Monday Morning Faith (38 page)

I smiled and touched my friend's hand. “You know, Nelda, you're a real nice person.”

“You just finding that out?” She took my arm. “Come on. Let's visit the ice cream shop. Too bad we can't send thirty quarts of rocky road to Papua New Guinea.”

My prayers that night took on a new urgency. God hadn't forgotten the people of the village. He'd sent men like Sam, and Bud, and Frank, women like Eva and Mary to work among them to help make a better life. And he hadn't forgotten me and my problem. He cared about the people in Papua New Guinea as much as he did for me. I couldn't forget that.

My life had evolved since I'd come home. My faith had grown stronger, and yet I was beginning to see my life was like Scripture indicated — a vapor, a brief puff of breath on a cold morning.

And more important, what I did with that vapor was my choice.

I pulled out of the library lot after work Monday evening. Bright sunshine filtered through leaves turning vibrant golds and browns. I'd exited the parking lot every evening at this hour for twenty years. Traffic was usually light, not a car in sight. I pulled out — and suddenly the air filled with the sound of skids, a horn blaring, and squealing brakes. Events happened so fast I didn't have time to think. I caught a brief flash of car lights in my peripheral vision, an angry face, and a man shaking a fist at me. The car swerved, missing the driver's side of my car by a hand's breadth. Stunned, I sat in the middle of the intersection, unable to move. The car had sped on, but fear incapacitated me. I spotted oncoming lights and heard the sound of car horns again. My heartbeat hammered in my ear.

Springing to life, I mashed down on the gas and careened into the left lane.
Dear Father! I could have been killed!
The oncoming vehicle had barely missed me, and at the speed he was traveling, the impact would have been …

Words from Scripture filled my mind: “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then …”

And then
. I smiled. And suddenly I knew with such clarity it took my breath away. I
knew
what my vapor would count for.

“Thank you, God,” I whispered. “Sorry I took so long.”

TWENTY-FOUR

S
o, here I was, Johanna Holland, halfway across the ocean on a 747, on my way back to Papua New Guinea to tell the man I loved that maybe I wasn't called to full-time mission work, but I was called to love him. Maybe I wasn't called to live on foreign soil, but I could keep the home fires burning in Saginaw, Michigan. If marrying Sam meant a long-distance union, I could live with that. I could accompany my husband on shorter mission trips and enjoy my work with the children during those trips. And when we were apart? I could pray for Sam, encourage him, and support him in whatever endeavor he chose to represent God.

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 L
ORD
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.