No Distance Too Far

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Thank you.” She picked up the pitcher and the plate of cookies the cook’s assistant handed her across the counter.

  “Y’all have a good day now.” The soft southern way of speaking fell gently on her ears. “Have a good day.” As if one could fail to have a good day in a place of such beauty and serenity. No wonder missionaries liked to come back here for some respite. She strolled past the bed of vibrant peonies that hung droopy heads over the bamboo frame that kept them from being flattened by the rain. She had seen one floating in a clear glass bowl full of water and tipped upside down in a shallow bowl, which held it like it was in a vacuum. Like the water jar she used to set for the baby chicks, it bubbled out as the chicks drank from the saucer. Were the hens setting already? Had that nasty one made it through the winter without ending up in the stewpot? The back of her hands wore scars from being pecked by that hen. But she was such a good mother, managing to hatch and raise ten or twelve chicks with every setting. With her thoughts turned homeward, Astrid set the plate on the table and refilled the empty glasses.

  Dr. Gansberg held up his full glass. “When I look at this, I am reminded about the lecture on water in Africa. How scarce clean water is, how we will need to boil the water we drink and cook with.” He sipped from his glass, his eyes closed in bliss. “No one makes iced tea like the women in the South.”

  “That’s one of the things that concerns me,” Mrs. Gansberg said, her voice soft in the rustle of the magnolia trees overhead. “I know God says to fear not, but I have to be very careful not to do that. We went through a cholera epidemic after the spring floods one year, and I don’t want to do such a thing again.”

  Astrid thought to the lecture they’d heard that morning from a returning missionary regarding the fearsome health situation in Africa. He’d spoken about the huge black mamba snakes that were quick to inflict their often fatal bite. Was that why she was having so many nightmares? The people there took for granted their having to keep vigilance against vipers, wild animals, and insects.

  “And yet, in spite of all that,” the teacher had said, “the Christians in Africa are the most joyous people you will ever meet. They truly understand that God delivers them from evil, that He provides for their needs, and that He is right there to answer when they call.” He’d looked around at each of those listening. “And that, gentlemen and ladies, is why I keep going back to Africa.”

  A shiver had run up her back. Would she feel the same way after her two years? If she was allowed two years. And when did her thoughts turn from “have to go” to “be allowed to go”? This was one of those things that needed some thinking time.

  THAT NIGHT IN her room with the door to the veranda open and grateful for a screen door that foiled the nightly insects, she took out the journal she jotted in occasionally and wrote her question: Have to go or be allowed to go? She wrote the date. April 21, 1904.

  Today I realized that I have had a change in my attitude toward serving in Africa. All along I’ve been not wanting to go there, but only to return to Blessing. Now I realize that going there to serve those far less fortunate than us is a privilege, and if this is God’s will, I will go joyfully.

  She studied that last word—joyfully. Did she really feel that, or was it just a nice or good thing to say? There was a difference between going and going joyfully. Lord God, when did I turn into such a thinker? She smiled at that one. Maybe that was one of the reasons she was here—to learn to think, to ponder, to memorize God’s Word and let it sink deep into her most secret places, as the psalmist said. Feed on the Word.

  She sighed and closed her journal, picking up her Bible instead. Tonight she wanted to finish memorizing James. So turning to James chapter one, she closed her eyes and repeated it from memory, then on to chapter two, only stumbling in two places and sneaking a peek to correct herself. She read through the first half, remembering when Pastor Solberg talked about the tongue and the evil it could do. The part about the bit on a horse in chapter three was very clear to her, after having worked with horses through the years. How many times had she wished she’d not said something? After she had the first part finished, she picked up her writing pad and pencil. She’d thought of sitting at the desk with an ink pen and well, but a pencil was so much easier.

  Dear Mr. Landsverk,

  Thank you for the letter I received last week. I am grateful you have forgiven me for being so short with you. Interesting, is it not, what missing mail can do to a friendship? You were so wise to go home to your family like that. What a shock it must have been to see your father in such a state. Sometimes sorrow does that to a spouse. The body experiences the sorrow, as does the mind and heart.

  I am finding this a very peaceful interlude, for though I hear some of the others grumbling about all the work and study here, I can hardly keep from laughing. They ought to try medical school! I have been concerned that here I have no one to practice my medical skills on. My hands seem to itch for a stethoscope or scalpel, but if and when I go to Africa, I will dream of times of leisure like this.

  I am memorizing whole books of the Bible. One of our professors, the one who teaches Bible, says that we will not always have the Scriptures available, so we must have the Word of God inside of us so that the Holy Spirit can bring it to mind when we need it. I think I remember Pastor Solberg saying much the same thing and assigning memory passages. Now I am grateful for all that too.

  I cannot say I am missing the snow and cold of North Dakota. How Mor would love to see the flowers blooming here. As I learn more of Africa, I wonder why God has blessed our country so much more than that one. Someone said He is referred to as “the white man’s God.” How strange. Of course Dr. Red Hawk said the same thing. Is that how much of the world sees us?

  I think I am becoming more of a questioner, if that is possible.

  Your friend,

  Dr. Astrid Bjorklund

  She stared at the letter for a few moments. She already looked forward to hearing a reply and yet didn’t have that anxious anticipation she knew Sophie had had over Hamre or even the soft anticipation Grace had had waiting for a letter from Jonathan. But Sophie’s second marriage to Garth was calmer. Maybe all the medical training had taken some of the romance out of a possible relationship for her.

  She addressed the envelope and picked up the ongoing letter to her mor and far.

  April 21 we sat under a whispering tree, drinking iced tea and nibbling on lemon cookies. Of course Dr. Gansberg does not nibble. In two bites the cookie is gone. His wife tries to remonstrate with him, but he gives her that special smile you give Far, and he reaches for another cookie.

  I have been in a wondering mood lately, just in case you haven’t noticed. As I memorize Scripture, I have to think about it more. Perhaps that is one reason to memorize it, correct? I am in the book of James now, and goodness but James wrote a diatribe about the tongue. It can start a raging fire, and it makes me think of some of the hurtful things people have said through the years. How sad that we let ourselves do that when we could instead give someone words that are like golden apples or honey, as the psalmist says. I want to do the latter.

  How are Emmy and Inga getting along? Are they fast friends by now? I imagine Carl is feeling left out. I suppose by now he is twice the size of when I saw him.

  Thank you for telling me about Gus and Maydell’s wedding. With Grace engaged to Jonathan, that just leaves Deborah and me who are still single. We will probably turn into old maids one of these days.

  How is little Benny doing? I so fell in love with him and almost wished I could adopt him myself. And what about Elizabeth? You didn’t answer my questions yet. Is she feeling better?

  I will address this letter tonight and send it off to you. Thank you for loving God and living His love for me.

  Your loving daughter,

  Astrid

  With two letters ready to mail, she thought of writing a third—to Benny. If she printed carefully would he be able to read it now? She blinked
and stretched. Then again, maybe tomorrow night. She’d gotten into the habit of turning her light out by ten o’clock. In spite of nightmares, she slept peacefully here, perhaps because she wasn’t listening for a summons during the night. Which made the nightmares even more confusing. Should she have asked Mor to pray about them?

  DEAN HIGHSMITH STOPED her in the hall the next morning. “Dr. Bjorklund, the committee would like to conduct your interview tomorrow morning at ten.”

  Astrid took a deep breath, studying his face for any information. “Thank you. Do I need to bring anything?”

  “Just yourself. I’ll see you in the conference room then.”

  Astrid inhaled deeply. All right, Father, how do I keep from stewing on this for the next twenty-four or twenty-six hours?

  A verse floated into her mind from the Sermon on the Mount. Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. She chuckled to herself. When this was all said and done, she’d have to tell Pastor Solberg about it. In the meantime she’d do what she needed to do and let God take care of tomorrow. Please, Lord, help me keep from thinking on—no, stewing on—no, be honest and call it downright worrying, for that is what it is.

  10

  Astrid took another deep breath. Lord, I want to want what you choose, so please guide me through this process, and may the decision be yours, not mine. With a fluttering heart she entered the conference room.

  “Welcome, Dr. Bjorklund. It is good of you to come,” said Dean Highsmith.

  She was glad to see he would be leading the meeting. She remembered him to be fair-minded in her first interview with him. Schooling her features in a pleasant smile, she said, “Thank you.” Was that the appropriate answer?

  “Please be seated.” He nodded to the only vacant chair remaining at the table.

  Astrid took her seat, wishing her stomach would sit down with her and not go flitting about the ceiling like a moth after a lighted lamp. She nodded to those around the table as they were introduced. Rev. Thompkins, who taught the New Testament class, smiled at her as if it were just the two of them for a discussion. She breathed a sigh of relief, only a little sigh and as silent as possible so they wouldn’t detect how tightly she was strung.

  The man at the foot of the table with a neatly trimmed white beard shuffled the papers on the table in front of him. “Now, Dr. Bjorklund, we have some questions for you.”

  Astrid swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. What else could she do? Fear crept in, tapped on her shoulder, and leered, his dark eyes glittering.

  “First of all, I do hope you have enjoyed your studies here, as I am sure they were quite different from those at medical school. We have never before had a young female come here directly after her medical schooling.”

  So I am the first. Is that good or bad? God, this is in your hands. She’d quit counting the times she’d told herself that since arising at dawn to sit out on her veranda and listen to the world come to life. She’d not heard meadowlarks calling, but other birds sang, and she’d wished she knew what they were. Oh, to be back out there.

  Would dawn in Africa be like that? Another question she would ask the missionary on furlough who’d spoken to the group.

  “I have. This has been a marvelous respite. The weather in either Illinois or North Dakota . . .” She shook her head, eliciting chuckles from those who knew what she meant. “Spring has barely started in either of those states yet.”

  “One thing we’d like to know, and I understand you wrote about this in your essays, what is it that made you decide to come here?”

  “Do you mean here to this place or to the missionary school?”

  “Both would be good.”

  “Rev. Schuman had a hand in both. He spoke at Blessing Lutheran Church last summer, and when he said that medical missionaries were needed, I felt he was looking right at me. I have struggled with that thought ever since. Was . . . is God calling me into missionary service? I have not heard any direct answers, but I knew that I did not want to go to Africa. I am a homebody, and I thought He was calling me to be a doctor in our town of Blessing, to help found a hospital and outreach clinics, especially to those on the Indian reservations. I have attended six months of a surgical rotation at Alfred Morganstein Hospital for Women and Children in Chicago, and I passed all their tests to be a fully certified medical doctor. My mother has always said that God only guides us one step at a time. So without any more clarity than that, I asked for admittance here because Rev. Schuman said I should come here. And if God is calling me to Africa, he, I mean Rev. Schuman, would like me to come to work with him.” She heard several small chuckles in spite of the thundering of her heart.

  Nodding as he spoke, the man said, “I see. And what do you believe now?”

  Astrid unclenched her fingers in her lap. “I came here saying, ‘Lord, I do not want to go to Africa.’ Then I realized I was saying, or rather pleading, ‘Lord, do I have to go to Africa?’ The other day I heard myself praying . . .” She paused, swallowed, and sniffed. She heard one of the women at the table sniff too. With a deep breath she continued. “Praying, ‘Lord, if you will it, I will go to Africa.’ And yesterday afternoon, I heard myself saying, ‘Lord, if this is your will, I will joyfully go to Africa.’ ” She blinked several times and felt a tear meander down her cheek. The hush in the room made her hesitate to look at those around her.

  “God be praised,” someone further down the table said.

  “Thank you, young lady. Now, I see here that you have asked for a two-year term of service.”

  “Yes, because I do know I am needed in Blessing too.”

  “You think God won’t provide for the needs of your people there?” someone asked.

  Astrid started to answer, paused, and thought a long moment. She blinked and barely shook her head. “I never thought of it that way.”

  Dean Highsmith coughed into his hand.

  Surely he is covering up a chuckle. The thought made her want to smile at him.

  “I’d like to add something here,” the dean said, glancing around to get permission. Several nodded. “I have met with Dr. Bjorklund several times. She’s been a guest in my home, and I must tell you that I have never met a more honest and forthright young woman in my life. I haven’t seen her in action in a medical situation, but Dr. Morganstein sent a letter highly recommending her. I included that letter in the packet you have all read. Now, does anyone else have questions to ask Dr. Bjorklund?”

  “How will you adjust to a different culture, one with such daily dangers?” A man on the right side of the table leaned forward as he spoke so he could see her better.

  “Well, my mother taught me to shoot a rifle, and I am a pretty good shot. I grew up on a farm that began as a homestead on what was then the frontier. I have never had money to spend, so I am thrifty and can make do with very little. I am not afraid of hard work.” She glanced around the table, catching smiles on a couple of faces and rolled eyes on others. “While I’ve not had to deal with vicious snakes and jungle animals, I trust that if God wants me to go there, He will provide. My mother reared her children with the knowledge that life is not easy. We must work hard, do our best, and leave the rest up to God. I guess I’ve been learning those lessons since childhood.”

  “How do your parents feel about their young daughter going to Africa?”

  “The same as I do. If that is where God is calling me, then that is where I must go.” She knew her mother suffered with the thought of her only daughter on the other side of the earth. While she’d never said so, her tears spoke for her.

  “You have written that you have two brothers. What do they do?”

  “They are both doing exactly what they dreamed of. Thorliff went to St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota, and returned to Blessing to start a newspaper, the Blessing Gazette. He is married to Dr. Elizabeth Bjorklund, and they have a daughter. All my brother Andrew ever wanted to do was farm, and that is what he i
s doing. He is married with two children and has a home on the Bjorklund land. He and my father, along with my uncle and his boys, raise mostly wheat and feed for our dairy cows to support my mother’s cheese house.”

  “You have an industrious family.”

  Astrid nodded. “I originally thought I was going to become a nurse to help my sister-in-law in her practice, but instead, she insisted that I train to be a doctor, and I’m glad she did.”

  “How does she feel about her trainee leaving for Africa?”

  “She is terribly disappointed but agrees that a two-year term would be similar to my going on for further medical training.” Astrid ordered her shoulders to go back down where they belonged. Why did she feel they’d been grilling her for hours?

  She glanced up to catch a slight smile in the dean’s eyes. She must be doing all right, then.

  “Are there any further questions, comments?” he asked, glancing around the table.

  One of the men who’d been leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, raised one finger.

  “Yes, Rev. Arbuckle.” While Astrid had nodded to him at the introductions, she’d not seen a smile anywhere near his face.

  “I have to say that I believe we would be making a grave mistake in sending a young woman, not yet nineteen, alone with no husband”—he emphasized each point with a sharp nod and fierce glances at those around the table—“to Africa. Unless . . .” He paused and leaned forward. “Unless she is sent to work in an established hospital and not out in the bush. Rev. Schuman, as I understand, operates out of a small village and uses a bicycle to call on patients and to travel to other villages.” He shook his head. “But even sending her to a city would be a mistake, I think.” He turned to look directly at Astrid. “Go home, find a husband, and then the two of you see if this is something that appeals to both of you.”