Monday Morning Faith (27 page)

After a while I stood and looked for a dry place to sit. I chose my spot, conscious of leeches. A shaft of sunlight pierced the leafy overhead canopy. A large black beetle raced around my foot, looking for something and having no luck finding it. As long as he stayed in his space and didn't threaten mine, I'd respect his presence. Funny. I had complete control over that bug's life. I could squash him in a moment, deny him life in a split second. Kind of like my life and God's authority …

The bug and I were trivial. Yes, compared to the bug I was huge. But compared to God? I was nothing. God could squash me as fast as I could end the bug. Sitting there, I couldn't help but wonder … Did God ponder the option?

I decided to write Mom and Pop a letter instead of sending a postcard I'd purchased in the hotel lobby the morning we left for the village. Goodness knew when I'd be able to send any mail back home, but if nothing else I'd take the cards home with me and give one to Nelda and others in the library. The same went for Mom and Pop's letter, but I needed to talk to someone. To get my thoughts on paper.

Trees grew like a thick wall here, lining the path and small clearing. Overhead, chattering monkeys swung from treetop to treetop. I noticed that I wasn't concerned; I guess I was acclimating to the bush. Maybe God was watching over me, although I couldn't think of a single reason why he should.

I opened my tablet and began to write:

Dear Mom and Pop,

I hope this letter finds you well. I'm fine but it's hot here in the jungle. I spend my days helping Sam in the clinic or handing out candy to the villagers. They have such a sweet tooth.

I paused, pencil poised on the paper. I'd been about to add, “if they have a tooth at all,” but thought better of it. I would save specifics for when I got home.

I am sorry to report that I've made small inroads into the mission field. I believe my first thought was correct: I am not mission-minded, though I pray that God will give me a heart for these people. I see Sam and the missionaries' dedication and I feel so ashamed that I don't share their love and compassion for the villagers. It is a strange culture. Women are subservient to their husbands, and we — the missionaries — are never allowed to enter their homes. At times their mission seems hopeless, but Sam reminds me nothing is hopeless with God.

I've made a special friend, a little girl who we think is named Poo. Odd name, I know, but it's an odd place. Poverty is the norm, and everything is dirty. The village smells are wretched; you know my weak stomach. But there is also great beauty here …

I glanced around at the flowers and birds, recalled the clear streams and luscious fruits hanging in large clumps from trees, then bent back to the page and described it all as best I could.

Sam calls this place Eden. While I don't quite share the same opinion, I have to admit the beauty, especially the multicolored sunsets, makes me feel closer to God. Sometimes I think God has given me a glimpse of heaven.

I miss you all and am looking forward to returning home and to my work at the library. I know you're wondering about Sam. I'm wondering too. I love him with all my heart, but sometimes love isn't enough. Sam Littleton is a decent, dedicated man who deserves a woman who will work beside him. Every passing day brings me to the same heartbreaking conclusion: I am not that helpmate. I long to be, but God doesn't appear to have the same plans for me that he's got for Sam. In fact, I'm not convinced he's got a specific plan for me at all. I'm beginning to despair that he's forgotten me or maybe worse, that the library in Saginaw is the extent of my purpose. I don't know. I just don't know.

Tears rolled down my cheeks and I signed my name, praying I wouldn't be as much a disappointment to my parents as I was to both Sam and God.

Games were over when I returned to the village. Eva and Mary had left. The children had scattered around the village. Poo was standing alone in the shade of a hut. She glanced my way but made no effort to join me. I offered her a smile but she refused it, turning her head away. I felt rotten, but since I couldn't speak her language, I had no way to apologize.

The boat was on shore, so if Eva and Mary had gone back to the huts, someone had taken them and returned. I pushed the small craft off the rocks and hopped aboard. I'd never rowed the short distance from the huts to the village — never rowed anywhere — but I could manage the feat. Once seated, I lifted the oars and gave a mighty stroke. I went nowhere. Surprised, I glanced up and realized I'd not pushed off far enough. I looked to see if any of the women who were kneeling at the shoreline washing their clothing had noticed my blunder, then moved to untie the vessel.

Okay, what now? If I didn't make it back into the boat quick enough, it would drift off without me. How would I explain losing the boat if it drifted out to sea? I eyed the situation and decided I could move fast enough to board.

Before I could put the plan into effect a young boy from the village passed, and I yelled at him. He stopped and approached the water, sending me an inquiring look.

I pointed out the situation, the rocky shoreline, and made pushing motions with the open palms of my hands.

He frowned.

I tried again. More motions, more pushing. I even grunted. This time he caught on, and I moved back into the boat. I was half seated when he picked up the front of the boat and shoved. In a desperate effort to stay in the boat I knocked my large-brimmed hat off my head into the water. Horrified, I watched the wind catch it and blow it away from me. I stared at it, sick to my stomach.

Then I heard the splash. The teenager had dived into the water and was now swimming after my escapist hat. When he reached it, he dived, and all I could see were his bare feet. Moments later, he surfaced underneath it, so that it now sat on his head. Grinning like a skunk eating garlic he paddled back to the boat. I blew him a kiss. He handed me the hat and threw me a look that suggested I'd lost my mind. I didn't care; at that moment I loved that kid.

I managed (through the grace of God) to get the boat across the lagoon to the huts. The chore took longer than I'd expected, and I almost tipped twice, but I climbed out of the boat without turning loose of the rope. The boat secured, I straightened and drew a deep breath. It would snow in August in the middle of this jungle before I tried that on my own again.

Eva and Mary weren't in either of the huts. Had I left them back in the village? If so, I'd
have
to make the return trip alone, and I wasn't sure I was capable of the task. It had been all I could do to make it across this time. I had a feeling practice wouldn't make perfect.

I finally spotted the two women sitting on the shore behind the huts in the shade of a large betel palm. The water was shallow here, easily forded. I suspected this was the pathway the villagers used when they visited the huts in search of treasure. The two women had spread a blanket on the ground to protect them from the elements. They appeared so relaxed and so happy I wanted to join them.

I stepped out on the deck and circled to the back of the huts, waving at them. Mary waved back. “Come join us!”

“How?”

“I'll come get you.”

I watched as she stepped into the parasite-infested waters and waded the small crossing. When she arrived at the ladder, she held out her hand. “Come, Johanna. Trust me.”

I glanced at the waters; I could see fish darting about. I didn't know what kind, and I didn't want to know. I looked at Mary again, and started. For a second — just a second, mind you — it appeared Christ was holding out his hand to me, saying,
Come
.
Trust
.

“Don't be afraid.” Mary smiled. “I'm here.”

Biting my lower lip, I lowered myself into the water, feeling the coolness seep over my ankles, then midcalf. I held my breath, not daring to look down but grasping out for her hand. When our fingers touched, I opened my eyes. Hand in hand, we tackled the small distance and waded to shore.

Lowering myself on the blanket, I caught my breath.

“See,” Mary teased, “we told you the fish wouldn't bother you.”

“But who knows what's down there.” I peered into the swirling water.

“Does it matter?” Eva scooped up a handful of water and let it fly.

No. It didn't. The fish had swum around my feet, but not one had threatened me. I think at that moment I started to understand. Faith had to start somewhere, and mine started here, in this dense jungle where there was nobody to trust but God. I still wanted to know what was in that water, but if it didn't bother me, it made no difference.

We lounged in the shade, enjoying the coolness. The fellowship was reminiscent of conversations I had held with Nelda. If she'd been here she'd have us all laughing and joking, and she'd be handing out advice right and left. Might not be good advice, but she'd have some, regardless.

I'd seen Eva and Mary work side by side with their husbands, dedicated to their service, and envied their spirit. Now I longed to be friends with them. They had their Bibles opened and were engaged in a discussion, which I'd interrupted.

Eva smiled. “We're reading from Luke 14:23.”

Mary scooted over so I could share her Bible, and Eva continued, “Then the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and make them come in, so that my house will be full.' ”

I listened as the women discussed the passage, and though I added a few comments, I knew we were on a touchy subject. When Eva closed her Bible, I decided to involve the women in something less serious: girl talk.

“Do you go into Port Moresby very often? How do you keep up with what's going on in the world?”

“We seldom leave the island,” Eva admitted. “But we'll go home for a few weeks each year. We always enjoy being with family and old friends.”

“What about fashion?” I settled back to fill them in on the latest trends. “Colors are gaudy bright this year, skirts are short and getting shorter, but there are others who favor ankle length — and shoes are going back to spikes. Ankle breakers, I call them.”

Mary smiled. She must think I was discussing rocket science. Undoubtedly, fashion was her least concern. “That's interesting. The last time we were home, some of the skirts were almost indecent.”

“I know what you mean.” We talked and laughed together, and an awareness began to dawn in my mind. These were flesh-and-blood women. Genuine servants of God, yes, but they cared about the same things other women did.

I studied Mary. “You have such beautiful hair.” The shiny mass glistened in the sunlight. Thick, dark cherry red, shoulder length … I found it her most attractive feature. Lagoon water must be good for hair particles. “Why don't I style it for you?”

She didn't appear thrilled at the idea, but I whipped out a comb, which I'd planned to give to Poo until she'd gotten on my nerves. Mary sat as I pulled her hair back from her face, fastening it into a spiky ponytail, using a band from my own hair to hold it in place.

“There, now we have the same hairstyle. People will think we're sisters.”

“We are sisters.” She angled a look at me. “Sisters in Christ.”

It wasn't what I had in mind, but she was right. We were family.

I took a tiny hand mirror, not much bigger than a saltine cracker, out of my pocket and held it up. “Here. See how you like it.”

Mary gazed at her image, turning her head from side to side. Smiling, she handed the mirror back to me. “It will take some getting used to, I guess.”

One glance at Eva and I knew her thoughts. It looked downright twittish.

“You'd look nice in this year's shell pink.”

Mary laughed. “Pink? With my red hair?”

I perked up. “It's such a delicate pink it would enhance your hair color and complexion. Everything is pink this year: pink, pink, pink. Hot pink, shell pink. You can't go wrong with any pink — not this … year.” I was babbling, spouting nonsense.

Mary leaned back. “Shell pink wouldn't stay pretty for long out here.”

We all had to chuckle at that. She was right. Pink was not a jungle color with all the dirt and humidity. And sticky hands. Sticky hands everywhere.

“So what do you two do in your leisure time?”

I wanted to bite my tongue. Wasn't the answer obvious? They didn't
have
leisure time. Not much, anyway. This was the first time since I'd arrived they had taken time for themselves, and they'd used it for Bible study.

We struggled on, trying to keep the conversation going through lapses. Finally, we ceased trying, gazing out over the water.

Mary brushed her hair away from her face. “I noticed this afternoon that my crochet hook is missing.”

Eva showed more interest than I'd seen from her since I'd joined them. “Oh, yes? I'll bet I know where it is. One of the village women had something shiny in her hand today, and I meant to ask but I got busy and forgot.”