The Last Mile on the Highway

In February of 1958 a letter came, urging me to come to Cuba for awhile, as a worker whose husband had been ill in the United States was leaving to join him. So we turned our faces once more toward the little island that had come to be almost a second home.

Arriving in due time and greeting many friends in front of El Hogar, we entered the room of Faith Stewart. She was lying on her bed, where it was necessary in those last days to spend so much of her time. Often, to this sanctuary, came native ministers, visitors from the United States, workers in the Homes, and sometimes a student of the Bible School.

We walked forward to greet her and were amazed at the change that had come over her in the short time since we had met. A deathly pallor overspread her face, and we could not fail to note how she had fallen away; a great weariness and weakness that was evident to all seemed to enclose her. To one who had stood at the helm through the storms that beset the old ship Zion, this was a great trial. These, however, were days of earnest exercising of will power. She would rise from the bed and come to her meals and go to tend to some matter, and then hasten, exhausted, to her bed once more. She spoke often of the great difficulty for her to converse as her hearing grew steadily worse.

Each day when the mail came, it was brought to her room, and sitting upon the bed, she would remove her glasses and look through it. Only when walking about were they of use to her. But those days, she also spoke again and again of having difficulty reading, and sometimes she would get the service of others if the ink was pale or the writing indistinct. It was surprising to see her get around as well as she did under the circumstances. But she made determined efforts to remain active. Again, when she felt too weary or weak to get about, she would send for one of us and give directions from her bed.

One day she said to me, “Did I tell you the story of the five children admitted to the Homes just before you came?”

“No, I am sure you did not. Please tell me.” For never were we satisfied with the material we had gathered, and always we were looking for more.

She sat up and arranged her pillows behind her, saying, “Don’t stand, please. Pull up a chair beside the bed, and I will tell you. You know that we are at capacity for space in the Girls’ Home because we have had to use the large room on the side for the girl students this year. We have not been taking on new girls.

“Well, one day as we were going about our usual duties in the mission, a poor man appeared at the door of the Girls’ Home with five little girls at his side.* Milagros met him at the front door. It seemed to be the same story as usual, for we have had to see them come with their little ones, and with every bed full, we have been compelled to send them away weeping, or in deep, silent grief, which is harder to bear—send them back to the hovels or streets or park benches or doorways.

“The poor little children stood by his side, fearful of the strange Americans and the change to be made in their lives, yet hopeful of something better to come. When dismissed, they reflected their sorrow in their small upturned faces as they were made to understand that it was impossible for them to enter.

“This was not the fault of the mission. The government employees may well understand that the only bed these little ones have is a park bench or doorway, or on ground under a tree, yet they will not permit the Homes to put two children in one bed no matter what size of bed. So when capacity is reached, we must say no to the sad group that stands outside the door.

“After hearing the story of the father, Milagros told him that there were no beds for them, but in pity for their condition, and since it was just dinner time, she said that if he would permit the five little girls to come inside, she would give them a good warm meal before sending them away. Also, if he would wait on the veranda, she would bring out a plate of dinner to him, and all would be served and have something warm in their stomachs before leaving. (In Cuba it would not be proper nor too safe to have a strange man come in a home where all were women and girls.)

“He sat down, and she took the children in and gave them a warm dinner. Then she filled a plate and returned to the front door. But when she reached the veranda, there was no sign of the man. He had fled, leaving his children in the hands of the Home. So Milagros hurried over to the main mission building to report the matter and get advice.

“She was informed to call the police and report the case at once, so that there would be protection when a government inspector came and found children sleeping more than one in a bed. So a full report was sent to the police station. They sent out a policeman at once to bring the man in. Soon the policeman came, and he was our own Agusto whose story we have told before; he having been reared in the Children’s Home. He looked so well in his nice blue uniform and stood so straight that we could not but feel proud of him. He brought the poor man back, who then related his story again, and this is what he told to all who stood before him.

“He had a job, working in the hospital, cleaning up at night after the day’s work was over. This brought him a very small wage. His wife had become a mental case recently, and he had been trying to hold the home together in spite of the disadvantages. But she would disappear and leave the children and then return home. Finally she left and failed to return at all.

“To add to this, he had not been able to pay the rent, so he was turned out into the streets with his five little children. He took them to a place under a tree in the daytime and stayed with them as close as possible during the day. Then, after dark, he reported to the hospital for work. He took them to the rear of the building and had them lie down on the cold concrete of a veranda in the rear. They slept out in the cold night, lying side by side until the morning, while the father went about his work. Then together, they would return to the place of abode.

“But soon someone reported the case to the hospital employers, and instead of helping the poor man, they laid him off until he could find a home for the children. Now there was neither roof nor food, and the man, growing desperate in his sad plight, and hearing of the homes at Los Pinos, had come, hoping to get help some way. When refused, he had felt so desperate that he fled, thinking that the children surely would not be turned away from a Christian home.

“We listened to his story, made investigation, and found every word true; and as the officers had been notified, the blame would no longer rest on the Home when the inspector came. So bedding and all extra preparation were made, and the little ones were accepted.”

She ended her story as one of the native women came in with a glass of orange juice. For the last year or two at least, Faith Stewart ate so little that the marvel was that she was still alive. She left salt out of her food because of the the hardening of the arteries and also because it was bad for her heart. This caused her appetite to lag so that at times she came to the table and could not eat a bite. Most of the nourishing foods were omitted from her diet. No meat, eggs, or sweets, and many other things were omitted until finally it brought her to a very weak condition. Her food, for some time, consisted of soups and fruit juices.

Because of her condition, workers were called at any hour of the day or night to engage in earnest prayer for her when sinking spells would come. She still pushed herself to serve, to counsel, and to pray the prayer of faith for others and herself throughout her own sufferings.

When we considered her case, we thought often of Mary Slessor, who, after a rigorous life in Africa, was a great sufferer; yet as long as she could sit on a chair, she would go forth among the natives to preach or to counsel on the trials among the chiefs.

Why God permits people like Mary Slessor, who was probably one of the most courageous of women missionaries, to suffer so long when she would have spent her strength in His service so gladly if physically able, no one knows.1

All who knew Faith Stewart know that she was an example of the faith life, going down again and again to the very doors of death. Five times she suffered from a stroke. In India, after a stroke, one arm hung helpless for a year, and then God healed her. At another time, blind and unable to go about, she was delivered by the mighty power of God and completely healed. Years later, she laid in a coma for twenty-nine days, until all doctors who knew of the case said it was impossible for her to live. And in old age, she was permitted by the great unseen God whom she served, to suffer almost continually. God would definitely heal her of some sickness, and then, in a short time, new afflictions would fix themselves upon her.

Satan, who was permitted to afflict Job through the loss of loved ones, property, and health, certainly did not retire from the field; he attacked her life again and again to destroy it, for not only was much being accomplished through her, but an example of actual faith was given to a doubting world. She did not complain of God’s care over her. She, too, felt that she was a real target for the attacks of Satan, whose dark powers as the prince of this world would gladly destroy her life and put an end to her testimony.

She told me that one day she was standing at the head of the concrete stairs that lead to the basement kitchen and dining room of the boys’ home at El Hogar. No one was near. She walked to the very top of the stairs, and just as she was ready to step down on the first step it seemed as if someone pushed her. This she knew to be untrue as there was no one about, and she was absolutely alone. But suddenly, she pitched headlong down the stairs, calling silently on God to let her keep conscious during this time. She landed directly on her head. Workers rushed to her aid. There was a terrible gash in her forehead, her whole body was bruised from the concrete steps, and her teeth were pushed back into the gums so far that they could only be taken out by an operation of the dentist. There was a concussion, but through it all, she was able to direct those who came to assist her, telling them to take her up on the outside and not back up the stairs, and to carry her to her bed. As Carmen stood by her bed, Faith directed her to clean the wound in her forehead and there lay her hand on her and pray earnestly.

The next day, a young intern from the hospital called and looked at the place on her forehead.

“How long were you unconscious?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said.

“But that could not be. You had a concussion. There is a deep dent in the bone on your forehead.”

“Yes, I know. But God has undertaken in this particular case,” she said quietly.

“Certainly some miracle has been performed,” he replied. The deep cut in the flesh was healing up so well that he did not disturb it, but the deep dent in her forehead remained as evidence of the serious hurt she received.

She forced herself physically to keep on laboring, going to the office for perhaps an hour, or reading the mail and the requests that came in for prayer, or talking to those whose errands took them through her room to the office. It was on one of those occasions when she called me again to sit by her bedside awhile, for there was an incident that had recently happened that she really felt we should know and record in the book.

She leaned back against the pillows with her silvery hair in long braids hanging over her shoulders, and her long slender fingers clasping the edge of the quilt as she arranged it across her feet, for it was still March, and Cuba was in the throes of one of the coldest spring months it had ever known.

She suddenly sat up straight and said, “Luz, the wife of Rasmos Texidor, is working in a mission in Camaguey, but she often goes to hospitals in the city to pray for the sick and to seek to help souls in other ways. One day while making such a call, she noticed a group of nurses and doctors standing near a bed in conference. She approached them and asked if they would tell her what was wrong.

“They explained that the man lying in the bed was the mayor of a small town nearby. He was lying there so sick that hope for his life was given up. This he knew also. She then approached his bed after asking the permission of both doctors and nurses.

“ ‘Do you know about God?’ she asked.

“ ‘I know very little about God.’

“ ‘Do you know how to pray?’

“ ‘I do not know much about prayer or how to pray, but if you do, I will be glad to have you pray for me,’ he replied.

“So, in pity for his condition and in an interest for his soul, she prayed and God touched him and definitely healed him; in two days, the hospital dismissed him as a well man. He obtained the address of Luz, and returned to his office. But he did not forget that prayer.

“Not long after this, a man came to him for help. His wife had suffered with cancer for three months and then died. He had four little boys. The expenses of those last weeks had left him penniless. He could find no one to take care of them and had no place where he could take them.

“The mayor at first said there was nothing he could do. Then he thought about the matter. ‘There was a woman,’ he said, ‘who visited me at the hospital when all hope was gone. She prayed for me, and I got well. Go to her and tell her your story; she can help you.’

“The man accordingly went to the house of Luz, taking all four children along. When she saw the situation, she wondered what to do. Then when she heard the full story, she felt she could not turn them away. She must not fail the good man who had so much faith in her.

“So she took in all four little ones and kept them for a month, but found that she simply could not keep up with the heavy load of other tasks. She thought of El Hogar and sent word to the mayor that she would have to take the children to Los Pinos and enter them in the Children’s Home there.

“Since strange men, even friends, do not travel along anywhere with a woman or wife of another, Luz took her two girls and the father took his four little boys, and the mayor gave them all passes to travel by bus or train, and it was thus they arrived at El Hogar. When the others and I received them, we, like Luz, wondered what to do. I stood and looked at them in pity. The children were so small and the youngest, a tiny one-year-old, was not able to use his limbs at all to walk. They looked pale and underfed. I just stood there at first and said, ‘What can we do?’

“But after due deliberation, we decided that we could put at least three of them in the nursery and so needed but one space in the Boys’ Home. So we took them in; and I suppose the mayor thinks some magic power lies surely with Luz, and that she can cure all problems.

“So, you see they are still coming to El Hogar in these late days. Dear, little, sad children! But after a few weeks of nourishing food, the littlest one is trying to walk and his little limbs seem stronger.”

This is the story as told by Faith Stewart of the four children. So it is that the work started by faith in Los Pinos still moves on in its grand and noble purpose of rescuing lives.

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About that time, rumors began to come in from many sections of Cuba of the efforts of some men, especially in the Oriente and some other sections, who were dissatisfied with the government and who planned to do what they could to overthrow the present government and free Cuba.

Men were hiding in the mountains and mustering strength to break forth and demand that the president resign his office. There was much suffering everywhere in the city of Havana and elsewhere as men were quietly getting ready for battle and an open break.

Arms were being brought to Cuba in every way conceivable, and soon outbreaks here and there began to convince the people that a revolution was developing. There were the memories of the sufferings of the last revolution in the Island, and the awful things that went on during those five years and especially the sufferings caused by the food strike when all stores, bakeries, dairies, and fruit markets were ordered closed, and none could buy for days. No one had dared to buy or sell. Hunger, deep distressing hunger, was felt, and even lives were lost during that time.

In the present revolution, orders were given that gatherings were prohibited; people must stay off the streets at night or risk their lives. All guarantee of safety was withdrawn, and each went out at their own risk. Because there were supposed to be rebels hid here and there all about the city, everyone was suspected. Also, because many of the colleges were supposed to be in sympathy with the thought of freedom of the people from the present administration, students were suspects everywhere. No lives were safe.

At times, bombs were thrown in various parts of Havana, a city of one and one-half million people. In the theater, near the airport, and also in the business section. No life was safe on the streets. Sister Stewart felt that we must not close the services unless strictly demanded of us, and so Phyllis and I went out, going as early as possible and returning by nine o’clock, but holding services regularly throughout the whole time.

One such night when we returned, Juan, a Bible student, was standing at the gateway of the drive, and one or two other students were near about. As Phyllis drove the car down the sloping driveway and into the garage, they began to tell her their troubles.

For the second day now, a car had been parked just outside the grounds of El Hogar and two men sitting in the car seemed to be keeping watch. The life of no student in the city was safe at that time, and many had been shot down. We stood on the veranda and waited, and when Phyllis came up, we went inside and saw Sister Stewart to her bed. Then in whispers, we planned for the boys.

The lock was not strong on their door, and we let them sleep in the “sick room” that night since no children were sick, and they gladly took the opportunity to be in a safer place, fearing that, late in the night, their room might be broken into and they carried off to jail. We were all afraid that night, and we heard their earnest voices go up in prayer.

We did not tell Sister Stewart about this matter, for there were so many trials those days. People in the United States, reading the news, began to fear that money would not reach us. Although all registered mail had come through, we began to suffer financially.

Men out in the mission fields were going without food and other necessary things. There were days when market day came and we had no money with which to go to market. There was prayer, much prayer, going up for days. Rumors of burning cane fields, mills, and factories came again and again and were verified in the American newspapers. But all of a sudden, the news was censored, and no news came at all. An awful, oppressive silence fell over the whole city.

For days, we had been under a dreadful pressure of fear and that awful silence. The very air of the city seemed laden with some strange and awful things. Sister Stewart remarked that even the trees that seemed always waving in the breeze from the ocean had become strangely still as if in sympathy with the trend about them.

Rumors and more rumors were floating in; awful, fearful news, and suddenly all was suppressed and all protection withdrawn, and it was publicly announced that none were guaranteed safety night or day on the streets.

In a great city like Havana, the people teem in the streets, and they are full of living, moving masses going to or from their homes, work, business, or pleasure. But not so then. The streets were practically empty. The only customers in one of the large clothing stores one day were Phyllis and I. Stories of dreadful outrages on young and old alike, innocent or guilty, caused the people to go out in fear and return in fear. No one knew if he would ever return when he left his home. Children were no safer than adults. The children were warned to stay away from the front gates and play in the back yards. None knew from one day to another what might befall.

News kept coming that a city-wide strike would soon be called and there must be food laid in for several days to supply all the Home if that strike should come without warning. But how could we do this when there was not enough to buy all we needed for one time? We were not ready for this, and there was no money to even buy charcoal and supplies.

Each day, they prayed and pled that the means would come in, and supplies to save the workers from starvation. It was not coming as needed, so they cried out to God in His great riches to supply the needy mission. But God works through human channels, and so often those channels are clogged and His blessings cannot flow through.

One day when we could not write in the book, nor study, nor type because of the peculiar tension, we went out on the front veranda and sat down for a moment. Sister Stewart was already there and said that she was so restless she could not settle down to anything. Phyllis had been trying all day to get down to the bookkeeping in the office and just couldn’t. Something like a pall hung over the whole city.

An awful suspense of waiting, waiting and fear on every heart as to what might come that day. A new order came that day; namely, that no two persons should walk together on the streets any more. The danger to the water system compelled everyone to buy large containers and keep fresh water in them at all times. Then, if a bomb should destroy the water plant, there would be a little water to relieve the situation briefly. It takes much water here where a hundred people use it to drink, wash clothes, bathe, mop floors, and cook. Everybody was hastening to buy empty lard cans for water, and the man who was saving some for us sold them to others.

The milk boy came in one day and set the milk on the usual place, but he was trembling. Sister Stewart noticed this and asked, “What ails you, boy?”

“Oh,” he said, “I am so afraid. Things are so strange.”

“Don’t worry, we will pray for God to protect you in these awful days.”

The words comforted him, and he felt more assured and passed on. The streets were deserted except for those who could not stay at home and had to go out.

Sister Stewart called in the workers and talked to them, asking all to cooperate in Christian love in those crucial days. The students were called in and told what to do if bombs would fall on the buildings and advised that should things come closer, each should wear a garment at night that would be suitable to rush out of the building in, in case of fire from exploding bombs. She instructed them to leave their shoes close beside the bed where they could step into them in haste if need be. The men students had been instructed also. And we were told as to what doors we would use in case of fire. She instructed the matron of the Girls’ Home as to what door to use, if need be, to lead the children out at night if the lights should fail, and a bomb burst over the buildings.

At seven p.m., an all-English program was on the radio, and awful battles were reported being waged in the besieged city of Santiago. It was the third largest city in Cuba, and normally seventy buses left the city every day for various parts of the Island with an average of 6,000 passengers. But on that day, only one bus left with two passengers.

Men were compelled, at the point of a gun, to run the buses, but on the road they might be beset and the bus burned. So they had a hard lot. Rumors came that help was coming from a nearby republic.

At eight o’clock, the workers and students met in Sister Stewart’s room for prayer. Hearts were burdened, for almost everyone had loved ones near or in the besieged city, and news came that it was burning and in an awful state.

We were buying candles for each to have in their room in readiness if the lights went off and we would need light. Sito came from work at the printing shop saying that things were growing worse all the time. Seventeen workers and students spent an hour in continuous prayer. As Sister Stewart started to relate the dangers, Mariano stepped to the door, hastily closing it, as we could trust no one, for everyone informed against his neighbor or stranger. No one was safe.

Ruby lagged on her way home from church, and suddenly there was shooting and men running everywhere. A man ran hastily to her side, saying, “Girl, you are in a dangerous place; run!”

Someone broke the lock on the back door, and the small bolt was a very poor safeguard. We could not sleep that night, and could hear guns shooting not far away and knew that souls were going out into eternity. The next morning, we learned that very near us a policeman was killed and another stabbed farther away. Eight youths attacked the arsenal with machine guns, and a battle ensued. Also three bombs fell in the business section of Havana. Brother Diaz from Pinar sent word that we must clean the water tanks at once and be ready to store water. No planes went back and forth on this date from the United States except army planes. One army plane crashed in the city with a pilot and friend aboard. Two or three houses were wrecked and the plane exploded, causing a fire to be added to the calamity.

A terrible fear came over us of the strike that seemed so eminent, and we feared starvation. There were over 80 children and we had to do something soon. We met day by day and prayed and sent out letters. Some means came in, and at once there was purchased crackers, rice, sugar, sausage, beans, and macaroni to do for a few days. Then we thanked God because we were partly ready for the strike.

There was a battle in the narrow streets of Havana so that buses enroute down those streets had to reroute to avoid being shot. We were living in the midst of danger and abject fear and silence in the pressure put upon us.

One day a glad voice came through the corridor and back to the kitchen. Greetings from dear ones and everybody talking at once, and then, after many salutations and embraces, Prudencio and Anita Linares and their two children entered the door of the main building. These fine young people were missionaries just returned from the neighboring island of Haiti, the first foreign missionaries sent out from the Cuban mission. They returned to get their proper papers to establish residence in Haiti and found it necessary to be in Cuba for some weeks. Their presence was a blessing to us.

When they left their island, they did not know the awful condition of Cuba, and were not prepared for the things they saw and heard. After visiting several of the brethren on the way, they came to El Hogar. Their godly, prayerful lives were a blessing in those days of strain.

As the days wore on and things began to slow down and people again walked the once-deserted streets of the city, all hearts were lifted up to God in thanksgiving. Things were beginning to get back to a more normal condition, and with relief after the great strain, each one tried to get settled in his occupation. Perhaps no one realized what a terrible strain each had gone through until it died down.

It was doubly hard on Faith Stewart. Not only was she very old, but in those days, there were times of much weakness and sinking spells. Often ministers or workers were called to pray earnestly for her. And God came to her aid, and she would get relief.

The spring wore on, and all were busy. The Bible students had their classes in the living room of the mission house, and the last semester was nearing the end.

A young couple from the Home was living in the small apartment back of the house at La Finca, and one day, a group went out for two or three hours to walk over the grounds or rest on the rambling veranda. The patient oxen walked with dignified mien in the fields, and everyone sang as they gathered up the ripe mangoes and other fruit to give us on our return to El Hogar.

The last payment was due on the farm. We began to pray, waiting on God and realizing how very important this last payment was. Day after day, prayer went up. One day a letter came with a check for $4,000! That was the exact amount due on the farm. We gathered together and praised God that now the last dollar was in, and La Finca would soon belong to the mission property!

That day was a soul-satisfying day in the life of Faith Stewart. Once more in the purchase of the property, God had moved on hearts and a miracle had been performed.

“Now,” she said, “I would like to live just long enough to put up a home for the boys, one for the girls, a nursery, a vocational school, a tabernacle, and a grade school. Then I will be willing to go to my Heavenly home.”

But everybody realized that first the present property must be sold in order to have means to erect the new building, and these were not times to sell quickly nor to advantage. So prayer began to ascend to Heaven to God for the sale of El Hogar.