Monday Morning Faith (26 page)

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 jaw-line, 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.

He was too far away to make out the angry words spewing from his mouth, but the meanings were quite evident. The man was ticked.

I waded through the waist-high grass, trying to step in Sam's tracks, all too aware a bull python or something worse could be lurking. The tires of the plane had cut deep ruts in the tall wet grass. Frank was trying to calm down the pilot — who turned out to be the same man who'd flown us out here … what was his name? Oh yes, Mike. He ranted and raved, waving his arms, pointing to the overgrown strip.

I caught a few of Mike's heated words. “… could have been killed! You're supposed to keep it cut … Son of a — ”

I made myself think he'd finished with
biscuit eater.

Frank tried to explain. “We didn't expect you for a couple of — ”

“What did you plan to do? Run out here and cut it when you heard me coming? Do you know how
dangerous
this is?”

“What are you doing here anyway?” Bud stepped in. “You're not due for another two weeks, and no one told us the schedule had changed.”

“I can't come at the regular time! I'm having my gallbladder out next week!”

“Sorry.” Frank tried to shake the man's hand. “Our prayers will be with — ”

Mr. Personality spun on his heel. “Let's get this stuff unloaded so I can get in the air before it rains again.”

We pitched in unloading supplies and stacking the boxes and crates at the edge of the landing strip. Mary volunteered to stand watch so the villagers wouldn't help themselves to the bounty.

“We're sorry about the condition of the landing strip.” Frank pitched in to help the men unload the craft. “We'll keep it mowed, even if we have to do it in the rain.”

“I won't land next time it's like this.” Mike glowered. “If that baby isn't as smooth as a new laid egg, I'll keep on going, and your supplies will go back with me.”

We'd have to use heavy scythes to cut through the brush. It would be a lot of work, and who knew what lurked in the thick growth. Still, though Mike was far from likable, I had to admit he was right.

The workers emptied the plane, and Mike climbed back into the cockpit, then fought to turn the aircraft. The narrow strip, I'd been told, was bad enough when mowed. Now the closeness of the tree line and the tall grass made maneuvering the plane that much more difficult. We watched as he finally taxied down the runway, praying as the small craft emerged from the thick grass, then rose and banked to the east.

We moved to the cartons where Mary stood guard. Sam began handing boxes to the villagers, motioning for them to carry the items to the landing area so they could be ferried to the missionary huts.

Frank glanced at Bud. “We have to keep the grass cut.”

Bud nodded. “We'll get on it the first possible day we can get a mower or machete through the wet grass. If we make Mike mad enough he won't be back, and he's our lifeline to the outside world.”

I stared at him. Without the plane we would be stranded? What about the boat that had brought us here? I recalled the small vessel and realized it wouldn't hold enough supplies to last the week.

They'd keep the strip mowed all right. If necessary I'd chew it down. From now on, maintaining that strip was at the top of my priority list.

SIXTEEN

A
lmost every night the Laskes' kerosene lamp burned long into the wee hours of the morning as Sam made notes on the villagers' language. He hungered so to reach these people, to give them better lives, while I …

I hungered for a cheeseburger. And comfortable shoes instead of thick boots.

I slapped my palm on the clinic cabinet. Why didn't the fire of evangelism burn in my soul? God must be so aggravated with me. I was disgusted with myself, and I didn't want to consider what Sam and the others were feeling.

Bud was helping in the clinic today so I had free time on my hands. After I finished cleaning, I decided I could use some privacy to clear my head. I'd brought a small tablet of writing paper and a ballpoint pen with me this morning, thinking I would jot down some of my conflicting, confusing emotions. Maybe that would be a first step to understanding all that was going on inside me.

Poo had been underfoot all morning. I stopped what I was doing and pointed to Mary, who was gathering children in a circle, preparing to play games. “Go. Over there. Go.”

The little girl furrowed her brow.

“Yes, Poo. Go over
there
.”

She gazed up at me, eyes wide and mouth half open, like a baby bird wanting to be fed. The scarf I'd given her was tied around her waist, and the blinking light was around her head. Already we'd been through three sets of AAA batteries. She fingered the scarf now, uncertainty clouding her eyes dark. I took her by the arm and led her to the circle, easing her down on the ground with the others. “Poo,
stay
.”

I sounded like I was giving a dog command. Stay? The child didn't know what I'd said, but Eva did and she gave me a pointed look. Okay, I wasn't a saint — nobody in the village mistook me for that. But I needed time alone. Privacy was nonexistent. Even in my cubicle with the curtain drawn at night, I could hear Frank and Eva; one of them snored like a pig in the sun.

I backed away, trying to ignore the query in Poo's eyes. She started to get up, and I held out my hands, palms open like a traffic cop.
“Stay.”

She might not have understood my words, but my tone came through loud and clear. She wasn't wanted, and the knowledge wounded her deeply.

Clutching my tablet, I turned and walked off. A glance over my shoulder told me she was obeying, but not willingly. Big tears rolled down her cheek. Great. More self-reproach to deal with.

Poo meant well, and I knew she loved me, but her constant presence had worn me down.

The jungle was quiet and cool compared to the village, where heat beat down on the thatched clinic roof. I didn't venture far, and I kept a close eye out for snakes and other critters. The need for solitude could have driven me to seek a private moment here among the palms, but the bush was the only hope I had for being alone.

Today I was careful, breaking branches on bushes to mark the short trail. After the way I'd treated Poo, she likely wouldn't bother to rescue me again, and I didn't blame her. A fresh twinge of remorse struck me. I used to be a nice person.

As soon as I was out of sight and hearing distance of the village, I inspected the jungle floor for insects and then knelt down. On my knees, I peered up through thick branches with guilt crowding my heart. I couldn't think of the words needed to express my thoughts. After a while I realized it didn't matter because God knew my heart and there wasn't any point in trying to camouflage my feelings with holy, pious talk.

“God, I need help. I don't know what I want, except maybe to go home. I don't fit in here; I'm sure by now we agree on that point. I believe at times I do more harm than good in gaining the villagers' respect. We might not speak the same language, but we share the same emotions, and they know, God. They
know
the others' dedication and love far exceed mine. If you wanted, you could give me a heart the size of this jungle for these people, but you haven't. I'm doing better than I was a week ago — two weeks ago — but there's a huge void to cover before I can begin to match Sam's enthusiasm. Lord, all I see are thieves, half-naked women, and men with betel-stained or missing teeth. Why can't I see the villagers through your eyes, eyes of unconditional love? Your love.”

An image came to mind: Poo's Bum — skinny, dried up, and smelling of sweat and rotting garbage. I shuddered. And yet I knew as well as I knew my own name that God loved that man as much as he loved me. Maybe more.