To Live Is Christ [1 ed.] 9780834126206

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THE STORY OF THE FIRST NAZARENE MISSIONARY IN NICARAGUA DAVID RAMIREZ, PH.D.

MISSIONARY SERIES

H E LEN TEMPLE

TO LIVE IS CHRIST The Story of David Ramirez, Ph.D. First Nazarene in Nicaragua by Helen Temple

Nazarene Publishing House Kansas City, Missouri

Copyright 1988 by Nazarene Publishing House ISBN: 083-411-2353 Printed in the United States of America First Printing, 1961 Cover: Royce Ratcliff

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Contents Foreword Foreword to First Edition 1 Boyhood in Popoyuapa 2 Out of the Nest 3 Cast Out, but Not Forsaken 4 Riding the Crest 5 Disaster and Deliverance 6 Back in Nicaragua 7 New Trouble and Answered Prayer 8 Laying the Foundation 9 Harvest Epilogue

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7 9 19

27 37 44 54 65

72 78 89

Foreword The story of David Ramirez, philosopher, linguist, tutor, nurse, concert pianist, composer, tailor, cook, and preacher of the gospel, is an epic of consecration, courage, and sacrifice. The information contained herein has been obtained from people with whom David liy~d in Chicago and missionaries who knew and worked with him in Nicaragua. The book is a reprint, first published in 1961. It is a story, however, that should be read again-by those who have read it before, and also a new generation of readers who may never have heard of David Ramirez, the first Nazarene in Nicaragua. His story is particularly of interest in light of the war now going on in Nicaragua. Terms such as "Foreign Missions;' appearing in the first edition, have been retained as they were current usage at the time the events took place. To read about David Ramirez is to be challenged anew to a life of total commitment to Christ and missions. -THE PUBLISHERS

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Foreword to First Edition For a number of years it has seemed to the Department of Foreign Missions that the story of David Ramirez, our Nazarene pioneer in Nicaragua, should be written. Preliminary research revealed that some of the incidents in the life of this remarkable man have already slipped from the memories of those who knew him. In this effort to preserve the story of his outstanding contribution to the work of our church in his native land we have drawn heavily upon the knowledge of those with whom he lived while in Chicago, and the missionaries who knew and worked with him in Nicaragua. We are deeply grateful to all those who have given so unstintingly of their time and energy to provide the information, and to trace for us those elusive facts that have made David's story a unified whole. We are especially indebted to Mrs. Harold Stanfield, who gave us the original outline of David's life, and subsequently filled in some of the missing links of the story; to Mrs. Robert Ingram, whose diary records of their visits to Nicaragua in the beginning days were exceedingly valuable; to Mrs. Robert Wellmon, who provided some of the information she had learned from David; to Mrs. Cora Walker MacMillan for the interesting, amusing, and sometimes deeply moving experiences she shared with us from her days as a missionary in Nicaragua; to Rev. C. G. Rudeen for his reminiscences, particularly concerning the Bible school; to Mr. Raul Ramirez Pena, the younger of the two nephews who lived with David during his later years; to Mrs. Rhea Miller for her information concerning Chicago days, and her valuable leads to others who had material about David; to Mrs. Winona Kell for the invaluable information she provided about David's life while in the United States, especially in Chicago, and for the actual 7

copies of David's letters written from Nicaragua to her and to Dr. H. V. Miller; and to Dr. Honorato Reza, who took time from his heavy schedule to interview Mr. Pena while in Nicaragua, and who graciously served as our reference authority whenever we came up against problems regarding Latin-American customs. To all of these we express our sincere appreciation and gratitude.

Department of Foreign Missions Executive Secretary

GEORGE COULTER,

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Boyhood in Popoyuapa December 12, 1880, dawned warm and humid in the little village of Popoyuapa, Nicaragua. Rains that had fallen for many days previous had turned the unpaved "main" street into a mudhole. Pigs and chickens wandered contentedly in its wet ooze. Barefooted children splashed through the muck, shouting and laughing as they dodged around the little burros, almost hidden beneath their enormous loads. Workmen carrying machetes sauntered leisurely toward the outlying fields, calling a cheery greeting to their friends as they passed. All the busy commerce of the waking village passed noisily and unheeding by a tiny cane-stalk-and-mud-walled hut, huddled under a drab palm-leafed roof that, sometimes more effectively than others, shed the endless rain. There was nothing about the shabby hut to distinguish it on the outside from the dozens of others just like it that straggled along the muddy street. But inside its dark, windowless walls a tiny new life began that day that was one day to become very important to the kingdom of God and the Church of the Nazarene in Nicaragua. They named him David-David Ramirez. Mother and grandmother were relieved and even glad that the child was a boy. The fact that there was no legal father in the home was no cause for embarrassment, for half the homes of that area were 9

just the same. But with or without a father, a son was always better. A son could earn his living much easier and at a much younger age than a girl. He could make his own way in the world. Any way you looked at it they felt they were fortunate that this firstborn child was a boy. Popoyuapa was a fanatically religious village. The great, ornate Catholic church on the village square towered over the shabby homes like a massive, brooding giant, watching his subjects with jealous conc~m. Within its walls, crowded with richly robed images, was the famous "Jesus del Rescate"-"the black Christ." Once a year, during a special week of fiesta, pilgrims thronged into Popoyuapa by the thousands to worship the image. The rest of the year it was only a dusty, poverty-ridden, sleepy village. David Ramirez' mother and grandmother were known and admired throughout the village for their great religious devotion. Daily, in blazing sun or pouring rain, they faithfully made their way to the church in the square, there to pray before the images of the saints, and whenever they could squeeze from their meager earnings the price, to burn a candle of devotion before the Virgin. Within a week after David was born, his mother wrapped him securely in a red cloth to protect him from lurking diseases, and carried him to church. Down the dimly lit aisle she walked, stopping briefly to breathe a prayer of thanksgiving before her favorite saint, St. Benedict; then on down the long way to the beautiful statue of the Virgin. Fumbling in her ragged shawl for her penny candle, she lighted it and placed it reverently at the statue's feet. Bowing her head she repeated mechanically, "Hail Mary, mother of God .. ." The statue's unseeing eyes stared blankly over the worshiper's head, but David Ramirez' mother went home feeling that she had done everything possible to protect her baby son's life. 10

By the time David was two years old he proudly carried his own candle to light and place before the Virgin. Brighteyed and eager, he lisped, without prompting, his mother's faithful petition, "Hail Mary, mother of God, hear our prayer ..." There was a strange sincerity about the child's petition, even at that early age-a devotion that was amazing in its intensity. The infant David loved beautiful things. A butterfly, a flower, a brilliantly colored bird made him shout with delight. "Lindo! Lindo!/I he would call, clapping his tiny hands gleefully. At three he was enraptured by the beauty of the church where he worshiped. The church with its lofty ceiling, its ornately carved altar, its many niches filled with the saints' images, richly garbed in velvet and silk, to David was the very dwelling place of God. He would stand in the sanctuary for minutes, his sensitive face lit up with childish reverence, as he reveled in the beauty and richness around him. His mother and grandmother encouraged the little boy in his devotion to the church, hoping that it might foretell a comfortable position within the church someday when he was older. As the rainy season that marked David's third year ended, the muddy quagmires in the unpaved streets began to dry up. Ankle-deep velvety silt billowed up in clouds of choking dust around every passerby. Adults covered their faces with cloth to keep the smothering dust from their lungs. Little David was not so fortunate. The powder-fine silt filled the house and the air outside. There was no crack or crevice that it did not penetrate. Before the rain had come again, David succumbed to the dust's onslaught. Doubled up in a comer of the little hut, gasping for breath, his thin face took on the drawn, haggard look of an old man as he battled with asthma. 11

His labored breathing was like a knife in the heart of his mother. Sympathetic friends ·suggested their best home remedies, but none relieved the exhausted little boy. In de~peration, she wrapped the child in a heavy shawl and carried him to the church. Kneeling before the image of St. Benedict, she poured out her heart in a broken petition for the healing of her son. She pledged herself to make any sacrifice he asked, if he would only hear her prayer. Rising from her knees, she lift~d David up to the saint. "Kiss St. Benedict," she commanded 'the startled child. "Kiss him so that he will heal you." Terrified at the ugly, dark face so close to his own, David . screamed with fright and struggled to get down. She spanked him and held him closer. "Kiss him, David, kiss him!" she commanded, half-hysterical with fear. "Quick! Before he becomes angry." But the boy screamed louder and kicked wildly to get away from the dreadful apparition before him. In despair his mother turned away and carried him home. There was no hope for her son no~ she was certain, for he had surely offended the only saint who could help him. But in spite of his lack of appreciation for St. Benedict, David survived that terrible dry season. In the years that followed, two little brothers, Simon and Agustin, joined the family in the tiny one-roomed shack. With three hungry children to feed, David's mother and grandmother had to work from daylight till dark to provide even the barest minimum of food needed to keep them all alive. David was left with the responsibility of mothering his younger brothers through the long days. He learned to cook before he was seven. Hunger taught him to watch the fire constantly beneath the black pot of beans that his grandmother put on to cook before she left for work. When he forgot, as he sometimes did, and the fire went out, he learned to pile the dried twigs

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just so between the three flat rocks that made their stove; then light them and fan gently with a palm leaf until the tiny flame caught the twigs and they began to bum. Then, as carefully as a woman, the little boy would add larger sticks until he had the pot of beans bubbling again. He learned to boil the coarse bananas that were their bread, and to cook the rice without burning it, for their evening meal. When David had just turned seven, his baby sister, Marcelina, was born. She was a tiny, frail little thing. Sometimes it almost seemed nice to know that he had a baby sister. But most of the time she meant only more work for the little boy-mother of the brood of children. David's mother was never very well after Marcelina came. She tried to go back to work, but many times could not make it through the day. Then there came a time when she could not work at all, and in a few weeks she died and the aging grandmother was left with responsibility for the little family. To spare his grandmother's limited strength, David took over the care of his baby sister at night, as well as through the day. When she cried, he would get up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and prepare the atol, a thin gruel of milk, cornstarch, and sugar, put it into a bottle, and feed her. There were nights when it seemed to the exhausted little boy as though the child cried every hour of the night. Daytimes were better. While the younger boys played dose by, David could leave his sister in their care and go for fallen limbs in the woods, to replenish their meager fuel supply. David loved the woods. His beauty-hungry spirit drank in the bright colors of the flowers, the flashing brilliance of the tropical birds and butterflies, the quiet green splendor of the trees. Sometimes the woods seemed almost like church in their peacefulness. There were days when he was almost certain that he saw angels or spirits of some kind floating through the trees at a distance. He wondered if they were trying to talk to 13

him. But though he listened ever so carefully, he never could hear what they were saying. When he talked about them to his grandmother, she was pleased and a little awestruck. Could it be, she wondered, that this small boy with his eager, questioning mind, really was destined for some special work in the church? There was one day in particular, as David was searching for firewood, that he was startled to see a good friend of his grandmother's standing a short distance from him, leaning against a tree. She watched him silently, with a quiet smile on her lips. David was frightened. What was she doing here in the woods by his home? She lived many miles away. When she did come to visit, which was not often, she went to the house, not into the forest. He stared at her fearfully until she slowly faded away and disappeared. Then he fled to his grandmother and told her what what he had seen. "You couldn't have," she remonstrated. "That woman is very ill. She isn't able to walk across the room, to say nothing of traveling 20 miles." "But I did see her, Grandmother," David declared. "She stood against a big cassava tree not 20 feet from me. I can tell you exactly how she looked." He described in detail the clothing the woman had been wearing. David's grandmother was disturbed. To see saints or angels was one thing. But to see visions of living people was quite different. Perhaps the boy was letting his imagination run away with him and needed to be curbed. She began inquiring about the woman, hoping to establish definite proof that David had been mistaken, to cure him of his fault before it became serious. But questioning revealed that the woman had died at the very hour David had seen her in the woods, and she had been wearing the very clothing he had described. David's grandmother was not sure whether to be relieved or more troubled than ever. The boy evidently was not lying, 14

but what kind of mystical being was he, that the spirits of departed friends would visit him? She said nothing to David, but she pondered many hours over what she could do with this unusual child that had been left in her care. Sometimes the boy's keenness was frightening. He would come home from church and recite whole sections of the solemn Latin phrases the priest had used in the mass. She scolded him sharply, feeling that it was somehow sacrilegious for those words to be spoken anywhere but in church. But she was secretly proud of him too, for who else in the village, except the priest, could recite those words from memory? There were other times when the young lad's questioning mind drove her to distraction as he sought for answers to the hundreds of mysteries that puzzled him. Some of David's friends went to school. Listening to them tell of the fabulous things they learned, and seeing them demonstrate their skill in writing and reading. David was filled with a great hunger to learn. He dreamed of the day when his next youngest brother would be old enough to take over the care of the other two. Surely then he could go to school too! But it was not to be. For when Simon was old enough to assume David's household responsibilities, David had to go to work. There was not much that a boy his age could do in a village as small as Popoyuapa. Some days he earned a few pennies tending someone's cattle or pigs or hoeing someone's garden. Some days he cut grass and weeds, swinging a machete half as big as himself. Or if none of these jobs was available, he would wander into the village square, hoping that a shopkeeper or the priest, or someone, would offer him a penny to run an errand, or even give him a scrap of food to stay the constant hunger of his never-filled stomach. Occasionally he sold homemade candy or tortillas from house to house. 15

Sometimes these errands took him into the better homes of the village. Here he looked for the first time upon a new world. White scarves on the tables, brilliant wall hangings, even rugs on the floors, were like food and drink to his beautystarved soul. He gazed in wonder and was filled with a deep hunger to take some of this loveliness into his own home. He found some scraps of old flour sacks too small to be of use for clothing, and washed them as white as he could. Then cutting them into small squares, he fringed the edges and placed them proudly on the bare rough-board shelves in their home. A bright bouquet of flowers in a gourd of water made it look almost like the homes he had gazed at with such envy and longing. His grandmother did not comment, but she left the decorations where they were. , Walking to the village one morning in his search for work, David saw some especially beautiful flowers growing beside the road. His first thought was to take them home; then, on a sudden impulse, he carried them instead to the church, and tiptoeing in, placed them at the feet of the Virgin. That day he found work that lasted for several hours and paid him well. He was sure the Virgin had sent it to him. Faithfully after that he placed a fresh bouquet of flowers at the feet of the statue before he began looking for work. Several weeks passed, with varying success in obtaining work. Then one morning, as David placed his offering before the Virgin, a flower stem caught on the hem of her robe and pulled it aside, revealing a comer of rough, unfinished lumber. David was puzzled. What in the world was a raw piece of board like that doing here? He looked around. There was no one else in the church. Swiftly he lifted the robe and peeped under. There was nothing there but a crude framework of unplaned boards. He dropped the robe and stood trembling, waiting to be struck dead for his sacrilege. Nothing happened. 16

Stunned and heartsick, the little boy walked slowly out of the church. Was that all there was to his beautiful Virgin? Just a painted face and rich robes? How could those hear his prayers? And if the Virgin was like this, how much less must the other saints be! His quick mind leaped from question to question, confused and frightened at this sudden blow to his faith. If he could only talk to someone, ask about the fears that were troubling him, perhaps that one could put his heart at peace; but he dared tell no one what he had done. He did not carry flowers to place before the Virgin after that, though he attended church faithfully with his grandmother, and prayed before the images of the saints as he always had. He felt the need of prayer, and he knew no one else to whom he could pray. On one of his daily trips to the village square in search of work, David heard music far down at the opposite end of the open street. It was lively, joyous music, that drew him like a magnet. He ran to see what kind of procession could be coming that would use such a jolly tune. When he reached the spot, he was disappointed to see only a man and a woman, singin~ as the woman played a small organ. David stopped to watch, fascinated by the sounds that came out as her fingers moved over the keys. Some day I shallieam to do that, he resolved suddenly, thrilled with the beauty of the music. He listened raptly, humming the strange tune under his breath. A stinging blow on his ear startled him into abrupt reality. He whirled, to see one of his grandmother's friends, and ducked from her reaching fingers. "Get out of here. Quick!" she scolded. "Those people are heretics. They11 steal your soul and lock you up in hell." . David fled, rubbing his ear; but even as he ran, a dozen questions were tumbling over and over in his mind. How could wicked people make such beautiful music? Why were their 17

songs bad? How could such ordinary people as they seemed to be steal a person's soul? But as always there seemed to be no answers to his questions. Impatiently, the little boy vowed to himself that when he grew up he would learn and learn and never stop learning until he knew everything there was to know. Then he would no longer be troubled with questions that teased and tantalized and left him no peace.

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Out of the Nest As the years passed, the problem of feeding and clothing four growing children became an increasing burden to David Ramirez' grandmother. Somehow, she realized, she must find relief. No one would take the younger ones, she knew, for they were too small to be of any help to anyone; but perhaps for David, now a big boy of 14, something could be done. Boys of David's age sometimes worked as farm laborers, or apprentices of a sort in some home that produced goods to sell, but she did not want that for him. She had known for a long time that David was unusually bright, and she had never given up the secret hope that someday he would find a position in the church. She was determined not to thwart that dream if she could help it. But she realized, too, that her own strength was giving out, and she must do something soon. Confiding her concern to the village priest, he advised her to find a well-to-do home where David could be given the training and education he needed, and yet would be under the nurture of the church. He promised to see what he could do to find such a family. It seemed like a wise suggestion, and she was relieved when the answer came in a few days that there was a wealthy family in Granada interested in having David live with them. In exchange for his services about the home, they would give him such education as they could provide. 19

When the proposition was explained to David he was elated, but he hid his feelings quickly. What if his grandmother refused to let him go? He looked at her. She was smiling and nodding. "You should do this," she said emphatically. ''It is what you need. And it will help me." Reassured, David eagerly agreed to go. The new home in Granada was dazzlingly beautiful to the boy from Popoyuapa. The cool, high-ceilinged, spacious rooms, hung with richly embroidered drapes; the dining room, where strange and delicious foods were served with gracious dignity; the patio with its colorful flowers and cool shade trees-all seemed like some fabulous palace. David's beauty-starved soul was in ecstasy. He tried eagerly to copy his foster parents' table manners, their gracious words of greeting for their guests, their mannerisms and gestures. Sometimes he blundered, and in an agony of embarrassment he would flee to the solitude of the patio, savagely berating himself for his stupidity. David's new employers soon discovered his unusually brilliant mind, and arranged his duties so that he could study with a private tutor each day. His capacity for knowledge seemed exhaustless. No matter how difficult the assignment or how exhaustive the tutor's demands, David was always reluctant to have the study period end. "I have so much to learn," he would say, sighing. "I must work harder and faster," Everything about David's new life was completely different from his early years; yet it seemed to him that this was the life for which he had been born-this was his natural element. Within a few months his manners and charm were so identical with those of his foster family that visitors assumed he had always lived there. His dress was as impeccable as theirs, his air as assured and gracious as though he had been born to this social level. The old life faded away like a bitter dream, but 20

David never forgot his family. He loved them dead)" though the poverty in w~ich they lived was distasteful to him. Now his dreams turned to plans for becoming wealthy, so that he could give his grandmother and brothers and sister everything they could want. With spending money of his own, one of the first things David decided to do was to have a mass said for his dead mother. In all the years since her death they had never been able to pay for a single mass to help her through the fires qf purgatory. Now he could. He arranged with the priest of Granada for the day and the hour of the special service. When he arrived at the church he was deeply moved to see another there-a woman who was a stranger to him, but who evidently had learned about the service and had come to honor his mother. He sat down quietly and listened to the solemn Latin ceremony. He wished his grandmother could have been in the service, for she had sorrowed many times because she was unable to buy a mass for her daughter. He would write the priest in Popoyuapa today and tell him to tell his grandmother that the mass had been given. As the service ended, David graciously thanked the stranger for coming to honor his mother. "Your mother?" cried the woman, astonished. "I paid the priest for this mass for my deceased husband!" David's quick temper flared. So, he thought angrily, this is the trick the priest has played on us! Never again will I give him a chance to trick me! From that day on, he refused to attend a service in the Catholic church. The priest missed David, for he had been very faithful at the Sunday services. When he met him on the street a few weeks later, he demanded an explanation of his absence. "111 tell you why," David said bluntly, his anger rising again as he remembered. "I paid you exactly what you asked 21

for a special mass for my mother. And you lied to me. You cheated me. You took money from another for a mass for her husband and tried to make each of us think it was his mass alone. If that is the way of the church, then I have no more use for it." The priest flushed. There was little he could say in defense of his action. He fell back to a different tack. "Careful, David, careful/' he admonished sternly. "You'd better watch your tongue. You are in grave danger of l?ecoming a heretic." "For objecting to being cheated and lied to?" he demanded hotly. He turned on his heel and walked away, fearful of getting his foster parents into trouble. His experience as a child in the Popoyuapa church, when he had discovered that the saints were only empty frames of rough lumber, came back to his mind. Were all priests deceitful? he wondered. And what about the nuns? Were they like the priests? Who could tell? They came to the doors pleading poverty and beggjng for money, even from the poorest families. Perhaps they really lived in wealth behind their high convent walls. It was a strange thought, and he found it hard to put it from his mind. What if he were right? What if they were rich and living in splendor? What a travesty that would be, with the poor people gjving away their last pennies to help them! The more he considered the fantastic thought, the more his imagjnation grew concerning what the convents were like inside their silent walls. Suddenly he conceived the daring idea of going in and finding out for himself. Changjng his clothes for disheveled work garments, he took the back streets to the Granada convent and crept in through the massive gates, hoping to discover all he needed to know and slip out again without being caught. But it was not that easy. He had scarcely reached the kitchen before he was discovered by a shrieking nun who quickly spread the alarm. 22

Confronted by the mother superior, he babbled like an idiot, mumbling that he was hungry and had come seeking help from those who were known abroad for their charity. Their alarm quickly turned to pity for one so afflicted, and the nuns seated David at the kitchen table and brought him a plate of food. He wolfed it down as he thought a starved man would; then with an incoherent jumble of thanks and invoked blessings from all the saints, he bowed his way out and shambled down the street until he was safely away. Then he fled to the safety of his own home before he could be recognized. He had not learned much, but it had been a great lark, and now that it was over, he thoroughly enjoyed it. Strolling along the streets of Granada some weeks later, David heard lively music playing. Instantly he recognized it as the same kind of music he had heard on the street in Popoyuapa as a small boy. He walked doser, crossing the street to be at a safe distance, yet near enough to see all that was happening. He still had a healthy fear of evangelical heretics and had no intention of getting close enough to be tricked into anything. He walked very slowly, listening to what the group on the corner were saying. There words had no meaning for him, but they stuck in his mind like cockleburs. "Christ is my Savior," said one with a glowing face. "Since He has come into my heart I am always happy." "It's wonderful to know my sins are forgiven," began another, as David passed out of hearing. Their strange words were disturbing. What could they mean? David wondered. How did anyone know that Christ had forgiven him? It was the priest who forgave sins. And the familiar way they spoke of "my" Savior as though He were a personal Friend was frightening. Why did God not strike them dead for their audacity? Was the devil protecting them perhaps?

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Again David's mind was filled with questions and turmoil. But this time he was old enough to search for the answers, and he realized that the quickest place to find them was probably in the evangelicals' meetings. At first he stood around near their street meetings, but what little he heard was in such broken phrasing that he could not make head nor tail out of it. The meetings were too public for him to dare to go up dose. There seemed to be only one way to satisfy his curiosity and that was to go into their meeting pl,ace some night and find out for himself what they really taught. Surely, he comforted himself, if he could get himself out of the dilemma in the convent he could find a way to escape any trap these simple folk might try to lay for him. It was easy enough to get into their meeting place. There were no guards posted, and no one challenged him as he mingled with the others and walked casually through the door. He chose a seat at the back, where he could get out quickly if it was necessary. It was a strange sort of place-as bare as an empty storeroom, There were no images, no ornaments, no carpets, not even a crucifix on the wall. At one side of a low platform was a small organ, and when someone played it, the whole crowd began to sing. They were singing the same kind of livel~ joyful songs they had sung at the street meetings-the sort of tunes David had always associated with feasts and celebrations, not at all like the solemn chants of his own church. But they were attractive, and seemed to sing themselves into his mind until he wished he knew the words, so that he could sing them too. Then someone stood up and began to read from a blackcovered book that David guessed was the Protestant Bible. He had always heard that it was an evil book. If they did practice black magic and sorcery, surely this would be where he would hear it. He listened carefully. But the words were about Jesus Christ and some of His followers. A few names like Matthew

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and John and Peter he recognized. There was nothing evil or mysterious about them. Perhaps they recognized me as a stranger and are not reading the magic portions tonight, he thought cautiously. When the leader finished reading, he began to talk to the people in Spanish, explaining that all men were sinners and that only Jesus Christ could forgive them and reunite them with God the Father. David listened with keen interest, weighing the man's words against all that he had always believed. The claims he made were so utterly fantastic and contrary to David's faith that it was impossible to accept them, but they were not evil. David rose to leave, deciding that this was just another strange cult like some of the heathen religions he had read about. But the Christians had noticed his interest and intercepted him before he reached the door. They welcomed him warmly and invited him to come back. David's innate courtesy made him reply as courteously as his hosts. The missionary pressed his advantage and held out a Bible. "I noticed your interest in the Word of God," he said pleasantly. "Wouldn't you like to take a copy home with you and read it for yourself!' David knew that he was not supposed to accept the Protestant Book. But he reasoned that it would be safer to take it and read it in secret than to risk coming to this public place to hear it read. He reached out and took the proffered Book. It was not difficult to find ways to read the Bible without being seen. His foster parents knew of his love for reading and had given him the use of their library. In his free time David often took books to his room or to a shady spot in the secluded garden. Quite unnoticed, he slipped the Bible in among the others and read it undetected. He did not know where to begin in the strange Book but dipped in at random throughout, searching for something that would prove that it was a book of magic and evil. At length he 25

discovered the names of Mary and Joseph and Jesus, and began to read in earnest, determined to see where they departed from the truth. Reading carefully, weighing each new fact, his own intelligence finally forced him to admit that there were no evil teachings in this Book. Where it differed from what he had been taught, he considered it carefully, reasoning out which seemed the most likely to be true. In the end, he concluded that the Book was right, and the evangelicals were teaching the truth. It was one thing to admit whafwas the truth. What to do about it was quite another. His intellectual honesty demanded that he follow truth wherever it might lead. But the cost could be dear. He weighed it carefully. It would be impossible to keep his faith secret if he went with the evangelicals. When his foster parents discovered his defection from the church, what would they do? David realized that he could easily lose all the things that had come to mean the most to him. In the end his integrity won out. He could not pretend to believe what his heart no longer accepted. He went back to the evangelical meeting and publicly confessed his faith in Christ and his need to know Him as his personal Savior. Walking home through the quiet streets his heart was filled with a deep peace and joy, and the certainty that here at last he had found the answer to all his questions. All, that is, but one; and that, he suspected, would all too soon be answered: What were his foster parents going to do when he told them what he had done?

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3

Cast Out, but Not Forsaken Deciding that aggression might be the best strategy, David did not wait for his foster parents to discover the change in his life. He approached them boldly and told them of his conversion. It was a stormy session. Alternately pleading, weeping, and threatening, they argued and begged David to give up this dangerous path. As a last resort they begged the priest to intervene and see if he could bring David to his senses . The priest in turn scolded, threatened, and angrily denounced David for his apostasy. "I warned you," he said finally. "I warned you when you were so impertinent at the time of your mother's mass that if you persisted in your undisciplined ways you would end up a heretic. You know the consequences if you don't repent." Then he pronounced the dread words that once would have brought David to his knees in fearful contrition: "The church has only one fate for a heretic-excommunication." David only smiled. "You can never take away from me what I have in my heart," he said quietly. The published notice of David's public excommunication from the church set the tongues of Granada to wagging, to the humiliation and displeasure of his foster parents. They tried to 27

the last moment to get David to return to the church, but he was unmoved. At length the service was held-not in the sanctuary, but in the public square. To show the heinousness of David's sin the altar cloths were brought out and burned as the priest pronounced the solemn curse upon David, reading him out of the church, denying him its comfort and support through his life, and at death, and consigning him to the torments of hell forever. The only grief David felt in the whole transaction was over the strained relations between him and his foster parents, for he loved them dearly, and their anger was the bitterest cross he had to bear. As his former friends left him, fearing the anathema of the priest, David drew into closer fellowship with the little group of evangelicals. He missed the beauty and solemnity of his old church, but he loved the freedom and the spirit of the Protestant worship. He felt the presence of God in their services, as the Word was read and the messages were given. He loved reading the Bible for himself and studying its meaning for him. Enjoying his new relationship with God, David became increasingly concerned about his friends of other days whose lives were so filled with sin and trouble. He prayed for them, and when he met them tried to tell them of salvation, but they were unimpressed. But as David prayed, the conviction became steadily stronger that God was calling him to preach the gospel. He felt totally unprepared for such a task. The missionaries had books, but David knew very little English. There was no Bible school anywhere near where he could go to study. Quite unexpectedly the missionaries provided the answer. They had been watching David with great interest. Like others, they had recognized his keen intellectual ability and had seen the attraction the Scriptures had for him. Often they had lis28

tened in amazement as he repeated long passages of Scripture from memory in his testimonies. Here, they felt, was a young man capable of great leadership among his people if he were trained for the task. When they were sure of their plans, they broached it to David. A missionary was going home on furlough soon. Would he like to go to the United States and secure his education, with the understanding that he would come back to Nicaragua and preach? The magnificence of the offer took David's breath away. To go to the United States of America was a dream every young Nicaraguan talked about, but few ever expected to real~ ize it. With tears of excitement and pleasure he thanked the missionaries over and over for the privilege, promising to do his best to make them proud of him, and someday to repay them for their kindness. When David told his foster parents of the plan, they were displeased, yet relieved at the same time. Displeased, for they had hoped that, after the first flush of his new religion had worn off, he would return to the church; and yet relieved, because if David went away to the United States it would lift some of the onus of the priest's displeasure from their shoul~ ders, without their having to dismiss David from their home. This they loved him too much to do. They provided David with his passage money and a new Palm Beach suit and straw hat, as well as a small sum to help him get started in his new life. In the few weeks that remained before leaving, David went home to Popoyuapa to say good-bye to his family. His grandmother wept as she said farewell, for she knew she would probably not see David again. The boys and Marcelina cried too, but their tears were mingled with some of David's excitement. The United States of America was a fabulous land of riches, they were sure, and they expected that very soon

29

their big brother would come back to them loaded with gifts and money. Back in the city of Granada, David packed his few belongings and said good-bye to his foster parents, promising to remember their training while he was in the strange new land. He felt very smart and sophisticated in his new suit and hat, and walked about with a proud bearing as he bowed graciously to all who had come to see him off. The boat trip was a thrilling experience. He had occasionally been on the small boats that ran between Rivas and the island of Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua, but this was his first voyage on an ocean liner. He enjoyed every moment of the passage through the Caribbean, around the tip of Florida, and up the coast to New York. It was December, the month of David's birth, when they left Nicaragua, and the weather had been warm and rainy. Through the Caribbean and around Florida it had remained pleasantly warm, and the passengers enjoyed the deck chairs in the sunshine. But as they moved up the Atlantic coast, the weather became increasingly cold and disagreeable. David had never experienced freezing weather before. The raw winds cut through his thin suit as though it were tissue paper. He was chilled to the marrow of his bones, and stayed in his cabin, wondering how he was going to stand it to live in the miserable climate of the United States long enough to secure the education he knew he must have. They reached New York on a blustery, cold day. As the ship docked, everyone crowded on deck looking excitedly for friends in the crowd below. Reluctantly David left his warm room and joined them. One quick glance around made him stiffen with embarrassment. All the passengers had changed from the casual ship's clothing they had worn on the way, into 30

overcoats and felt hats and gloves. Only David was still in his tropical suit and straw hat. Why had he not realized that he would need other clothing in the north? he thought miserably. Why had the missionaries not told him? He looked around quickly, and beckoned to a shipboard friend whom he feIt he could trust. "Here:' he whispered, handing him some money. "Go ashore as soon as you can and get me some suitable clothing will you? An overcoat and a felt hat, at least." Then David fled to his stateroom and would not come out until he was dressed like the rest. The missionary who had accompanied David took him directly to his school-a school that specialized in educating foreign students. He was assigned a room and provided with the essential bedding and linens to get him settled. From that point on, David Ramirez was on his own. He looked around his room with a critical eye. The dormitory was clean but very plain, and the furnishings were the barest minimum needed by any student to get by. What students wanted in addition they were expected to provide for themselves. The food was good, though plain and simple, but it seemed very strange to the palate of a Nicaraguan, used to the hot, peppery sauces and foods of his native land. As soon as David was oriented to his school schedule, he began exploring his first North American city. He was amazed at the houses-most of them two and three stories high, and solidly built of wood or brick. It was evident that no one in America was poor. Every house seemed to have four or five rooms and many of them he was quite sure had more. And the churches! Some of the Protestant churches were as large or larger than the Catholic. He decided to visit them all and see what they were like, and he would start with the largest one he could find. 31

Even though his knowledge of English was very meager, David immensely enjoyed his visit to his first American church. He did not understand the message, but he fell in love with the high vaulted ceiling, and the great organ with its rich tones was the most magnificent thing he felt he had ever heard. The people were intrigued by the handsome young Nicaraguan with the black, curly hair and flashing smile. They welcomed him warmly, and invited him to return. Soon they were inviting him to their homes, and David accepted so graciously that they felt they were the recipients of a favor instead of giving one. David's first view of well-to-do American homes filled him with awe and envy. The great overstuffed furniture in their living rooms, the soft carpets, and the white china and sparkling crystal on heavy, white linen cloths nearly overwhelmed him. This was really living! What he had always heard must be true-Americans were all millionaires. David was a natural actor. The skill that had come to his rescue in the convent stood him in good stead in America. He adapted to the homes of the well-to-do as easily as though he had been born there. His social training in the home of his foster parents enabled him to feel at ease now. With scarcely a second thought, David found himself speaking of them as though they had been his real parents, and any mention of his mother and grandmother or the thatched hut at Popoyuapa was forgotten. With every visit to the genteel homes of the city, David became more dissatisfied with his school life. The rooms were bare, the classes difficult, the students' manners boorish and unrefined. Worst of all, the principal and teachers were women. To have to take orders from a woman day after day was more than a proud Nicaraguan could stand. At the end of

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the first year he dropped out and determined to make his own way in this wonderful country. His plans for returning to Nicaragua as a preacher were pushed into the background. First he must find a way to earn a living. One of his wealthy friends in the city came to his rescue, inviting him to live with them. When David politely demurred, insisting that he must earn his own way, his friends insisted, assuring him that just sitting at their table with them and training their children in the proper etiquette and table manners would be pay enough. Word of David's unique contribution to the education of the children got around, and David was invited out often into the wealthy homes of the city, to charm the elders and be an example to their children. Some, when they learned that David was endeavoring to earn his own living, paid him well to dine with them each week as a part of their children's training. What a delightfully easy way to earn a living! David was amazed. He accompanied his hosts to concerts and parties, took their children to museums and art galleries, and while he was paid for educating the children, he was gaining an education for himself. As soon as he had established himself in this one city, his dreams began to enlarge. Conversation had already taught him that Boston and New York were considered the centers of culture and refinement. He began laying his plans to move there. He had no fear about earning his way. If wealthy families in this small city were willing to pay him to eat in their homes and educate their children, he knew that families in a great cultural center would be willing to pay him more. He was right. Once he reached Boston he found it very easy to make the acquaintance of some of the wealthy people, and his Latin charm and politeness captivated them just as quickly as it had those in the little college city where he had 33

been. Soon he was as busy as he wanted to be, dining in wealthy homes and teaching their children. Amusing his youthful "pupils" one evening with a Nicaraguan folk dance, David was "discovered" by their parents, and thereupon his repertoire was broadened, and his social value increased. He became in considerable demand, both as a social lion to train the young fry of wealthy homes and as a dancer and whistler for the amusement of small dinner parties. It was something quite novel, and became all the rage to invite the dapper young Nicaraguan to charm the guests with his gracious manners, and then entertain them afterward in the drawing room. David was not entirely overwhelmed by his sudden popularity. He enjoyed being within the wealthy social circles of Boston; he was delighted with the opportunity to be in their homes, and to eat their fabulous meals; but most of all he was glad to earn the good wages their invitations provided him. David had long since forgotten his promise to return to Nicaragua and preach the gospel. The great universities, to which wealthy Bostonians sent their sons so casually, beckoned the brilliant young Nicaraguan. By listening to the conversation in the parlors and dining rooms of Boston's elite he soon discovered that Harvard University carried the most prestige, and he set his sights on a degree from Harvard. His natural disposition was to be careful with his money, and he already had a nest egg tucked away. To this he added weekly, and soon, with the aid of his wealthy friends, he was enrolled in Harvard as he had planned. Here at last he felt he had found something with the intellectual challenge he had been searching for. He went into his studies with a thoroughness that surprised his professors, who were used to the casual attitudes of many of the wealthy playboys who filled their classrooms. 34

David secured his bachelor of arts degree, and under his professors' urging continued to work for his doctor of philosophy. Feeling that his studies were narrowing down his field of learning, he took up piano on the side, and again his professors were amazed at his proficiency and his evident gift for music. They urged him to consider a concert career. David thanked them, but put aside their suggestions until a later day when he would have achieved some of his more urgent dreams. It should have been a triumphant day for the once poor Nicaraguan boy when David walked to the rostrum and received his diploma for his Ph.D. in philosophy. But as David entered his room after the graduation ceremonies, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization of how little he really knew of the world's vast reservoir of truth. His roommate started to congratulate him, but David cut him short. "Look at it!" he exclaimed vehemently, holding up the sheepskin he had worked so hard to earn. "Look at it! What does it represent? An infinitesimal speck of the world's knowledge. I haven't begun to touch the fringes of real learning. I'm an ignoramus-a know-nothing! And they have given me the highest degree this university has to offer. What does it mean? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! I'm just as ignorant as I was before I received it!" He caught the two covers between his strong fingers and ripped the diploma in two, hurling the pieces on the floor. His roommate stared at him. "Well, I must say," he remarked dryly, "if you don't mean that, you're a superb actor. Why don't you try the stage?" David shook his head, running his long fingers through his curly hair. "I mean it all right. But I'm not sure what I can do about it." "Well, if you're so terribly ignorant, why don't you go on and study some more?" his roommate answered lazily. "There's nothing to stop you." 35

"I expect to," David said intensely. "I expect to study until I die. But even then I can't hope to acquire a fraction of the knowledge I would like to have." "You can't do any more than try," his roommate answered with a shrug of his shoulders, "and I can see you are going to do that. Where do you plan to begin now!' "Medicine. Or music. I want both. I'm not sure which 111 begin on first."

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4

Riding the Crest David wasted no time in tackling his objectives. With the beginning he had already made in music, he was in considerable demand as a piano teacher for the children of his wealthy friends. This, he felt would keep him in practice while he took up his study of medicine. Since he had no desire for a medical career, he decided that nurses' training would be the better avenue through which to study. He entered a large Boston hospital for three years of intensive training, receiving at the end his degree as a registered nurse. Now he could tum his mind seriously to the study of music. Under the guidance of his teacher in Boston, he began taking lessons from the noted composer Harold Bauer, in New York. Twice a week he went to New York by train. His talent was as quickly recognized by Bauer as it had been by his university teachers. He urged advanced training in Europe and began preparing David for concert work. Nothing could have pleased David Ramirez more than the thought of studying in Europe. Next to his love for wealth and knowledge was his eagerness to see more of the wonderful world in which he lived. He began to study French and Italian, adding them to his already fluent knowledge of English, Spanish, and Latin. 37

Abroad, David threw himself into the study of concert piano work with the same abandon that characterized everything he did. The only free time he allowed himself from his studies was to visit the art museums of the city, for he felt this was a form of education and knowledge that he also needed. When he returned to the United States, his teachers felt he was ready for concert work, and for some years David was at least a minor light on the concert stages of America and in Europe as well, for he returned to the .continent several times during his career. As he achieved maturity in the concert field, David included some of his own compositions in his programs and won favorable comment in the pages of the elite Etude music magazine. Recognition on those august pages meant just one thing: musically, David Ramirez had arrived. Money flowed into his clever and gifted hands, and with it, more welcome still, came social acceptance among the top levels of exclusive society. No longer was he a tutor for their children-a charming entertainer for their little teas. Now he was a muchsought-after guest, the more so because he was not only brilliant at the piano but was a conversational genius as well. Many a harried hostess gratefully saw her gracious Latin guest rescue her dinner party from ennui and send the guests away ecstatic over his charm and, incidently, over her success as a hostess. David's already meticulous habits of dress became even more precise as he entered into the social whirl of the gay 20s. His white shirts, especially, had to fit to perfection to satisfy him. He made the rounds of every men's wear shop in Boston, but could not find shirts that fit his long arms properly, and yet were not too broad through the shoulders and body. In exasperation he finally sought a dry goods counter in the most exclusive department store in the city, purchased a quantity of the finest broadcloth they carried, and went home to make his own shirts. With his amazing talent and versatility David suc38

ceeded in producing white shirts that were perfectly fitted down to the last minute detail. But he never revealed to his admiring friends the name of his mysterious tailor. Having achieved fame and social success, David now felt that it was time to secure the fulfillment of one dream that he had never mentioned to anyone: a home, and a servant. From his first days in the little college city where he had entered school in the States, David had dreamed of owning a threestory home in a genteel neighborhood, and having a welltrained Negro valet to manage it for him. Now he set about acquiring it. He found just what he wanted in a selected area of suburban Boston: the high ceilings reminded him of the home he had known in Granada; but the rooms were larger, and the three stories gave the house a substantial, solid appearance that properly reflected David's social position. He took great joy in furnishing the house with elegant good taste, and his home soon became a part of the life of Boston society. Wealthy friends counted it an honor to be included on David's guest list. David's association with other people of means introduced him to the intricacies of stocks and bonds. On the recommendation of his friends he acquired a stock broker who invested his income in the surging stock market, and soon David had acquired a respectable fortune. From his profits David was now able to indulge his love for travel, and he returned to Europe several times, not as a concert pianist but as a guest lion tour" seeking only to enjoy himself. The United States of America was David's home now. Nicaragua was only a dream from his past. He secured his citizenship papers, becoming an American citizen by choice. He loved his adopted land fervently, and defended her with far more vehemence than many of her children by birth. To David 39

Ramirez there could be no wrong in this fabulous land that had given him so much. Everything he wanted seemed to drop into his reaching hands like a ripe plum in this wonderful "promised land." Nor was David the only one in that glittering decade who thought the world was his for the taking. To many, everything was getting better and better, the millennium was here, and it would never end. Satisfied with his knowledge and achievement in the field of music, David turned to religion. The religions of the world fascinated him. He had given up his vital personal faith in Christ long ago, and he now found it interesting to dabble in all the religions: Confucianism, Buddhism, the Moslem faith, Ba'hai, Mormonism-he studied them all, comparing their likenesses, their strengths, and their weaknesses. It was an interesting period of research, but it taught him nothing of value; for he had lost the touchstone of truth from his life, and he had no foundation on which to make a sound comparison. Throughout his days of success there were some things that David never forgot. One of them was his childhood. He remembered vividly the fears, the joys, the questions, the consuming hunger for learning that had filled his heart as a small boy. He loved little children, especially those who lived in desperate poverty. Often in his leisure hours David would slip away from his society friends and walk through the slums of Boston, stopping to talk with a man who was down and out, or buying a meal for a half-starved derelict or a homeless child. During one of these visits David discovered a boy wandering the streets like a homeless puppy, filching what he could from fruit stands, or scavenging in the garbage pails of the hotels. Dirty and ragged, his bright eyes darting everywhere at once, there was something about him that attracted David. He stopped to talk to the boy and the lad's quick answers reinforced David's feeling that he was really unusually bright, if he

40

could just have a chance. When he had proved that the boy really had no home, David took him to his own home, fed him, clothed him, and educated him as though he were his own son. So thrilling was this success that twice more, in succeeding years, David picked up an orphan child from the slums and gave him a home. One of the attributes of wealth that had deeply impressed David Ramirez in his early years in Boston was the magnificent coffins in which well-to-do people buried their dead. The first time he saw one of the copper-plated, satin-lined caskets holding the remains of his departed friend, he could scarcely believe his eyes. Carefully he ran his finger over the satin lining. It was real, and so was the heavy metal exterior. Magnificent, he thought! What a gorgeous way to be laid away! I must have one for myself. In his native Nicaragua it was the custom for a person to purchase as good a wooden box as he could afford, while he was healthy and able to work. Then he guarded it jealously in his home until he died. He knew that no one else would be likely to spend money for a casket after he was gone. If he wanted a good one, he had to buy it himself. To David, alone in the United States, the logical way to be sure he had a beautiful casket such as he had just seen was to go out and buy it now. He visited several morticians and looked over their stock. Their solicitous questions concerning the deceased brought such noncommittal answers that they were left with lifted eyebrows and puzzled minds, but David continued his search until he found what he wanted. It was a beautiful casket. Its metal sides glowed with a soft sheen, and the satin lining was lustrous and heavy. He measured it and found it comfortably long, and broad enough for his sturdy shoulders. Then he paid for it and had it sent to his home. The deliverymen were startled when he had it carried to the third-

41

floor attic, but they followed his orders, shaking their heads in wonder. Once it was installed, David surveyed his purchase with pride. What more could any man want in this life than he had: money enough to live comfortably in the best of society, and now a magnificent casket like this to rest in when he died? He climbed the attic stairs often to gaze on his purchase and feel the soft texture of the padded-satin interior. One day he decided to try it out and see how comfortable it really was. He slipped off his shoes and stepped in. It was even better than he had expected-so pleasant, in fact, that he began slipping up to the attic quite frequently in secret to "tryout" his coffin. After all, he reasoned, why not enjoy his purchase while he could know about it, instead of waiting until he was dead to use it? David's Negro valet knew that the coffin was in the attic, much to his dislike, but he did not know that David was "testing" it at intervals. Climbing to the attic one late afternoon to put some of their winter things into storage for the summer months, the valet came upon David in his coffin. For one petrified moment he stared in fright at the apparition; then with a shriek of terror he fled down the stairs, straight through the house, and out the door. He never returned. To the end of his days David could never tell the story without doubling up with roars of laughter as he gasped, "And as far as I know, that chap is running yet." When David's adopted children were grown and had moved away to homes of their own, he began to be restless. Most of his years had been spent in Boston, with only short periods abroad or traveling in concert tours. He had not seen much of American cities. He began thinking about moving to a new center. Two things he would demand of any place he lived: culture and a financial center. New York would have met the requirements, but David was almost as well acquainted 42

with the social and financial circles of New York City as he was with Boston. Chicago attracted him. It was a rapidly growing metropolis, with many celebrities moving into the society, and its stock market was second only to Wall Street in importance. Some argued that it was superior. A number of David's friends had moved to Chicago in recent years and had amassed a fortune through clever stock maneuvers. Reason seemed to point to Chicago as an excellent city to choose. And in addition to its other qualifications, it was also located in the Midwest and would give David access to 'a whole new area of the country. He sold his home in Boston shortly before 1928 and moved to a luxurious lake-front apartment in Chicago. With renewed zest he enjoyed the concert seasons and spent long hours leisurely wandering through the museums and art galleries. Socially he was equally accepted in Chicago as he had been in the East. Soon he was quite at home in his new location.

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5

Disaster and .Deliverance Without warning, in the spring of 1929 the beautiful bubble that was to have no end burst. The bottom dropped out of the stock market. Banks closed, never to reopen. Thousands of wealthy Americans found themselves paupers overnight. David Ramirez was one. His wealth, as that of many others, was almost entirely wrapped up in the paper value of the stocks and bonds he owned. Now they were worthless. His nest egg from the sale of his Boston home, $18,000, was in one of the banks that did not reopen. In the debacle that followed, many of David's friends committed suicide. David was stunned by the events that had so swiftly left him penniless, but his early years now came to his rescue with unexpected resources of strength. He had known hunger and poverty before and had lived. He could do it again. But with all his willingness to work at anything, work frequently was not to be had. He moved from his lake-front apartment and joined the throngs of destitute men in the slums of Chicago. When he had work, he rented a tiny room. In some ways he was fortunate, for he had no family for which to provide. He had only himself, and he learned to prowl the back alleys and the hotel garbage-can routes like a wolf searching for food. A carrot tumbling from a passing vegetable truck brought David from 44

his seat on the curb like a vulture. He seized the carrot before rollin~ and carried it away triumphantly to a public fountain, where he could wash it and eat it. Now David Ramirez' varied training and skills stood him in good stead. By scouring the city he managed to find odd bits of work as a nurse, a handyman, a housekeeper, or even occasionally as a piano teacher or tutor. He made the acquaintance of a man who had a steady job, and was invited to live with him, in exchange for cooking and doing the housekeeping. With the coming of summer David found a seasonal job as a cook on a Lake Erie freighter. He took on the job with his typical good humor, his rich tenor voice often ringing out over the clatter of the pots and pans, in the classical melodies his nimble fingers had once played to charm the audiences of bejeweled society. The rest of the crew viewed him with a little suspicion. Who was this cook who quoted poets and philosophers at length and sang concert hall music with such gusto? He was not one of their kind, and they resented his friendliness until he won them by coming to their aid on a level they could understand. These were prohibition days and the federal revenue agents were constantly on the prowl, searching for boats bringing contraband liquor from Canada to the United States. David's sympathies at that time were all with the smugglers. He still reveled in the personal freedom he had found in the United States and anything, good or bad, that curbed anyone's liberty irked him. When the revenue officers stopped David's freighter to search for hidden liquor, the captain rushed to David with a bottle of wine and asked him to hide it. The officers swarmed aboard, searching the crew's quarters, the engine room, the stockrooms, the captain's quarters, without success. When they moved into the galley, followed by the anxious capit stopped

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tain, they found the cook pleasantly cooperative, as he opened bins and cupboards and chests to help them search. As they left empty-handed, the captain looked at David questioningly. David waited until the agents were safely away; then with a triumphant grin he opened the porthole and began pulling in a stout fishing line, hand over hand, until he lifted the captain's wine bottle from the ocean and gleefully handed it over. From that dayan, David was a favorite with the crew. On another occasion, when there was no time to swing the bottle overboard on a string, the resourceful David buried it in a tub of lard, smoothed the soft grease over it, and went on with his cooking. When cold weather forced the ships from the lakes, David returned to his friend's apartment and earned his board and room as housekeeper and valet. In spite of the abrupt change in his fortunes, David never forgot others who might be worse off than himself. His heart was especially touched by the homeless men who lived on skid row. He had been there himself long enough to know how desperately hungry and cold and discouraged these men were. Though David and his friend lived on a meager budget, David never threw a single scrap of food or coffee away. Reheating it piping hot, he would carry it out to the hungry men sitting aimlessly in the little park across from where he lived. As in Boston, so here, David found his heart going out to the young boys who lived on the streets. He did his best to befriend them. During the long hours of the winter days when he had no work, he would walk the streets of the slums, getting acquainted with the ragged urchins who lived there. They recognized his friendship as genuine, and shared with him their troubles and their secret dreams. When they got into trouble with the law, David would go to court and get them paroled to him, if he thought they had good in them that he could help them develop. He watched over them like a father, 46

which many of them had never known, encouraging them to try to make good. They trusted him. Many of them did straighten out because of David's kindness and became decent men. One lad who was under David's care broke his parole in a reckless streak of rebellion. When the police went after him, he fled to David, begging him to hide him. David asked no questions. He knew that the lad faced reform school or worse if caught, and he believed that he could save him to an honest life with a little more time. Catching the boy by the arm, he hurried him to the basement, ordering him to curl up on the floor beside the laundry tubs. There he quickly piled dirty clothes over the culprit, and turned on the faucets, filling the washing machine with billowing soapsuds. When the police rang his belt as he had known they would, David stomped up the stairs to the door, hair tousled, sleeves rolled up, and water and soapsuds dripping from his hands. He appeared very indignant at being interrupted and grudgingly let the police in to search the house. They went from top to bottom, even searching the basement, but did not find their missing culprit. David himself was very law-abiding, but he could not bear to see others in trouble if he felt he could help them to become better persons. During one of his winter periods ashore, David found a job caring for a man who was very ill. As the man convalesced, he talked to David and learned the story of David's early life and his rise to wealth and social success in America. When the story ended, the man said quietly, "What happened to you spiritually during all those years?" David was startled. For 34 years he had pursued his own way and no one had ever spoken to him about his soul. With his characteristic openness when faced with a direct challenge, he admitted that in his intense desire to be rich and educated 47

vid accepted with equal promptness, curious to know what this new church would be like. David was impressed with the warm friendliness of the people and the spiritual atmosphere of the service. He was attracted immediately to the scholarly, dignified sermon preached by Dr. H. V. Miller. But the subject matter was quite a different thing. listening to just one sermon on holiness, David's keen mind quickly grasped the full ramifications of the meaning of holiness and what it would demand of the person who accepted it. He rebelled vigorously at the thought of surrendering his will so unequivocally to anyone, even God. All the way home he argued violently with his friend, insisting that such teachings were wrong. But because he felt such a strong attraction to Dr. Miller, he agreed to go with Mr. Stollard again the next Sunday, just to become better acquainted. Then, with his characteristic thoroughness, David planned his attack. He recognized in Dr. Miller a man of scholarly mind. He was quite certain that, if he could present sufficient proof that Dr. Miller's thesis regarding holiness was false, the man's intellectual honesty would force him to accept the truth. David began to study his Bible carefully, searching for texts with which he hoped to convince Dr. Miller of his error. But the more he studied, the more convincing Dr. Miller's claims for holiness became. The follOwing Sunday morning Dr. Miller again preached a searching messag(;! on heart purity. David listened silently. When the altar call was given, David rose deliberately from his seat, and Mr. Stollard was dismayed, for he was sure David was leaving the church in disgust. But David Ramirez turned the other way and walked straight to the altar. Convinced the doctrine was scripturally true, he was ready to admit the hunger of his heart for that kind of experience. Faith came swiftly as he made his total surrender to God.

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David Ramirez entered into the life of holiness with the same wholehearted enthusiasm he felt toward everything he did. Though he lived eight miles from the church, he rose early and walked to church each Sunday, carrying a sandwich in his pocket for his noon meal. He stayed the entire day, walking home after the night service. Some of the church members discovered it after a few months and invited him to join them at the home of friends, Mr. and Mrs. Kell. Here they shared Sunday dinners together and talked of spiritual things. Thrilled with the amazing joy and peace that were his as the result of the incoming of the Holy Spirit, David frequently thought of his people in Nicaragua. Often he would say wistfully, "If only my people could know of this wonderful experience in Christ!" and the others in the group would agree. "Maybe God wants you to take them the message of holiness," one remarked one day. "Had you thought of that?" "But it would be impossible!" David exclaimed, startled at the thought. "I can't even pay my carfare to church, let alone to Nicaragua." "Let's pray about it," rejoined the other. "If God wants you to go, He11 find the way to get you there." Faced with this direct challenge, David agreed, and as he prayed, his burden for Nicaragua became more personal. Where once he had begged God to send the Church of the Nazarene to Nicaragua, now he faced a growing awareness that God was asking him to go with the message. This meant much deep soul-searching for David. To give up his beloved America-the good eating, the wonder of her great cities, her friendliness; to give up his newfound Nazarene friends, his hard-earned citizenship; to surrender all this and return to Nicaragua, never to see any of the things he loved again-this was not an easy decision. 50

But David Ramirez did not rebel against the will of God. Though the pain of leaving all these blessings that were so precious to him twisted his soul with anguish, he prayed his way through his personal Gethsemane with a "Nevertheless not my will, but thine" filling his heart. Once he was convinced that this was indeed God's will for him, he began to testify and pray about his call to Nicaragua. He wrote to the Department of Foreign Missions of the Church of the Nazarene, asking if they could send him back to his people. They answered that the depression was so severe that they were cutting back staffs on the fields already open and could not possibly send anyone to a new field. Dr. Miller encouraged David to hold steady and continue to pray, letting God work out His will, whatever it might be. Concerned for David in his solitary life so far from the church, Mr. and Mrs. Kell offered him a job as their cook, in exchange for his room and board. By living with them, David would be able to attend prayer meeting as well as the Sunday services. David accepted their offer with gratitude and remained with them for three years. The Kells had a piano, and David spent many hours entertaining them with his brilliant playing: sometimes concert numbers and sometimes his own compositions. One of these was a piano concerto that music critics said was very beautifully and correctly done. But David was not convinced it was good enough to offer for publication. He revived his love for philosophical research, visiting the library and bringing home books by the armful. He loved to discuss the various theories with his employers at great length, quite oblivious that his listeners were often lost in the intricacies of philosophical thought through which he moved with such ease. David was now in his 50s. He was still slender, tall, graceful in his bearing, and his black, curly hair was still unstreaked 51

with gray. Sometime during his earlier years David had been ill with a severe fever that had damaged the optic nerve in one eye. Now the sight in this eye failed completely. Opticians who examined him warned David that he must never return to any place where malaria was prevalent, or he would undoubtedly lose the sight of the other eye, for it too had been weakened by the fever. This news did not deter David. His Gethsemane was already behind him. His heart was set to return to Nicaragua as soon as God opened up the the way.. For two years David Ramirez talked constantly in the Chicago church of his burden and his call to his people. For two years the church joined with him in prayer that God would make it possible for him to return. At length Dr. Miller became convinced that this was indeed God's will, and that perhaps Chicago First Church of the Nazarene was the instrument by which God wanted to accomplish it. In an evening service one Sunday he offered a plan to the church whereby they could send David back to Nicaragua and support him while he was there. He warned them that they would have to pay their General Budget and other church expenses first, and that this would have to be an over-and-above project which they would take on only if they really wanted to do it. He outlined the cost of the trip, the supplies David would need to take, and the support of $40.00 a month that must be continued in order for David to live while preaching the gospel. The Men's Group spontaneously volunteered to take on the monthly support if others would provide the equipment and travel expense. Pledges came quickly underwriting these. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, David saw the doors swing wide before him for returning to his native land.

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By August 1937 David's supplies were purchased and the money for his passage was in his hand. A group from the church went with him to the railroad station. Tears coursed down his cheeks as he gripped their hands in farewell. This was the last Christian fellowship he would know for many months-perhaps forever. Ostracism and hatred, persecution, perhaps even death, awaited him in Nicaragua-this he knew very well. Dr. Miller prayed a fervent prayer of blessing upon him, and with one last good-bye David climbed aboard the train and watched from the window until the train had taken him out of their sight. All the way to New Orleans, David gazed from the train windows, filling his memory with the last view of his beloved adopted country that he would ever have. His heart ached with the sense of loss, even though he felt the urgency of getting to Nicaragua and beginning his Father's work there. From the deck of the ship he watched the receding shore of the United States through unashamed tears, then fled to his cabin and wept bitterly. Thirty-four years of his life-the happiest years he had ever known-were passing out of his sight, and he would never see this wonderful land nor his friends again.

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6

Back in Nicaragua The ship on which David Ramirez sailed from New Orleans docked at Bluefields, Nicaragua, on August 27, 1937. David had not written any of his family that he was returning. He took passage on a small riverboat to Lake Nicaragua, and from there took the passenger boat to San Jorge. As he approached the dock, it looked exactly as he remembered it from 34 years before. The town itself seemed unchanged-the same shabby little houses lining the streets; the same dust and noise; the same flies and dirt and smells, though now they seemed worse than he had remembered them. He walked up the street away from the lake shore and looked up toward the towering Roman Catholic church, which overshadowed everything else in the town. A wave of thanksgiving swept over David's soul as he thanked God for deliverance from the idolatry and darkness that had claimed his devotion as a child. His heart ached to stop and tell everyone he met about the deliverance that Christ had died to give them. Down the dusty road toward Popoyuapa he walked, wondering what reception he would receive from his brothers and sisters-if they were still here. Every curve of the road was as familiar as though he had left only yesterday. But the people he met along the way were aU strangers. .

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As he came around the last bend from San Jorge, he saw the little thatched house where he had lived as a boy. It was still kept up, and there were chickens scratching in the yard, so he knew that someone lived there. When his brother came to the door, David was startled at the lines the years had etched in his brother's face. Then he realized that his brother had not recognized him. ''I'm David," he said. His brother gasped. "But ... you did not send word. We did not know ... Where are your things? And your family?" "No, I sent no word," David answered. "I wanted to surprise you. My things are at the dock; and I have no family. But what of the others? Are they still living?" "Yes. Both living. Marcelina lives in San Jorge. She is old and crippled now. Brother lives close by her. We11 go and see them just as soon as we have eaten." From his brother's solicitous care as he hovered over him, David knew that he was eaten up with curiosity as to David's financial success in the Uruted States. With perverse enjoyment David evaded all hints and turned the subject to the family and news from the village. Not until they were all together at Marcelina's home did David tell them that, though he had once been rich, he was now poor again, as far as money was concerned, but that he was infinitely richer spiritually than when he went away. He told them then of his conversion, his call from God to return to Nicaragua and tell others about salvation and heart purity. They listened closely, amazed when he told of his early wealth and fame, dismayed and almost totally uncomprehending when he described his loss. Familiar only with the coins and bartered goods of their own simple economy, they could not understand how he could "lose" great wealth overnight. If it were not stolen, where did it go? 55

He gave up at last, and went on to tell of his return to God. With that they were silent, their hostility plain on their faces. When he had finished, there was a barrier between them that he could not breach. While he was talking, two thin, undernourished little boys hid behind Marcelina, listening eagerly to all that was said. To break the strained atmosphere, David asked whose children they were. 'They live here;' Marcelina-answered, sighing. 'They were deserted by their mother. She was my niece. I had to take them." "But they are too much for you," David exclaimed, wondering how she had managed to do anything for them at all in her crippled state. "Would you let me take them?" he asked with compassion. "They cquld help me around my house, and 111 see that they are fed and clothed and educated." His sister was grateful to have this burden lifted from her shoulders, and the tension eased a little before David said good night. His first search was for a home. Finally he found a small house for rent in San Jorge. The walls were made of poles set close together and covered with mud; the roof was thatched with palm leaves, and the two small rooms were windowless. But it was a shelter and appeared to be quite dry and weathertight. He moved his belongings into it and prepared to make it home. His brothers and sister could not understand why he had returned to Nicaragua. From what he had told them, even the simple room in which he had last lived in America was much better than what he had now. They puzzled over his story for many weeks, and finally concluded that David was either lying or he was crazy. More than once David looked around his tiny home with its dirt floor and thought of the homes he had lived in, in the

56

United States. But there was something in this house that none of his other houses had had-the presence of God, warm and real and glorious. He praised God aloud, to the mystification of his small nephews, and began making plans for re~ching the people with the wonderful message he had come so far to bring them. David did not have to search for an audience. The story of his return spread swiftly. Neighborhood children gathered to watch him. David sat down and called them doser. He told them stories of America, describing the cold winters and the sno"" the big cities, the great distances one could travel and still be in the same country. He described his trips to Europe and the fabulous homes he visited in Boston and New York and Chicago. They came in droves to listen. And while they sat spellbound at his feet, he also told them about Jesus and His love for them. They carried his stories home to their parents and they told them to others, until half of San Jorge had heard the stories about David Ramirez and his adventures in America. They didn't believe them, of course. Who could expect them to believe tales of a life so utterly foreign to anything they had ever seen or heard? But they made good telling, and in the midst of repeating them they also repeated the stories David had told about Jesus. It was not long before their stories reached the ears of the priest, and he quickly detected the heresy that was being carried far and wide across the town. Here was a real danger. He moved swiftly to combat it. Calling in the homes of those who seemed the most interested, he warned them to have nothing to do with David lest terrible calamity strike them. From the pulpit on Sundays he told his listeners that David was a Protestant heretic and urged them to keep their children away from him. 57

Jeers and rocks began to greet David when he walked through the streets. Many of those who had listened to him with friendly interest when he came to call now closed their doors in his face. But in spite of their unfriendliness, David continued to help them. The terrible poverty of the people was almost unbearable to him. He had thought he was poor in Chicago, but he had not known such abject distress as he sawall about him. The salary from Chicago First Church seemed like a small fortune. He purchased cotton cloth and cut out and sewed simple clothing for the ragged, destitute children who visited him, stilt in spite of their parents' warnings. His food supplies were shared with needy families until his money ran out. And with every gift he gave, he offered with it the greatest gift of allthe free gift of salvation to all who would receive it. Many accepted his gifts of food and clothing gratefully but rejected his testimony. Some listened with longing, but fear of the priest kept them from accepting. As persecution intensified, the number who would listen to him dwindled rapidly. But David continued to trudge the dusty streets of San Jorge, telling the Good News to anyone he could get to listen. To add to his discouragement, he was stricken with malaria. David was familiar with the terrible chills and fever that accompanied this disease, for he had suffered repeated attacks as a child. But now it posed a new threat. This was what the doctors in the United States had warned him to avoid. Malaria was almost certain to complete the damage to his remaining eye and could soon leave him totally blind. It was imperative that he find a healthier place to live. After much inquiry he found a tiny one-room house in the village of EI Volcan on the shore of Lake Nicaragua. It was a beautiful spot, with a magnificent view across the lake, and a fresh, cool breeze from the water, which made it much pleasanter than the inland village. Most important of all, there were 58

scarcely any mosquitoes in El VolcanI which offered protection from malaria. To this house David moved with his nephews. They were sturdy and healthy now, and extremely happy with their uncle, who was kinder than anyone they had ever known; but who, they soon discovered, could be exceedingly stern about the rules he had laid down for his little household. In the midst of the hostility of his neighbors, David's heart was touched one day when one of the nephews leaned against his knee, and looking affectionately up into his face said softly, "Uncle David, since I live with you I don't go to bed hungry like I used to." The love in his voice was sufficient reward for all the care and training David had given both nephews. Though David Ramirez had returned to Nicaraguan living and food and many of their common customs, he never let anyone forget that he was a naturalized American citizen. One of the treasures he had brought with him to Nicaragua was an American flag. On every national holiday of the United States he proudly flew his American flag in front of his house, along with the flag of Nicaragua. If anyone criticized the people of the United States, David rose SWiftly to their defense. He was a constant ambassador of goodwill for the land he loved, and forever lonely in his native land. Particularly did David miss the fellowship of Christians. The thin stream of letters from his friends in Chicago were his only source of spiritual encouragement on a human level. He leaned on them heavily. Some of his own letters reveal glimpses of the singlehanded struggle he was waging to relieve the desperate needs of the people all about him. In one letter he described the terrible poverty of the people. Remembering the boxes of toys he had seen American children playing with so carelessly, he described the ragged boys and girls of Nicaragua who had never owned a single toy in their entire lives. 59

His description was eloquent, and brought a swift response from the Chicago Nazarenes, who soon had a box of toys on its way to David. It arrived safely, but the customs officials charged him exorbitant duty. David at first refused to accept the box, but when he found that it contained toys for the children, he took all the money he had for food and paid the duty on the package, so that he could give the children of the village their first toys. But the cost worried him, with his strong sense of frugality, and he could not refrain from writing his Chicago friends: "The two packages the ladies sent carne, for which I thank them. Everything was lovely and useful. But the custom house duty is terrible. I had to pay $16.00. On another occasion, instead of toys, send me the wherewith to buy the children toys here. It would be cheaper." David's move to El Volcan failed to check the attacks of malaria, and his dread of the results began to corne true. His eyesight failed noticeably until he had difficulty in reading. He realized that unless God stepped in with a miracle he would soon be totally blind. He began to work with a desperate sense of urgency, fearing that loss of sight might make preaching impossible. His prayers for a missionary to corne and help him were redoubled as his sight grew dimmer. He opened a Sunday School in his home and taught the boys and girls about the Bible. Then he opened a day school for the desperately poor children who would have no other means of education. And though many of the parents hated his gospel, they were so eager for their children to be educated that they let them corne to his school. Afternoons he spent visiting in the homes of those who would let him in, or caring for the sick for whom his was often the only medical aid available. Every cent he could spare was used for food or clothing for the poor families of the village. 60

In one of his darkest hours, when his sight was nearly gone, and it seemed as though his message was totally rejected by his unfriendly neighbors, David had visitors. A young couple from Ometepe had recently married and were looking for a better place to live. The young man, Juan Espinoza, had heard that his wife's Uncle David lived in EI Volcan and they had searched until they found him. David welcomed them with delight, grateful for a friendly face. But he did not waste his opportunity. He spent the evening telling the young couple about Christ. They were interested. So much so that they decided to stay with him for a few days and hear more. To David's great joy, before they left both of them accepted Christ. Here at last were the firstfruits of his months of labor. Surely it was a token of what God intended to do for his Nicaraguan people. David's sight continued to fail rapidly until he soon was barely able to distinguish between light and darkness. One of his nephews had to lead him by the hand wherever he went. Sometimes when he had the money, he rented a horse that his nephew could lead while David rode, making it possible to travel much more rapidly than when he had to stumble along on foot. With the coming of blindness, David's persecutors became bolder. Stones were thrown at him; taunts and jeers greeted him openly. Thieves broke into his little house repeatedly, stealing whatever they could get their hands on. One night as David prepared for bed, he became aware of a bright light outside the door. He sent his nephew out to see what was happening. The boy came running back, wide-eyed with fear. "There's a crowd of men out there with a torch. They're going to bum down our house," he cried. David felt his way to the door. "Halloo, out there," he shouted. "What do you want?" Frightened at being discovered, the men dropped their torch and fled into the night. 61

For six months the persecution grew increasingly worse, until David was harrassed almost beyond endurance. In desperation he began to fast and pray. Each morning he rose at four o'clock and prayed until noon. Then he spent the afternoons preaching and teaching the children. After four days the persecution ceased, and he was allowed to work in comparative peace from then on, though thieves and ruffians still troubled him occasionally. Now that he was blind, David was forced to hire someone to help with his household needs; but these workers were a constant source of trouble. One, taking advantage of his blindness, stole nearly everything he owned and sold it. David felt his loss keenly, but he refused to let it rob him of his spiritual victory. "The Lord has given and He has taken away. May the will of the Lord be done," he said quietly when he discovered the loss. "Whatever men do, they cannot rob me of my greatest treasure, the presence of Christ in my heart." No matter how carefully he guarded it, David's income never seemed to stretch far enough to do all that he wanted it to do. To supplement it, he secured a small farm at the edge of the village and hired a poor man to live on it and raise vegetables for David. The farm supplied enough to support the man who tended it and to provide David with food for himself and some to give away to the poor. To add to the frustration his blindness created, David was frequently shortchanged by shopkeepers who would take a ten-centavo note and give him change for a five. He did not complain about his heavy cross, but some of the burden it entailed crept into his letters to Chicago. To one friend he wrote: "Shut your eyes for an hour and try to do things without the aid of anyone, then you will sympathize with me; my world is one of darkness, but my spiritual eyes see the marvelous light of God which only Christ can bring to the human soul. Glory, glory to Jesus." 62

Yet in spite of those who cheated him and stole from him, there were many who had shared in his goodness, and who, because he was blind, were kind to him and tried to help him. In spite of his blindness David continued to travel about, sometimes making two- and three-day journeys to reach someone who had been converted and needed encouragement. One of these converts was an old blind woman who had felt a kinship in their mutual handicap and received his witness gladly. David knew that she would suffer much persecution at the hands of her relatives and felt he must return to visit her from time to time to encourage her. On one such trip during the rainy season he was unable to rent a horse and walked for three days to reach the woman's home. On the w~y he floundered into a mudhole in the trail and lost his shoe. Neither he nor his nephew who was guiding him could find it, but David would not be deterred. He removed his other shoe and continued on barefoot to complete his visit. He found the woman at home and delighted to see him again. They talked of spiritual things for some moments. Then David quietly asked, "Are you still smoking?" "Oh, no," the woman answered quickly. "You told me that was a vile habit the day I was saved, and I stopped that very hour." "What is the tobacco I smell then?" David asked. "I make cigars and sell them for my living," she answered, surprised. "Is that bad?" "How does your soul feel about it?" David countered. She was silent for a moment, then rose decisively. "I can see that it is just as bad to sell them to others as it is to use them myself," she said firmly. "I'm not too old to learn something else to do." She gathered up her entire stock of tobacco leaves and finished cigars and burned them on the patio. 63

David knew the financial loss to one of her limited means was great, but he knew too that God would be faithful to her. On his next trip he found her happily making candy and selling it from door to door. It was several months before David was able to call on his blind friend again, and when he arrived he found she was dying. Relatives and friends were crowded into the house and had placed lighted candles and images of the saints around her bed. The din was deafening as they all tried to talk at once. David called to her from the door,' but the relatives would not let him in. When she recognized his voice, she asked him to come and pray with her. David pushed his way through the muttering crowd and began to pray. This was too much for the angry relatives. Picking him up bodily they threw him into the street. From the room the woman called loudly, "Don David, have no fear. They have me surrounded with idols but I'm not trusting in them. God is with me."

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7

New Trouble and Answered Prayer When David. continued to suffer from malaria at bl VOIcan, he decided to move to the island of Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua, to see if that climate would help him. He had very few possessions, and it was not too difficult, with his two nephews to help him, to make the move to the island. He rented a house and opened it for evangelistic services, as he did everywhere. Persecution came swiftly. The Roman priest sent children to rock his house in the night, hoping to frighten him into leaving. When this failed, he threatened those who rented to David with excommunication if they continued to let him live in their house. The frightened owners begged David to leave. Patiently he repacked his goods and searched for another house. But the same threats were repeated to each owner of his rented quarters, and David was forced to move from place to place. This went on for several months before David mentioned it in a letter to Dr. H. V Miller in Chicago. Dr. Miller told the people of Chicago First Church of David's plight, and how it was hampering him in his preaching. They rallied together and raised enough money to enable David to buy a small piece of land on which he and his nephews built a tiny straw-roofed home of their own.

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Just about this time a man who said he was an American approached David and begged him for a place to stay. He said he was a Christian, but he was destitute and had no job and no place to live. David felt it was a real answer to prayer. He took the man in, sharing his home and food in return for the help the man could give him. His help with David's mail was the most needed, for it was difficult for David to find anyone who could read his mail from the States to him.or write his answers. The arrangement seemed to be working out beautifully, but a new disaster occurred that was a bitter blow to David. His check from Chicago which had come faithfully each month since he had been in Nicaragua failed to arrive. David was anxious, but he had a little left from the month before, and by pinching he was able to get along. Correspondence from the Chicago friends who had written him regularly dropped off too, until often weeks would go by without any word. He was tempted to wonder if they had forgotten him altogether. He dictated letters to them through his American helper, asking why they had not written him, and finally, in one, mentioned that he had had no word for a number of weeks. At last a very thin letter arrived. David knew even as he picked it up that it was not his check, for it was too light. His helper was not at home at the time, so he had his nephew find someone else to read it to him. To his amazement he learned that his Chicago friends had been writing him often, and had sent his check every month. Had he not received it? they asked anxiously. Then David realized that someone was stealing his mail. He had no idea who it might be. He asked his helper to go oftener for the mail, hoping to thwart the thief, but the checks continued to be missing. Often David was in severe straits for lack of money. He studied over his problem deeply, wondering 66

how a blind man could match wits with one who could see. But match them he did, and by pretending to trust most those whom he was beginning to suspect, he laid his own little traps and eventually, after several months had passed, his ruse worked. He discovered that his "American" helper was the thief. He was actually neither American nor Christian, but a clever rascal who thought he had found a way to get some easy money. It had been very simple to find out which envelopes the checks came in, open them, sign David's name, and cash the chec~s. Once the culprit had been discovered and sent packing, David was able to live a little easier again. But with his English-speaking helper gone, the problem of correspondence rose again. It was possible, with difficulty, to find someone on the island who would read the English letters after a fashion, but to find somone who could write David's replies was quite impossible. He tried once to write them himself, having his nephew tell him where to dot the i's and cross the t's. But the result was so sprawling and uneven that he gave it up. Finally he found a scheme that worked. He would dictate the letters to one who knew how to write Spanish, spelling out each word letter by letter, and giving the Spanish pronunciation for each. His scribe laboriously wrote down the letters, then read them back to David in Spanish to be sure he had written them correctly, though he had no idea what the letters spelled. Even in the midst of his arduous struggle to correspond with his friends, David's sense of humor shone through. In one letter he dictated: "I have to give the one who writes, letter by letter, because he does not know English, and what he writes is not legible not even in Spanish." David must have chuckled to himself as he dictated this description to his unsuspecting scribe. An encouraging Jay of hope came to David at this time, with the return of his nephew Juan and Isabel Espinoza to Ometepe. They began services in their home and helped David 67

with his work, just as he was beginning to feel that he could not carry on without someone to assist him. Soon they had a good group of believers coming faithfully to their meetings. Then one dark day in November 1942 it seemed to David that he could carry on no longer. He was desperately ill with malaria again, tossing with pain and fever on his small pallet, and his soul cried out in anguish to God for help to come, lest the labors of his painfully lonely years should all have been in vain. As he poured out his heart to God, he suddenly became aware of a strange voice. His nephew was greeting someone deferentially, and then, strangely, brought the man in to David's bedside. David listened through a fog of pain. "My name is Senor Ingram," the stranger said in Spanish, as he took David's hand in his own. ''I'm a Nazarene missionary ..." He got no further. David began to shout and praise God. Prayer was answered! His missionary had come! As soon as he could make himself heard, Robert Ingram gently explained that he was actually a missionary to Guatemala, but that he was in Nicaragua to look over the field and see what the prospects were for opening a new Nazarene field there. David Ramirez clung to his hand and talked with all the abandon of the pent-up years he had lived alone. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish, he told Robert Ingram about the little groups of believers in San Jorge, in EI Volcan, and here on the island of Ometepe. He sent Mr. Ingram with his nephew Juan to visit each group and preach to them. A service was held in David's home, and he sat with tears coursing down his cheeks listening to his "miracle," the Nazarene missionary. There was no question in David's mind but that the boa~d would follow this visit with a permanent missionary. This was God's answer. 68

Before Mr. Ingram returned to Guatemala, he held the first Nazarene baptismal service in Nicaragua, and Don Juan Espinoza was the first Nazarene convert to be baptized. Then Robert Ingram bade David a reluctant good-bye, promising to send in an encouraging report to the mission board. Discouraged with his constantly failing health, David decided to move back to San Jorge again. One of his nephews was grown now and had married and moved to his own home. The other still lived with David. They found a tiny house built of rough boards, with a straw roof and dirt floor, on a small plot of ground that faced the lake. Inside there was one room, with a rough partition part way up from the floor. On one side David and his nephew slept. On the other, a few rocks in a circle formed the stove where the woman he hired to cook for him prepared his meals. Between David's little house and the lake shore lay a half section of land, grown up to brush and trees. David remembered it vividly, for he had traveled through that area often when he could see. The more he thought about the land, he more he felt it would be an ideal spot for the Nazarene mission home or a church, or some kind of center for Nazarene work and witness. Sometimes he prayed that God would give it to his missionary when he arrived, so sure was he that it was just the right location for his beloved church. But the months slipped by, and no word concerning a missionary for Nicaragua came. January 1943 came and went. David knew that the mission board must have had the report from Robert Ingram by now. He prayed and waited. At last there came a letter from the States with the Foreign Missions letterhead on the envelope. Eagerly David listened to the words that were read: "The Mission Board considered the report of Robert Ingram regarding Nicaragua, and voted to 69

send a missionary couple to open work in that country. Rev. and Mrs. Harold Stanfield were appointed to Nicaragua." Again David wept for joy. "Don Haroldo Stanfield." He savored the name on his tongue. What would the missionaries be like? When would they come? It seemed a long wait. Winter with its rain and misery turned to the dust and drought of summer, but no further word concerning the missionaries was received. At last in December 1943 a strange motor vehicle, mudspattered and weather-beaten, clattered through the main street of San Jorge, and down the lane that led to David Ramirez' home. Heads popped from doorways, and a stream of curious children followed discreetly in its wake as the car rattled to a stop. Two couples climbed stiffly out and approached the house where David was sitting in a canvas reclining chair. Mr. Ingram introduced Rev. and Mrs. Harold Stanfield to David, and they took his hand. He clung to them saying, "Let us pray." He bowed his head, and in a choked voice praised God for the coming of his missionaries. He was dressed in spotless white trousers and shirt, his clean-shaven face alight with the joy of this meeting. His once sturdy frame was wasted and thin from malaria. His strength was nearly gone. But this was a wonderful day for David Ramirez-a day he had almost despaired of ever seeing-now it was here! Truly God was good! Mrs. Ingram describing the scene said: "As we looked on him his blindness and weakened physical condition moved us to pity in our hearts, but we soon realized that was the last thing he wanted from us. He spoke to us in English-the tongue of his 34 years in the States, and praised God for the answers to his prayers, for the safe arrival of God's servantsand almost in the same breath, began reviewing many experi70

ences of his life in the United States-especially mentioning the 'good things' he had eaten while there." David's married nephew invited the missionaries to stay at his home, and they accepted his kindness until they could find a room they could rent.

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Laying the Foundation December 12 was David Ramirez' 63rd birthday, but he ignored it, for what was a birthday compared with the allimportant business of getting his beloved missionaries established in their home? On December 26 the first official Nazarene Sunday School and preaching service was held in the home of a family by the name of Peralta. It was an interesting circumstance, the way God had prepared this family for the coming of the Nazarene missionaries. For many months a traveling saleswoman for a store in Managua had visited the Peraltas each time she passed through San Jorge. She was a Christian, and each time she came she witnessed to them of the power of Christ to save them from sin. Through her they had become interested in the gospel and had purchased a Bible. When they heard that missionaries were in San Jorge, the Peraltas called on them and asked when they were going to hold a service. The Stanfields said they were looking for a place where they could hold such a service. "Come to our house," the Peraltas .immediately urged. "You can use the patio and the central room as well." Twenty-four people gathered in the shade of the patio for an afternoon Sunday School, and the house was crowded at night for the preaching service. The following Sunday they 72

gathered again. Six persons answered the invitation to seek Christ: the father, mother, and two sons of the Peralta family, and David's nephew Raul, who still lived with him. For week or more the Ingrams preached to the little groups of believers in and around San Jorge, accompanied by the new and inexperienced missionaries who would so soon be left in charge of the work. Then the Ingrams had to return to their own field, and David was left to teach his missionaries the language and guide them in learning the customs and ways of the Nicaraguan people. If any had ever wondered whether David Ramirez would not accept well the taking over of his work by "foreign" missionaries, they need not have worried. He wrote to his friends in Chicago, shortly after the Stan fields arrived: 'The Ingrams have been here for five or six weeks to get the Stanfields somewhat established in the work. They go back to Guatemala the 20th of this month. So you see I will be left all alone with two new missionaries whom I have learned to love dearly." Christmas came just a few weeks after the missionaries arrived in Nicaragua. It was a wonderful Christmas for David. The Stanfields had rented two tiny rooms and were cooking their meals on a stove made of three flat stones with a sheet of iron on top. But Christmas was Christ's birthday, and they wanted to observe it in the traditional way. David and his nephew Raul were invited to come and share Christmas dinner with the missionaries. It was a simple, plain meal to the Stanfields; but to David, after his years of beans and rice and boiled bananas, it was a banquet. He talked in fluent English, remembering the many foods he had eaten, and often cooked, during his years in the States. The Stanfields would have been lost in their new field had it not been for David Ramirez. Their knowledge of Spanish was meager, and their acquaintance with Nicaraguan customs nil. They were glad to sit at David's feet and learn from him.

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He was an excellent teacher. It was fascinating to see the way this brilliant man adapted himself to the needs of his pupils. As he talked to them in friendly conversation, David was entirely American, chatting in English, joining in their joking and fun with American abandon, enjoying and sharing their chiding of one another for little mistakes. But if he saw them about to blunder through their ignorance of some Nicaraguan custom, he was instantly all-Nicaraguan, using his inborn courtesy and diplomacy to extricate them from any situation that would have been offensive to the Nicaraguan people. With his first great prayer for missionaries answered, David Ramirez turned his keen mind toward the future. He felt that the next urgent need for Nicaragua was young men called of God to preach the gospel. God was concerned about the same need. While David prayed, God was working on the hearts of some who had already responded to the gospel. Pedro Peralta, one of the young men who had been converted in the Nazarene service in his home, had been wonderfully transformed by the gospel. Pedro had no education. The Bible, as were all other books, was closed to his eager mind. But he listened carefully as the missionaries preached each week, and then went out enthusiastically to give Christ to his friends and neighbors. Another young man, Diego Ortiz, was strongly convicted of his sins. God led him to the Nazarene services, and as the Holy Spirit dealt with him, Diego was led into repentance and faith in Christ. Diego Ortiz testified everywhere about Christ. In a few months God called him to preach. Diego was willing. But how? Where could he learn to preach? While Diego and Pedro were following God's leading, still another young man, Ernest Conto, who had been converted in another mission, walked into the Nazarene services. He had never heard the message of heart holiness before. When he learned of this new truth, his whole heart longed for the puri-

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fying blessing. Soon he too was sanctified wholly and had heard God's call to preach. He came to the missionaries with the same question as the others: "Where can I prepare to preach?" It was obvious that the new mission field needed a Bible school. But there were no missionaries available to teach in it, and no funds with which to begin such a school. The Stanfields followed the custom they had already found to be tremendously valuable to them: they went to see David Ramirez and asked him to pray with them about the need. They prayed earnestly for some time. When they had finished, David's solution was maUer-of-fact. "These men must be trained now. We can't wait for the money to come in. Now I'm not able to get about and preach like I would like to, but I could teach these young men in my home. Why not send them to me, and let me do what I can until we can have a Bible school?" It was a God-inspired solution. David was an excellent teacher. His formal education in the States, and his vast reading in wide areas of thought in the years following, had never faded from his brilliant memory. His own spiritual education, received at the foot of the Cross during his lonely years in Nicaragua, was rich and deep. Using young Raul as his eyes, David would lift up portions of God's Word and then open them to his new students with a skill that could not easily have been equaled in a seminary. The "Ramirez Bible School" was an outstanding success. Diego and Ernest and Pedro sat at the feet of this great and humble disciple of Christ for three years. When they graduated, they were as thoroughly prepared to proclaim holiness to their people as though they had spent that time in the best Bible school in the States-perhaps better. David Ramirez' wisdom and genius are living on through the lives of these and others who received their education from him. 75

With the coming of the missionaries, things became much better and easier for David in many ways. Mrs. Stanfield took over the task of reading David's mail to him and of writing his answers to his friends in the States. The General Board voted to allow David a small regular salary. It was almost too much for David's frugal nature. He was troubled that he was unable to do more to repay them for their kindness. Writing to a friend in the States he said: "I am now under the care of the General Board and am sorry to say that I cannot do as well as I did before, but I never fail to give a spiritual morsel to the hungry when the opportunity affords itself. I am trusting that the dear Lord will have mercy on me and heal my body so I can help our new missionaries." But David's increased comforts brought him renewed trouble. Rumors drifted around that the blind man now had more valuable possessions than he once did: sheets had appeared again on his bed, and he owned more than the one shirt on his back. Thieves picked up the rumors and began to prowl. Watching their chance, they would slip into his room and carry off whatever they could pick up. One night the person who cared for David carefully locked the door before leaving for the night. But neither David nor his helper knew that someone had slipped into the house earlier and was hidden inside. When the helper left, the thief came and took David's sheets off his bed, opened the door from the inside, and left. When the missionaries learned of his loss, they did their best to get his bedding back for him. The Stan fields visited David every day, reading the Bible and the Herald of Holiness to him, singing his favorite hymns, and praying. It did not take them long to see that, in spite of his small salary from the church, David was living on a very meager diet, giving away most of his funds to provide food and clothing for his poor neighbors. Remembering the longing with which David often mentioned the food he had enjoyed in 76

the States, Mrs. Stanfield began to prepare a little extra as she cooked their own meals. Sometimes she cooked a special American dish she had heard David say he wished he could taste just one more time before he died. Each day she carried David a treat, knowing that his own cupboard might not supply him even with the simplest Nicaraguan meal if he had heard of someone else who was in dire need. During the years that David had been in Nicaragua, his beloved Chicago pastor, Dr. H. V. Miller, was elected a general superintendent of the Church of the Nazarene. One of his first foreign trips was to Latin America and the field of Nicaragua. It was a very heart-stirring scene when frail, blind don David Ramirez and Dr. Miller met. Hugging his former pastor with real Nicaraguan fervor, don David poured out his thanks to God and to Dr. Miller indiscriminately for the blessings both had brought to him. There were no words of regret for having left Chicago; only unlimited praise to God for sending missionaries to carry on the work David had struggled so hard to begin.

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Harvest From the day David Ramirez arrived back in Nicaragua his prayers for his native land had always been threefold: for missionaries to evangelize, to heal the sick, and to teach the children. Each answered prayer increased David's confidence to believe God for the rest of his dream. The coming of the Stanfields was his first great victory; then the young Nicaraguans called to preach the gospel. David's faith was high as he prayed urgently for a missionary teacher and nurse and someone to open a real Bible school. In 1945 the answers began to come in rapid succession. Rev. and Mrs. Robert Wellmon arrived in August to prepare for the eventual opening of a Bible school. Cora Walker came at the same time-Nicaragua's first Nazarene nurse. One month later Miss Esther Crain was in Nicaragua to open a day school for the children. With the arrival of each new missionary recruit David would rejoice saying, "Praise the Lord! It is another one to help fight the battle." He became a one-man language school for the rapidly increasing missionary staff. Each newcomer went to David's home several hours a day for Spanish lessons. Though blind, David knew thoroughly the Spanish grammar from which

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they studied and could teach from it almost as well as though he could see. He was patient and kind but absolutely thorough in his requirements of his pupils. He was determined that no Nazarene missionary would be handicapped by a careless knowledge of the Spanish language. He would not give praise if praise was not due, but the slightest sign of real progress brought enthusiastic approval. Sometimes the missionaries' errors were too humorous for even his Latin politeness to ignore, and David would burst into hearty laughter. On one such occasion Cora Walker was struggling with her second lesson in Spanish when she recited some verbal exercises that plea~ed David. "Eso es!" he shouted, meaning, "Th at's it!" or, "That's right!" The startled pupil heard only a loud "50S." She sprang to her feet and asked David what she could do to help him. Completely bewildered, David demanded what in the world she was talking about. When she told him that he had called "50S" so loudly that she thought he was asking for help, David broke into shouts of laughter, slapping his knee and rocking back and forth with unrestrained abandon. He did not let his green pupil forget the incident for a long time. Thanksgiving Day came just a few weeks after the new band of missionary recruits had reached Nicaragua. They decided to enjoy the day together, and included David. Early on Thanksgiving morning Cora Walker and another missionary went to David's home to get him. David invited them in and asked them to sit down. They sat on two small, unpainted stools, his only chairs, and with their feet resting on the dirt floor, looked up at the grass roof where rats, snakes, scorpions, and lizards lived in contented comfort. Their hearts were filled with compassion for this man who had sacrificed a life of material benefits in the United States, to return to this land and now must live in darkness, frequently racked by malarial fever, in a little hut like this. In the midst of their pitying thoughts, 79

David Ramirez broke out in a wavering tenor, IUPraise God, from whom all blessings flow! Praise Him, all creatures here below! .. .'" As the last tremulous note died away, he wiped a tear from his cheek and said, "1 have so much! And now to think I am surrounded by Nazarene missionaries at lasH" All through the day at the missionaries' home, David broke into the conversation to praise God for the loyal Nazarenes who celebrated Thanksgiving not only in the American way but also in the Nazarene way by bringing an offering of thanks to the Master, and making it possible for the church to enter new fields like Nicaragua with the gospel. In the late summer of 1946, David received two more language pupils with the coming of Rev. and Mrs. C. G. Rudeen. This was a delight to him, for he longed to feel that he was still useful in the work of the Kingdom. As David's health failed, the missionaries did what they could to make him more comfortable. A report of the dilapidated condition of David's home brought from headquarters an appropriation for a new house of whitewashed adobe brick, with a sturdy tile roof; and with this gift came enough extra money to provide a good hospital bed for David. When the bed arrived, David could scarcely believe his good fortune. For nine years he had slept on pallets, or in hammocks, or even on the ground if necessary. Now, at last, he had a good bed. He laughed delightedly, saying, "Now I'm going to do what I've wanted to do all my life-I'm going to sleep and sleep and sleep." Though David was very frail now, he loved to surprise the missionaries with his skill at tasks they did not suspect he could do. Noticing that his mosquito netting for his bed was badly tom, one day he asked Mrs. Rudeen to purchase him some new netting, but he insisted that it be bought by the yard, not as a finished bed netting already made up. When she brought the netting to him he refused to let her help, but took

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the needle and thread and sewed the netting into the proper size and shape himself, laughing with delight at their astonishment when he completed the job successfully. Sometimes the projects he accomplished by himself were more successful than those he tried to tell others how to do. On one occasion when Cora Walker arrived at his horne, David disgustedly unwrapped a little napkin and showed her his "leather steak." She was puzzled, until he told his story. He had been daydreaming about the good meals he had enjoyed in his wealthier days in the East, when his housekeeper carne in and asked him what he wanted for dinner. "Steak," he answered ironically. But she thought he meant it, and went out to the village marketplace to try to find one. She bought a chunk of meat from the haunch that hung on a tree at the meat vender's stall. Back horne, she had sliced it as she imagined a steak should be, from David's oft-repeated description, beat it vigorously and pouring a cupful of grease into the frying pan, dropped the slice of meat into the sizzling mixture. David was startled to hear the fat sputtering, but assumed that somehow she had managed to secure a steak of some kind. "Be sure to tum it over as soon as it is brown on one side," he called. The good woman obeyed, but not knowing how long it should cook, and being convinced that meat should be thoroughly done, she had turned it over and over and over, until the poor, shriveled thing was as hard as a piece of dried leather. When she had brought it to David, he said nothing, but hid it away in his napkin. It had been a keen disappointment to him for a moment, for his appetite had been whetted for a real steak, but he laughed about it later. The last few years of David's life were full of suffering. He could not attend the services of his beloved church, but he always sent word that he was praying for them. He was bedfast, too weak and crippled to sit in a chair; but to the missionaries he was still a constant source of blessing and inspiration. They 81

watched over him like a beloved grandfather, visiting him daily, reading to him, and invariably singing his favorite song, "Where Jesus Is, Tis Heaven There." But the giving of comfort was not all on their side, for they had learned to lean heavily on David's prayers. When the work seemed at a standstill, or when problems arose to which they could find no solution, they would slip down to David's house, pour out their discouragement to his sympathetic ears, and then David would pray. When he finished, the troubles all seemed to have melted away in the presence of Christ. Often David would go over the long list of prayers God had answered for him: missionaries to help him, a nurse for the sick, a teacher for the children, young men studying to preach, and then he would say, "But we need a Bible school-a real school where these men can live and study and prepare themselves." He spoke with confidence, as one who knew that he had audience with his Heavenly Father, and that someday the answer would be forthcoming. When Dr. G. B. Williamson visited Nicaragua in 1947, he sat beside David Ramirez' bed and rejoiced with him in the blessings God had poured out upon Nicaragua. But even as they rejoiced, David reached up his long, lean arms and said, "With the arms of faith I reach up into heaven and lay hold of God for a Bible school for Nicaragua." Captured by his enthusiasm, Dr. Williamson agreed that it was a real need and that the buildings should be erected as soon as land could be secured in a suitable location. This was no small requirement. Land for Protestant mission work was not easily found in this fanatically Catholic country. And when it was available it was rarely within the reach of the very limited funds the mission had for such a purchase. When Dr. Williamson left for the United States, he promised to remember their need for Bible school property.

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Praying and thinking about possible locations for the school, David remembered the land he had coveted for the Nazarene mission for so many years-the tract stretching from his small home to the shore of Lake Nicaragua. He began to ask God to give this land to the Nazarenes. When word came through that the General Board had voted favorably on the acquiring of property for a Bible school, .the building and property committee of the mission began a serious search for land. As always, they talked to David about their search, and asked his advice. "Where do you think you should locate?" he asked Mr. Rudeen one day, as though the idea were entirely new to him. "I don't know, really," Rudeen answered. "Frankly, I haven't seen anything that really meets our need yet." "I think we should have a small farm to give the boys work to help them earn their way and support the school at the same time," David said abruptly. Mr. Rudeen smiled wryly. "It's a wonderful idea," he agreed, "but where would we find anything like that?" "What do you think of the land just across the road?" David asked, waving his hand toward the door of his little house. "That farm runs all the way to the lake." "Is it for sale?" asked Mr. Rudeen surprised. "No, but we can ask God for it anyway. Let's pray for it," David answered confidently. Hesitantly the missionary agreed, but he had no faith that a man who didn't want to sell would offer a beautiful property like that on terms that missionaries could afford. A few weeks later the owner of the farm asked Harold Stanfield if the mission would be interested in looking at his farm. Hiding his eagerness, Harold agreed to look, and took the building committee along to help him. It was better than their fondest dreams. The farm fronted on a bluff looking out over the lake toward the volcano Con83

cepcion. It was a beautiful location and had ample ground for gardens, fruit trees, and all the buildings they would need. The committee was enthusiastic. But there was still the problem of getting the board's approval and the needed funds sent to the field. Often it took a year or more to get money appropriated and into the field treasury. The price asked was within the amount they had expected to have to spend. Harold Stanfield wrote to the the missionary secretary in Kansas City explaining the entire proposition and the amazing development that had brought this land so unexpectedly within their reach. In just a few days a cable came back, "Buy farm." That was all the approval they needed. They knew the funds would be forthcoming, so they went ahead and purchased the farm. Jubilantly they told David of each step in the amazing development. Each time he would exclaim, "He's a wonderful God! I knew He'd answer if we just believed." It was some days later before the missionaries learned how great a miracle David really had prayed through for them. As they visited a new sawmill that had been built on the lake shore near the farm, the manager said to them, "I hear you folk have bought the Quintanilla farm." "That's right," the missionaries answered. "How much did you pay for it?" The missionaries felt it was none of his business, but knowing Nicaraguan ideas about such things, they decided not to offend him and told him their purchase price. "That's odd!" he exclaimed. "We needed that farm for grazing land for the oxen we use here at the mill, and we offered the owner more money than that. How come he gave it to you?" 84

"How come" indeed would a Catholic farmer turn down an offer from another Nicaraguan Catholic and go to the disliked Protestant ''heretics'' and offer his farm to them for less? There was only one answer. Blind, helpless David Ramirez had talked to God about their need, and God had promised him the farm for the Bible school. It was as simple-and as profound-as that. David followed every development of the new land with keen interest, as the brush and trees were cleared away and the buildings went up. It was a triumphant day for him when the Bible school building was dedicated and the Nazarene Bible School became an actual reality. Today, from the doorway of David Ramirez' old home you can walk through three-quarters of a mile of banana groves, wide pastures, guineo patches, cornfields, vegetable gardens, and coconut palm groves, down to the shore of Lake Nicaragua. On the way you pass the landscaped lawns and the lovely trees surrounding the three main Bible school buildings. It is a marvelous and permanent monument to the prevailing prayer and faith of David Ramirez. During 1949, David Ramirez grew steadily weaker. He knew that it could not be long before Jesus came to take him home, and he looked forward to the day when he would be freed from his suffering and would step into the presence of his Savior. But one thought troubled him. He voiced his hidden fear to Mrs. Stanfield one day as she visited him. "I am not afraid to die," he said slowly, "but I am afraid that when the time comes to go, I1l be all alone." "No, you needn't be afraid," she reassured him. "If we or any of the missionaries are near, you will not be alone." On August 24, 1949, David became violently ill. He was unable to talk, and it was clear that the end was very near. Rev. and Mrs. Harold Stanfield and some of the Nicaraguan Christians gathered at his bedside. His pastor joined them. Bending

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over David's still form, the pastor said, "How is it with your soul, my brother?" With a surge of joy and confidence, David's speech momentarily returned, and in a weak but clear voice he answered, "What I have suffered is nothing compared with the glory tlat. waits for me on the other side." Then his eyes drooped shut, and David Ramirez went to be with his Lord. Missionaries and friends gathered in to sit with the body according to Nicaraguan custom. ·His funeral was held in the first Church of the Nazarene organized in Nicaragua. There was a large crowd of 300 or more townspeople at his funeral, many of whom were Catholics. Though they had persecuted him in life, all of them recognized that David had spent his years among them trying to help them. Now, belatedly, they were expressing their appreciation. His beloved "first missionary," Rev. Harold Stanfield, told of David's life and accomplishments, both in the United States and in Nicaragua, many of which the townspeople learned about for the first time. David's first convert, Juan Espinoza, gave tribute to his uncle; one of his first Bible school students, Diego Ortiz, spoke of David's rich wisdom as a teacher of the Word. There was a great sense of loneliness in the little missionary group as they walked slowly back from the cemetery. Something great and precious had gone from Nicaragua that would never be replaced this side of heaven. On every hand they could see the fruits of David Ramirez' prayers and labor. Every achievement they had made as a mission field had literally been prayed into being by this humble but great man of God. Remembering the material wealth and honor that had once been David's in America, and realizing that he could easily have regained them had he remained there, it seemed to the 86

missionaries that David had renounced more than any of them when he answered God's call to Nicaragua. Yet through all his lonely, dark years in his native land there was never one moment of regret for David in the choice he had made. Truly for David Ramirez, Ph.D., R.N., and redeemed saint of God, the words of Paul were literally true: "For to me to live is Christ."

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Epilogue I know the law of the harvest is in operation. I saw it at work in Nicaragua with my own eyes. Many years have passed since the 1949 August day on which David Ramirez went to be with his Lord. Many changes have occurred in the world, and in the country of Nicaragua since then. But the Church of the Nazarene that David Ramirez helped to bring to his country is alive and well there these four decades later. I know! On a January 1987 evening, accompanied by General Superintendent Raymond Hum and Regional Director Jerry Porter, I arrived at Managua First Church of the Nazarene. Nazarenes from across Nicaragua had arrived earlier that day for the annual district assembly. Rev. Nicanor Mairena, district superintendent, had only recently assumed his responsibility following the illness and death of the previous superintendent, Rev. Faustino Zepeda. As our car pulled into the church parking lot, the evening service had already been in progress for one hour. A late arrival of our airplane accounted for our tardiness. A quick glance told us the church was filled and overflowing. Some SOO were packed inside, we were told, and at least another 100 surrounded the building outside participating through open windows on the warm evening. Participants for the service were lined up in the foyer, awaiting us. First was the 1987 graduating class of the Nicaragua Nazarene extension seminary program. The nine graduating students, dressed in academic caps and gowns, would receive their diplomas in the evening service. Next were seven smiling ministerial couples who had completed the ministerial 89

requirements for ordination and would be ordained into Nazarene ministry before the evening was over. As the word passed that we had arrived, the congregational singing stopped and processional music began as special guests, the graduation class, and the ordination candidates marched to the front of the sanctuary. Smiling faces along the aisles greeted us with love and warmth. "Bienvenidos" was whispered again and again, and hands reached out to grasp our hands as the beautiful spirit typical of the Nazarene worldwide family was expressed. District Superintendent Mairena officially opened the evening by saying, "Nazarenes are exclusive. We stand out in Nicaragua!" Then with a twinkle of humor he asked, "How many are tired and sleepy? We have over two hours of service lefl." (It was already approaching 9 P.M.) Not one hand was raised to reflect weariness. They had come to celebrate and worship, and in a marvelous evening of blessing we proceeded to do that. When the service with all its content was finally finished past 11 P.M., I could not tell that one person had left either the sanctuary or from the perimeter of the church on the outside. What great blessings came as special music was presented, as graduates were honored, as official greetings were delivered, as Dr. Hum preached, as ordinands were set apart for ministry. The following day the business session of the assembly was held. District Superintendent Mairena reported a year of great victories across the district. Every one of their 60 churches reported an increase in church membership, with new members received by profession of faith. The total giving on the district had increased by 100 percent over the previous year. Fifty-two of the 60 churches had paid their General Budget in full. The district reported a large offering received and sent to Nazarenes in El Salvador when the tragic earthquake struck that country during the previous year. District Superintendent Mai90

rena challenged his district to accept a goal of doubling membership by 1990. Present total membership of the district was reported at 3,480, with over 4,000 in Sunday School every Sunday. It was reported that the Nicaragua Nazarene extension seminary program has 95 students. Five courses are offered annually through the extension program from Costa Rica Nazarene Theological Seminary located in San Jose, Costa Rica. There is no financial help given to students. There are nine training centers where the seminary operates. Professors all serve on a volunteer basis with no salaries. Next year, over 100 students are expected to be training in the nine centers. One full-time director, Rev. Sergio Mayorga, carries this entire program. What an inspiration! I wish you could have heard the testimonies and the singing of those Nazarenes throughout the day. One song had these words: "There is no god as great as our God . . . by His power these mountains will be moved." They sang, "Send a new touch of fire on our souls, Lord." And no song was sung with enthusiasm to match "Holiness unto the Lord is our watchword in song, / Holiness unto the Lord as we're marching along." During the assembly, many of the delegates slept in the two buildings of Managua First Church. There were no mattresses or pads, just the hard floor to sleep on. Because of water problems there was no running water at the church at that time. Water had to be brought in by barrels on trucks. But the people kept their bright spirit. The district superintendent spoke for them well when he said, "The floor may be hard, and we may have no water to drink, but ONE is with us to give us joy and we will make it." As the assembly closed, they bid each other farewell and returned to homes and churches across their country to carry on for Him. 91

So it is! The harvest goes on in Nicaragua. David Ramirez and those early missionaries laid the foundation well, and the "gates of hell will not prevail against it." The reality by which David Ramirez lived "to me to live is Christ" is the reality in which Nazarenes live in Nicaragua today. A great movement goes on. And one day, "His kingdom will come, and His will will be done on earth, as it is in heaven." ROBERT H. SCOTT, Director

World, Mission Division January 20, 1988

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