived after work and drove me the sixty miles to her home in Kitchener, the city where we had lived for five wonderful years. About 1 a.m. the first night I was there, I heard the telephone ring and knew it was for me. Ruth and her husband Tim both came into my room with a terrifying message from Philip.

David had been alone at home, knew he had a major heart problem, and managed to call an ambulance and be taken to the hospital. The hospital notified Philip who drove three hours on the mountain roads to Guadalajara. Philip’s daughter, Damara, was with him and called different prayer groups, requesting prayer for David.

They arrived at the hospital to find David very ill, and it was questionable if he would survive the night. Damara, with great faith, kept telling him, “Grampa, you can’t die; you’re going to live.”

The cardiologist spent the whole night at my husband’s side. Meanwhile, in Kitchener, Tim put a call through to Mark and his wife, and the five of us kept a multiple prayer going over the phone lines and up to the Throne Room for at least an hour. I knew I had to return to Mexico. Mark got me an early morning flight to Guadalajara by way of Chicago, and Ruth and Tim drove me to the airport.

I sat on the plane, numb, but praying and listening to know how he was. I spent my two hours in Chicago trying to find information from American churches whom I knew were praying, but no one knew if he was alive or dead.

As I stepped from the plane in Guadalajara, I spotted Philip. The big smile on his face told me my first and only love was still alive and doing well. We drove to the hospital and arrived as Stephen came from his home in northern Mexico. David stayed in hospital a few more days, and his sons took turns sleeping by him on the hard hospital couch provided.

A Difficult Decision

After David returned home, I knew our sons were making a plan. But what could it be? I knew it concerned us, but David was up and around, and we had survived another trial.

As the elder brother, Philip, approached us, he said, “Dad and Mom, we have decided that this is the last time we shall have this kind of situation to race to. You have had many good years of independence, but it is time for a change. You must move close to one of us and do it soon. You will have your own home, car, and all you need, but one of us will be close enough to you to respond quickly in an emergency. Pray about it and decide. Either of us is willing to be at your side, but we are far apart. You must prepare to move and do it soon.”

The decision seemed partly made. After teaching at the Bible school in Tepic, we chose an existing cottage near, but not touching, Philip’s house. The cottage needed to be enlarged, but that could be easily done. All that remained was to sell our home in Rancho Contento and be on our way.

Actually, the desert climate where Stephen lived would have been difficult in the hot summers and cold winters, so Tepic seemed to be the answer. This would be a blessing for me. I was raised a country girl, and each city where the Lord moved us seemed bigger than the one before.

Here we would be situated on the lower slopes of the volcano Sanganguey, with a beautiful western view of acres of green sugar cane in the valley below and the coastal Sierras beyond. We could walk to our nearest village of Camichin de Jauja for bread, tortillas, and fresh market vegetables. Yes, we had made our decision.

Chapter 27

God’s Preparations

We marvel at how God had His plan for us worked out ahead of time. In 2003 we needed to relocate close to one of our sons. In 1993, however, God was already preparing our place.

Needs had grown for Philip’s family and for the Bible school, Rios de Agua Vida. Philip searched in the city of Tepic for suitable property, hoping to combine both home and school in the same place. The more he searched in the city, the more he realized that the prices were ridiculous and way beyond the ministry’s budget.

There was a small village about five miles from where he lived that had transportation by bus and where the property was much more reasonable. Philip found a person who owned a good piece of land and was willing to sell at a fraction of the city prices.

In 1993 the deal was closed, and in 1995 an adjoining piece was available at an excellent price. This gave him a total of five acres. This property was located just about one-third of a mile outside the village on the lower slope of the volcano, Sanganguey, with a beautiful view to the west of a wide valley of sugar cane and the coastal Sierras. The village name, Camichin de Jauja, means Way of Abundance.

Much work had to be done. The land was sown in sugar cane and was without trees, water, electricity, or buildings. Philip cut and sold the sugar cane. He began building a kitchen, a room which served as a classroom and meeting-room, and several smaller rooms for students. Classes began in 1994, and today the quadrangle with classrooms, dormitories, office, and kitchen were added to meet the present needs of Xecora primary (Grades 1-6) and secondary (Grades 7-9) schools and also the Bible school.

There are facilities for sports and recreation, and the park-like setting with its several hundred trees, flowers, and gardens is available for weddings, children’s camps, sporting events, and other uses. Each building and each home was built little by little as funds and workers were available. Philip’s home was built room by room as funds and his time were available, and we added a small cottage where we could stay while teaching in the Bible school.

Perhaps the Final Move?

On June 13, 2005 we drove away from the home and garden we had enjoyed for almost eight years and moved to our recently enlarged cottage on the same property as the schools and Philip’s home. We added an office for David, a second bedroom for guests, and closed in a small patio for a dining area.

By August we were teaching more classes in the Bible School, and I was also a substitute for the secondary school and teaching English to three groups every day. The whole family was in agreement with our move and was able to visit and see for themselves that we were content and well cared for.

Family Reunions

We were blessed with good health, a good car to drive, fresh fruit for picking, and a first chance, from birth to the present, to see and know one of our fourteen grandchildren. We attended two family reunions, one for our fortieth wedding anniversary and the other in 2000.

We all gathered at a resort on the Pacific Ocean, close to home for us. The brothers, their sister, and many cousins became good friends. Our family was widely scattered with two sons in Mexico, a daughter and son in Canada, and our eldest son in Europe.

A Different Kind of Miracle

Even on special occasions Jesus is aware of our needs and problems. At one reunion our nine-year-old twin granddaughters were enjoying the swimming pool and the immense view of the Pacific Ocean.

On the very first day of their week-long visit, they played at the ocean side and ran in and out of the shallow water. Both girls wore special glasses which were vital to them at this time in their lives. As Stephanie ran into the water, an extra-large wave hit her and washed the glasses from her face.

What were we to do? She needed them to see clearly, and they could not be replaced where we were.

Philip was a strong swimmer and had a snorkel, so we called him to come and help. A life guard had already searched, but informed us that the small and light glasses would be carried far beyond the shallow water, caught in a current and impossible to find.

Philip swam back and forth, but could not see anything. As he reached the shelf where the depth of water changed drastically, there was a large manta ray lying at his feet. He nudged it to make it move and there, under its massive body, were Stephanie’s glasses.

Question: Could Jesus send a great fish at the right place and right time to assure a little girl a good holiday? Of course! We were all praying, and many were watching us.

What a testimony of God’s faithfulness and love! Spectators clapped as we praised and thanked our faithful Friend and Guardian.

Changes in the Family

The grandchildren seemed to grow up even more quickly than our own children. How they loved Jesus and sincerely wished to serve him! They are all very human, but for those who know the way, they are sincerely dedicated to Jesus.

Ruth’s twin daughters, tall and blond, were already in the university in the Kitchener area. Their sister, Rebecca, is finishing high school.

Mark’s daughter was in the university in Toronto, Canada, and their son is also finishing high school.

Nathan’s work place had changed from Europe to Dubai in the Middle East. We were to wait years to see them again.

Stephen had the youngest family in San Pedro, Coahuila, in the north of Mexico—a daughter Elisa and two sons Timothy and Peter.

A girl’s fifteenth birthday is very important in Mexico. We attended Elisa’s “quiciñera” with two of Philip’s children, Damara and Simri. Shortly after this, Damara left to attend two years of Bible School at International Bible College in San Antonio, Texas.

She did well and returned to work with her father in the state of Nayarit and reconnected with a boyfriend who had been waiting for her. They married in 2006 in Tepic and are now the proud parents of one of our precious great granddaughters. They are actively working for Jesus in several locations and churches.

Simri, Damara’s brother, finished high school and graduated with his sister from the School of Music in the University of Nayarit. He had greater dreams and with hard work and determination graduated from Hillsong College of Music and Ministry in Australia. He has since returned to work with his father. A few years ago Stephanie Kinzie, the twin with the miracle eyeglass recovery, was called of God to dedicate her life and talents to Jesus in the town of San Pedro, Coahuila, Mexico. Already proficient in written Spanish, she was soon also proficient in spoken Spanish.

Three years ago we joined with several other family members to attend her marriage in San Pedro to Hugo Baigorria, the Christian coach and organizer of Stephen’s soccer ministry.

As grandparents we can do nothing but give praise and thanksgiving to our Savior who continues His blessings and faithfulness into our family’s third generation.

Chapter 28

“Great is Thy Faithfulness”

Why does time fly quickly as one grows older? Although I never ceased to praise God for our beautiful location, its proximity to the ocean, its bountiful harvest, and its beautiful birds, I sometimes wish I could slow down the clock and its effect on my physical body.

In 2009 I spent almost six weeks in San Pedro with my granddaughter Stephanie and her husband. They were wonderful to me, and Stephanie is an incredible cook.

However, my reason for the visit was for a necessary knee replacement by Stephen’s friend, a sports doctor with a professional soccer team in Torreon, Coahuila. The operation went well and a newly graduated nurse in Stephen’s church was assigned to care for me while I needed her.

Spending more time with Elisa, Timothy, and Peter, Stephen’s nearly grown up children, was a particular delight. I attended a convention or two in March in the United States in March, but knew I had a problem when I returned to Mexico.

I thought I was tired and getting a little older and that was all. However, when returning to Tepic we decided to seek medical advice.

What do you do when you are in a new city and do not know the medical help available? My husband calls me a “book person” because I love to read, so my first resource after prayer was to look in the city’s Yellow Pages. We had two requisites for a doctor: intelligence and compassion.

I located a gynecologist, and David, Philip, and I went to visit him. He wondered who had referred us to him. When I said we had prayed for directions, he immediately replied, “Oh, you had good vibes about me.” I realized that his beliefs were New Age.

“No,” I answered. “We were led by the Holy Spirit.” That was the end of the conversation as he began to give me a careful examination. I discovered that I needed an immediate hysterectomy, and he was the only one in Tepic that was licensed to use a laser for this procedure.

A few days later I was in hospital, and the operation seemed to go without complications. However, before leaving hospital the next day, Dr. Jimenez came by with my son Philip. He showed me the laboratory analysis and photos indicating a large tumor that had burst into the abdominal cavity. This was a very dangerous situation.

Dr. Jimenez told me that when this surgery was healed, I had to have a major operation, and an oncology surgeon would be operating with Dr. Jimenez assisting. Two weeks later, after many hours of surgery, I awoke in my room and wondered what had happened. I knew I needed to wait for lab reports but was not concerned.

I slept until the next morning and awaited another visit from the doctors. They entered the room to see how I was and checked the incisions. They were friendly, but not talkative. I figured the results were not back and was reading and praying when Philip entered the room.

He looked shaken and at a loss for words, but finally managed to say, “Mom, the doctors want me to talk to you. You are diagnosed with stage four terminal cancer throughout your body. Because you wanted the truth they have said that you have from six weeks to three months to live.”

I was numb and in shock. How could this be possible? I had been tired but not sick. Surely this could not be true. Philip left to break the news to David and the rest of the family. I was left alone for a few minutes.

Before long Dr. Jimenez came in. I could see tears in his eyes, and he gently sat on the edge of my bed. “Elizabeth,” he said, “teach me about your Jesus, so I can pray for you. I know He can make you well.”

I talked with him until he gently took my hand and prayed for me in Jesus’ name with such unction and faith, I was amazed.

After he left, I heard a beautiful choir singing. Sometimes singers gathered around beds of the sick but not usually in the morning. They sang so sweetly—“Great Is Thy Faithfulness, O God, My Savior.”

A nurse entered, and I asked her about the singing. “There’s no one in the hospital, “she said. “I haven’t heard anything.”

I then realized that Jesus had sent a heavenly choir to remind me of His care for me. My fears left because I knew if His purpose in this was the salvation of one doctor, it was well worth the pain and suffering.

My healing was long with numerous complications. My oncology surgeon, Dr. Flores, made several long trips from his home to our place in the mountains. He never complained and on one occasion brought his wife, who was a nurse.

Finally I was healed enough to consider the options. Dr. Flores wanted me to have chemotherapy, and although I had immediate misgivings, after prayer and consultation with our children, I agreed.

Again I was sent to a different doctor, this one known for his skill in chemotherapy. How I dreaded the ordeal after all I had heard and read. Dr. Corona spoke to the three of us, Philip, David, and me, and we felt the confidence and assurance in his voice and manner. He was gently directive. “Usually I give nine treatments,” he stated, “but I doubt she can live through that many.”

While David had been at prayer a few days before, he was sure the Lord told him that I would have three treatments. Stephen called, and without knowing what his Dad thought, told us that he had been assured I would only have three treatments. We told the doctor how they were directed, and he agreed to run tests after three treatments.

My daughter Ruth came to be with me for the first seven hour hospital treatment. As we entered the comfortable room where the IV was to be connected, Dr. Corona was waiting for us with a strange expression on his face.

He commenced to tell us why he was so puzzled. As was his usual habit, he had come to the hospital the evening before to arrange with his nurse the particular formula of chemo he wished to administer.

At 3 a.m. he felt as if someone had called him and told him to write down a new formula and to exchange it for the one he had planned for me. He was so convinced that this was a divine appointment that he obeyed and had come to the hospital at 6 a.m. to make the change.

He recognized that Ruth was special and asked her to give an opinion of the source of the new order. She immediately told him that it was Jesus. He accepted that, and although it was very new to him, admitted that his conclusion was the same as hers.

Philip and his wife Lucy were with me for the second treatment and my son Mark and his wife Cindy for the third and last one. For each treatment Dr. Corona received new instructions at 3 a.m. and followed them to the letter.

When tests and scans were done shortly after this, they showed that all was well, and two tumors in the liver had disappeared without a mark. All three doctors claimed that my healing was a miracle. Praise our Great Healer!

The chemo treatments were rough to go through, and I was very weak and disoriented at times. Before the second treatment I was completely hairless, and the trauma of losing my waist long hair, which I had for over 50 years, was incredible.

I now do not need a wig and actually recognize myself in the mirror. My strength has returned, and I am able to teach, minister for hours in a ladies’ convention and travel by air and car to needed conventions. I shall complete eighty years of this life on May 5, 2012 and am so thankful that the Lord can still use me.

We are at the end of the journey of memories, but expect a wonderful future with Him and our family until the day we are united together with Jesus forever.

We serve a great God who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. His name is Jesus, and He never leaves or forsakes us. He is with us on the mountain top with its wonderful, refreshing view. He walks hand in hand with us through the dark valleys and renews our strength like the eagle. Our valleys become fruitful gardens as we follow Him, never deserts nor unproductive fields.

I thank Him many times a day for my wonderful and only partner of almost fifty-nine years. David taught me about serving Jesus and has walked every step with me since that day. His motto has become mine:

PRAY, LISTEN AND OBEY!

Author Page

Elizabeth Tolman was born in Aurora, a town in Ontario, Canada, to medical parents with an active rural practice. She attended Aurora High School, University of Toronto and Toronto Teachers’ College. She met her husband, David, while still in high school. They married in 1953 and set out on their pilgrimage in 1954. They have four children in God’s ministry and a son living and working in the Middle East. They have made their home in Tepic, Nayarit, Mexico, on a Bible School and Christian Primary and Secondary School property.

If you wish to contact the author, you may do so via the following methods. Elizabeth would love to hear from you, regardless of your question or comment.

Email – pilgrimswithpurpose@gmail.com

Web page – sandhm.wordpress.com

Blog – sanpedroshm2.blogspot.com

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