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Five hundred years ago a man dreamed of reaching the east by sailing west. He sought trade, honor, and souls for Jesus Christ. This is his story.

(Columbus walks to the front. He is old, somewhat stooped, stiff with arthritis. It is after his fourth and final voyage, a few months prior to his death.)

Never give up. Never, never, never give up! When God gives you a vision, when his call upon your life is plain, then let nothing deter you. Not wars, nor lack of cooperation, nor money, not your low-born estate, not friends who play you false ... nor even the vastness of the ocean and its endless bounty of the unknown.

My name is Christopher Columbus, son of Susanna and Dominico of the weaver's trade in the fair city of Genoa, Italy.

I made four voyages to the Indies, voyages of discovery. Just over 500 years ago now, it was. And some tell me you want to know my tale. If it be so, then I'm here to provide.

1453, it was. The Muslims captured Constantinople and cut off the only known trade route to the east with all its spices, silks, and other treasures. Though I was but a small child at the time, I remember how hard economic times pressed upon my family. My father often could not get enough wool to weave. So it was that the Mediterranean nations began to explore for a new route to China. And the thinking was that the sea route was safest and certainly lay southward around Africa.

I believed China could be reached by sailing west across the Atlantic. As yet no other seafarer had tried it and succeeded.

In many ways my discovery of America started in 1451 in church at the baptismal font when I was an infant. My parents christened me "Christopher." It means "Christ-bearer." And as I grew to manhood my name became a divine commission.

I do not know the date of my birth. We celebrated our birthdays in that time on the feast day of our patron saint. My parents, in calling me Christopher, were consciously naming me after Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. And his feast day is June 25.

Now Saint Christopher was a giant of a man, a Syrian who lived just after the time of Christ. He was converted to Jesus by a hermit who encouraged him to continue seeking God. "How do I seek him?" the new convert asked. "Fast and pray," the hermit said. "But I don't know how," Christopher complained. "Then be helpful to God's people," the old man encouraged. "Find a river without a bridge and help people cross safely. In time God will reveal himself to you." So it was that Christopher went and found a river without a bridge. There he built a cabin and devoted his life to helping pilgrims cross safely to the other side. And in a life of quiet helpfulness to travelers, Christopher came to know God.

All through my childhood my namesake fired my imagination. Could I live up to Saint Christopher's example? Could I be helpful to people? I used to sit on the wharfs of Genoa and look out on the sea and wonder if I could travel across oceans. I'd even pray I could be the one who'd find a new trade route to the east, perhaps as my name means, bear the name of Christ to people who have never yet heard of his redemption.

My grandfather, Peter Columbus, used to tell my brothers and sister and me the story of Raymond Lull, a missionary to the Muslims in Algeria at Bougee. He'd been stoned and left for dead on the beach by Islamic believers. My grandfather and a fellow merchant happened upon the missionary and, discovering he was not dead, took him aboard their ship. The missionary, as he began to recover, sat up and prophesied. Pointing westward he said, "Beyond this ocean which washes the shores of this continent, there lies another continent which we have never seen and whose natives know nothing of Jesus Christ. Send men there."

Verses like Zechariah 9:10 and Isaiah 51:5 stirred my hankering to sail, to discover, to bear the gospel of Christ. "And he will speak peace to the nations; and his dominion will be from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth." "The coast lands wait for me, and for my arm they hope."

So it was that I grew up carding wool in my father's weaving shop. But I knew all along I wanted to put to sea, to discover a trade route to the east, to live up to my name and be a missionary. My brother Bartholomew and I used to sail along the coast of Italy in a little boat our father had leased. We'd sell cloth or trade it for wine and cheese. By age fourteen I'd made my first long sea voyage to Chios off Turkey. Then at seventeen, with the economic plight of our family nearing desperation, I signed aboard a trader ship bound for England.

We got caught in a nasty little war and a French ship sank us with her cannon fire. Hurt and frightened, I floundered in the sea, found an oar, and paddled six miles to shore. A fisherman found me and for two weeks nursed my wounds.

As I recovered, I found I was in Portugal near Lisbon where my brother Bartholomew had gone to work as a chart maker. I'd also washed up at the very place where sixty years earlier Prince Henry the navigator had set up a school of exploration.

For the next years I worked with my brother Bart in Lisbon making charts for sea captains and selling books.

There I read Marco Polo's books about his travels to China 200 years earlier and the rich civilization he found flourishing. I read of how the church tried to force him to recant of his fantastic revelations of life in China. His only reply was, "The half of it I haven't told you!"

During these years I continued to make sea voyages as far north as the Arctic Circle and south to the equator. I became a master mariner able to captain any ship, and as knowledgeable of the ocean as any man alive.

Once while walking on the beach near my home, I found washed up on the beach a strange piece of carved wood and exotic plants the likes of which were not to be found in Europe. Surely they had drifted across the sea from some strange land!

That's when the idea began to take shape in my mind: That it was possible to reach the east by sailing west.

Since the time of Ptolemy, educated people knew the earth was round. Oh, ignorant sailors filled with superstitious fears still believed it was flat and if one ventured too far from the sight of land they would fall off the earth. Yet the Bible in Isaiah talks about God "sitting above the circle of the earth." And at Christ's coming, time will be morning in one place, noon at another, and yet night in another! Thus, even holy writ tells us plain the earth is a sphere.

So why not sail to the west to reach China and her rich trade? It'd be out of harm's way from Muslim armies. It'd be shorter than trying to round Africa, and the riches would be fabulous!

I found out other ships had tried it but turned around after a few days. I determined to try for myself. But the ships and crews and supplies I needed were expensive. Only a king could afford it! And here I was, son of a poor cloth merchant, an Italian foreigner living in Portugal. How could I ever meet a king and sell him on my idea?

Week after week I went to church to pray about things. That's when the Lord provided another of his marvelous coincidences! And was she pretty.

As I was strolling home from church with my brother Bart, a young lady dropped her purse and I recovered it for her. Felipa was her name, a high-born lady of Portuguese society. I did like her from the first. And she must have been taken with me, for soon I was called to her house to sell books. I found out her father, a former governor, was now dead. So she lived with her mother and brother. We were allowed to court under the watchful eye of the nuns. I proposed marriage and was accepted. And at age 27, we were wed in the church where we met. A year later our son Diego was born.

Although I was now moderately prosperous as a book vendor and chart maker, I still hankered to put to sea westward on a voyage of discovery. Felipa did her best to talk me out of it. But I'd infected her whole family with my vision! And since my in-laws were well-connected politically, I was able to arrange for an audience with King John of Portugal.

He immediately appointed a committee to study my proposal. While holding me in suspense, King John was secretly trying to reach the Indies by sailing around Africa.

So I waited and waited and waited. Months turned into years. Seven long years. Then in 1485, my thirty-fourth year, both tragedy and rejection struck me like two hard fists. Lovely Felipa took ill and died suddenly, and the King's committee pronounced my plans fantasy. To top it all off, I was nearly broke from the expense of living in and around the royal court.

Seven years of waiting! All for nothing! Widowed. Broke. And not just rejected -- my plan was called a foolish fantasy. Oh, in those days I ached to give it up, to quit my vision for the secure life of a prosperous merchant. Yet there was my grandfather's tale of the prophet, my name to be lived up to, and my skill as a seaman. And surely I could never abandon all this and be fulfilled!

So I decided to leave Portugal and try for Spain. With my last money I reached the seaport of Palos in southwestern Spain. Little Diego and I knocked there on the doors of Rabida, a Franciscan monastery. We were given food and lodging. The monks agreed to watch over my five-year-old son and see to his education. And what's more, the monks listened to my vision and were enthusiastic about a voyage west to China and my desire to proclaim Christ. So they introduced me around in influential circles.

That's when I met a rich merchant who was willing to outfit a ship for my westward voyage. But at the last minute he backed out, citing how angry the king might become if he tried it and succeeded without permission.

So I was off to see King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. I told them of my name and calling, of the vision that burned so brightly in my mind. And the queen was especially touched. She, too, was a Christian with a desire to fulfill the Great Commission to carry the gospel to the world.

Odd, looking back, how alike the queen and I were. We were both born in the same year, both redheads, both Christians, and both focused on missions!

But! It seems as if my life then was a tedious and frustrating procession of "Buts!" But Spain was at war with the Moors, Islamic invaders from Africa. But the war had wiped out the royal treasury. "But, of course, our scientific committee will have to study your proposal for some time." "But if you'll just wait ..."

I was 37 years old by now. And I was spending my whole life waiting!

Months dragged by into years.

I decided to try King John of Portugal again. He was more favorable, but just as he was ready to say, "Yes," Bartholomeu Dias returned from sea, having rounded South Africa to reach China. And it was all off for me in Portugal after that.

So I returned to Spain. My brother Bart wanted me to try France or England for backing, but I decided to wait out Ferdinand and Isabella.

During this time I remarried. Her name was Beatriz, and in a year my second son, Ferdinand, was born.

The Moorish War dragged on and on. Then suddenly, January 2, 1492, it was ended! Spain had won, driving the Muslims from Granada.

The court reconvened, re-studied my proposal, and after a delay of seven years, denied it. "Unrealistic!" they pronounced. "Unfounded." "Imaginary."

Fourteen years gone! Waiting! All to no avail. Wearily I mounted my old swayback horse and, broke, homeless, and in my one tattered coat, decided to try for King Charles of France. It was the lowest point of my 41-year-old life.

Ah! But God works in mysterious ways his will to perform! For the treasurer told the queen of my turn down, told her she was missing a wonderful opportunity with little to lose and much to gain. Whereupon she changed her mind, offering to pawn her royal jewelry if necessary to pay for the expedition. As it turned out, such wasn't called for. The treasury had the $14,000 necessary to fund the voyage west.

So a courier was sent out to find me. I was already out of town but he caught up to me and brought me back to court. There I was commissioned to set forth westward to the spice islands.

I decided to leave from Palos, the seaport west of Spain's Gibraltar. Three caravel sailing ships were put to my use. The Pinta, the Nina, and the Gallega, which I renamed Santa Maria or Holy Mary. A merchant who owed the king a favor had to put up his ships.

Ninety men soon signed up, outfitting and provisioning the vessels. We painted three huge red crosses on each sail. Then on August 3, 1492, in my forty-first year, the crew met in the church of St. George in Palos to pray. The king and queen themselves were there to pray Godspeed to us. And I gave command, "Weigh anchor and proceed in the name of Jesus!"

We sailed southwest to the Canary Islands. There was a known steady westward wind available from those shores, also a last chance to take on water and food.

But near the Canary Islands the Pinta's rudder slipped its hinges, I think a deliberate attempt by her owner to put the ship out of commission so as not to risk her on the voyage. Reaching the Canaries, repairs took three weeks.

While we were waiting in the Islands, a huge volcano erupted, belching out fire and illuminating the nighttime sky. My crew was afraid, seeing it as a bad omen. I told them it was only God Almighty showing us his power, a power that was for us, not against us.

Come September 6, repairs made, we weighed anchor and sailed west from the Canaries into uncharted western seas. For the next thirty days we held to a due west compass bearing. All the while I estimated our speed and position by dead reckoning.

The men were restless, afraid we'd come too far to make it back. I had to do my best to coax them on day after day.

At sunrise we gathered on deck to sing God's praises. I purposely forged a duplicate ship's log that grossly under-calculated the distance we'd sailed. When a head wind beat against us, a wind that nicely would have taken us home, it required all my skills to persuade the sailors to persist in our voyage westward.

Then came the day we sailed into the Sargasso Sea, "the sea of weeds." Right in the middle of the Atlantic! As far as the eye could see! The ocean was covered with seaweed! And there we were becalmed. The men were petrified. "Surely our ships will become bound fast and we'll starve!" I had to promise a rich reward if we sailed on.

October 7, 1492. A full thirty days at sea. No sight of land. The sailors were restless. Mutiny was in their minds. Then the shout, "Land, ho!" But to our bitterest disappointment, it turned out to be a cloud band low on the horizon.

It was at this point I had to strike a bargain with the crew. "Give me three more days. Just three days. If we do not make landfall in 72 hours, we'll go home."

Here again God was gracious. The Nina found a flower adrift in the sea. A sailor retrieved from the water a piece of wood with iron fastened to it. Then we saw a flock of birds. I quickly abandoned my compass heading west and sailed in the direction the birds took. That night, October 11, about 10:00, I thought I saw a light flickering on the horizon. Other sailors agreed. Then at 2:00 in the morning, October 12, clearly in the moonlight, an island appeared. Trees, surf pounded on a sandy shore. Land! This time it was no mistake!

Bedlam broke out on board. We raised our flags, fired our cannons, and sang hymns of praise. After 33 uncertain days at sea, we'd finally reached the Indies!

Come first light we moved closer to shore to investigate. That's when we first saw the Indians! Stark naked! Every one of them!

I donned my best clothes, a green coat and red cape, and, with the Christian flag unfurled, led the shore party in. There I fell on my knees and thanked God for his mercies. And we claimed the land for Jesus and for Spain!

Looking back, I realize now how easy it would have been for the Muslims to have discovered America first and made it Islamic. And another mercy! Where we came ashore the Indians were friendly. The Taino Indians as it turned out. It could have been otherwise. The nearby Caribs were cannibals. And the Aztecs on the mainland practiced human sacrifice. But we were spared.

The natives, Indians we called them, watched us from a safe distance at first. But we befriended them with gifts. They particularly liked our beaded necklaces and caps. Soon these strange people were swimming out to our ships.

Now the Indians were handsome, with painted bodies and short dark hair. We quickly noticed some had gold earrings in their noses. Soon we were introduced to smoking tobacco, parrots, cotton cloth, exotic fruits, and something called the hammock, which natives sleep in as it is strung between two trees.

I called the island we found San Salvador, meaning "The Savior." But since it was small, and clearly not the mainland of China or Japan, we followed the Indians' directions and sailed southwest for the land the natives called "Cuba."

Island after island passed by until we reached a huge land mass with fresh flowing rivers. That's when I realized our fastest ship, the Pinta, had sailed off and left us. Martin Pinzon, the captain, had proven me false and, overcome with gold fever, had abandoned me to seek his own ends!

There was nothing to be done but to go on. So for many days we investigated the shores of Cuba. Still finding no great Indian cities of trade, we sailed eastward reaching another land mass which so reminded me of Spain I christened it "Hispaniola." Today it is known as the island of Haiti and Santa Domingo. There on December 24, 1492, after ten weeks of exploration of the Indies, disaster struck! In the night a storm wind caused the Santa Maria to slip anchor and flounder on a reef. She stuck fast, and we had to abandon her on Christmas Day.

Safely ashore, but with only one ship to take us home, I decided to build a colony. "Navidad" or "Christmas" I named it. Thirty-nine crewmen agreed to settle it. And salvage from the Santa Maria would stake them until we returned on a second voyage.

So it was on January 2, 1493, I boarded the tiny Nina with my crew, said my good-byes, and sailed for home. No sooner had we reached open seas than we spotted a sail. Turned out to be the Pinta with her scalawag of a captain Pinzon who just happened upon us. And together, with a favorable east wind, we made for Spain.

After thirty days at sea, a horrible storm struck. For a full fifteen days Satan did everything he could to sink us before we could report our discovery. I so despaired of reaching Spain that I wrote down the details of my journey, sealed it in a bottle, and tossed it into the sea in hopes someone would learn of our fate. And we prayed to our God for deliverance.

That's when the storm began to lessen, and within a few days we found ourselves in the Azores Island group. The officials were amazed at us. Said they didn't know how we had survived. Said it was the worst storm they had ever seen.

It was March 15, 1493, that we returned again to Palos, Spain. For 32 weeks we'd been gone. A voyage of 224 days. I, myself, was ever so glad to be home. At 42 years of age, an older man in those days, I was moving slowly, stiff with arthritis.

And, oh, my! The sudden acclaim we received! I rode horseback across Spain to where Ferdinand and Isabella were in court. I was received as "Admiral of the Ocean Seas," made governor of all I'd reached, and asked to make a second voyage as soon as I could be outfitted.

In all, I made four voyages to the Indies. I could tell you of many adventures and sorrows. Adventures of crossing the Atlantic in 21 days, of the colony at Navidad being destroyed by Carib Indians, of a hurricane wiping out the later colony of Isabella, of how I explored South America, the Mosquito Coast of Central America, and the island, Puerto Rico. I could tell you how worms ate my ships on the fourth voyage, and how I spent a year and five days marooned on Jamaica. I could tell you of the joy of sailing with my sons Diego and Ferdinand.

Seems I was a good explorer but a poor administrator. Many in Spain, along with those who sailed with me, were smitten with gold fever. And the new colonies I brought them to were not making them rich quickly enough. Many wanted to quit for home. They derided me as "Admiral of Mosquitoes" and during my third voyage a newly-appointed jealous governor of the Isabella Colony had me put in chains and sent home in disgrace!

Here in Spain I've found my patron Queen Isabella has died, and King Ferdinand has lost interest in me. Most of the royal court finds me tiresome, and all the promises of financial reward are forgotten. I am worn out, arthritic, and for the most part, bedridden. Death will claim me in a few months in a modest house in Valladolid, May 20, 1506. I am but 53 years old.

Though I clung my whole life to the belief I had sailed to China, I remained confused as to where I had arrived. And it was a frustration to me and my countrymen that we could not find the rich spice countries of trade.

Looking back with the wisdom of 500 years of hindsight, I cannot honestly call what I did the discovery of the continents of North and South America. After all, the Indians were already there. Further, the Norwegian Leif Eriksson and the Irish monk Brenaden were all in America before me.

What I did was encounter the New World and give a report of it to Europe. Times were such that my findings were recognized and acted upon. Thus the sea path between Europe and America was officially opened and commerce begun.

My life also serves to illustrate the two natures of man. Indeed I nobly sailed west to live up to my name -- Christ-bearer! It was my heart's desire to evangelize the Indians. And from 1492 to 1820 Spain alone sent 15,000 missionaries to the New World establishing missions from South America to Saint Augustine in Florida to the far west in California.

But the base, sinful nature of our humanity also reared its ugly head. Gold fever and greed led to wholesale slaughter, rapes, and pillage of many Indians across America.

Yet, in all this, God was sovereign. The Indians gave Europe corn, tomatoes, rubber trees, tobacco, rice, and venereal disease. The Europeans gave the Indians Jesus Christ, horses, and fatal smallpox. In fact, over the next 200 years the majority of Indians were wiped out by European fevers. So, in the interchange between the new and old world, history-changing forces none of them could either imagine or control were at work.

Hardly eleven years after my death, Martin Luther was to begin the Protestant Reformation. And in the warring convulsions that resulted, many Christians saw the New World so underpopulated, as a place to plant their new Christian communities. Scarcely 100 years after my discoveries, Puritans, Quakers, and Catholics were founding settlements built on Christian values. Certainly only a sovereign God could manage such a feat that would give rise to the United States and her constitutional example of freedom and the incredible vitality she has shared with the world in education, missions, free enterprise economy, and more.

At my birth, my countrymen believed the best lay behind us. We looked to the past to discover our greatness. Hence, there was little interest in the future, in science, in education, or Christian reform.

Our flag had as its motto, "No more beyond!" But after my voyages the "No," was dropped and our motto affirmed, "More beyond!"

As I leave, thanking you for hearing my tale, I challenge you with your own future. For certainly there is always more! More beyond!

As I had, may you have a good name, seek a vision from God, and though you suffer privation, setback, and endless waiting, if you but trust in God and persist, you will surely plant his flag on new territory. Never give up! Never, never, never give up! Though all men fail you, though you be poor, lowborn, and though your sea be vast and the wind against you, yet God is faithful.

(Columbus exits.)

(Originally published in Long Time Coming!, CSS Publishing Company, 2001.)