I Proved the Doctors Wrong

The doctor was talking to my mother as they stood beside my bed. She was upset and the doctor was trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Williams, but we've done all we can for your son," he said. "He has a heart problem that we cannot correct. I think you should take him home and let him rest. Make him as comfortable as you can so he can enjoy his last days with his family."

Although I was five years old at the time, I couldn't understand what they were saying. I only know about this conversation because my family told me. Beyond that, I have no memory whatsoever of those five years in the hospital and of the several months that followed back on the reservation.

My mother had a job where she could not look after me, so I went to live with my grandparents. Our home was in the northeastern part of Arizona in a Navajo village called Chinle. It was there that I was to spend my "last days".

Each morning my grandmother took me outside and laid me on the sunny side of the hogan. As I rested day after day in the sun, breathing the fresh air, God slowly turned my life around.

By the age of seven, I began to know what was happening around me. But though I was able to get up and eat, I could not do much else.

As the months passed, my strength and health increased, but even yet I can remember the pounding of my heart. If I would do some work or run or get excited, it would beat wildly. It was so bad, my brother could hear my heart thumping as we lay in bed at night.

By the time I was a teenager, my health improved so much that I was able to do almost everything-riding and breaking horses, even wrestling steer. It was a lot of heavy work and it made my heart pound away, but since it didn't hurt me, I ignored it.

The trading post was a favorite spot for me and my teenage friends. We used to hang around there a lot, wrestling, and playing different games.

One day when I was fifteen, we heard that some boys who had been working away from home had just returned. We stayed around hoping to talk to them.

One of them was wearing brand new clothes and a real nice pair of boots. He wore a tie and spurs and a new hat. The horse he was riding had a brand new saddle. We watched as he went in to buy himself a bottle of pop. When he came out, we asked him questions.

He had been working out in the sugar beet fields. After several months, he had enough money to buy all these things. And he was going back.

"If you are interested in coming along," he said, "there will be a truck coming in here in a few days."

My buddies and I talked about it and decided maybe it was a good idea. We went to ask our folks. After my grandmother talked with some of the people who had done this before, she gave me permission to go.

On the day the trucks were to arrive, I got up early and bundled my clothes and blankets in a sheepskin. As I was leaving the hogan, my grandmother gave me ten dollars. I promised her I would save my wages and come home.

By the time I walked to the road where all my buddies were, the sun was all the way up. Before long, several trucks came and we piled in. We traveled all that day and most of the night.

About three in the morning we ended up in a place where there were many tents. We were glad there was an interpreter, because most of us could not speak English. He sent some of us younger boys to a tent by ourselves. There were bunk beds inside, but we put the mattresses on the floor because we were afraid we would fall off in our sleep.

On our first day in the field, we discovered they grew cotton, not beets. We were supposed to thin the plants and hoe the weeds. Every time we finished two rows, they paid us.

Even though they took us to town every weekend and there was plenty to eat, it was not long before we began to get a bit lonesome.

One day, two of my friends and I decided we would run away. Long after midnight, we crept out of the tent and walked slowly down the road until we were out of sight, and then we ran. If we saw anything like a car or truck, we hid behind the bushes.

But in all our planning, we forgot one thing-water. As the southern Arizona sun came up, it got hotter and hotter. Soon we could hardly spit. Just as we were getting really desperate, a guy in a pickup stopped and gave us a lift into Phoenix.

We had some money with us, so we just walked the streets, especially at night when the flashing neon lights came on. Having never been in a city before, we thought they were really something to see.

When our money ran out, we got a job on a vegetable farm. A couple of the farmer's children took a liking to us and began to teach us things we didn't know. By pointing at something and saying its name, they taught us to understand English. Each day, my knowledge increased and I began to speak quite well.

One day in Phoenix, I met a man who had been in the service and we began talking. When he found out I did not know anything about our country, he opened up some maps. He showed me how big it was and told me what it was like. Right away, I became curious. If our country was like that, I wanted to see it.

First, I went to California and then Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada, Utah and east into Wyoming. Finally, I found work on a farm near Sidney, Montana.

I was only there a few hours when I discovered this place was different-the farmer and his family were Christians. Right after breakfast on my first morning there, the farmer said, "Before we go to work, we usually have what we call devotions." Reaching over, he picked up a great big Bible and began to read.

After he read for a while, he put the book away and said, "Herman, we pray together too."

They all knelt down right away and I felt foolish because I was still sitting. As quickly as I could, I knelt, too, and listened to everyone pray. And then we all went to work.

That evening, after supper, he invited me into the living room and we had devotions again.

Over the next year, they often talked to me about the Lord and about the importance of life. On Sundays, we went to church. I still could not read or write, but I could understand English just as though I had been to high school.

In the fall of 1950, a church in Lambert had a missionary rally that we all attended. One of the speakers was a missionary to the American Indians. He told how the Lord had called him and about the great need among Indians. They needed to know how to be saved.

I don't really remember much of the message, but when the invitation was given, I slipped into the prayer room. It was there that I asked Jesus to come into my life and be my Savior.

Up to this time, my life was filled with problems. I could not read or write and had never been to school. And there were problems within me. I had real battles. One of them was fears. Fears of thunder and lightning and fears of something evil that was in me. But you know, that night when I accepted Christ, all these things vanished, except, of course, I still could not read or write.

Jesus said, "Peace I give to you, let not your heart be troubled; and come, and I will give you rest." These words are really true, because this is what happened to me. It was something very real in my heart.

That same night, I met the principal of Mokahum Indian Bible School, Rev. Keith Bailey. He said, "Herman, I want you to come to Bible school."

I didn't need any more invitation than that. In a few weeks, I was hitchhiking across North Dakota, heading for Mokahum in northern Minnesota.

I was very nervous on my first day in Bible school. Even being an adult did not help. I was still scared as a kid.

Standing last in line, I listened carefully to the Indian guy in front of me as he answered the secretary's questions. And then, it was my turn.

"How much education have you had?" she asked.

That was the worst possible question she could have asked. I had never been to school in my life. I did not even know how to read or write, but I figured if I told the truth, they would kick me out for sure. So, I did the best thing I could think of. I gave the answer the guy in front of me had given.

"Grade eight," I replied.

Everything went well until the end of the first week, when we were all handed a blank sheet of paper. It was a test. I sat there with the rest of them, but I was drawing pictures. When the class was over, I handed in my artwork.

That afternoon, I was called to the office. I knew what was coming. Mr. Bailey and several teachers were there when I entered.

"Why didn't you answer the questions on the test?" they asked.

Right then, I knew there was no use trying to hide my problem. I told them straight.

"Look," I said, "I've never been to school in my life. I can't even read or write. But I really want to study the Bible. That is why I came all the way over here."

There was silence for a while and then Mr. Bailey spoke.

"If you want to study the Bible," he said, "you must be able to read and write. We will help you all we can, but it will be slow, hard work."

And they were right. At that time, Mokahum had a three-year course. I flunked all three years and had to take three more. But finally, I finished and they asked me to be pastor of an Indian church at Fort Thompson, South Dakota. Later, I even became principal of Mokahum Bible School.

As I look back over the years, I am glad for all the Lord has done. Because of Him, I can now read and write. He gave me a wife and four children and has led me back to minister to my own Navajo people. But more than that, God has blessed our ministry, helping us to build strong Indian churches that continue to reach out and grow.

And my heart? God took care of that. Years later, when the doctors who wanted to operate checked me over, they found I did not have a problem any more. Only God could do that! In fact, my whole life is a special gift from Him. First He gave me a healthy body and then He gave me new spiritual life. If it was not for God, I could never have proved the doctors wrong.

Herman was born and raised on the Navajo reservation in Chinli, Arizona. He grew up in a time and place much different than today. His grandparents raised him and he learned the Navajo way. Herman Williams lived with a strong, healthy heart for many years. He went to his heavenly home in 2009.

Herman's story first appeared in Indian Life in our September-October 1988 issue.