Destiny Waited and Courage Roared

By Dale Davis

How did a small-town girl from Texas grow up to travel to twenty-five nations by prayer and Gods interventions? How did she have the courage, strength, and determination to risk everything, even her life, to carry Bibles and the salvation message to places even some men would not go?

Destiny Waited and Courage Roared tells how this gutsy womans faith and bulldog tenacity faced life-threatening adventures as she smuggled Bibles into lands where Gods Word is often forbidden. This is not the typical missionary or evangelistic book, for it contains common-sense, Biblical teachings and riveting stories of narrow escapes and emotional salvation experiences.

Dale Daviss extraordinary relationship with her Father God will inspire you to engage in your own journey with God, explore new cultures, and reach the world in obedience to His calling on your life. Her stories may cause you to cry and laugh, but they will certainly have you in awe at how God and Dale teamed together to conquer seemingly impossible situations.

Destiny Waited and Courage Roared uniquely reaches people of all ages with real stories that need no embellishment and that educate, evangelize, and entertain, which are key marks of Dales ministry. Over her forty years of serving God, Dale has taught in Christian education, led youth and childrens ministries, directed outreach and street ministries, performed and taught theatrical clowning, and attended Bible school in La Marque, Texas.

Dale is available for booking engagements including teaching seminars on evangelism, using drama to teach the Bible, presenting motivational messages, and speaking to womens groups about overcoming pain and sorrow. She also leads mission tours and looks forward to meeting you in person at one of her presentations. Contact Dale through her website daledavisministries.com or her blog or by e-mailing her at [e-mail].

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490831701

Dale Davis

bio included with BCC

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 DALE DAVIS.

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Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-3171-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-3172-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-3170-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014905554

WestBow Press rev. date: 04/01/2014

With all my heart, mind, and soul,

I dedicate this book to Father God

Who made it all possible.

I also lovingly dedicate this book to my family:

my dear husband Roger, our son Jason,

daughter-in-law Janet,

and two granddaughters Morgan and Lindsey.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As a note to my readers, I would like to explain that you will find me referred to as Tig throughout Destiny Waited and Courage Roared. The nations and many friends call me Tig, which is my nickname. It was originally Tigi when I used it as my theatrical clown name during the early years of my ministry to all ages of people.

In addition, the pronouns we and us are often used ambiguously, for I feel compelled to keep some names of team members or individual friends with whom I worked or traveled anonymous due to privacy and security reasons.

Contents

Poem: God’s Footprints Left Behind by Dale Tig Davis

At Home in the Nations—Travel List

Introduction: Memoirs and Treasures—Dale Tig

one

Daddy’s Special Words

two

Toughened by Experience, Changed by His Love

three

Dancing in Divine Moments

four

Stars and Midnight Dreams

five

Lace at the Window

six

White Witch at the Rooftop Café

seven

From the Tablets of My Heart

eight

Courageous Heart, Unstoppable Faith

nine

In the Deafening Silence, God Waited

ten

Facing Death on an Angry Sea

eleven

The Mighty Wind of the Holy Spirit

twelve

Encounters on a Windswept Shore

thirteen

Passage To Destiny

fourteen

A Perilous Journey in a Snow-Covered Land

fifteen

Questioned in Customs and Narrow Escapes

sixteen

Under the African Sky

seventeen

God’s Heart For Mankind

eighteen

Tenacious, Bulldog Faith

nineteen

Tasting the Goodness of the Lord

Scripture References

Acknowledgments

God’s Footprints Left Behind

By Dale Tig Davis

I wake to embrace the presence of Father God in the quiet of early morning

I tiptoe past my curio cabinet

Precious memories beckon me to reminiscence prized moments

Tree leaves rustle nature’s tune outside my window

I turn and then laugh; my mind flies away to other times and places

Back to sandy seashores and gentle breezes,

crashing waves, train whistles

I see them all, my dancing memoirs

Remembering the camels on the windy seashore

The glassy reflections in the watery shore

I see the young woman in Africa leaping through the sand

She is screaming about my lost journal, Lady, lady!

I must hurry to reach my writing table near my comfy chair

I fold into the soft cushions

Wishful thoughts drift around in my head

In hopes to see again the palms that crackled

as they shuffled in the wind,

I dream of every country my feet have trod

God’s and my footprints are left behind in twenty-five nations

I long for those I met along the way

Where, oh, where are those gorgeous waters of greens and blues

Cravings from within leave me hungering

I yearn for the village near the sea; I wonder has it forgotten me?

Longing pleads to hear the voices of the people cry out,

Come back to me.

I miss you, my friends

My heart calls for worlds beyond my front door

As I reach into the cabinet, I move to embrace the collections within

I turn on the light to marvel at each piece

Every person I met and place I trod tenderly moves me

as I touch each one

I want to absorb again the precious moments,

remember the faces and the touch of God upon my heart and theirs

I feel again the tears and fears of the lost and hurting

I remember their marvelous joy when they found or understood God’s Word

Each piece received or collected tells a story

Stories so amazing that I marvel I have lived this life

Thank you, God, for giving them to me and sending me

The riches you gave are intervals of time spent with people

These small items nestled on the shelves I keep

with love for the worlds you gave to me

Reminders of Your amazing devotion and provision

Your protection, Your loving compassion for the world

A whisper breaks the silence of thought

God, take me to the nations again.

It is my heart to obey

To go wherever You lead

I remember well

At Home in the Nations—Travel List

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Ask of me, and I shall give you the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession. (Psalm 2:8 KJV)

Here are the nations I traversed with God by my side listed in order of names and years traveled (not including my home country, the USA):

Mexico 1975 & 1998, Bahamas 1988, Singapore, the airport of Japan, Malaysia, and Sri Lanka 1993, Ireland 1994 -1998, 2005- 2006, Nicaragua 1996, Ukraine and Holland 1995-1996, Guadalajara 1997, Northern Ireland which belongs to England 1997, Scotland 1997, Spain, North Africa 1997-2007, Germany 1999 & 2005 & 2006, Portugal 1999 & 2002, England 1999, Switzerland 1999-2007, the tiny countries of Andorra and Monaco 2005, France 2002-2007, Israel 2009, Italy 2012

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Introduction: Memoirs and Treasures

By Dale Tig

You have to color outside the lines once in awhile to make your life a masterpiece.—Albert Einstein

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As I built my life in God’s dwelling place, I colored outside the lines of my life and found obedience to God to be my greatest adventure. Destiny Waited and Courage Roared is the expression of some of my deepest thoughts of God and the worlds I have traveled. I am overwhelmed and hard-pressed to imprint my emotions onto these pages; however, I will try.

The nations I have seen have turned my eyes toward God. They have filled my being with great desire and anticipation to fly away to meet the world with its multitude of colors, its dreams of many people, its variety of cultures flowing with permeating whispers of love, hope, and joy, as well as its pain and sorrow.

My mind ignites with memories of the sights and sounds that still haunt my dreams. I yearn to go back as I think of the ones I touched with the hand of God upon my hand. People’s faces met my spirit’s gaze every day filling me with tears for their sorrow and hopelessness. I hear their voices calling me, Come again. I can still see their tears rolling down their cheeks as they said goodbye when I had to leave. Our hearts tore apart. Thank God, we had bonded together through the eternal Holy Spirit. No man can take the powerful wonderment I feel and cherish away from me. Nothing can replace the joy that my spirit experiences as I remember.

Have we truly experienced the love God put into His creation? The varied cultures captured my heart as I marveled at His painting of sunsets each day. They burst into a glorious display of varied oranges, reds, pinks, and different hues of grey or white as they rode on the winds over the Mediterranean Sea. Often those evening watercolors called me up to a village rooftop to pray. I gulped at the beauty of it all. Only God could have brushed onto the easel of His sky such works of nature’s art.

I craved the flavor of a new day as I hit the trail again. My bags were loaded with the precious treasure of God’s Word and gifts for the people God would bring across my path. My mind’s eye takes me back to the blue sky over the glistening, snow-covered Atlas Mountains. The mystique of the marketplaces in many cities of the world calls me to feel again the intrigue of encountering men and women of a different race.

I remember the smells of unfamiliar spices, how they filled the air with their essence and fed my senses. I feel inadequate to describe all I have discovered, seen, experienced, hoped, and longed for daily. Words fail me in telling you of the splendid moments when I have lived, eaten, preached, and shared in the lives of others in the nations where God allowed me to color outside the lines. The miracles I have witnessed have astonished me.

My first time off the field brought fear that I would never see my new, precious friends again. I felt as if madness would overtake me if I could not travel again. My destiny had found such sweet breath but was suddenly straining for survival. It seemed few could see or understand the pain I suffered. I tried to forget, I pretended to be calm, but I woke each day and slept each night with the question, When can I go again?

It was in the world of many people that I found my identity, and it was good. The call of God to go to the people of the world fuses into your very being. It wakens your senses like nothing else. You become aware that God is bigger than you could think or imagine.

The spirit of God within me calls out to travel the roads, the highways, and byways to tell the Good News of our Savior. For me, traveling involves the coming together of different cultures and becoming one as God made us. Escaping the normal routine of life is to meet an unexpected person who becomes my brother and friend in spite of the differences that attempt to impart hatred for one another.

I have found delight in even the smallest of opportunities. Such times have found me watching the wonder of the ocean meeting the sandy shorelines or the footprints of a camel’s huge feet melting into each granule, leaving their watery impressions behind. Simply passing a field of purple lavender in France has taken me aback. I have seen sunflowers, which are the giants of all flowers, sport their bright yellow petals and cover miles of fields in Spain and Portugal where the grape vineyards and olive groves also grow abundantly. I recall the brilliant, red poppy fields in France and North Africa and the yellow cactus blossoms in summer on cacti that can grow so tall the people use them for fences around a poor man’s property. Every field and its harvest is a picture painted in the marvelous colors of God’s creation, all glorious in shocking beauty.

I love driving the countryside alone with God. How awesome to drive up a hill, and as I top it, I see the entire horizon in a blaze of fiery reds and passionate oranges mixed with black and pink streaks—a painting of nature waiting for my pleasure by an ancient walled city in Spain. More treasured than these memories, however, are the memories of the people I met along the paths where God sent me. You will read about some of them in the pages beyond.

Exploring involves discovering that one is actually quite small compared to the vastness of God in all His majesty and glory. Also, compassion comes for the lost and untold peoples wherever God sends His children. How incredible it is that God sent Himself through the giving of His Son Jesus to die for us and save us from sin.

This manuscript gives the glory to God for the stories of the people and their nations where I have tramped proclaiming the eternal hope God offers. My hope is to influence you to step out to obey God in the calling He has given you. My personal, continual cry is, Just one more time, Lord, one more time I will go. Give me the nations again.

I have left my heart in the world, and the world has become my home. I am completely at home in the nations of the world. With each trip, I leave a part of me with the people and take a part of them with me as well. My life will never be the same. My destiny began the day I placed my feet upon the soil of another land. I will never turn away from the calling on my life and my Father Hashem Who gave it to me. (Ps. 2:8)

In closing I say to you, take the heart of the lion, dive into the rivers of God’s glory, build roads into people’s hearts with God’s Word, and discover who you are and what God wants of you. The adventure of discovery begins at the very steps outside your front door. When you step out of your home or your church or your workplace, remember the mission field is waiting there for you to reach the lost souls of this world for Jesus Christ, Our Lord.

one

Daddy’s Special Words

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My father spoke words to me when I was only eight that would change my life and help me take nations for God. Words we speak or hear can collide with our spirits and bring either good or bad to us. Negative or positive attitudes enforce our choices, and we can fear or conquer by what we think and speak. The tongue has the power of life and death… the Bible tells us in Proverbs 18:21. Also Prov. 23:7 says, For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he…

A CHILDHOOD MEMORY

The story of my life has taken me on a journey of quests where I discovered the amazing power of God’s love, forgiveness, and His goodness. I now treasure the breathtaking moments that I have lived going beyond my own personal borders. God gave me nations as I risked it all to serve Him.

Before sharing the adventures of God’s calling me to the nations, I would like to tell you how some very special words my father’s once spoke to me helped to make it all possible. He said those words to me in a tiny room in the middle of my childhood home where the memory of a small homemade desk lives on in my treasure box of moments and flashbacks of days gone by. The year was 1955 and I was eight years old. My fourth grade teacher had taken me to the school office, and the principal had called my mother for a meeting.

I grew up a lower middle-class family living on Cummings Street in Uvalde, Texas, a town near the border of Mexico. My family of six shared the three doors to my bedroom, one to the kitchen, one to the tiny hallway that led to the one bathroom, and one that led to my three younger brothers’ bedroom. When we kids were not spending time doing our chores, we spent our time running in the streets after rainstorms, riding bikes up and down what we called Bunker Hill where nice houses dominated the neighborhood, and playing in the brushy area across the street.

School was fun to me, but the one thing I hated was math. It was my worst subject. Numbers presented concepts my brain did not compute, especially fractions. Wrapping my mind around math seemed senseless to me at that age. One day the principal called me to his office. Because of my low math scores, he and my teacher were concerned that I would fail fourth grade and had, therefore, scheduled a meeting with my mother. I can still see myself sitting in the oak chair in the secretary’s office waiting for Mom to arrive. I can remember the office having a musty smell with a mixture of lemon furniture polish, dusty books, and the principal’s Old Spice cologne that lingered in the air.

The meeting did not go well for me, and when we arrived home, Mother sent me to my room to do my math. She hollered at me, Get busy with your homework. Your dad will be home soon, and he will not be happy about all this. The smell of venison sizzling and the noises of cooking coming from the kitchen made me hungry. Frustration had set in by that time. Why do I have to be stuck inside my room doing these stupid fractions?

There was no doubt Mama was upset. I could feel it. Helping her prepare supper was my usual duty every day of the week. I remember her standing at the stove and wearing her ruffled apron neatly tied around her small waist. She was pretty with her shiny, black hair bouncing as she whirled around in the kitchen. I would have liked being with her better than toiling over puzzling math problems. My room felt like a prison from which I could not escape.

The principal had told Mother I was failing on purpose. That made her angry with me, and she was having none of that because my grandmother had paid the tuition for me to start school at age five because there were no kindergarten classes at that time.

After sitting in my bedroom and pouting about my homework assignment, I reluctantly decided it was time to do what mother said and start working on my math. I opened the top of my desk and began grappling with my math problems.

MY LITTLE HOMEMADE DESK

Daddy had made me a drop-down leaf desk with drawers on the bottom for my clothes. He had coated it with a can of leftover, cherry red stain mixed with a brown varnish. It turned out to be a weird color, but I loved it because my daddy had made it just for me. The color might have been odd, but I was proud of that desk.

As I sat at my little desk, Mom’s words broke the silence, Dale Lee, are you working on that math paper?

Yes, Mom, I am working, but it’s too hard. I hate math! The more the fractions frustrated me, the more my resentment grew. If hiding or running away had been my answer, my feet would have taken me in a full run out the front door. However, fear of disappointing someone was one of my weak points; more than that, I despised failing. Why did the principal say I was failing on purpose because my friend was failing? That was not the whole truth. I did not want to leave my friend behind, but I did not want to fail either. I could not believe they did not understand my dilemma.

In a whining, low, whimpering voice, I said, I won’t do this stupid math. I don’t care what they say. I can’t do it. I looked at my math paper. There was a hole in it from erasing and redoing the math problems many times. In total anxiety, I wadded up the paper and shoved it to the corner of my desk as hot tears flowed down my cheeks.

After a short time, I heard Dad’s rattling truck coming down the street. Panic set in. Without an air conditioning system in our home, we would have our windows open on warm days. Thus, I could hear sounds coming from the neighborhood. The roofing buckets Dad used for tar hung on a metal rail in the back of his pickup truck and clanged together. Normally I liked that sound because it meant supper would be coming soon. But that day, it was a dreadful noise.

I quickly tried to smooth out the wrinkled paper before Dad came in the front door. As he entered, he yelled, Butch, I’m home! Mom continued cooking as she reported my circumstances to Dad. In my child’s mind, she was the judge and jury sending me to a prison of math fractions forever.

My pencil was frantically twirling when I heard Daddy get one of the metal chairs from the dining room table. I kept my pencil moving so that he would see me working. The actor in me was trying hard to look astute. He called, using my middle name. (The inclusion of my middle name meant something serious was coming.) Dale Lee, are you having trouble with those fractions again? Didn’t I show you how to do them yesterday?

Yes, Daddy, but I don’t remember.

He brought the chair through the door. (It was the kind with rounded metal legs and a shiny, plastic seat cover. Ours were yellow. That style of dinette sets was popular in the 1950’s.) After setting the chair down backward, he straddled it as he would a horse. He leaned over the back of the chair, crossed his arms, and spoke firmly but with compassion. I needed that authority tempered with kindness. I could feel his strength and see his Popeye muscles bulging in his forearms.

Popeye the Sailor Man was a kids’ cartoon character in the 1940’s-50’s, who had huge forearm muscles. He obtained his strength from eating spinach from a can. We kids loved the cartoon but not that ol’, green spinach. Yuck! We kids would giggle and ask Daddy to flex his Popeye-like mounds. We were not fooled. We knew it was because of hard work that Dad had giant muscles, not from some stinking, canned spinach.

Daddy rolled his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other corner while he was thinking. So, what’s wrong, honey? I showed you how to work fractions yesterday.

I know, Daddy, I know, but I don’t understand. Sweat rolled down my neck as I grabbed the paper. A scream like that of a wounded cat slipped out of me. I again crumpled my math paper into a small ball and pitched it onto the floor. I watched it roll away. I never wanted to look at another fraction in my life. Calmly Daddy rolled the cigar around to the other side of his mouth. I screamed and slammed the desktop. I can’t do it, Daddy. I hate math! My emotions exploded all over that room. I hate math, Daddy! I hate it! I can’t do it!

Dad quietly told me to pick up the paper and smooth it out. He patiently began showing me how to work with fractions. Then he told me to try to do them myself. In exasperation, I screamed, No, Daddy, I cannot do it, as I flung my pencil hard. It flipped onto my desktop, bounced off my desk, and flew past Daddy’s cigar, almost knocking it out of his mouth. I plopped my head down on my desk and began weeping and wailing. Daddy gently touched my arm and told me to dry my tears. Now look at me. His beautiful blue eyes were staring right through me. I remember his next words well. They are as plain to me today as they were then. Dale Lee, listen to me. Stop crying. Do you remember your geography lesson about Mount Everest from last week?

Yes, Daddy, Sniffles and choked-back tears persisted, but I listened. Geography was a subject I understood well. I enjoyed it along with history and science.

Do you remember that Mount Everest is a very high mountain and very hard to climb? I nodded. Well, it may be hard but not impossible. So, if you wanted to badly enough, you could climb Mount Everest. You can do anything you want to do if you want to badly enough. Dad then leaned back, rolled that ol’ cigar in his mouth, and paused to let that thought sink into my head. My mind began racing with possibilities that