Ted (Eddie)

Missionary Work in Cuba and the Ambush, 1958

Before we arrived in Cuba, Evangelist T.L. Osborne visited the island with a mighty moving of the Holy Spirit. Thousands were saved, healed and delivered from the power of evils that had blighted their lives. In the town of Camaguey there had always been a small full gospel church of a few dozen people; after the revival, it was packed with over five hundred. The local government under Batista gave land for a new church building right in the heart of that town. The people were called Los Aleluyas (“The Hallelujah” people), since they constantly praised God, so the church building was named “Templo de Aleluya” (“Temple of Hallelujah”). The name, printed in twelve-foot letters across the front of the building, could be seen for miles. Due to this “sowing of the seed” by Brother Osborne, wherever we went in Cuba, crowds of people, hungry for God, came to listen. We found “reaping” quite easy.

Since our Spanish speaking skills were weak, we used Christian films from Moody Bible Institute as tools to deliver God’s simple Message of salvation. One film that the country folk especially enjoyed showed a caterpillar turn into a butterfly, which beautifully represented how God, who created all nature, also had the ability and desire to change our lives. Another piece of equipment we used was a small public address system that contained a tape recorder connected to a loudspeaker that could broadcast as far as two miles. It operated from a hand-crank generator.

While in Cuba we gave out tons of Christian literature and Bibles. On one trip into an isolated area I was welcomed into the thatch-roofed home of a tiny old lady. To my surprise, she already knew Christ as Savior. How could this be, I wondered, as there were no churches or other Christians for miles around her.

“Forty years ago, a missionary came and left a tract with me. I sent for a Bible from the address on the back, and through reading it, I became a Christian.”

I was thrilled at the power of the Word of God. Truly it would “not return void, but would accomplish that for which it was sent.”

In another remote area we held an evangelistic meeting and left tracts, New Testaments and Gospels of John. Six weeks later we were able to return, and to our surprise found Cubans holding their own service with the aid of the Bibles and literature we had left. This group became the strongest church in our field of service.

The World Home Bible League provided so much literature per our request that at one point they sent a person down to check if the material was actually getting used. They found their Bible literature had a very short “shelf life.”

We had twelve full-time workers whose sole job was to minister, and to give out literature and New Testaments in los campos (the country areas). I had a vision that burned within me, to train native workers who would then not only spread God’s good news to fellow Cubans, but to every Spanish-speaking country on the globe.

One worker, Bernardo Ocampo, was a five-foot-two giant for God. When we met him he was already a Christian. He had been a prosperous businessman, owning his own store. Often he told his wife before they heard of Christ, “Truly I have everything: two fine children, a home, a good income and real friends, thanks to Santa Barbara.”

Ocampo kept images of Santa Barbara and other idols throughout his home. He reverently worshipped them each night as he lit a small oil lamp, and placed fresh flowers as a gift before them.

Cuban religion was a mixture of Catholic and voodoo. When Ocampo or his family got sick he called on the voodoo man who charged him, and then practiced his powers. Each day Ocampo’s friends told him how lucky he was as they drank, smoked and played cards together in his store.

One day one of these friends told him, “A crazy foreigner is downtown preaching. You should go hear him. It’s a scream the things that he says, and his Spanish is hilarious!”

The opportunity for entertainment was not to be missed. Ocampo decided to go with his friends. His wife went with her friends.

The men arrived late, but heard the missionary declare, “only through the shed blood of Jesus Christ can a person find remission of sin. Salvation is only available to those who accept what Christ accomplished on the cross.”

Ocampo prayed to saints, but was he ‘saved?’ When the missionary said, “Anyone who wants to be saved and have their sins forgiven, raise your hand.” Strangely Ocampo felt an unseen presence urge him to raise his hand. What would his wife and friends think? They would certainly laugh at him. His hand went up.

The missionary then asked those who raised their hand to walk forward. When Ocampo shouldered his way through the crowd to the front and knelt down, he gasped in surprise as his wife came and knelt beside him. She slipped her hand into his.

Later that night as he worshipped before the shrine of Santa Barbara he could not put his heart into it. However, he feared that the saint would bring misery and evil into his life if he did not pay her due respect.

The next day the missionary reassured him, “Don’t fear. Tell God your problem.”

At home he knelt beside his bed with his wife and poured out his heart to God. He asked God, “Por favor, please show me what to do about all of my saints, especially Santa Barbara. I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t worship her shrine.”

As the words left his lips, he heard a sharp crack. Startled, he got up and looked around. In the living room he found the oil lamp broken in many pieces, and flames were licking Santa Barbara’s feet. A big fat bug was trapped in the bowl and exploded from the heat. Ocampo, certain that God had answered his prayer, he and his wife, that night, took a hammer and broke all of their shrines. They stripped their walls clean of ‘sacred pictures,’ and threw them out their front door, a pile of trash for everyone to see. With joy and peace they went to bed and slept soundly. He was delivered forever from the bondage of idol worship.

In the days that followed, Ocampo threw the store liquor and tobacco away and stopped the gambling. He began to study the Scriptures day and night, and found other Christians to fellowship with.

Business dwindled and persecution began. All of his acquaintances left him. Many that owed his store money did not pay their debts. Only his faithful wife and children remained. All of this happened before we arrived in Cuba. When we heard his story, we rejoiced and encouraged him to share his testimony at our meetings. As he spoke, the crowds were riveted by his simple words.

Later, Ocampo sold his store and worked full-time for God. He poured his heart out night after night, and hundreds of his countrymen were led to the Lord.

Another full-time worker, Mundo, regularly took a horse out in the mornings, his saddlebags full of literature to distribute.

He returned one afternoon with an interesting account. “Brother Ware,” he said, “one of the farmers I visited was not interested in what I had to say, so I left his house, and found my horse sitting down outside. I did everything I knew to get it back on its feet. I said to it, ‘Please good horsey, please get up. This farmer does not want us on his property. Please take me to the next farm.’

“But no matter how much I begged and pulled on his reigns, he would not budge. Then I pushed and heaved at his backside, but he is so big, he did not move one inch. I said to the horse, ‘If I have to leave you with this unChristian farmer you will deserve what treatment you get! This is very unChristian behavior, horse!’

“You know, Brother Ware, this is one of our better horses. It’s normally a very agreeable creature. So next I got a stick and poked him with it. He wouldn’t budge.

“At last I went back into the farmhouse for help and found the farmer now ready to accept the Lord! I led him to the Lord. When I was done, I went outside, and the horse was standing on its feet, happy to leave. Isn’t it wonderful? Brother Ware, even our horses work for God!”

Many of the young evangelist nationals were graduates from Cuban Bible schools, but still shy in front of crowds. I encouraged them to speak in the meetings. They stammered and stood on one leg then the other as they “tried their wings.” Within a very short time nearly all of them became fiery preachers of the Gospel, able to perform joyous baptismal services, and talk to large crowds.

Often, poor people gathered at these services, men dressed in shirts that were a solid network of patches, and women in simple, homemade dresses eagerly listening to Scripture and the Words of Life from the workers.

“One soul saved is worth all of the comforts that we left behind,” Milly sometimes had to remind me. Particularly when a visitor from Canada said to me, “I keep my cows in a better place than this” as he walked around our house. His disdainful words hurt and depressed me.

One afternoon later a soaking tropical downpour trapped me in the house. The thatch roof leaked and mud formed six inches deep all around the house. In a gloomy mood I looked around me. We had no comfortable furniture. Cracks in the board walls let in a chilly breeze. There was no running water except the leaks and no light except for a temperamental lantern. The wooden windows made the house even darker when they were shut to keep the rain out. When I went outside to use the outhouse I found the cement seat occupied by two green frogs.

Then my mind flashed back to the luxury of hot water, dry comfortable rooms with carpet and furniture and glass windows. I thought of apples, ice cream, coffee, and cars. To further dampen my spirits, I had just been told that one of the new Christians had been found stealing. “What is the use?” I groaned.

That evening I was due to take a group of workers to an open-air meeting deep in the campo. I looked at my watch and saw that it was time to leave. I kissed Milly on her neck as she bent to tuck one of our children, who happened to have measles, into his makeshift bed, and to pray with him.

“Have a wonderful service, dear. I’ll be praying for you,” she told me.

I grunted my thanks and trudged outside to the jeep. Only a few workers showed up, and I was tempted to cancel the trip. “No,” I thought, “there are dear ones who trust us with their offerings and prayers.”

I pushed the starter button, and we began the bumpy trip, the windshield wiper working hard.

Three senoritas in the back began to sing, Mi corazon contento esta, porque Jesus ya me salvo. (My heart is happy because Jesus saved me). I started to feel better.

At last we arrived at a small village to find only a handful of people waiting to hear us. I pulled my trumpet out of its case and began to play as if for the king and queen of England. (I had noticed previously that if I played carelessly, the people sang without enthusiasm.) We had prayer, testimonies, and finally the native speaker gave a message. At the conclusion he offered an invitation for salvation.

An old lady raised her hand. The privilege of seeing her face light up as she accepted Christ’s gift of salvation completely changed everything for me. I appreciated the old jeep as I packed up our equipment and my heart sang for joy over each bump in the trail. Hallelujah, a soul saved! Only one, but worth more than the wealth of the world.

That night as I fell asleep next to my precious wife, I thought kindly of the old “cow barn” that we lived in: the lantern’s glow seemed warm, rice and beans delicious, even measles and mud took on a new aspect. Tomorrow the sun would come out and dry the ground, and within a few days the children would be well again. I thought of the campesinos that we ministered to. They had a lot less of this world’s goods than we did. We could not balance all the inequality, but we could offer them all that we had: love, peace, joy, purpose, blessings innumerable and heaven!

Juana, a vivacious little woman in her 40’s, had a testimony much like Ocampos’. Her home, too, was full of statues and religious pictures. Her entire family faithfully kissed them each morning before they started their day. The pictures became grotesque over time as the constant touch of their lips wore huge holes in them.

One day Juana heard God’s message of love and forgiveness as we sang and testified in her village. She learned that the price for her sins was totally paid by our Lord Jesus Christ on Calvary. How she rejoiced! Following that meeting she collected all of the religious artifacts in her home, took them outside and burned them. Her neighbors asked her, “Juana! What are you doing?”

She responded, “God says in my Bible, Thou shalt have no other Gods before me.” When we heard about it, we were thrilled that the Word of God spoke for Itself.

Jill (pronounced “Hill”) was another convert. He lived next door to us, so we knew his life quite well. He was a traveling salesman. Each morning he packed his horse with his merchandise: matches, candles, salt and other staples, and headed off into the countryside to peddle his goods.

By nature he was mean, and sometimes, violent. We watched as people crossed to the other side of the street when he came down the road. His home was the same thatch roof, dirt floor house that we lived in. His wife cooked inside on an open fire as was the custom, and we often watched the smoke from it sleepily drift up through the thatch of their roof. Inside their home they sat on boxes and ate at a box table.

Jill’s daughters, Aurelia and Tita regularly attended meetings in our home. They accepted Jesus as their Savior and begged their Papa to come to the services. He would always refuse.

Then, to our surprise, one night he came. He sat on the side of the room, up front, and scowled throughout the service. At the end of the meeting we gave an invitation for salvation. Jill stood up, looked around, then sat down. We were puzzled, but prayed with him before he went home.

The next morning, early, there was a banging on our door. I got up to answer it.

“Hola, Jill!” (Hello, Jill) What can we do for you?” I asked sleepily.

“Well, you know those little books that you give out?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got any?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I want some.” he requested, and looked at me earnestly.

“Oh? What do you want some for?”

“Well to give them out!” He sounded indignant.

I apologized and hurried to get him some literature. He gave the booklets out and told others about Jesus wherever he traveled. One of the first persons that he led to the Lord was his old father. Next was his wicked sister. The patriarch was so happy to see the changes in his family that he wanted to give something back to God. He generously gave his home for services and for the work of God.

Jill banged on our door early another morning. “Brother Ware! Brother Ware! Come over and see what God has done for me!”

I went over and found actual furniture in his home!

“How did you get this, Jill?” I asked, pleased with the improvement.

“Yesterday, on my route, a man was on the trail with a cart load of furniture that he was taking to the market to sell. I asked him about buying the whole cart load. Since I no longer drink or smoke, and the price was low enough, I had enough money to buy all of it!” I rejoiced with him.

For a third time, early in the morning I was awakened. “Come see! Come see! Oh, this is wonderful! God is so good to me!” Jill shared enthusiastically. I rushed behind him. He took me to his hog pen. There to my amazement lay a sow with six piglets!

“My sow has never had more than two piglets. Never. And with six we can eat for many days!” Again I went home rejoicing over his blessings.

A month or so went by, then he rattled our front door once again. “Hermano (Brother) Ware, Hermano Ware! Ven a ver! (Come see!) Ven a ver!” So I scurried over.

There in his yard stood a sickly cow. “Oh Brother Ware, never in my life did I dream that I would own a cow. Never. It is marvelous! I was on the trail and a man passed me with it. He was selling it for a very low price, so I bought it!”

His vices had kept him bound in poverty for so long that now that he was released, he was thrilled with his new life and its many opportunities.

I thought to myself as I walked home, The cow looks sick. That’s why he was able to buy it so cheaply. It’s probably on its last legs. But Jill sure looks happy, so I’ll just rejoice with him.

I enjoyed my early morning rest for a few months more when again I thought that the door would not hold up to the physical assault, “Hermano Ware! Hermano Ware! Es maravilloso! (It is marvelous!) Ven a ver!” Of course, I ran behind him to his home.

He had constructed a shelter for his cow. He pointed for me to look over the shelter wall. There on the floor of the pen lay a beautiful calf beside its contented mother. Jill excitedly repeated over and over, “Can you believe it, Brother Ware? Now I have two cows!” We both stood at the wall and gazed in awe at the new life. We praised God for His care, love and provision!

Another great blessing was the salvation of Challo. He was the hopeless town drunk in a village next to us. His niece, Anita, was a Christian, and constantly loved and prayed for him. She had pleaded with him innumerable times to become a Christian, but he had always rejected her requests.

One night, while she was in a meeting, she had a foreboding fear for her uncle. I watched as she slipped out of the service. She later told me that she had run to where he lived and opened the door. There she found him on the floor, drunk as always, with a big kitchen knife raised to cut his wrists.

“Oh, Uncle! Don’t do that! Uncle dear, please don’t do that! Come with me to church, Uncle. Don’t hurt yourself, please!”

Somehow she was able to get him into to the meeting. She returned to her seat, but her uncle would not sit down. He drunkenly staggered up to the pulpit where Giraldo, another of the workers was quietly preaching. Everyone in the congregation was frightened and jumped up onto the bench seats, talked excitedly, and in fear watched the intoxicated man as he fumbled around. I asked another worker to help him out of the building, which he did, and everyone settled back down. Giraldo spoke unfazed throughout the uproar. He had a message, and he was going to finish it.

I started to relax again, when bang! The back door flew open, and the drunkard stumbled in. Chaos and excitement disturbed the meeting and again I asked that he be removed.

A third time, bang! The determined man went from bench to bench, all the way to the front where Giraldo continued to preach. At this point I decided that the meeting was ruined, so I picked up my things to leave. When I glanced up at the pulpit, the drunkard stood not twelve inches from Giraldo’s face. In awe at the speaker’s perseverance I then watched the intoxicated man fall to his knees. He raised his hands and asked God to forgive him.

Thrilled, we all gathered around him and prayed.

The next day he told his niece, “I am a new man! Everything is new! This sandwich that I am eating tastes wonderful! The sky is beautiful! The sunshine feels good!”

She rejoiced with him, and thanked God continually for his salvation. He started to help with church services and became a blessing to many.

In the summer of 1958 we drove to the Oriente province and to our amazement were stopped 12 times by soldiers. They were looking for revolutionaries who usually dressed in green fatigues and had long hair, often worn in a ponytail.

As we talked with the soldiers, we were able to convince them that we were not interested in politics, and they often accepted our tracts and New Testaments.

As the revolution escalated, however, there were times we were stopped at the point of a gun. When either the revolutionaries or the Cuban soldiers discovered who we were and what our ministry was, they always let us go. Both Fidel Castro and Batista’s men gave us freedom to continue to minister, since we were apolitical. We desired only to reach out to people at a time when they needed it. We proceeded without fear to: “Take the Word, preach the Word, and leave the Word.”

During that time, I took a quick trip to Canada to talk to individuals and churches about the needs in Cuba which were more literature and workers. The trip was successful as I was promised that they would send both.

One young woman, Kathy U’ren, from Washington state said that she would give a year of her life to help in any way that was needed. She played the accordion well, and had excellent secretarial skills. We were thrilled when she arrived and put also “her hand to the plow.”

Another wonderful family addition was Len and Connie Hearn and their daughter, Marguerite. Brother Len was enthusiastic and talented in writing and photography. His wife was a nurse, and his pretty daughter was a typical teenager, not altogether thrilled to be in Cuba.

On Sunday, November 16, 1958, we were invited to conduct an evening evangelistic service in a small village called Viana. After lunch that afternoon Milly said, “Ted, I don’t feel good about going out tonight. Maybe we shouldn’t go. Even Kathy isn’t enthusiastic.”

“Well, I don’t feel really peaceful about it either, but we’re expected, and many people will be disappointed if we don’t.”

“Who of us is going?” she asked.

“There are the Hearns, and their daughter, Marguerite, Kathy U’Ren, you and I, and the children. That’s eleven. It’s a good thing we have the bigger jeep, isn’t it!” I said. We had just bought a larger Land Rover. She smiled, and proceeded to the kitchen to clean the dishes.

That evening before leaving for Viana we bowed our heads and prayed. “Lord, we thank you for all of your provision and blessings. We thank you that we can go out. I Corinthians 1:21 says, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe. We pray that through our small, foolish efforts, you will save souls.”

We arrived at the hall in the little town of Viana, set up the musical instruments, and proceeded with the service. The benches that had no backs were full. After the service, several people came forward for prayer. We felt we had ministered God’s message to the congregation. As we packed our equipment to return home, we were told that refreshments had been made to honor our visit. We all preferred to leave, but to be polite, we stayed until we had eaten a little. It was dark when we climbed into our Rover.

On the twisting, narrow road home we talked about Christ’s return. I drove and Milly sat next to me. Our toddler Paul, and Kathy U’Ren were also in the front seat. In the back half-seat sat Brother and Sister Hearn and Marguerite, their daughter. Sister Hearn picked up and held our six year old Joy who had fallen asleep on the floor. On the back bench-seats sat our other children, Heather, Clive and Kevin.

Brother Hearn commented, “I think that the second-coming of the Lord is the vital message for the hour, both for the comfort of the saints and the warning of judgment to those who refuse God.”

Milly added, “When I was a child, my father opened the drapes to the morning light with, ‘I wonder if it’s going to be today?’ He lived for Christ’s second-coming, didn’t he Ted?”

“He sure did. He often said, He’s coming in the clouds, and every eye shall see Him. We’ll all be caught up together to meet Him in the air.’ That sure is a wonderful promise.”

We had passed through the village of Cienfuentes when suddenly there was a loud bang.

Kevin shouted, “Dad, we've got a flat!” I knew we did not have a flat tire; it was the bark of a gun.

I knew we were being attacked! I needed to get the dome light on. Now, this new Land Rover jeep had been quite satisfactory to me in all details except that the dome light switch was positioned over on the passenger’s side of the dashboard. This made it a nuisance to get to. As I leaned in front of Milly, I heard the roar of many guns.

Fidel Castro’s young rebels were preparing to burn the bridge that we approached and thought that we were Batista’s men who had come to arrest them. The first shot had been the lookout’s warning shot to his comrades. A large .45 caliber bullet pierced the side door of the vehicle, in the same spot Joy had lain before Sister Hearn picked her up. The bullet that missed Joy went into Marguerite’s right heel, and then continued into her left heel.

The second barrage was from the machine guns of twenty-four scared rebels not more than fifty feet away from us. They shot at us from the dark embankment, their guns aimed upwards. My head was in front of Milly as I attempted to turn the interior light on. I felt a wallop, like a blow from a hammer, to my head. One of my eyes switched off. I remembered hearing that Englishmen are “hard-headed.” Since that night I have not been able to live that down. My head stopped four bullets. Three lodged in my skull, but did not penetrate the brain. Another bullet pierced my eyebrow, shot down through the back of my eye slicing the optic nerve, then lodged in my jaw.

The truth that God is the Mighty God of miracles became abundantly clear to me that night. If I had not been bending over in front of Milly, four machine gun bullets would have ripped through her chest. With four bullets in my head I was able to turn the dome light on, and also stop the jeep. There was no panic. God gave us his peace.

The soldiers emerged from the shrubs, the ends of their guns still smoking. One of the Rebel leaders leaned his head through the door. “What are you doing here? We thought you were the enemy.”

“We are missionaries, returning from a meeting in the country. We have no interest in politics.”

As he turned from my window I realized that there was blood everywhere. I was handed a pillow, which I held over my face to stop the flow of blood. Somebody put Kathy’s shawl around my shoulders. I didn't know that I'd been hit with four bullets, but I knew I was seriously hurt. Len Hearn stepped out of the jeep and began handing out tracts and witnessing to the rebels!

The young leader of the group, his beret down over his forehead, came to my window. I asked him, “Do you have a doctor?”

“No.”

“Well, have you got another vehicle that we could use?”

“No, we haven't.”

“How far is it to the nearest doctor?”

“Eight kilometers back, the way that you came.”

Here we were, Marguerite and I seriously wounded, one light of our vehicle shot out, the windshield shot out, the radiator with bullet holes in it, and we had eight kilometers of night driving ahead. How were we going to get back? Len handed out what New Testaments we had left from the meeting, and stepped back into the Rover.

We had a prayer meeting for a few minutes, thanked God for His mercy that we were all still alive, and asked Him to heal Marguerite and me.

Brother Hearn suggested, “Brother Ware, let me see if I can get this jeep started.”

So we traded places. He pushed the starter button, and praise God, it started. He slowly turned the jeep around in the road and the Land Rover sput-sputtered the eight kilometers back to a doctor. No one panicked, and I was in no pain.

As we drove, the Spirit of the Lord came down on the jeep. We sang,

When we got into the village, the jeep motor stopped, and would not start again. By this time the curfew was in effect and the streets were empty. However, when the villagers saw our jeep, like ants from the woodwork, they came from behind their locked doors.

“Is there a doctor in this town?” Brother Hearn asked them.

“Yes! You have stopped right outside of his door.”

So we went to the door and left the children in the jeep with Kathy. Although the doctor was asleep he got up and invited us in.

I sat in his office fully aware of all that went on around me, and still held the pillow over my eye. Marguerite was carried in and laid on the examination table. After he checked her feet he came over to me and lifted the pillow from my face. I watched him go pale as he saw the extent of my injuries. My eyeball was on my cheek, and I was bleeding from four places. He scratched his nose, pulled his ear, and turned away. His body language was really encouraging! I knew I was going to die.

“I can't do anything for you. You'll have to go to Sagua La Grande,” he told me.

Sagua la Grande was a town about 30 kilometers away. While we were in of the office a crowd formed outside. The doctor went out and announced, “We've got to get this party to Sagua La Grande. Is anyone willing to take them?”

Out of that crowd staggered an intoxicated man. “Yeah, I'll take them.” When I heard about it, I wasn't sure he was the help we needed. He was a cab driver with an old ‘38 Chevrolet, who because of the curfew had decided to spend the night in town.

At the same time a tall, distinguished gentleman stepped out of the crowd, and in English told Kathy U’Ren, “I am a businessman in town, and I'd like to offer you hospitality. If some of you want to come to my home, I'll take care of you.”

Kathy went to Milly. “Why don’t I go with the children to this man’s house?” Milly agreed since she knew that Kathy was dependable and the children felt secure with her.

We watched the Lord provide. Kathy told us later that as she and the children walked to the man’s house she thought that a warm cup of milk would be ideal to help the children to sleep. What did the gentleman’s wife serve them? Mugs of hot milk.

The Hearns, Milly and I got into the cab driver’s car. He quickly had us on the road driving 70 miles per hour through the dark night. After all, he was an ambulance! I sat in the back and praised God. Hallelujah! We survived the ambush, but any second, this crazy character was going to roll the car and we would all be with the Lord!

We arrived in Sagua la Grande at an antique Spanish mansion. It had been converted into a hospital. I was told, “You just sit here, we'll go get help.”

The Hearns with Marguerite went inside the hospital. I could see through the double entry doors a winding staircase. I watched as two Cuban orderlies struggled toward me with an empty stretcher. They laid it down and very ceremoniously indicated for me to get aboard. I asked, “Where are we going?”

They answered, “We've got to take you to the operating room, at the top of the marble stairs.”

I volunteered, “I'll walk up.”

“No, no! We've been detailed to carry you up.”

I lay down on the stretcher. They had struggled when it was empty, but they really struggled with me on it! As we went up the staircase they began to slip and slide. I thought, “I survived the ambush and the crazy cab driver, but any minute these orderlies are going to drop me over the side of the banister. I’ll go to be with God!”

But they didn’t drop me and we made it to the operating room. They set the stretcher down.

After a short time the doctor came in. He examined me. “We can't do anything for you here. You’ve got to go to Havana.”

Havana was 250 miles from Sagua la Grande. There was no transportation available. There were no planes or trains. The roads were closed and bridges were burned. The doctor put a bandage over my eye and said, “We'll have to leave you as you are until the morning and then see what happens.” He then turned to examine Marguerite’s feet.

All during the night there were three of us in my room, my wife and I, and the Lord. I truly believed that I was going to die. I had no fear. The Bible tells us that the grave has no victory, and death has no sting, and just as I had preached it, I found it so. Any second I was going to be with the Lord!

In the midst of this joy, however, the devil taunted me. “Oh, so you're going to be with your Lord! That's great, but what about your wife and children?” All of a sudden the reality of my family’s plight hit me. My wife, alone in a country in civil war, with five little children, and nowhere to go!

“Oh God!” my soul cried out in agony. “Lord, Lord, how can I leave them at this time?”

Then I heard the voice of the Lord, just as clear as can be, “Can't you trust them with me?”

The Spirit of the Lord in me said, “Of course I can! Of course!” I called out, “Oh, yes, Lord, of course! You could take better care of them than I ever could. I give them to Thee!” I expected to become unconscious and wake up with God. I even encouraged Him, “Well, Lord, I'm ready now. I'm ready to leave my wife and family with You, and everything's going to be all right!”

But the voice of the Lord came back to me, “That's all I was waiting for. Now I'll tell you something else. Thou shalt not die, but live and declare the everlasting works of God!” (Psalm 118:17)Great joy and peace flooded my soul and I fell asleep.

Some distance away God spoke to another servant of His, an American Mennonite missionary named Adrian King. We had never heard of this man, and he certainly did not know us. God woke him in the middle of the night and said, “Get up. I want you to go out.” He woke up and wondered where he should go. He had never heard from the Lord like that before. He wakened his wife and told her what he had heard. They tried to shrug it off and go back to sleep, but the voice was persistent.

“Darling? I-I-I think I must go out.”

“Right now? In the middle of the night! Do you know what for?”

“No, I don’t know why, but I’ll have no peace until I go. I’ve got to go now.” So he threw his bed cover back and looked at the clock. It was 3:00AM.

Mrs. King asked her husband, “Are you sure that it can't wait until morning?”

“I’m sure. Will you help me get ready?”

She got up, made him a sandwich and something hot to drink.

“I think I'll take the station wagon,” he mumbled as he finished dressing.

“But darling, you never take that car out unless we’re going to the States for supplies. You always use the little Volkswagen.”

“I just feel like taking the station wagon. Please put a mattress in the back of the wagon, I just might want to sleep on it, you never know.” God sent him out without a map or set of directions. All that he had was the desire to obey. He drove around his town, then to the next town. He drove and drove. Two hours later he arrived in Sagua La Grande. Tired of driving, he stopped outside of the town’s hospital, and wondered what to do next.

“Well, there's a hospital. I'll go and do a little visiting until I get further direction.”

It was 5:00AM when he went up to the receptionist and asked,

“I am a minister. I've just arrived in town and was wondering if I could visit the sick.”

“Of course,” the receptionist answered. “Incidentally, there's a group of Americans, just like you, that came into town last night after an accident. You might want to stop and see them. They are upstairs.” He knew immediately why the Lord had called him out.

The first thing Adrian said to us when he entered our room that morning was, “I'm at your service.”

He was like an angel of God. “I have a station wagon with a mattress in the back. The injured can lie on it, and I can get through the back roads to Santa Clara.” So he helped us all into his car, and we drove away.

We picked up the children and Kathy then left the road. We traveled through rivers, sugar cane fields, and other rugged terrain. By 8:00 am we entered Santa Clara.

We drove to the airport and found it shut down and surrounded by soldiers.

Milly volunteered, “Two weeks ago I met an American woman, married to a Cuban doctor. She told me if we ever needed a doctor’s help to go to them. At the time I told her that we had lived in Cuba for five years and had not needed a physician, but she gave me directions to their apartment anyway. It is over by the town clinic.”

So with no other alternative, we drove to her apartment building. Milly knocked on their door. The doctor, who had just arrived home, came to the station wagon.

“Oh, my goodness!” he said to me, “you'll have to go to Havana!” Then he put his finger to his lip as if in thought, and said, “Wait a minute! There was a neurosurgeon from Havana who came here a few days ago to see a special patient of his. He's been unable to fly back. He'd be the one. Now let me see. Where did he say he was staying?” He scratched his head and looked away from us. “If I can only remember where he said he was staying... Well, there he is!” And there was the doctor from Havana walking across the street!

Our friend shouted the doctor’s name, and he walked over to the station wagon.

Since he was a neurosurgeon, he looked at me and gave a very positive analysis. “There's nothing they can do for him in Havana, that I can't do for him right here! Take him over to the clinic.”

In the clinic there was a simple little operating room and a few beds. I was still in no pain when they took me into the operating room. Milly was a fully trained nurse in England, so they allowed her to come in, too. As the doctor sorted through his tools, I noticed that he had a hammer, a chisel, a pair of pliers, and a little saw. They weren't common hardware tools, but they were clearly tools I could recognize. The three bullets that had plowed into my scalp were going to be removed with these tools!

I was not anesthetized, so I watched the doctor work on me. With the pliers he tried to grab the ends of the bullets, but the pliers slipped off of the tiny end of the bullet.

I wanted to say, “Hey Doc, give me those pliers and let me do it!”

Finally he wrenched one loose but the others were too deeply imbedded. Next, he reached for his chisel and hammer. He chiseled off the top of the lodged bullets and sewed me up. Half way through this procedure, Milly walked out of the operating room; she couldn't handle any more.

Before I was taken out of the operating room another doctor came and talked to the surgeon. A very kind, caring doctor told me, “I'm afraid we've got to have another little operation tomorrow.”

The Lord had prepared my heart, so I said, “It's my eye, isn't it?”

“Yes, I'm afraid it is.”

“Well, doctor, you do whatever you feel you've got to do. We're trusting the Lord to show you what to do.”

“Well, that's nice. Thank you.”

I said, “We'll be praying for you.”

“Thank you very much.” And he left the room.

I was taken to my room where Milly was allowed to stay on a little cot beside my bed. Still in no pain I rejoiced in the presence of the Lord. “The Lord is our refuge and strength, a very present help in the time of trouble.” (Psalm 46:1) I claimed that verse with all my heart that night.

An American government official in Santa Clara heard of the accident, and came to the hospital to see if he could do anything for us. He sat in the room with us for four hours.

He couldn’t believe we were alive! “Of the 200 shots fired by the rebels, with 11 people in the jeep, only two of you were injured! There is a special feeling of God in this room, and He must have been with you in the ambush.”

I slept on and off all that day and night. Nothing else could be done for me. However, the following morning I was scheduled for the second operation.

Early the next morning there was a knock on our door. Milly answered it, and found a Cuban mother with three children offering to help us.

“Is there anything we can do for you? Do you need anything? Can we go out and buy anything for you? Do you need any messages delivered? Please, tell us. We want to help you.”

Milly said, “Everything is being taken care of, thank you very much.” We wondered after they left why they were so solicitous.

The doctor came in and said, “I took you at your word that I had freedom to do as I thought best. Your eyeball is intact, but your optic nerve is not. Another patient of mine needs a cornea. I have scheduled a transplant using your cornea. You have possibly seen the family of my patient. They are very grateful.”

I turned to Milly. “Not even my eye will be wasted. Someone in Cuba will be able to see because of it!”

We were also concerned about Marguerite. Mr. Hearn came to see me. “Isn’t our God faithful. Marguerite will be bed-ridden for many months, but she will be able to walk again. She even says she is grateful that she got hit by bullets in her feet as she was running from the Lord, and the experience has brought her back to Him.”

Ministers from almost every denomination came to our bedsides and prayed for us. Their love reaching out to us transcended the walls of doctrinal differences.

After only three days in the hospital I was able to go home! Before releasing me, my doctor came into the room and sat by my bed. He picked up a little vial of antibiotic. “Marvelous! Fantastic!” he crooned.

I realized that he thought that it was that antibiotic that produced my speedy recovery. I didn’t say that God didn’t use the antibiotic, but I felt compelled to at least warn him, “Don’t put too much confidence in that little bottle for the next patient, because it might not work as well. It was God who healed me!”