Life in a log cabin is not very easy when you are just a little baby. My older brothers and sister could run outside and play in the forest where they could see wild animals and birds, but I was confined to the homemade baby bed inside. Our cabin was comfortable though not fancy. It never saw wall-to-wall carpet, central heat, or hardwood floors. I learned to walk on a floor made out of poles smoothed on one side to make it somewhat level to walk on. But our family was happy there.

It was on March 14, 1913, that I, the youngest of one sister and three brothers, first saw the light of day in the city of Toronto, Ontario. Before I was one year old our family moved several hundred miles north into what was at that time a wilderness of forest and lakes. My father secured a grant of land from the government with the plan to clear it and make a homestead there. No road led to our property, so my father, with the help of some other men, carried our furniture through the woods to the place where they had built a log cabin. It was two miles from the nearest village and almost a mile to the nearest neighbor.

How interesting the forest was in the summer with rabbits, foxes, bear, and so many wild birds. In the winter when it was very cold, there was always something interesting to take our attention there. To earn a little money, my father got work in a lumber camp some distance away and came home only occasionally. It was while he was away working that a forest fire broke out and threatened our cabin. My mother, brothers, and sister, who were seated on the roof with buckets of water, fervently prayed for the Lord to turn the fire away, which He did when the wind blew it the other way.

With the outbreak of World War I, our family moved back to Toronto where my father enlisted in the Army, which resulted in four years of military service in Britain and France. During these war years, my mother and us five children remained in Toronto where we attended public school and did whatever we could to help the war effort. Those were days of short supply, with sugar, meat, bread, and certain other items all rationed. In my memory are the pictures of funerals for soldiers who lost their lives in the war and were brought back home. Many of them were gassed in the trenches in France and lived until they reached home, only to die.

It was in the last year of the war that an evangelistic effort was held in the city. My mother took us children night by night. At the end, my mother and sister Mae were both baptized. We boys, being too young, were baptized later on.

When my father came home from the war our family moved sixty miles east to a small farm. It was here that we boys grew up; my sister had gone off to boarding school. There were both work and play on the farm with cows to milk, chickens to feed, horses to care for, and even two little black pigs that my father had received as part of his wages from working on other farms. We boys loved to ride on these pigs and listened to them squeal as they ran around the barn yard. We plowed, cultivated, and harrowed as the spring came on, getting ready to plant beans, potatoes, cabbage, and lots of other vegetables. Our best crop was raspberries, which we grew and took to the canning factory or shipped by train to the city. The most tiring job was picking beans, which we took to the factory on the old wagon, bags of them so heavy we could hardly lift them. But we had a happy time on that little farm and even grew up in spite of it all.

Since there was no church or church school near us, we boys all went to public school, where we finished eighth grade one by one. The thoughts of war were still very much in the minds of the people, and the school system reflected that. Every boy older than twelve had to join the cadets and drill in military fashion on the school grounds. We did not carry weapons, but we did wear khaki uniforms. At recess time we were marched around the playground and drilled like soldiers. In the basement of the school building there was a room where we had to experience rifle practice. In later years this was discontinued.

As we children grew older, my parents felt it necessary to send us away to get advanced education at an Adventist boarding school. Our sister left first and attended Oshawa Missionary College (OMC). Later, my brother, Robert, also went to OMC, followed by my other brother, Jack. My brother, Bill, and I were directed in another direction. Since our sister Mae had married Raymond Libby and they were teaching in New York, they invited Bill to go to Union Springs Academy. When the Libbys transferred to South Lancaster in Massachusetts, I was invited to go live with them and attend South Lancaster Academy. It was there I graduated from the academy in 1932. Atlantic Union College was the natural place to go since it was on the same campus.

In those days, such things as loans or grants were not known, at least by our family, so we just had to work our way through school. I was able to find work in Miles Bindery, where some fifty other students worked to get an education. Eight years there enabled me to get through my college years, part of the time as the dean of boys for those who lived in the dormitory located above the bindery. At graduation, I was able to graduate completely free of debt.

After graduating in the summer of 1938, the next important event was to enjoy the step of marriage to my dear fiancee, Carolyn Hall. The brethren decided we were mature enough to become teachers, and so they invited us to become instructors at Union Springs Academy. I was to teach the Bible classes while Carolyn taught church school.

Two years later, the General Conference asked us to go as missionaries to the Middle East to join the staff of our Adventist school which had been started in Beirut, Lebanon. These plans were interrupted by the dangerous travel conditions in the Mediterranean, so the General Conference asked us to attend the Hartford Theological Seminary in Hartford, Connecticut, with the view of changing our mission service to a part of Africa. Here, we were exposed to the Kiswahili language and other studies in African culture. We also studied home culture, since it was here that our daughter Janet was born.

In the following spring we were booked to sail out of Jersey City, N.J., on the Egyptian ship, the S.S. Zamzam, bound for the east coast of Africa and country of Tanganyika, now Tanzania. This voyage, which began on March 21, 1941, brought about a very decided change in our plans, and our future.

The Zamzam was an Egyptian ship but considered by the enemy to be under British orders and so was considered no longer neutral, even though we had been told we were sailing on a neutral ship. After stopping at Baltimore and Trinidad, we arrived at Recife in Brazil. Here it was rumored there were German spies checking out the Zamzam, and this made us feel uncertain about the rest of the journey. However, we left Recife on a Sunday morning heading in the direction of Capetown, South Africa.

It was on Tuesday afternoon, while playing deck quoits, that we noticed the ship sailing toward the west rather than the east. It was soon learned that a raider had been operating up ahead of us in the South Atlantic, and it was confirmed by the sight of life rafts and other debris floating past our ship. Later in the day, a suspicious looking vessel hovered on the horizon to our right and kept abreast of us all day long.

It was at 5:00 a.m. the next morning that the raider Tamasis began the attack from six miles to our rear on the starboard side. The aim of the raider was to knock out the radio room so no message could be sent out, and that followed by some shells crippling the ship causing damage to the superstructure and holes below the water line. The Zamzam captain turned the ship to indicate that he was not trying to escape, but this only made a better target for the gunners. After fifty some shells came over, the firing stopped and the process of abandoning ship got underway. Three of the two hundred passengers were injured; one of whom died shortly, while the other two were transferred to the hospital on the raider.

By lifeboat and raft, all the passengers were able to leave the Zamzam and were ordered by the raider crew to come aboard their ship. This we did by rope ladders and baskets for the women and children. The following day we were transferred to another German vessel which arrived beside us during the night. This was a merchant vessel out of South America on its way to Europe. After many promises of being released, we arrived five weeks later at the little port of St. Jean de Luz on the coast of France. Here the Americans were allowed to go ashore and find their way down through Spain and Portugal and on to America. All others were taken by sea to the city of Bordeaux, where after having been promised possible release were put in camps to be sent on to Germany. Carolyn stayed with me on the ship with the thought that perhaps she could help me be released, but to no avail.

When it became evident that release was not possible, the American vice consul arranged papers for her to return to the States with Janet, who was now about seven months old. She joined other Americans in Lisbon and returned on the Exeter to New York. In two days we other prisoners, joined by several other ships' crews, were placed aboard old French carriages and sent off by train to Germany.

On the journey across France it was very evident to the Germans that the French people were too sympathetic with us, so they moved us along as quickly as possible. Our final destination was Stalag 10B, up in the north of Germany between the cities of Bremen and Hamburg. Since this was not a civilian camp but rather a camp for military personnel, a few of us requested that we be transferred to a camp for civilians. This was carried out some months later when we were sent off to a camp over on the Polish border. We remained there two years, to be taken later over to France and placed in a camp in Alsace-Lorraine.

When D-Day arrived, we were considered worth saving so were taken back into Germany to a camp near Bremen where we had been earlier. As the allied armies swept across northern Germany, the Welsh guards and the 51 Highland Divisions of the British army brought about our release, just a week before Germany surrendered in May 1945, bringing to an end four years and ten days of captivity.

After a few days adjusting and making documents in England, those of us from Canada were ushered aboard two Canadian troop ships and shipped off to Canada where we arrived at the Port of Halifax. Two more days put me in Toronto where my dear wife and the rest of my brothers and father met me. How good this side of the ocean looked to all of us returning.

This experience was not to be the end of our missionary career, for in a few months the General Conference invited us to go overseas again, this time to the Middle East, where we found our home in Jerusalem. But war again brought about a change of plans and forced us to leave the Holy City for the interesting land of Lebanon. It was here, at Middle East College, that we spent fifteen happy years serving as dean of men, pastor of the church, as well as teaching in the fields of Bible and history.

Teachers in those days, especially at schools overseas just getting started, were expected to serve also as maintenance overseers, campus crew leaders, and other types of service work that must be done to keep the school in good operating condition. This type of practical teaching yielded the benefit of getting closer to the students, who were able to learn some kinds of work ideas.

The atmosphere of the college community was also a good place to raise a family, and it was here that two of our children, Malcolm and Ardis, were born. Our youngest son was born a little later while we were doing a spell of duty in Egypt. Glenn became a little Moses, having been born in the land of the Nile.

Political disturbances were not uncommon, and more than once we were obliged to seek refuge either in a hotel downtown in Beirut or to be evacuated to Cyprus or Italy. The Lord saw us through these incidents and enabled us to carry on our work at the college for a few more years.

In 1968, with our children now teenagers, it seemed best to return to the United States for their education, which continued at Columbia Union College. Pastoral work became our occupation with pastorates in Pennsylvania and Ohio, from which I retired in 1978.

For the next few years, we worked at the Faber Nursing Home in Ohio until our children persuaded us to move to Michigan to a quiet little home on beautiful Lilac Lane. This, we hoped, would be our earthly home until our Saviour takes us to our heavenly home. We thank God for all His care and protection and blessings in our lives.

Time, however, does not stand still; life holds more experiences. Moving to retirement in Berrien Springs did not mean extended idleness. For several years, Carolyn and I offered our help as volunteers at the Ruth Murdoch Elementary School, endeavoring to assist the teachers and children in their school activities. I was then drafted to do volunteer work at the Adventist Community Services Center, helping those in need, where I have been involved for over a decade. However, a sad and unexpected interruption came when Carolyn, my very dear and faithful companion who battled Alzheimer's disease for some time, suffered a severe stroke. After only two days, she passed away on January 30, 2003. This brought to a close sixty-four years of happy marriage. How we miss her.

Life must go on, though it may be alone, yet not alone for God has promised, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee" (Hebrews 13:5).