Hot topic of the week

Will there still be marriage in heaven? For example, will people who are married now still have the same kind of relationship in heaven?

What do YOU think?

Click here join in the discussion.

Participate!

Most Commented Articles

The Other You (7)
01.12.08

Wheel Trouble (5)
09.29.07

Till Death Do Us Part (5)
08.02.08

Saved (4)
10.13.07

Practical Purity (4)
02.09.08

On a deserted road in Cambodia, Ben rode his motorcycle into trouble.

Bullets in Red

by Rosemary Joy Huff

APRIL 18, 1994. With a brilliant blue sky above him, Ben Davis rode his motorcycle along a country road in civil war–torn Cambodia. He thought about his upcoming trip to the U.S. to visit family and friends after two years of mission service. He was ready to go.

Earlier in the day he had visited a small rural church in a south-western province of Cambodia. Now he was headed home to the mission house in the capital, Phnom Penh.

Rounding a corner, Ben saw two soldiers standing in the road about a hundred yards ahead of him. He couldn't tell whether they were friendly government soldiers or not. But they weren't looking at him, so he rode on toward them.

Suddenly they turned to face him, guns blazing. They were Khmer Rouge (Communist guerrillas)!

Without thinking, Ben swerved to the other lane. Just then a bullet grazed his neck, spraying blood down the front of his shirt. He had seen Khmer Rouge soldiers shoot a parrot out of a tree at 50 yards. He knew that only divine providence was keeping their bullets from hitting his head or his heart.

The air exploded with gunshots as Ben zigzagged toward his assailants. They shot at his tires, and one bullet tore into his foot and came out his heel. The guerrillas, evidently thinking they had done a good job on him, stopped shooting after he passed them.

Meanwhile Ben, certain he would die from loss of blood, breathed a prayer. "Lord, remember me when You come."

About three miles down the road (it seemed like 30), Ben reached a camp of government soldiers guarding a bridge. He only said, "Khmer Rouge." The blood spattered over him and his motorcycle told the rest of the story.

As the soldiers rushed him toward a medic, he began to go into shock. The soldiers left him in the medic's tent and ran to their vehicles to go in search of the Khmer Rouge. While the medic washed his wounds, Ben heard guns blasting and rockets exploding. He knew the government soldiers had caught up with the guerrillas.

When the medic finished, a couple soldiers loaded Ben alongside a cannon in the back of an army truck. Looking back, he saw a puddle of blood on the ground where he had been lying. Now he faced a 35-mile ride to the nearest hospital over a muddy, potholed road.

As the soldiers started out, Ben bounced back and forth against the cannon. A few minutes into the journey, a tropical rain shower poured torrents on him, drenching and chilling him.

At the next army camp, the soldiers stopped and left the truck. Ben waited almost an hour before he stumbled from the truck to find out what was holding them up.

"The cannon cannot be taken into the city," one soldier explained. Behind him, other soldiers still argued about what to do with it. At that moment another heavy rain shower sent them all scurrying for shelter. Ben felt very weak and light-headed.

Finally the soldiers decided they could leave the cannon at the army camp. So as soon as the rain stopped, they scrambled into the truck, picked up the cannon, and moved it out. Then Ben and the soldiers set off again for Phnom Penh.

When they arrived, the soldiers drove Ben to the mission house. From there workers carried him to the old dark, dirty hospital, where a doctor washed and bandaged his wounds and gave him a bed in an empty room. Before he lay down, Ben asked the doctor to promise him two things: first, that he would not give him blood, because blood is not screened well in Cambodia; and second, that he would not cut off his foot.

The next day Ben flew to Thailand and was admitted into the Bangkok Adventist Hospital. An American orthopedic surgeon X-rayed his ankle. The doctor told Ben that the bullet had fractured three bones, severed a nerve, and ruptured an artery as it went through his foot.

While he lay in the hospital, Ben received many phone calls and faxes from friends in the United States. After two weeks the doctor allowed Ben to move to a missionary's home to recuperate. The United States ambassador to Thailand visited him there.

As soon as Ben was strong enough, the doctor sent him back to the U.S. to get treatment at the Loma Linda University Medical Center. The doctor in Thailand hoped the doctors at Loma Linda could repair some of the damage in Ben's ankle. But the Loma Linda physicians advised Ben to wait a year to see if the tissues would heal on their own.

While on a two-month furlough (an extended home leave) after his visit to Loma Linda, my cousin Ben went with me to a Cambodian market in Stockton, California. Ben spoke to the proprietor in Khmer, the Cambodian language.

A few weeks before, the man had heard on the radio about Ben's run-in with the Khmer Rouge. He asked in English, "Who do you think was at fault?"

Taken aback, Ben thought for a moment before replying. "Probably my fault. I was traveling alone and wearing a helmet, so they couldn't tell that I was an American."

The man looked a little surprised as he nodded and turned back to a customer.

I marveled that Ben, by the grace of God, could respond without bitterness or resentment. In fact, in spite of his close brush with death, Ben recently returned to Cambodia to continue his work among the Khmer.

Rosemary Huff’s story won second prize in the 1994 INSIGHT Writing Contest.