On Tuesday, October 5, 2011 at 1:30 AM I lost the love of my life. Frances and I had been hearts united deeply in love for over 60 years, first “going steady”, as they called it back in those days, and then almost 59 years as man and wife. She never claimed to have a call to be a pastor’s wife or a missionary to Argentina, but she faithfully remained by my side backing my ministry and following me to the ends of the earth because: “I married this guy” and because she loved me. She became a true missionary in every sense of the word, ministering for over four decades in many roles, sometimes at a microphone standing before thousands. I am deeply grateful to God who brought us together.
Now I miss her more than words can describe. But she has not left me alone. God is with me in ways that amaze me. And He has taken me back in my mind to the top of a hill on Mount Tabor in Portland, Oregon where many times I climbed the steep pathway singing, “Only to Be what He wants me to be every moment of every day, Yielded completely to Jesus alone every step of this pilgrim way. Just to be clay in the Potter’s hands, ready to do what His Word commands. Only to be what He wants me to be every moment of every day.” From that hilltop a skinny 18 year old kid called out for God’s guidance day after day. I never heard voices, but as I look back I see that God has miraculously led us all the way.
And it’s not over yet. God clearly let me know that, although officially retired from Assemblies of God World Missions, He was giving me a “new chapter” in my life. I was to return to minister in Argentina! I left for Argentina exactly one month after Frances’ funeral, spending November and part of December here. I returned to the USA in December and visited family in Oregon and Washington. But I couldn’t resist climbing my special hill up on Mount Tabor.
On December 31, 2010, the day that I turned 79 years old, I walked that same steep pathway. It was covered with ice and I had to step into the grassy part to keep from slipping. Alone at the top of my secret hill, my Bethel, once again I lifted both hands to heaven and poured out my soul to God. I presented Him with my hurting, broken heart and told Him one more time that everything I had left belongs to Him. Once again I sought His divine plan. I heard no voices, but I sensed something comforting and powerful deep in my soul. Someone bigger than me was calling me back to Argentina, where unlimited opportunity for God’s service awaited me. God was there… and He never makes mistakes!
As I began this journey I started to correspond via email with a dear Argentinean friend who has lived for many years in the USA. These notes became a running record of God at work which I shared with others. Finally my friend, Ken Horn, editor of the Pentecostal Evangel, encouraged me to collect them into a blog.
So here goes... please join me in the adventurous journey ahead.
Ralph Hiatt
