.
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.
.
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.”
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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!"
.
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.
.
Fred’s
answer was a clear and unequivocal "No!"
.
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."
.
And
still God's voice kept asking.
.
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."
.
And
still God’' voice kept asking.
.
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.
.
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:
.
"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?"
.
"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."
.
Fred
lost no time writing back to Henry: Sign
me up!
.
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!
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
"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.
.
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."
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
"Sounds
good," Henry replied.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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."
.
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.
.
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.
.
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."
.
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.
.
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."
.
"Understood,"
Fred replied. "I'll be here."
.
It
was to be the last conversation Fred would have with Henry Ekvall.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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."
.
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.
.
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?"
.
"Haven’t
you heard?”" was the young man’s reply.
.
"Heard
what?" Fred asked.
.
"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!"
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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.
.
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?"
.
"Yes." was his answer. "I will."
.
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.
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