“Steve, wake up.” Laurie was standing beside the bed with her coat on, her stethoscope around her neck and a flashlight in her hand.

I looked around the dark room and rubbed my eyes. Thinking it must almost be daybreak, I reached for my watch and saw that it was only about midnight.

“Seyawa’s daughter is having a baby, and something’s wrong.” There was urgency in Laurie’s voice. “When I examine her, she doesn’t appear to be ready to deliver, but she is pushing hard like the baby is ready to come.”

We had talked to Seyawa earlier that day, and he had said nothing about his daughter, Adiba, being in labor. We didn’t even know she was expecting. Now we were faced with an unexpected crisis in the middle of the night. The nearest hospital was an hour and a half away by boat across lagoons, swamp grass, through winding creeks and down the Aramia River. Though Laurie is a registered nurse with years of experience, her obstetric experience is limited to what she had learned in nursing school over twenty years ago.

I snatched the electric lantern on my way out the door but kept it switched off to save battery power. Heading through the dark night toward Wolfi’s house, I carefully scanned the path in front of me for snakes. Soon, I saw the dim glow of kerosene lamps in the distance. Underneath the stilted house, lamps cast an orange glow where Laurie and a couple of other women were gathered around Adiba who lay on a dry banana leaf on the dirt, writhing in pain. It is taboo for Gogodala women to deliver babies in the house. Many believe that a baby born in a house will have problems with asthma later, so women go outside to deliver. (There might be some scientific explanation to this belief since Gogodala houses have smoky indoor fires to keep mosquitoes away.)

Earlier, Laurie had asked Seyawa to fetch the village nurse, but he returned without her and reported that she was not willing to leave her house. She told him not to worry—the baby would come. All Laurie could do was help Adiba get more comfortable and try to get her to stop pushing. Concerned for the young woman’s wellbeing, I had one of the women ask her if she would like to go to the Balimo hospital. When Adiba indicated that she would, we immediately prepared for the hour-and-a-half boat trip downriver. Silently, I prayed that the baby would wait until we got to the hospital.

Everyone jumped into action. I sent Seyawa to get Danny, our yard man, who also happens to be an experienced dinghy pilot and knows the creeks and lagoons like the back of his hand. Meanwhile, I hurried home to prepare for the journey. Water had to be bailed out of the boat. The 30-horsepower motor had to be carried down from the house and mounted. I had to mix fuel and write a note for Karin and Johanna who were still asleep. The ladies assisted Adiba down to the canoe landing and brought towels, sheets, plastic and a sleeping pad to make her as comfortable as possible in the dinghy. Half a dozen people with bobbing lanterns filed down the path leading to the waterfront to see us off. Before leaving, we all paused to ask God for protection and guidance on our trip.

The night was calm and overcast. A little glow from the crescent moon filtered through the clouds providing only enough light to distinguish the creek banks. Silhouettes of trees and floating grass reflecting in the mirror-like water loomed around us like black ghosts ready to swallow us up if we missed a turn.

In the bow, three ladies—Laurie, Noni (Adiba’s mother) and Boboato—huddled around Adiba tending to her needs by the dim light of a kerosene lantern. Seyawa and I sat at the stern where Danny stood and guided the boat through the hairpin bends of Baiya Creek. Occasionally, Seyawa stood up to check on his daughter. “The baby is coming!” he reported to me excitedly.

Finally, we got out on the big river where we could go full-throttle. About 40 minutes into our trip, Seyawa announced, “The baby is born!” With a sigh of relief, I turned to Danny and signaled him to cut the motor. We again paused for a moment of thanksgiving prayer for the safe delivery of a healthy baby girl. We asked Adiba whether she preferred to continue to the hospital or turn around and go back. She was ready to go home, and it didn’t take much to persuade the rest of us, too. Soon we were home again, and, let me tell you, my bed never felt so good!

That memorable night a baby was born on the Aramia River reminds me of another night just over two thousand years ago when the Savior of the world was born in humble circumstances. He has promised to be with us “always, even unto the end of the world. Amen” (Matt. 28:20).

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