CHI-NA 2013 - Fred: A Reformed Rebel

Han-kow, Chi-na

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

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Fred: A Reformed Rebel

[This is the story of my grandfather, Fred Ruhl's call to missions and his wrestling with God over it. My mom, Carolyn Jung took the time out of her busy schedule to write it out for me in segments and I wanted to share it here on our blog. I am so blessed to have such a rich missionary inheritance. Enjoy!]

 

 

 

Fred:  A Reformed Rebel

 

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Your Grandpa Ruhl, (who I will refer to as Fred, for ease of story-telling) was born on April 24, 1916, to pioneer missionaries, serving with the Christian and Missionary Alliance near the border of Tibet.  Fred was the third child born to William and Florence Ruhl, the first two being daughters, Esther and Ruth.  Fred's name was chosen to honor the memory of a great man of God that had been part of William and Florence’s lives.

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While Esther and Ruth were sweet, biddable girls, Fred was a hellion.  He rode on horseback as soon as he could and was seen tearing across the Chinese countryside at breakneck speed wherever he went.  One elderly missionary I spoke to had reminisced about the day he arrived at the Ruhl's mission house as an eager young missionary, ready to serve the Lord with them.  He told me that, just as he arrived, Florence came out on the front porch and said to Ruth, (who was playing in the yard) "Ruth, go find Fred and tell him to stop whatever he’s doing.”

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Although he had no knowledge of it, God had His hand of protection on Fred.  He had no recollection of the incident, but Fred’s mother had tucked away in her memory a miracle that happened when he was no more than 4 or 5.  This is the story she later told Fred:  there had been an outbreak of smallpox in the area.  William was a practical man; when the outbreak occurred, he asked a doctor to show him how to give smallpox vaccinations and went around the countryside administering the vaccinations to anyone who would take them.  Before he left on one of his "vaccination journeys," William thought that he’d better vaccinate his family as well.  After giving each child the prescribed dose, he left to bring this lifesaving drug to the Chinese people he loved so much.  While Esther and Ruth had no trouble tolerating the vaccine, William hadn’t taken into account the fact that Fred was much smaller and, thus, would need to be given a smaller dose of the medicine.  Getting an adult-level dose of the vaccine caused Fred, within a short time of receiving the medicine, to stop breathing.   His skin turned a deathly shade of black and he had no pulse.  Florence tried to revive him, but could not.

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Brokenhearted, Florence walked from her home, down the hill to the home of a fellow missionary; a nurse.  Florence told her what had happened and asked, tears pouring down her face, if this lady would pray with her to accept the fact that God had allowed Fred to die.  The nurse had said, "I’ll do no such thing!  I’m going to go up to your house and pray that God will allow Fred to live!"  So the missionary nurse (I have no idea what her name was) marched back up the hill with Florence in tow, and arrived at Fred’s bedside where his little body lay still in death.  By this time, more than a half-hour had passed since Florence had felt no pulse.  When the missionary nurse laid her hands on Fred and prayed for life to return to him, Fred gulped a deep breath of air and, within a short amount of time was sitting up and playing as though nothing catastrophic had happened.

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You might think that, having heard that amazing story as he grew up, as well as seeing missionary work being done by his parents, that Fred’s heart would be soft toward the things of God.  But that just wasn’t so.  In fact, the older he grew, the more and more embittered he became.  He despised being a missionary's kid.  He hated the constant prayer meetings he was required to attend and sit quietly through.  He detested the fact that the family barely scraped by on their missionary allowance and had to live in hand-me-down clothes that were often ill-fitting, stained, and needing mending before he could even wear them.  He loathed the strict, legalistic faith of many of the missionaries of that generation.  One Sunday particularly stood out in Fred’s memory, as a testament to the ridiculously strict faith of his parents and their fellow missionaries:  He was walking toward the little chapel where the missionaries held church services, whistling as he went.  A missionary nurse stopped him and shushed him.  She told him, as though it were Biblical law, "Fred, we don't whistle on Sundays." Fred stopped whistling.  He also stopped having any desire to place his trust in the kind of God these people served.  In his imagination, God seemed to be an angry old Tyrant, waiting and watching for anyone to do something wrong so that He could whack them with a huge, knobby club.  And He wanted nothing to do with that kind of a God.

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As Fred grew up, he was, as missionary kids often are, sent away to boarding school.  In Fred’s case, the school was hundreds of miles away from his parents; a Lutheran school that allowed other mission organizations to place their students there.  Although Fred, as most missionary kids do, disliked being away from his parents, he thrived at school.  He was a better-than-average student, and excelled at sports.  He made many life-long friends there.

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While his academic experience was good, Fred continued to resist God as He called to him.  Sitting through numerous church services and chapels did nothing to draw him closer.  By the time Fred was in his last year of school, his heart was so hardened against God, that many of his instructors had grave doubts anything good would ever come of this angry and rebellious young man.  A number of years later, when Fred and his wife, Alice, (along with his two young sons, David and Ron) were in China as missionaries, he dropped by his old school to visit a few of his former teachers.  One teacher was so shocked when she learned why he was back in China, she blurted out, "For goodness’ sake!  You’re a missionary?!  I thought for sure you would end up as a member of the mafia!"

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While Fred, now a Senior in high school, was arrogantly proud that his heart was as hard as granite toward the things of God, God saw through Fred's façade of indifference.  As a speaker at one of his school chapels gave his message, the Spirit of God was able to use the simple words to reach through the walls Fred had erected.  He felt that compelling tug of the Spirit and opened his heart to God, acknowledging that he was a sinner and needed a Savior.  An unearthly joy washed over Fred and a great weight was lifted; he felt all of his resistance melt away under the warmth of God’s love and forgiveness.  Within moments of turning the control of his heart and his life over to Jesus, though, Fred heard the still, small voice of God.  As much as he hated to admit to what he was hearing, he knew it was God’s voice.  And this is what it said:  Fred, I want you to be a missionary.

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Fred’s answer was a clear and unequivocal "No!"

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After having lived the life of a missionary, albeit from a child’s perspective, he wanted nothing to do with the missionary life.  He'd had his fill of hand-me-downs, a strict and seemingly cold religion made up of ridiculous rules, and barely enough money to scrape by with.  And yet Fred kept hearing that voice, asking him to serve God through missions.  He told God, "Look, I am truly, humbly grateful for your forgiveness and salvation.  But I won't be a missionary.  I’ll go back to America; I'll become a businessman and I'll make enough money to send ten missionaries.  But I won’t be one myself."

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And still God's voice kept asking.

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Finally, exasperated, Fred spoke the embittered words that God already knew were in his heart, "Look!  I won’t be a missionary.  And the real reason is…I don’t think You do a very good job of taking care of the people who work for You.  So stop asking.  Because I won't do it.  End of story."

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And still God’' voice kept asking.

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The wrestling continued.  Not as physical as the wrestling match between Jacob and the Angel of the Lord, but just as taxing.  It lasted for months.  God kept asking and Fred kept saying "No." The battle finally ended in a small northern Chinese village, but much would happen before Fred finally yielded his will to God’s.  What brought that final decision began with a simple letter from America.  Chicago, to be exact.

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Henry Ekvall had been a friend of Fred’s at school; he had graduated the year before and was putting himself through school – Wheaton Bible College – by working as a cab driver in Chicago.  Little did Fred know, as he opened the envelope postmarked Chicago, Illinois, that the simple act of reading and responding to that letter would entirely change the course of his life.  Henry’s letter read something like this:

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"Fred, you’re not going to believe what happened to me when I was driving my cab a couple of days ago!  I picked up a guy in a nice suit, and as I was driving him uptown I started chatting with him.  You know, 'Are you here on business?', that kind of thing.  Turns out, the guy’s a big executive with the Ford Motor Company.  He asks me why I’m driving a cab and so I tell him how I was born in China and planning on going back as a missionary, so I’m driving a cab to pay my school tuition.  So he asks me, 'Do you speak Chinese?' and I say, 'Like a native!'  And then he gets this intense look in his eyes and says, 'How would you like to go back to China for a visit, free of charge, as a representative of the Ford Motor Company?"

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"The long and the short of it is, they're sending me over on a ship, with a bunch of brand-new, shiny-off-the-showroom-floor 1936 Fords!  The Ford Company wants to introduce their cars to the Chinese people, so they're sending me and several drivers to take the cars all over China!  I’ll be an interpreter for the drivers who are as American as apple pie and don't speak a word of Chinese.  But I could sure use a second interpreter; would you be willing to go along for the ride?  As it happens, the ship will be docking just about the time of your Easter break.  We’'l start in the south and travel north; you could even leave our little caravan for a while and go visit your folks for a couple of days and then meet back up with us for the drive back to the ship."

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Fred lost no time writing back to Henry:  Sign me up!

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Several letters went back and forth between Henry and Fred, planning the route the cars would take.  Fred was to make arrangements with the city of Hankow, so that the cars would get noticed as they drove through; a mini-parade of sorts.  Their first stop after being taken off the ship, would be at the Yangtze River, to rinse the cars down and get the travel dust off of them.  Once the cars were clean and shiny, Henry, Fred, and the drivers would motor through the main streets of Hankow, honking, waving, and generally getting noticed.  It would be a great beginning!

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After leaving Hankow, they would head north on the best roads.  Fred knew the perfect town to stay in after their first day on the road.  It not only boasted a clean and inexpensive inn, but there was a great place to get some good Chinese soup for dinner.  From there, they would continue on until they got up near the Tibetan border.  Fred would, indeed, leave Henry and the drivers for a short time and go visit his parents -  something he rarely got to do during Easter break because of the expense on the family’s budget.  Then, after Henry continued on, looping through the very northern part of China, they would once again meet, to make the final drive back; Fred to school, and the cars back to the ship returning to America.

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All went according to plan; the ship arrived from America right on time.  Fred and Henry greeted one another enthusiastically, excited for the adventures ahead of them.  They and the drivers headed the cars down to the Yangtze River’s edge to begin rinsing them off in preparation for the drive through town.  All was going just as it should, until, standing on the shores of the Yangtze, Fred noticed an unusually green-yellow haze on the horizon.

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Fred had been in China for most of his life.  He’d lived through storms and rain; hail and snow.  But he’d never seen a sky like the one he was seeing on the horizon.  So he called out to a man standing nearby, watching the strange car-washing spectacle going on before him.

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"Sir, what kind of storm do you suppose that is, coming our way?  I’ve never seen a sky that color before!" Fred asked, in flawless Mandarin.

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Even as he asked, the wind was starting to pick up speed a little.

 

The man responded, "That, young man, is a sand storm coming our way!  In fact, if you don’t find a warehouse quickly, by the time that sand storm comes through, there won’t be a speck of paint left on your nice, shiny cars."

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Henry, Fred, and the drivers lost no time arguing about it; they drove the half-washed cars away from the river and found a warehouse large enough to park all the vehicles inside.  And there they stayed, while the wind and sand whipped through Hankow with a mad fury.

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As Fred sat in that warehouse, his mind burned with its own sort of fury, as he lashed out at God.  His thoughts went something like this:  "D’you see what I mean?  D’you see why I won’t be Your missionary?  You knew what our plans were for today!   You knew that Henry and I went to a lot of trouble to parade through town with the cars.  And where are we?  We’re sitting in a warehouse, waiting out a sand storm.  Who’s in charge of the weather?  Oh, that would be You.  Why, if You’re in charge of the weather, would You have a sand storm hit just as we’re about to parade through town?  This is exactly why I don’t trust You to protect me if I were to become a missionary.  There is no rhyme or reason to the way You do things!"  To say the least, Fred’s night was a restless one, with the storm raging outside and his thoughts raging within.

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As the sun came up over Hankow, dust hung in the air still; people dug their way out of homes and businesses to deal with the heaps of sand that were everywhere, much like snowdrifts in the winter.  Henry had the drivers take the cars back to the river, where they finished the washing that had begun the day before.  As the shiny Fords drove through Hankow, though, very little notice was taken, as the populace hunkered down to clean up the mess that had been left by the storm.

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As the group stopped along their pre-planned route to stretch their legs, Fred said to Henry.  "At least we can stop for lunch at that little town I told you about, where we should have stayed last night, if not for the storm."  He had to work hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

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"Sounds good," Henry replied.

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When the cars topped the rise of a hill and drove down into the town, though, it sat silent and still.  No people walked in the street.  No sounds were heard in the houses or the shops.  As the group went from door to door, knocking and calling out, "Hello!  Is anybody there?" They were met with silence.  The inn where they would have stayed held no visitors.  The shop that made delicious soup sat empty.

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Finally, out from behind the corner of a house, came an elderly man, cowering and trembling.  Shock glazed his eyes as he ranted and gestured.  At first the group could understand little of what the man said, but slowly the story became clear.   The night before, as lanterns were being dimmed for the night, the little village was attacked.  Bandits had come to raid the town.

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To get a better understanding of what "bandits" means, here is a quote from an article entitled The Chinese Bandit Menace in 1930:  "Bandits (peasants-turned-outlaw) reigned in terror over at least eight provinces in Southern China and quite possibly more. There were hundreds of villages attacked by bandits. The bandits raided and looted the villages in these provinces, attacked the residents, killed many, and abducted others. Often they burned down villages and left no traces that these communities had ever existed. Reports of these attacks were frequent in the newspapers of the time."

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The night before, as Fred, Henry, and the drivers had slept the night away, waiting out the storm, bandits had stormed into town.  They had demanded that all the women and children be rounded up and brought to them.  The fearful villagers complied with their demands.  Once the women and youngsters were secured and taken away, the old man said, the bandits systematically killed all the men and teen-aged boys and threw them into the garbage pit on the outskirts of the village.  He was the only survivor.

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It was a sober group that drove away from the village, promising the old man that they would send help when they got to the next town.  Each one of them realized, as they silently drove past the garbage pit, that their bodies should have been in there too.  If not for a sand storm.

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It was a much more subdued Fred that talked with the Lord the next evening, as they settled down in an inn, further along the road.   "I guess I owe You an apology.  I can see now, that You used the weather that I was so angry about, to protect me and the rest of the group.  But if You think that that’s all it will take to convince me to be a missionary, You’re wrong.  I’m just not ready to give in."

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And so the little column of Fords continued driving north.  As they motored through villages and towns, the drivers waved and honked their horns.  Fred and Henry handed out leaflets advertising the latest Ford models to the curious Chinese people along the way.  No other mishaps marred their journey.  The drivers got to see China for the first time and Fred enjoyed many conversations and laughter with Henry, reminiscing over old times at school and hearing about Henry’s new adventures as a Chicago cabbie.

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As planned, Fred parted ways with Henry and the drivers when they arrived in a town in the north of China.  Henry would continue on with his cars for three weeks while Fred stopped to visit with his parents.  His Dad had come to meet them and there was much joy in the reunion.  Fred and William would take a seven-day journey on horse-back, to get to the mission house where the Ruhls lived and ministered.  He would visit with his family for a week and then make the seven-day journey back in order to meet Henry on his way back.  Henry’s parting words were:  "Fred, we meet at this same inn, three weeks from today.  Don’t be late!  I can’t wait for you because I’ve got to get these cars back to the ship on time."

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"Understood," Fred replied. "I'll be here."

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It was to be the last conversation Fred would have with Henry Ekvall.

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Time with his parents, especially since he could now tell them about his new commitment to follow Jesus, was sweet.  Fred visited Chinese villages with his dad, enjoying the feeling of being back on his old horse.  He enjoyed numerous chats with his mom, by the stove, as she cooked him many of his favorite meals.  At no time did he mention his struggles with the Lord, so the visit with his parents was sweet, but all too short.  Soon enough, it was time to pack, load the horses with tents and provisions, and head back on the seven-day journey back to Fred and Henry's meeting place.

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Riding horses side by side with his dad was a pleasure for Fred.  Sometimes they rode together silently; sometimes they talked of school, or of Fred’s sisters, or any number of  inconsequential things as they traveled the rough terrain of northern China.  The weather was beautiful and they were making good time.  Until the third day of the trip.

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Fred and William woke to thunder, lightening and driving sheets of rain.  A "gullywasher", Fred would later call it.  For a full day, the two had no option but to stay in their tent and wait out the storm.  To travel in the rain was to risk injury to the horses, or even worse, to be swept away, attempting to cross a stream or small river.  So they sat.  And waited.  The storm never let up until the sun had set on the day.

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While attempting to make small talk with his Dad over the sounds of the storm, Fred was, as he had been during the sand storm, inwardly seething.  Could anything be better proof that God was unwilling to see to his needs?  How could he trust a God that would allow a ridiculous rainstorm to prevent him from getting to Henry?  Did God not realize the kind of expense this would put his parent in?  They would now have to pay his way, by train, which would cost them money that they could hardly afford, thanks to the meager pay missionaries received.  While the rain poured outside the tent, Fred poured his bitter thoughts out to the Lord, holding nothing back.

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When they woke the next morning, it was as though the storm had never happened.  With a cloudless sky overhead, William and Fred packed up their soggy tent and headed on, hurrying when they could, to make up for that lost day of travel.  An uneventful day of travel had Fred hopeful that they might make it to Henry on time after all.  But it wasn’t to be.

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On the morning of the fifth day of travel, Fred woke to the sound of pounding rain once again.  No less brutal than the previous rain, the two men were tent-bound for another full day.  Once again, the rain continued, steady and relentless, until it was dark.  Once again, Fred’s misery and anger were aimed toward the heavens.  He asked God, "If Jesus could calm a storm by rebuking it, why couldn’t You do the same?   Better yet, why allow a storm to begin with, since You’re in charge of the weather, aren’t You?"  Fred’s bitterness, like the rain, seemed to have no end.

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A barely civil Fred helped William get the horses ready for travel the next morning, which dawned clear and bright.  The final two days on horseback brought Fred and William back to the little town where Henry was to have been waiting for Fred.  When they arrived at the inn, Fred was handed a note by the innkeeper.

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It read:  "Fred, I waited an extra day for you, but I can't wait any longer.  If we don't get these Fords back to the ship on time, my name will be Mud.  Sorry I couldn't wait, buddy.  Henry."

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The two got back on their horses and headed to the nearest town with a railway station, so that Fred could get back to school.

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At about mid-day they arrived.  Although it was a larger town, there seemed to be more activity and talk than would regularly be taking place.  The town was clearly abuzz with some sort of excitement.  William stopped a young man that was walking near them and asked, "What’s going on?"

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"Haven’t you heard?”" was the young man’s reply.

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"Heard what?"  Fred asked.

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"Bandits stopped that group of cars with the Americans driving them, and took all of the drivers away.  They're holding them for ransom in a little village not far from here, and they want lots of U. S. money before they’ll release them!"

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William immediately went to the center of town, where there was a telegraph office.  He contacted the American Embassy and the headquarters of the Christian and Missionary Alliance, asking for whatever amount of U. S. money they could provide so that he could go and release the hostages.  Money was quickly provided.

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Following the directions given to them by the townspeople, William and Fred headed out on their horses once again.  This time, though, they were bringing the money they had received in order to exchange it for the lives of Henry and the other American drivers.

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As they arrived at the outskirts of the little village, Fred felt a vague sense of déjà vu.  The narrow street echoed with emptiness, just as the town had at the beginning of their journey.  "Hello!  Anyone here?"  they both called out in Mandarin, as they rode through town.  No one answered.  At the end of the little street Fred noticed the cars.  They were all empty.  William checked in each of the buildings and homes.  No sign of life was anywhere.

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Fred, let’s water the horses and go back to town.  Maybe they got the instructions wrong, as to where they wanted us to bring the money.   Fred lowered the bucket that sat at the edge of the village water well.  Instead of the bucket hitting water, though, it hit something solid.  When William shone a light down into the well, they saw the bodies.

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With some help from the larger town, they were able to bring up the bodies that were in the well.  It was the American drivers and Henry, last of all, that they pulled from the well.

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Fred's mind and heart were a mess of confusion and sadness.  His good friend, Henry, was dead.  Fred had made friends with all of the drivers, as they had driven together, mile after mile.  Senselessly murdered.

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And, had it not been for not one, but two rain storms, his body would have been lying next to Henry’s on the packed earth of a village street.

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Once again, as he stood near the body of his friend, Fred heard God's still, small voice asking the same question, “Fred, will you serve me as a missionary?  Will you trust me to take care of you while you serve Me?"

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"Yes."  was his answer.  "I will."

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Fred never wavered from that promise.  He served God in the United States, China, the Phlippine Islands, and Taiwan.  He served his Savior until the day he went to be with Him.  Much of his ministry in China and the Philippines was as a traveling evangelist, where hundreds committed their lives to Jesus.  At the Port O' Call alone (a Christian servicemen's center where Fred served for 11 years) over 3,000 gave their hearts to the Lord under his ministry.  Not until eternity will we know the thousands and thousands of people Fred impacted for the Kingdom of God.