considered unwise to be out in the woods alone, at that time especially.) The Stieng laughed and asked, “You know those fel lows, too?” “ I’ve never seen them,” Ralph replied. “ Just heard the folks talking. I’m not afraid, though. I trust the Son of the God up in the sky for help. Anyone who knows God and trusts His Son does not need to be afraid.” “Hmmm,” was the reply. “ Give me some cough medi cine, too.” “We are often asked for stomach ache medicine. ‘What kind of stomach ache?’ we ask, and the reply is always, ‘A rea l stomach ache!’ Further probing shows that a real stomach ache is anything from acid indiges tion to a miscarriage, and probably many things in 'be tween that we know nothing about and are totally un trained to handle. When we suspect something out of the ordinary, w e reach for our half-shelf of well-thumbed medical books. Information in these books is usually in three classes. It’s written simply with the advice to get a doctor, or it’ s written in a style that anyone who is not a doctor can barely understand, or it recommends some expensive drug that we don’t have! All kidding aside, we are thankful that the great majority of folks who come to us for medical help have simple wounds or ailments and we can be of real service to them.” A1 and Sue Graham (Biola, 1948-49), who are work ing with the Satare Indian tribe of Brazil, kept a diary whose entries frequently reveal their whimsical apprecia tion of these children of the jungle to whom they have come to give God’s Word. “August 13, 1961 1— Arrived in the village at 2:00 this afternoon. As usual, everyone began moving all the things they had in our house so that we could move in. They had been using it for a storage room, and a couple of the children had been sleeping in it. We were sur prised and thrilled to see that the new portion of our home with mud walls was finished. “August 17, 1961 — The people are already starting to trade, but are a little disappointed to find that we don’t eat as much since the children aren’t with us. . . . A ll the Indians miss the children and want to know when we will being them back. “ August 18, 1961 — We always try to bring in cheap musical instruments, as they enjoy playing so much, but
“August 19, 1961 — Today the village is still full of people. . . .” A1 recorded some of their music last night which made them very happy. Now they would like to listen to it all day. However, for some reason we grow weary of it . . . They rang the church bells tonight as a matter of formality, I guess, as they are all too busy dancing to worry about going: to church. They have serv ices in the same place where they dance, so it would have been confusing. “ August 22, 1961 — It was a bit distracting to study in our room today, as one of our chickens wants to sit and is looking for a place for her nest. She has now tried everything from the top of the bookcase, in the bookcase, on the bed, behind the medicine box, and she has even tried to get in the nest with the mother who has nine babies. A1 made several places for her, but she wouldn’t have any of them. Well, this is what makes missionary life interesting. Between rescuing baby chicks who have gotten out of the nest, chasing dogs who insist on eating the chicken’s food, and putting up with a chicken who is practically trying to build a nest in your hair, between all this you study and love it . . .”
“ Would you like to take a look at that monkey in the tree through ,my> glasses?” Campa Indian of Peru loans ‘hid binoculars to his wife. And then there was the missionary-translator “ bach ing” it in the jungle while his wife was in the hospital. “ Just to show you how well they (the tribespeople) take care of me, let me tell you what happened yester day,” he wrote her. “ I’ve been eating most of my meals at Bautista’s house. But when Peruvian visitors come, I fed them something here at our house, so the dirty dishes were stacking up. Yesterday Pacsuala (Bautista’s wife) decided to do something about it. She came over and heated some water, then added detergent powder, washed the dishes thoroughly, and dunked them in boil ing water. She did it just as she remembered seeing you do it. Now wasn’t that nice of her? But what do you think she dried them with? Soiled clothes out of the washing!” “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine,” says one of the Proverbs, and there are many in far places today — in one-room mud brick adobes, in palm-thatched huts in the humid jungle, in bamboo stilt houses beside sluggish jungle rivers, and bark shacks in the arid wilder ness —who can witness that with an Abiding Presence in the heart, this is true. “ . . . He that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast,” says the same writer of Scripture. And through the Lord’s harvest fields today, many of His servants — sitting down to their simple meal of tortillas and beans, of manioc and cooking bananas, of rice and fish, or boiled goose and grass lily roots — would assure you that, with an Unseen Guest always present, this proverb, too, becomes a blessed reality.
W ayne Snell’s radio continues to hold a strange fascination for Machiguenga Indians in Peru. Answers from base m ystify them. we have begun to wonder if it is necessary. We found today that one of the Indians had made an almost perfect flute from a piece of Karen’s hula-hoop. They can make just about anything if they put their minds to it . . . One of them traded for a violin somewhere and can do quite well on it.
SEPTEMBER, 1963
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