Several years ago while we were in Port Moresby buying supplies, a man had left some logs on the riverbank near our house in Kewa. They were evidently not secured very well, because when a little boy was playing around them one day, a log rolled on top of him. Fortunately, one of our church members saw him and came to his rescue, but not before he had received some serious injuries. We were thankful at the time that the logs did not belong to us, because the incident could have become a liability to our work. Recently, on the same riverbank, we were reminded again of the dangers of heavy logs—this time our logs.

The shout rang out, “One, two, three!” We all grunted and pulled on the 30-foot-long piece of vine we were using to drag logs out of the river. The log we were dragging up was kwila, a species that is very hard and termite-resistant, but so dense that it sinks in water.
Slowly the heavy kwila log inched forward as men pulled on the vine, and a few pushed on the back of the log, which was barely out of the river. Spirits were high at the thought that our new sawmill would soon be ripping into these logs and turning them into lumber for our new training center.

Suddenly, without warning, the taut vine snapped, and our log slid down the bank and sank into the river. Those of us who had been pulling fell forward onto the soft grass. Our first reaction was to laugh at the funny sight of 12 surprised men lying on the ground. Meanwhile, a couple of the guys who had been pushing at the back end grabbed another line and dove into the water to try to retrieve the sinking monster. But the swift river current and slippery mud conspired against them, and the log slid into the depths.

A few moments later, one of the young men cried out, “Busisi!” We all looked around, but Busisi was nowhere to be found. My heart pounded in my chest as I thought, Not again! A few months earlier, we had buried our helper Danny after he died from an illness. Then Angela, our close friend and helper, had died just weeks before from a snakebite. “Lord,” I prayed, “please save Busisi!”

Busisi was one of our most honest and hardworking people. He studied carpentry at the technical school in Balimo. He had an interest in spiritual things, attended our church and Bible classes regularly and appeared to be a promising candidate for baptism.

A couple of the young men ran toward the riverbank and were about to dive in to search for Busisi when we saw a head pop up about 12 feet from shore. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief as they saw Busisi come up for air. He had dived down to try to find the log. We thanked God that Busisi was all right. We were reminded once again how fragile life is and that we should not take it for granted.

Later, I began thinking of the spiritual battle that is raging around us. Superstitious Gogodala would be quick to pin the blame on our church for any accident that might befall one of our new interests. A while back, another young man who attends our church was bitten by a snake, and right away his father pointed to his attendance at our church as the reason the snake bit him. Overcoming prejudice is difficult enough without superstition. But God is the Master of circumstances, and “we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them that are the called according to His purpose” (Rom. 8:28). God’s promises certainly are a comfort and strength to us. There is no better liability insurance than doing His work.

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