Monday Morning Faith (34 page)

Then they were loading me into the plane, tightening the strap. Sam was no longer beside me. I reached out to touch the plane's window and get his attention — had to talk to him. Hot. The glass was hot. My hand fell back to my side.

My last glimpse of Sam's face haunted me. We weren't going to make it. Our love wasn't part of our destiny. We'd been trying to work
our
will, not God's. This crazy test, this impossible adventure, had proven love couldn't conquer all. I would not,
could
not, allow Sam to give up his work for me. I couldn't die with that on my conscience.

God couldn't do this to me.

The plane turned and bounced. With a thrust of the engine and a surge upward, I was released from the bonds of earth. I closed my eyes. Whatever happened now was in God's hands.

But then … wasn't it always?

TWENTY-TWO

C
lean sheets.

A room with four walls, sparkling glass windows, and a ceiling. What happened to the thatched roof and open window?

Opening first one eye, then the other, I realized I was in a hospital. What was I doing here, and where was Sam?

The door opened, and a slender young woman with dark hair and eyes entered. She was wearing hospital scrubs, but when she smiled a pleasant welcome it went right to my heart. I returned the smile. If I had to wake up in a strange room in a strange place, it was nice that the first person I saw was friendly.

“Good morning. I see you've decided to join the world again.” Her voice, soft with a musical lilt, greeted me. “My name is Priscilla.”

“Priscilla. Are you American?” My voice sounded rusty as if it hadn't been used in a while.

“I'm from Australia. My husband is here in Port Moresby, so I joined him.”

“I'm in Port Moresby?” So I was still in Papua New Guinea. When had I left the village, and why? “What's wrong with me?”

She shook her head. “You've been very ill, but you're better now.” She approached the bed, tucking the ends of rumpled sheets into the mattress.

I searched my mind and came up blank. “Sick in what way?”

Frowning, she appeared thoughtful. “Parasite. In here.” She tapped the middle of her chest.

“In my heart?”

“Your lung. The doctor will be in soon. He'll tell you more.”

“Am I getting better?”

“Oh, much better; God answered prayers.”

“Where's Sam?”

The young woman flashed another smile. “The gentleman who has remained by your side from the moment you arrived?”

“That would be Sam. Where is he?”

“Your doctor will be in to explain.” She fished in her apron pocket and brought out a small package. “You have mail.”

“Mail?” How long had I been here? One look and I saw cards from Mom and Pop, Nelda and Jim, Bud and Mary, Frank and Eva, and Sam. I must have been here quite awhile.

She stuck a thermometer in my ear, clicked it, wrote down the reading, and left the room. I opened and read my cards; the messages of love and caring brought tears to my eyes. Where
was
that doctor? I needed answers. According to the postmarks on the mail I'd been here several weeks.

I sank back against the pillow. Sam had remained by my bedside. Of course he would be here — thoughtful, kind, compassionate. Memories drifted back … lying in the boat, crossing the lagoon. The stretcher ride through the jungle, the plane ride, and the terrible fever.

A memory surfaced, surprising in its clarity. Sam holding both my hands, his words so clear that for a moment I was certain he spoke them in the silence of this room.
“Maybe I've been wrong, Johanna …”

A shiver raced through me. Would he give up God's work? Turn his back on the village and its people? I couldn't let Sam make that kind of sacrifice for me. If I couldn't adjust to the climate or the rough conditions of the village, it was I who had to sacrifice, not Sam. I had no choice but to leave him and let him continue his work.

The nurse returned carrying a large crystal bowl containing water and floating yellow orchids. She held the gift out for my inspection, and I touched a delicate petal. “They're pretty.”

“From the nice man, Sam.”

Warmth curled inside at the mention of his name. “Where is he now?”

“He returned to the village; we were to notify him the moment you woke. I'm sure the doctor will take care of it, but first he'll want to examine you. You've been asleep many days.”

My gaze moved to the cards, and their poignant messages floated through my mind.
“Praying for you, Mom and Pop.” “With deepest love, Sam.”

I closed my eyes, sick at heart. Sam must not be told I was awake. He must not be notified when I was recovered enough to go home. I wasn't strong enough to walk away from him and his love face-to-face. Better to run back to Saginaw, leaving him a message not to follow me.

Was I capable of being that altruistic? Yes, for Sam.

The nurse left and I closed my eyes, overcome by exhaustion. Just opening my eyes sapped my strength. Any additional thought was out of the question.

About an hour later a solemn-faced doctor arrived. He studied my chart and then looked up. “You've been gravely ill.”

“From what?”

“A lung parasite, one common to the jungle area.” He gave me the technical name, but it meant nothing. “Your recovery will be long and frustrating.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Almost a month — three and a half weeks, to be precise.”

A month
. I'd slept almost an entire month. I couldn't believe it.

“When you're improved enough to travel, I'll arrange a medical flight back to the States, where you can be with your family. You'll need support to overcome this illness, but in time you will recover. I'll advise Dr. Littleton that you are awake.”

“No.”

He paused, one brow lifting. “I promised the doctor that the moment you awoke I would send for him. He is very concerned.”

“I am asking you not to.” I turned my face to the wall, forcing my words. “I don't want him to know I'm awake. If he calls or visits, tell him there's been no change.”

“I can't do that. I won't lie.”

“Then arrange to have me flown to the States tomorrow.”

“I would not advise that.”

“I'll sign any paper you request.” I knew he couldn't release me without my assuming full responsibility for my weakened condition. But my mind was made up. I had to leave Sam. I wanted to go home.

He stood silent for a long moment and then nodded. “As you wish, but I refuse to release you for at least two more days.”

I prayed that Sam wouldn't come for a visit within that time.
God, you have to help me with this; I'm not strong enough do to it on my own. You know I'm doing it for you and for Sam.
“Prepare the necessary papers, and please notify my parents that I'm coming home. I assume you have their information.”

“We do.”

I nodded, closing my eyes. I couldn't talk anymore. I was going home. It was over. If Sam was to continue his work — the Lord's work — I had to end this relationship. He was caving. Even with my still-fuzzy mental condition I remembered seeing it in his eyes that day on the landing strip. Hearing it in his voice.

Sam Littleton loved me, and he wouldn't give his heart lightly. Any woman would be lucky to find someone so faithful and steadfast. But that love left him torn between his purpose in life and his feelings for me. How easy it would be to latch onto his weakness, how very easy.

The old Johanna might have done so. The changed one wouldn't. I refused to do that to Sam or to the Lord. Or to myself. God wouldn't bless such a union, and I was in need of a blessing.

I reached for my Bible — someone, maybe the nurse, had left it on my table. When I opened it, my eyes scanned the pages until one particular passage stood out: Psalm 37:24: “Though he stumble, he will not fall, for the L
ORD
upholds him with his hand.” Closing my eyes, I wondered how long he could uphold a confused child.

Two days later, I left Papua New Guinea. Thankfully, Sam hadn't come or called, so no one had told him of my recovery or departure. By the time he came to the hospital looking for me, I would be gone. I'd left a long letter to be given to him, explaining my decision to leave without seeing him again. I'd struggled over the words, and phrases came back to haunt me.

“Our love is futile; it's better to forget me.”
I knew I'd never forget him.

“I'm sorry, but I fear I've mistaken fascination for love. The feelings between us would not be strong enough to build a solid foundation for a lasting marriage.”
I knew it was a lie and that it would hurt him, but I had no choice. If he knew I loved him, he would never walk away from me. Nor would he let me walk away. He would come after me. I was sure of it.

Now when he got my letter he would know there could be no Johanna
and
Sam.

Only Johanna.

Only Sam.

A sad ending to a near love.

I traveled by ambulance to the airport, watching Papua New Guinea pass by the window. A cloud of depression had settled around me. I'd come with such hope, but now …

I'd never come back.

A verse I'd read, Psalm 32:7, filled my mind and heart: “You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.” My morning devotional rang in my ears.
But where, O God, is my song? My deliverance?

It took a few minutes to transfer me from the ambulance to the waiting plane. I had no luggage. Nothing but articles the hospital had provided. Priscilla, my sweet nurse, gave me a snapshot of the two of us together; that's all I had to show for two months in this strange country. I shook my head that I'd once thought my personal things important enough to fight for. Apparently something about a near-death experience changed a person's outlook. About a lot of things.

The flights were uneventful. I slept my way back across the ocean in drugged oblivion. When I landed in Saginaw, Mom, Pop, Nelda, and Jim were waiting behind the yellow line, their expectant, warm, loving faces saying, “Welcome home.” Jim was holding an armful of balloons. Nelda waved a white banner that read, “We love you, Johanna.” A group of my fellow library employees and some church members had gathered in the terminal. When the attendants unloaded the stretcher into the waiting ambulance, I managed a weak wave.

“Hoo-ha, girlfriend!” Nelda screeched. “We love you!”