Acts of the Green Apples

The next morning emerged fresh, cool, and beautiful. Away from the hot, coastal Surabaya, we were in the mountains and the scenery was almost unbelievable in its beauty. To us it seemed as though we might be gazing upon the first morning, untouched by any hand but that of God. In our innocence we took the children and went for a swim beneath a waterfall that looked like falling crystal. But when I lay beneath the waterfall in the pool I found the bottom was slimy, and when I gazed at the vacant hills I found them far from vacant. They were dotted with Indonesians staring at the strange beings from over the sea. I discovered there was no place on Java one could go to be alone -- people were everywhere. Another shock was that we acquired impetigo from the pool. It seems that the Indonesians do everything in that water: drink it, wash clothes in it, bathe in it, and defecate in it.

Everyone met for breakfast at the "big" house where the family of missionaries, a school teacher, and the servants lived. Breakfast was boiled rice and one small hard-boiled egg. The eggs were bantam-size and we used to call them "robin's eggs" We later learned that the egg was a luxury item which only manifested itself on certain days. It looked like a long, hard winter.

The missionary's wife was bedfast with an incurable disease. She had, of course, been prayed for by experts. We later learned that Oral Robers had been in Jakarta and she had been brought to the meeting. Oral had told a man there who later passed it on to us that he felt great compassion but just "couldn't" pray for her. It was all very mysterious. The children were extremely thin. One had contracted malaria but appeared to have recovered, and one coughed all night so that he couldn't get any sleep. It was a pathetic situation.

The first day we inquired for the toilet paper and were informed that it had been the first thing to go and we must realize that we were missionaries now. In private we used the last of our Kleenex and began to shred up our underwear. We weren't going down without a fight. Publicly I told the wife I didn't see it that way -- that I realized I was a novice and perhaps after more experience I would come around to her way of thinking, but my present thinking was that God wished to supply His children with basic equipment, such as toilet paper. I told her we must pray for these things. I had been giving her massages but had nothing with which to treat the bedsores. I looked around the dreary room where she spent her days and said, "This place is enough to keep you depressed. We'll paint it."

She replied, "Indonesian paint won't stay on the walls and you can't buy American paint here."

"That's all right," I rashly promised, "God can provide it. What color would you like?"

"Turquoise."

Insanely, to my way of thinking now, I wrote on a piece of paper: toilet paper, turquoise paint, vitamins.

"We'll pray for these things. Now we'll also need bandages for your sores and adhesive tape."

"The adhesive tape won't stick by the time it travels from the States."

"God can make it stick." And I added gauze and adhesive tape to the list.

The schoolteacher came out of her room with blood streaming down her chin. She had brushed her teeth. I added Vitamin C to the list. Lunch was boiled rice with thin vegetable soup (no meat) ladled over the top. We bought some meat and some bananas and mangos, but money was getting low. I added food to the prayer list. I suggested that bulgar wheat would be much healthier for the children than white rice. We were told it wasn't grown there, and could not be bought in the stores.

We did a lot of praying.

We were all sick most of the time. We had what Rick unoriginally labelled "Sukarno's Revenge." It was little wonder we were sick. Because of the fuel shortage, the drinking water would only be heated to a boil. Later a physician friend told us that was like doing nothing at all. Actually what it did was spoil the taste by making it slightly warm.

At the time we left for Indonesia we had a small regular income that we naively expected to have sent on to us. Not only was the small income abruptly terminated, but we discovered there ws no way for us to have money sent into the country. Some of our friends had decided they wished to send something every month toward our venture but we couldn't get at it, which became very frustrating since there were many people we wanted to help. We asked Loraine to buy some of the things needed with the money and send them to us air mail (sea mail simply didn't arrive).

So daily we walked to the village in anticipation of mail. It was over a mile and walking over what had once been a road was more difficult than it would have been walking through the fields. The postman would "sell" our packages to us for whatever he thought the traffic would bear. No money: no package. All letters were opened and perused -- even aerograms -- and anything inside was confiscated. It was illegal to receive money, checks, money orders, etc. It was all rather amusing in a perverted sort of way. The postman could not read English; he only pretended to. Whenever he saw figures in a letter he wanted to know if they indicated money, and made us read whatever it said. We had written Loraine to send us things we felt we couldn't do without: screening to keep the flies and mosquitos out, Tampax, and some things for the children. But the most amusing thing was the Tampax. It confused the postmaster so thoroughly that he took it apart -- I supose to see if it was filled with heroin or gunpowder.

Suzy stopped eating. She didn't like the food, so she simply didn't eat it. She was sick and there were no doctors, so all we could do was pray. One day when we were alone she moaned that all she wanted to eat was bread and cheese. It was like ordering caviar and oysters. As I prayed that day I said, "Lord, I know it's impossible but all things are possible with You. Please send her some bread and cheese." Within an hour the eleven-year-old boy from the missionary family came to the door and said, "I baked Suzy a loaf of bread. Do you think she could eat it?" He handed me a hot, crusty loaf of beautiful white bread, fresh from the oven. I stared dumbfounded as from his pocket he pulled a rusty can of Kraft cheese. It must have been years old. "Mom found this and thought Suzy might like it." The bread was delicious. I said, "David, did you ever bake bread before?"

"No."

"What made you do it?"

"I thought Suzy might like it."

"How did you know how?"

"I dunno."

No one can tel our family Someone isn't there Who hears and cares -- and answers prayer. Later David tried to bake bread again, but it came out the half-raw doughy mess that one would expect from an eleven-year-old boy who wasn't a baker.

A day of rejoicing came. Tan Ik Wan arrived bringing some supplies we had asked him to buy for us; toilet paper, bread, tinned cheese and soap. Best of all, he wouldn't accept our money. I guess he knew we were about out of it.

While he was there a woman came to visit. Ik Wan, as he asked us to call him, introduced us. She was a serious Christian who had been a witch doctor. I asked her if she had received the gift of the Spirit. Ik Wan said he hadn't gotten around to telling her about that yet. We all prayed for her and the ex-witch doctor began to speak in a heavenly language. She left rejoicing.

Several miles away lived a man who was dying of tuberculosis. He had a wife and a baby, and they were all starving. Rick and the children went to see them, prayed with them, and took what food we had. But we all knew they needed milk and eggs. The other Christians did what they could, which wasn't very much as they were very poor also. If they were fortunate enough to have a scrawny hen or cow who produced, the product had to be sold to buy rice for the family. No one could afford the luxury of eating eggs or milk, or giving them away. On my prayer list went milk and eggs.

One day as Rick and I trudged back from the post office, I mentioned I would like some khaki drill cloth, such as the US Army uses for summer uniforms, to make a pair of long shorts and a shirt for for this kind of tropical hiking. Rick said I wouldn't find it in Indonesia and I agreed. Just then we saw someone with a piece of ice. Ice! Real ice! My mouth watered. The perspiration was rolling down our faces and the rest of us as well. Since no one spoke English it was quite an undertaking, but we eventually tracked down the source. It had come from the milk company. One of the children interpreted that we wanted to buy some. This made no sense to anyone as they knew we didn't have an ice box, but we persevered. Under questioning they assured us it was sterile ice made from boiled water. This was ridiculous and we knew better, but we took it anyway. When one is that hot and miserable and longing for a cold drink, a little thing like germs doesn't seem to matter. It seemed inconceivable that we could be sicker than we were most of the time anyway. So we lugged the rapidly-melting ice back up the hill and for the first time had cold water. It was a red-letter day.

We talked with the kids and their mother about God. They were very "religious" and had all of the right answers, but there was something rather sad about it. Sometimes the children seemed more like little old men and women than children, and they had been without everything for so long that I don't think they really thought God cared anymore -- or perhaps He never had. I wonder if inside they really believed He was there.

One noon after the bowl of boiled rice with two tablespoons of meatless soup poured over it, the thought came to me that since God had sent us there we had a right to expect more than this. I told the people at the table that I didn't think this was a satisfactory diet. Rick agreed and we said we were going to go to our house and pray for money. We went into the chairless bedroom, lay down on the bed, and told God the food was not adequate, that we knew He wanted to provide better, and asked that He send us some money. We got up and carefully looked through our billfolds. Nothing. We searched the pockets of our clothing. Empty. We went through everything we owned, praying all of the time. We even searched the linings of our suitcases. We had no money at all. We lay back down on our bed and prayed importunately for about a half an hour. I got up and picked up Rick's wallet and looked inside. We had already searched it thoroughly several times. Immediately inside, not hidden at all, was a fifty rupiah note!

We joyously ran to tell everyone and the kids went with us to the nearest "store," a shack with a dirt floor, where there were a few odd things for sale. We bought peanuts and bananas. They don't use coins in Indonesia, only paper money; the few rupiahs in change were counted carefully into Becky's palm. She counted it into mine. I counted it again and put it in my pocket. It wasn't very much. We happily trooped back to the house and shared the bananas and peanuts with everyone. There was plenty and everyone was full, and full of praise to God.

That night rice and soup again, and again we were hungry. I suggested we go to the store and see what we could buy with the leftover money. Perhaps it would purchase a few peanuts. When we arrived at the store I pulled the change from my pocket and with it was another fifty rupiahs -- only this time it was two twenty-five rupiah notes, whereas before it had been one fifty. Again we feasted, this time on peanuts and pomelo (something like grapefruit) and blessed God.

The next day Tan Ik Wan arrived unexpectedly with meat, flour, sugar, bread, and fruit. He had come to persuade us to speak to a group from his church (sort of a cross between Presbyterian and Dutch Reformed). On the way to Malang, he advised that the Director of World Vision had heard we were there, had always wanted to meet us, and had made Ik Wan promise to bring us to see them. I was not enthused. I was concerned about a lot of things and didn't want to spend time socializing. It has never been my line; I have no small talk. However, what could we say to this fine Christian if he wanted us to do something to please him? We knew him well enough by this time that we were impressed. He wasn't one of the money guys, or the power guys, or the troublemakers, or the get-my-picture-in-the-paper guys. He struck us as sincerely being in love with Christ and wanting everyone to know how great He was. He was our kind of people. We agreed to suffer this handshaking bit at World Vision.

Just before we left the United States, Rick had been rubbing my back one night while he read. I was in that in-between state, not certain of being awake or asleep, when I saw in front of me an interesting-looking house. I appeared to be watching and at the same time participating. I opened the gate and went inside. There was a formal rose garden on the right and I began to walk toward the rear of the house. Keeping my eyes closed so the picture wouldn't disappear I said to Rick, "It can't be Indonesia we are going to: this is no little grass shack but a magnificent edifice." He asked what it was like, and I told him I didn't know how to describe the house as it was modern architecture in a style I was unfamiliar with, had formal gardens and a large patio. As I walked toward the patio I could see another building behind the first one. The patio was roofed and was separated from the gardens by another gate. I raised the latch on the second gate, and as I did the "picture" vanished. It was one more of those incredible experiences that seem to happen to people who have received the Spirit -- but so far I didn't know what it meant.

Feeling like a passenger in "Mr Toad's Wild Ride," I breathed a sigh of relief as after thirty miles of rocky Indonesian "road" we pulled into the driveway of a spectacular house with formal rose gardens, a large patio, and another building behind the house. It was the house I had seen when I was half asleep before I left California! The architecture was Dutch. It was the largest house in Malang, located at 2 Bromo Street, and now the headquarters of World Vision.

Spencer DeJong was the acting Director of World Vision for one year. He was big, of Dutch descent, and looked like a man who enjoyed his food. His wife, AAmy, was also of Dutch descent. Spense was a minister of the Reformed church, and both he and Amy had received the Holy Spirit. We were kindred spirits immediately. They wanted a sympathetic ear and poured out their problems -- and they had a lot of them. The mess he had been left to clean up was shocking. For three days they had found it necessary to burn vitamins which had spoiled. They asked us to come and look at the problems they had in the warehouse. Obediently we trooped along. Inside Spence pointed to a pyramid of cans of paint. "There is American paint drying up. You couldn't use some paint, could you?"

Hesitatingly, I answered with a question, "You wouldn't have any turquoise, would you?"

"I don't think so. They just send us colors that no one wants. We have a lot of gray."

He looked through the labels. "Here's a box of turquoise!"

It was six cans -- more than enough to paint the sick missionary's bedroom.

Spence continued to tell us his troubles as we wandered through the warehouse. "Look at that -- cases of Gerber's egg yolks. What can I do with that? The Indonesians won't eat anything but rice. Here, take some." He handed me a case of Gerber's egg yolks. We had prayed for eggs.

"Here. You'll need powdered milk if you're going to live here. It's almost impossible to get fresh milk." The tubercular family now had eggs and milk.

"You had better take some vitamins." He loaded us down with bottles of vitamins. "Any special kind you want?"

"Do you have any Vitamin C?"

"No. They didn't send that."

We wandered on. They gave us several cases of soup. Amy saw some large rolls of gauze and cut some off for us. "You can use this for all sorts of things," she told us. "We knew what we were going to use it for.

As we left the warehouse one of them said, "That box belonged to the previous director. We're going to throw it out. Why don't you see if there is anything in it you can use?" It contained half of a large bottle of Vitamin C and most of a box of surgical tape -- the kind that never loses its sticking power.

We now had everything we had prayed for, and we had not asked anyone for anything!

We left for Tan Ik Wan's house. Spence was coming to our meeting that afternoon, and we were returning home with him for supper. I spoke, and Spence counted around forty who were baptized with the Holy Spirit afterward. He was very happy about it, and he and Ik Wan said one woman who didn't know English began speaking English when she received the Spirit.

Dinner was roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes and fried eggplant. We hadn't had that kind of food in a long time. The three of us ate until we could hardly move. The next morning at breakfast Amy said, "This is the only kind of cloth we have, but we have bolts and bolts of it. I'm going to cut some off for you and you can have some shirts made for Rick." She unrolled a huge bolt of khaki drill cloth and snipped off enough for two outfits apiece for Rick and me. Now that was something we hadn't even prayed for!

Amy and Spence insisted we stay a few days, before we returned. When they heard we had no washcloths, towels, or sheets, they fished around in a missionary barrel and found several old wash cloths and three or four towels. They insisted upon buying material for us (which we later were able to pay for) and I made sheets on Amy's old treadle sewing meachine. She asked if there was anything else we needed. I told her the only thing was bulgar wheat -- that we needed some sort of staple diet for everyone that would be healthier than refined rice. She didn't know anything about that. Later I saw the cook ladling cracked bulgar wheat from a burlap bag. "That's it," I cried to Amy. "That," Amy said, "is what they feed the watchdog." On the bag was stenciled, A Gift From America to the People of Indonesia. We had our bulgar wheat.

We had left for Malang with no money and no resources. When we arrived back at the "ranch" it was with food, soap, vitamins, surgical supplies, material and turquoise paint. While we had been absent, the screening had arrived from the group at home. Rick screened the missionaries' bedroom and painted it turquoise. I made new curtains. There were canned goods to supplement the rice meals and wheat cereal for breakfast. A different atmosphere began to permeate the old homestead. It looked as though Someone cared after all.

The missionary returned from the bush. His wife had been waiting several months in anxious anticipation. He hugged Rick and shook hands with his wife.

Everyone gathered together nightly for prayer and Holy Communion. One night I had the feeling that we were going to leave. Since we had no money and no way to get to Jakarta to use our tickets home, it was very odd. I whispered to Rick, "I think we're going to heave here soon and come back only for our clothes." Rick whispered back, "I'm with you."

When we went to our house that night, for the very first time Suzanne began to cry and said, "I don't like it here. I want to leave." I said, "It's OK. Don't cry. We are leaving in the morning and we are not coming back." How could I make such a statement????

We had made arrangements to go to Surabaya with the DeJongs the next morning. I don't know why, as we had no money with which to shop and Surabaya is not noted for its beauty. Bright and early we hiked to the village and hitched a ride on the milk truck. This is an experience that no one should do without. It was a stake struck full of milk cans. The circumference of a milk can lid is very small and does not fit American bottoms. Nevertheless we picked our cans and perched on them while the Indonesians did the same. Then the milk truck tore off. It was like riding a bucking bronco for thirty miles with assorted chickens, produce, and arms or legs being thrust into one's face or other parts of the anatomy. I was sore for days afterward.

In Malang we stopped at Ik Wan's house, which was nearer to the milk run stop than World Vision, but Ik Wan was at his tanning factory. We only had the equivalent of ten cents US, which is exactly what was needed for a betja to World Vision. A betja is a rickshaw pushed by a man on a tricycle. From World Vision, Spence took us to Batu, where they lived, and from there we journeyed to Surabaya for a day of seeing the sights. They actually have a department store in Surabaya!

That evening the telephone at Batu rang. Yes, they even had a telephone -- such luxury. Ik Wan was on the other end. "The servants told me you would be in Batu. Last week God woke me in the night and told me to go to Jakarta, Bandung, and Semarang (about 500 miles away) and set up speaking engagements for you. I couldn't tell you because you were in the mountains with no telephone so I flew to those cities and booked you to speak, and you must leave at once."

"But we have no clothes with us."

"You can return to get your clothes, but then you will have to go. They are expecting you in Jakarta to preach."

I had been right: we really were leaving. And it is true that we never went back again except to get our clothes. In the village, rocks had been thrown at Suzy because she had blonde hair and blue eyes and the Indonesians thought she was Dutch. The umbilical cord had been cut. We were on our own in a country where no one liked foreigners, with no money, and no moxie. I felt like Pearl White again, hanging on a cliff clutching a boulder that was breaking loose --

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