Monday Morning Faith (21 page)

We got in the boat, and he paddled upstream from the village to a sandy cove so peaceful I could feel tension draining from me. Songbirds chirped and the wind strummed through the branches of the overhanging trees. We got out of the boat, and Sam secured the craft to a narrow sapling growing at the edge of the strip of exposed shoreline. He spread a blanket and we sat down on the beach. I slipped off my shoes and socks, pushing my toes into the warm sand. Sam slipped his arm around my waist and I leaned against him, content for the first time since — well, I couldn't think of the last time I'd felt at peace.

“Look, Johanna.” Sam pointed at a cluster of yellow orchids growing in a tree. “See how they cling, with no visible means of support? God created them and put them there for our enjoyment.”

“Very nice. I've never seen an orchid that particular shade before.”

Leaning closer, he nibbled on the tip of my ear. “Want me to pick one for you?”

I smiled, allowing his affection better access. “No. They're perfect where they are. Let's not disturb them.”

“I want you to look at the island. Really look. This is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Look around you. Tell me what you see.”

Okay, I'd play his game. “I see trees with long vines hanging from them. I see thick brush, flowers, a large bird — a buzzard, I believe — and catfish-infested water.”

“Yes, all of that. Like anywhere you go, this island has danger as well as beauty. Conflicting emotions, as it were. Like you seem to have.”

Where on earth did he get that idea? There was no conflict in
my
heart. I didn't like it here, period. I would never like it here.

You don't
want
to like it here.

The insight brought me up short. Sam had only asked that I try. Guilt assailed me. How he must resent me for my lack of spiritual growth.

“Listen.” Sam held up a finger. “You might hear a deer's alarm snort. Clouded leopards sneak through the undergrowth. The birds range everywhere — from the huge argus pheasant to dozens of species of babblers and almost as many bulbuls. Look in the water and you'll see a rich assortment of fish. All around us are primates, but that's not all. There are squirrels here too — a wide range of sizes and a great variety of habits, from five-inch-long pygmy squirrels scampering on the ground to giant flying squirrels in the trees.”

I looked around us as he talked, seeing, as if for the first time, all he was pointing out. Sam's Papua New Guinea unfolded before me.

I leaned against him. “The people have placed their trust in you. You must be very gratified.” I made a conscious decision not to mention the woman and the pilfered scarf. I was trying. Really I was.

“The people in this village have done so. But in the more remote areas, we'll have a more difficult time winning their respect. Did you know that headhunters still exist in the far recesses of the jungle?”

My jaw dropped and I forgot to breathe. Headhunters? Half-naked natives who killed and ate people? Cannibals? The memory of a shrunken head I'd once seen surfaced like scum on a pond. How could Sam sound so calm?

He glanced at me, and his gaze sharpened. “Is something wrong? You look pale.”

“Is something
wrong
? You mention headhunters and then ask if something is wrong? I can't believe you, Sam. Aren't you the least bit concerned for our safety?”

“I told you they were in remote areas. You'll never see one.”

He had
that
right. I would do everything I could to avoid making personal contact. “How do you know the villagers won't decide to revert back to their old ways and start collecting heads, beginning with ours?” Still (and I get points for this one) I didn't mention the pilfered scarf. But in my mind, the woman's thievery just pointed to the fact that in some ways the villagers were still as primitive as the headhunters.

He laughed. “You're funny, you know that? I'm glad you came with me. Having you here makes it more enjoyable.” He bent and stole another kiss.

“I'm glad you find me amusing.”

“I find you totally enchanting.” He got to his feet and pulled me to mine. “Let's walk.”

We picked our way along the rugged shoreline, hand in hand. After the first few minutes I forgot to look over my shoulder for headhunters — imaginary or otherwise. The jungle seen through Sam's eyes was fascinating. I experienced the most delicate, exotic plants and flowers, butterflies, fish, things I hadn't noticed before. His love for the island glistened through his words and expression. He wanted to be here — was proud to put his entire heart and soul into his work.

“You do love this place, don't you?”

He helped me over a fallen log before answering. “It's my world, Johanna. Or at least, I'd like it to be — with you by my side. There are multitudes of doctors back home, and for a while I was content to be one of them. But now I see the discomfort, the human misery, the celebrations of beauty and exotic pleasures, the triumph of the human spirit in the face of so much hopelessness, and I know this is where God wants me. Whether here or elsewhere, what could be a better basis for contentment than for a man — or a woman — to know he is fulfilling a God-determined purpose?”

I shriveled in the face of true dedication. Like Eva and Mary, Sam was confident of God's purpose for his life.

We paused at a grove of pineapples. “You see these plants?”

I smiled. “How could I not see them? They're beautiful.” I knew from experience they were delicious too. Mary served the sweet, juicy fruit three times a day.

“This field was planted by missionaries many years ago.”

I studied the grove with new appreciation. Here were tangible results of previous missionaries' tenure on the island. They had left behind something of beauty and usefulness. Just as Sam and the others would do for those who came after them.

Further along we discovered papaya and mangoes. Sam peeled a large mango and handed it to me. I bit into the luscious yellow-orange fruit and juice spurted out, running down my chin. The sweet explosion refreshed my dry throat. I'd eaten supermarket mangoes, but they couldn't begin to rival this one — fresh-picked, sun-warmed, and full of rich fruity flavor with a hint of pine aftertaste.

Sam laughed. “I take it you like mangoes.”

“Adore them, and according to Mary, this is the way to eat them. She says cutting the fruit from the seed and eating it with a fork changes the taste.”

“I've heard her theory, but I don't think a fork could dent this flavor.”

No doubt about it, this afternoon would be one of my good memories. Had there been more days like this, maybe I wouldn't be so anxious to leave. I nibbled the last bite of pulp from the flat, fibrous seed. “What do I do with this?”

He grinned. “Toss it into the brush. The next time you come by here you'll find another mango tree. Things grow fast here.”

If only my faith would do the same.

We picked our way through an outcrop of volcanic rock. On this island one either climbed or descended the stony escarpments. Sam held tight to my hand, guiding me over the more treacherous places. We paused at the edge of a high cliff, facing the sea now. Here, with the wind blowing through my hair, I didn't know why I was troubled. One could almost hear the voice of God in the breeze.

We stood, listening to waves slap the ragged shoreline. A gentle draft touched my face, filled my spirit. Sam slid his arm around me, and I relaxed against him, feeling more like we were back in the library coffee shop. He bent his head, his lips meeting mine, and I yielded myself to his affection. I loved this man with all of my heart.

Enough to set him free?

I didn't have the answer. This afternoon had calmed me. Maybe I wasn't giving the experiment enough time. I would have gone on forever in my safe, predictable world, but God had intervened. I understood he did that sometimes. Took a person's life and turned it inside out and upside down. He'd rattled my cage and yanked my pitifully short leash all at the same time.

Sam raised his head and gazed into my eyes. “How are you doing, Johanna? Really.”

I met his probing eyes, knowing what he wanted to hear, yet incapable of saying the words. “The isolation bothers me. Just like the dirt, the bugs, the mosquitoes. I abhor the leeches, which I've not experienced yet, but I still fear.”

Sam turned to stare out at the water. His expression sobered, and I searched for the disappointment I knew he must be feeling. I knew my words had wounded him. He had expected much and I was offering nothing. I thought of the stack of children's books packed away in my luggage. I'd thought I might read them to the children, but I hadn't even unpacked them yet.

Had I made my best effort to minister to these people?

I knew the answer and it shamed me. So far my concern had been for my discomforts, and I'd wailed long and loud about them.
Lord, I'm so sorry. I' ll try. Really try. Not for Sam … but for you.

It was settled. I would stay on. Sam need never know I had contemplated leaving sooner.

He turned to meet my gaze, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Have you forgiven me for your bathtub?”

I laughed. “I'm working on it. Are you sure it's safe to bathe in the lake?”

“Ask Eva and Mary to let you go with them the next time. They'll take care of you.”

I sighed. “They have so little, but they're so happy.” Happier and more contented than most women I knew back home.

“They're dedicated women, confident in their purpose. Frank and Bud are blessed.”

Pain filled me and I choked back a sharp response. Frank and Bud were blessed. But not Sam.
He
wasn't blessed with such a woman. Well, not all of us had the conviction that we knew God's will.

But I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to.

Twilight colored the sky when we rowed toward our huts. Nighttime spread over the village, and I could picture the families gathered, sitting cross-legged on a ribbed floor of split palm or bamboo, or stretching out for a rest with their heads pillowed on the well-worn timber, crunching thick green betel nuts between their teeth. Their ways were not my ways, but fresh from my afternoon in the jungle with Sam and my mental talk with God, I was filled with a sense of peace. I liked the feeling better than the disquiet I'd been harboring.

Sam let the small boat drift. He seemed in no hurry to return to the huts. The jungle embraced us, wrapping us in shadows. The moon, a platinum crescent on the black velvet sky, crept over the line of trees and brushed the lagoon with silver. A sleepy bird twittered from nearby, and from deep in the jungle came the hunting cry of a nocturnal animal. Beauty and danger, the good and the bad, the same all over the world.

Just more obvious here than in Saginaw.

Sam reached for my hand. “Do you see the beauty, Johanna? The good?”

“Yes, I can see it.” The shadows hid the dirt and squalor. The moonlight touched everything with a dreamlike glow. Overhead, diamond dust stars twinkled with a radiance I'd never seen anywhere. Everything here was more defined, closer to nature. Closer to God. I had a feeling he was smiling down on the two of us. We drifted hand in hand, saying very little, but I was aware of Sam. So aware I could have closed my eyes and still seen his image printed against my eyelids, imprinted on my mind. Mom and Pop and Nelda — my former life was a vapor.

I lay back and drank in serenity, letting it fill my pores and filter gently to my heart.

And I prayed like I'd never prayed before that it would last.

THIRTEEN

T
he village roosters (I had come to think of them as the village idiots) woke me with a wild racket, as if they had a duty to crow the sun out of the eastern horizon long before the earth awoke. The noise wouldn't have been so bad if the animals had sounded off at the same time, but their crowing apparatus was set seconds apart, so some came in a few beats behind the others. One with a shrill screech waited until the others had finished before blaring his morning greeting, starting high and ending on a low, long, drawn-out note.

For a few minutes I lay fantasizing about wringing a few scrawny necks and serving the missionaries my specialty: a pot of homemade chicken and noodles. (Mom, a champion noodle maker, had taught me her secret: add an envelope of chicken gravy to the broth.) I gave up the idea, though. I couldn't kill a gnat, let alone a chicken. Even if I could manage to dispatch the thing, I'd have no idea how to clean it. My chickens came from the supermarket, plucked, cleaned, and ready for the pot. And I didn't destroy someone's grandmother … or what the villagers believed were sacred.

I stretched and peered at my watch. Five a.m. Light was beginning to filter through the window. Frank and Eva were already in the kitchen. A missionary's day started early and ended late. It would be hard to revert back to my old routine of sleeping until seven when I returned home.