From the Field
part two
{On Saturday I send out a “Saturday Story.” This is simply a break from the regular Scripture-based daily devotional. Sometimes there is a moral to the story, sometimes it's just a story. I’ll mostly leave that to you to decide. Today is a continuation from previous weeks. You can go back and read the previous Saturday Stories for the full context. I hope you enjoy it and your weekend.}
The following day was spent getting our bearings and recovering from travel. The missionary wasn’t struggling as much as Tom and I were. He lived in the country and didn’t have to adjust like we were to our days and nights being flipped on their head.
The previous evening I ordered Chicken Satay at the hotel restaurant. It was chicken pieces on a skewer with vegetables over a bed of rice. It was quite tasty and once you find something that works in a place like this you tend to want to stick with it. At least that is my philosophy.
So, the next morning I ordered the same thing. The young man who was waiting for us disappeared for a long time. When he returned, he reported with solemness that he could not serve me chicken. “No chicken?” I asked.
In broken English, he replied, “No chicken. Chicken got away. Gun broke.”
Well, at least I was assured that whatever was served was fresh.
We spent the day walking around the city, talking with whomever we could, and praying. We were also still concerned about our watcher, the Chief who was always lurking about wherever we were and was planning on escorting us wherever we went on the island.
That evening we decided to eat somewhere other than the hotel since their gun was broken and all. We found a little café with outdoor, streetside seating. The tables were on a deck with a thatched grass railing around the seating area. It was a pleasant day. The sun was out and the temperature was moderate. We sat down and ordered our meal.
Suddenly, I became dizzy. Nauseatingly so. My head was spinning, and I felt like I was going to vomit. Not wanting to do so in that setting, I excused myself and told the guys I wasn’t feeling well and was going to walk back to the room and lie down.
It was difficult to get back. I felt like I was stumbling about like a drunk. I made it to the room and tried to lie down and rest, but the dizziness was persistent and unrelenting. Tom and the missionary came back later. By that time I was vomiting and extremely ill. They had already decided we would leave the following morning to go to a city up in the mountains but now were concerned about how I was going to handle the travel.
The missionary left the room.
Tom prayed.
I spent the night trying to rest between trips to the bathroom.
The next morning, I still wasn’t feeling great, but I told them I would be okay to make the trip.
The previous night, when the missionary left the room, he found a driver with an air-conditioned car and hired him to take us to our next stop. When we were getting ready to leave, the chief showed up and wanted to know why we hired a car and driver. The missionary explained that I was sick and needed the air-conditioned car to help me not feel as bad.
When the chief heard him say I was sick and vomiting, he took a step backward and told us to have a nice journey. Apparently, he was averse to being around sick people.
Problem solved.
We got in the car. I sat in the front seat with the air vents pointed at my face. I laid my head against the cool glass of the side window and prayed for mercy while fearing the effects of the winding mountain roads we were about to drive.
About five miles into the trip, as we were headed up the first mountain pass, without any kind of slow buildup into it, I felt fine. The dizziness was gone. I stopped sweating. I wasn’t nauseous anymore. It was over.
I don’t know what to make of all of this except to say that God used my illness to allow us the freedom to do the ministry work we had come to do without interference from the Chief.
Part three next week
