A day in the life of a missionary can be filled with sunshine or rain. There are days when our plans get turned upside down by unexpected emergencies. But that only adds to the joy and satisfaction that comes when the job is complete. It’s better than the thrill of a roller-coaster ride—it’s adrenalin with a purpose.
We had planned to make a Sunday-afternoon visit to Kotale and then get back home before the rain. Some friends in the States had put together some WaPIs (Water Pasteurization Indicators) for the Gogodala people to use. It was a good time to distribute them because the lagoon water was rising and polluting wells. People were coming to us for diarrhea treatments, so we knew they could use some help in making sure their water was safe to drink.
It was the beginning of rainy season, with cloudbursts and strong winds. But rain usually comes in the late afternoon, so we felt safe making the 2.5-mile trip to Kotale.
In Kotale, our church members met us and helped with the distribution. They chose a place in the middle of the village for us to demonstrate the WaPIs to the villagers. People gathered in the shade of the thatched roof “teahouse,” and a couple of young men started a small fire there to heat water for our demonstration. However, the westerly breeze carried the smoke right towards us and everyone else. One of the elders sitting nearby told the boys to move the fire out into the open.
While waiting for the water to heat up, I stood outside by the fire surrounded by curious villagers watching a WaPI suspended in the pot of water by a stainless steel wire. Soon the afternoon sun forced me into the shade of a small tree. Within fifteen minutes, wisps of steam rose from the pot, and the wax in the plastic tube melted indicating that the water was pasteurized and safe for drinking. The villagers smiled at each other. “This is a good thing! We need this!”
After the demonstration, our church members lined up representatives from each household, and I went down the line handing out the WaPI’s while Alphie, our church secretary, recorded the names of each recipient. Some mothers, some fathers and even some children accepted the gift for their families.
By this time dark clouds were forming in the western sky. One man saw me looking at the sky and remarked, “You’d better go before the rain comes.” Not wanting a storm to catch us out on the water in our open dinghy, Laurie, Johanna and I got our things together, said our goodbyes and started down the path to the lagoon. Before we got to the waterfront, a church elder, Nasa, caught up with us. “Steve, do you remember Jimmy, one of our church members? Ganuba, our other church elder, was visiting him yesterday because he has been sick. He has asthma or something and is having difficulty breathing. Would you be able to take him to the hospital in Balimo?”
“Of course!” I said. “Have somebody bring him down to our dinghy.” I recalled a friend of ours who had died because she didn’t get help for her asthma soon enough. Jimmy needed to get to the hospital now, regardless of the weather.
We waited in the shade of a palm tree at the waterfront for about half an hour. The clouds seemed to slow their advance, as if having mercy on us because of the emergency. Then a dugout canoe came paddling through the swamp grass up to the side of our dinghy. Jimmy was sitting in the middle of the canoe, too weak to move himself. Nasa and two young men hoisted him over the side and settled him comfortably in the dinghy, and the young men got in, too. Laurie examined Jimmy while I prepared to start the engine. Before taking off, I prayed for God’s sustaining and healing hand to be on Jimmy and for traveling mercies on our trip to Balimo.
We stopped at our house for more fuel and to drop off Laurie and Johanna. Unsure whether either of the young men would be coming back from Balimo with me, I invited Galuma along to help navigate and to hold the flashlight if darkness should overtake us. The sky immediately above us was still clear as I turned the dinghy toward Balimo, but black clouds spread menacingly across the horizon in front of us. Normally, in good conditions, the trip downriver to Balimo takes half an hour. If we hurry, maybe we can get there before too much rain, I thought.
Having made many trips to Balimo, I know the way almost like the back of my hand. But because of the nature of the emergency and Jimmy’s inability to walk, we decided to take the route around to the south side of Balimo where the lagoon comes up closest to the hospital to minimize the distance we would have to carry him. This would add extra time to our trip, and I had never taken the river route to the south side of Balimo, but I trusted that Galuma and the two young men would direct me.
Along the way to Balimo, we made two stops at Jimmy’s request—one so he could relieve his bladder and another when he spotted his brother-in-law paddling a canoe along the river’s edge. As we pulled up beside the man’s canoe, he had to lean over close to Jimmy to hear his weak voice. Jimmy began crying, and I couldn’t hear what he said, but I think he was confessing something, trying to make things right in case his end was near.
As we approached the mouth of Kabili Creek, which leads to Balimo, clouds covered the sky. Soon we felt the first drops of rain, and the wind picked up. I stopped the dinghy briefly to get a rain poncho out of my backpack to cover Jimmy and to put on my rain jacket. Dark clouds swirled overhead as the wind pushed our dinghy into the swamp grass beside the creek. Not being able to start the motor in grass, I waited as the two young men paddled with all their might against the wind to get us back into the open water of the creek so I could start the outboard engine again. By this time, the rain was falling in torrents. The droplets stung my face like needles as we motored cautiously into the wind. It was hard to see where we were going. Our drenched clothes stuck to our skin and chilled us. Silently I prayed not only for Jimmy’s health but for all of us. We came to the place where we had to leave the creek and go around the points of land on the east side of Balimo. Finding a small channel through the swamp grass, we ventured into territory unfamiliar to me. It was all I could do to maintain control of the boat and keep it from getting blown into the weeds. As we came around a point of land, the full force of the gale struck us, nearly knocking me off my feet.
Finally we entered the cove near the hospital as the wind and rain continued to lash us. The men pointed me toward a house on the shore that belonged to Jimmy’s relatives. Some young people came out and helped to carry Jimmy into the house. His relatives put dry clothes on him before taking him to the hospital.
As Galuma and I stood under the leaky thatched roof of the veranda and waited for the storm to abate, I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving for God’s protection and asked for help with light on our return trip because dusk was approaching. God answered that prayer and not only stopped the storm but opened a window in the clouds to the west so the setting sun could shine through, giving us light all the way back home.
Jimmy is still in the hospital and is quite weak. Please pray for him. Thank you for your prayers for us as well. We don’t always understand the reasons for the tempests in our lives, but we know that “the Lord has His way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of His feet” (Nahum 1:3).
