Our First Day Living in Mexico

I slammed on the brakes and bit my lip to suppress a scream. A black station wagon dashed in front of me, slowed almost to a stop and made a left turn. Monetarily I lost sight of the brown Chevy panel truck that my husband, James was driving. He was guiding me through this maize of narrow pothole filled streets. I had heard people joke about Tijuana drivers but I never dreamed it could be this bad.  It was my first time driving in this Mexican city just south of San Diego, California. Besides being my first, I was maneuvering through rush hour traffic with only one free hand.  Our ten-month-old daughter, Rosi was asleep on my left shoulder. If I stopped to lay her down, I’d lose my guide.

It was near six o’clock Friday evening, February 23, 1962. Heavy dark rain-clouds cause darkness to set in early. The lights of the city were now behind us so all I could see was my guide’s taillights. Often they disappeared around hairpin curves or dipped into sharp inclines. Nevertheless, the darkness was a blessing with a gray face.

We were not just going on a mission vacation and would soon be back to our usual life. We were leaving behind the familiar comforts of America and planning to live in Mexico for years to come. To make matters worse we had only $10.00 and not a promise of another penny. Perhaps Rosi’s crying was because she had sensed the tension in my emotions as we crossed the international border.

It must have been about 8:00 o’clock when James pulled off the highway beside a tiny deserted house surrounded by knee-high weeds. He came back to my car and said, “Well this is the place. Let’s just sleep in the cars till morning.”

“Okay, just tell me where the bathroom is? We gotta go.”

“Hu, hu, its right there, that little shanty. Here’s the flash light.”

I shivered. Partly from the cold, partly from what I might find in that creaky out-house. I thought we had come to the end of the earth. There was not a light anywhere. Surely if there were houses around we could see at least a candle lit. Not one. I put Rosi in the back seat near her brother Tim who had turned two just one week ago. Tricia and I went to the outhouse. With the flashlight, I surveyed its interior. There were spider webs in the corners full of dead flies, so I knew some fat spiders was lurking somewhere in the darkness. But the spiders were not as bad as the stench. Tricia our little princess covered her nose and cried. I hugged her, my tears dropping on her blond hair.

In the car I held her tight as we listen to the rain beat on the metal roof of our brown 56 Chevy station wagon. A thousands thoughts raced through my mind.

What had we got ourselves into? Were we completely crazy? How could I convince James to go back? I had promised James I’d be a missionary with him eight years ago. We were standing on a pier in Redondo Beach, Cal., when he had asked, “Will you marry me and go with me across the ocean?” The evening was so romantic, the hum of the waves on the rocks and the moon shining on the water. It sounded so exciting.”Yes,” I answered.

 I envisioned James and I boarding a ship with our family and near friends standing on the dock giving us a big send off. People in the church would be standing behind us with their blessing and financial support. We would have money for travel expenses, a decent place to live and other basic needs. So we married a year later on December 26, 1954 at my home church in Jefferson, Oregon. Eight years later with four children, we were going on the mission field.

Where was the big send off, I had imagined? Where was the mission station prepared to receive us? We had already promised our only money, ($10.00) to rent the tiny house James had located.

Before we could go, James had to serve the country. At that time, all men over 18 had to serve two years in the military unless they objected for conscience sake. If accepted they were classified as “Conscientious Objector” and  were put to work at something to help our country in place of being placed in the military. Only a few who applied received it. James had lived a Christian life through school and on his job at the Chevy dealership so he was accepted and allowed to work at any nonprofit organization. Through the help of another conscientious objector he found a job with the Goodwill Industries in Santa Anna, CA. He drove a truck that picked up donations from June 1955 through June 1957. Bob our oldest son was born while we lived in Santa Anna.

He finished this work requirement and we moved back to Orland, CA. where we had lived the first six months after our marriage. While living in Santa Anna, a banker (who knew the family had disintegrated because of the mother’s death in a car accident) notified James that his father’s old home was in foreclosure. The new owners had defaulted on the mortgage. We had a small savings so paid off the loan and moved into this house.  We sold the little house on Chapman St. and bought a larger one on a half acre lot to fulfill my dream of an orchard, and gardens. We soon remolded adding a new kitchen, bath, living and dining area which almost doubled the size of the house. We needed the space for Tricia, Tim and Rosi were born in those five years.

 Soon after Rosi was born, Bobby came down with the mumps. Two weeks later James had them. While flat on his back with mumps God began talking to him about his calling to the mission fields. Everyone in the church encouraged us to go.

During the following four months, I fought many spiritual battles. I walked the floor trying to die to my dreams; the future of my children (education, etc), a comfortable home, orchard, and vegetable garden. I rubbed my hands over the smooth kidney shaped eating bar that surrounded a cooking unit. I kissed the stools where our children sat to eat. I patted my sewing nook and said, “I hope the next person enjoys you as much as I have.” It seemed like pulling my teeth to leave this lovely new home. By God’s grace, I made it though. We rented our home for the mortgage payment and started for Mexico.

We were confused about where to go for some advised going to El Alamo and others thought we should move to Santa Catherina. Both these mission station had a small well-furnished house. Finally, after two month staying in the church campground cabin and in homes of friends, James began fasting. He went to the mountain to hear from God. Three days later when he came back he said, “God said ‘Go to Rosarita’.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Rosarita.”

Geneva Hite, the friend in whose home we were staying, spoke up. “We have been praying that God would send someone there, because the Esquire family had just moved there and they need someone to disciple them. Here I’ll show you where it is.” She got her map and unfolded it on the table. “There it is,” she said, “right on the ocean. The government has just built a hydro-electric plant out at the edge of town and many people are moving in.” She was so excited I just had to believe that God had really spoken.

 We waited another week or so hoping some offerings would come in for our relocation. But none did. Bill and Geneva Hite made regular trips out into the desert of Baja California with Harlan Smith. James went with them a couple times and they left him off in Rosarita to find a house for us. Nothing turned up except a possibility of a little shanty for $10.00, located three miles north of town.

We were restless by now. Living with four children ages five and under in another’s home isn’t exactly a piece of cake. Children are naturally prone to accidents and curious. It kept me busy from morning til night just keeping then out of things or cleaning up after spills. One morning we had about all we could take, it was time to act, so when the children found money in a thrown away sofa out back of the Hite’s home we took that as a sign that God would supply our needs. With this money, we put gas in the two vehicles and started out. How different all this was to what I had envisioned that night on the pier when I promise James I’d be a missionary.

I grew up on a farm in the Willamette Valley, near Salem OR. Dad never tried “to keep up with the Jones” but our 9 by 10 pantry was stocked with food each summer. There were shelves from floor to ceiling filled with jars of home preserved fruits, vegetables, jams, jellies, pickles and meats. What a contrast to the life of faith we were undertaking. Pure, true, adventure it was! It was like trying to climb Mt. Everest without previous training - - at least for me. James had had a little experience living by faith. His dad was a minister and sometimes they lived purely on offerings. Yes, this was real adventure! Not exactly what I wanted, however that’s why I married James.  I saw it as an opportunity to work for the Lord,  to use my energy for souls. I dream was to go into new territories and raise up believers. Although I wished to work for the Lord, I was feeling like running away.

 Instead of floating on a ship, I was cramped up in a car, trying to sleep in a rainstorm. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I dozed off.

The sound of men talking awoke me. Opening my eyes I saw two Mexicans talking to James, Bobby stood beside him shivering in the cold wind. The house was a shack.  How glad I was that we arrived in the night. At least I had a little rest before laying eyes on my future ‘dwelling’.

James came over to the car. “I’ll go pay the rent and see if I can get a key for this place.”

Thankfully, the three younger children were still asleep so I laid my head back and began praying. “Oh Lord, please increase my faith. We have only a few days food supply.” Suddenly I remembered reading the biography of Dwight L. Moody. His father had died shortly before his mother gave birth to twins. She was unable to work so the children had to hire out for their room and board. Dwight and his brother cared for a man’s cows all winter in exchange for a place to sleep and only mush to eat. I got the point. “Yes Lord, we have enough corn meal for a couple weeks. What will we do after that?” My mind began thinking of other miraculous thing I had read. God could do anything. There were plenty of fish in the ocean, wild animals in the hills not far away. Oh Yes, ‘ the cattle on a thousand hill are his.’ I’m sure You will give us one whenever our family needs it won’t you God?”

I looked up into the blue sky. Yes, I was serving an awesome God who had control of everything. I got out of the car and stretched. Looking about me I saw a field of golden California poppies bobbing their heads as if welcoming me. And there were Texas blue bells, and sun flowers, and several other flowers that I couldn’t name. I could hardly believe the beauty before my eyes. I turned to look in front of the little house. There across the field, the blue waters of the Pacific stretch out as far as the eyes could see. And on either side of our “would be home” were several houses each facing the narrow highway. At least I would have neighbors. This wasn’t the end of the world after all.

When James returned he said, “I have good news. The owner said we could just live here and fix up the house for him. He will buy all the materials.”

We went inside and to our surprise, there was a good propane cook stove. “A stove!” I shouted, ‘That’s all we need. We have a table, our beds and everything else we need.” In shamed, I covered my face and cried. God had supplied all we needed.

“Say, I’ve got a propane tank you can use,” said Jose, our new neighbor. “The contract on the tank is dos centos pesos ($20.00) but this way you will only pay for the propane which is about $4.50.”

We hadn’t eaten a decent meal since yesterday morning so while they went for the propane, I started hunting through boxes for pans and dishes. That is when I realized I hadn’t washed my hands and had been to the bath room twice. Wipes were not for sale in those years. And there was no water. Yucky was hardly the word to describe how I felt.

The kids were awake now and Tim and Tricia needed to use the toilet. The smell of the “out-house” was horrendous. I gagged while I held each child over the hold. For a moment, I was wanting to forget adventure and to fly back to the states to a clean bath room that flushed and had a lavatory and bar of soap.

When I came out of the toilet, I heard a strange loud noise. Looking around I saw a boy rolling a fifty-gallon barrel toward me. “Para Agua,” the boy said, pointing to me.  I pointed to myself. He shook his head, “Yes”. I understood. The barrel was for me. I remembered in childhood my mother kept a barrel like that under the eaves at the corner of the house. In it she caught the rain that fell from the roof. She said rainwater was soft and better for our skin and hair. When a child I used to wonder, how could water be anything but soft? It always felt soft to me.

“Look! Look!” I called to the children. “A skinny man driving a bony horse pulling a cart is coming down the road.”  The boy ran out and spoke to him. Then the man pulled right up to our back door where the boy had placed the barrel. He climbed into his cart, poured a bucket of water in my new barrel and rinsed it. Then he poured bucketful after bucketful of water into my barrel. When our barrel was full, the boy gave the man some money. Now we had water!

Then what to my wondering eyes should appear? Two women were coming toward me; one had a broom, the other a mop, two large boys with hoes over their shoulders and machetes in their hands and three teen-age girls carrying rags. Grass and weeds were two feet tall everywhere except around the neighbors houses and drive ways. The women explained in sign language they wanted to help. The boys began slicing away the grass nearest to the house. The girls and women went inside. They swept down the cobwebs and dust, which had collected on the rough board walls. They washed the windows, the stove and mopped the floors of the three small rooms. We looked like an anthill preparing for winter.

The men helped James unload the boxes, our one chest of drawers and set up the  bunk beds. They screwed the iron legs on the home made table we had brought. When the work was finished our wonderful new neighbors bid us good-evening and left. Only the children stayed. They took Tricia out into the field and brought back a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers which we placed on the table..

That night when we said our evening prayers, the fears of the night before seem far away.