My name is Bill Wallace, and I was born on November 4, 1908, in Knoxville, Tennessee. Growing up in a Christian home, I learned early on the importance of faith, service, and compassion. As a teenager, during a revival service, I committed my life to Christ. That decision shaped every step of my journey.

Even as a young boy, I felt drawn to medicine. Fixing broken things and helping others just felt natural to me. I pursued that passion, studying medicine at the University of Tennessee and completing a surgical residency. By the world’s standards, I had a promising career ahead of me, with the potential for a comfortable life. But something was missing—a deep sense of purpose. God was calling me to something greater.

That calling became clear in 1935 when I answered the Lord’s invitation to serve as a missionary doctor in China through the Southern Baptist Foreign Mission Board. Leaving home wasn’t easy. I loved my family and the familiarity of life in Tennessee, but I knew the people in southern China needed both medical care and the hope of the Gospel. I couldn’t ignore the call.

I arrived in Wuchow (now Wuzhou) and began my work at Stout Memorial Hospital. Life there was anything but glamorous. The hospital was often overcrowded and under-resourced, but it became a beacon of hope for the poor and the suffering. Each patient was an opportunity to show Christ’s love, not just through surgery or medicine but through kindness, prayer, and a listening ear.

The years that followed were filled with challenges—and blessings. World War II brought the Japanese occupation, and we faced constant danger. Yet, even in those dark times, God’s light shone through. People came to the hospital not just for healing but to hear about the Great Physician who could heal their souls.

As the war ended and China began to rebuild, a new storm arose: the rise of Communist control. The political climate grew increasingly hostile to foreign missionaries. Friends and colleagues urged me to leave, but how could I abandon the people God had called me to serve? I stayed, knowing full well the risks.

In 1950, the persecution intensified. Communist authorities accused me of being a spy, a charge as false as it was absurd. I was arrested and thrown into prison. The conditions were harsh, and the interrogations relentless. But in those dark, lonely moments, I leaned on the promises of Scripture. “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). That verse became my anchor.

On February 10, 1951, I met my Savior face to face. The official report claimed it was suicide, but the truth is I was willing to lay down my life for the One who laid down His life for me. My earthly body was buried hastily, but the Chinese believers I’d served so long did not forget me. They marked my grave with the words, “For to me to live is Christ.”