When Tragedy Strikes

[Jeremy Gable]

Feb. 19, 2006

 

It was Sabbath morning, finally!  The week had been long and discouraging for me, but it was finally over and Sabbath was here!  I got washed up and put on my best—a pair of knee-length shorts and a clean t-shirt—and headed for church Saturday morning.  After prayer meeting and songservice, Rinal told the children's story—though I couldn't understand enough of it to know what it was about—while one of the local boys sat in my lap.  Next, Seblitu gave the sermon.  This time I was able to determine that it was about Samson, but not much more.  Finally, Pastor (Kent George) got up to speak.  I was able to understand most of what he said, and furiously wrote down the words I lacked.  After the sermons were over, we sang the closing song and had closing prayer.  The church members then split up for Sabbath schools—the women going to theirs, the men to theirs, and the children to theirs.  This week the study was on Revelation, so after every few verses were read, Pastor would get up to speak concerning the content thereof.  About half-way through, Danny's (another SM) radio came on, "Lima Golf, Lima Golf, do you copy Whiskey Golf, Lima Golf."  It was our nurse, Wendy, calling for Mrs. George.  Earlier that morning, we had heard that Mislinda's mother, Piring, was giving birth.  It was rather a shock because almost no one knew she was even pregnant except her husband, Rupid.  Wendy had gone to check on her and was now calling for Mrs. George who is the final authority on medical issues here.  The call came a second time, and then a third.  There seemed to be some urgency in her voice the third time, so Danny put on his tsineylas (flip-flops) and took his radio to Mrs. George.  About this time, I realized that I needed to bring to bring to church the guys' contribution to pot-luc—a big pot of tales [tah-luss] (a jungle vegetable and root).  While I hiked back to my hut to get it, Mrs. George and Wendy talked over the radio.  When I got back and dropped the food off where we would have pot-luc, I saw the men coming out of their Sabbath school and putting on their tsineylas.  It seemed strange that Sabbath school should be finished so soon, since the men are usually the last to finish.  I asked Pastor what was going on, and he told me that the patient was not responding in the way she should be, so the men were on their way to bring her back to the clinic on a stretcher so she could be put on an I.V.  So I hiked ouver to her nearby village as well to help out.  After loading her onto the stretcher and strapping her in, we carried her along the twisting, rocky trail, through the creek and back to the clinic.  By this time, most of the church was there giving audience to the event.  I went to find Mrs. George and Pastor to ask if we should disperse the audience.  Mrs. George was on her way to the clinic already and asked me to help Danny go get the food she was brining to put-luc, and then continued on to the clinic.  After hiking to her house for the food, we passed one of the lady church members as we again neared the church.  As we passed, she muttered something in Pelawan.  Out of habit, I assumed it was something I wouldn't understand and automatically responded, "Yep," without even trying to translate her words.  A moment later, her last word rang a bell in my mind, "petay [puh-tie]," which means, "dead."  Quickly I recalled the rest of the words she'd spoken, and realized that I knew almost all of them, so I quickly translated it:  "People (or person) dead (or died) today (or now)."  Because some aspects of the Pelawan language are very fatalistic even when the situation is not even remotely serious, I just dismissed this as an example of such.  But when we reached the church, Pastor came out and said that the people were saying that the woman was dead.  Suddenly, I knew that the lady we'd just passed may have been serious after all!  After dropping off the food we were carrying, Danny and I caught up to Pastor heading for the clinic.  When we arrived, Mrs. George was doing CPR on the Piring.  Danny and I immediately went around to the back of the clinic to pray for her, while Pastor prayed with the people.  Unfortunately, Wendy and Mrs. George were unable to get a breath to go into her so matter what they tried, and so the she died as I continued to pray.  The new baby, however, did live, though she had a very weak pulse and was barely breathing.  At this point, I went to Rupid—my friend—to comfort him.  I didn't know enough Pelawan yet to be able to speak any words of comfort, so I just sat next to him and placed my hand on his arm, and continued to pray silently.  After a time, the baby cried a few times, and our (the missionaries) hopes rose.

 

It was almost 2pm by this time, and Pastor decided that we should bring all the food for pot-luc over to the clinic and let everyone eat (only about half the people there were church members).  We served the grieving family first, though Rupid and a couple others were unable to eat.  Around 3 o'clock a couple of the men got their tucaws [too-cows] (machettes) and went to clear an area out of the edge of the jungle for her grave.  The rest of the men grabbed digging tools and followed.  The rest of that afternoon was spent digging Piring's grave.  Rupid, who is normally a very social person, was very silent and distant, though even he did alot of work.  When the grave was dug, we headed back down to the clinic where the funeral service had already begun.  I couldn't understand most of what was being said, but it seemed to me that people were expressing their mutual grief and trying to consol the family.  A couple of the community elders spoke a little, and Mrs. George and Pastor spoke as well, expressing their hope that Piring had made a decision for Christ in her last moments, and that we would all see her again at Jesus's return.  Rupid tried to speak a little, but very quickly began sobbing uncontrollably.  It was the first time I've ever seen him so vulnerable.  Normally, he's a very hard (though warm), strong man.  I couldn't help but cry as well as I saw my friend in so much pain.  Piring was then carried to the grave, and placed inside.  A few more words were said, and Rupid placed a plate of rice and 3 coins at her feet.  Seblitu said a long prayer, and the men buried her, just uphill from the clinic.

 

All this time, I pondered how the people, and Rupid viewed the whole thing.  With their beliefs (church members and non-church members alike), what things and feelings were going through their minds?  I realized very strongly how important it is to learn the culture of these people, so that when these sorts of things happen, I can know how I should conduct myself, when I should speak and when I should keep silent, and if I should speak, what should I say?  While I don't know everything that was said throughout this whole process, it was very clear to me that many people (locals as well as missionaries) were making sure that God was not left out.  As far as the non-church members, I don't know how they received this, but it's my earnest prayer that God was glorified through this trying ordeal, and that through this tragedy, many people will be led to Christ.  I don't know if Piring made such a decision before she died, so I don't know if I will see her at the Lord's return.  But I sincerely hope that this tragedy will bring my friend Rupid to Christ, and that I will be able to continue my friendship with him for all of eternity, along with the rest of the Pelawan people.  Amen!

 

 

With love in Christ,

Jeremy Gable

 

p.s.  Please pray for Rupid, Mislinda, Winnie (Rupid's oldest son), and the rest of the grieving family, that they may turn to Christ in their sorrow.