Wednesday

I can only imagine how brothers and sisters felt being away from those they love. Well, that goes for all when they are away from those they love. I know it hurts. Recall that I was away from my wife for months due to jail. Nothing to do with the truth but everything to do with mistakes or should I say choices I've made.

Point is, I was away. It felt like an empty hole in my heart. It was only for a short while compared to those who are away from those they love for years. The only thing that kept me going is the fact that they could not erase her face from my mind.

Notice this story from Fernando Marin. This is his story.....

TEN years in prison in Franco’s Spain—ten years that enriched my life. That might sound like a contradiction; yet that is true in my case. Not because those years were full of the comforts of life. On the contrary, there was all the cruel reality of a military prison. But along with all of that, there was also the real evidence, at times amazing, of divine protection. I can recall the events as if they happened yesterday.

I was raised a Catholic and had studied at Catholic schools in Barcelona. I grew up with a morbid fear of hellfire torment and purgatory. Then when I was 16 I studied the Bible with Jehovah’s Witnesses, and those terrifying teachings were wiped from my mind. I saw clearly from the Bible that there is no immortal human soul. In that case, how could there be places of torment and purging for such?—Ezekiel 18:4, 20; Ecclesiastes 9:5, 6, 10.

In 1961, at the age of 18, I symbolized my dedication to God by baptism in Paris, France, at the first large convention that I attended. I was one of a small group of Spaniards who had been able to arrange the trip to France in spite of our poor economic situation and the ban on Jehovah’s Witnesses in Spain at that time. Our preaching work was underground during most of the Franco era (1939-75).
I was so grateful to know Jehovah and his truth through Christ Jesus that my dedication was made without reservation. I wanted to be a full-time pioneer minister. My wish was fulfilled in February 1962. I have been in that service ever since—even when I was in prison. But why did I have to go to prison?

In February of 1964, at the age of 21, I was drafted for military service. I was prepared for what was to come. For years, like other young men of my generation in the congregation, I had two goals in life—to be a full-time pioneer minister and to keep my integrity on the issue of Christian neutrality.—John 17:16; 18:36.

When I left home to go to the barracks, I went with an air of expectancy, with a kind of cold nervousness, but with my convictions very clear in mind. On my arrival at the local army quarters, I explained my position as a conscientious objector—something that was hardly understood at that time in Spain and certainly not tolerated. I was given a travel pass and told to present myself at the barracks in Tenerife (Canary Islands)—over a thousand miles (1,600 km) from my home in Catalonia.

In Tenerife the military authorities thought I was mad. Who in his right mind would refuse to do military service under a Fascist dictatorship? I was assigned to a psychiatric hospital for treatment! Fortunately I was examined by a doctor who knew of the Witnesses, and I was thus saved from treatment that could have done permanent damage. They soon locked me up in a military prison. For how long would I be there? I had no idea, as there was no fixed sentence in those days for conscientious objectors.

During the years that followed, I came to know the inner emptiness of loneliness and the degradation of debased cell mates. I passed through life-threatening situations, and I was made tempting offers to break my integrity and neutrality. Slowly I came to realize that the small rectangle of a cell could also be a universe when one enjoys an intimate relationship with God. I developed an overwhelming trust in Jehovah as my God.—Psalm 23.

From Tenerife I was sent to the dread military prison of San Francisco del Risco on the island of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria—dreaded because of the reputation of the prison commandant—a short, stocky, sadistic type who enjoyed beating up the prisoners personally. His nickname was Pisamondongo (Guts Treader).

I was put in solitary confinement, and all my belongings were removed, including my Bible. I was only briefly allowed out at night—to empty my latrine and to pick up my supper bowl. Yet, in all those months of solitary confinement I was never truly alone. (Psalm 145:18) Like missionary Harold King, who for years was in solitary confinement in China, I cultivated my relationship with Jehovah. (See The Watchtower, 1963, pages 437-42.)

One Sunday my meal included a slice of lemon. As I squeezed it onto the rice some drops fell on the red tile floor of my cell, leaving a slight stain. This gave me the idea of using lemon juice to inscribe a text on the cell floor. Once a week the meal included a slice of lemon. Thus, little by little, I was able to write across the floor of my cell: “El nombre de mi Dios es Jehová.” (“The name of my God is Jehovah.”) Those words were a constant reminder that I was not entirely alone. That simple truth at my feet triggered my mind to recall deeper truths about man’s relationship to God. Later, using the wax from a candle, I polished the whole of the cell floor until it was smooth and shiny like a mirror.

Brothers imprisoned in El Aaiún, in the Sahara, heard about my isolation and the fact that I was denied any Bible or Bible literature. By means of another prisoner who was being transferred, they managed to send some pages from a Watchtower magazine and a copy of one of the Gospels. The problem was, how could he get them to me while I was in solitary confinement?

That night when I went to empty my latrine a small package was dropped over the lavatory wall. I grabbed it like a starving man grasping bread. Back in my cell, I passed the night reading those pages again and again. It was the first literature speaking of Jehovah that I had seen in a year! Dawn came. With what ravishing hunger I had devoured those articles and Jesus’ comforting words from the Gospel!

The following night, as I returned to my cell with my supper bowl in my hand, I saw the prison commandant, don Gregorio, waiting for me. He had a menacing look on his face and his short bull neck swelled with rage. In his hand were my magazine pages. My cache of precious Bible literature had been discovered! Using gross insults against Jehovah’s name and threats of death, he called me over. I immediately offered an intense and silent prayer to Jehovah, asking that he help me to bear what was to follow with the dignity of a true Christian.

The commandant opened my cell door. I ran to the corner of the cell and tried to cover my vulnerable parts against the onslaught that I knew must come. Furious and screaming, with his eyes bloodshot, he hurled himself at me. The floor was highly polished. He slipped and fell on his face. Wild with rage, he tried to get up. As he did so, his eyes fell on the words written on the floor, “El nombre de mi Dios es Jehová.” He was very superstitious. When he got to God’s name, he said incredulously in a low tone, “Jehovah!” Then his voice rose as he began shouting again and again “Jehovah! Jehovah! . . . ” Then, almost on all fours he fled from the cell! I was spared a thrashing, and he never bothered me again.

This experience strengthened my faith in Jehovah’s protecting hand. Here I was totally alone and yet not abandoned. I was persecuted but not destroyed.—2 Corinthians 4:7-10.

Eventually I was transferred to the prison of Santa Catalina, in Cádiz, where there were soon about a hundred brothers. We organized ourselves as a congregation, one of the largest in Spain at that time! We maintained our schedule of meetings and personal study and even repeated the circuit and district assembly programs right there in the prison.

It would have been easy to dramatize our situation, but our brothers and sisters on the outside were also facing tests of loyalty and integrity in their daily lives—in some cases tests that we did not have in prison. At least we did not feel cut off from Jehovah and his organization. His principles were vital to us, especially when psychological fatigue took over, and the days, which seemed endless, fell on us like the relentless blows of a hammer, crushing the flower of our youth. But we did not allow such despair to overcome us.—Psalm 71.

In our cramped surroundings, we had to maintain a good spirit of Christian coexistence, which was not always easy. Privacy was virtually impossible in communal cells even though we were separated from the other military prisoners. Unhappily, a case arose in our ranks of a gross moral sin. Action had to be taken to keep our congregation clean. Yet he had to continue living with us—we could not put him out of the prison, nor did we want to ask to have him moved to the common prison section because of the reproach it would cast on Jehovah and the rest of us. We were puzzled as to how to handle this embarrassing situation. An answer came from an unexpected source.

At about that time we received a most welcome visit from Grant Suiter, a member of the Governing Body. He was allowed to see just one prisoner in the visitors’ room. But we all wanted to see and hear him. How would it be possible? We had discovered in the workshop an unused door that led into our dormitory. It was hidden behind wallpaper. We decided to camouflage it completely by covering it with a backless cupboard. Thus one could step into the cupboard, open the door behind—and find oneself in a maze of tightly packed three-tier bunk beds!

When Brother Suiter was alone with me in the visiting room, I invited him to the workshop on the pretext of showing him some of our handiwork. Imagine his surprise at being asked to step into a cupboard—then to find himself in a dormitory with over a hundred brothers waiting to see him! We took a risk, but for us, starved for outside association, it was worth it. We could hardly believe that we had a member of the Governing Body actually in our midst.

We took the opportunity to explain our problem to him. His answer was clear: Jehovah’s organization and principles cannot be subverted by man’s rules and regulations. ‘The organization is not in prison!’ he said. Then he suggested, ‘Why not speak to the commandant and ask to have the offender transferred?’

The commandant, the sarcastic type, usually scoffed at us. I explained to him, “We do not permit transgressors in our ranks. We must keep our organization clean.” How did he react? As if he had understood some eternal principle that I had thought was beyond his ken, he tried to console me! I was flabbergasted! He said he would give orders immediately for the transgressor to be transferred and that he would not be readmitted to our section until our judicial committee requested it. He even praised our loyalty and respect for high principles.

Our test in prison was not only the endless years of imprisonment but also the uncertainty—we never knew when we would get free, if ever. Why not? Because as each sentence was completed, we were put through the process again and given an even harsher sentence. One of the brothers was condemned to a total of 26 years in prison—all for refusing 18 months of military service! What sustained us during the long test? Prayer was one of the cornerstones of our integrity.

Rumors circulated from about 1972 onward that the Spanish government might grant amnesty to the conscientious objectors who had been so long in prison. A few days before the amnesty went into effect, 70 out of the 100 who were to be released applied for full-time pioneer service! That gives some idea of the elevated sense of Christian responsibility that we had developed over the years in prison. We did not see our new freedom as an excuse to live it up and make up for all we had apparently missed. Instead, we wanted to show Jehovah our gratitude for the protection we had enjoyed over the years. And it was no fleeting, emotional reaction—many of those brothers are still in the pioneer ranks!

More than a dozen are in the circuit or district work, or in Bethel service, and that includes me and my wife Conchita. Did I waste ten years of my life in prison? Integrity is never wasted. The combined record of integrity keeping of hundreds of faithful brothers imprisoned in Spain made Jehovah’s name reach the highest circles of the government, parliament, and the Catholic Church. Even General Franco had to recognize this unusual body of unbending Christians. In 1970 Jehovah’s Witnesses were granted legal recognition by his government.

In Spain’s prisons we survived a long test of patience and endurance. But it was a unique opportunity for serious personal study of the Bible and for cultivating a close relationship with Jehovah. We did not waste those valuable years. That is why so many of us came out of prison much stronger spiritually than when we went in. Yes, for many years ‘we were persecuted, but not left in the lurch; we were thrown down, but never destroyed.’—2 Corinthians 4:9.
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This is a great story. This is what he said " Even in isolation, I had a constant reminder that I was not alone. "

We are not alone folks. With Jehovah's help we can get through anything. We can get through anything. Just keep moving forward taking one day at a time, keeping your integrity, paying attention to your conduct, and watching your association.

You are not alone.......