“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?
The flight attendant was still talking about the possible perils. I tried to focus but noted very few of our fellow travelers were listening. If we did encounter disaster, I doubted calm would reign. We’d have no idea what to do. I decided to pray the entire trip. If I kept God’s attention long enough, he’d be alert to any strange happenings.
The plane taxied down the runway, then took off with a rush of engines. I’d prepared myself for the mighty thrust that sent us airborne. The hushed whoosh, the sense of lifting, lifting. We were in the air! The ground and the runway rushed beneath us. Heaven help us, we are flying. My eyes skimmed the packed cabin. Most of us were overweight. What if our combined pounds brought us spiraling to the ground? Would it help if I held my breath?
The flight to O’Hare was fast and (thank you, God) uneventful. We changed planes and after a short delay took off for Papua New Guinea. I watched the United States, my country, slip away beneath us. I’d really done it. I’d burned my bridges. The pilot would never turn around and take me back to the airport.
Sam leaned his seat back and encouraged me to do the same. He took my hand, holding it, his presence calming my jitters. “Let me tell you something about Papua New Guinea.”
I knew he was hoping to distract me, and that was fine with me. I needed a little distraction.
“One of the primary languages spoken is Kairiru.”
“That’s a language? Sounds more like something to drink.”
He chuckled. “The word Kairiru comes from a lake in the extinct volcanic crater at the top of the mountain.”
“There are volcanoes in Papua New Guinea?”
“Extinct, Johanna. Legend has it that the lake is named after a powerful supernatural being that created the lake and still lives there.”
“Supernatural being? Like what?”
“Oh, it’s supposed to have a body like a huge snake and the head of a thick-bearded man. It came to the volcano after an argument with its brother.”
Huge and snake were not two words I wanted to hear in the same sentence. A snake with the head of a man? “Where does the brother live?”
“Nowhere. It’s folklore.” He brought my hand to his mouth and pressed it to his lips. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.” He shifted position, stretching his long legs in the cramped aisle. “Most modern Papua New Guineans have gone to high school and beyond.”
“Do they speak English?”
“Many do, although our village is archaic and remote. We’ve established the barest communication.”
How would I be able to connect with these people? I didn’t want to fail Sam. I knew as much about the landscape by this time as he did, but I was ill-equipped to serve the Lord in a strange land.
I looked up to find Sam’s eyes on me. The smile lines made me think he knew what I was thinking. His grip on my hand tightened. “God will meet your needs, Johanna. You can teach love and preach love, but the true message of love is never completed until you give love. You’re about to do that, and God’s about to work a mi
racle in your life.”
How I prayed that was true and not just Sam’s desire. God promised to provide the need, but not always the desire — that much I did believe.
“The missionaries I’ll be staying with. They speak English, don’t they?”
“They do. You’ll be staying with Eva and Frank Millet. Their home is St. Louis. They’ve been serving in Papua New Guinea for twelve years now.”
“So long.” My time there would be minuscule compared to twelve years. The time spent there would be a mere blink in my lifetime. I resolved to cease complaining and do whatever I could to serve where I was needed.
Sam talked throughout the long flight as the plane left American soil and soared over the Pacific Ocean. He kept my mind off flying by telling me stories, some funny and some sad, about the natives and the missionaries. Under his spell I relaxed somewhat and started to feel better about the visit.
“We won’t stay with the same family?”
“No, there isn’t room. I’ll be staying next door with Bud and Mary Laske. They’ve been working with the villagers for four years.”
Four years? Even that sounded like a long time to me. Four years was a commitment — and I could see a problem. Everyone on this trip would be a dedicated, called missionary. Everyone except me. I was the imposter, the outsider, the one who was there because I couldn’t think of any way to get out of it. God knew this wasn’t a serious commitment for me.
How did he feel about that?
He was an all-wise, all-knowing God, right? Then he knew I wouldn’t be worth a stuffed fig as a missionary, and that’s why he hadn’t called me to the field. The admission took a lot of pressure off. I’d enjoy the journey — treat it like a vacation. The days would pass, and at the end of my visit I’d be winging my way back home and Sam would understand, more than I could ever make him understand with words, that I was not suited for his life.
What if that doesn’t happen?
A chill raced through me and I leaned back in my seat, willing tense muscles to relax. My fears were imaginary ones. I was open to a miracle.
The plane shifted hard, jolting me into an upright position. What was that? A quick glance around me revealed most of the other passengers remained unperturbed, as if they hadn’t noticed the blip. An older woman seated across the aisle looked up for a second, then returned to her book. Since I’d flown once, maybe I was attaching too much importance to the unexpected movement, though it had been rather nerve-wracking. I leaned back and closed my eyes, willing myself to relax.
The aircraft bounced. No one could mistake it the third time. There was a scattering of startled cries. I jerked upright, darting frightened glances in all directions. The flight attendants looked calm enough, but that was part of their jobs. Paragraph four, page one in the training manual: “Never scream out loud. There is a strong chance you will throw the passengers into a panic.”
I gripped the seat back in front of me. Never mind that we were cruising at thirty-six thousand feet. I wanted off.
“Johanna, are you aware that more people are killed by mules a year than air crashes?”
“I stay away from mules too.”
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing a small problem.”
Understatement of the year! Call it what it was! Impending death! Spiraling to the ground in a blazing trail of smoke!
For an instant I thought I heard harp music. I squeezed Sam’s hand, thanking God that this man was here beside me. If plummeting from the air in a doomed airplane was to be the outcome of this improbable relationship, then I was so thankful that Sam was by my side — even though it was his fault I was here in the first place.
It struck me that I was being selfish. Sam, given a choice, wasn’t into death pacts. No doubt he’d as soon live, with or without me.
The pilot continued. “We have what’s called an engine cough. I’m going by the manual, and we’ve been cleared for an emergency landing, but often when a plane is taken to a different altitude the problem will correct itself. I’m going to change altitude and see what happens. I’ll stay in touch.”
You do that. Close touch. At least changing altitude might give us a shorter distance to plummet.
Oh, why hadn’t I listened to my intuition and stayed home?
NINE
I gripped the armrests so tight my knuckles looked like hard white knobs. I fixed my eyes outside on the wing, looking for a flare or a trail of black smoke. Bits of the flight attendant’s safety speech came back to haunt me. Why hadn’t I taken notes? I ran through the basic points. Seat cushion became a flotation device. Check. I didn’t want to think of the implications of that. Oxygen mask will descend. Check. At least we can breathe on our way down. Barf bag? Check. Judging from the way my stomach churned, I’d need that soon.
Sam leafed through his research material, giving me cause to have serious doubts about his sanity. Didn’t he realize we had an emergency going on? What good would all that research do him while he was floating in the ocean holding on to the back of his seat, surrounded by big fish with sharp teeth, all of which considered him part of the food chain?
No doubt his calm demeanor was the result of faith. He trusted that God was in control of the situation; I, on the other hand, thought God might need a little advice. Do something!
Oh, if I only had Sam’s strength, his faith. My own conviction, tentative and unsure, had taken flight with the first thump. I’d never tried to grow spiritually. I’d been content with my life and failed to seek out the real purpose of my being on earth. It was so clear. One is not put on this planet to trip through the daffodils and sing “The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Music.”
I wasn’t alone in my soul-searching; others were tightlipped. A young mother clutched her small child to her chest, lips moving in what I took to be a silent prayer.
After what seemed an eternity, the ride smoothed out and the pilot’s voice came back over the intercom. “Good news, folks. The problem seems to be solved.”
A collective sigh, like the rushing of a mighty wind, filled the cabin. I relaxed and dabbed the cold sweat from my upper lip. Sam glanced over. “Too hot in here?”
“Temperature’s fine.” What a great time to be asking. I’d just had a total meltdown right here beside him, and he hadn’t noticed. Men.
He indicated the research material. “I’ve read the notes you took for me. They’re very engrossing.”
“You didn’t notice we had a problem with the plane?”
He frowned. “Nothing serious — the pilot was going by the manual.”
We had to find a better way to communicate. When I needed him, I wanted him to be present in both mind and body. Not engrossed in a bunch of notes.
Hours passed. The flight attendants pushed a cart down the aisle, taking orders for snacks and drinks. I ate dinner and had a bag of peanuts and a Coke for dessert. Then, while Sam was immersed in study, I slept. The pilot’s voice woke me again. My eyes jerked open, but I relaxed when I realized the pilot was announcing our arrival in Port Moresby, the capital of Papua New Guinea.
I’d be grateful the flight was over if I weren’t so sure what awaited me was probably even worse.
I sat up, pulling myself together, still dazed from my long sleep. I lifted my shoulders, rotating them to ease muscle stiffness, and the plane jolted again. I grabbed at Sam’s arm, knocking his glasses askew in the process. His book flew into the aisle. He looked at me, eyes wide, and heat filled my face. But I didn’t turn loose of his arm.
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Sorry about that, folks. That last jolt had nothing to do with the engines. We’re in our landing pattern and we happened to get caught in another jet’s wake.”
We were that close to another plane? If this flight ever ended and we were on the ground, I was going to walk back to Saginaw. A daunting task, since an ocean stretched between Papua New Guinea and the USA, and to my knowledge, Jesus and Pet
er were the only ones — man, woman, or child — who ever walked on water. But I was tempted to give it a shot.
The seat belt light flashed on and Sam grinned. “We’re here. Get ready for the experience of your life.”
I tried, but there was no way I could share his anticipation.
The plane landed with a gentle bounce. I gathered my belongings and prepared to meet what lurked on the other side of the plane door. We taxied to a stop. I heard the click of seat belts. Passengers began to stand and step out into the aisle. Sam stood and motioned me out in front of him.
The airport was crowded and noisy. People were talking in different languages, most of which I couldn’t understand. We found our luggage and lined up to go through customs. The official was thorough, running his hands through the contents of my suitcase with practiced ease. We showed our passports and were allowed to move on.
Sam put our cases on a cart and I followed him out the door into blazing sunshine. A driver met us and helped load our possessions into the trunk of the cab. Heat was already building. The air reeked of exhaust fumes and hot pavement. We drove away from the airport. Traffic in Papua New Guinea moved on the left. I’d read that travel on highways outside of major towns could be hazardous. Crime was rampant in the city, and motor vehicle accidents were common causes of serious injury. Several trucks passed with passengers standing or sitting in the beds. Was it any wonder that drivers and passengers are advised to wear seat belts?
Generally, the roads appeared to be in poor repair, and I saw at least three vehicles with flat tires. Potholes and debris littered the roadways. I suspected that during the rainy season landslides were a problem on some stretches of the Highlands Highway. I spotted a criminal roadblock ahead. Signs advising visitors to consult with local authorities or the US Embassy before traveling on the Highlands Highway were clearly evident.
So all my fear about dealing with living here for weeks was for naught. We’d be attacked and murdered long before we reached our destination.
I was surprised to see Port Moresby was modern, yet different. Exotic. The trees and flowers were strange varieties I didn’t recognize. Most of the natives I saw would have looked at home in any major American city, but a smattering of individuals wore exotic clothing. The buildings themselves had a subtle, foreign look about them, although I’d have been hard pressed to describe what made them different.
Monday Morning Faith Page 9