Monday Morning Faith (39 page)

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 front 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.”

Color flooded my cheeks. “Thank you …” I paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, from what you hear?”

He winked. “Come on, Johanna. You don't think I would sit by and be ignorant about your recuperation? That I didn't think about you every hour, pray for you, wonder what you were feeling, how you were doing? What kind of man do you take me for?”

I crossed my arms. “I
know
what kind of man you are, Sam. But I smell a rat.”

He shrugged, his smile growing. “As a matter of fact, you smell many. I've spoken to Mom and Pop once a week, and they write me twice a month. You've got a great set of parents. They love and care about you, you know. Then there's Nelda and Jim; they've become more than friends. There've been a lot of postage and satellite calls on your behalf since last March.”

“I can't believe this.” I'd thought I was alone in making my decisions, sorting through my thoughts, coming — with God's help — to my own conclusions. And now I knew the truth: everyone else, including God, had known all along what I was going to do.

“Well, then …” I might as well accept the subterfuge. I was confident it wouldn't be the last. “How
do
you feel about my conclusions?”

“About us?”

“About my solution to our problem. You can continue your mission work; I'll accompany you when I can, but the rest of the time I'll remain in Saginaw and raise funds for your work, support you in prayers, speak to local church groups.”

He slid his arms around me. “Well, now, I don't know if I can do without you
too
often during the year.”

I smiled. “I know it won't be easy, but who knows? God has a way of doing things when they're least expected. I'll keep praying for direction; I'll come with you a couple of trips a year; after all, Poo is getting to be like my own child.” I grinned down at the imp who still held tight to my right hand.