Monday Morning Faith (17 page)

“Her baby was born with a large malignant growth on the side of his head. I arranged to fly her and the child to Port Moresby, where the doctors successfully removed the growth. The child shows no evidence of the cancer now. The mother is very grateful.” I looked at the beautiful toddler. He had only a hint of a white scar running along his left temple. He flashed a mouthful of teeth at me.

The woman grabbed Sam's hand and pressed it tightly to her lips. Sam's eyes met mine over the top of the woman's kneeling figure. “One day, I'll be able to tell her of God's unending love, mercy, and compassion. For now, I'm simply someone she can trust.”

It wasn't much. But as I stood there, watching him with the woman, I realized it was a start. And for Sam, that was enough.

We ate dinner that evening in the Laskes' hut. Frank busied himself outside, leaving Eva and me to get acquainted. Conversation topics were limited. It seemed a wide chasm separated us. Her lifestyle and mine were worlds apart. She asked me about my work at the library, but there wasn't much to tell.

“Do you have family, Johanna?”

“My parents. They moved into an assisted living facility a couple of months ago.”

“Have they adjusted well?”

“Better than I have.” Because she was a stranger I opened up to her. “They made the arrangements to move without telling me.”

“I assume they had a reason.”

“I'm sure they did, but it escaped me. I like things to stay the same.”

“Nothing stays the same, Johanna. Life is about change. We get older and wiser. We gain experience in new and different areas. God never meant for us to live in a state of suspended animation.”

I switched subjects. “I notice there isn't a door on the huts. Aren't you concerned about animals or snakes coming in?”

“Not really. The huts are built on water, so that eliminates a lot of the problem. And on the few occasions something has gotten in, Frank makes short work of the intruder. You learn to not worry about small things.”

Small things. What did a woman — this woman of God — know about small things? She focused on the eternal, not the external. Already I missed Mom and Pop and Nelda with a tangible ache. I missed Itty Bitty. But most of all I missed my clean, comfortable home and my simple, uncluttered life. I'd never take anything for granted again.

Sam and Frank entered the hut. I wiped the moisture in my eyes and turned away. This was Sam's life. Everything I had seen today only drove me farther away from him and the life to which God had called him. He gave me a tentative smile, and I realized he could read my emotions.

“How is my Johanna this evening?”

I pushed my glasses up on my nose. The contacts were in my luggage. I couldn't bring myself to complain in front of Frank and Eva. “The villagers are interesting.”

“It grows on you,” he promised.

I smiled and nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He patted my shoulder and went outside again with Frank.

Eva and I sat at the kitchen table and drank some sort of a root tea — tasty actually. “How have you managed for twelve years?” I desperately needed to understand why a woman — any woman — would choose this life.

“With difficulty in the beginning, but Frank strongly believed this was where God wanted us to be. Sometimes we want to leave and go home, but then something always happens to show us we're needed here.”

“Do you ever see improvement?”

“Sometimes. It's slow.” She looked past me, out the door. “The country is really beautiful, and of course, in the cities it's more modern. But the villagers, particularly this village, are very poor. Disease is so common; it robs them of their children. We do anything we can to help. Most are grateful, and those that aren't simply don't yet understand our purpose. Language is the enemy. We struggle with communication because the tribe speaks a mixed dialect, one we've not yet been able to translate.”

The men came back into the hut and Mary started to prepare dinner.

“May I help?” I asked as she moved to the propane stove.

“Got it all ready; please, sit down. You're my guest.”

Frank and Sam had brought a couple of folding chairs to allow seating space for six. Mary bustled around putting food on the table. I was delighted to see I could identify most of it: some sort of dried bean casserole, fresh pineapple, and papaya. There was thick, hard-crusted bread with a delightful nutty taste.

Mom's neighbor's son had been in the navy, and I remember her telling that when he was in Sri Lanka he ate monkey without knowing it. Thank goodness the villagers gave spiritual significance to animals. No chance of my having to eat monkey.

We gathered around the table and Bud blessed the food. His petitions were simple but powerful as he invoked God's hand on the villagers and asked that the mission team continue to succeed in their pursuits.

Talk was general for the most part. The men spoke about planting crops and the building projects they were working on. Mary and Eva held weekly hygiene classes for the women, something that didn't appear to be working.

“Johanna — ” Frank reached for a slice of bread — “you'll have to come with us Saturday.”

“What happens on Saturday?”

“Oh, that's when we have fun!” Eva grinned. “We take shiny objects, like mirrors and colorful ribbons, and we tie them on trees and bushes deep in the forest.”

I put my fork down. “Whatever for?”

“To entice those living deep in the bush to come out. The natives adore the sparkly trinkets. Granted, we barely get a glance of them, but they're back every week for the goodies, so they know we're here. And when one is sick, they come to the clinic in droves.” She smiled at Frank. “The crowds are getting bigger every time Sam comes.”

After dinner Eva insisted on cleaning the table. “You two go outside and look around. Johanna would probably be interested in learning more about the place where we live.”

I followed Mary outside, thinking I already knew more about this place than I cared to. The board planks of the deck were dry now. The small rowboat bobbed at the piling. Overhead, clouds had started to build.

We rested our arms on the railing, staring into the murky lagoon waters. Mary must have sensed my reservations because her tone gentled. “It's all rather overwhelming, isn't it?”

“Sam tried to prepare me, but I guess one never realizes the conditions until they witness them.”

“There's no way to explain its magnetism or its exotic beauty. One has to experience the area to fully understand.”

“The village is so dirty. So … so unsanitary.”

“Only to us, who know the difference. The villagers are quite happy and content — or so it would seem. Believe it or not, living conditions are better than they used to be.”

“You've been here four years. Why do you stay?”

“It's where we feel God wants us to be.”

There was the declaration again, the same one Eva had mentioned. How could anyone be that certain of what God wanted? “You're so lovely, Mary. It would be easy to imagine you having a successful career in New York or LA, wearing the latest fashions, enjoying life.”

She laughed. “Thanks for the compliment, but I have no longing for what you call a ‘successful career.' If I'm following God's leading in the places where he wants me, that's all the success I need.”

“I'm trying hard to understand, but I feel — ”

“Confused?” Mary picked a piece of bark off the railing and tossed it in the water. “I had the same doubts when I first arrived. Bud and I almost broke up over what he saw as his calling and my reticence.”

“You weren't called to missions?”

“Not to foreign missions. If I'd had my way in the beginning, we would have worked in the States.”

“And now?”

“Now I know this is where I'm supposed to be.” She turned to meet my gaze. “Don't fight your feelings, Johanna. Relax and see what God has in store for you. It may be entirely different than what you think. Pray about it. If you're truly searching for answers, I can promise you that he won't allow you to drift too far in the wrong direction.” A flash of lightning lit the darkened night. Mary glanced up. “Here comes the rain, right on schedule.” We stood there watching nature's display until the first fat drops hit the landing.

I excused myself and retired to my curtained alcove. Stretching out on the cot, I tried to pray, but words failed me. I missed Nelda. Her plain common sense and outspoken ways had helped me through many a crisis. I desperately needed her now.

The day had been a blur of sights and smells. I thought about the pig droppings, the lunging dog secured to a tree with a thick vine, the smell of wet earth and vegetation, and the scent of growing tobacco. The hubbub of crying babies, combative animals, pigs grunting. Half-naked men with straws in their noses and young women who looked a hundred years old.

Dear God, can this possibly be what you expect from me?

No answer came. I knew that I loved Sam and wanted to share his life — or did I? I was becoming more and more confused. Suddenly one of Pop's earlier conversations popped into my head. We'd been driving home from church. That morning the pastor had told of a man who'd come up to him at a funeral and, knowing the deceased well, asked the pastor if the man was now in hell, paying for his sins. The pastor replied, “No, if he's in hell, it's because he couldn't pay for his sins.”

Was this the fate I wanted for these villagers?

No, I wanted them to know the truth. And I knew that if anyone on earth wanted to know the gospel, God would send those people a messenger. Sam, Frank, Eva, Bud, and Mary were filling that role for these people.

But what about me? Try as I might I could not make my piece of the puzzle fit.

I cried myself to sleep, listening to the deafening clatter of rain on a tin roof.

ELEVEN

S
am materialized in the doorway to the hut at dawn the next morning. The Millets and I were still eating breakfast.

_“
Johanna, you want to go into the village with me and the Laskes?”

“Give me a minute and I'll be ready.” I shoved my chair back from the table, sounding more decisive than I was.

I dug out my plastic raincoat and put it on. When I told Eva good-bye I gave a last lingering look around the warm, mostly dry hut. (The roof leaked in a couple of places, one of them over my cot.) Though simple and lacking much comfort, it still looked like a palace compared to the village.

When I stepped out on the deck Mary greeted me with a wide grin. “Good morning. I knew you wouldn't be put off by a little rain.”

If she only knew how “put off” I was by everything I'd seen so far. But I was here for Sam, and I wasn't going to disappoint him. And if they knew, they would be shocked that not once had I thought about the possibility of disappointing God.

We climbed into the boat that held a good three inches of accumulated rain. The men bailed with a large plastic bucket as the rain fell in blinding sheets, obscuring our view of the village. It looked better from this vantage point.

Even with the plastic raincoat I was already damp. A raindrop hung off the tip of my nose, refusing to release. I sighed and squeezed rain from the soaked hair plastered to my cheek. Was I mildewed? I must be. I was wet 90 percent of the time, with either sweat or rain. This was
not
the way I wanted Sam to remember me …

That's all I would be when the experiment was over: a mere memory. I'd already made up my mind to break it off with him when I left. By then he would see the wisdom of going our separate ways. Would the realization tear at him as it did me?

The sounds of a village couple in heated argument drifted to us. A woman's high-pitched squeals contrasted with her opponent's guttural tones. For once I was grateful I couldn't understand a word of their language. From the tone of the argument the discussion threatened to turn into a tropical storm. Even in this remote corner of the world, tension between male and female was obvious. But then, why wouldn't it be? It started in the garden of Eden and escalated from there.