In 1963, with a teaching fellowship in hand, I set off for a much desired adventure to teach English to Colombians in Cartagena, Colombia at an American government-sponsored language school. I expected to hone my Spanish, to have fun and bask in the tropical sun, to explore and create a year full of memories to share with a family and friends when I returned home. However, God apparently had other plans for me. What followed was a daily test of my faith. It began with the first drink of water I had on my first day, and went downhill from there. From a lost suitcase, to a multitude of mosquitoes who "welcomed" me on my first night, to visits by other critters, several mice and a bat. There was also a near-rape, an attack on our truck by the communists deep in the jungle, and several mysterious illnesses that gradually wore me down. I was hospitalized. The clincher was getting the test results back, and the doctor's prognosis that I would die if I stayed in Cartagena a day longer. But getting home was also a problem: I didn't have enough money! How I prayed to God for guidance and help! "Rely on Me, He said, not yourself." Ingeniously, God had a plan to get me home. Praise be to God for His saving grace!
