Jon Lindstrom closed and latched his worn satchel. “I shouldn’t be longer than three days, Mary.”
Mary straightened her husband’s tie. “Don’t worry about us…we’ll be just fine with Kenu looking after us.”
The year was 1946. The Lindstrom’s had been Kenyan Missionaries for almost five years now and knew that they were exactly where God wanted them. The girls were thriving in the small village with their native friends.
Daughters, Josie, Mollie, and Helga stood like wooden soldiers ready to salute their “captain” as he passed by.
Laughing, he grabbed each one and planted a kiss on the top of their heads. “Take care of Mother and remember to stay within the compounds of the village…I wouldn’t want that old lion getting indigestion from eating my three darlings.”
Every few years a lion would “go bad,” stalking and killing lone villagers just for the thrill of it…man-eaters they called them. Unfortunately, such an animal was prowling undercover of darkness in the vicinity of the Lindstrom’s village and had mauled a neighboring villager to death when the villager had gone down to the river for water after dark.
The lion was soon forgotten amid the girls laughter and silly giggling as they followed their father to the van.
After continuing to wave long after the van was out of sight, Mother finally called to the girls, “Chores, girls!”
That first day without Father was uneventful…however, that evening just before sundown, a messenger came from the neighboring village where sickness had broken out and medicine was needed to quell the high fever. Without giving it a second thought, Mother and the girls prepared to travel the ten miles or so the next morning. Mother thought to herself, God knew that we would need the old jeep…that’s why Jon traveled by van with other missionaries to the conference. “God is so good,” she thought out loud.
Early the next morning, Kenu loaded the jeep with medical supplies. “Please Madam, start home with plenty of light still in the sky.” Then as an added plea, “I could still go with you…”
“No, Kenu…you’re needed here. We’ll be just fine…I promise.”
The girls were in fine spirits as the old jeep bounced from one chug hole to another. After one particularly deep chug hole, Josie laughed. “Mother, I do believe this is only a ‘make believe’ road.”
The little missionary family minus one found the villagers eagerly awaiting their arrival. Mother administered medication to those needing help and prayed with the families for protection and healing.
Time passed much quicker than she realized. In fact, it was so late, they would barely have time to return to their village before dark.
About halfway home, the skies opened and a deluge of rain quickly soaked Mary and the girls. Since the old jeep had no top covering, it began to fill with water. It didn’t take long before the poor excuse of a road turned to mud. And it was getting darker and darker. Suddenly, the jeep hit a huge mud-filled chug hole and the engine died. As hard as Mary tried, the engine wouldn’t crank and even if it had, the tires of the jeep were covered halfway to the top in the chug hole. They sat there a moment…Mary trying to decide what to do.
“Well, girls, looks like we’ll have to walk the rest of the way home.”
Postscript: Surprise ending tomorrow…
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An old wives’ tale is a type of legend, similar to a proverb, which is generally passed down by old wives to a younger generation. The concept of old wives’ tales is ancient. In the 1st century, the apostle Paul wrote to his young protégé Timothy. But refuse profane and old wives’ fables and exercise thyself unto godliness. (I Timothy 4:7).
