When I arrived in Jay and Faith's village we began to discuss the trip to the Cora village, Gavilanes. I found that as Jay described the area as one that had been evangelized by Hermana Fe and her husband as early as 1964, I became more and more anxious about the impending small plane ride up into the mountains.
It so happens that Hermana Fe was widowed the first time when her pilot husband crashed, and then widowed again when her second pilot husband crashed as well. It didn't help that the mechanic that worked on our car told me of a trip he made in the same area by plane. The next time his pilot went up, he flew into the mountainside and died.
When I realized that I was becoming depressed I wrote a few letters to some praying friends who I knew would hold me up in prayer. How wonderful are those faithful women.
I was calm when we arrived at the airstrip. Then, as the pilot and Jay discussed the cost of the flight, it was determined that we could not afford to take the plane that would hold all of us (four adults) and our gear. So the pilot began asking our weights, and determined that it should be okay for us all to take the smaller plane. We left about a third of our gear in the car, loaded the rest in the back of the plane, and climbed in.
I was so grateful to be the "Señora". The pilot gave me the only available seat. The others had to pile in and sit on our luggage on the floor of the plane. Hmmm, I had been comforting myself with the expectation that the pilots who had crashed their planes were in old planes without the modern equipment and instruments....yeah right!
There in front of me was nothing that remotely resembled "state of the art." the radio appeared to be ripped out, replaced by an ill-fitting unit attached to headphones that were lying on the dash the whole time during the trip.
Still I was calm. And as I looked at the fuel gauges in front of my nose I saw that they were bouncing on EMPTY. Hmmm, I nonchalantly motioned to the gauges and the pilot who had been chatting loudly the whole flight, pointing out the landscape and towns, laughed and said those where the auxiliary tanks. Then he pointed to other gauges that we bouncing just below the FULL level.
And as he continued to talk, he had learned to fly in Sacramento, California, I leaned my head against the window peering down at the lush mountains, rugged canyons and winding riverbeds. I was calm the whole time with that strange kind of peace that I hope you understand. The kind that says, "hmmm, where would be a good place to land in a pinch...or crash, hmmm" and almost lulls you to sleep. That is the peace that passes understanding.
Later the others said it was bumpy, the pilot said we were fighting a headwind, but I was singing to myself...
"He is no fool, if he would chose
to give the things he cannot keep to buy
what he can never lose.
To see a treasure in one soul
that far outshines the brightest gold.
He is no fool, he is no fool"--Twila Paris
Gavilanes
The trip back was great, a quick 25 minutes...such beautiful scenery.
In January I will be flying from Seattle to Houston on a big jet, then taking a smaller jet (the kind with one seat on one side of the aisle and two on the other) the rest of the way to Oaxaca. As I get older I am finding that flying is harder the more I do it rather than easier. But I do believe it is a choice to believe and trust when the flight is out of obedience to the call.
The song I sang flying back to Santiago was...
Come and join the reapers, all the kingdom seekers
laying down their lives to find them in the end.
Come and share the harvest, help to light the darkness
for the Lord is calling Faithful men. --Twila Paris
Oh that I would be found faithful.
Thank for the prayers!
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