My Experience: Kidnapped in Mexico City
While we were serving as missionaries in Mexico City in the 90’s I was kidnapped. Many people have asked me to share more about how it all happened. My son, David Jr. wrote a story about my experience. The event affected our whole family, and I love the way David tells the story.
Since it’s not a short story I’m posting it in parts. This is the second of a three-part story. I received some great feedback from the first post. You can find part 1 here…
Kidnapped: Part 2
The cab driver opened the door for them and quickly jumped in the cab and sandwiched my father. Quickly the man on my dad’s left ordered him to keep his eyes closed. What is going to happen to me? Dad thought. Was this the end? Is today the day I meet the Lord? Just a few weeks before one of the missionaries who worked with my dad had been kidnapped and killed.
Dad felt one of the men stick a cold rusty blade against his side. The blade dug into his side as the cab bounced over the beaten streets of downtown Mexico City. The other man patted my father down. He grabbed his wallet, wedding ring, briefcase and then they saw the gold beaded necklace with a gold cross that dangled on my dad’s neck. The man quickly yanked it off my dad’s neck, leaving the beaded imprint on the back of his tan Italian skin.
“Que es su trabajo?” What is your job they yelled. “Soy un misionero.” I’m a missionary he proudly answered. They saw his small leather bound Bible his mother gave him. He carried that Bible everywhere. The men pulled the Bible out and demanded to my father “Juro, juro sobre esta Biblia que no nos mienta y no vas a decir nada a nadie acerca de nosotros.” Swear, swear on this bible you will not lie to us or tell anyone on us. Dad placed his left hand on the Bible and hesitantly lifted his right arm. Sweat was dripping down my father’s horrified face that was still covered by the cloth. His body was shaking uncontrollably and a chill rushed down his spine. His mind was racing, wondering what would happen to him, to our family.
“Prometo” I promise, dad timidly claimed.
* * *
Mom and I waited in the kitchen like we always did. My brother, Jon and my sister, Hannah were already fast asleep but I couldn’t sleep. When my dad left, I was the man of the house. At three feet nine inches with my zip up footie-pajamas, I was the protector of the house. Sure I was only 7 years old but someone had to take care of my mom and my little siblings.
“Mommy where’s dad?” I asked. It was late and dad should have been home 30 minutes ago. My mother started worrying, but I tried to stay my optimistic self.
Another hour went by and we knew something was definitely wrong. It was way past my bedtime but I couldn’t go to sleep. I always waited for my dad to come home and tuck me in. But today he wasn’t here, What was I going to do? I can’t handle losing my dad. I’m only seven years old. To be continued…
Thanks for the great feedback on part 1. I’d love to hear what you think of part 2. I will conclude the story in my next post.
In His Grip, Dave