Our first trip to Mexico - A missionary kid's tale

The day of departure was finally here. We had travelled from Santa Ana, California, to the Texas border.

It was 1938 and my Aunt Betty, one of her teenage daughters, my brother Glen, my two younger sisters, Sharon and Edith, and I, ranging in age from four to eight, all travelled from the border to Mexico City by bus.

We finally arrived. Before leaving California, my aunt had heard many stories from well-meaning people warning her to be careful because you could easily be deceived. She was ready. This wasn't going to happen to her. In front of the bus terminal, she flagged down a taxi, showed him a piece of paper with the hotel name and address where we were to go. They argued, she in English and he in Spanish. They reached an agreement. The ride took close to an hour. We arrived and got out. She paid the driver and was very pleased with the 'fare'. The next morning my brother, Glen, and I got up very early. We were too excited to sleep any longer. We walked out of the hotel, went to the corner and turned left. Lo and behold, what was that in front of us across the street? It was the bus terminal at which we had arrived the night before! So much for the bargain!

Aunt Betty couldn't adjust very well to the strange surroundings, a strange language and not being able to be on top of things. She returned to the States after six months.

I loved it from the start

I have loved Mexico and the Mexican people from the beginning. When I first discovered that my parents, siblings and I were going to Mexico, I began to have this burden to pray for these people. Although this began when I was a young child, it has never changed. I awoke many a night to pray for them. I made friends with a Mexican girl in Santa Ana and visited her Spanish church. In Mexico, the Mexican pastors, especially Brother Reuben, used to tell my dad: 'Brother Archer, all your children are Americans no doubt, except Roberta. "Robertita is a Mexicanita" (little Roberta is a little Mexican). She is one of us'.

Many years later, I had a Christian doctor, Dr. Garrido, tell me that missionary children are emissaries from the Lord, that he had witnessed many situations in which a misunderstanding had arisen between native pastors or elders and the missionaries, which seemed unsavable. However, about then one of the missionaries' little children would climb into the native pastor's or elder's lap and hug, do or say something that would resolve the situation.

Bible School and Consuelo

During our first year, a Bible School was started to prepare young men and women to spread the gospel. They came from all directions, mainly from the South, but also from the North and other parts of the country.

Besides the people who came and stayed to study the Bible, a correspondence course was also started that went all over Mexico with several hundred attending. This gave the pastors and elders who were taking care of so many churches a chance to study also.

Before too long there were over 400 churches of different sizes established all over Mexico. Many times the pastor or elder taking care of several churches in a section were new themselves. Some of these pastors went from village to village, taking care of as many as 40 churches. When they were somewhere else they left an elder or someone in charge.

Consuelo was one of the young ladies who came to the Bible School in the early 1940s. She was from a village near the Guatemalan border. She had no family except a 12-year-old brother. Later we sent for him. He looked about seven. Extremely hard work and lack of nutrition had caused the stunted growth. Consuelo often helped in the kitchen. One of her most endearing qualities, and quite irritating at times, was her ability to laugh at almost all situations; even when she dropped and broke a plate, and that she did often! One day soon after classes had begun for that term, mother was teaching a class. As was her custom, she asked Consuelo to read a passage of Scripture. Consuelo began to sob and run from the classroom. Later she explained to mother that she could not read and this made her very sad and ashamed.

The very next day when it was time to read, she stood up and told mother to ask her again; and she read. Next she told the class that she had gone up to her dormitory and prayed the rest of the day and part of the night, telling Jesus that she wanted to read his Word and be able to tell others about him. The next day she could read!

After finishing Bible School, Consuelo went into the thick jungles of Veracruz in southern Mexico and evangelised many villages, raising up groups and placing someone in charge and then returning often to visit and encourage them.

Shooting

On one of those occasions, she arrived in the village of 'Tres Valles' and could not find any of the Christians out and about. She knocked on the door of one of the thatched roof homes which was closed up tight and barricaded, as were the others. The family opened and, full of fear, told her that the evening before, as they were at the church services singing, a group of men rode up on their horses screaming for them to come outside. The leader of the group was a well-known man who 'ran things' around there. A young man stepped outside and tried to reason with them. This group leader shot and killed him and then rode off into the night shouting and shooting.

The leader told the others that they were to stop all activities and not speak of things Christian ever again or they would return to kill all of them.

Consuelo went to each home of the Christians and told them: 'We will have a service tonight. Fear not, I will be there'. She made an additional provision, addressing the remark to the man of the house: 'If you are afraid to come tonight, I will come and escort you'.

That night the church was full. As the singing started, the leader who had murdered the young man the night before showed up on horseback with his followers and once again began to shoot and shout into the air.

Consuelo left the front of the church and started towards the back. The congregation began to cry and begged her not to go out there. Their cries went unheeded. She stepped outside, Bible in hand, and asked who the leader was, then challenged him to step inside the church, sit down and listen to what she had to say. 'I bet you are afraid!' Now his followers began to beg him not to go in that place. 'They are devil worshippers', they said. He didn't want to lose face, so he dismounted and accompanied her inside. She went up to the front and gave a simple explanation of who Jesus was and how to be saved. She then gave a simple invitation to 'come forward if you want to accept this Jesus'.

This leader, a rough, cruel and hardened man, came forward and the father of the boy he had killed the night before knelt and put his arm around the murderer's shoulders and prayed with him. The leader 'accepted' Jesus. He and many of his followers were saved and became a strong support and protection for that and surrounding villages.

This is just one experience about Consuelo and her life in the jungle villages. She and others from the Bible School had many more.

Conventions in Southern Veracruz

People came from a 100 villages or so, prepared to sleep on the ground, in hammocks, or in the church on benches after the services. They brought with them, donated and killed the fatted calf (literally). Some of the ladies made pickled chillis in large vats, while others prepared the corn for tortillas and helped cook the meals.

These were wonderful times of hearing testimonies of all that God was doing, of persecutions and of miraculous escapes and deliverances from persecution and even imminent death.

One of my most treasured memories are of meal times. The long table would fill up again and again with hungry people, about 25 each time. I loved to serve the tables at breakfast, dinner and supper. Aurora, the pastor's wife, chief organiser and chief cook, would sit on a low stool with immense open pots full of delicious food surrounding her. She would gather all the helpers around her and pray God's blessing on the food as large tears would stream down her face. Then each of us would take turns handing her two plates, which she would fill with a large serving from the main dish, some rice and delicious black beans. I would help with clearing and serving some 20 to 40 tables of people who ate and got up so another group could take their place. As I served, I would begin to notice that the pots had very little food left in them. We were literally scraping the bottom and there were still so many to feed, including those who were serving. Aurora would continue to dip in and serve abundant portions as if she didn't see the diminishing amount of food. I never ceased to be amazed that we never once ran out of food! After all she had blessed the food and asked God to multiply it! 'There is none so blind as the servant of the Lord.'

|These conventions, which started in the 1930s, continue to this day.

Roberta lives in El Paso, Texas, where she still works as a courtroom translator.|