Here, try the dandelion salad!”
José lived in a small mountain community north of San Francisco, California. His Mexican family was poor, and their meals were simple, seldom including fancy salads. Then José found a paperback book by Catherine Gearing, a book that promised a better life. A Field Guide to Wilderness Living, the title proclaimed, on a cover that showed a beautiful mountain, lake, campfire, and even a pet dog.
José read every word, underlined his favorite recipes, and set out into the woods near his home, eager to find the delicacies it promised, learning to sense God’s presence around him, thrilled to know that God had made all of this for him!
Until Catherine Gearing gave him permission, José had no idea where to find peppermint or that dandelions were edible. He memorized her directions and tested the flavors of the bright yellow and green plants that were blooming everywhere around his mountainside home. Before long, family meals included delicious dandelion salads!
Unfortunately, the book was a paperback that began to fall apart as he read, underlined, and folded over the corners of the most important pages. José’s brother offered a solution.
“How about if I put a good hard binding on your dandelion book?” He worked at a book bindery while studying in Montemorelos, Mexico.
The newly bound book was heavier, but José carried it everywhere, testing Catherine’s wilderness solution for every problem he faced.
“This book has changed my life,” José told everyone who would listen, and even to some who laughed at his dandelion salads and turned their noses away from his fresh peppermint.
Called to Serve
The summer he turned 16, a pastor friend convinced José to join a group called Community Crusade Against Drugs, and sell books door-to-door in San Francisco. “It was the only way I could find to earn enough money to pay my academy tuition,” José remembers. “There were several of us guys who worked together. I grew a mustache so I’d look a little older, and the pastor of a small Spanish church let me and Javier stay in a couple of the Sabbath School rooms. We had to clean everything out each Friday, but it worked out OK. We even had a shower!”
The work hours were long, but over the summer the guys visited thousands of homes in South San Francisco. Each evening, after delivering one of their team to his home on Treasure Island, José and Javier would drive back to their sleeping bags in the Sabbath School rooms. On the way, they’d stop at a fast-food restaurant for french fries and a milkshake.
“The french fries were our meal,” José laughs, “and the milkshake was our dessert.”
One morning as they were preparing to leave their Sabbath School hotel, the church phone rang. José answered.
“Hello. Is this the Seventh-day Adventist church?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Nancy, and I’m a nurse at the University of California Medical Center. We have a patient here who’s scheduled for a very delicate surgery, and she’d like a pastor from her church to come and pray with her”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is a Spanish-speaking church, and the pastor doesn’t know a word of English, so he couldn’t help you. Just a minute, maybe I can find you a number for an English church . . . ”
José found a number in the church directory and gave it to the nurse.
“She was not happy to have to make another call. But I gave it to her anyway, and then hurried off to work.”
That night, about 11:00 p.m., as José and Javier ordered their fries and malts, José suddenly remembered the call.
José grabbed Javier’s shoulder. “Nobody went to see that woman. We have to go see her. I don’t think that nurse called the other church, and I don’t think a pastor went to pray with her. She’s going to have a very delicate surgery, and we’ve got to get over there.”
“Nah. It’s way past visiting hours,” Javier disagreed. “Too late to go now. They wouldn’t let us in anyway. Look at us. We’re just two kids with long hair, flip-flop sandals, and bell-bottom jeans. We look like Mexican hippies!”
“But that lady wanted an Adventist pastor to pray with her. We have to go see her,” José declared. “Let’s go!”
Defying the Odds
The two slipped out of the restaurant and sped up Market Street over a couple of San Francisco’s very steep hills toward the hospital. The only parking spot they could find was across the street from a set of the hospital’s back doors.
“Everything’s locked,” Javier said. “How can we get in?”
“Well, they’d sure never let us in the front door,” José said. “Let’s try this one.”
The guys sprinted across the street into shadows beside the door and tried the knob. It was unlocked! In a moment they were inside the hospital, with no idea how to get to the woman who was going to have surgery the next morning.
“Hurry,” José said as he pulled Javier over to an elevator. “God will help us!”
José pushed the button for the ninth floor. “Let’s try this one.”
“When the door opens, we’ll stick our heads out and then make our move.”
The guys slipped out of the elevator and into a dark hallway that seemed to go forever. Far off, a nurse’s shadow moved in the distant light.
They walked slowly, flip-flop sandals flapping against the floor, and came to a nurse who was obviously terrified of these two Mexican hippies.
“We’re sorry to come so late,” José began, “but this morning a nurse called to say a woman was going in for cancer surgery tomorrow, and she wanted a Seventh-day Adventist pastor to come and pray for her. We’re not pastors, but we can pray. Would you take us to her?”
The nurse looked at the two and reached for a phone to call security.
“Visiting hours ended four hours ago,” she said, lifting the phone.
“I know.” José put on his brightest smile. “But visiting hours don’t apply for clergy, right?”
She stood before them, an unmoving wall. Then she said, “I don’t like this, but follow me. I know the woman who wants prayer.”
She led them down another long hall and tapped lightly on a closed door.
“The pastor is here,” she said as she led José and Javier into the room.
The night-light was on, and the woman in the bed was sobbing.
“Don’t tell me you’re Adventists,” she exclaimed. “You don’t look like pastors. You look like Mexican hippies! What are you doing here?”
“We’re from the Seventh-day Adventist church,” José said, hoping to get through this as quickly as possible. “We’re here to pray with you.”
“I’m dying of cancer, and now, at the stroke of midnight, two Adventist hippies walk in off the streets of San Francisco to pray with me. I’ll never forget this!”
José moved closer to the bed. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“I’m Catherine Gearing,” the woman said. “Maybe you’ve read my book, The Field Guide to Wilderness Living?”
José grabbed both of her hands. “You’re Catherine Gearing? I’ve memorized every page of your book! You’ve taught me to sense God’s presence around me. You changed my life!”
God’s presence flooded the room, and the next hour was filled with happy stories, loud laughter, many prayers, and hope.