ON MISSIONARIES: A PERSONAL VIEW (4)

During our first term in PNG, Joice almost died. It was due to an ectopic pregnancy, misdiagnosed by a doctor when we were teaching in Goroka. We had gone back to our center, but Joice was in great pain and danger, so a nurse advised me that Joice needed to be transported to a hospital, some 100 miles away. We did not have a plane, so I went by motorcycle to the nearest clinic, some 8 miles away to get a doctor to order a plane. He wouldn’t because he had not seen the patient, and he obviously wanted to finish his round of golf. 

Although the doctor would not order a plane for me, I heard one revving up at the airstrip and rushed to stop the plane, a DC-3. The pilot opened the window and asked me what was wrong. I explained that my wife was dying, and we needed a small plane to go to the airstrip a mile from our center to transport her to Goroka. He said, “You go home, a plane will be there.” As I approached our center, I saw the plane landing. Joice, now in a coma, was transported to the plane. We flew to Goroka, and an old war time jeep with a red cross painted on it was waiting for us. We went directly to the hospital, and a doctor, who was also waiting, examined her. As he did, the ectopic tube broke, and she bled badly. He performed surgery, gave blood transfusions to her, saved her life, and she began her long recovery. A day or two later, she saw the bandage for the first time and exclaimed, “Boy, that must be a big incision.” The doctor, who had a heavy accent, held up his two hands and said, “I’ve got big hans.” What a story and what a miracle!

The first thing we needed to do on furlough was to have Joice checked into the local hospital for surgery to repair the damage caused by her birth of Kirk and the ectopic pregnancy. Joice got to know her two surgeons so well that one of them volunteered to pay for any costs that our insurance did not cover. She had surgery, and it took some time for her to recover.

We had bought a house in Duncanville, Texas, near our center, using money I received from selling my part in a farm my parents had willed to me. Buying the house was a miracle. Joice went to the phone book, ran her finger down a list of real estate agents, and selected “Betty.” Betty showed us three houses, and we liked the third one. It was only 5 months old, two miles from our Dallas center, and listed for $32,000. We offered $27,000, which we did not yet have. The couple who owned the house were divorced and anxious to get rid of it. She was in Houston, and he was babysitting the house. “Can’t you offer more?” the agent asked. “Well,” Joice said, “We want to be sure the Lord wants us to have the house, but we will offer $27,500.” A few days later, Betty called, “Well, I don’t believe this, but you just bought yourself a house.”

However, we still didn’t have the money from my share of the farm. “No problem,” said Betty, “I know the bank president, and we will get you a bridge loan.” She did, and the house was ours, ready to be furnished with early Salvation Army furniture. However, Betty was not done. “I noticed,” she said, “that you do not have a washer and dryer. We just got new ones, and the old ones are sitting in the garage. They don’t match, but if you don’t mind, you can have them.” Missionaries don’t mind free furniture, even when it doesn’t match.

During our first furlough, I studied at Cornell University for my MA degree in linguistics and anthropology. At a Sunday evening meeting at the church we attended, I showed a film on our aviation work. After the meeting, a young man invited us to their house for a meal. He and his wife asked about our financial needs, and I replied that we at present had none. (I was a teaching assistant at Cornell and had also received a scholarship.) However, they persisted, which we were glad about later, and began supporting us every month, from 1963 until the man died, and his wife continued. They became close friends, and their children still are.

We were returning to PNG, so Kirk and two single men were going to live in our house. However, we needed another bed, so we consulted the newspaper want ads. We found a bed listed and went to purchase it. Joice, ever observant, noticed that the couple had a Living Bible and told them of our translation work. We purchased the bed, but as soon as I got home, the phone was ringing. On the other end was the man who had sold us the bed. “The Holy Spirit has been talking to me,” he said, “and when the Holy Spirit speaks, I listen. He told me to give you back your money.” He did, and they became long-time supporters. 

Behind every one of our supporters and churches is a story of friendship, love, and concern. God blessed us for many years with his mercy, and we have tried to bless others. Of course, there were also many Kewa friends who helped us, and I will mention some of them in a later issue.

I am old now, and Joice is in heaven. But there are still a few people who support me each month, and I also receive a small quarterly gift from two churches. I write a monthly report to each person or church to outline what I have been doing. It is a joy to express my thanks for the incredible long-time support and prayers.

The apostle Paul believed that it was a blessing when others supported his ministry. In 2 Corinthians 8.7, he said, “Since you excel in so many ways—in your faith, your gifted speakers, your knowledge, your enthusiasm, and your love for us—I want you to excel also in this gracious act of giving.” 

“If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging. If it is giving, give generously. If God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously. And if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly.” (Romans 12.8)

Karl Franklin