Called to Gobi Read online

  What Readers Say

  Oh. My. Goodness!! No disappointment here. I couldn’t put [Called To Gobi] down once I started reading it. It was entertaining, informative, and most of all: INSPIRING!—Ann K.

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  I LOVED THIS BOOK! CALLED TO GOBI ticked all the boxes for me: Christian based, story content, lots of research, adventure, and faith building. Thank you so much.—Susan L., USA

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  I recently completed Called to Gobi. What a great story. I…have learned many lessons from the characters... The book inspired me to seek God more earnestly and to endeavor to grow in my relationship with him; to be a light to those who desperately need it. —Major B., USMC (Ret)

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  Called To Gobi

  A Christian End Times Chronicle

  D.I. Telbat

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  https://ditelbat.com

  Cover Design by Streetlight Graphics

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  Copyright 2015 Telbat's Tablet

  Smashwords Edition

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  There is no redemption without sacrifice.

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  FREE PDF Download

  Get your FREE Called To Gobi Map at:

  ~ https://ditelbat.com/called-to-gobi-map/ ~

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  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

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  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given to others. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. To purchase other copies, please go to Smashwords.com. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

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  Table of Contents

  What Readers Say

  Title & Copyright

  FREE Map Download

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 30

  Conclusion

  Character Sketch

  Glossary

  Other Books by D.I. Telbat

  About the Author

  BONUS Chapter – God's Colonel, an End Times Novel

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  Dedication

  To my Dad

  Regardless of the mountains,

  the valleys, and deserts,

  he continues to prove worthy.

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  Acknowledgements

  When I was a child,

  a missionary visited our church

  as he was on his way to the mission field.

  He had a heart for a far-away land called Mongolia.

  This book was inspired by that man, Drew Robinson.

  And as with all my books,

  I couldn't accomplish this massive job

  without my faithful editors and proofreaders,

  Dee, Ed, and Jamie.

  Thank you once again.

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  Prologue

  Andrew Foworthy crawled through the darkness and rain. The cold soothed his bruises from the latest beating delivered by his foster father. The young child didn't know such abuse was abnormal since he'd never known life any other way. Abuse and neglect were Andy's norm.

  Moving across the backyard, he squeezed through the neighbor's fence. Too late, he remembered the ferocious mutt that ruled the property. The dog was upon him in an instant, teeth barred, growling inches from Andy's face. He ducked his head under the hot breath of the canine.

  For one minute, then another—the child shivered under the territorial fury of the animal. Still growling, the dog nuzzled Andy, perhaps seeking a reaction. Passively, Andy remained still. The only thing worse than his foster father's fists, he imagined, were the slimy teeth of the neighbor's mutt.

  Finally, the canine stopped growling and sniffed at Andy's damp clothes. Through the rain, the animal had smelled the stick of jerky Andy had stolen from his foster brother. He figured it was a fair trade if the beast didn't eat him alive. Tearing the stick in two, Andy shoved one half into his own mouth, then fed the other half to the dog.

  Andy felt confident enough to continue his slow crawl after that. He had to get out of the rain. The animal sniffed at his clothes for more food as Andy climbed through the opening of a dog house. The dog followed him inside the small enclosure and licked his face.

  "You stink!" Andy wiped his face, but the cold forced him to tolerate the smell of the wet fur and rancid dog breath. He wrapped his arm around the animal as it settled with a groan next to young Andy.

  Toward dawn, Andy woke to his own cries. No, it had just been a dream. He was safe with the angry dog. The canine licked his salty tears, and Andy snuggled closer to the only friend he's ever had. In those quiet moments, he name the dog Asia. At school, he'd learned that Asia was on the other side of the world. Asia was the farthest place he could think of away from there. If only he could go to Asia . . .

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  Chapter 1

  At the age of twenty-two, I was being chased by police through the boroughs of New York City. Until that day, I'd lived most of my life on the streets—no family, in and out of foster homes. There wasn't a classroom that could hold me. I was a problem child, plain and simple. It certainly didn't seem very likely that I would become a missionary to Mongolia.

  Through my teenage years, I was a man of the world. At sixteen, I'd hitchhiked across the States to the West Coast, then stole cars on my way back east.

  There's simply no point dwelling on the mistakes of my troubled youth, because it all led to me getting tackled by eight police officers south of Houston Street. My sins had caught up to me. As it turned out, the middle-aged man I'd beaten and robbed at an ATM ten minutes earlier, was a precinct detective. The judge gave me nine years, then promised I'd do every one of them—and more, if I didn't learn my lesson.

  Needless to say, I didn't learn my lesson right away. As a youngster in a big prison outside Albany, I thought I had something to prove. Since I was tall and strong—a lean 200 pounds and a hair over six feet—I took to fighting. I fought just about everyone I could who was from inside or outside the city's five boroughs. During my second year, when I was twenty-four, a few of the fellas grew tired of my attitude. Three healthy boys from the Bronx put me in the prison infirmary for two months.

  With my jaw wired shut and my leg in traction, I lost forty pounds. That liquid diet just about killed me. But since I couldn't speak or fight, I was forced to watch and listen to the small bit of world I could see and hear. I learned to play chess and began to study for my GED.

  It was during that time I met three men who changed my life forever. The first one was Gino Palucii. He was a pastor of Ridgewood Community Church, and if you know anything about Queens, where I'm from, then you know Ridgewood is an Italian neighborhood. Italians are a proud people—proud of both culture and heritage. Though most are devout Catholic, or at least baptized into the tradition, one would think that Gino Palucii would've gone the way of the saints and sacraments. But there he was, a Protestant and ex-mobster himself in the heart of Ridgewood, preaching the Gospel.

  Gino would tell you I was the most stubborn man in t
he prison infirmary. He didn't care, though, and I couldn't protest his company verbally. I knew what he was, and initially, I wanted nothing to do with him. That first day, he asked if he could sit with me awhile. I shook my head, but he sat down anyway. More than once as a juvenile, I'd had the cross thrown in my face. I didn't know what it had to do with me. Before I knew it, Gino was giving his testimony. Every part of me wanted to run away, but I couldn't. God had seen to it that my leg was broken in three places and my jaw was wired shut because there was no other way I would sit still and listen.

  It wasn't long before I'd become riveted to Gino's life story. His youthful years were as ugly as mine, and his journey down mobster lane wasn't too pretty, either. It was as if Gino had read my criminal file, understood every piece of my life, and knew I hated it. He'd lived the same way. Yes, I was tired of fighting the world. Yes, I was lonely. Yes, I was afraid of the future—though I didn't admit it to him that day.

  Two weeks later, Gino came back as I was using crutches to hobble my way out of the infirmary. It was then that I met the second man who helped change my life—Randy Erickson, a thirty-eight-year-old father, husband, and missionary to Mongolia. Gino introduced us, but because I was still another week from losing my jaw wires, Randy did most of the talking. He spoke of sacrifice and love and service in a brutal Asian country I knew nothing about. And he told of a proud warrior people who still rode horses and snared animals for their fur—and communists that spied their every move.

  Randy told me his life story, too. It was much different from Gino's story. But I connected with this missionary—his quick eyes, ready smile, and excitement. His left shoulder slumped stiffly, but it didn't bother him as he used his entire body to emphasize and explain the hard steps he'd taken to become a missionary for Christ in the distant land.

  Then he said something that truly struck me. He said, "Andy, can you believe that even though Jesus died for the whole world, some people haven't even heard His name?"

  This seemed so absurd to this spectacular speaker that I felt guilty for not knowing more. By this time, Gino had given me a study Bible to read myself, and after they'd left the prison grounds that day, I went to my cell, abandoned my GED studies for a week, and dug into the Bible. Gino had given me passages to read. I read John, then the three other Johns. Then I went to Genesis and read spellbound through the creation of man, the birth of civilization and empires, and into the depths of the Old Covenant.

  When Gino returned the next week, he was alone, but my jaw was finally unwired. I had a thousand questions—so many that my brand new jaw hurt for two days from talking so excitedly. Referring to scribbled notes, I had questions for Randy Erickson, too, but Gino said he'd already flown back to Mongolia to continue the ministry he'd begun over a decade earlier.

  Gino was slow and methodical as he answered my questions, making certain I understood each issue before we moved on. Gradually, I came to understand deep inside why it was so important to Randy—and to Gino—that everyone had the opportunity to hear the Good News.

  A couple more weeks passed, however, until my list of questions were answered. Then, Gino asked me his own question.

  "You've had the facts laid out for you, Andrew. God doesn't take our lives lightly and neither should we. Do you believe you're ready for that step?"

  For once in my life, I was speechless. I knew I was on the edge of the greatest Truth ever known—with a choice that would determine my eternal destiny.

  "If receiving Christ is step one, what's step two?" I asked.

  "Step two is maturing as a believer in this one true faith. Step three is sharing it with others."

  "Well, I already know who I want to share it with," I said, decided even then. "When Randy was telling me all about it, I knew. I'm going to Mongolia."

  I, Andrew Foworthy, received Jesus Christ into my life that day in the state prison. And though I still had seven years left of my sentence, and assured by the judge I would serve every day, I didn't complain. Rather, with a purpose now in my life, I realized I had much work to do before I was ready to be kicked back out to the streets again. Without a doubt, I would need every day of my sentence to mature in Christ.

  The next seven years were a blur as I delved into my studies. What began as excitement didn't fade, but it grew into something that wasn't mere excitement at all. I had an urgent passion, a longing, and a love that tested even Gino's patience at times. Though he lived and preached in Ridgewood, he drove inland at least once a month to visit me. Every time he came, we discussed the Word, and he challenged me to constantly grow through knowledge of the Bible, God's gift toward and beyond salvation. We prayed together each time, our heads bowed in the prison visiting room, with people staring. But we didn't care; we were talking to God.

  When I was discharged from prison, I was thirty-one years old. Gino kindly accepted me into his home—but only because it was temporary. He had a son, a daughter, and a wife to think about, and I understood that.

  While I was in Ridgewood for that month, Gino kept a firm, fatherly hand on my lifestyle. Though God was a force in my life, the flesh still managed to pull at me with temptations. Gino was there to make sure I didn't wander back down to my old neighborhoods and life of crime. By the grace of God, I didn't stagger again into my past. My heart was set firmly on what I believed God had set before me to do, which was plenty for a young man fresh out of prison. After the month with Gino, I hitchhiked down to Atlantic City and walked into the office of Asian Missions of America.

  AMA was a mission board that managed missionaries' practical needs while they were in the field. It was the beginning of June, but I wore a long-sleeved collared shirt. During my rebellious years, I'd gotten a tattoo of a scorpion on my left forearm. Now, I was ashamed of it, so I kept it covered.

  "Mr. Schumacher?" I asked with anticipation as I peeked into an office. My blond hair was trimmed short and my appearance was tidy, even after hitchhiking. "I'm Andrew Foworthy. We have an appointment."

  Richard Schumacher was a thin, middle-aged man with glasses. He had a poker face, I would say—one I couldn't easily read.

  "Of course, Mr. Foworthy. Come in." He straightened his desk, we shook hands, and he motioned to a chair across from him. "I'm surprised to see you at all, actually. I thought you were still in, uh, prison."

  "Nope. Done with that scene permanently." Briefly, I glanced about the office. There were pictures of men and women with natives from all over the Eastern Hemisphere. "I was told I was meeting with a committee today. Am I early?"

  Schumacher fidgeted in his chair. He was uncomfortable. I could read that much.

  "I didn't think they'd be necessary." He leaned back, opened a cabinet, and selected a file with my name on it. "The last thing I want to do is discourage you from any phase of the ministry, Mr. Foworthy."

  "Andy, please."

  "All right. Andy. I, uh, took one look at your application and realized you don't have a financial plan whatsoever. If you had a dozen churches behind you to support you in a civilized country, I'd welcome you with open arms. But Mongolia? You're going to need some source of support."

  It was my turn to fidget.

  "Well, I'll have a little money when I get over there. I had a job in prison and saved every penny. It'll be enough until I find work there."

  Schumacher nodded, his face blank. He studied my appearance and I felt the room temperature rise. Without thinking, I started to roll up my sleeves. I suddenly stopped with my scorpion exposed, then rolled the cuff back down. But it was too late. Schumacher had seen the tattoo.

  "What kind of special skills do you have, Andy?"

  "Um. I wrote them in the application. Nothing specific. Just a lot of little things. I worked as a barber for a while. I'm pretty good at sewing, fixing things, stuff like that. I'm pretty well-read, so I know a little about a lot of things. Most importantly, I have a heart for the Mongolian people. Ever since I heard Randy Erickson talking—"

  "Oh, you know
Randy?"

  "Yes, sir. He and Gino Palucii led me to Christ seven years ago. They were the first two important men in my life. They introduced me to Jesus, the third but most important Man in my life now."

  Schumacher shuffled through my file.

  "Yes, I saw a letter of recommendation from a Gino-somebody."

  "Gino Palucii. He's been discipling me over the years. He's an honest man of God."

  "Andy . . . Mongolia . . ." He sighed with frustration, the same sigh Gino had given at my stubbornness. "You have no infrastructure. No money. No emotional support, except this Gino, of course, who is a dedicated, godly man, I'm sure. But you just got out of prison. You need—"

  "Mr. Schumacher, listen: the money issue is not a concern. I can adapt over there. I'm sure of it. I'm staying with Randy and his family to start with. And I don't need you to manage my finances, only the other stuff. I've been writing Randy. He's the one who's been helping me put this together. Once I have a job and I'm set up, I'll be sending for Bibles and flannel graph materials and things that Randy says you guys know how to get into the country for teaching purposes."

  "So, you'll be working with Randy in Ondorhaan?"

  "Initially, but my heart is pulling me west and even south into the Gobi."

  The man gasped and tried to cover it up with a cough, but he was noticeably surprised. His poker face disappeared.

  "Okay, brutally honest?"

  "Please."

  "You've got no skills, no money, nothing. You want to go to one of the worst places on earth inside one of the toughest countries on earth—alone. This is what I suggest you do: get your bearings now that you're out of prison. Speak in some churches. Raise some support. Gain some preaching and teaching experience. And most importantly, Andy, learn the language."