Monday Morning Faith

by Lori Copeland

  I leaned back in my seat, peering over the top of the seat in front of me toward the flight attendant. The one who’d taken my umbrella before I wounded any other passengers. I had to remember to get my umbrella back from her. Too many downpours in the village to go there ill-equipped.

  I smiled. Now that I knew the ropes, so to speak, I was more prepared for Sam’s world. My revelation might not be the most ideal solution, but sometimes life’s challenges had to be met with acceptable compromises. Besides, this whole thing wasn’t my idea; it was God’s.

  Finally, it was crystal clear: I could serve, but Sam was called. There was a difference. Mary and Eva had adapted to their husbands’ calling. So could Johanna Holland. Just in a different way.

  Part of me knew I should have written and told Sam of my conclusion, but once my mind was made up, I couldn’t get back to him and Papua New Guinea fast enough. I’d booked a plane that same night and left the following morning, record time for a Saginaw librarian. But I wasn’t getting any younger; next week I’d turn forty-one.

  Did the good physician still feel the same about me? His recent letters indicated he did, but I wouldn’t know for sure until I stood face-to-face with him. My heart tripped at the thought. What if I had done our relationship irreparable harm? What if our lengthy separation had made Sam reconsider his feelings?

  I pulled my Bible from my purse and held it. Gone were the days of random page search — let the pages fall open and hope to glean a message. One Scripture was poignantly clear in my mind at this moment — Proverbs 16:9: “In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps.” God would see his plan through in me. And I would willingly - — and gratefully — follow.

  I stirred, checking my watch. Twelve hours into the flight. My fellow travelers looked as weary as I did. The man I had whacked with the umbrella had a red welt on the side of his face; he’d kept an ice pack on the injury most of the flight. A little girl — maybe three or so — peered around the edge of her seat at me from across the aisle. I winked at her and she grinned. She’d behaved during the flight, playing with the toys and books her mother provided. A lady four rows back hadn’t been such a happy flier. The frequent bouts of turbulence had her shouting for the flight attendant. Her husband alternated between holding her hand and supporting the barf bag.

  A silver-haired woman one seat up from me and across the aisle watched the spectacle, her face expressionless. Then she glanced at me. Her eyes spoke volumes: tolerance and patience were assets to be employed at times like this. We exchanged raised eyebrows and pursed lips and then settled back for the remainder of the flight.

  I glanced at my watch a second time. I’d been so lost in thought, so oblivious to time, that I could scarcely believe we’d be landing soon. Strange. Once again I’d left family and friends in Saginaw, but the closer we got to Papua New Guinea, the more I felt it.

  I was coming home.

  Shifting my stiff body, I glanced out the window. Far below, lush, tropical islands surrounded by deep blue water began to appear. I started to make out shapes and forms. We were getting close. I couldn’t see them, but I knew there would be palms and rustic huts with thatched roofs, pineapples and mangoes, and ocean waves lapping the shore. And brown-faced children with sticky hands and smiling faces.

  I chuckled, imagining the look on Sam’s face when I reached the village. He would be stunned to see me. I tried to imagine his thoughts when I climbed out of that small plane on the jungle airstrip. Oh dear! The psft-psft plane. I still had that major obstacle to face.

  Oh, Sam, if you knew the love it took for me to climb into that death trap!

  The little girl who’d been playing peekaboo with me peered over the back of her seat. I could see she wanted to resume our game. At the moment all I wanted to do was savor my victory of making and carrying out my decision.

  Had God answered my prayers or Sam’s? Maybe both. At any rate, here I was, committed to working this out even if it meant long separations and major concessions.

  I leaned back and rested my head on the small pillow. I assured myself that when Sam saw me his face would reflect joy, love, and gratitude to God for allowing us to come together. After all, Sam thanked God for everything, believing every good thing came from his heavenly Father. And so did I.

  I would be less than honest if I didn’t admit my concerns still outnumbered my conviction, but I knew my purpose — my “calling” — was to uphold Sam. It had taken me almost a year to understand, but now the conviction was rock solid.

  Even so, doubts tugged at me. Maybe I was risking a great deal by assuming Sam still loved and wanted me. Maybe he’d finished his work and left. I shoved the worry aside; he would be there. He was Sam.

  And if not?

  I lifted my chin. If not, then God had sent him elsewhere. I’d visit with Frank, Eva, Bud, and Mary. And Poo. I’d remain to work among the villagers for a few weeks — and then I would track Sam down like a hunted animal. And if I couldn’t find him?

  Simple. I’d get Nelda to help. Between the two of us, we’d find him. And once I did that, I’d convince him that together we could make a difference. Maybe not in the conventional way, but who said life had to follow a certain plotline?

  Either way, I came prepared this time. Now that I had a better understanding of the climate, I’d packed sufficient numbers of sturdy jeans, hiking boots, T-shirts, and long-sleeved cotton shirts. One suitcase held a wide-brimmed canvas hat that could be wrung out after getting soaked. I had herbal teas and flavored coffees for Eva and Mary. My third suitcase bulged with additional gadgets for the village children. I knew they would enjoy the colorful inflatable punch balls, jump ropes, and bright gaudy jewelry and books.

  Lots and lots of picture books.

  My heart warmed when I thought of Poo and all of the things I planned to teach her and the village children. They would use the knowledge very little in their everyday life, but as the little girls grew into women, they would remember the missionary who taught them the proper way to eat, bathe — I grinned — and apply lip gloss. Impractical things, yes, but it was spending the time together that mattered. Letting them know someone cared. That was my goal.

  And I had another goal as well — to unearth one particular child’s proper name.

  The flight attendants began their landing routine. I straightened my seat back and rotated my shoulders to work out the stiffness. It would be good to get off the plane and move around.

  I remembered the last time I’d made this flight — the anxiety, the doubt, the lack of anticipation. All that was gone. Instead, I was consumed with enthusiasm and the deep faith that what I was doing was ordained by God. I was jittery, yes, but only because I was excited!

  Today was the first day of my new life, and I couldn’t wait to experience it.

  Once on the ground, it took awhile to collect my cases, load them on a cart, and head for customs. I heaved a mental sigh when I cleared with no resistance. Outside the building, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the name of my hotel.

  As I rode along, I watched the passing scenery, thinking about my last trip to the airport. The ambulance ride was a dull, painful memory. I’d been so sick — and so certain I’d never come back. This time the modern buildings, the palm trees, and the smiling faces of people we passed strengthened my conviction: I was doing the right thing.

  We drove past a shop with windows full of bright-colored sarongs and skirts in flowered prints of varying colors. I was going to bring Eva and Mary here soon. We’d spend the day shopping and then have tea.

  The taxi stopped in front of the hotel Sam and I had stayed in on my first trip here. The bellhop stacked my luggage in the corner, and I handed him a tip. It must have been a good one because he bowed from the waist, smiling and murmuring, “Thank you very much, kind lady!” He left still smiling.

  Memo to Johanna: learn monetary rate of exchange.

  I locked the door behind him and walked over to stand in fro
nt of the air conditioner with the vents pumping out glorious cool air. Might as well enjoy it while I could.

  Nothing marred my sleep that night. I woke with the daylight to shower and rearrange my bags. After breakfast I walked to the car I’d ordered the night before. That chore had been more difficult than I anticipated. After numerous failed attempts to secure a driver, one of the coffee shop waiters mentioned that his cousin had a car and might be available to drive me. He made the final arrangements, and soon a short Papua New Guinean man waited to meet me, leaning against an old model blue Ford. The driver sprang to attention as I approached.

  “Miss Holland?”

  “Yes, and you are Bokim?” At least he spoke English.

  He bowed. “At your service.”

  I climbed in the backseat and he loaded the suitcases. Then we were off to the small airport, where I would board the single-engine plane that would carry me to Sam. I hoped they’d maintained the airstrip while I was gone. Correction: I prayed they’d mowed the airstrip. I really didn’t want to be in a plane skidding and bouncing along that overgrown runway.

  The drive was brief; we arrived at the tarmac, and I spotted the pilot sitting in the aircraft. Oh, yodel. It was Mike, the rude, profanity-spewing, sans gallbladder pilot I’d encountered on our first flight to the village.

  Momentary horror closed my throat. My spiritual maturity sprang three steps backward and frost coated my attitude and resolve as I studied the man through calculating eyes. I didn’t want to go anywhere with him. However, he owned the plane and I needed his services, so I didn’t have a choice. I bit my lip, kept quiet, and climbed into the cockpit passenger seat.

  Mike yanked the seat belt around his middle and glanced over at me. “You look better than you did the last time I saw you.”

  “When was that?”

  “When I flew you out. Sick as a — ” He spewed an obscenity that singed my ears. “Glad to see you’re doin’ better.”

  “Thanks.” I took the remark as a compliment — albeit a salty and inappropriate one.

  He reached up and put on his headphones. “Figured we’d seen the last of you, kiddo. How come you’re back?”

  “Unfinished business.” I noticed that in addition to fluent blasphemy, my pilot spoke perfect English.

  “Business, huh?” He flipped a couple of switches, the engine roared, and the aircraft started to move. “Buying monkeys or mangoes?”

  I smiled. “Love, Mike. I’m going after love.”

  We hadn’t been in the air long before the rain hit. Water fell in sheets, blinding me. “How can you see to fly?” I knew I was yelling, but the noise of the rain and roar of the plane motor made speaking in normal tones impossible. The craft bounced like a rubber ball.

  “Don’t have to see. Know the trip by heart. The strip will be slick.”

  The overgrown landing strip. I would sooner face a crazed python!

  The roller-coaster ride left me clutching the seat with panic-induced power, knuckles white and standing up like marbles under the force of my grasp. Lightning forked the sky in ragged bursts of white heat.

  Mike looked over and grinned. “She’s a real — ” he spouted off a string of cuss words that curled my hair — “ain’t she?”

  That she was. And more. I offered a stiff smile and held on.

  As suddenly as it started, the rain stopped. Sunlight burst through the clouds and scudded across a sapphire sky. Below, I spotted ocean waves rippling the surface of blue water. I could make out the tops of feathery palms. When Sam and I had come to the village, we’d taken a boat, but I had no idea who to contact for such services. Pop had made my travel arrangements to the island. The flight cost more but the plane was quicker. All I wanted was the comfort of Sam’s arms.

  “There!” The pilot leaned over and pointed, then spewed profanity I think he made up. “They haven’t mowed again!”

  Panic and desperation gripped me. “You’re going to land, aren’t you?”

  “Not on your life, pumpkin! I told them to mow the strip or I ain’t landing this baby.”

  Not land? He must be kidding. He had to land … this baby. “I’ll give you fifty dollars extra!”

  “Life’s worth more than fifty bucks.”

  “A hundred.”

  He cocked his head, cupping a hand to his earphone. “Can’t hear you.”

  “One fifty.” I bit my lip, vowing to keep my temper. This was the first day of the rest of my life; I couldn’t have a slug-out with a blasphemous pilot.

  He reached out, wiggling his fingers. “You’re gettin’ there.”

  “Two hundred. That’s my final offer.” Never did I think I would pay two hundred dollars to crash! I caught my breath as the plane took a sudden nosedive. Bingo! I’d hit the magic number.

  I clutched the seat rest, watching tiny dots scurrying below. The natives had heard the growling machine, and they were gathering. I located several dots running along the jungle trail — that would be Sam and the missionaries. I strained, spying a small spot struggling to keep up.

  That would be my Poo.

  “Hold on, sweetheart. We’re going in!”

  Clamping my eyes shut, I braced myself as the pilot lined the aircraft up with the ragged strip and took it down. I’d never experienced such a rapid descent — like locusts on a cornfield. Apparently the guy was a former navy pilot. He could set the craft down on a dime and hand back eight cents’ change. Over the engine’s roar, I watched the ground rising closer and closer. I sucked in my breath and burst into a rousing chorus of “Amazing Grace. ”

  “… that saved a wretchhhhhh like me!” Yikes!

  The pilot’s deep baritone joined me. “I once was lost, now am fooound …”

  “Was blind, but now I seeeeeee.” Holy moley! The front wheels hit, bounced thirty feet, hit again, bounced twenty feet, slid, spun around twice, then slid another fifteen feet to an abrupt stop. My spine knitted to my neck bone.

  I heard the sound of a blowing bubble pop.

  When I opened my eyes, Mike was jotting down something in a logbook, chomping on gum.

  I unhooked my belt and pushed out of the seat. I couldn’t believe it. I was alive!

  The pilot kicked the door open, and there he was, just as I remembered him — Sam. Wonderful, dependable, love-of-my-life Sam.

  When he saw me appear in the doorway, his eyes widened, and then laughter danced in those Tom Selleck depths.

  I jumped from the death trap into his waiting arms.

  Whirling me around, he hugged me, kissing me, trying to ask questions that I couldn’t answer. Not yet. For now, I wanted to savor everything about him. The strong feel of his arms locked around me. The scent that was antiseptic, gauze, and jungle heat.

  And I wanted to savor the overwhelming knowledge that God makes good on his promises.

  Sam finally lowered my feet to the ground. “What took you so long to get here?” he growled against my ear.

  “Oh, Sam, can you ever forgive me?” I showered his sun-bronzed face with kisses.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. It just takes some of us longer to realize our purpose.” He winked and kissed me full on the lips, in front of everyone.

  Eva, Mary, Frank, and Bud pressed close, welcoming me home. Then the missionaries stood aside so Poo could race toward me, her smile as wide as a barn door, the blinking light around her head set on high. I scooped the child up in my arms and swung her around, so happy — so happy to see her.

  “Jo!” She looped her arms around my neck and held on tight. “Jo!”

  Excitement was slow to fade, but I finally paid the pilot the extra fare. Sam’s brows raised, but he just motioned for a couple of natives to transfer my luggage. I’d tell him all about the blackmail later.

  We walked across the strip, Poo holding tight to my right hand.

  “Are you surprised to see me?” I grinned at the love of my life — the very center of Johanna Holland’s world — besides, of course, fulfilling her God
-given purpose.

  “No. I knew you’d come. I wasn’t sure when, but I knew you’d come.”

  I paused, pressing my lips against his. He felt so good. So right. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Sure of God.” He returned the kiss before we walked on.

  “Now, Sam. You aren’t going to tell me that you believe God answers all prayers to our satisfaction.”

  “Not at all.” His smile was warm and loving. “I believe he answers prayers to his satisfaction.”

  Now was the moment I’d been waiting for — and dreading just a little: the unveiling of my thoughts and deductions. I’d intended to wait until a later time with better circumstances, but I heard myself blurting out the speech I’d rehearsed all the way across the ocean. “I’m not called full-time to the mission field, Sam. Nothing is clearer in my mind. But I am called to you, and I am most willing to serve you and the Lord. I can pray for you, keep a fine home waiting for you in Saginaw. I can speak to churches, nursing homes, where God opens a door. I can help raise funds and even help out with your clinic a couple of times a year. I love children — I can serve the mission children and make a difference, not as often as you are called to serve, but often.” I caught my breath, then bit my lip. “I wish I could be more like Mary and Eva — support you full-time in your passion — and maybe someday God will call me to that. But it’s not now — not yet.”

  We faced each other, and I tried to read his expression. “What do you think?”

  “Good enough.”

  “Good enough?” Not the most romantic response I could fathom, but I wasn’t proposing Niagara Falls and an endless honeymoon.

  “Good enough.” He grasped my shoulders, holding me away from him. His eyes — filled with open devotion — met mine. “We’ve been over this a hundred times, Johanna. God will let you know when and if he calls you to serve in the field. We’re all given gifts. And from what I hear you’re doing a fine job with your gift.”