Sunset on the Highway

It was springtime of 1958, and the revolution was on in Cuba. A spring of suffering for Faith Stewart. Much of her time she spent sitting or lying on her bed. Her diet was, for a long time, unsalted soups and fruit juices. She grew more feeble day by day. The hardening arteries slowed down her body, and it was plain to see that she could not go on much longer in this condition.

When urged to eat more, she patiently explained that she could not and that she was doing her very best. But the fact remained that she was going down physically before the eyes of all. There seemed to be nothing that anyone could do.

The storms that had broken in upon her life for years, the unremittant toil that never ceased, and the heavy soul-burden that was always on her heart caused the wear and tear of her aging body. Her four-score years called for quiet and peace.

This actually seemed to distress her at times. The assembly room of the Bible school students was next to hers, and there was no other place for it. She spoke of this and was sorry that she had come to a place where it seemed to trouble her at times. “I don’t know why, but it seems that the things that were of no moment whatever before seem to bother me now. I don’t want to get cranky,” she said one day.

Some have a serene old age and go slowly down until they cross over. But all her life, she had been active, and then it seemed that, with all the problems of a great work, and the many demands up to the very last made on her as the director of the mission, she could not retire to her room to quiet and rest. And neither did she desire to do so.

There was a sad incident in the history of her life that happened earlier in the spring and added to her burdens and gave her deep concern and grief. We do not doubt that it caused her to go down faster than she might have done.

Quite some time before this, a man had come to Cuba, after some correspondence, telling her, when he arrived, that he had for some time taken a stand against the apostate condition of the Church in his own country. He further stated that he very much desired to help build up and strengthen the work of the church of God in Havana.

He was a capable man in the pulpit, and there was a real need in this field for a capable man. After inquiry concerning him and waiting for a short while, he assumed leadership of the English group. Here he served for a few years. But information came in from faithful brethren out in the fields and laymen in the congregation that plans were being laid to make division and lead away these people who had been faithful for years under the leadership of Sister Stewart.

She could no longer attend the services regularly, and the news was a stunning blow, coming at such a time in her life. Other times the waves of the sea of life had beat upon her barque and rolled on as the years passed by. But she was quite feeble, and this move made against the unity of the mission came when the barque somehow was frail, and it beat cruelly down upon her.

On the Thursday evening of that week, she forced herself to get up and to go to the service, and we went as usual to Buena Vista and found only the few faithful members present who were too wise to be influenced. Upon inquiry, we found that the others had followed their leader to another place of worship.

She looked sadly at the empty seats, and all at once, leaning forward in her seat and resting her head on the pew in front of her, she quietly sobbed out her heartache in the chapel at Buena Vista. The shadows of early evening were falling softly about us as we sat there in the twilight helplessly looking on at her grief. So near the end of life; so close to the great departure. Oh, how cruel are the blows of Satan against the saints of God!

As we sat there about her, she raised her head; once more the staunch spirit conquered, and she said, “I am too weak and sick and I cannot go out as before to visit and bring in, but we must labor and win more for the Lord.”

So she began to plan and set her foot once more to build the broken wall of Zion. True, many blocks had been removed, but these had gone out from the fold. Comforting words from the Bible came to her, “The sheep follow him: for they know his voice. And a stranger will they not follow.”* (John 10:4-5)

The only thing that could be done was to plunge again into battle and get more saved. Aged, sick, worn in body, the iron of that will came floating to the top. Her rugged spirit arose and took over, and she mastered the situation spiritually and pressed on.

Alas! The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. It was easy to note that she was affected physically by the struggle and the last great blow given by the enemy. Physically, she did not seem able to throw it off, and all that could be done for her was done to spare her in those days.

Lying on the bed one day when the morning mail was brought in, she roused herself, and resting against the piled pillows, she began to read the mail. There was one letter from a friend of many years who sadly wrote that she could not longer stay in the apostate church where she worshiped.

This friend also said that she needed guidance and help and asked Faith Stewart to come and help her to decide upon some course when she next visited the United States.

“It looks like I must go to the United States again,” she said.

“But,” said friends, “you are not able to go on such a trip. Why not let one of us stop on our way home with this Christian woman?”

“No, I feel that I must go.”

But we could scarcely believe that she would keep her word. She grew no better and was finding it harder day by day to hear anything, and often those days, she fell just standing in her room. It was, however, with the same determination that had ruled her life down through the years that she strove to keep going.

Finally, at the supper table one evening, she calmly announced her intention of going at once to the United States. Remembering how God had healed her formerly on her trips, one said, “If it were anyone but you, I would say it is impossible.”

But everyone began to help in the preparations. Ruby came over and selected suitable clothing for the trip and the climate where she would be while there. Then Phyllis, Brother and Sister Linares, Pancho, and I accompanied her to the airport, waiting there until the final call for passengers to board the plane.

With the little leather bag grasped firmly in her hand, she started in line through the passageway. A policeman with a kind face stood watching the people as they fell in line. The last goodbye had been said, and she approached the waiting officer.

He glanced at her halting step, bent shoulders, and beautiful white hair, and bowing his head spoke to her very kindly. We did not hear what he said, but he started to walk by her side, through that line, across the grounds to the waiting plane, and then up the steps to the door of the plane. She did not look back once, but slowly faded out of sight in the waiting doorway.

That night, somehow it seemed to be unbearable to turn away lightly, as we usually do when one is leaving, but we did not know then that it was the last time we would ever look into her countenance or hear her voice in this life.

So it was that Faith Stewart went, unattended, to make the last itinerary for her beloved mission field and her dear people. For she loved the people of Cuba as she loved her own people, and when they failed her, she grieved and tried to look on the best side.

Once when in a service in Cuba, they played the national anthem of the United States especially for her. She listened, very much pleased for the honor, but arose at the close and said quietly, “You need not play that piece just for me. Cuba is my adopted land; I am now a Cuban.”

Everyone waited anxiously for her first letter, which came after a week or more—just a short note. Crossing over the channel from Havana to Key West, she traveled by bus to Homestead, Florida, stopping over at the home of her kind friends, the C. F. Waldrons.

For many years, Mrs. Anna Benedict of Miami had taken care of the receiving and repacking of boxes for shipping to the mission in Cuba. This she did faithfully, even working alone. When she could no longer carry on, the Waldrons took over, and have done a good work. Every phase of the work that can be helped by them has been taken over, and even travelers going to Cuba in the interest of the mission have been made welcome to the hospitality of their cheerful home.

It was to this place that she came on her last trip to the United States. She was weak and tired and rested in the room always reserved for her. It was in that very room that beautiful heavenly angels circled about her on a former occasion.

When she started North, they looked with compassion upon the frail body, sorrowing that she should take such a journey in such a physical state.

From Homestead, she went directly to the home of A. J. Martin in Lakeland, Florida, and these good friends took her to Tampa to speak to the congregation of Brother Wallard in that city. From there she went to Tennessee to visit the Christian friends awaiting her.

When sitting on the plane at the very beginning of her journey, a gentleman behind her touched her shoulder and said to her, “Mother, you sit right here and don’t move, and I will take care of you.”

And he secured a wheel chair and took her up to the customs department without a step on the road. She said that every time she boarded a plane on that trip, she received much courtesy. Again in her life, God had truly given His angels charge over her. She attended the Muncie, Indiana, Fellowship Meeting which began April 28 and ended May first. It was wonderful how she held out for those services. Christian laymen and ministers from all over the States gathered in, and there was real inspiration in the gospel preaching and the good fellowship.

She spoke from the platform in this meeting and mentioned that people were thinking that the Lord might call her home soon. She said, “It is perfectly all right with me if God wants me to go home by way of Muncie.”

Afterward arrangements were made for her to speak to a new group of people there who were taking their stand for truth. They left Muncie Thursday evening, going to Mentone, Indiana, to the home of dear and trusted friends for many years, the Cullums, stopping also to meet the Briggs family in Fort Wayne. It was her plan, when leaving Cuba, to at once make out a report of the mission work, as none bad been made for several years. But at that home she became very ill and a call went out to Plymouth for prayer in her behalf. Brother B. F. Whites and the Pletchers answered the call, going at once to anoint and pray for her. She immediately began to plan for further labor. She told them that, when in India, the workers had been very sorry for her to get sick even for a day, for it was her habit to plan a year’s work while idle for one day.

After a day in Mentone she was taken to Niles, Michigan, where she spoke in the morning services, and then was brought back to Plymouth, where she shared the night service with Brother White. It began at six-thirty p.m., and she spoke in the first part of the evening and poured her heart out in that message.

That night she spent at the Pletcher home, worn in body and so tired and nervous under the continued strain that she could not rest. Once she stretched forth her hand to feel for Phyllis’ bed, which in El Hogar stands near her own. But she was far from home and Phyllis was not there.

Monday afternoon they all went to Muncie, getting there just before the first service. Virginia Pletcher shared her room, and it was here that she began to realize how serious indeed was the affliction that had seized upon Sister Stewart’s body. Many times she was heard to breathe a prayer, “O Lord, give me the strength to go on.”

Her nerves were worn so threadbare that in the night when a strange sound was heard she threw up her arm, hitting the wall so forcefully that the bed rolled a short distance.

From there she went to Indianapolis, where she was put to bed. On Saturday, Virginia faithfully drove to Indianapolis and took her to Hamilton, Ohio, to the home of Eldon Henry, pastor of the Fairfax Avenue Church of God, where she had always a good welcome. No people loved her more than these friends, and everything that could be done for her comfort was done.

We quote from a letter received after her visit: “When she was here she had spoken but a few minutes, when, not being able to stand she had to sit down for the rest of her talk. But that was a one-and-a-half hour talk on missions.” However, she spent most of her time in Hamilton at the home of Grace Henry, lying in bed for the much needed rest. She spoke to a young girl by the name of June Blackburn about going to Cuba for the summer and getting the leading of the Lord for her life.

Then she requested to be taken back to the Pletcher home in Plymouth, and this time she asked to be permitted to sit in the back seat. They arrived home Sunday night and she stayed until Thursday evening. She was too sick to go on to Chicago as she had planned and was compelled to cancel the engagement there. But the saints there sent a love offering to her.

She was concerned about her correspondence and kept telling herself, “Tomorrow I will feel better and be able to take care of it.” But that tomorrow never came. In four days, only once did she take a pen in hand, and that to sign her name. Everything possible was done for her in order to save any energy that she was able to build up.

She asked Virginia if she should go to Goshen on Thursday night, but the decision, after all, rested with her. She said, “I must go now, or I’ll never be able.”

She went by faith, and a chair was provided for her as she was no longer able to stand. The hearts of the people were warmed as she assured them of a Bible standard held up in Cuba; also speaking of the future of the work in Haiti.

Then they went from there to Findlay where supper was awaiting at the home of the Larry Scobys, after which a group of the saints met, and in spite of her weakness she was able to give them a wonderfully inspiring message. Here again she rested until time for the departure.

On the way to Newark they saw a sign, “Church of God,” and she said, “Oh, oh, oh, it used to be when you saw a sign like that you rejoiced, wondering who the good pastor was, but now you don’t know whether to rejoice or be sad.” Again she breathed aloud a prayer, “O Lord, set that young minister on fire to burn out sin and division from these wicked cities.”

Though weak and suffering, her sense of humor never left her and she was mindful of details even up to the end. Provision was made for her comfort in Brother Wilson’s home, and on Mother’s Day this great Mother in Zion spoke in the service until nearly one o’clock. She again poured out her heart, sitting in the large chair placed on the platform. She emphasized the need of French literature in Haiti, and aid to Spanish-speaking Americans. She rejoiced greatly because her big family in Cuba had sent her a Mother’s Day greeting by telephone and also sent a card signed with our names written all over the blank space. It brought her great joy in the midst of suffering.

Brother Eldon Henry of Hamilton had made arrangements to take a week of his vacation off at this needy time, and he and his wife helped to take her to her engagements. They met the group at Newark on Monday morning and left for Akron, Ohio. Before that, however, they could not but note her condition and told her that she was not able to travel. But she made answer that this trip in the United States would not shorten her stay in heaven one bit. They journeyed to Franklin to the home of Sister Overholtz, then started upstate and stopped at New Philadelphia, where they had luncheon with two of her dear friends, Mrs. Dorothea Bear and Mrs. Thelma Romig. She wished to linger and it was difficult to get started on the way.

Tuesday morning early Sister Stewart was so sick that they suggested sending her back to Cuba, but she said, “I must go on.” She had come to the States on a mission and she felt that she must fulfill it. They were driving along the toll road and had stopped the second time. She was too sick to go in and get something to eat, and so a little soup was warmed for her to eat in the car. When they arrived in Akron, a warm supper was awaiting her and a loving welcome, and here also she made her last visit among the saints, doing her best to present the loved work of God.

Once when they had parked for some minor thing she was lying in the rear seat very ill. Two young men parked along side of them. They began to talk in Spanish. It was mentioned to Sister Stewart and she suddenly roused and with renewed energy began speaking to them in Spanish. They enjoyed the conversation and the group took their names to send literature to them. One of the young men was a minister from Puerto Rico.

When on the way to Plainfield, New Jersey, they stopped on the road for a cold drink; while they were all conversing she told them that she had a strange feeling that she would never see Cuba again.

All this was grievous to their hearts, but even more so when they arrived at Plainfield, N. J., and realized that Sister Stewart would never walk again. She kept grieving over the fact that she felt she was not doing anything, and yet she made possible a great convention at Muncie, Indiana, where she had been able to participate even in her weak state. There were people who came to see her all the way from New York, a sister from Topeka, Kansas, a brother and sister from Chicago, a brother from Panama, also from Puerto Rico.

The pastors and saints in Plainfield deemed it a great privilege to minister to her in her affliction. Much earnest prayer went up to God those days both from Cuba and in the United States, but God did not see fit to raise her up.

We quote from Brother Henry’s letter:

She told us how God had kept her supplied with clothing and hose. She said that when she needed a pair of hose, she went to the drawer and took out a pair that God had supplied, and of course, He knew her size.

We arrived in Plainfield late in the evening, with Sister Stewart as comfortable as we could make her with blankets and pillows. Sister Terry put her right to bed, and we gave the best care possible.

Both Brother and Sister Terry and the saints at Plainfield gave the most loving care of any people that we have ever met.

During this time we were calling on God to heal her, but after much prayer, we all felt that God was not going to heal her this time. One by one we all seemed to get this answer from God.

So I went into her room and told her that we felt that she was not able to travel any further, and we thought she should let us call Phyllis to fly her home to Cuba. She replied, “All right, Brother Henry, just let me think it over awhile.”

So we called Phyllis and she came that very day, hastening here at once from Cuba.

Sister Francis, who in the earlier years had watched by her bedside when she lay in a coma for twenty-nine days and was healed, had moved to New Jersey and was a member of the Plainfield congregation. She now sat faithfully at the bedside of her loved missionary once more, and Faith Stewart loved to have it so.

Not only was her appetite gone, but there was so little she could eat that her nurses grew desperate trying to care for her and provide her with proper food.

Then Phyllis arrived and sought to secure a reservation on the plane, but this required an examination by a doctor, so one was quickly called. He diagnosed her case and said she had pernicious anemia and had only twenty-five to thirty percent of the blood she should have and that she could not make the trip and, of course, would sign no certificate.

She continued to grow worse, not only having no appetite to eat, but now being unable to retain her food. She was happy to see Phyllis once more by her bedside. But she needed quiet now, quiet that could not have been given at El Hogar. Few were permitted to stay in the room. An intense weakness had come over her, and even the strain of the presence of others seemed to excite her and worry her to the extreme.

Sometimes she would talk, and again she would lie there quietly. At times, she suffered intensely and spoke of her pain. One day when Phyllis was just sitting quietly in her room, she suddenly spoke as though speaking to several people, saying, “Prepare a people for the soon coming Lord.”

It was at this time, after the examination of the doctor, that she said, “If God lets me return to Cuba, I will not try to come to the United States again.”

They watched by her bed day and night, and we quote again from the letter:

Phyllis was almost heartbroken to have to go into her room and break the sad news that she would have to go back to Cuba and leave Sister Stewart with friends in the homeland. But it was necessary to go at once. What a sad hour! Longing for home, an opportunity to go, and yet compelled to submit to the very thing she dreaded most, to stay on alone.

She broke down, weeping as she said goodbye for the last time, saying, “I know you must return. Do with me as you please.”

They began taking turns caring for her day and night, and one day she said to them, “Do you see those beautiful things floating about in the room?”

“No, we don’t see anything,” they replied.

“Right there, all gold and black.”

There was deep sorrow on her part that she could no longer control her tired feet, and they would not, as of yore, respond and lift her out of that bed and bring her home once more to her beloved Cuba.

Meanwhile at the mission, there was a tense feeling. Every day we met, sometimes two or three times, to pray. It was the general feeling among the Cubans that if only they could bring their beloved Sister Stewart home once more and gather about her bed and pray the prayer of faith, that surely she would arise as in former times and be healed and go in and out among them again.

Prayer went up as a cloud of incense from hearts whose devotion was unswerving. Telegrams came in inquiring of her from different workers out in the fields. Then came fasting and prayer and deeper and deeper burden for her recovery.

Then word came that Phyllis was returning without “Abuelita,” and all the household mourned that she came alone. And so firm was their faith that God would send her home in time, that they said, “She will not die. God will heal her again to live with us as before.” And they continued faithful in prayer.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Harold Barber visited her at Plainfield, and returning to Baltimore took her by ambulance at her request. The trip was hard and very wearisome for her in her weak state.

O gallant warrior! You have stood bravely, facing lions in your day! Lions of Life’s battles, traitors of the work, persecutors from without, pagan powers in dark lands, false teachings, and fierce foes—to rescue precious jewels from the depths—and stood victorious over the billows that swept your life labors.

But this is the last enemy of man who is striving to tear you away from all that is dear and you are no longer able to do battle as of yore. And in weakness, you can only say to friends, “Do with me as you think best.”

For the firm hands that once labored are worn, and the feet that carried the Gospel so long refuse to longer serve, and even the will that compelled the weary body to respond has weakened and tired of battle, and, oh! it is so near to sunset on the highway.

There was a slow but steady decline as she lay there in her bed. Few were admitted to her room. She had become so weak that the lovely flowers sent her were taken from the room and the cool spring night air admitted. They waited on her in her weakness as one might care for a little infant.

One day when a friend stood at her bedside, she said to him, “The people of Cuba must be warned that there is a danger coming to the Cubans. But I will not be there.”

“What danger? Can’t you tell us?” he asked as she lay quiet once more, worn out with the effort of speaking. She attempted to answer, but after two or three words, she said, “Tomorrow, I will tell you tomorrow.”

On the morrow, it was just the same. She was too weak to make the effort and again put it off. The answer never came. The reason for the warning was never explained. She grew burdened for the islands of Cuba and Haiti, and often in great agony of soul, would cry out, “Oh, my burden for Haiti,” or “Cuba.” Thus she retained her great zeal and burden for the mission field to the very hour of her death.

Then it seemed that the affliction began to destroy more rapidly her weakened frame, and only the most untiring service sufficed. During those days when she was steadily growing weaker, she suffered greatly at night, but without complaint.

Then came times of sinking in weakness and then rallying. And after one of these experiences, she said solemnly, “I am living in the presence of God.”

Later, she rallied again and preached a sermon lying there on her bed, a sermon on the great Body of Christ, the Church of the Redeemed, and she spoke in Spanish. She fell back exhausted and lay for a few hours, and rousing again, she seemed to be preaching the same message, this time in the English language. Then she fell back on her pillow and lay utterly exhausted.

They watched by her bedside as the last hours drew near and noted that her suffering ceased, and she fell into a sleep as might a tired child, sleeping away moment by moment the last precious hours of life.

Then the spirit loosed from the ailing body, winging its way Heavenward. A smile of sweetest peace settled down over her countenance and remained on her face as she took her final journey home.

And in Cuba, there was eager waiting, listening for the news to come of a dear one; waiting, hoping for the best, and fearing the worst, for the last message had left not a vestige of hope.

It had been a hard day, and when at last we retired, we could not sleep. It was late, very late in the night. Finally we dozed off in a troubled sleep, and then the phone in the office rang loudly. Phyllis rushed to the office and took the message: Faith Stewart had gone to her long home at 2:40 a.m. on June 9, 1958.

“Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets: Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.”* (Ecclesiastes 12:5-7)

Years before this time when Faith Stewart was seriously ill, an angel had, in a dream, shown her a crown, saying it was for her. Then it was laid up on a shelf, and she was told that she must wait awhile.

Now the cross had been laid down which had been borne so faithfully and so long, and the time came to wear the crown. So glorious and abundant entrance into glory! For “When the battle’s over, we shall wear a crown.” And the battle was over and the crown won.

When the message came over the wire, we rushed into our clothes at once, and we went out in the early morning to get telegrams to all the ministers in the fields. When we returned to El Hogar, most of the grown people were up, and there was weeping and deep sorrow among the workers.

When there is a death in Cuba, there is just 24 hours to get ready and get the body in the ground. So they came promptly, supposing she would be sent in a few hours, and soon the Home was full of workers from out in the fields, and beds were filled everywhere, and we were indeed a large but sad family.

Everybody was busy that day. We took out the car and went into Havana on some business. It had been raining most every day, and clouds were massing in the sky and were becoming dark and lowering. About the time we had finished our business, a heavy rainfall began. We hastened to the car through the sheets of rain and started our journey home.

But soon water in torrents was pouring so swiftly down the main streets that we were just plowing through and making little time. The water continued rising higher and higher, and soon we were compelled to go through a lower section of the city to reach Los Pinos. Sewer lines everywhere were inadequate to drain off the fast rising flood, and it kept rising higher.

A whole line of cars were stalled in the next square, and we were compelled to drive down in the very midst of them. Phyllis was at the wheel, and we thanked God that she kept her head as we drove down into the rushing torrent of water in that square.

Soon we were compelled to stop and stand, as did the other cars. The water had risen until it came in under the door of the car and on the floor of the back section, and the hems of our clothing and our shoes were wet.

In the rear of us, large buses and trucks floundered and then plowed through the water, causing great waves to hit against our car and rocked it from the impact. We sat there and prayed to God to be with us. There was the fear of some larger car or bus skidding and knocking our car over in the torrent.

We watched from our small prison house there in the square, the water dashing up against the buildings on either side. Then as we sat silently praying, a car moved and another bravely started to push out. Our brakes were wet and the water had already affected the engine. We could not get out and wade to the pavements. The water was too deep, and the undercurrent too strong.

Then we thanked God that, as Phyllis bent every nerve and strove to steadily guide the car to higher ground, we found ourselves stemming the tide and realized that God had indeed answered prayer for us once more and gave us a safe journey home.

That evening, a telegram came from Brother Barber saying that it would be impossible to send Sister Stewart to Cuba for several days and that we might do our best and see what could be done. The ministers were all here from their fields, and there was hardship both for them and us. Some were compelled to return and hope to come back.

After every effort, calling on the American Embassy, the Minister of State, and every other source, we gave up. We had to wait until June 16 for the arrival.

The week of waiting was long and tense, and finally we went down, Phyllis, Pancho, June, and I, and a station wagon load of ministers, to the airport, waiting an hour for the transport plane from Miami.

Down the long slide, the great box that contained the casket slid silently from the plane. She had come home to her beloved Cuba at last, but others had brought her, and she lay in the long sleep from which none ever awaken. We followed sadly after her and returned home.

That evening she lay in state at Almendares.* People began to pour in. It is a custom in Cuba for friends and loved ones to sit up all night with the departed, and Phyllis granted this privilege to those who wished to stay.

Flowers, beautiful floral pieces, began to arrive. Some of them were ten or twelve feet high. Two had been sent by congregations in Maryland. And it was suitable that the flowers, the work of God’s hands, should adorn the room of her last sleep.

People came in groups and looked upon the woman who had for years walked the streets of that section of the city, visiting the sick, needy, and discouraged. The bus came, and silently the children at El Hogar got out and marched in line down the aisle, and one by one gazed silently at the dear face in the open casket.

There was weeping all over the building as the solemn procession of those who owed their shelter, food, and very life to the faith of their “Abuelita” came to look at her for the last time.* But they were too young to know the great loss that had come to them.

The services were held the next day with both English and Spanish taking part, and she was laid to rest only a few yards from the great hedge of bamboo trees which divide La Finca from the cemetery.* Like Moses, she was permitted to see the promised land, but not to enter, for the call came clearly to go higher.

A great soul has gone to her reward; a noble life has been finished, and when the trumpet sounds and the judgment is set and we all appear before the judgment seat of God, they will come in. There are over three thousand souls in Cuba and many in the homeland, and the precious souls in India. Truly a great company to follow her to judgment.

It is sunset on the highway—a beautiful sunset after the hardships on the pilgrim way. And all is well.