Monday Morning Faith (13 page)

I stared back at Sam, resolve weakening. Two weeks … that wasn't a lifetime commitment. Maybe I could think of it as an adventure, one that I could end whenever I wanted. I smiled. “I do have several weeks' vacation — ”

“That's my girl.” He squeezed both my hands. “But remember, we're short of time and there is a lot to do.” His gaze softened. “When I lost Belinda I never thought I would find anyone that would fill my heart and life as you have, Johanna. I'm in love with you, you do know that.”

Words failed me. I nodded. Though we'd never voiced our feelings, our love had become obvious. I didn't need bells and whistles; what I'd found in Sam I had never dared to hope I would find in anyone. I adored him. He was twelve years my senior, but we were soul mates. That much I couldn't deny.

Doubt reared its ugly head.

What about Mom and Pop? Even though I no longer lived with them, I couldn't go sailing off to another continent and leave them in Saginaw with Aunt Margaret. And Itty Bitty. I couldn't go away and leave him. Sam didn't seem to understand my responsibilities …

That night I didn't drop off to sleep as usual. I lay awake, watching the digital clock turn the hours, wondering how I'd gotten so involved with a man I could no longer dismiss from my mind. God worked in mysterious ways, but this perplexing situation had me scrambling for answers. Before the night was over I was down on my knees, begging for guidance.

Before work the next morning I dropped by Mom and Pop's, planning to discuss Sam's invitation. I was certain I knew what they would think of me traipsing halfway around the world with a man I'd known only a few months, but I needed support.

Too bad my parents had turned senile overnight.

“Excellent!” Pop clapped his hands. “Good idea. Go for it.”

“Are you out of your mind! Go schlepping off to Papua New Guinea for a month with a man I just met? I can't believe you said that.”

“You know the man. He's a good, solid person. We trust your judgment, honey. We're doing fine here, and if we have a problem we can always call Margaret.”

Margaret was as old as dirt. How could they expect her to help? “You mean to tell me you don't care if I leave — ” I snapped my fingers — “just like that! I'll be gone for two, maybe three weeks! I'll spend that time living in a mud hut with uncivilized natives and bugs and rodents!”
Why
would my parents encourage me to do such a thing?

Mom smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

So said the woman who thought she was roughing it when she went two days without air-conditioning last summer during the power outage. “You don't mean that.”

“I do mean it. New experiences are broadening.” She tilted her chin, the gesture daring me to contradict her. “It would do you a world of good, Johanna, to see how the other half of the world lives.”

“Look, honey.” Pop shifted in his leather recliner. “Sam's a dedicated, God-fearing man, and he loves you. Serving God on the mission field is an honor few of us ever get an opportunity to do. Who knows? You may find your purpose in life.”

“You don't think I'm already living it?”

“I think you should listen when an opportunity arises.

The good Lord may be trying to tell you something.”

“Just how do you know so much about Sam?” I asked, suspicious now.

Pop shrugged. “He mentioned that he was in love with you when he called New Year's Day. That's all I need to know.”

I groaned. “Tell me this wasn't
your
idea.”

He didn't answer one way or the other. “Trust in God, Daughter. He won't put you into a situation without giving you the wherewithal to handle it.”

I made a
poof
sound. “You don't know that.”

“I know more than you think.”

“I know what we should do.” Mom put her handwork aside. “Let's pray about it.”

“Good idea.” Pop reached for our hands.

Before I could protest he started to speak to God about my problem. I was all in favor of prayer, but had I been set up? If there was a chance God was in on this, did I want to know? However, there was something sobering about hearing my parents pray for me. There were tears in my eyes by the time Pop finished asking God to look after me, to grant me wisdom and peace.

Goodness knew
some
body needed to.

Sam phoned that night. “How's the woman I love?”

“Other than being in love and confused, I'm thinking.” That was as far as I could commit at this point. That and the admission that late that afternoon I had written a fifty-dollar check and applied for a passport. The step wasn't binding. It never hurt to have a passport. I might decide to go to England sometime.

Well, I might!

“Honey, I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, but I want you to come with me. You know that, but it's your decision.”

I choked back tears. “I'll give you an answer soon, Sam. I promise.” When I hung up, I dropped to my knees and gave in to the tears, pleading with God for a solution. What I wanted was for him to release Sam from this calling. Unfortunately, I didn't expect that to happen.

Nelda marched into my office January 2, hot as a camel's saddle. “Just what do you think you're doing?” She jabbed a scarlet-tipped forefinger in my direction. “You have been
avoiding
me, girlfriend. I am not happy.”

“That's supposed to concern me?”

“Honey, when Nelda's not happy, ain't nobody allowed to be happy. Spit it out. Did he ask you to marry him?”

I lifted a dispassionate shoulder; I loved to yank her chain. “He who?”

“Don't make me hurt you, girl.”

“What on earth would make you think that Sam Littleton would ask me to marry him?”

She crossed her arms and eyed me, as mean as a snake with shingles.

“Mr. Littleton asked me to accompany him on his upcoming mission trip to Papua New Guinea.”

When she stopped laughing and pulled herself together, she took a deep breath. “You know, that's not as wild as it sounds.”

“It's outright hair-raising. Can you picture me living in a hut?”

“Maybe. You've changed a lot — you're not as prim and uptight as you used to be.”

“I beg your pardon? I am not prim. How insulting. Just because I don't swing from rafters and scratch fleas — ”

“Girl, you were as stiff as an unopened package of spaghetti.”

“I am not!”

“Maybe not now, but you used to be. You've loosened up. Look, Jo, you've got a lot of vacation time coming, and the new library board of directors has decided we either use it or lose it. You can spare a few weeks' vacation. Go with him. What's it going to hurt? I hear the southern Pacific is beautiful.”

“Oh, Nelda.” I couldn't hold back any longer. “I'm terrified. What if I get over there and hate every moment of it — and I will! He'll see the real Johanna — shallow, spoiled, the fortitude of a slug.”

“Girl, where is your
spirit
? God can take care of you in Papua New Guinea same as he can here.”

“You haven't heard the stories. The village is so primal.” I shuddered. “I don't — maybe I'd stare!” I shook my head, falling silent.

“One month, Johanna. You can do anything for that length of time and you might love it. Where's your zest for life? Neither one of us is getting any younger. Live! Experience life while you can.”

“What about the food? I'm not sure I can eat strange things — and if that means I'm spoiled, then yes, I am.” I would
not
eat bugs. Or reptiles or any other gross thing like I saw on
Survivor.

“One day at a time, girl. One day at a time.”

I wanted to stay home. I wanted Sam to enjoy his retirement and serve God, but why couldn't he volunteer for medical clinics in Saginaw? I wanted him in the States. Let someone else work the mission field. Most of all, I wanted my safe, secure, boring life back.

I didn't think I had the chance of a snowball in August of getting what I wanted.

The passport did it. When the thing arrived in the mail a week later, I sat for a long time, holding it and thinking about what it represented. To my surprise, intrigue overshadowed my doubts. What would it be like to travel so far away? To witness the things Sam had talked about? Meet the people he spoke about with such warmth and dedication; behold the beautiful scenery he loved so much?

How would I make myself get on the plane?

Later that evening I summoned enough nerve to pick up the phone. I had kept Sam waiting long enough. I dove into dark waters, headfirst.

I, Johanna Holland, was going to the end of the earth.

January 15th arrived long before I was ready. The past few days had been utter chaos. I'd made list upon list, trying to ready myself for the upcoming adventure. Nelda and Jim promised to look after Mom and Pop and to assume Itty's care while I was gone. I was going to miss that pup. Sam had updated my inoculations. Nelda and Jim drove us to the airport to see us off.

Jim hugged me. “You're going to be fine, Johanna. Have faith.”

I hugged him. He was solid, dependable, and symbolic of all I was leaving behind. He released me and reached to shake Sam's hand. I walked into Nelda's waiting arms.

“Keep trusting, girl. I'll be praying.”

I managed a faint smile. “Then my worries are over.”

“Got that straight.” She gave me the thumbs-up. “Monday morning faith — not!”

They announced our flight, and we boarded the regional jet in Saginaw to fly to O'Hare and then begin the long flight with a thirteen-hour time difference from Chicago to Papua New Guinea. My insides were pulp. I had been up half the night popping antacid like M&Ms.

I stowed my carry-on bag beneath the seat in front of me and fastened my seat belt. My nerves hummed like a high wire. If Sam hadn't been seated between me and the aisle, I might have bolted and chased Jim and Nelda down for a ride home. The fear of disappointing Sam kept me seated. I had flown once in my life, the year the librarian's convention was in Los Angeles. California was too far to drive, but for the prior twenty consecutive years, thank goodness, the conventions were held in states where I either took the bus or drove.

The flight attendant stood in front of us, giving a demonstration. “In the unlikely event of a water landing, your seat cushion will serve as a flotation device.”

I didn't want to hear about emergencies, imaginable or otherwise. A picture of me clinging to the flimsy seat while a school of hungry sharks circled me consumed my thoughts. My stomach heaved and my eyes located the paper bag tucked in the seat pocket in front of me. Maybe I wouldn't need it, but I located it just the same.

Staring out the small window, I thought about all I was leaving behind, the safety, the people I loved …

My eyes narrowed. The same people, come to think of it, who had worked very hard to convince me to make this journey to the unknown. Maybe I wasn't as loved as I'd imagined.

Sam reached over and took my hand. “Relax. It'll be fine.”

I memorized every instruction, every nuance, and repeated them over and over in my mind. In the improbable event of loss of pressure or a water landing (translation: if the plane went down), I was to reach out and grasp the dangling yellow oxygen mask, place it over my nose, and tighten the strap, then
calmly
(she kept emphasizing that word) rip off the back of my seat and clutch it to my pounding chest. I could do that — faster than you can slap a tick.

An overweight businessman wearing a blue shirt with underarm sweat stains loomed over me still trying to force a bulging backpack into the overhead bin. Sitting next to the window, a young woman with earphones kept beat with the music, slapping her hands on her jeans. Perspiration rolled from my temples; the plane's interior was hot.

I glanced at Sam, this man I loved more than life itself. Who was this person? And why was I putting my future in his hands?