Monday Morning Faith

by Lori Copeland

  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault; I shouldn’t have wandered so far into the bush alone.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” The tender relief in his eyes eased his scolding. “Don’t do it again! If you want to go exploring, take me or someone with you. I don’t know how you managed to find your way out.”

  “I didn’t. Poo rescued me.” And tomorrow I’d go through my luggage and find something nice to give her to show my appreciation. Suddenly I realized I still held the Millets’ can opener. Eva would be thrilled to see it. Maybe having it back would make up in some small part for the problems I’d caused.

  Before I left, I gave Poo a bear hug. I could see the child’s flashing grin long after I got into the boat and the men rowed us to the huts.

  Exhausted, I headed straight to my tiny cubicle to strip off my wet clothing and take a sponge bath. When I removed my jeans I found black slick-looking things stuck to my legs.

  Leeches! I must have gotten them when I sat on the wet log.

  I pulled one off and it turned and attached itself to my finger. I grabbed it with my free hand, stretching the body like a rubber band until it turned loose — then I couldn’t get it off my other hand.

  I screamed so loud Eva and Mary ran into each other coming to my rescue.

  FIFTEEN

  The women pulled the curtain aside, almost knocking me down in the process. I reeled from the impact, dropping down on the cot. There wasn’t room enough for three people in my cubicle. There was room for only one — and the leeches.

  “What’s wrong?” Mary gasped.

  I pointed a trembling finger at the slimy bloodsuckers. “Leeches.”

  Eva clutched her heart, looking faint. “Is that all? I thought you’d seen a snake.”

  “Snake?” Why would she think a reptile would be in here? I thought the huts were safe. Hadn’t someone said so?

  Eva smiled. “You screamed so loud I thought Satan had a hold on you.”

  “This could be him.” I pointed to the leeches. “I can’t get them off.”

  “They’re not fatal.” Mary patted my arm. “Everyone gets them once in a while.”

  She sounded so matter-of-fact that I calmed down. I sat down and let the ladies have a go at removing them. “I saw a snake this afternoon.”

  “You did?” Eva used a cloth to grab hold of a parasite and pull it off. “What did it look like?”

  I paused, trying to recall the reptile, but so help me I couldn’t remember. Fear had fried my brain. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the menace that had scared me into headlong flight. A picture formed, so vivid I shivered like a sapling in a high wind.

  “Big, longer than I am tall, tan with black markings, mean and vicious.”

  Eva pulled off the last leech and dropped it in a can of gasoline. “Sounds like a ball python. You’ll find them in the jungle sometimes.”

  I shuddered. “Thank heaven the huts are built in the water and snakes can’t get in.”

  “Sometimes when we’re bathing we’ll see a black-banded sea snake.”

  “In the lagoon?” My heartbeat ratcheted up several notches. I thought catfish were the only hazards.

  “A sea snake is rather pretty.” She dried her hands on a towel. “Blue with black bands. We don’t see them very often, so it’s rather thrilling when we do.”

  Thrilling. Oh, it’d be that all right. So much so I was sure I’d walk on water if I saw one.

  Once I was deleeched, the women left me to my bath. At that moment, I’d have given everything I owned for a hot shower, a large fluffy towel to wrap around me, and a blow-dryer for my hair. How could I have taken such luxuries for granted? If I’d had a pen and paper and waxed poetic, I’d have written a paean: “Praise to Indoor Plumbing.”

  Eva brought warm water from the stove so I could wash my hair. The women were so good to me, trying to ease the culture shock and make me feel at home.

  Finally, dressed in clean clothes, my wet hair combed back from my face, I joined the others on deck, hoping I could catch a breeze to dry my hair. Nothing dried well in this humid air. According to the rusted thermometer on the hut wall, the temperature registered 105.

  No one mentioned my ordeal, which was nice since it had been a stupid stunt for me to pull. They had no idea I’d been hiding from Poo, and I had no intention of telling them. I should have realized the child knew the bush as well as the back of her hand, so while I thought I’d managed to lose her she’d always been there. I found the knowledge humiliating, but I didn’t care. I was thankful for that little girl.

  Did God’s love work much the same way? Could one of his children ever truly be lost from him?

  Eva excused herself to check on dinner. I could smell sweet potatoes roasting, a staple in our diet. The food was nourishing, but monotonous. “I’ll see if Mary needs my help.”

  “I’ll come too.” I struggled to rise to my feet, but my bones seemed to have melted, leaving me with no structural support.

  Mary waved a hand in my direction. “No, sit still. We’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  I settled back on the deck. Sam reached over and took my hand. We sat, me praising God for his mercy, and Sam, quiet. I didn’t know his thoughts — and realized I hadn’t from the moment I got here.

  Today’s adventure could have been disastrous. Was he angry? Relieved? Regretting that he’d asked me to come? Was he confused, searching for answers? I hoped he found some — and shared them when he did.

  He continued to hold my hand as we sat in the peaceful evening, listening to nature, each lost in our thoughts.

  Eva called, and we went inside to sit down to sweet potatoes, steamed greens, and baked fish. When we ate a fish meal, greens always accompanied it. Vegetables composed an important part of our diet, so it was a good thing Eva and Mary knew which greens were safe to eat. They had yet to let me forage with them, and I didn’t know why. I wanted to do my part.

  Talk turned to the hot day, then to missions in China, Africa, and South America. Even our beloved US, an area that Sam never considered, as far as I knew. Yet his comments indicated that he knew there were great mission fields there, hurting, crying for harvest.

  Finally talk switched back to the villagers. As I ate and listened to the chatter, an idea formed in the back of my mind. The more I thought about it the more I warmed to it. How hard could it be to communicate with the villagers? After all, I was a librarian, and I did have a stack of children’s books in my locked luggage. Before I left I would read the children a story; it would be like story time at the library. The event would be a treat for Poo. Sam would be proud of me.

  Eva served dessert: chunks of sun-ripened pineapple and mangoes blended in a fresh tropical salad. I realized I’d miss the delicious fruits once I was back in Saginaw. I laughed when I thought how hard Nelda and I tried to shed pounds, suffering for days to lose an ounce. I’d been here almost a week and a half and my jeans were already looser thanks to healthy meals of fish, fruit, and coarse bread.

  After dinner Sam and I returned to the deck, watching evening settle over the jungle. The sky was a sheath of ebony silk with star-studded sequins. A crescent moon crept over the horizon. He pulled me close, and I snuggled against him, blotting out everything except the enjoyment of sharing an all-too-infrequent privacy.

  He kissed the top of my head. “Thank God, you’re all right. I’d never forgive myself if anything had happened to you today.”

  “It wouldn’t have been your fault. You didn’t know I left the village. I was foolish to wander off and not tell anyone.”

  He paused, holding me close. “I don’t know, Johanna. I want you here with me so much I ache, but other times I feel that you should be at home. This is rugged, uncivilized country, no matter how tropical and beautiful. Maybe I’ve made a mistake; maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me.”

  “Oh, Sam.” I rested my head against his solid shoulder. “I am such a dismal failure. I’m sorry I’ve disappointed yo
u.”

  “No, I’ve disappointed you. I should have respected your wishes. I know you’re not comfortable here. Would you like for me to arrange for your departure?”

  I gazed up at him. Did I want that?

  No.

  In fact, my answer was a rock-solid no. I couldn’t believe it. I meant it. No! I’d made it well over a week. I could stick it out for the duration of the trip.

  His eyes held mine in the moonlight. “I love you. Nothing will change that, Johanna. Somehow we’ll work this out, even if it means I change my priorities.”

  My hand flew up to cover his mouth. “Sam, that’s not the answer. If you changed, that would only make me feel worse.” I would live under conviction the rest of my life. Sam belonged here. He was doing what he was born to do, what God called him to. “I’m the one searching for a purpose, Sam. Not you.”

  “It isn’t just the mission work.” He sat, staring up at the stars. “I don’t know how to explain it, but our culture is so blessed, Johanna. We have everything compared to others around the world. Men and women have fought for our nation’s freedom and independence; now others are fighting for its soul. Since the beginning, we’ve been ‘one nation, under God.’ It’s not that we’ve deserved his blessing — far from it. America is a great and powerful nation, and from those who have been given much, much is expected.”

  “I agree, and often wonder why God has given us such favor.”

  Sam smiled. “ ‘That people may see and know, may consider and understand, that the hand of the LORD has done this.’ ” He turned to look at me. “Isaiah 41:20. That’s why I do what I do, Johanna. I want people everywhere to understand that God still reigns. Whether it’s here or on the streets of New York or Los Angeles, whether we speak the same language or we struggle to communicate the Word. I’m not a martyr. I love the good life as well as the next person, but this … this …”

  “Compassion,” I supplied.

  “Compassion.” He sighed. “I’ve a need to serve.”

  I pressed closer, nestling in his arms. We stared at the stars, neither of us attempting to offer a solution for our problem.

  Later he walked me to the hut door. We lingered longer than usual, content in each other’s arms. The hour grew late, and I said good night and slipped inside.

  I lay on my narrow cot staring at the thatched ceiling, wanting that “compulsion to serve” so much. How could I know God’s will? One thing for certain, to know his will I’d have to read his Word. Not just thumb through it and play my hit-and-miss game, pointing a finger at a verse to see how God “spoke” to me that day. I had to read his Word. Every single word. I was forty years old and had never done that yet. And if someone put a gun to my head I wouldn’t be able to recite the books of the Bible. I’d long ago forgotten my Bible school learning.

  Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus — that was it. Blank. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. New Testament — at least part of the New Testament.

  Blank — oh, Acts. I knew that because as children we would call the book “Axe.” The book of Axe.

  We weren’t funny, just weird.

  The moment I got up the next morning I reached for my Bible. I spent the hour between dawn and daylight reading Matthew twice. I’d read the fifth chapter many times, but this time I absorbed more of God’s encouragement. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.” It began to dawn on me that the blessing of peace was what kept the power of God flowing through our lives so that we could bless others.

  Later I searched my suitcases for something to give to Poo. I settled on the light Nelda had given me that I’d yet to use. It was on a headband, making a headlight, handy to read by or light a dark path. Poo would be fascinated. A blue and green scarf caught my eye, and I added it to the pile. If Eva was right and Poo wanted something of mine, I’d grant her wish.

  The little girl was waiting on the bank. She latched onto my hand as I climbed out of the boat. I slipped the light around her head and switched on the beam. The thingamajig had three settings: low, high, and blinking. I set it on blinking. Poo’s eyes lit with astonishment. When I tied the scarf around her waist, she jumped up and down, her headlight blinking. A stream of words poured from her and I didn’t understand a single one. But it didn’t matter. She was thrilled.

  She caught my hand and pressed it to her cheek, emotion overflowing her gaze. I blinked back tears. This little girl loved me. I stooped down and she threw her arms around my neck. I held her frail body close. This little angel of mercy had saved my life, and I was ashamed of the way I’d treated her. She could have left me in the bush to stew in juices of my own foolish making. Instead, she led me to safety.

  Hand in hand, we walked to the clinic. Poo’s Bum stood in the doorway of his hut, smiling and nodding, staring at the blinking light. Best of all, Sam’s expression made me laugh. I had a long way to go, but I was making progress.

  That morning, no matter how hard or how often we wiped down the clinic, it didn’t help. Dirt resided everywhere; oppressive heat, mosquitoes, and the ceaseless stench of illness would not give way. My hands moved, washing wounds, wrapping bandages. A family worked their way to the front of the line by midmorning, the child carried by his parents. I drew back, appalled by the little boy’s gross disfiguration.

  “Dear Lord …” I turned to Sam. “What happened to this child?” The little boy’s arms and legs were enlarged to gigantic size.

  Sam spoke under his breath. “Elephantiasis.”

  I’d heard of but never witnessed the condition.

  I helped Sam calm the boy’s fear. Tears steamed from the child’s eyes, but I sensed that he trusted Sam. He was running a high fever; his chest rattled with congestion.

  While Sam tried to make the parents understand how to administer the medication, I held the boy close in my arms. He snuggled like any other hurting child. Remorse flooded the depths of my soul. I had turned away, sickened to look at him. Now, stroking his coarse, sweat-dampened hair, I pressed his head close to my chest. We couldn’t communicate, but I think he sensed my love. I hope he did; I wanted him to know that I cared.

  Later, Sam and I stood in the clinic door and watched the family disappear back into the bush. “What causes that?”

  Sam shook his head. “A parasitic infection.”

  I shivered. “Parasitic?”

  “Filarial worms. They’re found in most tropical and subtropical regions, and when they get inside the host, their long, threadlike bodies block the body’s lymphatic system.”

  He might as well be speaking Greek. “And the lymphatic system is?”

  His smile was understanding. “It’s a network of channels, lymph nodes, and organs that helps maintain proper fluid levels in the body by draining lymph from tissue into the bloodstream. The worms are transmitted by a particular species of mosquitoes.” Sam rested a palm against the hut’s support pole. “The host’s limbs can swell so enormous that they resemble an elephant’s foreleg in size, texture, and color.”

  I turned to stare after the little boy and his family. I’d been sure my challenges and problems since coming here were serious. Now I understood — I didn’t even know the meaning of the word.

  A toothless older woman who had a gaping wound on her right leg watched as I applied ointment and wrapped a bandage. When I was finished, she patted my arm, her mouth cavernous in a wide grin. I smiled, knowing she was trying to thank me. Lord, why can’t I love these people the way Sam and the others do? The bright spot in the morning was Poo, who danced around the clinic, her headlight blinking, waving her scarf. The little show-off. I grinned.

  The hands of my watch crept to noon, then one o’clock. Breakfast was now a distant memory. My stomach growled, the sound evident in the clinic’s close confines. Sam, who was examining a young woman with an angry swelling on her jawline, looked up at my stomach rumble. I grinned and placed my hand on my stomach. The young woman laughed and I joined in.

  Sam lifted a brow. “What
was that?”

  “An organ recital.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll take a lunch break soon.”

  I indicated the long line still waiting to see the doctor. “What about them?”

  Sam looked from his patients back to me. “They’ll wait. They’re patient, and they understand hunger.”

  I shook my head. “Let’s finish up before we stop.” I wasn’t going to have those poor people waiting while I appeased my appetite.

  He nodded and went back to work. Poo had assembled quite a mass of admirers with her new trinkets. No other child in the village had anything like them, and Poo knew it. Her social status had climbed several notches, and I had an idea she knew how to make the best of it.

  At last the line dwindled, so Sam and I left for lunch. Eva had our meal covered on the table. I leaned back in my chair, exhausted beyond words. Nothing in my sedentary life had prepared me for clinic work.

  “Tired?”

  I nodded at Sam. “But it’s a nice tired.”

  Midafternoon, the sound of a small plane sent every eye to the sky. Planes were a rarity here. We sometimes saw jets’ white streamers crisscrossing overhead, but this plane sounded smaller and lower. Bud pointed to a black dot in the distance. “Over there. It’s coming in like the supply plane.”

  Frank’s forehead creased. “Couldn’t be. He’s not due for another week or two. The landing strip hasn’t been mown.” Constant rain had prevented maintenance on the strip, and the moisture and humidity had turned it into a hay field.

  We dropped what we were doing and raced through the jungle to beat the plane.

  At the neglected strip, I stopped to catch my breath, thinking the grass looked as if it had grown another foot. The plane circled once, twice, before dipping down for a landing. Wheels touched the ground, bounced, throwing the light craft up in the air, and then touched down again, the small Piper Cub seesawing a good fifty feet before it came to a halt.

  I winced, turning my head and releasing an audible whoosh. For a minute it had looked like the plane would skid straight into the tree line. The pilot climbed out, looking mad enough to spit nails. Scarlet suffused his ruddy features, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, those were … yes, sparks shooting out of his saucer-shaped eyes. Well, almost anyway.