Seek The Lamb

Chapter 1 The Abundant Life

The Abundant Life

We were men with a mission.

As we walked through the snow toward the crowd ahead of us, we knew it was going to be a demanding day, one that would challenge all our skills and stamina. This day would be the culmination of months of effort and training. Joe and I felt ready. With each stride, our determination to accomplish our mission grew. Our mouths were dry in anticipation. . . . It was 8:30 a.m. and time to go up.

We  stowed our equipment on the vehicle and boarded. The ride to the top took eight minutes. We had taken this trip many times before; and, as usual, we both sat silent, watching the trees pass beneath us, our minds racing over details of days past. . . .

I had met Joe in Florida at Primary Flight training. We went through Basic and Advanced Jet training in Texas together. Joe had flown A-7 Corsairs off the Coral Sea. I had flown A-6 Intruders off the Kitty Hawk, the Enterprise, and finally off the Coral Sea. Joe was an excellent pilot and Naval Officer. When it came time for his decision on a career in the Navy, he made the same choice that I did. That decision had led us to this day, and what was about to happen.

The vehicle stopped and the door opened. We took our equipment and walked outside. It was a beautiful day. It was more than beautiful—it was inspirational! We always enjoyed this moment. The air was crisp and clear, and you could see for miles. The air pressure at 10,000 feet was always invigorating. I took the kevlar polyfiber boards that were across my shoulder and laid them neatly in front of me. I separated two 50-inch poles and, with one in each hand, began my usual stretching routine. This was not a day for pulled muscles. Joe was doing the same. After a few moments, we were ready.

I knocked the snow off my boots with my poles. With two clicks I locked into my pair of LaCroix Mach 3 skis. Joe stepped into his Head SRs, and we were off, accelerating down the mountain. As we picked up speed, we both assumed the low drag “tuck position” —knees bent, thighs parallel to the ground, hands straight forward over the skis pointed down the mountain—accelerating, accelerating . . . soon the other skiers were just a blur as we sped by. . . .

The day also sped by. At 3:50 p.m., we arrived back at the spot where we had started the day. We kicked off our skis and hurried to the gondola, which closed at 4:00 p.m. We rode those eight minutes to the top of Vail mountain with exhausted grins on our faces. We had accomplished our mission—to see how many times we could ski from the top of the mountain to the bottom. We had just completed run number 20. The next, and last run would be the icing on the cake. It was our favorite highspeed route down the mountain—“Bwana-Safari-Simba”, a two-mile combination of three courses with plenty of jumps. It was also going to be our last run for a while. The next day Joe was planning to leave for Florida, where, within a few weeks, he would marry his sweetheart Martha.

As we rode the gondola up that final time, I thought back to the day when we decided to come to Vail. I had called Joe the previous spring at his base in Florida, asking him if he was going to accept another set of orders—which meant at least another three years in the Navy. After six years already served, this was the time for both of us to decide if we were going to make the Navy a career and stay in for 20 years, the minimum time for retirement, or get out. We both loved the challenges of flying high performance jets off aircraft carriers. However, neither of us really liked living on a steel boat with 5,500 other guys and being out at sea weeks at a time.

Joe’s response to my question was, “I’d sure like to go skiing this winter.” I answered, “Me too,” and we began planning. Within a few weeks, we had both submitted our letters of resignation from active service. By October, the Navy released us from active duty. We met at my base in Washington and, after a few days preparation, drove my VW van to Vail. On the day we arrived, we found a place to live. The next day we bought season ski passes. It was that simple.

We had a swimming pool across the street from our condo. Joe was a top notch swimmer at Illinois, and we fell into a great routine. We were up at 7:00 a.m. and at the gondola by 8:30. We skied until 4:30, and then stopped for a few beers and plenty of popcorn at our favorite après ski place, Purcell’s. It was home, then into our Speedos and to the pool, where we did a 1,500–2,000 yard workout. After dinner, we headed back into town for a few more beers somewhere and home early. We wanted to be ready for tomorrow. It was a great life. We could hardly wait to start the next day.

After weeks of solid skiing, we decided to look for work. Our inherent work ethic, and our bank accounts, said it was time. We both found jobs in the banquet department at the Mark Hotel. I worked as a waiter, and Joe did the room set-up for the conferences held at the hotel. Fortunately that didn’t interfere with the skiing, but it did cut into our night life.

As the spring approached, so did the end of the ski season. This was March of 1980, and many airlines needed pilots. We knew that we would soon have to make some important decisions. Joe was interviewing with an airline in San Diego; but for some reason, I had decided that I really didn’t want to be a “glorified bus driver.” I was enjoying the life here in Vail. It was all a 28 year old could ask for, and I decided that one ski season was not enough. This was a good lifestyle for me. Joe was in love and did decide to marry Martha in May, only a few weeks away. Today was our last day skiing together for awhile. We had skied fast all day, minimizing our turns. As soon as we got off the chair lift, it was a mad dash to ski to the bottom, get on the chair lift and back up to the top again. Considering the crowds at Vail this day, we had already set an amazing record. Now we were ready for one final run. . . .

The gondola jerked to a stop. We were at the top—at the place known as Eagle’s Nest. We stepped out, grabbed our skis, and headed over to the top of the ridge line. There we stuck our skis into the snow and sat down on one of the benches. From here we could see across the top of much of Colorado. One prominent peak was the Mount of the Holy Cross. It is a mountain over 14,000 feet tall which has a naturally carved cross on its east face. The vertical crevasse runs down from the top of the peak, and snow stays in the cross all year. The name came from the first pioneer who traveled in this area, who wrote to some friends back east that he had found a mountain “that God had carved a cross on.”

Even in the summer, from over 20 miles away, this snow cross is very prominent. During the winter, sitting above the surrounding snow-covered mountains, it was an inspirational sight. I always enjoyed gazing at this cross, and it provoked many thoughts within me. I had gone to church most of my youth, and I believed that there was a God. However, I didn’t really follow the ways of traditional religion, at least as it was taught to me at the Presbyterian church in Raeford, North Carolina, or the Baptist church in San Angelo, Texas, or the Methodist church in Reynoldsburg, Ohio. I didn’t see much point in traditional religion, where it didn’t appear what you did Sunday made any difference in what you did the rest of the week. God was portrayed as impersonal and distant . . . out there somewhere.

The emphasis seemed to be on doing good things and obeying God. However, I never really understood who this God was, and why I should obey Him—even though I was a baptized member of the Baptist, and then the Methodist church, and involved in Sunday School, the choir, men’s softball, and the youth group. As a result, when I graduated from high school and left home for college, I stopped going to church altogether. I thought, “If this is all God has to offer, I’ll see what else is available.”

Ten years later, through college, the Navy and now here at Vail, I had had a good sampling of “what else is available.” I had flown fast airplanes, traveled to exotic places, and experienced many of the pleasures of this world. This season here at Vail was just another chapter in this search for the ultimate high. Yet almost every time I saw the cross cut on the side of this mountain, I was reminded that God really was out there . . . somewhere. Sights like these reflected a majesty of some creator. The intense colors of the alpine flora on the mountains in the summertime were the delicate touch of a true artist. The intricate structure of the solar powered sugar producing factories within each leaf of the aspen trees reflected the design of a brilliant scientific engineer. Yes, by looking at His majestic creation here in Colorado, I began to understand that this God was Someone worth knowing.

So I began looking for Him in all the “high” places—the natural and chemically induced. After all, to experience Him personally had to be the ultimate high and the mountains and the other “highs” available were logical places to look. Yet as I experienced the “highs” of this life here at Vail, I began to sense that whatever highs I had achieved, there was another level above me that I couldn’t quite reach, no matter how hard I tried.

Striving for this ultimate high got a bit frustrating at times because it was a goal that you could almost feel but never touch. My general response was, “More, more,” of whatever we were doing, always trying to take it one step further. Life here in Vail was mostly all fun, but a part of me said at some point this “fun” had to start having some long-lasting significance. But in the meantime. . . .

Joe and I sat there on that bench for about 20 minutes enjoying the view and waiting for all the other skiers to clear off the mountain. We didn’t want any obstacles in our way for this last run. By 4:30 the mountain was clear and we were ready. We clicked into our skis, adjusted our goggles, and headed down “Bwana.”

This wide swath cut through the trees starts with a gentle decline, and then drops rapidly. The vertical drop accelerated us quickly to max velocity. For me, that was when my skis began “chattering” from the vibrations. We did a few wide turns to control our speed before coming to a trail through the trees to the left. This led us to the top of “Safari” which starts with a “lip,” a drop-off that was good for 20 to 40 yards of air. The landing was on a steep, open face.

We both hit the lip, kicked off, and soared. It was just like the old days, except without the jet engines propelling us. The exhilarating joy of flying evaporated immediately at touchdown and turned into deep concern. Now our attention was focused on controlling our speed, and initiating a turn to avoid the thick line of lodgepole pine trees located at the bottom of this face where the course turns left. A turn was mandatory here to ensure continued life; however, our velocity, and the steepness of the slope made it difficult for our skis to dig in and carve a turn. Instead, the skis simply rolled over the packed powder as we accelerated rapidly down the mountain. We knew that at some point our ski edges would stop skidding over the snow and dig in—the question was when. This was always a tricky moment . . . we were right on the “edge” of potential disaster.

I saw a huge “rooster tail” of snow billowing behind Joe as he tore down the mountain. I knew that my skidding skis were producing one as well. Finally, at the last possible moment, the metal edges of each ski finally gripped the snow and dug in. With a slight roll of my knees to the left, I moved into the left turn. The threatening line of lodge poles were no longer a danger, and my gaze shifted to the course now in front of me.

Coming out of this turn, we hit a series of three quick “horizontal” jumps—each of which carried us 10 to 20 yards in the air. After this last jump, we took a cutoff trail to the left, through the trees, over to the bottom face of “Simba.” Here we hit a steep lip that was good for as much air as our now burning thighs could handle. Fortunately, the landing area was steep and clear of skiers. With a few turns for speed control, we now set up for a final jump at the bottom where the course turned right. If you hit this one just right, you could fly all the way to the flats, run out to the bridge, cross Gore Creek, and coast to the gondola.

I hit the jump first, with Joe right on my tail. We soared, hit the ground, tucked it, and raced all the way to the bridge, crossing it together. As usual, we finished this two-plus mile “Bwana-Safari-Simba” run in less than three minutes.

I woke up the next day with sore neck muscles. I could barely lift my chin as I shaved. This was very strange. After I dressed, I helped Joe load his 240Z. Even though Joe was leaving, and our ski season together was over, we both were happy and satisfied. We had skied most every day for the last four months. The mountain would close in a few weeks and we had definitely gotten our money’s worth out of our season passes. Yesterday, we had accomplished our mission and set a new personal record for runs down Vail mountain for one day.

This season at Vail was just another chapter in our mutual effort to “max out” at whatever we were doing. We did it in the Navy, and we did it here at Vail. As intense as the skiing had been the day before, we both knew that there would be more such days together. We could part company with that thought.

Joe left for Florida and I left for the gondola. During my first run, I assumed the “tuck position.” It was then that I realized why my neck was sore. We had spent so much time the preceding day in this position that I had strained the muscles in my neck!

Six Years Later . . . October 1986

The mosquitos were buzzing madly in my ears. Sweat was pouring off my forehead. I could barely see. I couldn’t move. My legs were stuck in mud up past my knees. I struggled to maintain my grip on the bamboo pole on my shoulder. Ahead of me, at the other end of the pole, was Ron. He was also stuck in knee deep mud. Tied to the bamboo pole that connected us was a 25 horse­power outboard motor swinging wildly back and forth. Neither of us could move. The bugs were in a frenzy . . . we were the best meal that they’d had in a long time!

I fought to overcome the suction of the mud holding my foot down. “Here I am in the middle of a war zone, stuck in the mud, carrying this motor, and on the lunch menu for every insect in the vicinity. How did I get myself in this situation?” I asked myself.

Good Question!

We had started that day at Truman’s house in Sawa with a breakfast of rice, beans, and coffee. Afterward we loaded the boat and headed down the river. The Miskito Indians call this river “Wangki,” and it is the main thoroughfare of their homeland. Government cartographers label this river “Rio Coco” on their maps, and it forms the boundary between Honduras and Nicaragua.

There had been a war going on along this river since 1981. That year, the Marxist Sandinista government of Nicaragua decided to relocate most of the people who lived along this river to camps set up in the interior. Most of the Miskitos resisted this relocation and were forced to flee to Honduras as their villages were destroyed. A Miskito army formed and began a fight with the Sandinistas for control of this river.

I came to this region in November of 1984 with a medical team to aid some of the 40,000 refugees who had crossed the Wangki and were now living in the swamps and savannah of Honduras. In 1985, we formed a non-profit corporation called “Salt & Light” to further assist these refugees. Many lived along the Coco River and along the neighboring Kruta River, which runs roughly parallel and north of the Coco. In 1986, we began a primary education program, with schools in 12 villages along these rivers. The three founders of Salt & Light—Ronald Bross, John Freyer, and myself—along with our Miskito project coordinator, Truman Cunningham, had just completed a visit to all of our schools along the Coco. Now the four of us, along with a few others, were heading back to our base camp in the village of Auka, less than 20 miles away as the proverbial crow flies.

We, however, could not go the way of the crow. Instead, from Sawa, we had to boat downriver to the Coco’s northernmost bend—a place called Utlamata. From there, we would hike a five mile trail that ends in a “lovely” spot called Turalaya. Turalaya in Miskito means “Alligator Waters,” which is very descriptive of this swampy, bug-infested place. There we connected with a tributary of the Kruta River and traveled down it for two hours. Here it met the Kruta and we turned back upriver. From this point, it was six hours by boat to Auka. The whole trip usually took a day and a half.

During the dry season, you could make the trip from Sawa to Auka directly on foot almost as fast as by boat along the rivers. But this was October, the middle of the rainy season. The area between the Coco and Kruta was a low lying swamp, and after continuous rains, both rivers overflowed and covered the trails. Travel by foot during this time of year was difficult at best, often through knee-deep mud and chest-high water.

As we approached Utlamata in our boat that day, I began thinking about the hike to Turalaya. I knew there would be mud, and it would take us at least two hours to make it across. We usually rented horses from one of the villagers to carry our outboard motor and any other cargo that we had. This trail was always difficult during the rainy season; but somehow, as we rounded the final bend before Utlamata, I knew that this crossing was going to be especially challenging.

The first indication that I was right came when the horse rental man refused to rent us a horse to carry the motor. He said there was too much mud, and it would be too dangerous for his horse. After considering our options, we came up with a plan. We decided to put our backpacks on the horses, and two of us could carry the motor tied to a bamboo pole on our shoulders. It only weighed 107 pounds; so, we figured that we could take 15-minute shifts and then trade off. We packed the horses, selected a pole, tied the motor to it, and were off. Truman and one of our visitors from California, Ron Sukut, formed one team, and Ron Bross and I were the other. The rest of our group went ahead with the horses.

We realized after the first tradeoff that things weren’t going to work the way we had planned. There was a lot more mud than we expected, and we found out quickly that we could not carry the motor for 15 minutes without resting. One problem: when we tied the motor to the pole, we didn’t realize how much it was going to swing back and forth as we maneuvered to step on the driest places. This swinging 107 pound weight really threw the carriers off balance, and as the mud got deeper, this became more of a problem. Heat and insects combined to compound our misery. Eventually, Ron and I found ourselves stuck in mud over our knees, neither of us able to move. That was a time for very deep reflection—“How was I going to get out?” was my first thought. “How did I get myself here in the first place?” was the second.

Finally, Truman and the other Ron had to come help us pull ourselves out. Carrying this motor through knee-deep mud proved to be very strenuous. Soon we were down to less than 5-minute shifts, and progress was slow.

After a few hours of this, we finally caught up to the rest of the team and the horses who had stopped to wait for us. We now put two guys on each end. We finally arrived at Turalaya four hours after leaving Utlamata. I dropped into the murky river, completely exhausted. It had indeed been one of the most intense physical experiences of my life.

How had I gotten myself into this situation? Why was I wading in mud rather than skiing in clean, white snow? I loved the cold weather of the mountains. I enjoyed living at 9,000 feet. I hated the heat, and the thick air at sea level always felt oppressive. Why the change? What had taken me from my pleasure-seeking lifestyle in Vail to serving in the swamps of Honduras?

You might say that I had finally achieved the high that had always remained elusive during my college, Navy, and Colorado days. I had finally discovered the source of the inspiration I felt when I looked at the Mount of the Holy Cross from the top of Vail mountain.

But it didn’t all happen at once. . . I had to go back to Hawaii and into the “dark side” before I made my discovery.

Chapter 2 Seeds Already Planted

2

                  Seeds Already Planted

Every farmer knows that when seeds are planted, growth takes place before there is visible evidence. Before the leaves can grow, the sprout must appear from the seed. Even before the sprout appears, there is unseen action taking place within the seed.

There apparently was some “unseen action” taking place within me before I arrived in Vail and began contemplating the Mount of the Holy Cross. Consider these excerpts from “Onboard USS Enterprise 1978,” my personal diary I kept while on an eight-month deployment to the Pacific and Indian Oceans while I was assigned to Attack Squadron 196.

25 April 1978

Central Pacific Ocean, southwest of Kauai.

We left Hawaii today for 3 weeks at sea en route to the Philippines: set the clocks back an hour already as we moved west. In a few days, we will jump one day as we cross that dateline. Spent a week on Maui with my cousins. Quite a lifestyle on Maui. A different style to be sure. Life on the islands—roaming around in the jungle—very attractive yet at the same time lacking in—what? Nice to be with family again . . . a nice culture. Hawaii has a lot to offer.

MAUI—I will return for longer. . .

26 April 1978

Flew the first launch. It was an ocean surveillance flight and ended with some ACM (air combat maneuvering) with another A-6. The landing was a fair no. 2 wire. Each landing is graded by the Landing Signal Officers (LSOs). This is THE competitive event between the pilots of the air wing. Bombing scores are important, but landing competition is HIGHLY VISIBLE—everybody from the admiral on down watches the landings over the ship’s TV system.

The grading system is: O.K. (5 points); O.K. (4 points); Fair (3 points); No Grade (2 points); Cut Pass (1 point); Wave Off (0 points).

Landing properly aboard the ship is very important to your personal health, and the competitive aspect only adds to the intenseness. Today I scored 3 points.

I keep thinking about the whales breaching off Maui the other day. What a sight to see such animals leap from the ocean!

Meanwhile, I’m trying to get into a little “professional” reading—some Greek historians for a start. But I want to finish Tom Wolfe’s “The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test” first. Quite a mind-stimulating book. Strange how your mind can become channeled in the everyday routine.

Our horizons need to be on the broad scope. . . .

 

27 April 1978

I flew the A-6 tanker today. The landing was an O.K. hook skip 3 to a 4 wire. That gives me a 3.5 average. “Water every­where. . .” Nothing but blue surroundings. We are in the middle of the Pacific! The nearest land is Johnston Island which bears 335 degrees at 240 nautical miles.

Dichotomy day—Orbiting the ship at 20,000 feet for an hour can be very thought provoking—especially if the autopilot is working and you can zone out for a while. I thought more about the forces pulling me—a professional military type (serious, focused, disciplined) on one hand—or both hands when in the groove on final approach—and a Maui type (fun and little responsibility) on the other—yet I really enjoy the difference, being both types. I have to subvert one for the other at this point. . . . Yet my job allows for a unique diversity. . . .

My type of flying is a combination of thought and natural instincts. I really believe that some of the best athletes in the world are in my job category—i.e., flying fighter and attack aircraft. Some are onboard the Enterprise. Highly developed motor skills, hand to eye coordination, etc., are a basic requirement for survival. Analysis of the environment must be rapid and continually updated. Thoughts must be spontaneous and disciplined at the same time. With my hands on the stick and throttle, my feet on the rudder pedals, my body snugged tight into the ejection seat, the airplane becomes just an extension of me, my senses extending out past the wing tips, nose and tail. My internal gyroscope and accelerometers tell me what the airplane is doing before it registers on the instruments.

In flight school, they taught us to drop a bomb on a target by hitting certain parameters at the release point—like being in a 40-degree dive at 500 knots at 5,000 feet above the target, as your gun sight center passes over the bull’s eye. At that point, you would hit the release button on the stick, and the bomb should hit the target. That was the mechanical way to do it, and it was fun. But eventually you could roll in on a target at a random dive angle, ignoring the airspeed indicator and altimeter, with the gun sight turned off, and hit the release button at just the right moment when the target picture looks good and everything feels “just right” and get a good hit (less than 100 feet). That’s when it became sport and art.

Talk about job satisfaction! They actually pay me to do this!

On the other hand, being a Maui type could do it for me too. They also pay me to live on a gray boat with 5,000 other guys and keep my hair short. On Maui I can roam through the jungle doing what I like.

Can two different type of men live in the same body? Am I a schizoid? . . . I doubt it . . . Just not quite normal. Never really wanted to be normal in the sense of living a life that was routine, unchallenging, and not experiencing or achieving what I could. There’s too much out there to settle for a middle-class, sedate life in the suburbs with the wife and kids, and two cars in the garage, and pizza and beer on Friday night, and the ball games on Saturday and Sunday. . . . Can’t let it pass me by.

. . . Got to go for it in many areas: physical, mental, and spiritual. This kind of flying hits all three. I guess that’s why I enjoy the Italian Renaissance so much. They too strove to be diverse yet complete—to be the “universal man”—well-versed in many areas.  . . .  Disciplined, but loving a good party.

All this prompted by blue skies and blue water!

3 May 1978

The movie tonight in the wardroom was “The Trial of Billy Jack,” and it brought back memories of the spring of 1970 when we had the “riot” at Miami University (which was an over reaction by the Butler County cops and the Ohio Highway Patrol) and the killings at Kent State.

Tonight as I sat there, I had to ask myself again “What Am I Doing Here?”—in the Navy as a specialist in destroying people, places and things. . . a frequently asked question . . . such behavior goes against my nature. So what is all this leading to? Just another day in the life? No, all this must be for something. There’s got to be more to it than just 80 years on the planet having fun, making money, being comfortable, and passing time. I don’t buy the materialistic American values as THE goal. We must have been created for something more than that!

I’m waiting for the answer—my mission—just let me know—I’m ready!

Well, maybe not just yet.

I don’t have any real concerns for future events. I can’t get uptight as to what happens after October 1979 (my projected release date from the Navy). I enjoy this opportunity to fly at this speed. My historical big picture concepts reinforce what I’m doing now—defending the Central Pacific Ocean for all you who are sitting at home watching the tube wondering if it’s time to change the oil in the Dodge yet. It’s an honorable profession. I enjoy it.

Just as to what’s coming up . . . I’m not sure, but I think all these experiences will come together to become something meaningful . . . maybe. . . .

. . . . Just have to let it happen.

Chapter 3 Face To Face With A Demon

Face To Face With A Demon

      Vail was the place to be in the summer of 1981. There was no skiing, but there was plenty of other activity. There are many beautiful trails in the mountains surrounding our town, and we spent a lot of time hiking through aspen forests and across high altitude snow­fields. Melting snow meant rising rivers, and the Colorado River became a natural roller coaster. We spent a lot of time rafting the Colorado and the Roaring Fork. Glenwood Springs was our nearest “beach,” and the hot springs there was a favorite spot. Besides all this, I had a great job. . . . I was the manager of the hottest dance spot in town.

In the fall of 1980, the Marriott Corporation bought a 20-year lease on our hotel, The Mark. Just before they took over I had been promoted from waiter to hotel wine steward and part-time restaurant manager. Marriott brought in their own management team and made some changes. They moved me to the storeroom where I did all the buying of supplies—food, light bulbs, cleaning chemicals, etc.—for the hotel.

This job blended nicely with my recreational activities, especially when the ski season arrived. I arranged for all my purveyors to make their deliveries either before 9:30 a.m. or after 4:00 p.m. I usually arrived at the hotel at 7:00 a.m. and worked until 10:00 a.m. Then it was time to change into ski clothes, grab my skis, walk less than  two minutes, and board the gondola. After four or five hours of skiing, I returned to my office/storeroom. Changing back into my work clothes, I spent the next five hours doing inventory, invoices, and ordering for the next day. By 9:00 p.m., I was ready to unwind. Across the hall from my office was the back door to Shadows, the place to be in Vail for dancing and “whatever.” There was usually plenty of “whatever” to be had. . . .

I shared the storeroom with our beverage controller who was named Robert, but everybody called him “Elvis.” He was into the same “work-ski” program as me, and our environment was structured accordingly. We had our skis and clothes stored in the liquor room. We converted one of the saunas downstairs into a ski tune-up room where we had a bench with our files, wax, and iron. We both kept about the same hours; it was a tight, full schedule. The Marriott managers who arrived to take over really didn’t understand this mentality. They came to Vail to make money. Elvis and I came to ski.

The new general manager, a single guy named Bob, quickly realized the advantages of working in a resort town. Bob and I became good friends and began spending time together on the racquetball court and on the town. My immediate boss Hal, the new food and beverage director, was from Atlanta and was a Marriott manager to the core. Resort life and gourmet restaurants were new concepts to him; so was our “work-ski” ethic.

The Mark was a fine hotel, and the previous year our gourmet restaurant, Windows, had been voted the best restaurant in Vail. Once Hal took over, he began making changes to get the Mark more in line with Marriott philosophy. First, he sold all of the hotel silverware and replaced it with stainless steel. Next, he liquidated our $30,000 wine inventory and brought in “Ernest and Julio” as the house wine. For our summer season, he closed our downstairs restaurant and converted Windows into a family restaurant. Before, you couldn’t get a side salad in Windows for less than $5.00. Now there were “all you can eat specials” for $5.95.

Naturally, Hal met resistance in his downgrading from many of the staff members, including me. How could we be proud of Ernie and Julio as our house wine? Fortunately Elvis, our head bartender, and I took advantage of the wine liquidation and bought the entire inventory of fine wines at the original prices that the owner had paid years before. Despite our differences, Hal appeared to tolerate my attitude and ski mentality, and we got along. Perhaps the fact that I was good friends with Bob, Hal’s boss, had something to do with it.

Hal didn’t get along with the manager of Shadows, a tall, blonde former Vegas showgirl. In the spring of ’81 he fired her and offered me the job. I resisted, but since it was a move up a notch in the Marriott corporate structure, I finally accepted. Besides, I spent enough time there anyway and I thought I might as well get paid for it.

I had never been in the bar business before, but fortunately I had four excellent bartenders working for me. The head bartender, Tom, was especially good and quickly taught me all I needed to know. Tom took care of the beverage part of the business and I took care of the customers, cocktail waitresses, disc jockeys, doormen, payroll, and promotions. Shadows was a happening place. On the weekends, we would be jammed with 300 plus people, with 14 of us working.

Obviously my schedule changed. I now arrived at the hotel at 7:00 p.m., and we opened at 8:00 p.m. Things didn’t really get going until around 10:00 p.m., and we closed at 2:00 a.m. By the time we got cleaned up, counted all the money, and got everything in order, it was 3:30 a.m. Nobody was in the mood to go home and sleep; usually we went to somebody’s house, threw darts, drank beers, did some drugs, and unwound.

As the ski season ended and the summer wore on, the “unwinding” took longer and longer. Some of Vail’s “whatever” was becoming a major factor, at least for me. There was a lot of “snow” (the Colombian variety) in Vail that summer, and many of my “associates” had the right connections. It became a regular indulgence along with my friend, that smooth sipping tequila Jose Cuervo, and whatever tasty pot was around. The three were quite a stimulating combination that could keep you going for hours.

There was a price to pay, however. My sleep time was becoming less and less. At first my goal was to be home and in bed before dawn. Under the circumstances, this goal proved to be more and more elusive. It kept getting later and later, and I noticed that the sun was higher and higher above the ridge lines as I drove home. Some days it was all I could do to force my eyes shut for a few hours in the afternoon before work. Even then, sleeping was often difficult.

Something else was happening that year as well. In January, Elvis and I organized the Mark’s ski team for the local employee league. One of our racers was Lonnie, an interesting girl from Hawaii who worked as a waitress in Windows. Besides being a beautiful girl, she was an excellent skier. She had a certain magnetism that was hard to describe, and I was really drawn to her. We began to spend time skiing together and time off the slopes as well. Lonnie was different from any of the girls I had ever met. She had a unique combination of physical and spiritual attributes, but I wasn’t sure why I was attracted to her.

After a few weeks with Lonnie, she told me that she could read palms. That was interesting. I had never met a palm reader before. I showed her my palm and she began to tell me about some of my past relationships—things that she had no way of knowing. This was getting very interesting. At my probing, she began to tell me about her family, which originally was from a region of Romania known as Transylvania, the birthplace of Dracula. She also told me there were many “warlocks” in her family. When I asked her what a warlock was, she replied, “They are good witches.”

Interesting!

Now I began to realize why Lonnie was different. She had a definite connection into the spiritual realm. I, too, for years had been drawn toward the spiritual realities of our existence here on the planet, but I had never really explored this side—palm readers and warlocks—before. This was all very intriguing, yet as I thought through some of these concepts, I felt more and more drawn to the traditional Christian values that I had been taught as a child. Somewhere deep in my heart I hoped that these too were Lonnie’s values.

By the end of the ski season, this palm reader and I were sharing an apartment. Amidst the work, skiing, and other “fun” of life in Vail, we had occasional serious conversations—even talking about God. Our relationship was growing, and I began to think of her in my long-range plans. Lonnie’s immediate plans were to return to Honolulu in August to begin her last year at the University of Hawaii. Somehow, we both knew that this separation would not end our relationship. When the summer ended, she left for Honolulu.

My friend Elvis, the beverage controller, also left for Hawaii that summer. His former college roommate had purchased an ice cream business in Lahaina, and Elvis left in July to open and manage the business.

The summer season ended on Labor Day and I was pretty burned out. Weeks of night life had definitely taken its toll. I took two weeks off and drove up to Whidbey Island, Washington, to visit some friends and take care of my house in Coupeville. Whidbey was always beautiful in September and I really enjoyed those two weeks there. It was a much needed reflection time. After two ski seasons in Vail and a full summer of work at Shadows, it was time to think about some of the things happening in my life.

One of my favorite places to think is a bluff on the western side of the island which overlooks the intersection of Puget Sound, the Strait of San Juan de Fuca and the Strait of Georgia. Sunsets here were particularly inspirational, and I always felt a peace here as I watched the motion of the planet framed by the Olympic Mountains and Vancouver Island. What an incredible creation! There must be an incredible Creator behind all this.

It was here that a few years earlier I had asked God whether I should get out of the Navy. He had given me a definite sign then. This time I spent many afternoons on this bluff, but I didn’t ask Him any particular question. I was listening, however; and, in spite of my lifestyle in Vail, I felt a peace from Him that all was working out according to His plan. This was a strange feeling, especially considering all that was happening in my life at that moment.

The two weeks went by too quickly. The day before returning to Vail, I noticed one of the front brakes making a lot of noise. As I inspected closer, I discovered that the brake housing (a thick piece of cast iron) had cracked. It seemed a little unusual to me that this housing had broken. The mechanic agreed and told me that it would take a few days to get the part. That’s when I called Hal and asked him for a few more days off. His reply to me was (almost gleefully), “Take all you want because you don’t have a job here anymore.”

What?

The Marriott Corporation was predicting a recession for ’82. They wanted to prepare by laying off 10 percent of their management force and cutting their overhead. When Hal received this order while I was on vacation, he selected me as the 10 percent quota for the Mark.

I was very surprised, to say the least.

I immediately called Hal’s boss, my friend Bob, to see if this was really happening. He reluctantly told me that yes, it was. Hmmm, something was happening here, but I wasn’t sure what, or what my next move would be.

A few days later I got a call from Elvis in Lahaina. He had gotten my number from Tom at the Mark. Elvis asked me to come to Maui immediately and help him manage the ice cream business, apparently a booming success.

My initial response was hesitation. Elvis responded, “Look, I know that you got laid off from the Mark. Please come over, at least for a few months. I’ll pay your airfare and you can live with me. I have a car that you can drive and I’ll pay you well while you are here.” What a generous offer! There was no reason to turn this down. In fact, there were two other reasons to go to Hawaii. Lonnie was in Honolulu. My cousin Kean, who lived on Maui and had a marijuana plantation in Hana, came to mind as well.

A few weeks later I boarded a plane for Hawaii. That evening, Elvis picked me up at the Kahului airport and, after dinner, drove me to his condo in Lahaina. I quickly discovered that life in Lahaina was in the same lane as Vail—as fast as you liked it. An ocean full of melted snow made up for Vail’s frozen variety. And there was plenty of that Colombian “snow” as well. I fell quickly into a “run in the morning—work all day—swim in the evening—work until ten—and unwind until?” schedule. The night life in Lahaina was full; there was always someplace to go. I enjoyed being in the ice cream business too! I love ice cream and we served a very good product.

After a few weeks, I decided to call Kean. My cousin grew some of the tastiest “pakalolo” that I had ever smoked. When we talked, I discovered that some things had changed since my last visit. He no longer lived in Hana—he now lived on the south shore in Kihei. There were more startling changes as well. His wife Shelley told me that they had become Christians.

“Christians?” I thought. Then, zeroing in on the real issue, I asked, “Does that mean we can’t smoke anymore?” She laughed and invited me to come for a visit soon.

The following Saturday, I drove down to Kihei to visit. I had last seen Kean and Shelley in October of ’79, exactly two years earlier. This Christianity had caused some other changes in their lifestyle which were very positive. We watched football and their next-door neighbor Craig stopped by to watch for a while. It was all very pleasant and enjoyable to be with family. When I left, they invited me to church the next day. I really wasn’t ready for that, so I politely declined and drove back to Lahaina.

A few Sundays later, I reluctantly accepted their invitation. I figured that sooner or later I would have to go. Their church was called Hope Chapel and they met in the old Kihei school cafeteria. I realized upon entering that this was not going to be like the Reynoldsburg Methodist. Nobody wore a suit—in fact, many wore shorts and sandals. When the service began, three guitarists and two singers began singing very lively songs. There were no hymnbooks, but the words to the songs were projected on the wall by an overhead projector. Everybody joined in with a surprising degree of enthusiasm. At one point, there were many people holding up their hands as they sang. This was different! We sang for at least 30 minutes straight.

Now, I had been a church choir member much of my youth, but this type of singing was somehow refreshingly different.

Then it was time for the message. Kean’s next-door neighbor Craig walked to the front of the room, opened his Bible, and began reading. He was the pastor! Craig hadn’t appeared to be a “religious” guy that afternoon we had watched football together.

As I listened to Craig, he began to explain the meaning of the verses he was reading. First, what they meant to the listeners of that time, and then what they mean to us today. The focal point of this passage happened to be Jesus Christ. Craig stressed the importance of a personal relationship with Him. He spoke with conviction, as if a relationship with Jesus was all that really mattered. What he said made sense and he almost had me convinced.

Sure I knew about Jesus. I had heard of Him all of my youth. But this idea of a personal relationship was something new. Craig said that this relationship with Him was the most important thing in this life. Somehow that seemed too simple.

I was into knowing the God who created the sunrise and sunset. I had felt that urge many times standing on the deck of the Enterprise, watching the sun go down over the Indian Ocean and sitting on the bluff watching that same sun set over the Strait of San Juan de Fuca. That desire only strengthened as I spent more time living in the mountains of Colorado. I knew that God was out there somewhere. At the right moment, when I was in the right state of mind, I would be able to feel His presence in a very real way. That had to be the ultimate high. That’s what I was after.

And this Jesus that Craig talked about? I wasn’t sure how He fit into the scheme of things.

I went back to Hope Chapel a few more times that month. Afterward as I drove back along the Pali Highway to Lahaina, I felt some turmoil in my spirit. I had the sense that God was standing behind me, tapping me on the shoulder, trying to get my attention. And the more that He tapped, the more I felt like responding. . . .

Meanwhile, I was still in the fast lane in Lahaina.

The “run-work-swim-work-unwind” routine was in full swing with occasional visits to Honolulu to visit Lonnie. Yes, our relationship was still very much “on.” Yet in the midst of all this, as I contemplated Craig’s Sunday messages, something inside began to happen. I first noticed it during my after work “unwinding” time.

Previously, smoking “Da Kine” (marijuana) had produced a pleasant, fun state of mind. Now, for some reason, it became less fun and almost confusing. I was smoking more and enjoying it less. If this trend continued, a serious problem could develop.

In November, Lonnie came over to Maui for a visit . . . one that I’ll never forget.

We had had a busy day at What’s the Scoop (the ice cream parlor). Lonnie worked all day with us. We had just closed the Scoop and arrived home. We both were tired. We came into my room, sat down on my bed, and began to talk. We didn’t even bother to turn the lights on; there was plenty of light coming in from the hall light and through the sheer white curtains from the parking lot outside my window.

I hadn’t had anything to smoke or drink. I was completely straight. My mind was alert, and I have never hallucinated before—even after ingesting chemicals designed to do just that. What was about to happen was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. . . .

For some reason, the subject of “personal power” came up. One of my favorite authors at the time was Carlos Castaneda. I had read most of the “Don Juan” series; personal power through sorcery was the main theme. I was into personal power, and appropriating whatever was out there. While on the USS Coral Sea, I had even experimented with some of Don Juan’s techniques for controlling your dreams.

Lonnie was into personal power too, and the more the better. She, besides reading palms, was very good at controlling people. I am familiar with manipulating techniques, but Lonnie’s style of manipulation and control went far beyond conventional means. There was a definite spiritual power aspect to her control, and most people never realized that she was controlling them—including me. Fortunately I had a few friends who later pointed this out to me. They told me that they were never comfortable with my relationship with Lonnie. While I was with her, I did everything she wanted me to, even though I didn’t particularly want to.

During these last few weeks, thinking about some of Craig’s messages and about my relationship with Lonnie, I had begun to sense that there were different sources of power. I started to realize that it was important where your “personal power” came from. Just like it was explained in the Star Wars movies, there was a “dark” source of power and a “light” source. I began to realize that power from the dark side could be very dangerous to handle. As we sat there on my bed, I asked Lonnie if she knew the source of her personal power.

“It’s probably from the dark side,” she replied.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“No.”

“Really? You mean you don’t mind if some dark spirit is giving you this power?”

“No, because I have power to do what I want to do.”

“Lonnie, I don’t think that it’s a good idea for you to allow some dark spirit to be inside you.”

“I don’t mind. I get all the power I want.”

“Well, I don’t think that it is healthy to have a dark spirit controlling you.”

“No, it’s O.K., Michael.”

“No, Lonnie, you need to let it go.”

She shook her head, “No.”

“Yes,” I replied forcibly. “You need to let it go.” (Why I was being so aggressive I didn’t really know.)

What happened next was incredible, but very real. . .

Suddenly Lonnie’s dark eyes began glowing. She was sitting with her back to the headboard, and I leaned forward to be sure of what I was seeing. The glow was yellowish red: the words “sulfurous glow” immediately came to mind. All the color had disappeared from her face and her face muscles were completely slack.

That’s when a voice came.

It spoke to me in a deep, gravelly tone: “I will never leave this body.”

Lonnie was still sitting there leaning against the wall with her eyes glowing—her jaw or lips hadn’t moved!

My mind was racing. . . I had seen this somewhere before.

“What?”

It spoke again, in the same tone, in the same way: “I have become very accustomed to this body.”

Suddenly I remembered—the movie “The Exorcist”—a big hit in the early ’70s. This was a scene right out of that movie! My memory bank went into the high-speed search mode. . . Now what did the priest do? What did he say? There was something he said. . . .

JESUS! That’s what he had said. The priest had used the name of Jesus.

Boldly, I said to Lonnie, “Spirit, in the name of Jesus, begone!”

Lonnie reacted like I had thrown hot water on her. “No!” the voice groaned.

“In the name of Jesus, spirit, begone,” I commanded.

Lonnie flattened her back against the wall, trying to get as far away from me as possible, her eyes still glowing.

“No!” replied the spirit, “I will never leave this body!”

“Yes, in the name of Jesus, Go!” I yelled.

At that moment, the glow left Lonnie’s eyes, and the color came back to her face. She sat forward and looked at me. All this had taken place in less than 60 seconds and my first thought was that Lonnie was playing games with me. So I asked her, “Why did you say those things to me?”

“What things?” She asked innocently.

“These things,” I replied as I repeated all that had been said.

She paused. Silence.

She didn’t remember any of what had transpired in that minute. Not one thing.

I asked her if that had ever happened before. “I think so,” she answered.

By her tone, I was sure that it had. The whole scene was disturbing. Since I was completely straight at the time and not prone to hallucinations, I was sure that it had taken place. To see a person’s eyes glow like that was pretty amazing. Hearing that gravelly voice was an eerie sensation. To see a spirit manifest itself in that way in the body of my lover indeed sent my mind reeling. But what bothered me the most about this incredible event was Lonnie’s unconcerned attitude. I thought about it for many days afterward.

That “conversation” was very significant for me in many ways. For starters, I saw the reality of spiritual forces in a way that most people never experience. Secondly, I saw myself that night sitting on top of a fence. On one side of this fence was “Light” and on the other side was “Darkness.” Suddenly, I knew on which side I belonged. It wasn’t the dark side.

More importantly, I discovered that night the significance of this character Jesus and the power that His name carried.

This was the turning point in my life.

For weeks, God had been tapping me on the shoulder. Now, a few days after this experience with Lonnie, I finally turned and said “O.K. What?”

In the next few weeks, He responded to my openness and I began having long conversations with my Creator. I discovered that this Creator of the sunrise, the sunset, and me, whom I had longed to know, is none other than Jesus Himself. After reading many passages of the New Testament, I finally began to realize how He fit into the scheme of things.

Hindus say that Jesus was a great holy man. Muslims say that Jesus was a great teacher. New Age philosophy says that Jesus was one of the first to realize that we all have part of God in us, and realizing that too allows us to be gods.

Jesus, however, never said any of  those things. He never claimed to be just a great teacher, holy man, or a self-actuated god. He made a simple claim throughout the four gospel accounts of His life—He said simply “I am God.”

Now a person who says he is God is one of three things:

He is a loony tune who actually believes what he is saying;                     or

He is a liar who is trying to deceive you;

or

He is who He says He is.

At some point in our life, we all have to answer the question “Who is Jesus?”

For years, I had based my answer on popular opinions without doing a lot of the research required to come up with my answer. I didn’t feel like He was the religious character portrayed in many churches, but somehow He was something more than that.

It was here that my four years of historical training kicked in. How could I evaluate all the historical-legal evidence about this character Jesus? And there was plenty of evidence to consider.

One big piece of evidence was the Resurrection. Did Jesus actually get up and walk away from His tomb?

By all modern day legal procedures and rules of evidence, you would have to unequivocally say “Yes, He did.” There are too many witnesses and too much circumstantial evidence to discount this event.

Did Jesus’ disciples believe that He was God Himself? All of them except John died violent deaths proclaiming His divinity. Would you die for a lie?

I had seen with my own eyes a demonstration of the power of Jesus’ name.

Was he a liar or lunatic?

I had to conclude that “No, He wasn’t.”

Since options one and two were out, my only choice was option three. Jesus was just who He said He was—the God and Creator of this universe.

One Sunday afternoon, all these thoughts came together.

I decided that I could live with the fact that Jesus is God. In fact, what I realized was that I couldn’t really live at all in this life, or the next, without acknowledging that fact.

In a private moment, I committed my life to Him. What else can you logically do when you come to this conclusion? Continue to ignore Him?

Things began to happen. I began smoking less, and enjoying life more. I began to get “emotional” feelings as we sang those songs on Sunday morning. I began to discover that the book that I had long considered simply just Jewish history and men’s opinions, contained truth for my life.

And Lonnie? After that night, our lives began to take different roads. I think she realized where I was headed, but she wasn’t willing to give up her personal power. Our relationship ended a few months later.

In March 1982, I finished my work at the ice cream parlor, and returned to Vail for the remainder of the ski season. The skiing was still there, but it just wasn’t the same. Somehow, it didn’t seem to be that important anymore. Hal was gone from the Mark, and I was hired back into the storeroom, but even that wasn’t the same. In June, I returned to Maui for a month’s vacation. While there, I was offered a job managing a restaurant in Kihei. Since there was really nothing waiting for me in Vail, I accepted. Soon I began going with Craig to a weekly Bible study.

Then it was time.

On July 4, 1982 at sunset, I walked into the surf at Wailea Beach to publicly declare my allegiance to the King of the Universe. Craig and our other pastor Jason were standing in waist deep water. It was a simple but significant ceremony. I declared my need for a Savior and acknowledged Jesus as my Lord. They dropped me under the water, and pulled me back up. However, instead of walking back to shore, I swam out about 200 yards, flipped on my back and floated for a few minutes. I needed a little one-on-one time with my Lord. I thanked Him for being able to get to know Him. I told Him that I was ready to do anything that He wanted me to do. I just had one request—that He allow me to travel while I served Him.

Later I realized the significance of that simple request.

Little did I know that at that moment He already had my first trip on the schedule and to a place that I didn’t realize existed. . . .

Chapter 4 The Right Stuff In The Wrong Place?

The Right Stuff in the Wrong Place?

      Values change.

Take your preschool son or daughter and sit them at the table. Place before them a plate with rice and beans, and a plate with candy. Which plate will they eat from first?

My daughter Mikaela will eat from the candy plate first. So will our son Lukas.

Set the same plates in front of any adult. Which plate will they eat from first?

Most will eat the rice and beans.

As a child, I hated beets and loved hamburgers.

As an adult, I rarely eat hamburgers but enjoy the flavor and nutrition of beets.

When I was a child, I would have much rather spent Saturday afternoon at the movie theater rather than visit my grandmother. Now I would jump at the chance to visit with her.

Why?

What is one of the differences between adults and preschoolers?

The older group has grown in their realization as to what is actually better for them.

Values change. And with them so do the choices made and the actions carried out.

After my baptism that July 4th at Wailea Beach, I found myself in a confused state. My values were changing, and along with that, I was being pulled in two different directions. One direction was professional, toward goals that my flight and university training said were important. The other direction was toward something unknown. My previous years of training and experience told me to follow one course, but something in my spirit pushed me in another direction. There was a real battle going on inside me. The best way to fully understand this conflict is to describe two “days at the office.”

A Day at the Office—July 1978

Imagine for a moment. . . .

A structure the size of the Empire State Building moving through the water faster than I could ski down Vail mountain.

A small city, population of 6,000, with its airport on the roof.

A ship that had to refuel only once every 13 years.

A floating weapons system that could start and finish a war with almost any country on the planet.

In 1978 this combination of things was my home—the aircraft carrier USS ENTERPRISE.

My “condo” was located in the world’s largest ship, which also carried over 90 jet aircraft. The flight deck was over 1,100 feet long—three and a half laps around the deck equaled one mile. With eight reactors onboard, it was also the world’s largest nuclear facility.

I was a Star Trek fan and I was proud to be a pilot aboard the Enterprise. The television show produced in the late ‘60s was one that was ahead of its time, and I particularly identified with the various characters dealing with real life problems in a high tech, futuristic setting. Most of the crew also identified this Enterprise with the “Starship Enterprise,” from the Captain down. In fact, the first thing anybody noticed when stepping off of the flight deck into the ‘island’ was a large replica of the Starship Enterprise molded into the tile of the floor. Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy made their appearance daily on the ship’s television circuit. Star Trek’s theme song was played over the loudspeaker whenever we rendezvoused with another ship at sea. There was definitely a “cosmic” feeling to this ship.

The Enterprise is a huge ship inside. There are at least seven decks below the flight deck. Navy advertisements at the time said “Navy—It’s not a job. It’s an adventure!” They were right! Finding your way from one space to another on the Enterprise was a true adventure.

The halls (“passageways”) and stairs (“ladders”) all had a uniform look. If you didn’t know where you were going, you could easily end up hopelessly lost, missing for months. Consequently, most of the crew fell into a routine of following the same routes to the “essential” spaces onboard—the rooms where you slept, ate, showered and worked. Like well-trained laboratory rats, we followed the steel maze from one of these spaces to the other. My “stateroom” was on the third deck. Our squadron “Ready Room” was on the second deck. I ate in the wardroom four more decks above.

My “office” was on the flight deck: it was the cockpit of the A‑6E Intruder—the Navy’s $34 million all-weather attack jet. Measuring 53 feet nose-to-tail with a 54-foot wingspan, this airplane is a true fighting machine.

The A-6 is a very sophisticated aircraft, able to launch from the ship and navigate to a target up to 1,000 miles away—at low level through mountainous terrain at night in foul weather if necessary. It has a complex navigation system which allows for radar as well as visual attacks on any target in a variety of delivery modes. (In other words, whether it can see you or not, the Intruder can blow you to pieces.)

The Intruder’s crew, a pilot and bombardier-navigator, sit side by side. Close coordination between the two is essential, sometimes a matter even of life or death: one error on the part of either crewman while flying low at 200 feet through a mountain pass at night in driving snow could be fatal. Nevertheless, it was a pleasure to fly this airplane . . . at least most of the time.

I remember one flight in particular in 1978. . . . We were in the middle of the Indian Ocean. . . .

My bombardier/navigator George and I gathered with the rest of our flight in the squadron Ready Room two hours before launch time. We had a good mission scheduled that day—a War At Sea exercise, or WASEX. The “enemy “ ship was the USS Long Beach, presently over 80 miles away. The flight brief was given over the ship’s TV station to all the ready rooms. After discussing our tactics with the other crews, we headed to the locker room. It took about 10 minutes to don our 30 pounds of flight equipment. The “G” suit zipped on each leg and around your abdomen easily. Getting into your torso harness demanded the moves of a contortionist, especially after lunch.

Once we suited up, we took the elevator up to the flight deck. With a few steps across the Starship Enterprise tile design, we were out of the island and on to a flight deck humming with activity as men in color coded jerseys prepared the airplanes and catapults for the next launch.  Men fueling the aircraft wore purple; plane captains wore brown; maintenance, catapult, and arresting gear crews wore green; deck hands wore blue; those loading bombs and missiles wore red; safety and medical personnel wore white; and taxi directors wore yellow. We wore drab green, and as I walked toward our Intruder, I could feel the excitement within me grow.

Preflight inspection of the aircraft was next. This was the most important 20 minutes of the day. An airplane in good mechanical condition was essential to your survival. With that complete, we both boarded the Intruder and “strapped in.” This meant connecting our shoulder and lower torso “Koch” fittings, and leg restraints to the ejection seat and tightening down the slack.

With the help of a “huffer” (high-powered airblower), I started both engines, and completed the pre-taxi checklist. Now we were ready to taxi, and the ship began its turn into the wind for launch. The 12 chains that held the Intruder to the deck were removed by the plane captain. Following the directions of a yellow-shirted taxi director, I pulled out of the parking spot, turned toward the bow catapults and spread the wings.

The Enterprise has four steam catapults—two on the bow, and two on the “waist” (on the angled deck) for launching aircraft. In less than 250 feet, these “cats” accelerate the aircraft from 0 to 160 mph, usually in less than two seconds. What a ride! Like all felines, these cats are fickle creatures. They can provide you moments of exquisite pleasure or, in a rage of anger, claw you and leave you bleeding, in some cases dead.

Being launched off the ship in this way was like being the rock in a slingshot. As long as everything went fine, it was The Best Ride at The Best Amusement Park that you ever experienced. If something went wrong because of a catapult or aircraft malfunction, then you had less than two seconds to decide if the airplane was going to fly, or fall into the sea.

If your airplane wasn’t going to fly, then you had to get out before the aircraft hit the water. There’s a yellow and black striped handle over your head, and one tucked between your legs. These handles are your “emergency exits” from the airplane. Pulling either one ignites the rocket motor inside the ejection seat that you’re strapped into. The book said that the Martin Baker GRU-7 ejection seat would get you safely out of the airplane at any speed and any altitude (but not attitude) if you had the time for your seat to fire and parachute to deploy before hitting the ground.

Even if you did get out of your jet safely before it hit the sea and inflate your life vest and then disentangle yourself from the parachute shroud lines, there was still a problem.

A Serious Problem.

A 90,000 ton ship was bearing down on you with four 32 foot diameter propellers driving it at 15-plus knots. These big ships don’t “turn on a dime.” Quite the contrary. Anything or anybody immediately in front of an aircraft carrier has an excellent chance of being run over by it. I heard one pilot talk about being dragged under the ship, seeing the propellers approaching, but somehow managing to avoid the blades. Another friend was not so lucky—he ended up caught in one of the water cooling intakes. His body was found a few weeks later.

Ejection off the catapult was not something to look forward to, especially at night, but sometimes it was the only option.

With the ship now headed into the wind, our launch began. The fighters were first, and the noise was deafening as they went to zone five afterburner for the launch. I was in line behind an F-14 Tomcat, and an A-7 Corsair for the no. 2 catapult. As each launched, I inched forward until it was finally our turn.

Following the signals of the yellow shirt, I slowly maneuvered the Intruder into the catapult shuttle—the device that connects to your nosewheel bar and does the actual pulling of the aircraft. When I was “in,” the yellow shirt gave me the “hold” signal. There was a pause as a deck hand attached the “hold back rod” to the rear of the nosewheel. This device is designed to hold the aircraft at full power, but to release it when the cat stroke began. The Catapult Officer then gave the “take tension” signal to the catapult operator who was standing over in the cat walk. I reached forward of the throttles and swung out the “cat grip”and felt the aircraft squat slightly as the nosewheel automatically compressed, as if the Intruder was getting ready to jump off the deck.

Waving two fingers back and forth rapidly, the Cat Officer gave me the “turn up” signal. With my left hand I pushed both throttles to full power, locking my fingers over the cat grip bar. This prevents your hand and the throttles from slipping back during the 24 “G” acceleration that was now just seconds away. You didn’t want to go off the cat with anything less than full power! I watched the fuel flow and the EGT (exhaust gas temperature) indicators climb and stabilize at normal full power settings. I quickly scanned the other engine instruments. With my right hand I began a “wipe out” of the flight controls, moving the control stick to every corner, ensuring that they were all functioning properly. This final wipe out was very important.

Satisfied that this A-6 was ready to launch, I glanced over at George and asked if he was ready to go. He answered affirmatively with two clicks of the intercom. George was always ready to fly. He had spent almost seven years as a POW in North Vietnam, and was making up for lost time. I settled back into my seat and with my left hand tight on the throttles and cat grip, I saluted the Cat Officer with my right hand. That was the signal that we were ready to go. Now I tried to “relax” and enjoy what was coming next.

The next four seconds were the worst part. We were now the “rock” in the slingshot with no control over our destiny. Our lives were now in the hands of two men and various pieces of machinery. The Cat Officer reached down with his forward hand, touched the deck and pointed toward the bow. The catapult operator pushed the two buttons of the catapult control. Within a second the catapult fired and the Intruder shot forward.

This was a good shot! The massive power that accelerated the Intruder down the track slammed my eyeballs back into their sockets. Still, they stayed locked on to the Vertical Display Indicator, my primary attitude reference. The deck became a blur and suddenly the edge passed beneath us. The water 60 feet below was deep blue and uninviting. The 48,000 pound Intruder dropped a few feet as the control surfaces became aerodynamically effective. I pulled the aircraft in a 8 degree nose up attitude with my right hand and my left hand moved forward to the landing gear handle, knocking it to the “up” position. In another two seconds, we felt the thumps of all three wheels locking into their compartments and the gear doors closing. Now we were ready to really fly!

We leveled at 500 feet and accelerated ahead. George turned on the radar and checked out the computer. It was not unusual for some of the onboard equipment to malfunction during the cat shot. At six miles we began climbing and turned, arcing around to our departure radial. There the rest of the strike force, four A‑7 Corsairs, three other A-6 Intruders, and an EA-6B Prowler, was circling at 12,000 feet. We joined with my wingman and the rest of the strike force and headed out toward the Long Beach. Our goal was to sneak in under their radar for a surprise attack.

About 40 miles out from the Long Beach, we descended to 200 feet accelerating to 420 knots. Our radars were off to avoid detection. At ten miles, we split from the A-7s, descended to 50 feet and accelerated to 480 knots. Now we were so low that we were invisible to the Long Beach’s radar.

We began an elaborate zigzag pattern that would put us all overhead Long Beach with ten second intervals between planes. Timing and speed control were critical to arrive overhead in your ten second window. Having a mid-air collision was the last thing that you wanted to happen.

Flying at 50 feet at close to 500 knots is a true rush. The whitecaps of the waves were a blur, and it required total concentration to keep the aircraft low, but not too low. At this altitude and speed, a hiccup or any spurious forward stick movement can be fatal. You can really “feel” the speed this low, especially flying in formation with other aircraft.

At six miles we visually sighted Long Beach and turned the “Master Arm” switch on, opening the electrical circuits to the bomb racks.

Inside two miles, I jammed the throttles forward and began the “pop-up” attack maneuver, designed to minimize your exposure to the enemy’s missiles. It begins from as close to water as you care to fly with a hard pull on the Intruder to 30 degrees nose up. Then comes a 30-degree bank turn to the right (away from the target), followed two seconds later by a roll back to the left to the 135 degree (almost inverted) position, to visually pick up the target.

It’s an exciting effect to see the horizon spin in one direction, followed by a spin back in the opposite direction a few seconds later. Usually at this point you were on your back floating through about 2,300 feet, and enjoying the effect of sky BELOW you, and sea ABOVE, with the target ship UPSIDE DOWN in front of you. Then it was a pull back on the stick to bring the nose of the aircraft down on the target. Now it was time to get everything right-side-up. By rolling back right to wings level you set up for a shallow 10 degree dive attack at 1,500 above the target. Now place the bomb sight cross hairs on the target, check your speed, and count “one potato, two potato, three,” and pull the trigger on the stick.

This was an exhilarating maneuver to fly, with a fatal ending for any enemy in the target area. Five seconds after I began the “pop-up” maneuver, the Long Beach’s conning tower filled my bombsight and I pulled the trigger. However, today the only thing that we dropped on the Long Beach was a “bomb tone” on their radio frequency, demonstrating that we could have inflicted major damage. Flying past the Long Beach’s conning tower at eye level confirmed this to the men inside.

As we all rendezvoused for another attack, the air controllers from the Enterprise called ordering all aircraft to immediately return to the ship for landing. “This is unusual,” I thought as we headed back to the ship.

Landing on the Enterprise was always a thrilling experience—in the daytime anyway. At night it was sometimes too thrilling. Day or night, it was always challenging, requiring a high degree of concentration and skill. During the Vietnam war, a medical study was done on pilots by attaching heart monitors to them and measuring stress during their combat missions. It was discovered that heart rates and blood pressures were the greatest not in the middle of their bombing runs over an enemy target, but rather as they “rolled into the groove” on final approach to their landing aboard the aircraft carrier.

Navy airplanes have something that no other airplanes have—a tailhook. No—a “Tailhook” is not only a wild party (eh, sorry, that’s a Naval Aerospace Symposium) thrown in Las Vegas each year. It is also the steel bar with a curved tip that extends from the lower rear fuselage of every Naval fleet aircraft. Its purpose is to allow the aircraft to land on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier. The other Tailhook in Las Vegas has its purpose, as long as things didn’t get out of control. I once won second place in the tennis tournament there.

As on all modern carriers, the landing area on the Enterprise is about 600 long and is located on the rear half of the flight deck. Besides being extremely short compared to an 8,000 foot runway, it is also angled 10 degrees to the left of the longitudinal axis of the ship. This allows an aircraft to land and take off without hitting the airplanes on the bow of the ship. There are four steel cables stretched across the landing area, spaced 35 feet apart. The number 1 wire is set about 200 feet from the rear edge of the flight deck. The Optical Landing System (OLS) is mounted on the port (left) side of the ship beside the landing area.

The OLS (or ‘lens’ as it is commonly called) is a glideslope indicator that has a horizonal row of green lights with a vertical row of amber lights. The amber lights project a spotlight out to the pilot. Wherever you are on the glideslope during your approach, you will see this amber “ball” of light. The object is to fly yourself to the point in the sky where the amber ball lines up with the horizonal row of green lights, and keep it centered. That places you on the proper glideslope to safely touch down between the no. 2 and no. 3 wires. That’s where the “tail­hook” comes in. As you touch down, the hook grabs the first available wire, bringing the aircraft to a quick stop. What an exciting way to finish a flight!

If you flew a “high ball,” this meant that you were above the optimum glideslope, with the chance of overflying all the wires and touching down long. Missing the wires was called a “bolter” and usually demonstrated poor control of the aircraft. In this case you simply jammed the throttles to full power, since the landing area angles away from the rest of the flight deck, and you were immediately airborne.

Bolters are embarrassing for the pilot. Why? Because the admiral, captain, and almost everybody else on the ship watches the launches and landings over the ship’s closed circuit television system. Besides, it meant that you had to do the whole approach and landing all over.

You didn’t want to fly a “low ball” either. That meant that you were below the optimum glideslope, which is unwise. Why? Because at the rear of every aircraft carrier there is a steel monster called “The Ramp.” While in actuality the ramp is simply the place where the rear edge of the flight deck ends and meets the stern of the ship, in reality it is a place of fear, terror and sometimes death. This is a true monster—the stuff nightmares are made of . . . a definite killer . . . lurking . . . patiently waiting for a second of neglect or inattention on the part of a pilot to reach up and snatch him out of the sky and turn his sleek flying machine into a multi-million dollar barbecue.

As flight students, before we went out to the USS Lexington for our first carrier landing, we watched a film called “Carrier Landing Mishaps.” That’s when we first saw this monster in action. The film was 40 minutes filled with aircraft accidents on the carrier flight deck. The most spectacular (and most fatal) were of jets landing short, striking the Ramp, bursting into flames and rolling down the deck. Needless to say, this film left a definite impression in every Naval Aviator’s mind.

You could tolerate a “high ball” during an approach, but a “low ball” required some immediate corrections. If you got too low, the amber light turned to blood red—a signal of what was ahead if you didn’t take some action. There were LSOs (landing signal officers) who were stationed on the port side of the flight deck beside the landing area. These pilots guided you through every landing and gave you a grade on the landing. If you got too low in close, they would flash some very bright red lights mounted on the side of the lens. These “wave off” lights were an order to abort the approach and go around.

Flying the proper glideslope was serious business.

Along with the glideslope, you have to line yourself up with the centerline of the landing area. A runway on land is usually 200 feet wide. The landing area on the Enterprise is a bit narrower—only 70 feet wide, usually with airplanes parked on both sides. There is little margin for error. Since the landing area centerline is angled 10 degrees off the longitudinal axis of the ship, it is constantly moving to the right as the ship moves forward. This “moving target” factor makes the approach and landing just a little more complicated.

Beside glideslope and line up, the third factor is aircraft speed. The airplane has to be at its exact landing speed as it touches down. The arresting gear is set for a certain amount of force on the steel cables and the pulleys to stop the airplane in a safe roll out distance. Too much speed means too much force which can cause the cable to break. This would be disastrous for you and all the crew on the flight deck. Too little speed can cause you to stall out at low altitude. This is usually fatal and something that you want to avoid at all cost. Aircraft speed was indicated by a short column of angle of attack “indexer” lights mounted inside the airplane above the instrument panel by the left canopy bow.  These lights were connected to a sensor outside on the fuselage which measures the wind’s” angle of attack” across the wing, rather than its velocity. This angle of attack measurement is a more accurate speed indicator than simple airspeed, as it takes into consideration the differing weights of the aircraft. When the aircraft was “on speed,” an amber circular light, known as the “donut” illuminated. Slow speed was indicated by an inverted green chevron above the donut, while faster than optimum speed illuminated a red chevron below.

To land the Intruder safely meant flying the 3.5 degree glide­slope (keep that amber ball lined up with that row of green lights on the lens) all the way to touchdown while keeping  “donut” airspeed (or about 124 knots for the A-6), and keeping your nosewheel within three feet of the centerline.

Flying the approach demands all of your attention and requires a special technique. Instead of watching the deck, you are to keep your eye glued to the OLS lens, with occasional scans to the deck for line up and inside the cockpit for speed, all the way to touchdown. “Ball, lineup, angle-of-attack; ball, lineup, angle-of-attack” is the chant of the pilot flying the glideslope. “Spotting the deck” (ignoring the lens and judging your own approach angle) is usually unsafe and prohibited.

If all went right, your hook caught the no. 3 wire, and the aircraft rolled out to a stop in less than 300 feet. If you boltered or got waved off, and were low on fuel, this meant a trip up to “Texaco,” the KA-6D tanker that was orbiting overhead the ship at 3,000 feet. The KA-6D was an older A-6 with most of the electronics removed and a hose/pump package and extra fuel tanks. This was the airborne “gas station” where everybody who needed a few extra gallons of gas went.

In-flight refueling in the Navy was a challenging task. Here the pilot had to:

(1)  Locate the tanker and rendezvous;

(2)  Fly close formation on the tanker as he extended his 50-foot hose which has a two foot wide “basket” at the end;

(3)  Slide back into a “column” position on the tanker;

(4)  Move forward and insert your in-flight refueling probe into the center of the basket (this was the tricky part!);

(5)  Lock in, and push it 10 feet forward to start the gas flow; and

(6)  Fly this position for two to four minutes while you received 300 to 500 gallons of fuel from the tanker.

All this occurred while the tanker pilot was usually in a 10 to 30 degree angle of bank turn. It took even the most naturally skilled pilots a while to get the hang of in-flight refueling around the ship. Daytime tanking demanded a high degree of skill and finesse. At night, the basket was illuminated by small “peanut” lights around its edges, increasing the difficulty factor dramatically. Add to all this the “pucker factor” of knowing that if you don’t get this additional fuel, you may end up flamed out and in the water. For all these reasons, it was imperative to “get aboard” on the first pass, and avoid the trip up to Texaco.

As we got within 10 miles of the Enterprise, I saw why we had been ordered back. The ship was turning away from a thick line of thunderstorms which was moving rapidly in our direction. It was imperative that we all get onboard as soon as possible. Once this storm hit it would be very difficult to recover aircraft. We were in the middle of the Indian Ocean and our nearest divert field was the tiny island of Diego Garcia, over 300 miles away.

With this storm came heavy seas. The OLS was stabilized to compensate for the ship’s movement in the water. The limits of this stabilization were 12 degrees of pitch and 5 degrees of roll. If the seas got heavier than that, we would see some up and down movement on the ball. If this movement got too bad, the LSO’s would rig a “manual ball” which they controlled and moved up or down to show you your position on the glideslope.

As we circled the ship, the F-14s began landing first. We heard the LSO say that the deck was pitching 20 feet up and down. This movement made the landing a little more tricky. The Ramp was moving! So was the ball up and down on the lens! The first Tomcat—the squadron commander—trapped (caught a wire), but the next one boltered. The third was waved off by the LSOs! Stuff like this usually happened only at night, but this was daylight. The fourth caught a “lucky no. 4 wire” and trapped, and it was now “Trick or Treat” for the other two. That meant that because of their now low fuel state, if they didn’t land on the next pass, they would have to go to “Texaco” for some fuel.

Amid frantic calls from the LSO of “Power, Power,”(a signal to add more power on the engines) the second Tomcat caught the no. 1 wire. He either was very low, or the deck was really pitching, or both. The Ramp was “reaching out to touch somebody”! The LSO came on the radio and told all of us airborne that the deck was really pitching, and the ball was “moving” off the lens and not reliable. No wonder the F-14s were having a hard time! Next they told us that because of the approaching storm, there was no time to rig the “manual ball.” There was a pause as we waited for more information. . . .

Silence!

No additional information was forthcoming.

Those of us airborne began to “read between the lines.” The message that the LSO was giving us by his silence was clear. We would have to ignore the ball for glideslope information and do something they told us never to do—eyeball the deck, judge the pitching, drive it in close, and then “make your play”—which meant do whatever it takes with a reasonable margin of safety to get aboard. The LSO couldn’t legally tell us to ignore the ball and spot the deck, but this situation gave them no other choice but to tell us to do this by their silence.

The approaching thunderstorms demanded quick and decisive action!

With this new information, and the approaching storm, we all understood what we would have to do. The last F-14 got aboard. Now it was time for the A-7s. They all trapped. Nobody was boltering now!  Not with the approaching line of thunderstorms and the nearest divert field over 300 miles away. With the last A-7 aboard, it was time for the A-6s. Our division leader landed, followed by his wingman.

Now it was my turn.

As I “rolled into the groove” on final approach I picked up the ball on the lens, but suddenly it disappeared off the top. A few seconds later, it reappeared, and quickly moved off the bottom of the lens. The LSO came on the air and said “the deck is pitching more than 35 feet now.” The Ramp was really jumping up and down! I really had to be careful to stay out of his grasp, but still close enough to catch one of those four wires. Thirty-five feet was a lot of pitch. The seas must be really heavy to move a structure the size of the Empire State Building like this!

As I got inside a quarter mile, I could actually see the deck moving up and down. This was going to be interesting. All the long perfected techniques for “flying the ball” were out the window. This situation called for the infamous “Troll Technique”—fly in low, flatten out your glideslope, clear The Ramp, pull back the power, drop your nose, descend, then level off just before touchdown, and “troll” with your tailhook for one of the wires.

The “Troll” was a favored technique at night when you really had to get aboard.

About four seconds from touchdown, I did something I didn’t usually do—I looked at the Ramp Monster. He was clawing his way up in an effort to snag me. This was going to be tricky. I had to time this just right. I added a bit of power to flatten my glide­slope, and then a little more as he continued to rise. George was not saying a word. After being in the Hanoi Hilton for six years, it took a lot to rattle him. The deck now looked very much bow-down. I knew that the Ramp couldn’t climb much higher and pulled back on the throttles.

Like a rocket that had just spent its fuel, the Ramp leveled, and then began to drop. I was over the top.

Now the deck was quickly dropping away and it was time to make my play. I pulled the throttles back and dropped my nose. I was descending like a rock or, as one LSO used to say, “sinking like a safe.” The deck was dropping faster than I expected but there was still a chance. I had to continue the descent, but break it at the last moment with a hand full of power and a yank back on the stick. . . .

Now!!!

The wheels of our Intruder slammed into the deck. Too hard! My left hand automatically jammed both throttles forward.

After an instant’s delay, I felt the comfortable tug of the arresting gear wire. I heard George release a chest full of air over the intercom. . . . So did I! I could tell by the roll out that we caught the no. 4 wire. The yellow shirt gave us the “hook up” signal and motioned us to taxi forward. “Good,” I thought, “no blown tires.”

We immediately felt the pitching motion of the deck as we taxied toward our parking spot on the bow. The LSO later told me that we had hit hard short of the no. 3 wire, but the force of the impact caused the hook to skip over the three and snag the four.

Landing aboard the ship is really nothing more than a controlled crash, and fortunately Grumman builds a strong airplane. We were extremely happy to be aboard. Within a few hours, the ocean got so rough that waves were crashing over the bow . . . and that’s 60 feet above the waterline!

Another Day at the Office—January 1984

The “Spring House” is a coral rock structure and is the oldest building on Maui. It was built in 1826 over the spring in Lahaina to control the filling of water casks from the numerous whaling and cargo ship which passed through the area.

That’s because in 1824, a ship arriving from Mexico had emptied a partially full water barrel into the spring, and along with it mosquito larvae. Within a few months, the “singing fly” was everywhere, spreading sickness to men and animals alike. Many of the native Hawaiian birds were eradicated because of the birdpox that the mosquitos carried.

In 1826, the King ordered the Spring House to be built to avoid any further ecological disasters. One hundred and fifty-four years later, Lahaina was no longer the capital of the Kingdom of Hawaii but was still the “fun capital” of the islands. The Spring House was part of “The Wharf” shopping complex, and we rented it as the studio for our costume photography business.

Costume photography is an interesting business. I am a photographer and historian. Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. This was a great profession for me! Most people on vacation are ready for a fun time. And they definitely had a fun time at “Old Kine Photos.” The owner of the business was a good friend named Rick, who definitely made Old Kine Photos a fun place to be. My job was to first sell a package of photos and postcards to the customers. Next, I had to dress them in a variety of old Hawaiian, Western, or Gangster costumes, arrange their pose, and take the photographs. If all went well, I could dress and photograph them in 15 minutes and have the pictures ready immediately or in an hour.

The traditional hula dress was obviously the favorite costume for the tourist crowd, and we had some great looking grass skirts. With ukuleles and flower leis, we could take any family from Kansas and make them look very Hawaiian . . . well, sort of.

Actually getting the grass skirts on properly was sometimes a problem. If you didn’t secure those catches just right, they could instantly drop off at any moment. This made for some interesting photos! Our “western barroom girl” outfit was the second most popular costume for the ladies, but it too had its dangers. The corsets were low cut, and designed for specific sizes. Some of our clients insisted on wearing the smaller size for that “full cleavage look” but any movement in front of the camera often resulted in disaster!

Unfortunately, the Spring House was tucked away in a corner of The Wharf. We had the “Hilo Hatties” clothing store between us and Front Street, where all the foot traffic was. Visibility is crucial to the costume photography business, but rents were very high in Lahaina and business spaces were limited. We took a chance with this location. Unfortunately, even though we had a sign out on Front Street, most of our customers found us by accident.

As a result, after I opened the Spring House and got everything in order, a “typical day at Old Kine Photos” included a lot of free time. Fortunately I had my Bible, and something to study, so it wasn’t totally wasted time. As the months rolled by, we kept expecting the flood of customers. But they only came in spurts—enough to pay the rent and employee salaries.

Consider this for a moment. . . .

Would You Rather Be:

Operating a $34 million A-6 Intruder Attack jet or a $200 Canon AE1 camera?

Risking the physical dangers of carrier flight operations or the moral dangers of fallen grass skirts and overflowing corset cups?

Defending the United States of America against foreign attack or involved in a business barely making enough money to pay the rent?

What was I doing sitting in the Spring House rather than the cockpit of the A-6?

These were questions that frequently ran through my mind.

Since my experience with Lonnie, and my commitment to Jesus as my Lord, “getting high on life” did not take precedence in my life anymore. It felt strange not having this goal in my life, and its absence left me a bit disoriented. I wasn’t sure what would replace it. I felt that I had a definite destiny to follow, but I wasn’t sure if sitting here in the Spring House had anything to do with that destiny.

I often asked myself and God many, many times what I was doing sitting here inside this stone building all day, apparently wasting my time. A few years before I had been flying a $34 million  airplane in a job that was very important to national security. Now, all I was doing was dressing up tourists in hula costumes and barely paying the rent.

Had I made the wrong choice by getting out of the Navy? Was there something else that I should be investing my time and energy in? By all normal standards, I was definitely wasting my time here on Maui.

The entire period from June 1982 through November 1984 does not look good on my resume, at least for a normal career path for a college graduate and former Naval Officer. Besides working at the Spring House, I also managed a restaurant, worked with a local comedian on a television show, had a series of odd jobs (carpenter assistant, laying carpet, and manual labor), and finally worked as a dive assistant onboard a tourist boat. It would appear from my resume that nothing really substantial in my life was happening.

The “professional” inside me said to make use of my training and get a job that would pay me well. This led me at one point to call a Navy recruiter and talk about getting back in.

I resisted that urge and never called the recruiter back. Somehow I realized that I was just where I was supposed to be. I sensed in my spirit that something very important was happening to me. Something quite revolutionary . . . and it had nothing to do with the jobs I was holding or with paying the rent.

It had to do with my values. They were changing.

I was “acquiring a taste for beets. . . .”

Chapter 5 On The Wheel

On the Wheel

“These who have turned the world upside down have come here too.” Acts 17:6 NKJV

      Paul and Silas were the two men who first brought the Good News to Europe. Their teachings about Jesus Christ and the restored relationship with God so upset the established religious order that a riot occurred in Thessalonica. The main charge against them: That they had turned the world upside down.

When Lord Cornwallis surrendered his British army to General Washington at Yorktown, the decisive battle of the American Revolutionary War, the British band played an old tune called “The World Turned Upside Down” as their fellow soldiers marched out and laid down their arms.

As I sat in the Spring House weighing my various career options, I began to feel that my world too, had been turned upside down. Standards on which I had long based my decisions were dissolving. Professional goals were crumbling. Material and ego-centered values were being replaced by something far more challenging and substantial.

My whole world view was changing. Previously, I viewed my life in terms of 70 to 90 years on this planet. Now, since I had entered into a relationship that guaranteed me eternal life with my Creator, I saw that 90 years was really a very a short time in comparison. Before, I was the center of the decisions I was making about my life. Now, God was the center of the decisions about the life that He had given me.

I discovered that if you really accept Jesus as your Lord, a revolution occurs. Furthermore, if Jesus really is your Lord, then a complete revolution in your thought patterns has to take place!

Indeed, my values were changing!

After evaluating my encounter with Lonnie’s spirit, my lifestyle in Vail, and what my spirit was now saying to me, I could finally agree with what Craig told me during that first Sunday morning service at Hope Chapel: a relationship with Jesus was the most important thing in this life.

After all, if He is who He says He is, then that relationship has to supersede anything else going on in my life. If He is who He says He is, then He is the source of all the things that I desire in this life—things like healthy relationships, inner peace, spiritual prosperity, order, ability to raise my children properly, health, and willingness to give of myself—the important things. My Creator is the source of all this in this life and in the next.

Now, should something like this be a top priority in my life? You bet! I now began pursuing this relationship with my Creator with gusto.

I was a history major in college and had studied ancient literature and historical reference and source material. I could accept Thucydides’ “Histories” and Julius Caesar’s “Gallic Wars” as valid historical accounts. But to me, the Bible had been nothing more than Jewish mythology and a collection of some men’s opinions.

I read the Bible as a youth and studied the Bible in a literature class in college. Now, as I began to read it in depth really for the first time, I realized it was much more than just another book. I discovered it to be a good historical reference and source—at least by all the criteria (manuscripts, internal and external evidence) that we learned in historiography class at Miami University. It turns out that many events portrayed in the Bible are consistent with other contemporary (Egyptian, Sumerian, Babylonian, Assyrian) writings and sources. Luke especially was a first-class historian. What I considered “mythology” has been substantiated by many archaeologists. In fact, I discovered that there has never been an archaeological discovery that has contradicted anything in the Bible!

And then there are the prophecies. Jewish prophets in the Old Testament made detailed predictions that historians have proved came to pass years later. The destruction of the cities of Tyre, Babylon and Nineveh and their subsequent history was specifically foretold hundreds of years before the events actually happened.

But aside from the historical validity and the fulfilled prophecies, the Bible was becoming something living that my spirit needed. Words written thousands of years ago suddenly became very real. What before had seemed like “dry theology” now became very relevant to events happening around me. The books of Proverbs, James and Corinthians especially took on this new “practical” flavor.

One of the classic scenes in the Bible occurs when Jesus is on trial, standing before the Roman governor Pilate. This conversation ends when Jesus said “Everybody who is of the truth hears my voice.”

Pilate’s response: “What is truth?”

What a question!

For years I had been searching for the “Truth,” asking the same question as Pilate. But in my generation, truth was rarely absolute, especially in regard to moral standards. However, the more I studied the Bible, one thing became crystal clear. There are absolutes when it comes to truth.

“Truth” is easily defined: it is simply God’s opinion on the matter. The Bible presents God’s moral truths very clearly. As I compared the current cultural morality (as well as my own) to God’s morality as presented in the Bible, I suddenly saw the value of many of the moral standards that I had previously rejected. The more I read, the more I realized how inadequate I was in many of my own personal moral standards, and what a negative effect my self-centered morality had had on many of my relationships.

Soon it was evident to me that indeed the Bible was just what it claimed to be—“inspired by God, and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work” (2 Timothy 3:16–17). After years of believing the “Playboy Philosophy” and living the loose morals of the ’60s and ’70s, the need I had for “correction and training in righteousness” was great.

Hope Chapel offered a year long course on the Bible that met every Tuesday morning at 6:00 for two hours. While I was working my “career enhancing” odd jobs, I enrolled in this course. I quickly realized that this was the most important thing happening in my life, and I dedicated myself to this course of study. After completing this Logos School of the Bible, Craig offered a weekly Discipleship Training course. These classes covered sharing the Gospel, Bible teaching, counseling, and ministry training. The course lasted a year as well and was intense personalized training.

Since all my flying and skiing friends were on the mainland 3,000 miles away, I now found myself with a new circle of friends. Most of these new friends were people who shared my new world view (and had shared many of my former views as well!), and who tried to incorporate what they said and did on Sunday into other days of the week.

Many evenings were spent talking about the things of God. And this wasn’t stiff and dry religious activity. This was natural relationships that were based on “the right stuff.” I realized that I was actually having as much fun now as in all my skiing and drug days at Vail! God was not the “Cosmic Killjoy” that I had thought He was. Jesus had told His disciples about the “Abundant Life.” Now I was beginning to understand what He meant.

I knew that all this was going somewhere, but I wasn’t sure. I only sensed that my future depended on completing these Bible and discipleship training courses. Something was happening here, and I realized what later when I read this passage from the book of Jeremiah:

Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message. So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot that he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands. So the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as it seemed best to him . . . like clay in the hand of the potter, so you are in my hand. (Jeremiah 18:2–4, 6) [ NIV]

This was God’s message to me! I was just another lump of clay, and He was forming me into a “pot” or “vessel” that He could use.

The first pot was “marred.” The original language in this passage suggests that the flaw in this first pot was in the clay, and not in the potter’s skill. So the potter worked on the clay, and then formed it into a second pot.

Yes, there was indeed a lesson here for me.

I had always considered myself to be a good person, but as I realized more and more what God’s moral standards were, it was obvious there were many areas in my life where I had missed His mark—where I didn’t measure up to His standards. There were some definite character flaws that were now being brought to light.

But the great thing about Jesus’ teachings is that we don’t have to be perfect to have a relationship with Him. We don’t have to work to get to a point where He will say, “O.K., now we can talk.” He’s ready to talk with us at any time.

Christianity is different from any religion. Religion calls for certain acts on your part to satisfy a Supreme Being, “works” that bring you to a certain level of worthiness where certain rewards are then available. Jesus’ message is simply “Believe in Me and I’ll take care of the rest.” Christianity does not demand perfection as the price of admission, but it does guarantee that once you acknowledge Jesus as your Creator and believe in Him, He will take control of your life and begin developing your character into His image.

This sounds too simple to be true, but after months of serious Bible study, I was convinced of the validity of this basic message.

Jesus told Nicodemus, one of the famous teachers of his time, “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten (or unique) son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life” (John 3:16).

That’s the “believe in Me” part of this basic doctrine.

Later Paul explained to the believers at the church in Philippi: “Carry to its perfect conclusion the work of your salvation, for it is God who, that He may carry out His own good pleasures, brings to effect in you both the initial willing and the effective action.” (Philippians 2:13) [Weiss translation]

That’s the “I’ll take care of the rest” part, and He will as long as we are obedient. That’s where our free will comes in; we must make a choice to follow Him.

In November 1981, I believed the fact that Jesus is my Lord. Now I was getting part two of the basic message and found myself in the “reforming” process.

The first pot (the Navy pilot and Vail skier) was indeed marred—but the flaw was in the “clay” (my own human nature). Now I was on the “potter’s wheel,” and God was working out some of these flaws, getting this “lump of clay” ready to be formed into a “vessel” that He could use.

Being on the wheel is not a pleasant experience. There is a lot of personal pain, embarrassment and frustration as God makes evident our character flaws, and then begins molding us into His character. This was His goal in the beginning—to make us into His image, a complete person with His moral character but with the free will to make our own choices. Somewhere along the way—whether through spiritual interference or our own inherent character flaws, —God’s plan was derailed.

Men and women with the ability to make free choices begin making the wrong ones. With those wrong choices come consequences, on a personal and societal level.

“Truth or Consequences” was a popular quiz show years ago, but describes well the result of our choices. Do we choose to apply God’s truth to a situation or our own feelings and desires? Our answer to this constant challenge determines the fate of our personal lives and the culture and society that we live in. Unfortunately many, like me, were (and still are) unaware of God’s truth and His principles for living. And many (also like me), knowing some of God’s truth, opted to ignore it and go their own way.

The key is the realization of the need and the desire on our part to make the change.

Things that many consider “big sins”—like substance abuse, bad language, and sexual immorality—can be worked out with relative ease. They are really only the superficial symptoms of the deeper flaws—things like pride, selfishness and disobedience. These are flaws in the clay that sometimes takes the Potter years to work out.

The big question is, “Are we going to let the Potter work on us or not?” Once we decide to allow ourselves to be a lump of clay in God’s hands, that’s when this “forming” process begins. In reality, this process will last at least until the day we leave this world.

During this reforming process,  if we stay faithful to God and His purposes, there is a point where God will begin to involve us in His work. A passage in the book of Ephesians jumped out at me during this time, and it continues to every time I read it:

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared  in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2:10) [NIV]

Upon investigation of this passage, I discovered that the Greek word which is translated “workmanship” is “poi_ma.” We get another word from that in English— “poem.” As a poem is an individual artistic expression of its author, we are individual artistic expressions of our Creator. Each “artistic expression” was created to have a relationship with God through His Son Jesus Christ. And this relationship has a purpose— good works of service in the Kingdom of God. Not only that, God planned these works ahead of time, so that the moment that we accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior, we have a definite course of action and are involved in activities that would have eternal value. I later realized that these works themselves have a greater purpose as part of God’s personalized character development program.

Did this concept excite a guy with no apparent direction in his life working odd jobs to pay the rent? It sure did! I realized that in all the millions of people who have lived (and are living) on this planet, I am an individual expression of God’s artistry. He created me to have a relationship with Him, and to participate with Him in His plan for this universe. I have significance in God’s eyes! My actions can have everlasting meaning! The Creator of the universe desires to have a friendship with me!

This is exciting!!!

What about this plan that He has for our lives? What is it exactly? What are these “good works” that He wants us to do?

Good Questions!

My first instincts were to return to my roots—the single-life-in-the-fast-lane-scene. After careful consideration, my roommate Steve and I embarked on the “Banana Moon Ministry.”

It was obvious to us from reading the Bible that telling others about God should be a high priority. Steve and I felt this obligation heavily—to reach the unsaved. We decided to focus in on a select group of the “unsaved”—young, single women. We were sure that God wanted to reach out to this group—especially the beautiful ones. Being single ourselves and knowing some of God’s Word, we felt very qualified to minister to these young, lost souls. . . .

The Marriott had just built a hotel at Kaanapali, and they modeled their disco, the Banana Moon, after “Shadows” in Vail. I knew the scene very well. What a great place to go and witness about the love of God! So we went, usually on a Friday or Saturday night, when the place was jammed with tourists and locals.

There were a few drawbacks to what seemed to like the ideal ministry. It seemed that once we actually arrived and got engaged in conversation with one of these potential converts, things began to happen, but not quite what we had planned.

It is a bit difficult, after all, to witness to your dance partner over the loud music. And while dancing, you worked up a thirst. After a few beers, well, it was really hard to focus on the “mission.” Having so recently stepped out of this environment, it was very difficult to get back into it without being affected by all the old feelings for the “passing pleasures of sin,” as the Bible calls it. There was plenty of that at the Banana Moon.

As the night wore on, the opportunities for witnessing became greater. However, by that point, we had usually forgotten the reason why we came. Not only that, we found ourselves getting into situations where we really weren’t being the best witnesses for the Lord.

Finally, for our own spiritual well-being, we had to abandon the ministry. . . .

It turned out that my instincts for God’s plan for my life were just that—my instincts. And these instincts sometimes proved to be unreliable as a guide for God’s plan. But there were good works that God had planned for me to do. The Bible said so. But how would I know which ones were for me? How could I know what God’s specific plan for me was?

Good Question!

I tried two obvious methods: to ask Him in my prayers, and to research the Bible for some basic principles. I was sure that He would give me some clear direction, even if it took some time. In the meantime, I began looking around to see where I could be of help.

My first ministry at Hope Chapel started one Sunday after service when I noticed a few guys folding and stacking the chairs. “I can do that,” I thought, and picked up a chair. Chair folding became a regular Sunday morning activity. Soon I was passing out bulletins at the front door. Next I was helping a friend with her Sunday School class. Then I was teaching my own class with two other friends. One ministry led to another, and soon I found myself fully involved in church activities. All the while I was asking God to show me what He “really” wanted me to do.

The Bible is a great book for many reasons. Not only does it express God’s moral truth, but in my research, I discovered how God interacted with some other believers who were faced with the same question: “What is God’s will for my life?”

Prayer is a key ingredient in knowing God’s plan. That’s pretty obvious, but the life of one of the greatest leaders in the Bible demonstrates this principle. His name was Nehemiah, and he was the cupbearer (in reality, chief of the king’s personal security) for the King of Persia. Nehemiah heard about the conditions of his homeland and especially the capital city Jerusalem. Babylonian armies had destroyed the walls when they conquered Jerusalem over 100 years before. In this condition, the city was defenseless. This greatly saddened Nehemiah. When the King of Persia asked Nehemiah what he wanted to do about the walls of Jerusalem, Nehemiah stopped and prayed.

In the month of Nisan in the twentieth year of King Artaxerxes, when wine was brought for him, I took the wine and gave it to the king. I had not been sad in his presence before; so the king asked me, “Why does your face look so sad when you are not ill? This can be nothing but sadness of heart.”

I was very much afraid, but I said to the king, “May the king live forever! Why should my face not look sad when the city where my fathers are buried lies in ruins, and its gates have been destroyed by fire?”

The king said to me, “What is it you want?”

Then I prayed to the God of heaven, and I answered the king, “If it pleases the king and if your servant has found favor in his sight, let him send me to the city in Judah where my fathers are buried so that I can rebuild it.”

Then the king, with the queen sitting beside him, asked me, “How long will your journey take, and when will you get back?” It pleased the king to send me; so I set a time.

I also said to him, “If it pleases the king, may I have letters to the governors of Trans-Euphrates, so that they will provide me safe-conduct until I arrive in Judah? And may I have a letter to Asaph, keeper of the king’s forest, so he will give me timber to make beams for the gates of the citadel by the temple and for the city wall and for the residence I will occupy?” And because the gracious hand of my God was upon me, the king granted my requests. (Nehemiah 2:1–8) [NIV]*

When Nehemiah paused to pray before he answered the king, was it a long prayer or short one? We don’t know.

Had Nehemiah spent any time before that in prayer asking for God’s plan? Probably so.

It was through Nehemiah’s prayers that God gave him the plan that he presented to the king. It was God’s plan which found favor with the king, and he not only gave his approval, but he provided Nehemiah with letters of authorization, soldiers, and building supplies. Nehemiah went on to mobilize the people of Jerusalem and, against much opposition, rebuild the walls in only 52 days—an incredible feat by any standards.

Personal abilities, training and experience are other factors in determining God’s plan for your life. The Bible says that once you enter into a relationship with Him, He gives you spiritual gifts (or abilities) that you are to employ in the work of the Kingdom. In addition, God often prepares you for His works ahead of time.

A classic example of this principle is the shepherd boy David. When God impressed upon David’s heart to deal with the giant Goliath, David knew he could do it.

David said to Saul, “Let no one lose heart on account of this Philistine; your servant will go and fight him.” Saul replied, “You are not able to go out against this Philistine and fight him; you are only a boy, and he has been a fighting man from his youth.”

But David said to Saul, “Your servant has been keeping his father’s sheep. When a lion or a bear came and carried off a sheep from the flock I went after it, struck it and rescued the sheep from its mouth. When it turned on me, I seized it by its hair, struck it and killed it. Your servant has killed both the lion and the bear; this uncircumcised Philistine will be like one of them, because he has defied the armies of the living God. The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine.”

Saul said to David, “Go, and the Lord be with you.” (1 Samuel 17:31–37) [NIV]*

David spent many hours while watching his sheep training in the art of hitting a target with a sling. His experience with the lion and the bear gave him confidence. His personal relationship with the Lord gave him the assurance that the Lord was with him.

With all this, and five smooth stones (Goliath had brothers), David ran to the battle and killed this giant Goliath in one of the classic accounts of the Bible.

Sometimes God showed “signs along the way,” or miraculous events to confirm His plan. When Gideon received an order from God to raise an army to fight the Midianites, Gideon asked God for a sign to confirm this order. God gave him two—the famous “fleece tests.”

Gideon said to God, “If you will save Israel by my hand as you have promised—look, I will place a wool fleece on the threshing floor. If there is dew only on the fleece and all the ground is dry, then I will know that you will save Israel by my hand, as you said.” And that is what happened. Gideon rose early the next day; he squeezed the fleece and wrung out the dew—a bowlful of water.

Then Gideon said to God, “Do not be angry with me. Let me make just one more request. Allow me one more test with the fleece. This time make the fleece dry and the ground covered with dew.” That night God did so. Only the fleece was dry; all the ground was covered with dew. (Judges 6:36–40)[NIV]

Gideon was a reluctant warrior, but he was brave enough to ask God not once but twice for a sign confirming His command.  God reduced his army to 300 men, and then defeated an army of thousands of Midianites.

Sometimes God speaks directly in an audible voice to the person. Most of us would like God to communicate to us in this way always, and He sometimes does. Moses had this experience while tending his flocks near Mt. Horeb. He saw a bush that was burning in a strange way.

“Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. So Moses thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.”When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, “Moses! Moses!” And Moses said, “Here I am.” “Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”

Then he said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.” At this, Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God. The Lord said, “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering.

So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.” (Exodus 3:2–8,10) [NIV]

God spoke directly to him in an audible voice from the bush, ordering him to return to Egypt and lead the Hebrews out to the Promised Land. It took years, but Moses did exactly that.

Prayer, personal abilities and experience, signs along the way, and the direct audible voice were all ways that God led His people, and gave them the plan for their lives. I was praying and waiting for God to speak to me or show me some signs. I also knew my own abilities and realized that God had given me many useful skills and valuable experiences.

While I waited for a specific answer to my question, I began to look at God’s written Word, the Bible, for God’s general plan for my life, and principles that I could live by.

Psalm 119:105 says, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.” “Love God” and “Love Your Neighbor” are the two big commandments. There seems to be a special emphasis on serving your brother and helping those in need.

Little did I know that all these Biblical principles would soon become so real to me in such unanticipated ways.

In August 1984, one of the most publicized group of Christians who needed help were the Miskito Indians. Therefore it seemed appropriate when a Christian organizer named Fred came to Hope Chapel that month telling us of these refugees and his plan for collecting and sending relief supplies, that I volunteered to help.

I had heard of the Miskitos, who lived along the Atlantic coast of Nicaragua and Honduras. I had followed with interest the moves of the Sandinista government against them. But Central America was never on my travel itinerary, and I knew very little about the region. Only one fact stuck out in my mind: Nicaragua is where Mick Jagger’s ex-wife Bianca is from. Very significant! Then I looked at a map and saw that Honduras has a capital city, Tegucigalpa, that sounds like a parasitic disease that tourists get. Over the next few months, I quickly got educated. . . .

The Miskitos are Indians with a recent Christian heritage who live on the eastern coast of both Honduras and Nicaragua. They were mostly neutral in the civil war that ousted the long time dictator of Nicaragua, Anastasio Somoza. When the Sandinistas took over the government in 1978, they sent Cuban teachers to take over the schools on the Atlantic coast. Catholic priests and Moravian missionaries were expelled from the country. Church services were disrupted by the Sandinista army troops. A very militaristic, atheistic curriculum was brought into the public schools. And all tribal lands and much personal property were confiscated by the government.

The Miskitos began to resist all this, and fighting broke out in 1981. The Sandinistas sent Cuban and Soviet advisors with their troops to their northern border with Honduras, the Coco River, and began relocating villages on the Rio Coco to areas in the interior. This “relocation” took the form of burning the villages, destroying the fruit trees, and killing all the cattle. At least 90 villages were “relocated,” and many Miskitos died during this forced movement.

Over 40,000 Miskitos fled to Honduras, and another 10,000 went to Costa Rica. Many of these refugees were helped by the United Nations camps set up around the Honduras village of Mocoron, over 40 kilometers north of the Rio Coco. About 10,000 refugees decided to remain in the savannah and swamp land along the Honduran side of the Coco. The situation was desperate for many of these Miskitos refugees, especially the ones who were receiving no assistance.

Fred was organizing medical teams, along with the relief supplies, to take into this border area. I became his project director for Hawaii and began getting the word out to other churches.

By the end of September, we had collected over a ton and a half of shoe boxes filled with things like soap, first aid supplies, needles and thread, food, and clothes. Aloha Airlines graciously shipped this cargo to Honolulu. Continental Airlines then shipped this, plus some shoeboxes collected on Oahu to California. From there the plan was to truck the cargo to Houston and send it by air to Honduras.

When the cargo left Maui in early October, I felt that my job was completed. Fred called me up a few weeks later inviting me to join him on a team to Honduras to help distribute the supplies to the Miskitos. The plan was for the team to meet at the Los Angeles airport on Thanksgiving Day, fly to Houston, and then on to Tegucigalpa. From there we would fly out to “Gracias a Dios” (“thanks to God”), the extreme eastern state of Honduras (named by Christopher Columbus himself after being lost at sea for a few weeks because of a storm). There, we would go by truck and dugout canoe to the villages on the Honduras side of the border distributing the shoeboxes. The entire trip would take two weeks.

I was excited but hesitated due to “financial embarrassment.” The airfare from Maui to Honduras was expensive. Fred sensed my hesitation and offered to pay my airfare from Los Angeles to Honduras! This was a “good sign”!

I had been praying to the Lord, asking Him what His plan for my life was. He was now giving me some specific answers. I had followed a few Biblical principles when I got involved in the shoe box collection project. Now I was being asked to go to the jungles of Honduras. Since I knew a little Spanish from high school and had jungle survival training while I was in the Navy, by my own previous experience, this too seemed in order. I didn’t have money for the airfare, but God provided that through Fred and a few others. Some of the principles in the Bible were working for me.

God hadn’t spoken to me directly yet about this Miskito mission, but He was about to show me the next of many “signs along the way” that confirmed this plan for me.

Chapter 6 Signs Along The Way

Signs Along The Way

      Signs are important if you want to go somewhere.

Most cultures in this world place a high value on signs, but the types of signs used vary from place to place.

In the United States, we have Big, Colorful, Brightly Lit signs on the freeways directing us to our destination. Once we get off the freeways, streets are marked with observable signs, and each house or mailbox is clearly marked with a number that indicates some sort of ascending order on the street. You can generally find a location from its street address.

It’s not the same in Central America.

Highway signs are often non-existent. Street signs here are often not prominently located and observable, and houses are randomly numbered in no apparent order. Many streets in La Ceiba have a commonly used name that is different from the official name. And most people don’t use street names when giving directions anyway. As a result, unless you call ahead to get directions, you will have a difficult time finding your destination.

Our address here in Honduras is a perfect example.

Formally it is: Casa #1349, Barrio Solares Nuevas, La Ceiba, Atlantida.

From this information you could find the city of La Ceiba, in the state of Atlantida, on the north coast of Honduras, but you would have an extremely difficult time locating our house. The address we give to anyone who is looking for us is: “La casa verde brillante enfrente del Correo Nacional en la calle D’antoni “—the bright green house across from the post office on the street that runs from D’antoni Hospital. It’s a bit complicated but it works.

When I was in the Navy, I never had to worry about where I was going—the Navy decided that for me. They directed my schedule and the geographical location of my person. In seven years I went “under orders” from Ohio to Virginia to Florida to Texas to California to Washington, back numerous times to California, then on to the Philippines, Japan, Korea, Hong Kong, Australia, Singapore and points between.

In 1979, I had the choice to opt for 13 more years of this, or freedom . . . freedom to choose where I was going, what I was going to do, how long I was going to grow my hair.

Freedom. That’s what the ’60s and ’70s were all about anyway, wasn’t it? Blind Faith sang a song “Do What You Like.” It was one of my favorites. The Who sang “I’m Free”—another one that received a lot of air time on my stereo. As I considered this decision, part of me said, “Job security, structure, career,” but another part of me shouted, “Freedom! Long Hair! Travel! No Uniform! Music!” (I was a serious guitar player at that point.)

I chose freedom, resigned from the Navy, and went to Vail with Joe. We had total freedom—at least until our bank account balances got low. But even with having to work, I still set my own course and made my own way. I was my own boss.

But in 1981 something changed. . . .

I came into relationship with the Creator—a personal relationship. A relationship which He defined long ago: I am His adopted son, He is my heavenly Father and Lord.

The word “Lord” conjures up many images: Old guys in antique costumes with feathered hats marching out of the Parliament building in London; a knight sitting in his castle with all his vassals gathered around.

In the Greek language, the English word we use as “lord” is “kurios.” That is the word slaves used to address their masters. When Kurios was capitalized, it meant “the Lord,” which meant, for those first century people, the Roman Caesar. He was the Man—the Maximum Leader. We are told in the New Testament that Jesus is Lord. He is the Maximum Leader. That is one element of the relationship that we have with Him.

I understood this concept. In 1979, as a lieutenant in the Navy, President Jimmy Carter was my Maximum Leader. He was Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces. I took my orders from him or officers to whom he had delegated that responsibility. In 1981, I accepted Jesus as my Maximum Leader. Once again, after three years of freedom and just as I had done in 1973 when I accepted my commission as an officer in the Navy, I placed myself “under orders.” The day I was baptized, in a private conference with my Maximum Leader while floating on my back off shore of Wailea Beach, I reaffirmed my allegiance to Him and my willingness to serve Him wherever and however He chose. All I needed were some signs directing me to my assignment.

When we are looking for signs of God’s direction for our life, we are on the freeway looking for those Big, Colorful, Brightly Lit signs. We like and are used to the American system. Unfortunately it seems like God sometimes uses the Central American system. We know the ultimate destination is to be with Him and be like Him. However the route there, the turns and the stops along the way are uncertain. The signs He gives often seem obscure and are sometimes misinterpreted. Many times we are not sure where we are going or how we are to get there.

What’s the difference in Him using one system over the other? It may have something to do with the importance of the “mission.” It could be a manner of developing our perseverance or testing our desire to follow Him and know His voice. I know that here in Honduras, when I have a strong desire to find a place, I don’t let obscure street signs dissuade me from finding my way.

Or it could have a lot to do with the ability of the person to receive and properly interpret the signs.

For my mission to Honduras, God began by using the U.S. system. He gave me a Big, Colorful, Brightly Lit sign: A free ride from Los Angeles to Honduras.

But then He switched to a combination of Central American and U.S. style signs.

It all started at the Maui airport. While waiting for my flight, I decided to call Craig to say goodbye. I knew that it was only going to be a two week trip, but I had the time to call and a quarter. His number was busy, but when I hung the pay phone up, I heard a big “Shuclunck” in the coin return hole. I tried to open the door to get my quarter, but I couldn’t because of all the coins blocking my way. I hit the jackpot! There was over $4.00 in coins!

On the flight to Los Angeles, I sat next to two ladies returning from a visit to New Zealand. During a six-hour flight you can become well acquainted with the people sitting at your elbows. They asked me where I was going and why, and I told them. That started a long conversation. After dinner and the movie, the lady next to me handed me a folded bill and quietly said, “This is for your trip.” I was surprised, and even more so when I unfolded the bill and saw Ben Franklin staring me in the face!

“I don’t need this,” I said. “I’m only going to be gone for two weeks. I have my ticket and expenses paid for, and I’ve got a couple hundred dollars in the bank for when I get back.”

“No,” she insisted. “You are going to need this.”

Later, her friend handed me a check for $50. I gratefully accepted both, wondering what they knew that I didn’t.

I met the team at the Los Angeles airport on Thanksgiving Day. Besides Fred and myself, there were 21 others on the team—people from various churches on the West Coast. I was initially impressed with the size and diversity of this group. The first leg of our flight took us to Houston, where we arrived at 9:00 p.m. Since our flight to Honduras left at 11:30 a.m. the next day, we checked into a motel for the night. The relief cargo had left California two days earlier and was headed, by truck, to Houston. At the team briefing at the motel, Fred told us that a C-130 Hercules transport plane was scheduled to land that evening in Houston, pick up the cargo, and head on to Tegucigalpa. We would arrive the next day, pick up the cargo, and head out by plane to the refugee villages. There we would distribute the cargo, and leave a team of three to construct a building and await further cargo. I was impressed with this plan, and retired to my room for a good night’s sleep.

Just as I dropped off to dreamland, there was a knock on my door. “Everybody up, dressed, and downstairs.” said a voice. I looked bleary eyed at my watch—it looked like it said “2:00 a.m.” I turned the light on. It was.

I arrived downstairs to a room full of sleepy team members. Fred told us that the truck with the cargo had arrived, but unfortunately the C-130 hadn’t, and wasn’t going to. The impressive plan was out the window. The new plan was to unload the truck into a storage area—which happened to be on the third floor vacant wing of a nearby hospital.

We were immediately loaded onto the motel’s shuttle bus for the trip to the hospital. When we arrived, the semi truck was backed up close to a door, and we began carrying armfuls of individual shoe boxes and bigger boxes from the truck, into the lobby, to the elevator, up to the third floor, and into vacant rooms. It was quite a scene. Like a group of ants, the 23 team members formed a continuous line, walking back and forth from the truck to the third floor, to the amazed stares of the hospitals employees. Eventually, we commandeered some unused gurneys to load the boxes and roll them into the elevator.

By dawn, we had taken the last of 37,000 lbs of cargo off the truck and into the hospital. Fred ordered us to keep some of the shoe boxes, and we loaded those into about 20 empty suitcases. Were we still going to Honduras with no cargo to distribute?

At breakfast Fred told us Yes. The cargo distribution team had become a “survey team.” Our mission now was to go to Honduras and assess the needs of these refugees. We had one doctor along, some medicine, and the 20 odd suitcases of shoe boxes that we could distribute. I began to wonder about the value of 23 of us going to “survey.”

We boarded our plane, and two and a half hours later arrived in Tegucigalpa. Fred knew a taxi driver there, and we went with him and four other taxis to our “hotel.”

I have traveled to many places on this planet, stayed in many different types of hotels. Nothing I had experienced quite compared to the hotel that Fred selected for us.

It was dark, dingy, and the owner crammed three beds into a room with space for one. There were “bath rooms,” but none of the toilets had seats. My first thought was, “Oh no! Honduras doesn’t have toilet seats.” The street outside looked safe enough, but still I was glad that one of my roommates was a former Navy Seal.

I went with Fred to exchange money. Surprisingly, we went to a supermarket instead of a bank. “We get a better exchange rate here,” said Fred.

The next day we all went to the airport, to a local flying service where we would charter a DC-3 to fly us to the place known by the Hondurans as “La Mosquitia,” by the Nicaraguans as “Costa Atlantico,” and by the English as “The Mosquito Coast” (named after the bug—not the Miskito Indians who live there). After a visit of a friend from Australia who continually referred to the area as “Miskitia” (where the “Miskitos” live), I adopted that name as the most appropriate for the entire region—Honduran and Nicaraguan.

I went with Fred into the airline office to make arrangements for the flight. The pilot was smiling and courteous, especially when Fred took out $4,300 to pay for the flight. The price for this “survey team” was getting higher all the time.

We loaded our bags, our 20 suitcases of cargo, and ourselves on to the venerable “Gooney Bird.” With smoke belching out of the exhausts, oil dripping from the engines, and rattles coming from all sides, this old bird seemed more vulnerable than venerable.

As we taxied out to take off, Fred stood up and said urgently, “Pray that the tower will release us and give us take-off clearance. We are flying into a war zone.”

Flying into a war zone? Now it was getting interesting. I was glad that I had my Seal friend sitting beside me. We all began intense prayers, and amazingly, the pilot taxied onto the runway and took off. Our destination was a place called Rus Rus. That sounded to me like a name out of a Bogart movie.

An hour and a half later, we landed on a grass runway surrounded by pine trees. There were no buildings anywhere in sight. This was Rus Rus? Fred said that the main village was about eight miles to the west. We unloaded, and the Gooney Bird cranked up and took off. I was apprehensive seeing the plane disappear over the trees. Fred told us to make ourselves comfortable over in the pine trees. That’s where we rigged our mosquito nets and spent the night. Fortunately it didn’t rain.

Fred made connections with our hosts who turned out to be the Miskito armed resistance political organization. They provided us with a truck, a driver and a translator named Truman.

We spent the next seven days traveling by truck, foot, and dugout canoe, visiting villages of Miskitos—Honduran “nativos” and Nicaraguan refugees—along the Kruta River. It was hard to tell the difference between the two groups—all these Indians lived in bamboo or rough cut wooden houses on poles, with leaf roofs. They all appeared to be in the same state of severe poverty. There were many skinny children and adults. Rice, beans and bananas were the food staples, and it seemed that everybody had at least some food.

Over 9,000 refugees lived in this border area. Another 30,000 lived to the west in the United Nations refugee camps around Mocoron. Our doctor held clinic, and I took lots of pictures—over 30 rolls in that week. I was extremely sorry that we had virtually no relief supplies to give these needy people.

As the “survey trip” neared its completion, we decided to establish our base in a village called Auka, which was situated where the grassland meets the Kruta River. Auka is eight miles from the Coco River (Nicaraguan frontier) and this low lying jungle/swamp between the Kruta and the Coco was where many refugees lived. Auka has an airstrip, and we needed this to bring in the relief supplies.

My Seal friend Dan, a mountain climber from Wyoming named Ron, and our Miskito guide Truman remained in Auka when we boarded the truck for the drive back to Rus Rus. Their job was to construct a building and prepare to distribute the cargo.

As we returned to Tegucigalpa on the same venerable Gooney Bird, I kept thinking about all the relief supplies in Houston. I also remembered a few times on Maui earlier that summer when I told different groups at different churches that I would ensure that “this cargo would not end up rotting in some warehouse.”

While in Tegucigalpa, I asked Fred about his plan for getting the cargo to Honduras. He had none. I began thinking about my friend from Vail, Joe, who had recently been hired by NASA as a research pilot, and who had moved to Houston earlier that year from Colorado. On the flight back to Houston, I told Fred and his assistant John, whom I had come to know well on this trip, that instead of returning directly to Hawaii, I could stop in Houston for a few days to investigate the possibility of getting this cargo to Honduras. They agreed, and encouraged me to do so.

We arrived in Houston on December 2nd. The rest of the team went on to LAX, and I went to Joe’s and Martha’s house in Clear Lake City. I was immediately hit with a strong attack of malaria, and spent a few days shivering and sweating in bed. When I was able, I began to call around to different transport companies to get a price on shipping a container to Honduras. The average price was around $18,000, and there were many documents required to get the cargo moved and into Honduras, plus a standard import duty that had to be paid. I called Fred with this information and was told simply “there is no money to move the cargo.”

Suddenly I was at a dead end. It looked like unless something extraordinary happened, this cargo was going to sit in a warehouse for quite a while.

The next night, a stranger called Joe’s house asking for me. He identified himself as a missionary from Houston, who was getting ready to move to Honduras. He wanted to know what we were doing there, and if there was any chance to “co-labor” with his project. In our conversation, I found out that he was going to work in the western part of Honduras— the Miskitos lived in the extreme eastern part. So much for “co-laboring.”

At the end of the conversation though, I suddenly asked him if he was shipping anything down to Honduras. “Yes,” he answered. “How?” was my question.

His reply:

“There is a missionary here who had a connection with the fruit company. They allow him to send supplies to Honduras free in their empty banana containers. He’s shipping my stuff down next month.” The light went on! “Could you give me his name and telephone number?” I asked. He did.

I excitedly hung up the phone. I immediately called the number, and talked to the missionary, a former banker named Alan. I identified myself, told Alan what I was doing, the situation with our cargo, and asked him if there was any way that he could help us move it. He replied that the fruit company allows him one container every month. He had his December and January shipments already arranged, but he could move our cargo in February.

“What would the cost be?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “You just be here to help me load the container.”

“What about customs in Honduras?” I asked.

“I have a friend there who I work with who has an arrangement with the government to import relief and missionary supplies duty free.”

“What do I have to do?” I asked.

Alan replied, “Just be here the first week of February.”

Wow! Suddenly the $18,000 transportation fee and the import duties had been taken care of. It was that simple. I called Fred’s office with the news, and John (Fred’s assistant) and Jo Ellen (Fred’s secretary) were ecstatic.

But February was two months away. What could I do until then? After a moment’s thought, I realized that I hadn’t spent Christmas with my parents in over 10 years. They lived in central Florida, which was a $90 airfare away. Now I remembered the $100 bill that the lady on the flight from Hawaii had given me and her words “You are going to need this.”

Soon I was on a Continental flight to Orlando.

The first Sunday I spent in Vero Beach, I went with my folks to their church— Central Assembly. It so happened that the guest speaker that week was Jack—a missionary from Haiti. My mother knew Jack and his organization because she sponsored one of their school kids in Haiti. After the service she introduced me to him. Jack invited me down to his office in Fort Pierce to talk about our project in Honduras. His organization also operated a ship which regularly delivered mission supplies to Haiti. My mother also introduced me to the pastor of Central Assembly, Buddy Tipton. Buddy was very warm and interested in what we were doing.

The following week I went to Jack’s office. While there, I met the captain and first mate from another missionary ship—the La Gracia. Keith and Bob were part of a ministry from Massachusetts which had a Bible school and missionaries all over the world. They had made a trip to Haiti, and were planning further trips to the Caribbean. They were interested in making a trip to Honduras. Keith offered to carry some cargo for us. Interesting . . . something was happening here. We talked for a long time and I gave them my number and told them we would talk later.

Later that week, I received a call from Massachusetts. Neil was a pilot for Eastern Airlines, who was a member of the same ministry as the captain and first mate. He was calling to inform me that he was planning to fly his personal twin-engine Piper Seneca airplane to Honduras in February to do some missions work. He had one question: “Is there anything that I can do to help you?”

I almost dropped the phone.

“Well, Neil,” I thought, “since you asked, actually you are just what the doctor ordered, since we have to move a lot of cargo into a remote area where there are no roads and need an airplane to do it.”

Instead, I replied calmly, “As a matter of fact, you can” and went on to explain the situation. We agreed on a rendezvous date of the third week in February in Tegucigalpa.

I called Fred’s office with the news. I talked a length with Fred’s assistant, John, about this plan to move the cargo. He told me that there was a dental team from Washington preparing to go to Honduras with him in late February. This was perfect. I called Neil and he agreed to fly out the team to Auka, with as much of the cargo that he could.

We felt something big happening. There was only one obstacle—the cargo in Houston had been moved from the hospital into a storage warehouse, and it was accruing substantial storage costs. By February the bill would be up to about $8,000. We needed the money to get the cargo out of that warehouse. John and the staff at Fred’s office had decided that they were going to fast and pray for $15,000—an amount they calculated would cover all transportation costs and provide some funds for tools, seeds, and medicines for these refugees.

In late January, I decided to visit my brother Randy and his family in North Carolina. He was interested in the Miskito project and set up a slide show for me at a local church. I was happy to present the plight of these Miskito refugees wherever I could, and, armed with over 600 slides I had taken on the trip, I was well-prepared. I presented a program, but there was no great response as I had hoped there might be. I returned to Florida, and Randy’s wife Suzanne soon called and told me of the possibility of a donation from a local Realtor. It sounded like a big “maybe,” and no amount was mentioned. I mentally filed this message in the “Remote Possibility” category.

As I made preparations for the trip to Houston a few days later, John called me to tell me that they had received a check of slightly over $15,000 from a realtor in North Carolina! This man, Lloyd, had heard about the Miskito project from my slide show and had given us a 5 percent tithe off a piece of property that he had just sold! That amount was exactly what we had been praying for!

Was something happening here?

I arrived in Houston in early February and met Alan. He was a tremendous help. I received a check from Fred’s office and paid the storage bills. Then, with the help of my friend Joe (from Vail) and a few others, we loaded all the cargo into the container which was scheduled to leave for Honduras within a few days.

The following week, John and the dental team arrived in Houston, and we flew together to Tegucigalpa. That night we met Neil, his co-pilot, and mechanic at the mission house. We also met Joe Walters, Alan’s friend who had the government connections.

As I stood there that night surrounded by dentists, pilots, local missionaries and visiting missionaries, I was awestruck. Only a few months before, the possibility of getting our cargo delivered in a timely fashion to Miskitia seemed remote. The logistical, legal, and financial obstacles were overwhelming. The cargo I had promised to friends in Hawaii that I would deliver was stuck in a warehouse in Houston building up storage charges. We had no money, no transportation and no connections.

It turns out, though, that we did have a connection . . . A Big Connection. One who is connected to and controls all the events in this world.

Yes, something was definitely happening here.

God was moving and teaching me along the way.

The natural man in me told me at the beginning that delivering this cargo to the refugees was going to be a formidable task. But my inner spiritual man hoped to see God move in a great way to overcome all the obstacles.

And He did move in a great way when you consider what He arranged:

·     Free transportation of 37,000 pounds of cargo from Houston to Honduras;

·     Duty-free importation of a container of cargo;

·     Free in-country transportation—including the free use of our own private aircraft; and

·     A $15,000 donation to cover storage expenses.

Besides the obvious accomplishments, these were Big, Brightly Lit U.S. style signs for guiding me. However, He also used plenty of vague and obscure Central American style signs to get me and keep me pointed in the right direction. This experience was a great lesson for me in knowing God’s voice and navigation through God’s will for your life.

Another lesson: We look for the Big Bright signs, but sometimes these signs can be misleading. God often wants us alert enough and walking with enough faith that we will see the small, obscure signs. The key is  knowing God’s will and His voice.

I also realized that night, with this group gathered in Tegucigalpa, two things:

(1)  My earlier stereotype of a missionary (an older guy who was nice but probably couldn’t hold a job in the states) did not apply with this group—all of these men were professionals who turned to missionary work after being successful in their own fields; and

(2)  That God had been controlling the events around me for the past three months just to make this all happen. The result of His work was amazing.

Now the cargo was out of the warehouse and en route to Honduras. Joe was taking care of the entry permits. Neil was standing by ready to begin his flights. John had brought a dental team ready to go to work. Keith and Bob were planning a trip with the La Gracia to Honduras in May. What had I done? Nothing really, except be available. I felt like a switchboard operator in the middle of all this, just answering the phones and letting the Lord use me to make the connections.

That night I was content, feeling that the mission was soon to be completed, and I would be able to return soon to the photography business in Hawaii.

That, however, was not in my Maximum Leader’s plans. Instead, I was about to embark on the first of a series of battles against the one opposing Him and all members of His family.

Chapter 7 The Fury of the Battle

The Fury of the Battle

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness, in the heavenly places”.                               Ephesians 6:12

      War has been around since the first moment when one person decided to impose his will upon another, and the other person decided that his rights (or land, or family, or property) were worth fighting for. This conflict between individuals is unfortunately one of the constants of our existence here on Planet Earth, despite what wishful sociologists and psychologists may say to the contrary. Training and preparation for war is an activity that most ancient as well as modern societies have engaged in.

In the mid-seventies, the Air Force began a series of realistic war exercises in the Nevada desert called “Red Flag.” This was an effort to simulate a genuine combat environment and provide real life training for flight crews. By using actual Soviet radar and missile systems, with tanks, trucks, runways, and missile sites as “targets,” all scattered over a 60 by 80-mile section of desert, Red Flag was the most realistic combat training available.

A typical Red Flag mission consists of a coordinated air strike against one of the targets. Each strike group is assigned a target time and given the enemy’s “order of battle”—i.e., the location of radar, missiles, and other forces. The target is “defended” by surface to air missile systems as well as an enemy air force composed of Air Force and Navy “aggressor” squadrons (each with red stars painted on their tails). Captured Soviet MIG-21s are even used for the utmost in realism. The object of the strike force is to slip in around or under the radar, avoid the aggressors, place your bombs on the target, and escape unharmed.

In Red Flag, normal peacetime safety rules were abandoned in favor of actual wartime “rules of engagement.” Peacetime rules require a minimum flying altitude of 200 feet above the ground level and no air combat maneuvering below 10,000 feet. In Red Flag, these rules were waived since the Soviets had missile systems that could track you and shoot you down at less than 100 feet above the ground, and air combat maneuvering is often necessary to defend yourself against an enemy fighter while flying low across the desert floor.

In 1977 our air wing (CVW-11) from the USS Kitty Hawk became the first Navy air wing to participate in a Red Flag exercise. This was the type of flying that we all lived for. Even though our job was to “defend national security,” (and if it came to it, all attack and fighter pilots would lay their lives on the line for this worthy cause) to most of us, flying high performance jets was one of the most demanding “sports” in existence. It’s an exclusive “arena” where the competition was intense. Simply staying alive in this unforgiving environment was a worthy achievement. Bombing scores, landing grades and air-to-air engagements were all part of the process of measuring the best.

Red Flag presented us a rare opportunity. For two weeks, we enjoyed the best of both worlds—wartime tactics in a peacetime environment. We could fly the airplanes to their maximum, and know that there was nobody shooting real bullets at us.

One of these missions was one of the most unforgettable flights of my career. . . .

Fighter Sweep. . . .

It is a mission that is exactly what it sounds like. Fighters go into an area with the sole purpose of engaging and shooting down enemy fighters—”sweeping” the areas clean so that the strike force can follow to hit the target free from air interference. A fighter sweep was included in the original Red Flag schedule for our air wing. In the Red Flag environment (no real bullets), this was the type of mission that dreams were made of.

Air Combat Maneuvering is the proper military term for what used to be called “dogfighting”—aircraft fighting against other aircraft. ACM requires a combination of acrobatics and hunting senses. It is pure multidimensional flying at its best. While putting your bombs on a target has great job satisfaction, this is a real opportunity to engage in head-to-head competition with enemies, who were not just shapes on the ground running for cover or faceless people sitting in the missile control room trying to shoot you down. These opponents are real people, trying to fly their airplane better than you are flying yours, matching you move for move, while trying to anticipate your next move. It was a personal duel between highly qualified individuals, and the stake in real combat is your life. In practice the only thing on the line was your pride.

How do you shoot down an opposing fighter?

Modern air-to-air tactics for most fighters are to intercept the enemy aircraft— called a “bogey”—and shoot him out of the sky with a missile as quickly as possible. Once you get within 10 miles of the bogey, Sparrow missiles are effective. The Sparrow is radar-guided and allows you to shoot the bogey head-on or at any angle. If the Sparrows don’t get him, then you close in and engage the bogey with the purpose of getting behind him so that you could fire a Sidewinder heat-seeking missile which will home in on his tail pipe.

These modern missile tactics left very little room for the classical shoot-’em-down-with-your-machine-guns dogfighting seen in World War I and World War II—so much so that the F-4 Phantom, which led the air war in Vietnam, was designed in the late ’50s without a gun.

However during the Vietnam war, the need for a gun on a fighter became very evident—missiles often failed to launch or hit their target. A gun is relatively simple and reliable if you can get into a position to use it. The designers of the F-4 realized their mistake in not building a gun into the Phantom, and the next generation of fighter aircraft was designed with multi-barreled guns. Still, with more reliable generations of missiles coming on-line, using your gun against a bogey was considered a last ditch effort to shoot him down—and to be used only if the missiles failed, or you had exhausted your arsenal of Sidewinders and Sparrows.

In spite of the high reliability factor of modern air-to-air missiles, the best position for a sure kill was the close in “guns position”—within 400 yards on the tail of your opponent. In the training environment this was the preferred position and the one we all strived to achieve.

In the “guns” position, there was no doubt who was shooting whom.

The excitement for this fighter sweep heightened as the day of the mission approached. Crews jockeyed for those limited places on the flight schedule. Excitement turned into frenzied titillation with the announcement that the “Opposition” would include the newest addition to the Air Force’s inventory—the F-15 Eagle. Since the Navy’s F-14 Tomcat had been introduced into the fleet only a few years earlier, there had been much discussion and debating over which aircraft was the best “Air Superiority Fighter.”

Both aircraft had their strong points.

The Tomcat has a crew of two and operates off of aircraft carriers. The Eagle has a pilot only and is shore-based. The Tomcat has a “swing wing” that can be moved inflight to a “spread” position for tight turns, or a “swept” position for high speed (Mach 2.4+). The Eagle has a fixed-wing design that allows for speed and maneuverability, and two very powerful engines that allowed it to set many speed and climb-to-altitude records. Both aircraft are equipped with Sparrow and Sidewinder air-to-air missiles, and a 30mm six barrel Gatling gun mounted in the nose that fires 3,000 rounds a minute.

The real difference between the two lies in the Tomcat’s Phoenix missile system. Operated by the Radar Intercept Officer who sits behind the pilot, the Phoenix can shoot down an aircraft at a range of 60 miles. The Phoenix, plus the extra set of eyes in the cockpit would seem to give the Tomcat the edge in any air-to-air engagement. However, until this point (mid 1977), there was no real opportunity to do more than just discuss the merits of each plane and speculate on how they would fare in a true combat head to head confrontation.

Aside from these design and weapon system differences, we all knew that the real edge in any air-to-air fight was with the best pilot—the one possessing the greatest skills and situational awareness. Given that all Air Force pilots had made the choice not to even attempt a landing on an aircraft carrier (which they did by choosing to join the Air Force rather than the Navy), we all knew where the edge lay when it came down to the human factor. . . .

Now was the time to put all speculation to rest.

 

Air Wing 11 sent eight Tomcats, two A-7 Corsairs, and two A-6 Intruders on this fighter sweep into the target area. Normally attack planes (the A-6 and A-7) were not included on fighter sweeps—our primary mission was air-to-ground attack. However, since we did carry Sidewinders and air-to-air fighting was a secondary role, we were included on this training mission. The A-6 didn’t have the afterburners and speed of the F-14. However at low altitude our engines had comparable performance and with its huge load carrying capacity wing, the Intruder could out turn any aircraft in the fleet.

The opposition was a mixed bag of F-4 Phantoms, A-4 Skyhawks, and, of course, the F-15 Eagles. Pete Rice and I were chosen to fly one A-6. The other was flown by a future Blue Angel, Jack Ekl, and his bombadier/navigator (B/N), Casey Gibbs.

This flight was led by our air wing commander, Sam Leeds. Sam was a skilled fighter pilot but did not have the attitude of a typical air wing commander when it came to dress, appearance, and paperwork. He was a curly-headed guy who made his mark in my book when he made the statement, “Haircuts don’t kill MIGS.” He contrasted sharply with my squadron commander—a straight laced pilot named Daryl whose hair on his eyebrows was longer than any other part of his head.

I always enjoyed flying with Sam. He was strictly goal orientated when he strapped into the cockpit. Daryl, too, was an excellent pilot, and we flew many challenging missions together. However, it took Daryl a while to overcome my marginal haircuts. In fact, when we first met in 1976, his first words to me were: “The next time I see you, you better have a proper haircut.” After flying with me for a few months, he realized that a marginal haircut did not reflect marginal performance in the cockpit. I never had that problem with Sam. We clicked from the first time we flew together.

At the brief, Sam instructed the F-14 crews to set up for long range Phoenix and Sparrow missile shots, and then close in for a Sidewinder shot if possible. After “one or two turns” with the bogey, the engagement was to be broken off and the fight terminated. To us “attack” crews now turned “fighter jocks,” he only said “If you can get a shot, fine; but if not, stay out of our way.” Jack looked at me and rolled his eyes. Sure! Stay out of the way? No Way!

My B/N, Pete was the squadron maintenance officer. He ordered the best two aircraft in the squadron to be specially prepared for this flight. Normally the A-6 carried external fuel tanks or bomb racks on each of the wing and belly stations. For this flight, Pete ordered the tanks and racks removed. With these attachments gone, the A-6 now flew faster and was even more maneuverable.

Even though the A-6 had radar designed for ground mapping, Pete was skilled enough to be able to get some airborne returns—as long as the bogeys were above the horizon. We knew the fighters would stay high and accelerate ahead of us as we entered the target area. So we decided at that point to descend to the desert floor, accelerate and “look up” on our radar for the bogeys. There were many ridgelines and mountains in the target area, and the bogeys could come at us from any direction, high or low.

We took off, rendezvoused with the 11 other airplanes, and headed south. As we approached the target area, the F-14s began getting bogeys on their radars and accelerated ahead. Jack and I began our descent, and also began dumping all of the remaining fuel in our wing tanks. With only the fuselage fuel tanks filled, these Intruders were now down to their best “fighting weight.”

As we headed down a long desert valley, Pete began to get target blips directly in front of us on his radar. At the same time, far down the valley I saw visually what appeared to be a small black spot in the sky. This was puzzling but Pete saw it too. As we got closer, this black spot expanded and took on the appearance of a small black cloud. In another minute, I could see the individual dots that made up this “cloud.” In a few more seconds as we got closer, we could see these dots turning wildly—they resembled a hornet’s nest, with the hornets buzzing madly around. It became immediately obvious to us that this was the fighter sweep happening right in front of us—with all the airplanes concentrated in one big ball!

So much for missile tactics!

This was classic World War I dogfighting! Everybody was trying to get a gun shot on each other. There were over 24 airplanes—all turning within the same three mile circle. It was an incredible sight!

Jack’s airplane accelerated and I shoved my throttles all the way forward. We continued ahead until we were directly under the center of the circle. With a nod of the head, Jack pulled up and into the fight. I followed. We both had our eyes scanning the sky for a bogey in the right position for us to get a quick shot.

Jack saw an aggressor A-4 ahead and maneuvered into his six o’clock position. I was in trail on him covering his six. Suddenly Pete called, “Bogey at our left high eight o’clock” position. It was an F-4 Phantom who was already in a good “Sidewinder” position and moving toward a gun shot bearing down on us at high speed. I warned Jack and pulled the nose of the Intruder into a hard left turn into the oncoming Phantom.

Phantoms were at one time the world’s fastest airplane, but they can’t turn that well. When this Phantom driver saw the Intruder coming back at him, he realized that he had no other option but to break off the attack. If he didn’t, he would overshoot me and with a quick turn back, I would have the Phantom in a nice gun position.

He broke off to the right, and I rolled back right to see if I could get a shot. He was gone. I looked ahead for Jack, but he was gone too. Just then, an F-15 whizzed past the top of my canopy, closely pursued by a Tomcat. Ahead of me was an aggressor A-4 Sky­hawk, but before I could make a move on him, Pete called another bogey who was attacking us. It was another A-4, and he was closing in from our close eight o’clock position on our tail.

The Skyhawk is a smaller airplane with excellent turning abilities. I pulled hard left into him and saw him begin to overshoot. I then rolled nose low back to the right, as a Phantom closely pursued by a Tomcat shot past us in a climbing turn.

The Skyhawk followed my nose low roll, and I continued my roll “over the top,” and we found ourselves in a “rolling scissors” motion, with each one trying to get behind the other. As the horizon spun around me with each revolution of this rolling scissors, I noticed in my peripheral vision other fighters crossing, in front, above, and below us. With all these aircraft within such a small area maneuvering, I was amazed that so far, there had been no mid-air collisions.

After four revolutions with this Skyhawk, he suddenly broke off the fight to the left. I had no real opportunity for a shot, so I continued straight ahead, looking for Jack. I didn’t see him, but what I did see made my heart leap.

Straight ahead about 1,000 yards in front of us was an F-15 Eagle in a shallow left turn heading away from us. I pointed my nose directly at him and closed the gap. The Eagle pilot must have just seen me at that point because he tightened his turn. I rolled into a left turn, and he then rolled back right to almost wing level and pulled his nose up. “So much for this shot,” I thought as I saw his nose go up. I figured that he would next light his afterburners and pull straight up, which I couldn’t follow with my non-after­burning Intruder. Then, with him on top and me low, I would be easy prey for him.

Instead, his next move surprised me. He dropped his nose until it was level with the horizon, rolled left, and pulled harder into me. Amazing! This was exactly what I was hoping that he would do. I leveled my wings and pulled up my nose in a classic “high yo-yo” maneuver, converting my speed to altitude, which allowed me to close the gap between us while maintaining a good attack position. At the top of the yo-yo, I rolled back left, nose down, and slid into a gun position on his tail.

The Eagle attempted a reversal, but it didn’t shake me. More reversals, with more hard turns, but there was no way that this Eagle was going to out turn an Intruder. All that he had to do to escape was to light burners and go nose up. I could have never followed him. Yet for some reason, this F-15 pilot chose to try to out turn an A-6.

A fatal mistake.

The result of this tactic came soon—I called “Guns on the Eagle” over the common radio frequency. The F-15 rolled wings level, and wagged his wings back and forth—the signal acknowledging a kill. He knew who had won this fight. Had this been actual combat, he would have been floating under his parachute watching his flaming Eagle drop out of the sky—if he was lucky enough to get out of the airplane. Pete and I were ecstatic!

We dropped out of the circle and back to the desert floor. We were both soaked with sweat, and breathing hard. My right biceps was pumped up and burning—pulling 4 to 5 g’s for 15 minutes was like doing multiple sets of curls. I looked over at Pete, and he had blood running down the front of his oxygen mask! I asked him, “Did we take a hit?” “No,” he replied, “My glasses dug into the bridge of my nose during those high g turns.”

The fight was still going on above us, and after a few moments, we pulled back up and into the circle. More engagements with F‑4s and A-4s followed, but soon the fighters began running low on fuel and began to bug out. Finally it was down to us and the A-4s, and soon we, too, reached our minimum fuel. We dropped low, found Jack and Casey, and headed home.

We landed and headed to the debrief room with the other crews to talk about the flight. All the Tomcat crews were there, loudly exchanging stories of their own engagements and talking more with their hands. They were excited that they had prevailed over the F‑15s. We all were.

Sam arrived and the room got quiet. We knew that we had ignored the briefed battle plan. The temptation to dogfight with the F-15s had been too great for all of us, including Sam.

His eyes scanned the room, and with a smile he said, “I hope that you enjoyed that because it will be the last time that we will ever do anything like that again.”

“Enjoy” was an understatement. We savored every moment of this fighter sweep. It was a once in a lifetime experience. It was a flight that you would mortgage the house, the cat and the mother-in-law for.

Aside from the fun and satisfaction of that flight, I had learned a great lesson.

As Jack and I flew low across the desert, heading toward the hornet’s nest that was buzzing madly in front of us, we had only one thing on our minds—attacking the enemy airplanes and shooting them down. Yet once we actually pulled up into the fight and engaged the enemy, all of a sudden, it was us that were being attacked. We immediately were on the defensive and we spent much of our time that flight fending off those attacks. The battle was intense, and attackers were coming at us from all directions. We had our moments of success, but much time was spent in defending ourselves.

Eight years later, I began to understand that this principle applied not only to fighter sweeps, but also to battles fought in the spiritual arena.

Jesus once said, “The thief (Satan) comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” (John 10:10).

Paul told the Ephesian church, “Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the world powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12).*

My experience with Lonnie had demonstrated the reality of “dark” spiritual forces. My Bible studies indicated that there was indeed an active, organized force of fallen angels with a definite command structure. Their mission here on Earth is to blind people to their need for a Savior and to actively oppose the work of the Kingdom of God. As we prepared to move the cargo out to Miskitia that February of 1985, I was about to get a lesson on just how strong this opposition is.

Remember the night I arrived in Tegucigalpa and met Neil and Joe and the group of dentists? The cargo was en route, and we had importation duties and in-country transportation all arranged. I was feeling good; everything was taken care of.

The next morning, I went to the airport with Neil and the dentists to help them load Neil’s Seneca for the flight out to Auka. Neil and I went to the Aeronautica office to file the flight plan. It was a relatively simple procedure and there didn’t seem to be any restrictions to flying out to Miskitia. I thought of my flight out to Rus Rus in the DC-3 with Fred a few months earlier, and how we had to pray as we taxied out that “the tower would release us for takeoff.” I asked Neil if there were any further procedures to get approval for the flight. “No,” was his reply. “Once you file the flight plan and get the Aeronautica office stamp on it, it’s approved.” Then why had Fred asked us to pray that the tower would release us? The pilot had already filed his flight plan. I began to wonder about some of the other things that Fred had told us. . . .

Auka is about two hours (240 miles) from Tegucigalpa in Neil’s Seneca. It’s a small village that is difficult to find by air because of the lack of distinguishable landmarks. Auka is surrounded by grassland and pine forest on one side, and a winding Kruta River with thick jungle and swamp on the other. I have flown in and out of there for over 10 years, and I still have to look carefully to find this village. It is an easy place to miss. The surest way to find Auka coming from Tegucigalpa is to find the town of Mocoron, with its Honduran army base and long dirt runway (very visible from the air), and fly a heading of 097 degrees for exactly 10 minutes. That heading and time should put you overhead Auka.

Neil took off with the first part of the dental team around 8:30 a.m. I returned to the airport at 1:00 p.m. with the second half of the team, and Neil arrived shortly after. The flight had gone smoothly, and Ron had been very happy to see him. It had been over a month since Ron had seen another American face. Neil refueled, and grabbed a burger from the Bigos hamburger place across the street, and a few for Ron as well. We loaded the team and their baggage, and he took off sometime after 3:00 p.m. Neil’s plan was to spend the night in Auka and return the following morning.

The prevailing wind in Auka comes from the northeast and picks up in the afternoon—usually averaging about 15 to 20 knots. That’s enough to blow you off course to the south.

This is apparently what happened to Neil, because when he arrived over Mocoron, he took his 097 degree cut, flew 10 minutes, and didn’t see Auka. After flying a few circles, and not seeing anything familiar, he did what you are supposed to do when you are “temporarily disoriented.” He reversed his original course and flew back to Mocoron—his last known point.

Once overhead Mocoron, he made a circle, and set out again for Auka. Again, after flying 10 minutes, he saw nothing familiar, and headed back to Mocoron to try again. By now the sun was low on the horizon. It would be dark within an hour.

He found Mocoron, and this time made a few circles over the army base to get his bearings, so that he could set up to fly an exact course to Auka. As he was circling the base, he noticed what looked like flares coming up from the base in his direction. Were they trying to signal him, or just maybe help him get his bearings? Neil wasn’t sure why they were shooting flares, but he was sure of one thing—that with approaching darkness, he’d better find Auka soon.

After 10 minutes, with a slight correction to the left to compensate for the wind, Neil sighted Auka, and landed. Everybody was happy to be on the ground in Auka. The next morning, the dental team began pulling teeth, and Neil returned to Tegucigalpa. However, there was a slight problem—Neil’s left engine lost most of its oil pressure during the flight and he had to shut that engine down. Fortunately the Seneca has two engines, and one is sufficient to keep the airplane airborne.

After he landed, he discovered a huge crack in the engine casing—most of the oil had leaked out of that engine. This crack was unrepairable—the engine had to be replaced. When I asked Neil how much a new engine would cost, he calmly replied “Oh, about $18,000.”

We made a plan. I would stay in Tegucigalpa and arrange for a plane to go pick the team up the following week. I would also arrange through our friend Joe to get an importation duty exemption for the replacement engine. Eighteen thousand dollars is a lot of money, and the importation duties would be considerable. Neil got on an airliner the next day and returned to Miami, saying that he would be back in “a few weeks” with a new engine.

What a strange time for that engine to go out! It was more than strange, and the story wasn’t over yet.

After Neil left for the United States, I spent the next four weeks living with Joe and his family. Joe had started numerous children’s feeding centers around Honduras, and in my spare time—which I had plenty of—I traveled with him to visit these centers. Joe also travelled with a group of young people who presented Gospel puppet shows and clown skits to these children as they received their plate of bulgar wheat and rice and a cup of milk. Joe’s program was to feed the children physically and spiritually.

For me, living and traveling with Joe was a crash course on how to effectively do the work of the Kingdom of God in the Third World. It was a practical course that no seminary could provide. During this time, the cargo arrived and was stored in the house that Joe used as his office.

One of Joe’s friends was a Honduran businessman named Victor. This man had recently entered into a personal relationship with the Lord, and was devoting much time toward the work of the Kingdom. One of his projects was helping start a church in Julti­calpa, a town in the state of Olancho.

If you draw a straight line from Tegucigalpa to Mocoron, it passes close to the airstrip at Julicalpa, which is 80 miles from Tegucigalpa and only 160 miles from Auka. Victor suggested that we transport the cargo by truck to Juticalpa, where we could store it in his church building while we made our shuttle flights to Auka. This was an excellent idea. By flying a 160-mile leg to Auka (instead of a 240-mile leg), we would save over an hour of flight time and 20 gallons of fuel each flight.

Neil’s “a few weeks” had turned into four. He shipped the engine down on a cargo flight, and we got it out of customs the same afternoon that Neil and his wife Maggie arrived from Miami. The next day (Tuesday) we rented a truck, loaded it with as much of the cargo as it could hold (about half of the original shipment and five drums of aviation gas as well), and sent it on to Julticalpa. The engine was installed the same day. The next day, we took the Seneca for a test flight.

Victor and his wife drove out to Julticapla on Wednesday. They had some business to take care of, but they also wanted to be there to help us move the cargo out to the airstrip. Neil and I flew to Auka with a load of cargo. Our plan was to meet Victor in Julticalpa on Thursday.

When we arrived at the airstrip in Julticalpa on Thursday, Victor was not there to greet us. We took a taxi to his church building, and were dumbfounded by the scene that awaited us.

As we stepped out of the taxi, we saw that the church was surrounded by people— many of who were weeping. We made our way into the crowd, looking for a familiar face. We saw none. Finally, in my best Spanish, I asked a man where Victor was. He began a long and rapid explanation. I only caught a few words as he rambled on, but the words I did catch sent a queasy feeling to my stomach.

Victor and his wife had been killed in a head on collision the day before. They were cresting a hill when they collided with a truck who was passing another truck coming up the other side of the hill. They were killed instantly and their small car destroyed.

Victor’s friends at the church were in a state of shock. Neil and I were not sure what to do until an elderly gentleman named Julio came and introduced himself to us. He owned a bakery in town and was one of the elders of the church. Victor had told him about us and our mission. Julio offered to assist us with his truck and whatever else we needed.

We loaded Julio’s truck with the cargo and drove out to the airstrip and loaded the Seneca. Neil took off with over a 1,000 pounds of cargo for Auka. I stayed behind to organize the next load—I was just dead weight anyway. We spent the next four days moving the cargo. On the last flight on Sunday, I went with Neil to Auka. There, we had a very interesting conversation with Ron.

Puerto Lempira is the main town in the Honduran Miskitia and is about 20 miles north of Auka on the Caratasca Lagoon. It’s a 15 minute flight from Auka, but about 10 hours if you have to walk. A few weeks earlier, Ron had walked to Puerto Lempira. There he met a Honduran Army lieutenant who was stationed at Mocoron. When this lieutenant found out that Ron lived in Auka, he began asking him about any airplanes flying in there at the end of February. Ron told him that a twin-engine airplane had flown in a dental team. The lieutenant then told him an amazing story. . . .

The afternoon of Neil’s flight to Auka, this lieutenant had been on duty in Mocoron. A twin-engine airplane was seen flying overhead, heading southeast. About 20 minutes later, this same airplane approached Mocoron from the southeast, made a circle and headed off in that same direction. In another 25 minutes, the same airplane approached the army base from the southeast and began making circles over the base.

At this point the Honduras army troops were concerned. Since they had seen this airplane three times in less than an hour, and since it was coming from the direction of Nicaragua, where there was a serious war going on at that moment, and since it was late in the day, they concluded that this was a Nicaraguan airplane preparing to bomb the army base. The lieutenant ordered his soldiers to fire on the unidentified aircraft with one of the machine guns.

The gun crew fired, but after about 15 rounds, the machine gun jammed and would not fire. The crew immediately ran to another gun and began firing. After a few rounds, this gun too jammed. They went to a third gun, and began firing. Amazingly, this one also jammed after firing only a few rounds. By this point, Neil was headed off to Auka, and getting out of range. Since it was getting dark, the lieutenant ordered his men to cover the guns until daylight.

The next morning, the lieutenant ordered his men check the machine guns. Amazingly, all three guns fired normally!

The flares that Neil had seen when he circled Mocoron that last time were in fact tracer rounds—bullets that light up when fired which are spaced in the magazine at regular intervals so that the gunner can see where his rounds are going.

All three guns, which had been firing properly before, jammed and would not fire. Yet the next morning they functioned perfectly again. Ron told us that the lieutenant was “visibly moved to tears” as he realized that he had almost shot this missionary airplane out of the sky.

What about those machine guns?

Why had they all of a sudden jammed, only to work properly the next day?

Neil and I were shocked to discover that he had almost been shot out of the sky. On the surface here in Honduras everything seemed to be going smoothly. But this, plus Victor’s death, and Neil’s broken engine were vivid reminders that we were working in a very hostile environment. Somebody was opposing us. It was nothing that we could put our finger on directly, but we sensed in our spirits that we had stepped into enemy territory.

We later realized that of all the villages in Miskitia, Auka is considered one of the centers of witchcraft. This is the village that we had almost “randomly” selected in 1984 to establish our base. When we asked the village elders for a site to build our house, they gave us a piece of land on a little hill southwest of the village that had no houses within a half mile. We later were told that this hill was a place where people had “seen Satan” at night as they passed.

Yes, the “spiritual forces of wickedness” led by “The Thief” himself were upset at our intrusion into their territory. A definite spiritual battle was taking place. Our mission here in Miskitia was not necessarily to destroy the enemy as it had been in Red Flag, but rather to save the lives of the innocent. Still, we met heavy opposition. This enemy was not willing to concede an inch of territory or one soul to us.

As we entered the enemy’s territory and “pulled up into the fight” as Jack and I had done in the Red Flag fighter sweep, we felt the fury of the battle. We knew that we had our own celestial support—the “jammed” machine guns for starters. But we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we were in a battle. The enemy forces so far had two confirmed kills, one damaged airplane and a nearly downed airplane.

This mission was more dangerous than we initially realized. I was used to fighting using my physical senses and physical weapons. This war was on an entirely different level, against unseen but very real enemies. Weapons and strategies existed to fight in this realm but were different than what I had been trained to use.

Paul said to his friends at Corinth:

“For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh, for the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses.” (2 Corinthians 10:3–4)

Now it was time to learn to fight this spiritual war using spiritual weapons.

The first step in this spiritual battle was what Paul told the Ephesian church—recognize the enemy. I knew from previous experience that he existed.

The next step was to recognize where our strength in the spiritual realm comes from: “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might.” (Ephesians 6:10)

Our strength comes through our relationship with Him.

It is He who gives us the power to fight.

Then it’s time to “Put on the full armor of God, that you may be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil.” (Ephesians 6:11)

What is this spiritual armor? Paul goes on to explain:

“Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” (Ephesians 6:13–17)[NIV]

This armor that Paul describes so well in this sixth chapter of the book of Ephesians is the defense that a close and obedient relationship with God gives you—believing His truth vs. Satan’s lies; knowing your relationship as an adopted son or daughter of God Himself and the legal rights that go along with that relationship; your willingness to share the good news of this relationship; your faith in God to protect you; and your knowledge that you have eternal life with Him no matter what may happen here in this life. This is the defensive armor that God offers us.

But there are offensive weapons as well. The “sword” in the spiritual realm is God’s Word—Truth to apply to every situation where you feel yourself under spiritual attack; truth about your identity; truth about God’s promises to you; truth about the limited power of the evil one over you.

The other weapon He gives us is Prayer—communion with Him; prayer to align ourselves with God and His will and move with Him to accomplish His plan for our lives and for this world.

Truth and prayer are powerful dynamics in the spiritual realm.

The concept of a spiritual war seemed ambiguous when I lived full-time in the United States. Maybe that’s because few people there really believe in the existence of the spiritual realm. Even in most churches, spiritual warfare tactics were taught  in a similar way that we flew in the Red Flag exercises—with little fear of real bullets.

Here in Miskitia, where everybody knows for a fact that the spiritual realm exists, and that it influences their lives daily, it was a different story. This was real combat— against an enemy firmly entrenched in the culture. Daily he sent “flaming missiles” in our direction.

Before, I had been trained in the Navy to recognize surface-to-air missiles and their associated fire-control radar systems, and how to take proper evasive action. Now I had to learn to recognize an entirely new array of weaponry—things like lies, deceptions, false “signs along the way,” temptations, discord, and disease. These things are common to everyday life. “The Thief” himself is the source of many of these which he uses for his own warfare purposes.

Even though the battles in the spiritual realm were for the most part “unseen,” this was a struggle more real and more important than any I had ever been a part of.

On Sunday, March 31, we flew back to Tegucigalpa. I arrived feeling like our mission was accomplished, and soon I would be able to head back to Maui. Joe met us at the airport with two reporters from the Houston Chronicle who were interested in doing a story on the Miskito Indian refugees. They wanted to go to Miskitia, and asked if I could help. Somehow at that moment, I sensed that it would be a while before I saw the island of Maui again.

I was right. A year later (May 1986), I finally arrived back home on Maui. In the meantime, some very significant things had happened.

More of the remaining cargo was taken to Auka.  The rest was given to Joe’s network of churches and feeding centers for distribution.

Our relationship with Fred was increasingly strained as we realized that his interests in the mission were more political than anything else. We saw an opportunity to cultivate true Christianity among these Miskitos who had a Christian heritage but where true relationship with the Creator was rare. Fred saw opportunity for adventure and headlines, and it seemed like the Christian mission was a convenient vehicle for his own personal agenda. As time went on in early 1985, Fred’s behavior began to stray outside the norms of what is expected of a Christian leader. I sensed some “spiritual tactics” were being employed against us by the enemy to compromise our own principles. I realized that if I was to maintain any credibility in my work among the Miskitos, I could no longer work with Fred.

Ron and John agreed. We all realized that the Lord wanted to do more among these Miskitos than just deliver relief supplies. In April, John brought a medical team down, and we had an opportunity to discuss the situation. It was the following month that we (Ron, John, and myself) decided to form our own non-profit corporation to continue this work. John said that he knew a lawyer in his church in California who could probably give him some advice. Ron and I agreed to stay in Honduras while John initiated the paperwork. Then an amazing thing happened.

As John spoke to this lawyer friend about forming a non-profit corporation, the lawyer turned to his files and brought out a folder of papers. It was all the papers for a non-profit corporation he had formed two years earlier. He felt like the Lord had given him clear direction to get all the papers in order, but nothing more than that. So the papers sat in the file cabinet while he awaited further orders.

Now, while talking with John about the Miskito project, he made a decision. He gave the folder to John. The corporation that he had formed over two years earlier he now felt should be used for the Miskito project. What normally takes up to six months was accomplished in a moment of decision. We had our corporation papers—all in order. The name of the corporation was “Salt & Light.”

I received the news in July when Neil and our friend Ed flew into Auka.

“Oh, by the way, you are now called Salt & Light,” Ed told me.

“What a strange name,” I thought. I never would have picked a name like that. I had to think back to that passage in the book of Matthew where Jesus told his disciples:

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men. You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:13–16) [NIV]

We take salt and light for granted, but most cultures don’t.

Salt is an important commodity to the Miskitos. They flavor their beans and rice with it and use it to preserve their meat and fish. It was the same in Jesus’ time. His people needed a flavor enhancer for their food. Salt is also used to preserve meat. Most Miskitos are without refrigeration and use salt to keep their meat for longer periods.

       Salt—a flavor enhancer and preservative.

Light is also important to Miskitos. At night they use a special kind of high-resin pine wood torch or a kerosene wick lamp to light their houses. In a dark house on the Coco River, it is difficult to find anything. With a light in a house, you can see, you can find things, you can cook, you can use a machete safely. When traveling by river or foot at night, the lights inside the homes on the river bank serve as guides to safely navigate. Light was important in Jesus’ time for many of the same reasons.

Light—an enabler and a guide.

So, now we were more than just people delivering relief supplies. By our very name we were to be a flavor enhancer, a preservative, an enabler, and a guide for these Miskitos’ lives, and any other people that we met. This was a very interesting name and mission that the Lord had given us.

But with our meager finances and limited contacts, how were we going to do anything substantial here in the Miskitia?

The answer to that question took the form of two Americans who arrived in Auka in the spring of 1986.

P.S. Regarding that tongue-in-cheek comment I made earlier about all Air Force pilots “choosing not to attempt a landing on an aircraft carrier,” let me add this: I knew two Air Force pilots who were assigned to Navy Intruder squadrons who made successful cruises aboard the USS Constellation, and whose landing grades were among the top in the air wing. They were good sticks.

Chapter 8 Dusting Off The Owner's Manual

    Dusting Off The Owner’s Manual

      In the early day of this century, automobiles were just coming on the scene. Riding in one was an adventure. Appropriate attire was required. The uniform of a driver and passengers included a waterproof coat, a sturdy hat, goggles to protect the eyes, and gloves.

Most vehicles came to be equipped with a compartment designed to store the goggles and gloves. This compartment became known as the “glove box” or “glove compartment.”

Things have changed now, and driving is no longer such the adventure—except on the roads of Miskitia or the streets of Miami, Los Angeles, and Honolulu. No longer do drivers and passengers wear raincoats, hats, goggles, and gloves. But the “glove compartment” remains in every car.

Take a look in the glove box of almost any car. Very rarely will you see a pair of gloves. Instead, you will most likely see old maps, pens that don’t write, crumpled gas receipts, a battery guarantee (expired), an insurance card, Kleenex (new and used), and a scratched pair of sunglasses. In our glove box in La Ceiba, you will find a diaper as well for those fragrant emergencies.

In most cars, underneath all this “valuable stuff,” you’ll find something really valuable—the Owner’s Manual for the vehicle.

What is this Owner’s Manual? It’s a book of information on the vehicle prepared by the manufacturer. This little booklet tells you about the various parts of the automobile, how they function, what to do to keep the vehicle running properly, what to do if there are problems, and who to call if you need help. If you follow the instructions in the booklet, the manufacturer guarantees that your vehicle will provide you with quality transportation for years. If you ignore the advice given in your owner’s manual, and operate the vehicle as you want, and change the oil when you want, then the guarantee is void, and eventually there will be problems.

In 1981, my life in Vail, Colorado, was in disorder, yet by 1984 things had changed. What made the difference?

The Bible provides an outline of God’s principles for living the life He gave us. It’s the Owner’s Manual, so to speak, given to us by our Creator. My life changed because I finally opened the glove compartment, took out the owner’s manual and read it. I guess I must have been feeling in need of some repair after years of ignoring the manual.

It makes sense that our Creator naturally would give us directions on how to live life here on Planet Earth—every aspect of life. He gives us guidelines on how to run your business, how to relate to your neighbors, children, and spouse, the proper attitudes about work and rest, and most importantly, how to relate to your Creator.

It’s all there—in the Bible.

I knew that if the owner’s manual could affect me in such a profound way, it would affect others as well. . . .

Refugees have been around since the dawn of time. Ever since man began to make war on each other (which is just a secular way of describing the ongoing battle between God and the opposing forces of evil), there have been victims of those conflicts who have been forced to leave their homes and seek refuge in another land. The first recorded refugees were Adam and Eve. They were victims of the war between Satan and God, and they were forced out of their homeland.

Another group of refugees recorded in the Bible were the inhabitants of Israel after the fall of Jerusalem.

When God brought His people to the “Promised Land,” He brought them to one of the most strategic locations in the world—the land bridge between Africa, Asia, and Europe. This land, known then as Canaan, was the meeting place of the armies of the great empires of that age. If the Egyptians wanted to expand their empire, they naturally moved northeast across Canaan to attack the Babylonians. If the Assyrians want to take part of Egypt, they, too, naturally moved south through Canaan first. This land was literally the “freeway” of the known world, and God placed His people right in the median. Why?

I think that it was so that God’s people would constantly have to trust in Him to protect them from these grand empires and their often ruthless armies. They would have to maintain a close relationship with Him, placing their total trust in Him.

For some reason, trust and faith are important elements to God of our relationship with Him.

If you study the history of the nation of Israel and the surrounding empires during the period of 1300 B.C. to 400 B.C., an amazing fact stands out: as long as the Israelites were faithful to God and maintained their close relationship with Him, neither the Egyptians nor the northern empires (Hittites, Assyrians, Babylonians) had any expansionistic tendencies. Many times their histories during this period record deep internal struggles. However, when Israel became comfortable, and then lax in their relationship with God, and  began to focus their attention into other areas, and on other “gods,” then suddenly a king with ideas of conquest appeared on the northern or southern horizon, and war ensued. Sennacherib and Tiglath-Pileser III were two of these conquering kings who made their appearance at a time when Israel as a nation had turned away from God. Each captured a portion of the country. Finally, Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king, conquered what was left of the once mighty nation of Israel in 586 B.C.

The Babylonian king exiled many of the Jewish captives to Babylon. There they remained until the Persian Empire was victorious in their war against Babylon. The Persian king, Cyrus, gave these Jewish refugees permission to return to their homeland in 539 B.C.  In subsequent decades, many groups of Jewish refugees returned to their desolated homeland.

A leader of one of these groups, a priest named Ezra, recognized that the fall of his nation and the subsequent years of exile had resulted from the fact that God’s people had left the owner’s manual in the glove box for too long. Too many of the kings of Judah and Israel had ignored God’s moral and governmental laws and had ruled as they wished. The people had long forgotten what the laws that God gave to Moses actually said, especially after living many years in a foreign land.

Ezra saw that the key to rebuilding His nation was knowledge and application of God’s principles to the lives of His people. It was time for them to take the owner’s manual out of the glove box, dust it off, and get the vehicle running and back on track.

Over 2,600 years later, there was another refugee situation. . . .

The Miskito Indians had been forced from their homes in Nicaragua along the Rio Coco in 1981 and 1982, and over 40,000 had fled into the swamps and savannah of neighboring Honduras. When we arrived in 1984, we came with relief supplies. However, it was immediately apparent to us that transporting huge amounts of cargo to Miskitia to meet these refugees’ physical needs was a logistical challenge that only a large, well-financed organization like the United Nations could handle. Yet we knew that God had us there for some purpose. . . .

In 1985, a refugee who had been a teacher in Nicaragua came to us asking us about the possibility of helping him start a school. At that point, it had been over five years since most of the refugee children in our zone had attended classes. Ron and I were sympathetic and wanted to help, but we had no experience in education (except, of course, that we had both been students for many years). We bought a box of notebooks and some pencils, gave these meager supplies to the teacher and wished him well.

The following spring I was in Tegucigalpa when I got a call from John, our administrator in California. He told me that a couple from Washington was en route to Honduras, hoping to help start a school in one of the refugee villages. I met the couple, Earl and Sharon Washburn, and we talked. Earl was a scientist working on a classified project for the Air Force. His wife Sharon was a school teacher who spoke good Spanish. Earl had been on the same trip with John, Ron and me in November of 1984. At that time he had visited the village of Alatis, about 40 miles west of Auka, near the town of Rus Rus, and wanted to return there with Sharon to help start a school.

There was already a school in Alatis, however, that had been started the preceding year by Friends of the Americas, a relief organization that was working on the upper Rio Coco. I asked Sharon and Earl to come to Auka and help us instead. They agreed.

Earl and Sharon spent a month training four Miskitos. These four were not professionally trained teachers, but they were the most educated people in their village and had a desire to see their children in school receiving an education. After their four-week workshop, they returned to their villages to organize the classes. I returned to Tegucigalpa with Ron to look for some school books for these teachers to use.

I started at the Friends of the Americas office by asking the secretary where they bought the books for the schools they had started around Rus Rus. She didn’t know, but she showed me a receipt of some book purchases that had been made. I jumped in a taxi, showed the driver the address on the receipt, and we headed off.

The taxi stopped in a residential area in front of a house.

“Is this the address of the bookstore?” I asked.

He nodded yes. It didn’t look like a bookstore to me, but rather a walled private residence. Without getting out of the car, I told him to take me back to the office.

There, I called the phone number on the receipt. A lady with a pleasant voice answered. I asked her if this was a bookstore, and she said “No.” I told her I was looking for school books and I must have the wrong number. She replied that while her house was not a bookstore, she was a teacher who had prepared some teaching materials. The taxi driver had taken me to the correct location. I apologized for bothering her, and as I was about to hang up she told me to come back to her house because she had some materials that I might be interested in.

I got back in the taxi and returned to her house. Opening the door, she introduced herself as Victoria de Palacios and invited me into her living room. She was a very pleasant lady and began to show me first and second grade reading and writing books that she had written. Impressed, I began questioning her about the books, but quickly realized that I was at the limits of my Spanish “educational” vocabulary.

She realized it too, and suddenly, in perfect English, asked me, “Would it be better if we spoke in English?”

“You speak English?” I asked.

“Yes. I went to college in Tennessee and got my Master’s at New Mexico State.”

A light went on.

A few years earlier Victoria had been hired by the U.S. government to work on a project developing curriculum for Honduran public schools. After two years of work, slowed by the bureaucratic restraints of government work, and completely frustrated with the system, she resigned, took her materials to a print shop, and, with a loan from a friend, printed the first and second grade books herself. Now she was beginning to sell them to many of the private schools in Honduras.

Most Honduran schoolbooks at the time used methodology that required the teacher to write each lesson on the blackboard and have the students copy it in their notebooks. This method was antiquated by U.S. standards. Victoria, with her training in the United States, had written school books incorporating all the latest techniques being used in the United States. I realized that this was exactly the type of material that we were looking for.

Another light went on.

I excused myself for a few minutes and returned to the hotel to get Ron. He needed to see this. When we both returned, Victoria showed us her series of charts, alphabet cards, and math flash cards that accompanied the text and workbooks. We were impressed. In our conversation with her we discovered that she taught education methodology at the university in Tegucigalpa and was formerly the principal of a private Christian school. She was also good friends with the current Minister of Education.

Another light went on.

If we were going to start an education project, this woman could be a great help. As we leafed through the pages of the books, I whispered to Ron, “Boy, it would be great if we could get her to come to Auka to train our teachers.”

The very next moment Victoria suggested this herself: “You know, I’ve never been to Miskitia. If you like, I could come out and spend some time training your teachers.”

The Big Light went on!

I sat up in my chair! We accepted her offer immediately and began making plans. Ron and I left Victoria’s house excited and inspired. Suddenly we saw greater possibilities for our work in Miskitia.

A few days later, Ron and I returned to Auka with some books, but much more— a vision. We saw a way to really do something worthwhile with these Miskito refugee communities by giving them something that would serve their immediate and future needs— education, with an orientation to Christian principles for living. With Earl and Sharon’s help, and now the assistance of Victoria, one of the most respected educators in Central America, we had the tools to construct something substantial.

We began visiting the villages in our zone (the Kruta and lower Coco Rivers) asking if there was interest in an education program for the children. There was. We needed teachers, so we interviewed and selected the most educated adults in each village. There were some who had some teaching experience, but most of our candidates had only finished the sixth grade. Church buildings were made available by the pastors and village leaders for classrooms. Our plan was to begin the 1987 school year in March with schools in 12 villages with grades 1 through 3. Ages and grades would be mixed up since nobody had been to school in five years. We knew that having a 6-year-old with an 11-year-old in first grade could present problems, but we had to start somewhere.

John found churches and individuals in the United States to sponsor these schools by donating money to pay teacher salaries and buy the schoolbooks and materials. By March 1987, everything was in place, and we flew Victoria to Auka to spend a week with our teachers. Sharon Washburn also arrived to participate in the workshop.

After the first training session, I asked Victoria what she thought of our teachers.

“They are a bit rough,” she replied. “Many of them have problems reading, writing, and speaking Spanish.”

She worked hard that week with our teachers. So did Sharon. This week was an important time for our teachers. Not only did they improve their own reading, writing, and math skills, but they saw Victoria and Sharon as true role models—experienced teachers who could answer all their questions about teaching children. Their participation in the school project gave them, and all of us, hope that we could be effective in reaching our children.

Classes began the following week in the villages of Auka, Bikanka, Lisagna, Srumlaya, Turalaya, Topomlaya, Tuskru, Livinkrik, Sih-Uran, Sawa, Boom, and Klampa. The curriculum included basic literacy skills, math, social studies, science, and the Bible. We had over 300 students enrolled.

When it came time to put a name on our school project, my thoughts turned to Ezra and his desire to see his people incorporate the Word of God into their lives. What an appropriate model for our teachers!

“For Ezra had devoted himself to the study and observance of the Law of the Lord, and to teaching its decrees and laws in Israel.” (Ezra 7:10) [NIV]

The school project became known as Project Ezra.

Christianity came to the Rio Coco in the early 1900's and to the Rio Kruta in mid-century. Most Miskitos accepted Christianity as their religion, and many attend church services on Sunday. However, most don’t understand the importance of a personal relationship with the Lord. Few actually understand what the Bible says about how our Creator desires us to live our lives. Many integrate their Christian beliefs with traditional animistic beliefs.

In this somewhat confused spiritual environment, our objective for Project Ezra was to teach more than just basic literacy and math skills. We wanted to give the people in our villages practical Godly wisdom for ordering and living their lives as well as an understanding of true personal relationship with God. Ezra’s refugees and our refugees shared the same need— knowledge and application of the Word of God— how to use the “Owner’s Manual” that God gave us. Teaching the children was a start, and we knew the next step would be working with the adults.

Victoria returned in July, with Elia, another professor from the university, for another workshop with our teachers. With help from these professionals, the teachers began making progress in their teaching skills. This training, plus using Victoria’s curriculum and having the money to buy books for each of our students, made the schools successful that first year.

When you think of the difficulties of putting together a school project in a very remote corner of Central America, using untrained teachers, and with limited finances, the challenge is overwhelming. However, it was obvious to all of us that the Lord was orchestrating something here. Sharon and Earl’s arrival, my “chance” meeting with Victoria, her willingness to help, and the success that John had in finding school sponsors were all indicators that something beyond our means was going on. And He wasn’t finished yet.

How many people do you know who say they attended the famous Woodstock concert in 1969?

We know one who actually did.

His name is Tom Keogh, and in 1989 we invited him to Auka for the Summer Project Ezra workshop. Tom is an American who was raised in Puerto Rico, went to high school in Connecticut, and originally came to Honduras as a Peace Corps volunteer. There he married a Miskito girl and returned to the United States for a Master’s degree in Bilingual Education. In 1985 he returned to Honduras to manage a radio educational project for the U.S. government. In early 1989, the radio project funding ended, and Tom returned to his wife’s town on the coast to live, raise coconuts, and fish.

When we first met Tom in 1985, he was not a follower of Jesus Christ but he was listening to what Ron and I had to say. Tom is a brilliant intellectual. Some time in the next few years, something convinced him that a relationship with the Creator was the most important thing in this life.

Since he was an educational professional, fluent in Spanish and Miskito, and now a Christian, I knew that Tom would be an ideal person to work with our teachers. The school project was growing now, and we needed a professional educator to manage our schools—somebody with all his qualifications. We talked to him about the possibility of working full-time as the Project Ezra director. He was agreeable, if we could work out some financial support arrangements. Unfortunately the school project had no budget for a project director, especially one with Tom’s qualifications. Still, I had a feeling that something was already being worked out to provide for Tom and his family.

At that 1989 summer workshop, we had some other guests. Two men from Holland visited us. They were the directors of ZOA, a Dutch refugee assistance organization. ZOA had provided health care to many villages along the Kruta River and along the Caribbean coast and currently had two nurses stationed in Auka.

ZOA had been interested in Project Ezra, and the previous year had donated a 25 HP outboard motor and some building materials for the schools. At this meeting, these directors of ZOA expressed interest in helping us start an adult literacy education program as part of Project Ezra. We suggested to them that the best way to do this was to hire Tom to manage the adult program as well as the primary education.

A few weeks later, after their return to Holland, they offered to provide Tom’s salary for the next three years!

Another provision from our Lord! We now had a tri-lingual professional to direct the school project and train our teachers. Now we could begin the adult education phase of Project Ezra.

Tom moved his family to Auka, and we started the 1990 school year with Tom as the director. The adult literacy program began with basic reading and writing training. Tom wrote a study on the Gospel of Mark in Miskito to use as the second level adult course. Now we could use the Bible as a reader and combine literacy training with Bible study. By 1992, this adult education program had expanded into eight villages.

The year 1990 was very significant in another respect. In February, a presidential election was held in Nicaragua—the first real free election since the Sandinista revolution in 1978. The Sandinista party candidate was Daniel Ortega, the current head of the party and President of Nicaragua. The opposition parties united and chose as their candidate the widow of a well-known newspaper publisher whose assassination in 1978 had sparked the revolution that ousted long-time dictator Anastasio Somoza. Violeta Chamorro was given no chance by any analysts to oust Ortega as president. The day before the election, Ortega calmly guaranteed reporters that victory was his.

However, when the votes were counted at the end of the next day, Violeta had won the presidency by a large margin. It was the upset of the century in Central American politics. Everybody, especially we and the refugees, was pleasantly “shocked” that Violeta had won.

The new government included people from both sides of the conflict. One appointment that was particularly interesting to us was the new Minister of Education. He was a refugee named Dr. Huberto Belli, author of the book “Breaking Faith.” Dr. Belli publicly stated that his goal as Minister of Education would be to replace the Marxist values taught to the Nicaraguan children by the Sandinistas with traditional Christian values.

This appointment excited us for a number of reasons. First, his goal to teach Christian morality in Nicaraguan schools was similar to our goal of teaching God’s Word to the Miskitos. Secondly, if Nicaraguan government schools were teaching Christian morality on the Rio Coco, perhaps there would be no need for Project Ezra to continue. Perhaps Laura and I could return soon to Hawaii and live a more normal life.

The first issue to be addressed was how the new government would receive us and view our project.

By the fall of that year, refugees had already begun crossing the Rio Coco and returning home. The refugee villages on the Kruta river literally dissolved as the Nicaraguan Miskitos packed up and returned to Nicaragua. Our villages on the Rio Coco simply moved all the buildings from the Honduran side to the Nicaragua side of the river.

In November, we received a letter from the governor of the Nicaraguan Miskitia inviting us to meet with him. In this letter he made a formal request for us to continue our project and expand it wherever we could. The following January, we received a letter from the local head of the Ministry of Education inviting us to meet with him in Puerto Cabeza to discuss the continuance of Project Ezra under a formal agreement with the Nicaraguan government.

We started the 1991 school year with all of our schools on Nicaraguan soil. We were excited to see our villagers were no longer refugees and back in their home villages. In April, we traveled to Puerto Cabeza where we signed a formal letter of agreement with the Nicaraguan Ministry of Education. This letter recognized Project Ezra as an official independent entity operating as part of the Ministry of Education. They asked us to consider operating Project Ezra as a permanent part of their public school system. Our hope at that time was that the Ministry would have funds and teachers available to place teachers in all of our villages by 1993. Then what started out as a two week trip for me could finally end. . . .

A nice thought, but events proved that it was not to be.

At the end of the ’91 school year, the Ministry said that they were ready to take over one of our schools—Kiwastara, which was our largest school in 1991 and about an hour upriver from the rest of our schools. We had five teachers in Kiwastara, but when the 1992 school year started, only one Ministry of Education teacher was present.

This was not a good sign. Eventually two more showed up. When we asked the Ministry why they assigned only three teachers to Kiwastara, they informed us that due to lack of funds, they could only cover first, second, and third grade. This was disappointing to us, but it gave us an indication that maybe we could not turn over the schools as quickly as we anticipated.

This was confirmed at the beginning of the 1993 school year when the Ministry discussed with us the possibility of us placing Project Ezra schools in more villages. The following year, 1994, began with Project Ezra primary schools in seven villages with over 500 children attending. It was then that the Ministry formally asked us to place schools in three more villages.

It certainly didn’t seem like the doors were closing. Quite the opposite was happening. Laura and I began to consider that maybe we were here for the “long haul.” Central America had begun feeling more and more like “home,” especially after the birth of our son Lukas Nehemiah in September 1992 in La Ceiba.

A big event occurred in the summer and fall of 1993 when Ron Bross, a co-founder of the project, returned after four years at the university for a visit. While he was here, we began writing a Bible curriculum on the life of Jesus for use in the Project Ezra schools. Before this, we had used Bible lessons by Kenneth Taylor, Billy Graham, and a series of lessons that I had written in Spanish. This new curriculum was an opportunity for us to zero in on some of the issues in the Miskito culture. Ron and I prepared 30 weeks of lessons. Then he, Truman, and Laura translated this 30-week curriculum into Miskito.

Now we have a culturally sensitive Bible curriculum focusing on the life and teachings of Jesus for use in our primary schools and our adult education program. This is the only work of its kind that we know of in the Miskito language.

We are teaching the “Owner’s Manual” to our children and adults in a way that is culturally and linguistically effective. Many of them are recognizing the value of this book and the application that it has to their life, and are dusting off their own copies and reading. Slowly we are beginning to see some incorporation of these guiding principles into their lives.

There is an old proverb that says:

“Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day;

Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for life.”

There is a new proverb that says:

“Teach children how to read and write

and you have prepared them for life in this world;

Teach children how to read and write and the Word of God

and you have better prepared them for life in this world,

as well as the world to come.”

(GMB 1994)

Chapter 9 Last Flights - First Flight

Last Flights—First Flights

                        From the Speed of Sound

                         To the Speed of a Smell

In October of 1979, Attack Squadron 196 was aboard the USS Coral Sea. We were operating off the Southern Californian coast in preparation for a long deployment to the Indian Ocean. The last exercise for this particular training period was a 24-hour war-at-sea between the Coral Sea’s air wing and some “enemy” cruisers and frigates.

We had started this WASEX at 6:00 a.m. with a dawn strike against the enemy task force. I flew a mission that morning with my B/N Gary Sims. The next flight for us was that night—the 3:30 a.m. strike, which would be the final one of the WASEX. Gary and I were assigned to fly the KA-6D, the “Texaco” tanker. Our mission was to launch first, take up the “Low Station” overhead the ship at 3,000 feet and top off the F-4 Phantoms after their full afterburner catapult (cat) shot. These “full burner” cat shots are spectacular, especially at night, but they burn up about 400 gallons of fuel. Fighters need a lot of fuel to do their job. That’s why the A-6 tanker was one of the most important airplanes in the entire air wing.

Once all the fighters were full of gas, we were to climb to the “High Station” at 20,000 feet, orbiting overhead the ship until the strike force returned. Then we were to drop back to “Low Station” and be ready to refuel any aircraft low on fuel as they prepared to land.

Normally the “Texaco” mission was very routine and unexciting. A properly functioning auto pilot was a must for this mission. That hour at High Station driving the Intruder in a racetrack pattern around the ship was an excellent opportunity to let “George” (the auto pilot) practice his flying skills.

Flying at night at sea is always more challenging than daytime. The night catapult shot is the most dangerous event in the life of a carrier pilot. The sensation of being the “rock in the slingshot” was the same. But being launched at night was even more intense, and the feeling of helplessness is greater. It has been accurately de­scribed as “flying into a black hole with a bag over your head.”

First there is the lack of visual references except for the flashlight “wands” of the taxi directors and catapult officer. Once you are locked into the shuttle and go to full power, instead of saluting (since the cat officer can’t see you) to signal that you are ready, you turn on your wing and tail lights. Next, since you can’t see what’s happening on the deck, the initial acceleration usually comes as a surprise— eyeballs are jammed back into the sockets and the only thing visible outside the cockpit are the small lights marking the edge of the deck rushing toward you. As those deck lights disappear under you, you are looking at nothing but blackness in front of the Intruder, but your eyes are doing their best to focus on an artificial horizon on the screen directly in front. Knowing that the cold, deep ocean is only 60 feet below (or on the Coral Sea only 40 feet), it is mandatory to pull the nose up 8 degrees above the horizon. Assuming that your engines and instruments are still functioning after the 24 to 30 “G” acceleration, once you feel the aircraft climbing, and your eyes returning to their normal focused position, the rest is a piece of cake.

Sometimes things don’t go right, and men and machines are lost at sea.

Gary and I had almost bought it one night, even when every­thing and everybody had functioned properly.

That almost disastrous event occurred almost three months earlier—in July 1979. It was a launch I’ll never forget. That night we were also the scheduled “Texaco” for a night launch. The sky was broken to overcast, the seas heavy, and the deck was pitching. In conditions like these, when the bow is moving up and down during a launch, the cat officer waits until the bow has almost completed its downward motion before he touches the deck— the signal to fire the catapult. The idea is to get the aircraft going down the track as the bow begins its upward movement so that as the aircraft clears the deck, the bow is at the top of its arc, giving the aircraft a “kick” upward.

Most carriers cut through heavy seas with a rhythmic up and down motion. This is due to a special hull design. The Coral Sea moves through the water a little differently. She was designed and built at the end of World War II as a battleship, with more of a round bottom design. At the last minute they decided to put a flat deck on top and make her a carrier.

When the Coral Sea moves through heavy seas, she does a rhythmic up and down motion, but occasionally she stops the pitching movement and with a slight left and right roll, drops her nose and pitches even further down. All aircraft carriers are designed with the flight deck 60 feet above the water, but the almost-battleship Coral Sea has her flight deck only 40 feet above the water. These two factors came into play this particular night and made an already terrifying night launch just a little bit more exciting.

As we taxied into the shuttle on this July night, everything seemed as normal as it could be. The cat officer gave us the “turn up” signal, and I went to full power, and wiped out the controls. Gary gave me his usual grunt on the intercom indicating he was ready, and I turned on the lights.

The cat officer timed the movement of the bow, and touched the deck when the bow stopped its downward motion. In a second, my body felt the 28 plus “G” force, my eyeballs were slammed into the back of their sockets, and we were off. Unfortunately, the Coral Sea chose that moment to do its peculiar roll movement, and instead of the bow gently pitching upward, it buried its nose deeper into the oncoming swell. Unbeknown to us, our Intruder left the deck pointed down at the oncoming sea.

As the deck lights disappeared under us, I pulled the nose of the Intruder to the normal 8 degrees “climb” position above the horizon. I then moved my left hand off the catapult grip bar and moved it forward to the landing gear lever, slamming it up. As I did, I noticed through the side canopy window the moon breaking through the clouds just above the horizon. The reflecting moonlight danced off the waves below me, illuminating the white caps. I could even see the spray coming off the whitecaps as the wind hit them, and the individual droplets shooting off. It was such a remarkable scene—the rising moon, the dancing light, the whitecaps, the spray, the droplets flying off the top of the waves. Suddenly I had a disturbing thought: “I’ve never noticed the droplets off the top of the waves before. . . .”

It was less than two seconds since the deck lights had disappeared beneath us, and suddenly it all made sense. In a split second, I reacted with a hard pull back on the stick. At that same instant I heard Gary scream in no uncertain terms “ROTATE!” (the command to bring the nose of the aircraft up) as his hands latched on the yellow and black striped ejection seat handle between his legs and he straightened his back in preparation for the rocket motor to ignite. He was ready to get out! At that same instant, the Air Boss in the tower on the Coral Sea yelled into his microphone, “ROTATE!”—we had disappeared from his sight below the front of the now pitching-up flight deck.

I yanked the Intruder into a near stall to stop the descent, and then eased the nose down as we began to climb out. Gary relaxed slightly, but didn’t take his hand off the ejection seat handle. As we climbed through 200 feet, we both looked at each other. That had been close. We had bottomed out at less than 15 feet above the waves! That was too close for both of us.

The next day, I bought a Seiko diving watch that I had been looking at in the ship’s store, in celebration of life.  I still have and wear this same watch as a reminder.

After that night, Gary and I were sure to cover the emergency procedures for ejection off the cat before each flight. Now it was three months later, and this last flight of the WASEX was no exception.

Fortunately, our launch this October “morning” was uneventful but still a bit unusual. Something about a 3:30 a.m. catapult shot just doesn’t seem normal. Feeling the force of the catapult grab you and fling you off the ship in less than two seconds was a definite wake-up call, and the resulting adrenaline rush provided more stimulation than 10 cups of strong Navy coffee.

Soon we completed our tanking with the Phantoms and climbed to High Station. After leveling off at 20,000 feet, I turned the auto pilot on and sat back to enjoy the view. George was a good pilot—especially for moments like these.

The heavens were spectacular—clear unpolluted skies with no lights within hundreds of miles. The stars were so bright and close that you could almost reach up and touch them. Such sights always prompted in me the thought of the immense expanse of the universe and the finite smallness of man. What was out there past the most distant star that I could see? Surely something. Somebody was behind all this—it just didn’t happen by chance.

Soon we could see the pink threads of the approaching dawn peeking over the horizon. Slowly these tiny rays grew almost before our eyes into broad bands of brilliant color. Soon they filled the horizon—truly an amazing sight!

Gary and I were both lost in our thoughts inspired by this magnificent display of cosmic colors. Few words were exchanged during the  45 minutes of orbiting the ship, and soon it was time to descend and return to Low Station. The Phantoms, Corsairs, and Intruders returned from the strike and began landing. Soon, all aircraft were aboard except for us.

Approach Control then cleared us to leave Low Station and set up for a straight in approach.

The sun was now almost to the horizon, and the sky was a radiant pink with orange streaks. As we approached the Coral Sea, she was bathed in a sea of pink and orange reflected light. The normal chatter on the radio had long ceased. The only sound was the quiet roar of the jet engines and the gentle whisper of the passing air. There are moments of stark terror in Naval Aviation, but this was a moment of sheer delight.

I didn’t really want to land yet; neither did Gary. Since we were the only airplane airborne, and this was the last recovery of a 24-hour exercise, there didn’t seem to be any hurry about getting aboard. We both were enjoying this scene around us too much. I began making a series of gentle turns. The colors in front of us combined with the whispering sounds around us were almost too much. It was just the sea, the sky, the Coral Sea, and us. This was what Naval Aviation is all about—these four basic elements—and the combination this morning was truly inspiring.

Gary and I were thinking the same thought, which he finally spoke over the intercom: “And to think that they actually pay us to do this.”

We made a few more turns. Finally, when we could delay no longer, I dropped the landing gear and flaps and slowed down to approach speed. About a mile from the ship, I visually picked up the ball on the OLS and descended slightly to “center” it on the lens. The morning air was smooth, and so was the approach. We touched down just short of the no. 3 wire. The tail hook snagged it, and we rolled to a stop. The taxi director gave us the “fold wings” signal, and directed us to our parking spot. I opened the canopy, shut down the engines, and unstrapped from the ejection seat.

The normally noisy flight deck was silent. There were no sounds of jet engines, tractors, or men moving around the flight deck, just silence. The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon. Gary and I sat in the Intruder a few moments just taking it all in. It was amazing! They actually did pay us to do this!

Although it wasn’t planned this way, this turned out to be my last flight in the Navy. Soon after I received my orders detaching me from active service. What a great way to end my Navy flying career!

Shortly after this flight, I returned to Whidbey Island, shed my uniform for the last time, met up with Joe, loaded my VW van, and took off for Vail. Little did I realize then that it would be seven years until I made my next flight in an airplane as the pilot-in-command. How that came about is an interesting story.

Srumlaya is a village south of Auka on the Kruta River. It sits in the middle of a swampy area that is about 3 miles from the Coco River. In 1987, Srumlaya was a village where the refugee population outnumbered the native Honduran Miskitos. Because of its close proximity to the border, it was a base for the Yatama—the Nicaragua Miskito Resistance. Because of this large refugee population, Srumlaya was also the village where Project Ezra had its largest school.

We frequently visited the Srumlaya school. During the dry season, it took about two hours to walk to Srumlaya. During the rainy season, we traveled by boat, and the trip on the winding Kruta took almost three hours. In between seasons we walked, but the muddy trail usually added an hour to the trip.

On one particular trip, it took us about three hours to hike the trail. After spending a few days there working with our students, we were ready to go home. . . back to Auka. Auka was a very primitive place, but the bugs, mud, lack of clean water, latrines, and sanitary conditions (caused mostly by the pigs that roamed the village) in Srumlaya made Auka look like civilization.

As we prepared to leave, we heard the sound of a helicopter. Within a few minutes, a camouflaged military UH-2 helicopter with no markings landed in the cleared area next to our school building. Out stepped three of the Miskito “contra” leaders, plus the pilot, who was an unknown white face. This was a big event—probably the first time that a helicopter had landed in this village.

We went over and struck up a conversation with the pilot, who turned out to be a very nice guy from Rhodesia (the country in Africa now called Zimbabwe). When we jokingly asked him if he could give us a ride back to Auka, he thought for a moment, smiled, and said “Where’s your gear?”

We quickly grabbed our packs and boarded the Huey. Our pilot powered up, and in a few minutes, we were airborne. As we climbed above the tree line and turned north, I could clearly see our house in Auka. In three minutes we were there. Three minutes by air to cover the same distance that had taken us three hours! “Yes,” I thought as we landed, “these flying machines are valuable tools.”

When we first came to Auka in 1984, I had taken a few moments to stand on the small airstrip and talk to the Boss. I sensed in my spirit that soon I would be doing many takeoffs and landings from this small strip. I wasn’t sure just how this was going to come about, but I was certain that He would provide. It seemed very likely that since we were working in such a remote area cut off from the “civilized” part of Honduras, and since the U.S. government had invested huge amounts of money teaching me how to fly, that sometime soon we would have to get an airplane to support the project.

God did provide an airplane. Immediately. About a month after that conversation on the Auka airstrip, I heard from Neil, and he volunteered the use of his Seneca. Neil kept his airplane in Honduras from February through August of 1985, making many flights for us.

God’s provision for us through Captain Neil was a real blessing, but there was to be more. . . .

Jack Dyer is another missionary who doesn’t fit the stereotype. Before he came to Honduras in the late ’70s, he owned a very successful engineering business in Louisiana. I met Jack in Puerto Lempira in 1985 where he was serving as the project engineer for World Relief and the United Nations refugee program.

As I got to know Jack, I realized that there was something very special about him. He was a focused man who, with little resources, could accomplish a lot. He had a Maule airplane which he used to support the refugee project, as well as various church related activities. He helped us in those early years with many flights. As I flew with Jack I saw another quality—he is a good pilot. Actually he is a lot better than good—his skill in getting in and out of a short muddy airstrip in foul weather is unsurpassed.

One day in 1987, Jack stopped by Auka with some friends from Louisiana—Charlie and Cathy Cole. Charlie was very interested in what we were doing and asked a lot of questions. When he asked us what we needed most, I replied, “A truck to drive back and forth to Puerto Lempira.”

A few weeks later, I found myself with Jack in Tegucigalpa. We were there on some business, and one of his “chores” was to renew his Honduran pilot’s license. For some reason which I can’t remember, I went with him to the Aeronautica Civil office, showed them my American license, took the physical, and received a Honduran license. That was significant.

Shortly after that, I saw Jack in Tegucigalpa again. He approached me and told me that he was selling his Maule and his other airplane so that he could buy a Cessna 185. He asked me “Would you be interested in buying my other airplane?”

I didn’t realize that he had another airplane. It was a 1953 Piper Pacer: A fabric covered, four-place, single-engine airplane. His price was $7,500. That’s cheap for an airplane.

Still I replied, “Jack, we don’t have that kind of money.” We didn’t. Things were tight in Salt & Light.

A few days later, I saw Jack again. He asked me if I had thought about the airplane. I replied, “Yes, but we don’t have the money.” He suggested that I think some more about it.

Another week passed and I saw Jack at the airport. He took me aside and said: “Look, you guys need that airplane. I want you to have it. It needs to be used doing the kind of work that you all are doing. I’m going to give it to you now and you pay me when you can.” I finally got the message. The light went on. Jack was probably right—we did need that airplane.

Two weeks later I was in La Ceiba, and received a call from Charlie Cole. I was surprised to hear from him. He told me “I have $2,500 for you toward a vehicle. Can you use it?” I almost dropped the phone. “Well, Charlie,” I replied “We are buying a vehicle, but it’s an airplane instead of a truck. Can we use the money for that?”

Of course Charlie agreed, and suddenly we had one third of the Pacer paid for.

This was definitely a sign!

Now the next task was to learn to fly this airplane which, because of my training and experience, I knew wouldn’t take too long. After all, how complicated could it be? The last airplane I had flown had over 100 switches and selector buttons in the cockpit. This Pacer had only nine. The A-6 flight manual is a big book almost three inches thick with over 300 pages of information. The manual I got with the Pacer was only 22 pages—small pages. The A-6’s minimum flying speed was about 105 knots. The maximum straight and level speed of the Pacer is just under 101 knots. This had to be a simple airplane to fly.

Jack flew the Pacer to La Ceiba, and the first thing I noticed was its color—bright yellow. It reminded me of the color of a ripe banana. I noticed a few other things—short wings, a short longitudinal axis (short nose-to-tail), and instead of a nosewheel, a tailwheel. The controls were very simple—there was a control yoke, a fuel selector lever, an ignition key, a battery switch, a starter button, two radio switches, a throttle, and a mixture control (which, unlike most mixture controls, had to be pulled out about an inch for the normal operating position).

That’s it. Very simple.

But somehow I sensed that learning to fly this “Banana” was going to be more challenging than I imagined. Sure, I had plenty of flight time and some of the most intense training available in the world. But practically all of my time was in jets and the Pacer was definitely a different type of flying machine. The short longitudinal axis, the stubby wings, and the tailwheel marked this to be an aircraft that is difficult to handle on the ground— especially while taking off and landing. The tail wheel itself requires a special technique for landing and takeoff. The engine is a four-cylinder, 150 horsepower model—sufficient for most maneuvers of normal flight, but not a lot of excess power to get you over some mountains or out of some difficult situations.

We picked Trujillo, a light traffic airport, to practice landings. On the first takeoff, I became acquainted with the Flying Banana’s desire to go in any direction but straight. Delicate rudder control was definitely required to keep the airplane on the runway. My first attempts at landing were hilarious. I discovered quickly how to bounce down the runway without actually coming to a stop. I felt like I was doing low level acrobatics! I’m sure that Jack was thinking, “And this guy landed on carriers?” But, he was patient and brave enough to sit beside me during landing practice sessions. After that day, and about 20 landings, he pronounced me “safe for solo.” I wasn’t so sure. I knew that it would take a while to get familiar enough with this machine to land at the narrow short airstrip in Auka.

My first solo flight came a few weeks later. (We had flown Jack’s Maule to the United States in the meantime). Since I had no checklists, I was very careful to check all that I thought I should on preflight, and then start the engine and taxi out. Once the tower cleared me for take off, I said a quick prayer and pushed the throttle all the way forward. The engine seemed to be running a little rough, but soon the tail wheel came off the ground, and a few seconds after that I was airborne.

I climbed to about 500 feet and turned out over the water. That’s when an urgent voice came over the radio and said, “Don Jack, hay humo saliendo de su motor.” In English that translates: “Mr. Jack, there is smoke coming out of your motor.” It was the tower operator calling who she thought was Jack. I answered and immediately turned to set up for a landing. I touched down, and after a few bounces, came to a stop. I taxied over to the hangar area and shut the engine down. One of the guys working came over to ask me what the problem was. He’d seen the smoke too—black smoke.

Jack’s mechanic Julio was not there—it was Sunday afternoon. With my very limited knowledge of piston engines, there was little I could do, except wait until Monday and get Julio to check it. In the meantime, I tried my best analysis as to what the problem might be. Smoke coming from an engine was a serious problem. . . .

When Monday dawned, I headed to the airport. I explained to Julio the problem and my concern. He is a gentle older man (over 72 years old at this point), and he knows airplanes. We cranked the engine and it was still running a little rough. Julio listened and told me to go to full power. I did, and the engine’s roughness became more apparent. I could see Julio looking under the engine (probably at the exhaust pipe). He then came to the door, opened it, reached in, grabbed the mixture control, and pulled it out about an inch.

Suddenly the engine smoothed out. The smoke disappeared. And it suddenly dawned on me that I had forgotten about this special setting for the mixture control, and had left it in the “full rich” position, which on this engine was too much.

Julio looked at me like I’m sure he often looks at his grandchildren. I felt like one of his “nietos” then, too. If there was any pride left over from my Naval Aviation career, it evaporated right then and there. I smiled sheepishly, and gave him a wave, shut the door, and taxied out for a landing practice session.

I was soon ready to make my first flight to Auka. Since there are few navigational aids, I would have to rely on my map, and my knowledge of the geography of Miskitia. The route was a simple one—follow the coast east for about 100 miles until you get past the last tall mountains on the coast, then turn southeast. Using rivers and lagoons as checkpoints, you could eventually find Auka. From La Ceiba, it took about two hours and 40 minutes to get there—longer if the easterly winds were stronger than normal.

Landing on the airstrip at Auka was almost as challenging as landing on the Coral Sea. The “runway” was only 30 feet wide, and there was always the danger that a cow, horse, or pig would run out on the airstrip just as you touched down. Add to that the frequent rain, the associated puddles and mud holes, and the normal cross wind conditions, and you had an environment for landing that was as “user unfriendly” as any aircraft carrier.

After a few months, I finally got comfortable operating the Pacer, now know as the “Flying Banana,” and she proved to indeed be a valuable tool. That 12-hour walk to Puerto Lempira now took only 15 minutes in the Banana. The flight from Puerto Lempira that used to cost $80 in a chartered airplane now only cost four gallons of car gasoline—about $12. Our “standard of living” and the whole school project took a turn upward by having this flying pickup truck available for hauling supplies and teams to Auka. By this time too, we had received enough donations from friends to pay Jack the entire $7,500. Charlie and Cathy were especially generous once again.

In July, Victoria Palacios and Tom Keogh came to Auka for a teacher’s conference. I flew to Puerto Lempira to pick them both up. The conference came off very well, and soon it was time to fly them both back. One problem however—there was a big puddle in the middle of the runway. We had had some heavy rains, and there was almost a foot of standing water right at the spot where I normally lifted off. I wasn’t sure if the puddle was going to be a factor, or what would happen if I hit that water at high speed loaded with passengers. But I felt pressed to make the flight to get these guys back to their homes, and I figured that I had a “sporting chance.”

However, as I taxied through the water to get down to the take off end, I noticed that it was a little deeper than I had thought—almost over the wheels. I quickly prayed: “Lord, if I am not going to make this take-off safely, please let me know before I get to the end of the runway.”

Do you think that God answers prayers like that?

As I neared the end of the runway, I pushed on the right brake pedal to turn the Banana around. I felt the normal pressure, but then the pedal suddenly went all the way to the floor. I realized that I had just lost my right brake. I shut the engine down, and got out.

Yes. My suspicions were confirmed—there was red hydraulic fluid leaking from the belly of the Banana.

I was dismayed at this rupture in the brake line until I remembered my prayer. God had given me His answer—and kept me on the ground.

I got out my tool bag, and took off the metal panel and took a look. The brake line had broken, and it was a big tear. We pushed the Banana back to our house, and began thinking. I didn’t have a replacement line, nor did I have anything to patch it. After looking around our tool room for something, I found some old marine underwater epoxy which a friend had brought down to repair holes in our dugout canoe.

This might work. I mixed some up, molded it around the brake line over the tear, and let it sit. It took 24 hours to really dry completely. In the meantime, I wondered what fluid I would use to fill the brake line and reservoir, since I didn’t have any hydraulic fluid or regular car brake fluid.

Later that day, I heard an airplane approach Auka. I ran down to the airstrip. It was a friend Barry Watson, who flew for SAMI airlines, the local charter service based in Puerto Lempira. I told Barry of my problem and asked him if he had any hydraulic fluid with him. He replied: “You don’t really need brakes to fly—this airplane has been without brakes for the last two months.”

This surprised me. I asked, “Are you sure? Have you had any problems?”

Barry said, “No problems . . . well . . . except for the time I ran into the fence at the end of the runway in Cauquira. I got a little bit of barbed wire wrapped around the propeller, but it was no big deal.”

I looked at the propeller. Sure enough there were some deep nicks and gouges in the spinner and on the prop.

Barry loaded his passengers, and took off. I thought about what he said, and we rolled the Banana down to the airstrip for a taxi test. I fired the engine up, and moved down the runway. After a hundred feet, a gust of wind came along and pushed the airplane to the left. I gave it full right rudder, but she didn’t straighten out. Since I had no right brake, I couldn’t do anything but go along for the ride. Soon I was off the runway and into the weeds. That’s when I killed the engine. So much for the taxi test. Maybe Barry didn’t need brakes to steer his airplane—after all, his had a nosewheel. That makes a big difference.

The next morning, the epoxy was as hard as a rock. I had decided to use outboard motor oil to fill the line and reservoir. But would she hold the pressure? Only one way to find out.

I had never “bled brakes” before, but had watched Julio do it once. I connected the line, loosened the bottom relief nut, and began pouring the oil into the brake cylinder mounted on the brake pedal under the dashboard in the Banana. I would pour and pump, then pour and pump, then pour and pump. . . .

After about an hour of this, oil finally began coming out of the bottom. I tightened the relief nut. Now it was more pour and pump— two more hours worth. Finally I sensed some pressure as I pumped. Then I realized that after three hours of pumping with my left arm, I could be confusing “pressure” with muscle fatigue. But after 15 more minutes, I was sure that there was pressure. Another 15 minutes and I was definitely feeling it. Soon it was starting to feel hard pressure! I called Ron out to pump the pedal while I slightly loosened the lower relief nut. Oil and bubbles of air came out. I tightened it all up, and we poured and pumped another 20 minutes until the cylinder was full.

I was excited, but wondered would if she hold the pressure. We did another taxi test. She held. I turned around and taxied down to the end of the runway. The puddle was drained off, and it was no longer a factor. I took off, flew around and landed. She held!

Later that day, I flew Tom and Victoria up to Puerto Lempira.

The next day I flew to La Ceiba to get the brake line fixed.

Julio seemed impressed that I had repaired the line so well.

I had a question for him:

“Julio, if I ever find myself with this problem again, what should I use if I don’t have any hydraulic fluid?”

He thought for a minute and said “Beer.”

“Beer?” I replied.

“Yes,” he said. “Cold beer.”

“Cold beer?” I asked.

I thought a few moments about the viscosity of beer and its ability to hold pressure. Being cold must increase the viscosity and give it better pressure holding capability. But beer?

Finally, I asked, “Beer will work instead of hydraulic fluid?”

“No,” Julio responded very seriously. “But, if you drink two cold beers and then get into the airplane, you won’t worry about the brakes.”

Then he again gave me that smile that I’m sure that he gives to his other grandchildren. . . .

Chapter 10 The Voice

The Voice

             Co-authored by Laura Uyeda Bagby

             If there were two things that you could experience in this life, what would they be?

Make a million dollars? Fly or sail around the world? Run a marathon in under three hours? Swim with a humpback whale? Drive in the Indy 500? Hit the game-winning home run in the seventh game of the World Series? Think about it.

How about these two:

Hear the audible voice of God as He spoke directly to you;

Meet and marry the perfect mate.

In 1981, I was living on Maui, working at the Mana Kai Hotel managing the Ocean Terrace restaurant. One evening, my cousin Shelley, her kids, and I went to Lahaina for a Christian concert. Our plan was to meet a friend of Shelley’s at the intersection of the Kihei, Wailuku, and Lahaina Roads, and let her ride with us to Lahaina. This friend was a Japanese girl named Pat, who was a very intense and committed Christian. Pat was a surfer and Hawaii State tennis champion in her high school days. When I met her that evening, I saw that she was also a champion in looks as well.

I was standing outside our car when Pat walked up. Shelley introduced us, and as she did, a voice right behind me said very distinctly, “Your wife is going to look like this.”

I turned around to see who said that. There was nobody there.

We rode to Lahaina, and I pondered that voice and message for the rest of the night. Actually I pondered it for many  days thereafter. It was very strange, but I knew that it must be significant.

“Your wife is going to look like her.” Did this refer to physical  appearance—or spiritual attributes?

I didn’t have a girlfriend then or even one on the horizon. I wasn’t even thinking about a long-term relationship at that point. However, the more I got to know Pat through various church activities, I concluded that whether the message referred to physical or spiritual appearance, I would do all right by marrying a beautiful and committed believer like Pat. The strange thing, though, was that Pat is very Japanese looking. I had never really been attracted to Oriental women per se. Even when I lived in the Philippines, I never dated an Oriental.

I considered for a few moments that maybe I had gotten the message wrong and that maybe Pat was the one. But she was dating Kevin, a tennis pro from New York. Kevin and I became good friends. We both were baptized on the same day—July 4, 1982 at Wailea Beach. He and Pat eventually married. The Voice and the message remained crystal clear, and I filed it away for future reference.

Three years later I found myself in Honduras, working among Miskitos and Latinos. There were very few Orientals here. There was one Chinese girl who worked for World Relief. She definitely resembled Pat physically and spiritually. Almost every time I saw her, I was reminded of that Voice. She had a boyfriend too. I began to wonder just what that Voice actually meant when He said, “Look like her.”

In January of 1987, I was in Tegucigalpa where I was invited by a friend to visit an orphanage. There, among many babies and small children, was a redheaded American girl, gently caring for these children. As I watched her, I was amazed at her ability to handle these small children, change their diapers, and pour a lot of love on them.

As I left, I spoke a few words to this lady, and walked away from there very touched. I wasn’t sure why, but after running it through my mental computer a few times, I realized that it was this woman’s love for her snotty-nosed, dirty-diapered children that was so extraordinary. Somehow I was drawn to that.

One morning, a few weeks later, I was walking in the garden of the house where I lived in La Ceiba. This garden is a beautiful place. The owner’s daughter lived in Hawaii for many years, and she brought many plants back during her visits. I felt at home here among this Hawaiian and Honduran flora, and this was a good place to talk with the Boss. The trees and flowers always directed my thoughts toward Him.

This particular morning, I began asking Him about my experience at the orphanage and why I was touched so much by this girl. In so many words, I felt like He let me know that I needed a woman with a large capacity for loving others as my mate. I then asked Him very plainly, “What will this woman look like and how will I recognize her?”

It was as if He had been waiting for me to ask that and the answer came immediately to mind—as if I’d pushed the print key on some mental computer:

(1)  “She will love Me more than she loves you;

(2)  Love will be her greatest gift;

(3)  She will have a great capacity to serve others;

(4)  She will be a very capable person—able to handle her own affairs; and

(5)  She will be the most beautiful woman you ever laid your eyes on.”

I was stunned. This five part answer had come so quickly and definitely. It was indeed as if my mental printer was spitting out His answer. As I thought through these five qualities of my future mate, they all made sense, especially that last one! I had to wonder if He really said that or if I had added it on my own? I hoped not.

(Italics, by Laura Uyeda Bagby)

Me too. I had in 1984 graduated from my cosmetology schooling ready to make a move to Maui . . . ironically to pursue a relationship with someone who lived there. I also wanted to venture out on my own, in my new profession and life in general. I had a sense of adventure and constant desire for change and growth that was calling me.

I didn’t have sudden clarity regarding my future mate as Michael did. I gradually made my realizations as I went along, knowing in my heart that if one didn’t work out, the next would be even better. And, of course, the one I actually ended up with would be the one that the Lord ordained for me. In this decision, I desired complete clarity from God and believed that at the right time He would give it to me.

I filed these five points away for future reference too. The next few months were very busy. I got my Honduran pilot’s license, Jack gave us the Flying Banana, and Julio gave me a few lessons in aircraft maintenance (along with his jokes) and humility.

I was scheduled to return to Maui in July. Hope Chapel was offering a series of courses that summer. One was on church history, another was a historical map study of Palestine, and another was a video class on relationships. Craig had asked me the previous year to return to help with these classes, and I gladly agreed. Some of the classes were to be held at the Hope Chapel office, which was on the second floor of an office building on Kihei Road above a bank and a hair salon.

I arrived on Maui very glad to be home. I also had this strange deep feeling that I was going to meet someone special. I realized that God had already given me a description of this woman, but knowing that I lived in a place with no electricity and no running water, traveled by dugout canoe, and hiked long muddy trails, I realized that this woman would indeed have to be “somebody special.” I could visualize that type—very athletic, very outdoors oriented. The “hardy” type—that doesn’t shave her legs . . . has braided underarms . . . bathes once a week whether she needs it or not. You know the type right?

I most gladly confess that I do not fit any of these descriptions and, quite frankly, I know he’s now thankful that I am the bathing and shaving type.

There are many athletic women on Maui. The first weekend I was there, I met one at our annual single’s church camp out in Hana. We talked a long time sitting by the campfire that night. My eyes were open . . . I realized that this could be a definite possibility. . . .

Our classes started the next week. The history and political geography classes were small, but the relationship class was very crowded. It included many singles, including a few haircutters from the salon below the church office.

After this first class, I had a discussion with the instructor about various topics. I don’t remember what about, and Michael doesn’t even remember the discussion taking place. At the time, I suppose I was “scoping” out the possibility. Was it a possibility? Was it even a consideration???

My schedule was full and I spent four and sometimes five days a week at the church office. This building had an inner courtyard, and the upper deck and walkway overlooked a garden, and also the glass walls of the hair salon. One day I was standing on the upper deck with my friend Dave outside his office. As we were talking, our eyes occasionally fell on the ladies in the salon below us. The woman in the corner chair closest to us was a Japanese woman who obviously knew her business. As I stood there talking to Dave, I asked him if he knew this Japanese woman cutting hair. Dave was big into the singles ministry, so I figured that he would know. “Her name is Laura,” he replied. “She’s been to a few of our Bible studies.”

I watched her for a few minutes. Laura was a very stylish dresser, and moved very gracefully around her chair. I remembered that I had seen her at the first relationship class, but none after that.

The following week, I spoke at the Sunday morning service. It was a message on how true spirituality could be found in the mud of Honduras. I returned home one day that week (I was staying with my friends Kevin and Pat) and Pat handed me a package.

“This is a gift for you,” she said.

It was a tank top T-shirt with a design with three pigs. “Who is it from?” I asked.

“I can’t say,” Pat answered. “She asked me not to tell.”

“SHE?!” I thought. Why the three pigs? I had recently told a men’s group about an encounter that I had had in the jungle one morning with a pig, and why I don’t eat pork anymore, but I certainly didn’t tell this story to any ladies.

I asked Pat to tell me. She refused. Finally I convinced her that I needed to know. She finally gave in and said, “It’s from Laura—the girl who cuts hair at the salon by the office.”

Laura—that Japanese girl that Dave and I had been watching. Interesting. . . .

I had met Pat earlier. I enjoyed our conversation and could relate to her very well. We had a great deal in common.

After Michael had given the message on that particular Sunday, I was impressed in my heart and felt a sense of admiration for the kind of work he was doing. Though I was not attracted to him physically, I did feel a great deal of respect for him spiritually. I was somewhat impressed, too, by his intellect and poise as he shared the message. Whenever I have been in contact with someone whom I believe is doing what they should be doing, I am often inspired to encourage that person, especially when the work is not that easy. I was inspired, and I decided to communicate that for the purpose of encouragement . . . nothing more.

Being a single woman writing to a single man, I was well aware of the way that it might be taken. Single men read all kind of things into what single women may do or say and then decide to act accordingly. I didn’t want to deal with that sort of “weirdness.” I simply wanted to encourage and move on. So I left the note anonymously—or so I thought.

That particular week one of the owners of our salon gave us a rare opportunity to select a T-shirt without charge. I don’t wear T‑shirts and was not highly motivated, but thumbed through the shirts anyway. I thought I could find one to give away. A size large tank top jumped out at me because of its design of three pigs. It immediately reminded me of a story, Dirk, a co-worker of mine, had told me about Michael’s experience in the jungle. I thought this would be perfect to stick in with the note. So I wrapped it up and gave it to Pat with the note and urged her to please keep it anonymous. I think Pat was thinking the same as any single man would. At the time, it was not as it appeared.

The following Sunday, our church had a concert with two other churches at the amphitheater at the zoo. Three friends who had visited us that spring in Honduras and I were scheduled to sing a song that we had all written in Auka “The Rice and Beans Blues” (sung to the tune of Johnny Cash’s hit song “Folsom Prison Blues”). As Gordon, Robin, Jim and I were off in a corner by some hedges rehearsing, I looked up to see Laura walking alone toward the concert area. Our eyes met, and she walked on.

I don’t actually remember our eyes meeting, but I do remember the weird feeling I experienced when I saw Michael. I had the feeling that he knew that I was the one who had given him the shirt he was wearing. I felt uncomfortable, which added to my already distant feelings I had coming into the concert. On this day, I was not in the mood for interaction. I was contemplating a few conversations I had had with a friend who was in the New Age movement . . . thoughts of whether God truly existed or loved us or forgave us completely, etc. I also was having an ongoing conversation with the Lord regarding my present state of affairs in the dating department that was active, but dissatisfactory. I felt like it was coming to that time in my life where I was ready to settle down into marriage, but I saw no one in sight that I felt like I could marry. My thought on marriage was that I could never be TOO picky. Never. It was a commitment for a lifetime, and I knew that this decision would affect the rest of my existence on this planet either very positively or very negatively. It was one of the most important decisions I would make, and I continually asked the Lord for His guidance on this one.

I wanted to know without a shadow of doubt when I met that man for a lifetime that he was indeed God’s choice for me. This was a prayer I prayed often. Consequently, it was clear to me after even one date whether that person was “marriage material” or not. I didn’t enjoy wasting any time of mine or his. Maybe it was the practical, Japanese side of me.

We eventually sang this memorable song. It was an instant classic. Afterward, I saw Laura sitting by herself at the top of the natural bowl, under a tree.

Little did he know that while he sang that song I was carrying on an ongoing conversation with the Lord in which I felt He actually “asked” me, “Well, what about that guy from Honduras?” Amidst my complaining about the lack of true marriage possibilities, I immediately replied in my head, “NO, not that crazy guy from Honduras!!!” The song that he was singing was not even appealing either. In fact, with the mood I was in, I actually thought it was pretty stupid.

Since this was the girl that had anonymously given me the note and shirt, I felt the urge to go visit with her.

I think it was more obligation.

After greeting, I sat down beside her. I could immediately tell that she was in a deep thinking mood.

I was actually not in the mood to be talking to him. Period.

After many moments of silence, she turned to me and said, “Do you really think that God forgives?”

I wasn’t expecting that.

Thought I would throw him for a loop like some of my New Age friends often do. It would surely get him off my back. I was not feeling comfortable with the situation. I definitely felt that he knew that I had given him the note and the shirt and that he was conjuring up ideas related to maybe me “liking” him. Yuck. The weirdness was almost too much for me to bear.

I wondered what prompted that thought. I mumbled something about Psalm 103 saying that God separates us from our sins as far as the east is from the west. After a few more such exchanges, I excused myself and returned below to my friends.

I left quickly wondering why such an out-of-the-blue kind of question or thought about marrying this guy from Honduras would enter my mind. It was disturbing at that time. I don’t normally disagree too wholeheartedly with the Lord, but if that was from Him I didn’t quite see how that would be.

During the next week, I saw Laura a lot as I walked up to the office. She was always hard at work.

Once while I was involved in doing a haircut, I had a strong thought about Michael. Suddenly I looked up and there he stood staring down at me. Hmmm. Strange. Maybe he needs a haircut.

I also saw her at a Bible study. She made a comment about my hair, and soon we’d arranged that she would cut it.

I frequently gave hair services to people outside of the salon. Usually these were people who couldn’t afford to come to our salon which was very pricey. By the looks of this man’s hair, he could not afford our salon, nor would he care if he could.

A few days later she came over to Pat’s and Kevin’s and cut my hair outside in their carport. She was right. I needed it.

He also needed to get rid of those unsightly nose hairs which gave me the creeps.

While she was cutting, a few Tongan women walked by and asked her if she was giving haircuts. While she talked to them, she let her hand rest on my head, and I could feel this sensation radiating from her hand. It was strange.

She gave me a great cut. Laura is a great artist when it comes to cutting hair. It was no surprise to me to hear that she would be soon leaving for a course in styling at a famous school in London.

A few weeks later, when Laura returned, we talked about her trip to Scotland and England. My impression after this chat was that Laura was a nice girl. That was all. I didn’t feel inclined to pursue anything with her. She was not my type, and definitely not the Auka type.

I still wondered about that day at the zoo and the question. After going and coming from my long trip, I still felt a sense of longing within. I thought the trip and my education would solve some of the boredom I was feeling with my life. At that point I was doing extremely well in my career, financially set, good church, good friends, house, car and atmosphere. Yet, I found myself longing. Was it more depth? Was it change?

One evening, I lay out on the floor of my house in Kihei. I remember I was alone and crying, but not lonesome. I asked the Lord to give me all that I was missing, and that I was once again ready for whatever He was doing in my life and ready to follow no matter what the cost. That is all I remember. . . .

Later that month, I was again the teacher at the Sunday morning service. After the service, I was talking to a few friends and lining up the afternoon’s activities. I saw my friend (a girl, of course) walking away with a few other friends and I headed over in that direction. Much to my dismay, I saw that blocking my path was a line of Japanese people. It was Laura, dressed in her usual fashionable manner, perfectly made-up, and what looked like her family. They were walking in my direction.

During this church service, I had my parents and brothers visiting me from the island of Oahu. My brothers were sitting on both sides of me and my parents were in the back. Michael was the speaker once again.

And once again, I was carrying on inside my head, discussing different topics with the Lord. I don’t know what actually was said at that time, but what I do remember was my overwhelming sensation of knowing that, yes, indeed, this was actually the one I wanted. So I said to the Lord in my head, “O.K., Lord, that’s the one I want.” It was as if we set our fate. At least I thought the Lord and I did anyway.

My next immediate thought was, “How convenient my parents and brothers are here. . . . I can introduce them today.” I was always into accomplishing as much as I could in one moment. It is the practical, Japanese side of me once again. Kill three birds with one stone. This “bird” was soon to be stoned, I reckoned.

“Michael,” she said sweetly, revealing a smudge of lipstick on her front tooth. “I want to introduce you to my family.”

This is not a recommended method of going in for the kill.

“Why does she want to introduce me to her family?” I thought. “Was the message that great?” But instead I spoke, “Hi.”

I wasn’t even listening to his message!!! I was dealing with much more profound issues at the time thank you.

As I said that, I looked over by the parking area, and I could see my friends heading for their car. I had to get this over with quickly.

We gathered that he seemed a bit arrogant and rude and even more so as he proceeded to look not in our eyes but over our heads. This I know was not hard to do, but it was too obvious that he was not interested. Until . . .

Laura then made the introductions: “This is my brother Todd and my brother Sheldon.” I shook hands with both of them. “This is my mom Jean,” Laura continued, as I shook her hand but looked over her head to my departing friends.

I was determined to finished what I started.

“And this is my father Ronald,” Laura concluded.

I grabbed Ronald’s hand, but my eyes were on the parking lot.

That’s when I heard The Voice again.

What He said was as clear as a bell and it stunned me: “You had better pay attention because these could be your in-laws.”

My in-laws? I was shocked. Where did that come from?!?!

I think it came from the same place my seemingly ridiculous conclusions were coming from. I mean, really!!! Saying in a church service that he was the one I wanted!!! Even after the equally ridiculous thought and question of whether he was even a possibility at the zoo?! At the zoo even! How quaint: City girl becomes Jungle Jane. . . . A love affair that began at the zoo amidst a stupid song called, “Rice and Beans Blues.” Yes, this is something I would want to tell all my friends. . . . Not.

Trying to maintain my composure, I dropped my eyes to Ronald’s face, and looked into his eyes. With a firm grip on his hand, I asked: “What did you say your name was?”

We all noticed that he now had some immediate interest. Strange.

“Ron,” he replied.

I spent the next few minutes talking with Laura, Ron, Jean and Laura’s brothers. It was a strange feeling, based on what had just transpired. Soon, they left, and I returned home, never catching up with my friends. But that didn’t matter. After five years, The Voice had spoken to me again. Once again, it concerned my future mate. And once again, it provoked deep thoughts within me.

Soon it was September, and my time on Maui was drawing to a close. The history and map classes were finished, but the relationship class was being shown again in Paia. I also spent most of that month with Craig teaching a weekly Bible study in Paia at a famous place known as the Quando.

One week, as I drove from Kihei over to Paia for the Bible study, I saw Craig’s Mustang convertible in front of me. Sitting in the back seat, with her hair being whipped around was Laura. I was driving with a friend of mine named Rosalee, whom I had invited to the study. Afterwards, Craig and I talked about the study, and the conversation moved to Laura. Craig told me of a few conversations that he had with her, and ended by saying to me, “She might be someone special.”

Those were strange words coming from one of my best friends.

The following week, I was walking to the office to pick up a book I had bought for my friend, Rosalee. When I rounded the corner, I saw Laura sitting outside the salon, reading a card, and holding a few balloons. I greeted her and asked her about the balloons. She told me that it was her birthday.

By this time I was asking the Lord to give me the BIG birthday gift of my mate who I thought I had picked out on that Sunday a couple of weeks earlier.

I ran upstairs, took the book Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, which I had bought for Rosalee, wrote a quick note inside the cover, wrapped it up and walked back downstairs. I handed the gift to Laura and wished her happy birthday.

I was, at this point, wanting a little more than a book that actually was supposed to be for someone else, but I graciously accepted.

I had previously talked to my mom about my situation and communicated to her that the next time I saw Michael, I would lay it all out on the table. I felt tired of exerting so much emotional energy of wondering and feeling like a high school teenager fresh in love but not having any real response. I said I just want to know if it was from the Lord or my imagination. So I impatiently concluded, “If he likes me fine, let’s move on, and if not, well, on I go.” It seemed simple enough to me, but more importantly . . . it was practical, very practical. This idea did not go over very big with my mom.

She quickly responded, “Don’t you dare!!! If it is the Lord’s will, it will happen.” There went that idea. The waiting continued. I wasn’t going to be the one calling or even speaking my mind. I sensibly concluded that if it was from God, then He would have to do something. I hoped it would be soon. It was getting depressing to wait and wonder.

Later that week, I was at work at the office, preparing for our Bible study the following night. We were studying the second chapter of Philippians, where Paul talks about how Jesus laid aside His divine nature, took on human form, came to this planet to serve us, and ended up dying on the cross as a payment for our sins. It’s a great chapter that describes how our relationship with God actually came about, and the importance of serving each other. I thought that a great way to demonstrate this and actually experience what Paul was talking about was by doing a foot washing ceremony.

Foot washing was a common chore in Jesus’ days. It was usually done to the guest who arrived after walking through the dusty streets by the lowest ranking slave or servant. Jesus himself had actually taken off his outer garments, and washed the feet of all his disciples right before the Last Supper. The early church and some churches today regularly do foot washing services as reminders of our Lord’s service to us and our duty to serve each other.

To wash feet, you need a tub to dip the feet in. As I sat in the office, I asked myself, “Who would have this size plastic tub?” My answer: A hairdresser. Probably a certain Japanese hairdresser would have one. So I called her.

She wasn’t home, so I talked to her machine and left a message. Later on, I called again. Still she wasn’t home.

Around 6:00 p.m., I called again, and Laura answered the phone. She had been to her exercise class. Actually I found out she had been teaching her aerobics class at Valley Isle Fitness. This girl was athletic as well. Then I told her about the foot washing and asked her about the tubs—standard equipment for anybody who gives perms—so I thought. No, she didn’t have any tubs, but we talked for a while about the Bible study. She mentioned that she had just brought over from Honolulu her Barclay’s Commentary series on the books of the Bible. I asked her if I could use the one on our current study, Philippians. She consented and I told her that I could come by right then and get it.

No, she replied, she was going out. I said that I could come by later. She replied that she would probably be out late, but that she could come by the church office and drop it off on her way to Wailea.

On this particular Tuesday, I had been feeling quite discouraged and unhopeful of time to be spent with the one I thought I was going to marry. I was feeling sorry for myself. My last client of the day was an attractive Latin customer who had always been nice to me. When he noticed the flowers and balloons around my station, he asked me if he could take me out for my birthday. I was not in the mood because my only thought was really to spend time with Michael. We agreed that I would call him if I decided I wanted to go.

I proceeded to my exercise class. At the club, after my class, I called him and said, “I will meet you at your place and we can go from there.”

I had previously pictured myself just sitting at home feeling sorry for myself so I selfishly accepted this invitation. Little did I know that I would find on my answering machine the voice I had been waiting for not once, but twice. I stepped into the shower to get ready. I admit thinking, “Well, it’s about time he calls!” But, I was thrilled to pieces. However, I was committed to carrying out my commitment to go to dinner. As soon as I got out of the shower, the phone rings and there was THAT VOICE on the other end. Any woman in my shoes knows that one should never sound overly anxious. I could have screamed or fainted, but instead I was very nonchalant and unsympathetic. I made sure that he knew I wasn’t waiting around for him. . . . Actress that I am.

About 30 minutes later, Laura walked through the door of the office with her book in hand. I hardly noticed the book. She was dressed in a black dress and the sight of her standing there before me left me speechless.

“Wow,” I thought, “this is a beautiful woman.”

Laura was always good looking and she was in great shape, but she was never so striking as she was standing before me at that moment. I had never seen a more beautiful woman.

I fumbled around with a few words. She gave me her book, turned, and left. Wherever she was going, I suddenly wished that I was going with her.

It gave me sheer pleasure to watch this man of poise and intelligence fidget and turn three shades of red. His tongue must have gotten stuck to the roof of his mouth because he was having an incredibly difficult time getting any words out at all. I said to myself, “YES!!!! He is in the bag.” I loved seeing him nervous . . . something I never saw even with all the teaching and preaching he was doing in front of big crowds. I wanted to stay but held onto my now very confident self control and nonchalantly said, “See you later.” I knew that I would. I was so excited I thought I would burst. The rest of the evening was fairly mundane. One of the subjects my date and I actually talked about was a brother of his who was a missionary in Latin America. Interesting. I confided that I thought I would be marrying one such as his brother.

The following day, I called her to invite her to go to the Bible study in Paia. After the foot washing and the study, we headed back to Kihei. After dropping off a friend, I took the long route. When we got to her house, she invited me inside. And then a strange thing happened.

The moment I stepped inside her home, I had an overwhelming feeling that I was going to marry this woman. It was like the Voice was whispering to me, “This is going to be your wife.” I didn’t really know her that well, but I was absolutely sure that night that she was going to be my bride. It was quite an evening. As we talked, I had to keep biting my tongue to avoid telling her what I was feeling—it was that strong.

That night, after Michael left, I quickly opened up a journal book that I had started in 1982 (the year Michael heard the voice stating, “Your wife is going to look like this.”). The journal was written to my future mate. I included articles on relationships, my ideals and my dreams. When I began to read the pages before me, I realized deeply that I had found the one that I was going to present this book to on my wedding day. I was sure.

I saw her the next day, and then the next, and soon we were spending some part of every day with each other. Things were moving fast, as my feelings for Laura began to catch up with what I was now sure was my destiny.

On one hand, Laura wasn’t what I considered to be the right type of woman to live with me in Auka and do the work that I was doing—she shaved her legs, didn’t have braided underarms, and wasn’t the real camping type. She was a refined person into high fashion whose profession was making people look good.

On the other hand, as I got to know her, I realized that she fit exactly the five characteristics that God had given me months before in the garden in La Ceiba. She did have a higher regard for her relationship with God than she did ours. Her ability to love and feel compassion for other people was great. She very naturally spent a lot of her time helping others. She was a very successful professional stylist, who made very good money. She owned her home and car. And as I realized that night in the office, she was indeed the most beautiful woman that I had ever laid my eyes on. Her beauty went far beyond her epidermal layer of skin—there was a deep beauty in her spirit that astounded me.

Then I discovered some other things about her. Laura’s degree from the University of Hawaii was in social work, and she graduated with honors. She spent the first year after college working with children in a state program, and then decided to return to the university for her Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology. At the last minute, she decided that she really wasn’t ready right then for at least four more years of classes, and instead enrolled in the U.H. cosmetology school. Haircutting had been her hobby since she was twelve. When she graduated, she began work, and her natural abilities began translating themselves into lots of dollars. As we talked in those next weeks, I realized that God had been very active in moving her away from material goals toward more spiritual ones.

Soon it was time to return to Honduras. One afternoon, I invited her to visit me at Christmas in Florida and meet my family. She agreed, and soon I was heading east aboard a 747.

I returned to Florida from Honduras at the end of November, and Laura was scheduled to arrive the first week in December. I drove to the Orlando airport to meet her, and was anxious to see her. She was delayed because of snowstorms in Colorado, and she arrived eight hours late. Yes, I was very happy to see her. Those three weeks she was there went by very quickly.

On this flight, I sat by and talked with a couple of nice people and ended up giving my leis (a real flower necklace) to them. We all walked off the plane together and looked for our loved ones. Their loved ones and my loved one were all standing together like they also knew each other. They also had started a conversation on their end while waiting. We all found each other easily.

Michael had spent his entire day at the airport waiting. Served him right after all that time I had to wait for him! He had a red rose in hand and took care of all the details. One of my bags didn’t show up so we had to take care of that before going on. When we got to the car, Michael broke out some sparkling cider and champagne glasses. . . . How romantic. . . .

While she was in Florida, we planned a trip to Honduras. If she was going to be with me, she at least needed to see the place before she made her final decision. She returned to Florida on March 30th, and I flew from Honduras to meet her there. We flew together to Honduras, where she stayed for six weeks.

One day in La Ceiba, before we flew out to Auka, we were running around town taking care of some errands. It was a hot day . . . very hot. At lunch time we went out to a restaurant on the beach that served great smoothies. As we sat cooling off, we began talking about future events. I suddenly realized that we were talking about things that implied which we were going to be married, even though I had not asked her at that point to marry me. By the look in her eye, I could tell she was thinking the same thought.

I stopped and asked her what she was thinking.

I was thinking, “He didn’t even ask me to marry him,” but I was too embarrassed to say that so I sat silently.

She didn’t reply but just smiled. There were only a few people in this open air restaurant, and the music was playing loudly—a rather raunchy song called “Push It.” (Hey, why stop the trend on our tasteful music selections and memories!) I slid off my chair and dropped to the floor. Looking her in the eye, I asked, “Laura Nobuko Uyeda, would you consent to be my wife?”

She laughed and nodded saying, “Yes, I will be your wife.”

Well, that made it official and within a few days, we left for Auka. The following week, we made a trip to the Rio Coco to visit our schools. It wasn’t an easy trip. There were plenty of bugs and the trail from Turalaya to Utlamata was knee deep with mud. This didn’t seem to bother Laura at all. She acted like she had lived in a place like this all of her life. I was amazed. I think that she was too.

I was more amused than amazed. At first I tried to keep myself as clean as possible amidst all the mud and slime, but quickly realized that this would be an impossible feat. So I concluded that I would fully immerse myself in the process. An opportunity to get all muddy with a great excuse. “Fun,” I thought, feeling like a kid again. It actually was quite fun—splashing in the mud. After a long while of walking with our heads down, watching just how “muddy” muddy could actually be, we all looked up and saw the most glorious sight of lavender water lilies covering an entire pond. It was magnificent!

It was a good sign for me. Yes, I understood that we would have to trudge through some muddy moments in our lives just to make it to the other side, but at the same time I felt like there would be moments of glory like what I saw before me in that moment at the pond of lilies. Most of all, I felt I had the opportunity to grow in ways the average person could only dream about.

In May, we returned to Florida. After a few days she flew on the Honolulu to prepare for a wedding. We set the date on October 1st.

After a busy summer in Auka, I returned to Hawaii at the end of August. The month of September flew by. On October 1, 1988, I stood in Moanalua Gardens Missionary Church with Craig at my side. Together we watched my parents walk down the aisle, followed by Laura and her parents. As they stood there beside us, we exchanged our vows, took communion and then took a few minutes to share with our gathered friends and family how God had extraordinarily brought us together. Those planned few minutes turned into more than a few as Laura went into detail explaining things from her point of view, as she is now.

After many laughs and a few shed tears, I took the Bible and read Proverbs 31 to her. This is that chapter of the Bible that describes the perfect wife. It describes Laura very well, especially the last few verses which say:

“Many daughters have done nobly, but you excel them all.

Charm is deceitful, and Beauty is vain, (and I added as I looked her in the eye, “Laura, you have plenty of both”)

But a woman who reverences the Lord, she shall be        praised.”                                                       Proverbs 31:29-30

After a long hug, we turned to Craig and said, “Now we are ready.”

With that, he wiped a tear and pronounced us Man and Wife.

I have only heard that audible Voice twice in my life—both times it involved my relationship with Laura. Of all the methods that God uses to lead us, why did He use the Voice in my case? Maybe He knew that I would probably miss the other signs because of my own preconceived ideas. He didn’t want me to miss this one!

Laura moved to Auka and quickly learned the Miskito language. She established more relationships with people in the village than I ever had. Living with no lights or running water was not a problem for her. Bathing out of a bucket, eating candlelight dinners every night, and sleeping under a net proved to be very romantic. Our life in Auka during those early years was a great bonding experience.

I’ve lived with Laura now for over seven years, and I can see that she is indeed God’s perfect mate for me. Her personality is a perfect “complement” to mine. Where I am mission-oriented, she is people-oriented. Where I have the sensitivity of an anvil, she has the intuition of a psychic. Where my thoughts are often self-centered, hers are always on the other person. She is indeed the perfect complement, the perfect mate for me. God knew this. As unlikely as it would seem, He prepared both of us for each other.

And He told me ahead of time so that I would not miss it.

Now I understand why I was motivated to pray and believe in this area of my mate so much. I am glad my mate didn’t miss it and the Lord made sure he wouldn’t!!! It has been one of the most significant decisions of my life and by far the happiest.

Chapter 11 A Matter of Trust

A Matter Of Trust

      King David, one of the most famous warriors and poets of ancient times, wrote:

Delight yourself in the Lord; and He will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He will do it. (Psalm 37:4–5)

King Solomon, David’s son and one of the wisest and richest men of his day wrote:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. (Proverbs 3:5–6)

What David and Solomon both were talking about in these verses is this important principle of life: if we commit our lives to God and enter into a personal relationship with Him, God will always be there for us. Whatever problems we have in our lives here on Planet Earth, the Lord will always be there to assist us. By trusting in Him, “He will do it.” By “acknowledging Him” in all areas of our life, “He will make our path straight.”

Some of us have had this experience: We are out for a drive when suddenly the car develops problems and stops running. We are without our tool box and far from home. We are out of ideas on how to fix the car. Just as we are getting desperate, a car passes and stops, then backs up. The driver gets out and asks us what the problem is. He takes a look under the hood, then returns to his car for his tool bag. After adjusting a few valves on the carburetor, the car starts. Our new friend gets into his car and drives off.

This is what David and Solomon spoke of in these verses: Trust. God will never leave us stranded. He will always be there for us. Now God’s eternal perspective on the events of our lives is different, and His solutions for our problems may be different from what we may expect. But He promises us that He will always be there . . . if we place our trust in Him.

If we place our trust in Him . . .

Airplanes are great tools to get you where you need to be, especially in remote areas where there are no roads. The Flying Banana served this purpose for us in Honduras. It was reliable, low cost transportation. But unbeknown to me, my Creator had other purposes for this airplane in my life as well. . . .

One day, we made a trip to Raya to visit some friends. Raya is in the extreme eastern corner of Honduras and is a very isolated village. When we started the take off roll down the Auka International runway, it seemed like the Banana was struggling to get off the ground. I aborted the takeoff. I then unloaded my passengers, and took off solo. She did seem a bit sluggish, but flyable. I landed, loaded the passengers, and took off for Raya.

Somewhere en route to Raya, one of the two bolts holding the tailwheel on came off. I had no way of knowing it until we landed, when the free swinging tailwheel came up and crushed the bottom of the rudder. I realized something was wrong when I couldn’t move either rudder pedal.

I got out and looked, and saw that the tailwheel had bent up the metal frame of the rudder, and crushed the fabric. Many villagers had gathered by this point, and I asked one for some wooden blocks to jack up the airplane. Next, I bent back into place the metal frame, and tried to smooth out the fabric as best as I could. Now all I needed was a bolt with a nut to reattach the forward part of the tailwheel leaf spring assembly to the bottom of the fuselage. Since the nearest hardware store was over 200 miles away, I asked if anybody had any bolts. People began bringing out rusty tin cans with rusty (and usually slightly bent) bolts. Unfortunately, nothing worked.

Then someone suggested that one of us go out to a shrimp boat that was anchored about a quarter mile off shore. Ron quickly left to find someone with a boat to take him there. About an hour later, he returned with two shiny stainless steel bolts (with matching nuts), just the right size. He said that the captain had taken them off an air compressor.

These worked, and within 20 minutes we were headed back to Auka. Thank God for those bolts.

The next day, I flew to La Ceiba to get the rudder repaired. Julio saw the damage and said that it would take a few days to weld a piece of metal and recover it with new fabric. As an afterthought, I told him that I thought that the engine was performing a bit sluggishly. He said he would check it.

A few days later, I returned to the airport. The rudder was back on the airplane, but still needed painting. But what bothered me was the green tarp that was draped over the engine.

As I walked into Julio’s office, I saw four engine cylinders sitting on the floor. “They are all bad,” Julio said. My stomach took a little turn. “What do you mean bad?” I replied.

Julio explained that he’d checked the compression on all four cylinders, and the pressure ranges were from 31 to 39 psi (pounds per square inch). Normal compression is 68 to 78 psi. Minimum safe limits are 55 and above. All of these were 39 and below. No wonder the Banana felt sluggish! The engine was operating on less than half its normal 150 horsepower! He said that they needed to go back to the United States for overhaul.

By coincidence, I was scheduled to return to Florida that week to meet Laura, who was coming from Hawaii on her prenuptial visit. I packed up the cylinders and boarded the airliner.

When I arrived in Florida, my friend Keith Larkin took me and the cylinders to a local engine shop for repair. When I asked for the estimate of cost, I was told “about $400 to $600 each.” I was good at math in high school, but any way I figured it, the repair bill was going to be a minimum of $1,600 more than I had at the moment.

This was a lot of money, and I began to think where I could come up with this amount.

After much thought, I finally realized that since the Lord had given us this airplane, He would also take care of this repair bill. I just needed to trust Him.

I told the shop owner, “Go ahead and repair them.” Then he told us that he needed a $500 deposit on the work. I must have had the look of financial embarrassment on my face, because without a word, Keith took out his checkbook and wrote the check!

That week, I had an opportunity to play racquetball with my good friend Buddy Tipton, pastor of Central Assembly in Vero Beach. During the course of our games, he asked me about the school project and the airplane. Buddy was always interested in the project.

Sunday morning, I was in church, in a seat near the aisle. During the worship time, we were all standing. Just as the last song was about to end, Buddy came up to me and said “Why don’t you come up and tell everybody about the airplane problem. I think that the Lord is going to do something today.”

I was surprised, but obedient. When he called me up, I shared for a few minutes about the Flying Banana and the engine problem. As I sat down, Buddy announced that they would immediately take up a special offering to help pay for the repair.

Now there were about 200 people that first service, and I thought that it would be nice if $200 or $300 came in. After the service, Buddy asked me to stay for the second service. I shared again about the Banana. Another offering was taken.

After the service, Buddy’s assistant pastor Larry Boan told me that the combined total for both services was $3,289.

$3,289! Amazing!

When the cylinders came back from the factory, the price was not $400 or $600, but closer to $800 each. Apparently the valves needed to be replaced. But, with God’s provision, I was able to pay the bill and give Keith back his $500 check. Laura and I took the cylinders back to Honduras where Julio reinstalled them. When the bill came for his work on the engine and the rudder, because of God’s provision, I was able to pay his bill. I was able to also buy some other needed parts for the Banana.

A few weeks later, I added up all the bills for the work done on the Banana. The total came out to $3,288.75. The Lord knew just how much we needed, and gave it to us that Sunday morning—with a $1.25 to spare.

God was showing me something—I could place my trust in Him. But there was more. . . .

July 4th is a special day for me. Besides being the day of Independence for my country, it was also the day I was baptized at Wailea Beach on Maui by Craig and Jason. It’s sort of my spiritual independence day. July 4, 1988 was a very significant day for these reasons, as well as another lesson in trust.

We had a team from California visiting to build a house in Auka. July 4th was the scheduled day to fly them all to Auka. We sent five of the team on a commercial flight to Puerto Lempira. I took Matt (one of the carpenters), plus all the excess luggage and some food with us in the Banana.

Two significant things happened while I was loading the cargo:

(1)  A bird flew over and deposited some “processed food” on my shoulder;

(2)  As I was trying to fit a backpack into the Banana, I felt something pop in my left wrist.

The bird poop was a sign of what was ahead for the day. My wrist was sore immediately, but not sore enough to prevent me from flying.

Matt and I made it to Auka in the usual 2 hours and 40 minutes, and unloaded. I immediately took off for Puerto Lempira, where the rest of the group was waiting. It’s only a fifteen minute flight from Auka to Puerto Lempira, and as I landed, I could see some dark thunder clouds approaching.

I parked the airplane and quickly walked to the house of a friend near the airport where I kept two drums of gasoline. I filled two 5-gallon jugs and walked back to the airplane. With my plastic hose, funnel, and chamois, I poured the gas into the two wing tanks. Then I began loading the baggage and my one passenger. As we took off, I could see dark clouds in the direction of Auka.

Sure enough, five minutes out of Puerto Lempira, we hit heavy rain. I descended to where I could still see the ground and pressed on. At the end of 15 minutes, when we should have been over the airstrip, all I could see were pine trees. I began circling, looking for something familiar. Finally, I caught a glimpse of the roof of our big house off to the east. We circled for another 5 minutes until the shower passed and finally landed. I quickly unloaded and took off.

I hit more rain on the return leg, and it seemed like the engine began running a little rough. After I got out of the rain and close to the airstrip at Lempira, I was sure the engine was running rough. I did a quick magneto check once I got lined up with the runway, and the engine began vibrating loudly. The magneto is the source of spark for an airplane—similar to the distributor in an automobile engine. There are two magnetos on an aircraft engine, and each cylinder has two spark plugs— each connected to a different magneto so that each cylinder has two separate sources of the needed spark.  Checking the magneto is done by disconnecting each magneto from the engine circuit while the engine is running, and ensure that the other magneto is providing the need spark to all the cylinders. A rough running engine on a mag check indicates a bad magneto, bad spark plug, or a broken wire.

I landed quickly and taxied up to our friends. They were waiting with two full jugs of gasoline.

I asked them the put the gas in the fuel tanks, as I opened the engine cowling to take a look. Nothing was obviously wrong, so I got out my wrench, and took off the spark plug wires. On the fourth wire, I found it—a broken spring connector at the end of the spark plug wire. How was I going to fix this? There are no mechanics in Puerto Lempira. The nearest one is about 60 miles away at the Mission Aviation Fellowship base in Ahuas.

While I was trying to figure this out, Vic, one of the carpenters, came to me and told me that the fuel was in, asked me for one of the fuel caps. I was puzzled. “I don’t have the fuel cap. Where did you put it when you took it off to pour the fuel in?” I asked.

“We didn’t take the left one off—it was already off. We assumed that you did.” Vic said.

I hadn’t taken the fuel caps off, and we looked around on the ground for the cap. After about five minutes of searching, it began to dawn on me where the cap was—probably somewhere between Puerto Lempira and Auka. It must have come off in flight after we had refueled on the first flight. Because of my sprained wrist, I probably didn’t tighten it down properly before I took off.

Now we had two major problems—a broken spark plug lead and a missing fuel cap. Both items were essential for flight.

“What now?” I asked myself. And then, “Where are you, Lord, when I need you?”

That’s when it started to rain very heavily.

Soon the heavy rain passed and, I began to walk down to the SAMI hangar at the end of the runway. SAMI is the local charter service with (at that time) one Cessna 206. They don’t have a full-time mechanic, but maybe they might have something. . . . I was starting to get desperate.

The guy that takes care of the plane is a boy from Auka named Derrick. I had brought many  bags of bananas from Derrick’s mother in Auka for her son. I told Derrick my problems. He motioned for me to come with him behind the hangar. There, lying next to the latrine, was the wing off a Cessna that had crashed a few years before. On one of the fuel tanks was a fuel cap!

As I took a close look, I realized that it was a completely different type than what was on our Piper Pacer. It didn’t even look to be the same size, much less a compatible design. I tried to twist it off with my good hand. It wouldn’t budge. I tried both hands. Then I asked Derrick to try. He couldn’t get it to move either.

Since it probably wouldn’t fit, there was no use wasting our time further. Besides, I had another pressing problem.

As I walked back to the Banana, I saw an airplane landing. It taxied right up next to ours and the engine died. Out stepped a good friend, Tom, who was a pilot for Mission Aviation Fellowship. He had just flown in with some passengers from their base in Ahuas!

Now, all MAF pilots are also mechanics, and I was very glad to see Tom. I explained to him our problems. He took a look at the spark plug lead and went to his airplane and grabbed his tool bag. From it he took out a new spring connector. He carried a few on all his flights for moments just like these.

With that, we went to work. In about ten minutes, he had it connected, and it was time to crank the engine and test it. As I turned around, I almost bumped into Derrick, who was standing behind me. He had a screwdriver in one hand, and a gas cap in the other. He had worked the cap loose with the screwdriver.

I took the cap, looked at it, and was now sure that it would not fit. It had a completely different type of design. I almost handed it back to Derrick with a “thanks, but no thanks,” but I realized that he must have worked more than a few minutes to get the cap off the wing. It wouldn’t hurt to try so I climbed up on the wing and held the cap over the fuel tank filler hole. I dropped it down, and the metal prongs on the cap fit through the notches in the filler neck perfectly! With a twist, it tightened securely into place. I was amazed. So much for my engineering expertise.

In fact, as I took it off again and again, it seemed like this Cessna gas cap fit better on the Banana than the Piper cap did.

I climbed down off the wing and into the cabin and started the engine. It ran very smoothly. Tom’s repair job was perfect.

There were still plenty of dark clouds on the horizon, and it was getting late in the day. I still had two flights to make to Auka. Tom saw my situation, and volunteered to make a flight to Auka, and then head back to Ahuas. We loaded up, and in 20 minutes, we both were on the ground in Auka.

As I walked up to the big house with my bags, I remembered what I had said in Puerto Lempira: “Where are you Lord when I need you?”

At that moment a still small voice said to my spirit, “Right here. Right where I said I would be.”

When you think about the possibility of finding a fuel cap in Puerto Lempira, and Tom’s coincidental flight to Puerto Lempira that he made at exactly the right time, I knew that He was right. He was right there, taking care of everything. Just as He promised He would.

“Commit your way to the Lord and He will do it.”

CHapter 13 Just In Case You Missed The Point

   Just in Case You Missed the Point

             

On July 20, 1991, Laura, Mikaela and I flew the Seneca to Honduras. We immediately saw the value of this airplane. Our flight from Vero Beach to Key West, across the Yucatan channel to Cozumel, Mexico, and then straight south to La Ceiba took under seven hours and cost us less than $240. That’s less than half of the current airline fare for Laura and I to fly to La Ceiba.

At La Ceiba, we loaded up with groceries and headed on to Auka. That two hour and forty minute flight in the Banana was shortened to one hour and thirty minutes. We cruised out at 10,000 feet instead of 3,500 feet. Laura arrived refreshed and relieved—no full barf bags.

This airplane was a true blessing in many ways. We were now able to fly with more people and haul more cargo. The entire project took a step forward with this new tool.

The Seneca had also been a very dramatic tool in the hands of the Master Potter in my life. The eight months’ experience of having to trust in Him repeatedly would have big dividends down the road. The lessons I had learned were, however, immediately applicable as well.

Operating a twin-engine airplane is almost twice as expensive as a single-engine one. Maintenance costs on this complex airplane were also a quantum leap over the expenses of the Banana. If you looked at our ministry finances, as well as our personal finances, there would be no way that we “could afford” to operate this airplane. Yet the Lord showed us right away that this new level of operating expenses was something that He had already taken care of.

The first indication was when we met a couple in our Lamaze class before Mikaela was born. Clive and Kathryn were expecting their first baby the same time as us. We began to get to know them at the weekly classes. Clive is the son of an Irish missionary family who grew up in West Africa. He is also a pilot, flight instructor, and mechanic. Our families had many things in common, and soon Clive volunteered to help us with some of the final touches on the Seneca before we flew it to Honduras. Early one Saturday morning in July, we applied a fresh coat of paint on the wings and tail, and Clive painted the ministry logo on the rudder. Now this resurrected airplane indeed looked almost brand new.

At this time, we also became acquainted with another flight instructor, Bob Rexroad, and his wife, Kathy. Bob was one of the best instructors at one of the best flight schools in Florida. He offered to help with any instruction that I might need, as well as help with my instrument training, which I needed to do on an on-going basis. Bob is the kind of guy who would take me out for an afternoon of practicing instrument approaches, and then he would pay for half of the gas.

Bob and Clive became important ministry partners in a very short time. They both provided very valuable services at no cost. They also became good friends.

If I had missed the lesson of trust that the Lord had taught me in the “Good, Bad, and Ugly” movie, He had another demonstration planned for the beginning of the next year. It all started one morning in Auka. . . .

Kayo Sirpi is a small village about an hour’s walk from Auka. It is well known for its coconut and grapefruit trees—refreshment for people traveling through on foot, as we often did. Kayo Sirpi is also known for its “sukias”—people who are knowledgeable about herbal medicines and who often delve into the spiritual realm. Sukias have much power in Miskito society, where modern pharmaceuticals and Christianity are relative newcomers.

One November morning, I awoke in our house in Auka to the shouts of a woman’s voice. As I looked out my bedroom window, I saw a woman walking up the trail toward our house. She was an older lady who was a sukia from Kayo Sirpi. She wore a black dress and had a branch cut from a tree stuck down the back of her dress with the leaves hanging over her head. She was shouting in very long sentences.

Neither I nor Laura could make out what she was saying, but soon our neighbor Tom Keogh arrived and began translating. What he told us wasn’t pleasant.

She was shouting curses at us in a raving style, like someone who might be demon possessed. She continued until I was almost out of breath just listening to her. Finally, Tom went down and began talking to her. He didn’t have any success in calming her down, and she continued her diatribe throughout breakfast.

I had a flight scheduled that day over to Rus Rus to pick up a medical team to fly them on to La Ceiba. I went down and preflighted the Seneca and prepared to leave. I started up the engines, and taxied down from our hangar to the airstrip.

As I turned the corner from the hangar area onto the “taxiway,” my right propeller hit the ground, kicking up a cloud of red dust. I was very surprised, as well as dismayed. The propellers of the Seneca are normally about eight inches above the ground. Although I had cut plenty of tall grass with these blades, I had never nicked the ground—until this morning.

I shut the engine down. Fortunately the blade was not bent, but it did have two deep gouges on both sides of the blade. I returned to the house, called Rus Rus, and told them that I would be delayed. Then I called Ahuas and talked to my mechanic-pilot friend Tom and the other pilot George. I described the gouges over the radio, trying to determine if the airplane was flyable. They told me that they had a flight scheduled to Auka that morning, and they would be down to check it out.

Tom and George arrived, and we began talking about the propeller. I took Tom over to the spot where the prop had hit the ground—there was a definite mark in a clear area. As we stood there talking, the sukia from Kayo Sirpi walked over by us and put her foot right on the spot where the prop had hit the ground. She stood there for a few moments, looking at both of us. I suddenly had an eerie feeling. Maybe there was more to this prop strike than I originally thought.

George and Tom began working on the propeller with a file, grinding smooth the gouges. After about an hour of work, we cranked the engine, to see how it felt and sounded. Both George and Tom agreed that it was flyable, but that I should get it checked when I returned to the United States later that month.

Laura, Mikaela, and I flew back to Florida on the 19th of November. I took the propeller to a prop shop up at Merritt Island for an inspection. After a few days, the owner of the shop called to tell me that the filed out gouges in the tip were within the specified width and thickness limits, but that he had found a deep gouge in the back of the propeller that was below FAA specifications. The blade would have to be replaced.

I had never priced a propeller before. When I asked what a new propeller would cost, he told me over $7,000, but that he could put new blades with the existing hub for “only” $5,200.

“Here we go again,” I thought. However, this time the sense of panic and hopelessness that I had experienced during the “Good, Bad, and Ugly” movie were gone. Instead I had a confident feeling that the Lord already had it under control.

I, of course, told our friends and ministry partners about this development, and asked for prayers. That’s when my flight instructor friend, Bob, asked me “When is Buddy going to give us an opportunity to give toward this new propeller?”

Within a few weeks, Buddy, Larry and I were sitting on the platform at Central Assembly with the defective propeller sitting at our side. Buddy gave me the opportunity to explain our need, and then he announced that there would be a special offering taken for the propeller over the next few weeks.

Within three weeks, we had the $5,200, and the new blades were bought. Clive installed the prop back on the airplane. While we did that work, Clive suggested that we take a good look over the engines and airframe before we flew it back to Honduras. This was a good suggestion. Clive knows about flying in bush conditions. We scheduled a day the following week to take off the engines’ cowlings and do the inspection.

The day before I was to meet with Clive, I received a call from Robert, a businessman friend. He asked me if we had received all the money we needed for the propeller. I told him that we had, that everything had been taken care of, and that the propeller was back on the airplane. He then asked me if we had any other needs. I told him that as far as I knew, everything had been taken care of. I did mention to Robert that the next day Clive and I would take a look at the engines and airframe, but we really didn’t expect to find any major problems.

Then I ask Robert, “Why are you asking?”

He replied: “I have this money that I’m going to tithe, and every time I ask the Lord where I should direct it, I keep getting the answer ‘Check with Mike.’ So I’m checking with you.”

“Well,” I said, “as far as I know, all of our needs are covered.” Then I thought for a moment and added, “Unless you know something that I don’t know.”

Robert laughed, and we talked about other things for a while. Finally at the end of our conversation, he said “I’m just going to go ahead and give you the money. It’s $1,500, and I’ll drop the check off at the church office.”

I thanked Robert. This was a nice gift.

The next day, I flew the Seneca to Fort Pierce to a hangar that Clive used for his mechanic work. We did a compression check on both engines, and then began the inspection. Clive noticed that a few of the gaskets between the cylinders and the exhaust pipes had eroded away, and needed to be replaced. As he looked closer with his flashlight, he saw that the escaping exhaust gas had damaged one cylinder around the exhaust port. After disconnecting the exhaust pipe, he was able to get a better look. What he saw wasn’t good. The escaping gas had eroded away a substantial portion of the cylinder wall.

Clive told me that the cylinder would have to be removed and taken to an engine shop and be fill-welded with aluminum. We took the cylinder off, and drove it over to the shop.

The technician at the shop told us that besides the fill-welding, this cylinder needed to be re-honed, new rings installed, the valves and seats ground, and new exhaust studs installed. Basically, we had to overhaul this cylinder.

When the bill came two days later for all this work, it totaled over $1,200. Normally this would have been a moment of financial embarrassment for me. Except for one fact—that Robert had heard the Lord direct him to give us the gift of $1,500. He had been obedient—I already had the money in my hand.

Paying this bill was a pleasure. I suddenly realized that the Lord already had the maintenance budget for this Seneca drawn up, and had already assigned various members of His “body” to cover the various expenses. As these expenses came up, these obedient members gladly wrote their checks to cover the expenses. It was a great lesson on how the Kingdom of God operates. The “Good, Bad, and Ugly” movie, and the propeller incident had demonstrated this. Just in case I had missed the point, Robert’s giving ahead of time to cover the cylinder repair drove the principle home.

“Acknowledge Him in all of your ways, and He will make your path straight” (Proverbs 3:6).

Chapter 14 A New Name

A New Name—A New Focus

     How many people do you know who have made millions, only to give it all away?

How many do you know who did that twice?

I first met Keith Larkin on the deck of the M/V Good Samaritan in Fort Pierce, Florida, in 1985. Keith and his wife Cynthia had just donated this 182-foot long freighter/passenger vessel, which they had purchased the previous year from the Canadian government, to Youth With A Mission, an international Christian ministry. The Good Samaritan was just preparing to make her maiden voyage in Christian service by hauling a load of food and supplies to Haiti. I happened to be in Florida then and had heard of this ship from my friends on the La Gracia. I drove over to the dock one afternoon to see the ship and there met Keith.

Keith and I had a long conversation that day. He is a unique character. He left his home in Palaka, Florida, when he was 16 and joined the Army Air Corps. Soon he was one of the youngest pilots in the air corps, flying almost every airplane in the inventory before he “retired” during the Korean War. He bought some surplus P-40 fighters, and started a cloud seeding business in California. After that business ended, he turned his attention to his real talent—designing and inventing.

Keith is a natural engineer who can take a concept, and with a few sketches on the nearest available napkin, turn the concept into a design.

One of Keith’s first inventions was the “Automatic Chock.” One thing a pilot always does before  and after a flight is move a “chock” (a piece of wood or metal designed to fit against a tire and prevent vehicle movement). Keith decided why pull the chock away from the tire only to have to place it there again after the flight? He designed a bear-trap-like contraption that stayed on the ground, where you could simply drive the airplane out of and then back into after the flight.

Now hitting the center of the “bear trap” was a challenge that only pilots with Keith’s skill could handle. Keith’s first three sales of the “Automatic Chock” were via mail order—one to Canada, one to Australia, and one to Arkansas. Unfortunately, the Automatic Chock proved unpopular with pilots and airport managers, and these sales were his only three. Soon, Keith turned to more practical pursuits.

Keith had a radical idea in the early ’60s. Radical ideas were common in the ’60s. This idea had to do with headsets—those devices used by pilots, switchboard operators, reservationists and anybody who used radios or business telephones. All headsets back then were designed with one or two speakers that fit over the ears, and a microphone fitted at the end of a boom that placed it in front of the user’s mouth. Keith’s idea was this: that sound would attenuate up a hollow tube, allowing you to place the microphone and speaker in the ear piece, eliminating the bulky and heavy boom in front of your face. He designed and built a head set that was revolutionary in its light-weight profile and efficiency.

He took the idea and a prototype to Bell Labs (the suppliers of the AT&T nationwide telephone service) and offered to sell them the rights to this concept. After scoffing at him for such a ridiculous concept, they advised him to turn his attention to more realistic concepts and showed him the door. Keith went to another company—a subsidiary of Bell Labs. He received a similar response. After he left, they directed their engineers to develop their own light-weight headset using Keith’s already patented concept.

Keith formed a company that he called “Plantronics,” and began manufacturing this lightweight headset. Progress was slow, but Keith was persistent. Soon the Bell Labs subsidiary company introduced their newest headset design—a copy of Keith’s patented lightweight hollow tube model. Keith sued for patent infringement and the case went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. The judges ruled in Keith’s favor.

Plantronics sales skyrocketed—literally. The first copy of Keith’s design that was actually sold was to NASA for the Mercury 7 mission. Keith’s design was also selected by NASA for the Gemini and Apollo programs, and those first words of Neil Armstrong to the Earth from the Moon were spoken through one of Keith’s headsets. Currently, the Space Shuttle is using one of Keith’s latest models.

Keith’s bank account also skyrocketed. That’s when he and Cynthia had another radical idea: if you brought a kid from the inner city who had never experienced the great outdoors and gave them a free “summer camp” experience, complete with horseback riding, swimming, hiking, crafts, etc., all the while promoting some basic Christian moral values, that this experience would make a difference in their lives. They bought a large piece of property in the Sierra mountains and built a ranch, and began bringing kids from the Bay Area for this “outdoors experience.” Deer Valley was soon one of the most successful youth social programs in the state of California.

Over the next few years, Keith and Cynthia poured millions of their earnings into Deer Valley. Finally, they decided to sell Plantronics to fund this project, as well as others that they were involved in.

After seven years, they began another headset company in their kitchen, which eventually led to the founding of ACS, another major headset manufacturing company. After working a few years to get ACS rolling, Keith and Cynthia began looking for ways to spend their second fortune. That’s when they got turned on to the idea of sponsoring Christian-development programs in the Third World.

Keith and Cynthia began a private foundation called “Seek Foundation” as the vehicle to pump their money into various projects. When I met Keith in 1985 in Florida, Seek Foundation had just spent almost a million dollars in the purchasing and refurbishing of the Good Samaritan.

Soon after that, Keith and Cynthia moved from California to Florida to be closer to the “action” of missionary work in the Caribbean. They soon got involved in various children’s programs in Haiti and Honduras. Soon they had sold their interest in ACS, as well as many of their real estate holdings to fund these various projects.

Keith bought a Piper Seneca and started a ministry called “Air Care” that provided various missions needed supplies flown directly to them at their foreign location, at no cost. One of his flights in April 1987 was to Honduras, where he flew me and a young lady named Laura Uyeda to Auka.

One day during that trip, Keith and I were walking around La Ceiba, literally “running” some errands. It was a hot April day, and we were feeling the heat. Finally Keith asked me “Do you know anybody who has a vehicle for sale?”

I was surprised since that very week, our friend Dr. Clem (a missionary dentist) had asked us if we wanted to buy his truck. I answered, “Well, Keith, our friend Dr. Clem is selling his truck.”

Keith said, “Let’s go look at it.”

We did. It was a 1979 Toyota pickup with a camper shell on the back. It ran good and, most importantly to Keith, had a working air conditioner. After looking at the truck for a few minutes, Keith said, “I want to give you guys a wedding present.” He then wrote a check for the price of the pickup. Just like that! “Running” errands around La Ceiba became a thing of the past.

By 1990, Keith had spent most of his money, and was ready to start another business. To procure some capital for his new recreational equipment company, he placed his Seneca on the market. When we found ourselves able to buy an airplane to replace the Banana, we considered and finally chose Keith’s Seneca.

When the bad news about the Seneca was discovered, Keith was devastated. He took it worse than I did. Because of his long track record in giving, it was impossible to have any hard feelings against Keith for the difficult situation that we found ourselves in.

Over the next few years, we kept in close touch with Keith. Eventually he moved out of the recreational technology business, and began designing a new line of headsets. By late 1994, his new company began selling headsets in large numbers.

By 1994, things were changing in Salt & Light as well. Since peace had come to the Coco River and stories of the Miskito Indians had long disappeared from the front pages of newspapers around the nation, public interest and subsequent financial support for the Project had waned. Donations to Salt & Light dropped, and by late 1993, we found ourselves operating on only 60 percent of our already shoestring budget.

In discussing this situation with the Boss over these months, we continually received the answer not to worry, but to focus on our work on the Coco River, and that He would take care of everything. Laura was particularly impressed one January morning while reading a passage of Scripture, that this problem would be resolved in the “sixth and seventh month.”

We were scheduled to return to Florida at the end of June to do the annual inspection on the Seneca. One morning, we received a call from our friend Keith. He had been aware of our budget cuts, and had been talking with some of our other friends at church regarding the situation. He asked me a question that day that every missionary wants to hear, “Would you mind if I and some others helped you do some fund raising?”

Absolutely not!

When we arrived in Florida, we met with Keith and these others, who were all long-time friends and ministry partners. We were encouraged by their enthusiasm for the school project and their willingness to help. One of our solutions to this financial crunch that we were feeling was to find another organization to partner along with Salt & Light in Project Ezra. Seek Foundation seemed like a logical choice, and Keith and Cynthia were excited to get their foundation formally involved. We agreed to organize a division of Seek Foundation specifically for Project Ezra, and other educational and development projects. Much time was spent in July meeting with Keith and our friends, Robert, Lee, Larry, and Forrest.

This new division of Seek Foundation needed a name, and we knew that it would have to be carefully considered.

Names are important—especially God-given names. They carry special significance and are often indicators of future purposes in the Kingdom of God.

Abram was an important character in the Bible. He was a man who lived near the Persian Gulf in a city called Ur. There he received a call from God to move his family to a land far to the west called Canaan, where God would make him a “great nation.”

Abram is a name that means “exalted father,” yet he suffered the embarrassment of having no children—his wife Sarai was barren. At their advanced ages, it would indeed take a miracle from God to make him “a great nation.”

Years passed, and then God appeared again to Abram. He told him that from here on, he would be called “Abraham”—which means “father of multitudes.” Shortly after, his wife conceived, and their son Isaac was born. From Isaac came Esau and Jacob, and from Jacob’s 12 sons came the 12 tribes of Israel.

Simon Peter was another important character of the Bible. His original name “Simon” means “flat-nosed.” Can you imagine being called “flat nose” all your life? Simon comes across in the pages of the New Testament as an easily agitated, animated character. Perhaps having a name that meant “flat nose” was the reason why.

When Simon’s brother Andrew brought him to meet Jesus, a significant thing happened. Jesus looked at Simon and told him, “You shall be called Peter.”

Peter does not mean “funny face.” It means “The Rock.” This “rock” was soon to become the leader of the twelve disciples, and one of the most powerful figures in Church history.

When it came time to put a name on this new division of Seek Foundation, our attention was drawn to the first chapter of John.

John the Baptist was baptizing at the Jordan River and Jesus came to him to be baptized. “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world,”(John 1:29) said John to his disciples when he saw Jesus by the Jordan River. John baptized Him and later went on to explain to his disciples Jesus’ true identity and His historical and spiritual significance.

The next day, Jesus arrived at the river and John again exclaimed, “Behold, the Lamb of God.”(John 1:36)

At that point, two of John’s disciples (Andrew and another) left him and began to follow Jesus.

When Jesus noticed them following, He turned and said,

“What do you Seek?”

They replied, “Rabbi, where are you staying?”

Jesus answered, “Come and you will see.” (John 1:28–39.)

At that moment, they began to Seek the Lamb of God, and they became Jesus’ disciples. They lived and traveled with Him for the next three years, along with nine others. After Jesus’ death and resurrection, this small group began making more disciples, who in turn made more disciples, who in turn made even more disciples. Thus started a process that has resulted in Christianity becoming the world’s fastest growing religion.

This seemed like the right name—“Seek The Lamb.”

When we seek the Lamb of God, we focus our efforts in life to become disciples of Jesus Christ. Eventually we too will begin to make other disciples and carry on the process started by Andrew and the other unnamed disciple.

Seek the Lamb . . . a focus on discipleship.

We had been blessed to work among the Miskito Indians during the past ten years. The first phase of the project was to be a witness and assistance to the refugees. Then came Project Ezra and the emphasis on Christian education. Now the Lord was giving us a new name and a new focus in our work with these people of Nicaragua and Honduras.

We could now move forward with Project Ezra by concentrating our efforts on making disciples in all our villages and encouraging all to “Seek the Lamb.”

These new developments were exciting, and happened without any effort on our part during the “sixth and seventh” months—just as He had said. Laura’s message was confirmed. Now He prepared to confirm this direction by one big “sign along the way.”

In August, we scheduled an evening to get together over dinner with family and friends, to share this new development in the ministry on the Coco River. Over 80 people attended, and we had a great night of fellowship. We had asked the Boss specifically that we would be able to return to Honduras with enough money to pay our teachers’ salaries (about $1,500 per month) through the end of the year. By the time the evening was over, we had received monthly pledges totaling over $1,800!

This was a definite sign that we were heading in the right direction.  The pattern of growth since then has confirmed it.

We finished the 1994 school year with almost 500 primary students and over 200 adults in eight villages in Nicaragua and Honduras. 1995 ended with almost 1000 primary and adult students in 13 villages along the Coco and Kruta Rivers. It seems like the Lord has opened up the doors for growth, and the Nicaraguan Ministry of Education is asking for more Project Ezra schools to be established.  As of February of 1996, plans are being made to now expand into three additional villages, and more next year.

1995 marked the beginning of a new phase of Project Ezra—pastoral training.

There are four predominate churches on the Rio Coco: the Moravian, Catholic, Baptist, and Church of God. All of these churches teach the basic doctrines of Christianity, and during the refugee days, most of the Christians in each village met under the same roof for their services. (It’s amazing what unity that persecution will bring!)

All Miskitos are very aware of the spiritual world. They deal with it daily. The power of satan and his forces is very real, and felt. Each village has at least one “sukia”(witchdoctor) who is the one that can get in touch (or at least they say that they can) with the spiritual world, and cause things to happen—like getting your rice field to produce a big harvest, a sickness healed, a lover brought back, etc. Many villages have more than one of these sukias, and their power is great.

At a spiritual warfare conference for the Project Ezra teachers a few years ago, something happened that revealed the spiritual attitudes of most Miskitos, At the start of the conference we wrote these words across the top of the blackboard:

God      Man       Demons      Jesus      Angels      Satan

   

We asked our teachers to place these names in their spiritual order of importance. All put God at the top of the list. The order after that varied somewhat, but had this typical look:

God

Satan

Demons

Angels

Jesus

Man

Most of our teachers placed Satan and the forces of darkness above Jesus and the angles!

This is typical of the fear that Miskitos have for demonic forces, and the limited knowledge that they have about the power of God and His Son Jesus Christ. This is because all have felt the power of satan over their lives, but few have seen the power of God at work. As a result, most are in bondage, and don’t have an understanding of the power of Jesus Christ to set them free.

The pastors in the villages are “lay pastors,” with little formal Bible training. Sometimes, the pastor of the village is one of the adults that can read well and has a Bible (simple qualifications!)

The lack of training is often evident in the messages that are given on Sunday morning, with verses pulled out of context, and an emphasis on “religious” behavior rather than on a true relationship with Jesus Christ.

Our first conference was held in December in Sawa and focused in on methods of ministry.  Twelve pastors from the surrounding villages attended—a very significant number to begin this phase of the project! Our goal is to equip the pastors for their work in their churches and communities, and two conferences are planned for each coming year.

Jesus’ last words to his disciples were

"Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."(Matt 28:19-20)

This mandate given by the Maximum Leader is the focus for Project Ezra and Seek the Lamb.  With the current favorable political situation, and the open invitation of the Nicaraguan Ministry of Education to place more teachers in more villages, we feel like God has given us three very specific goals for Project Ezra:

(1)  To see Miskitos in true relationship with God through Jesus Christ, living in that relationship so that it affects all their other relationships, knowing God’s principles for living, and freely and truly worshiping Him;

(2)        Training teachers, pastors, and other leaders of Miskito communities so that they may effectively communicate God’s truth to their people.

Is this Vision achievable?

As long as it is the Lord’s will, YES!

Look what He has done already!   

Chapter 15 Intellectual Suicide?

Intellectual Suicide?

I

    In 1981, I was in Vail, Colorado, living life in the fast

lane and only concerned about myself. Since 1985, I have been living in  Honduras, deeply involved in a work of service among a group of Central American Indians in one of the most remote and inhospitable areas in the entire hemisphere.

Something caused this change to take place. . . . A deep psychological catharsis resulting in changed character perhaps?

My life in the past 12 plus years has been filled with many “signs along the way”—many events that defy rational explanation. Are these evidences of Divine intervention in my life or just a long string of mere coincidences?

While I was attending Miami University, I got the distinct impression from many of my professors and fellow students that accepting the orthodox doctrines of Christianity was the equivalent of committing intellectual suicide. Aside from that, being a Christian certainly didn’t fall into the category of “being cool.”

Academia in the past two hundred years has been strangely anti-Christian. Indeed, there was a movement among European scholars in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries called “Higher Criticism” of the Bible. Members of this movement stated that the Bible wasn’t really written by who we think, that the miracles of Jesus can be rationally explained, and that even the historical reality of this person Jesus of Nazareth is in serious question.

Back in the early ’70s, I wasn’t interested in Christianity. I had other things on my mind, and there were too many other “answers” to be explored. I found it interesting though, that something that I had accepted all through my youth was dismissed with such relative ease.

Almost every college student who has taken a class on Western Civilization has heard of Will Durant, or at least read a portion of his classic eleven volume work called The Story of Civilization. In his volume titled Caesar and Christ, Durant, who apparently wasn’t a Christian, made an interesting observation after an in-depth discussion of the “Higher Criticism”:

In summary, it is clear that there are many contradictions between one gospel and another, many dubious statements of history, many suspicious resemblances to the legends told of pagan gods, many incidents apparently designed to prove the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecies, many passages possibly aiming to establish a historical basis for some later doctrine or ritual of the Church. . . .

All this granted, much remains. The contradictions are of minutiae, not substance; in essentials the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) agree remarkably well, and the Higher Criticism has applied to the New Testament test of authenticity so severe that by them a hundred ancient worthies—e.g., Hammurabi, David, Socrates—would fade into legend.

Despite the prejudices and theological preconceptions of the evangelists, they record many incidents that mere inventors would have concealed—the competition of the apostles for high places in the Kingdom, their flight after Jesus’ arrest, Peter’s denial, the failure of Christ to work miracles in Galilee, the references of some auditors to his possible insanity, his early uncertainty as to his mission, his confessions of ignorance as to the future, his moments of bitterness, his despairing cry on the cross; no one reading these scenes can doubt the reality of the figure behind them. That a few simple men should in one generation have invented so powerful and appealing a personality, so lofty an ethic and so inspiring a vision of human brotherhood, would be a miracle far more incredible than any recorded in the Gospels. After two centuries of Higher Criticism the outlines of the life, character, and teaching of Christ, remain reasonably clear, and constitute the most fascinating feature in the history of Western man. (Caesar and Christ, by Will Durant, p.557)*

Although I don’t agree with Durant in regard to “contradictions” and “dubious statements,” I think that for a respected member of academia, this is a remarkable declaration.

As fascinating as it may be, it is still difficult to believe somebody who says that He is God. To consider such a statement involves a normal intellectual process that focuses on logical, documented, sensory information. There is a point in the thought process where you naturally come to a place of intellectual challenge—going beyond the five senses into a deeper area of analysis and understanding, a second level of intellectuality—seeing what your eyes can’t see, feeling what your hands can’t touch, yet without abandoning your rational mental processes. Can you proceed without committing intellectual suicide? How?

Jesus had encounters with the intellectuals of His day. In one instance, which was recorded in the tenth chapter of John, He gave a key in how to proceed in this challenge.

The Jews therefore gathered around Him, and were saying to him: “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us plainly.”

He responded: “I told you and you do not believe. . . . I and the Father are one.”

The Jews took up stones again to stone Him.

Jesus answered them, “I showed you many good works from the Father. For which of them are you stoning Me?”

The Jews answered him: “For a good work we do not stone You, but for blasphemy; and because You, being a man, make Yourself out to be God.”

Jesus replied: “If I do not do the works of My Father, do not believe Me; but if I do them, though you do not believe in Me, believe the works, that you may know and understand that the Father is in Me, and I in the Father”                                             (John 10:24–33, 37–39).

Jesus’ answer for those facing this intellectual challenge is simple: If you don’t believe what I say, then evaluate the works that I do, and that evaluation may bring you to knowledge and understanding.

Jesus performed many impressive signs that a man claiming to be God should have been able to do: walking on water, calming a storm, turning water into wine, healing the sick, and raising the dead. Probably the most impressive was getting up and walking away from His own grave.

Did the Resurrection take place? Certainly there were no eye witnesses to the actual event which cannot be scientifically proven (i.e. reproduced in a laboratory), but the historical legal evidence for this event is overwhelming. Dr. Simon Greenleaf, the famous Royal Professor of Law at Harvard University, author of the three volume work A Treatise on the Law of Evidence (still considered to be one of the greatest authorities on the subject of evidence), studied the case of Jesus’ resurrection. In his book An Examination of the Testimony of the Four Evangelists by the Rules of Evidence Administered in the Courts of Justice, Dr. Greenleaf concluded that: “There is more evidence for the historical fact of the resurrection of Jesus Christ than for just about any other event in history.” (A Ready Defense by Josh McDowell, p. 217.)*

Is this a statement of historical substance, or just another legal opinion?

Many intellectuals of Jesus’ time decided in fact that the resurrection didn’t occur; others decided that even if it did occur, it did not prove Jesus was the Christ. They were bound to the first level of intellectuality.

Why?

Because for most of the intellectuals—the “Bible scholars” of that time—Jesus didn’t fit into their own perceptions of what the Messiah would be like. They pictured a conquering king who would throw off the heavy yoke of Roman rule and establish a new nation of Israel. He would also be a High Priest who would obey all the laws of God to perfection. Unfortunately, they expected that this Messiah would also obey all of their laws which they added to the laws of Moses. Moses gave the nation of Israel 612 specific laws. However, in the succeeding generations, scores of rabbis added their own interpretation to those laws and their own additional laws. As result, the average Jew of Jesus’ time had to contend with volume upon volume of legalities in dealing with every day life.

One of the big laws was keeping the Sabbath—a commandment that God gave so that each person would have a day of rest from work to enjoy with his family and his God. However, to this one command­ment, “Don’t work on the Sabbath,” the scribes and Pharisees added things like “Don’t cook, don’t carry water, don’t walk over 400 yards, etc.” All these things were considered work by them.

Digging was considered work. Dragging a chair over to sit on was alright as long as you didn’t make ruts in the dirt with the legs—this was considered digging, and therefore work. Spitting was alright too—as long as you spit on the pavement. If you spit on the ground, that would “dig” out a bit of dirt as it hit the ground, and was technically “digging” and therefore work, and prohibited.

Here was a typical example of God giving a principle for men and women to guide their lives. Instead of the law serving to guide, in the hands of “religious” people, it served to stifle the freedom that God meant to give His people.

Jesus came and kept God’s law perfectly, but He ignored these silly religious laws of men. He wasn’t interested in man’s religion. This angered the intellectuals, who spent much of their time debating the finer points of “the Law.” Jesus also hung out with the drunkards and prostitutes. Certainly a true “holy man” would not contaminate himself by close contact with these “unclean” people.

Because of this, the scribes and Pharisees could not “see” through their own grid of preconceived notions to understand who Jesus really was—in spite of many the miracles that He performed. One of the classic examples of this “blindness” on the part of the intellectuals was when Jesus healed a man who had been born blind.

“As He went along, He saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked Him ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?’

Jesus answered, ‘Neither this man, nor his parents;’ said Jesus, ‘but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. . . . While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.’

Having said this, He spit on the ground, and made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. ‘Go,’ He told him, ‘wash in the pool of Siloam.’

And so he went and washed, and came home seeing. . . .

They brought to the Pharisees him who had been blind. Now the day when Jesus had made the mud, and opened the man’s eyes was a Sabbath. Therefore the Pharisees also asked him how he had received his sight. ‘He put mud on my eyes,’ the man replied, ‘and I washed, and now I see.’

Some of the Pharisees said, ‘This man is not from God, for He does not keep the Sabbath.’

But others asked, “How can a sinner do such miraculous signs?” So they were divided.

Finally they turned again to the (former) blind man, “What do you have to say about Him? It was your eyes He opened.”

The man replied, ‘He is a prophet.’

The Jews still did not believe that he had been born blind and had received his sight until they sent for the man’s parents. ‘Is this your son?,’ they asked. ‘Is this the one you say was born blind? How is it that now he can see?’

‘We know he is our son,’ the parents answered, ‘and we know that he was born blind. But how he can see, or who opened his eyes, we don’t know. Ask him. He is of age; he will speak for himself.’ His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for already the Jews had decided that anyone who acknowledged Jesus was the Christ would be put out of the synagogue. . . .

A second time they summoned the man who had been blind. ‘Give glory to God,’ they said. ‘We know that this man (Jesus) is a sinner.’

He replied, ‘Whether his is a sinner or not, I do not know. One thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see.”

Then they asked him, ‘What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?’

He answered, ‘I have told you already and you do not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become His disciples too?’

Then they hurled insults at him and said, ‘You are this fellow’s disciple! We are disciples of Moses. We know that God spoke to Moses, but as for this fellow, we don’t know where He comes from.’

The man answered, ‘Now that is remarkable! You don’t know where He comes form, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners. He listens to the godly man who does his will. Nobody has ever heard of opening the eyes of a man born blind. If this Man was not from God, He could do nothing.’

To this they replied, ‘You were steeped in sin at birth; how dare you lecture us!’ And they threw him out.

Jesus heard that they had thrown him out, and when he found him, he said, ‘Do you believe in the Son of Man?’

‘Who is He, sir?’ the man said. ‘Tell me so that I might believe in Him.’

Jesus said, ‘You have now seen Him; in fact, He is the one speaking with you.’

Then He said, ‘Lord I believe,’ and he worshiped Him.

Jesus said, ‘For judgement I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind.’

Some Pharisees who were with Him heard Him say this and asked, ‘What? Are we blind too?’

Jesus said, ‘If you were blind, you would not be guilty of sin; but now that you claim you can see, your guilt remains.’” (John 9:1–7, 13–22, 24–41) [ NIV]

Because Jesus healed this man on the Sabbath, which the Pharisees considered to be “work,” therefore violating their interpretation of the fourth commandment (he also spit in the dirt), these intellectuals were “blinded” to the truth by their own “grid” of perceptions. Although they accepted the fact that a great miracle had indeed taken place, they could not see the significance of it.

Jesus didn’t heal me from blindness from birth, but He has performed some incredible miracles in my life: the movement of cargo from the United States to Miskitia—at no charge; the establishment of a successful school system from scratch; the provision of not one but two airplanes; the troubled situations with these airplanes which all had “happy” endings; the manner in which both Laura and I were brought together; how this new ministry “Seek the Lamb” got its start; and probably the most incredible—the change of a person from a self-centered hedonist to a school administrator in one of the most remote mosquito infested corners of the world.

Consider these works that my Lord has done in my life; consider His other recorded miracles; consider the fact that of all the great, holy men, teachers and prophets who have live on Planet Earth, He is the only one who has gotten up from being dead in the grave and walked away.

Do these “works” point you in any particular direction?

Can you take this intellectual challenge? Or are you still being held back by your own grid of preconceived notions and intellectual biases? Will you allow yourself to move into the deeper level of intellectuality, or, in effect, commit real intellectual suicide by not recognizing the significance of this more profound area of thought and reason?

Remember, Jesus said that considering His works may bring you to knowledge and understanding.

After the facts are all tallied, and all intellectual roadblocks are tossed aside, there is one element that is the key to crossing over from the estranged solitude of modern intellectualism into a close personal relationship with the Creator of all wisdom and knowledge.

Jesus made many interesting statements during His life here, but one of the most interesting is recorded in the sixth chapter of John: “No one can come to Me, unless the Father who sent Me draws him; and I will raise him up on the last day” (John 6:44).

Interesting! No one can have the faith to enter into a personal relationship with Jesus unless the Father Himself is pulling him (or her) in that direction.

But who gets pulled? And how?

One of the most popular songs of our time is a song written by a former slave trader. It goes like this:

                 “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,

                         that saved a wretch like me,

                   I once was lost, but now I am found,

                          was blind, but now I see.

                                              

                ‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

                          and grace my fears relieved,

                    How precious did that grace appear

                            the hour I first believed.”

Grace is defined as unmerited favor. Along with John Newton, the author of “Amazing Grace,” I have been the object of the unmerited favor of God. In a time where I was heading nowhere, He reached out and nudged me. He caused there to be an awareness in me that there was something more to this life than fun, success, financial gain, and power. He graced me by igniting my spirit with a desire to know Him.

But why reach out to me? I didn’t do anything to deserve that. In fact, I did many things that I knew were displeasing to God during my high school, college, Navy, Vail, and Hawaii days. If anything God should have been disgusted enough to, instead of “drawing” me to Him, just give me the slam dunk, and go on.

It was only His grace—the fact that He favored me for no reason—that allowed me to feel a desire in my spirit for Him, and then use the intellect that He gave me to make the choice to walk with Him. It’s only His grace that keeps the relationship alive as I now often stumble through this portion of my life.

Grace is that key element which allows knowledge and understand­ing.

Here’s a mental picture. . . .

Imagine placing a steel marble on an inclined surface. The natural movement of the marble will be down the inclination. Now take a strong magnet and hold it close to the marble. Suddenly it stops its downward movement. The marble will go in any direction that the magnet leads, even up the inclined surface. However, if at anytime the marble gets too far away from the magnetic field, it will start back down the incline.

I am that steel marble. The magnet is the grace of my Lord. It pulls me in His direction. I can get as close to the magnet as I like, and go rapidly in any direction that He leads. Or, I have the choice to hang back in any part of the magnetic field, allowing Him to exert only limited force on me and limited influence in the direction that I am moving.

I used to be a glass marble. Glass marbles are not influenced by magnets. They go in any direction that they are rolled, knocked, or pulled. One day I had the ability to chose if I wanted to become a steel marble, or remain a glass one. I liked being a glass marble, but I realized that eventually I’d chip, crack, split, and finally crumble into dust. Steel marbles last forever. That seemed like the better option.

By the grace of my Lord, I was given that choice.

My life since then has been nothing really of my doing. It’s been His grace—His unmerited favor toward me—that had been operating in my life. His magnet has been pulling me. Sometimes, for whatever reasons, I hang back at the edges of the magnetic field. Most of the time I roll as close to the magnet as I can.

You know what?

Every glass marble can choose to become a steel marble.

God extends His grace to everybody during their lives. He continually gives us hints that He is around, desiring to relate to us. Just consider, for instance, that last sunset that you watched, flower that you touched, baby that you held, or collision that you somehow avoided with that other car.

He gives us opportunity through our life experiences, or even through reading another’s experiences, to see overwhelming evidence why we should choose to open ourselves to Him.

And something else: If a steel marble stays close to a magnet long enough, the marble begins to pick up some magnetic properties. If it stays within the magnetic field for an extended period, it becomes a magnet itself.

Chapter 16 Truly Abundant Living

Truly Abundant Living

Most people in the fifteenth century thought that the world was flat. There was a great fear among sailors that if they got too far out of sight of land, they would fall over the edge. Consequently most ships remained within sight of land as they navigated around the European and African coastline.

There were a few exceptions—a few men who had a different “world view.” One of these was a Genovese navigator named Cristoforo Columbo, who had the radical idea that there was land beyond the western horizon—that you could get to India from Europe by sailing west rather than south and east around the tip of Africa. Columbus searched for a patron to sponsor a voyage to test his theory and finally found two in King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain.

In 1492 he set out from Spain, and a few months later ended up ashore on one of the Bahaman islands. A few years later (1504) he finally discovered the “mainland” of Central America when he came ashore at Trujillo, a city on the north coast of Honduras not too far from our home in La Ceiba. It was later on that same voyage that he was lost at sea in a terrible storm for days, and finally sighted a point of land that he named “Cabo Gracias A Dios” or “Cape Thanks to God.” Columbus was obviously very happy to see land and gave thanks to God for finding it.

We do too—Cabo Gracias A Dios is where the Rio Coco empties into the Caribbean Sea and the site of a Project Ezra school..

“World Views” are important.

It was Columbus’ world view that allowed him to brave the dangers of making the voyage, to leave sight of land and sail off into what most believed was the “unknown.”

I made a switch in “world views” in 1981. Before, I was a “Flat-Earther” who sailed my ship always in sight of land (or worldly, temporal values). I ordered my life and made all my choices based on the belief that this life was all there was.

Then in 1981, I heard the Good News and discovered that there was more life beyond the horizon of this existence. My life is now not only the 70 or 80 or (if I am really lucky) 90 years that I live on this planet, but much, much more. This realization has changed completely the way I live these years I have here on Planet Earth. I know that my life here will have an effect on the life to come. Decisions I make here will affect my situation there.

How you view your life will greatly determine how you live it. If your world view is limited to your years on this planet, then certain actions and attitudes will follow, and you will always sail your vessel in sight of land. If, however, you discover that there is land beyond the horizon, your actions and the way you live your life will take a radically different course. You will begin not only living for the moments now, but also the moments to come.

For this reason, your world view is very important.

Here’s mine. It actually began long before I was born.

“Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5).

Long ago I was in a different place . . . in another dimension. From there I was sent on a mission, with many others. . . .

We were men with a mission.

As we walked to the transportation center, the details of the mission brief were fresh on all of our minds: The manner of travel to this foreign land and the effect that traveling through this time and dimensional boundary would have on our memories—in effect erasing the entire conscious memory banks.

Above all was the importance of this mission. Success would ensure all the things that could possibly be desired. Failure would have the most severe of consequences.

As we lined up outside the departure gate, the mandate of the mission blazed through my mind like a giant neon sign: “Come. Climb the mountain and join Me. Become part of My family—forever.”

This was our mission: to become part of our Creator’s family.

Soon it was my turn. I stepped up on the transporter and nodded to the man at the control panel. In a moment my consciousness faded into nothingness. . . .

It was true. It was just like they had told us in the brief. I arrived in this strange land without a single memory of my origins. All that was left was a deep instinct of where I had come from. The giant neon sign proclaiming my mission had faded to a trace of light deep in the recesses of my consciousness.

This strange land was a hostile place, and the deep instinct that I had of the Mission was overwhelmed by the environment and this new body that I found myself inside. Initially, it was a very strange feeling, but after a while I got used to it, and this body and environ­ment began to feel normal.

Often, as I looked around and viewed the other handiwork of my Creator, I sensed again His call, to climb the mountain and be with Him. But this land had many deep valleys, and dry dusty plains. It was hard to find the mountain, and even more difficult to make the decision to climb it. As hard and often unpleasant the life was in the valleys and plains, there was a certain comfort level that was difficult to leave. Besides, there were occasional moments of “happiness” and “contentment.”

As this life went on, I began to feel restless in my existence. Going from one moment of “happiness” to another began to lose its appeal. It all started one day when I watched a group of pigs wallowing in the mud. They certainly seemed happy and content. I realized then that there must be something more. There must be a level of life where happiness and contentment were part of the normal everyday existence—not just fleeting moments interspersed with strife and problematical situations.

That’s when I felt the strong calling of my Creator and the giant neon sign lit up in my consciousness once again. I suddenly remembered again my Mission. “Come. Climb the mountain and join Me. Be part of My family . . . forever.”

I looked up and finally saw the mountain. I looked around at the valleys and plains that I had been living in for so long. That’s when I made my choice. I must get to the top of the mountain.

I was looking for the trail when I met another man who told me, “There are many roads to the top of the mountain.” But then I read Jesus’ words: “I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life; no one comes to the Father, but through Me.”(John 14:6)

He was my “road” to the top. I decided to walk with Him.

That’s when we began our personal relationship, and we started traveling up the mountain together.

Walking up the mountain is difficult. Gravity continually pulls you and tires you out. After walking up for a while, you find it easier to walk along the mountain. You don’t make any progress up the mountain, and soon you realize that unless you are moving up, you are wasting your time. Sometimes you even feel like walking back down toward the valleys and plains that you left behind. A few times I found myself walking downhill. That’s when my Traveling Companion would stop, and wait for me to walk back towards Him. Eventually I would turn back uphill. Thankfully, He’s very patient.

If you persevere in continuing up, you discover that your “walking muscles” strengthen. The road becomes easier. At least it seems easier. Just about the time that the climb begins to seem like a level walk, the terrain gets steeper. My Traveling Companion is always right there with me, even though He’s out of sight. He’s continually giving me help and making the path straighter. He never leads me where I can’t follow. The muscles continue to develop, and soon this new level of steepness begins to take on the feeling of level ground.

As you climb, you begin to notice the freshness of the air. This freshness gives a certain energy that propels you in your climb. Walking away from the pollution of the valleys brings on a new perspective as well. Thinking becomes clearer, and identity becomes more certain.

Changes in altitude bring changes in attitudes.

Conversations with my Traveling Companion brought me to realize that everything I really wanted out of life, He wanted for me too. Although the climb is still strenuous at times, the happiness and contentment level is constantly increasing as I climb. Maybe that was because of Whom I was traveling with. My conversations with my Companion were rubbing off on me because it seems like many of the attitudes that I developed living in the lowlands were being changed the longer I traveled with Him. I began to pick up on His concern for other people. My focus on myself was becoming less and less.

Although I was comfortable for a time in the valleys and plains, I now realize that my place is on the mountain with my Creator, and my most important identity is not who I was or what I accomplished, but being a member of His family.

Suddenly, one day you find yourself at the top of the mountain, surrounded by your family members who have gone on before you. The valleys and plains below suddenly seem like only a bad dream. Your Creator is there Himself, and He is the One who has been traveling with you up the mountain, only now you finally see Him. The energy that flows from Him is one that totally enthralls you as it penetrates your every cell. The first instant that your eyes join His, you realize that your purpose for living is realized. You are a member of His family. Through your experiences climbing the mountain, you have come to know Him quite well, and even taken on a few of His characteristics.

We all are men and women with a mission.

God is calling all of us to climb the mountain and be part of His family.

He is calling in a way that most can hear. God will speak to you, as He did to me, in a voice that is audible to your ears.

He wants the best things in this life for you, and He’s willing to go to extraordinary lengths to provide them, as He did when He brought Laura and me together.

All the things that you need in this life, He’s willing to freely give. He’s provided for us in numerous ways these last years—He’s met every need and given more.

He created you in His image and, as the Master Potter, He desires to form you into His character. He uses experiences in this life to allow that to happen, once we are willing. My life and work among the Miskitos has obviously benefited them, but the main beneficiary of these many years of service has been me—a self-centered hedonist who finally began looking up at the mountain. I’m just another lump of clay that He has graciously worked with over these past years.

He is a Creator who desires to have a personal relationship which each one of us—

Not a religious experience;

Not an estranged isolation;

Not a punitive  separation;

But a close familial relationship in which we can be free to enjoy life as it was meant to be—a truly abundant life.

All He’s looking for is willingness on the part of each individ­ual.

Willingness to climb the mountain. . . .

Willingness to be just another lump of clay in the Potter’s hands.

“I have come that they may have life,

  and might have it abundantly”

(John 10:10)