“Masut ma’payn,” (“Diesel, full”), I said to the gas station attendant. In the country we are serving in, all gas stations have attendants that pump the fuel for you. I am so used to pumping my own gas in the States that I feel lazy letting someone else pump it for me.

On this particular day I was on my way to the capital with several people who needed to go to various hospitals. Among my passengers was a woman who had severe liver damage from hepatitis and a kidney stone too large to be passed. A little girl who had undergone cataract surgery was riding with her father for a post-surgery check-up.

As I was talking with my patients and waited for the attendant to finish, I heard another attendant shout, “Hey, you are pumping regular gas into his truck!” I glanced at the gas pump. Sure enough, about 40 liters of low-octane gasoline had just been pumped into my borrowed-for-the-day Toyota diesel truck!

Red barely describes the color of my attendants face as the gas station owners derided him. “It happens, my friend,” I said as I put my arm around the despondent young man. “Maybe we can get something to siphon out the gas,” I suggested. The men tried, but the anatomy of the gas tank filler tube would not allow passage into the tank.

The store owner got on the phone, and within minutes a local mechanic showed up to remove the fuel tank from the truck. After the tank was drained, our attendant carefully selected the diesel pump and filled us up. In America, we probably would have gotten the tank of diesel for free after our two-hour ordeal, but this is a poor country. These people couldn’t afford to lose that much money.

I paid for the diesel and was about to go when the young attendant came up and put his arm around me. “Thank you,” he said with the smile of someone who knew he was forgiven. “Som preyah bro’tian boh,” (“May God bless you,”) I said as I fired up the truck. Just before I put the truck in reverse, I said a prayer of thanks to God with my passengers. “Heavenly Father, thank You for the chance to show grace to my brother, and praise You that I didn’t run the vehicle while the gasoline was in the tank. Please give us a safe ride, Lord. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.”

After an otherwise uneventful trip I took the little girl to the free eye hospital for her post-surgery check-up. From there I went to a Christian hospital for the woman with hepatitis and kidney stone. The doctor referred her to a urologist, and we made our way to yet another Christian hospital.

As I sat in the hospital in the process of registering the woman, the electricity went off, and all the information I had given the registrar was lost. The electricity came back on, and then it flashed off again about ten minutes later, deleting the information a second time! Electricity here turns off randomly for short or sometimes long periods, even in this capital city of 1.5 million people. The computer flashed back on eventually, and we managed to get the sick woman in to see the urologist.

After a busy day we returned to our little village in the country. Sadly, about one month later the woman with hepatitis died. She was a precious soul who often greeted me with smiles and bags of mangoes despite her constant pain and discomfort. In two more months the little girl will have her final surgery to implant new lenses into her eyes.

I praise God that we are able to work among the precious Great River People. Every day brings new challenges, blessings and friendships. We are seeing God work in these relationships to reveal His great love to them. As we pray with them, serve them, learn from them and fellowship with them, we already see God opening hearts. Thank you so much for your part in touching the Great River People with God’s love. It wouldn’t be possible without you! Please continue to pray that we will always be where God needs us to be.

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