December 6, 1978 - If I can do it, anybody can!

Thirty two years ago today, we boarded a plane and arrived two days later in the country known then as Zaire, now known as the Democratic Republic of Congo, a mammoth country 1/3 the size of the US. Scared, pregnant, and feeling ill-equipped for the mission field, from which I had always run, I sat numb in my seat.

Upon our arrival in Kinshasa I robotically made my way to the door to deplane and walked out into a sauna-like atmosphere. We were on our own. No one was there to greet us. No one even knew we were coming.

"We" consisted of my husband, Jim, born in what was then called the Belgian Congo of great stock: Dr. and Mrs. Laban and Marcella Smith. Laban we were told was the first oral surgeon in the history of the Congo. He lost his first wife to a brain tumor, which threw him into a tailspin of despair while trying to rear their two small children and maintain two dental practices on the East side of Detroit. He met Marcella while attending a small chapel where, after hearing Flossie Knopp preach one day, received Christ as his Savior. Marcella and Laban lived in a beautiful home in Grosse Pointe across the street from Lindberg's mother and not too far from the Dodges and other automobile executives. He had a taste for the finer things of life, but one day he called Marcella from the office and said, "God is calling us to Congo." Marcella had other thoughts. She told Laban he was too zealous, that he should pray more. He did. When she realized his zeal was not going away and that there may be more to it than just hyperenthusiasm, she wrote a mission board in Ohio, applying for approval to go as missionaries to the Congo. As she dropped the letter in the mailbox, she said, "Lord, I've done my part. Now please do yours, and see that this letter gets lost." It didn't, and off they went with two small children to Africa, never looking back. Laban wrote in his diary at the mission station of Kajiji on August 31, 1939, "Lord, I have covenanted for 10,000 of these precious souls. I thank you for the fire you have kindled in my heart, and may it never go out." He yearned to win 10,000 souls to Christ in Congo in exchange for his 10,000 patients in America. He got what he asked for. Jim grew up in the awe and wonder of first hand, pioneer missions.

In addition to Jim and me, we took our three children: Shawn, age 10, Nicol, age 8, and Todd, age 5. We collected our bags at the terminal, and a wave of nausea swelled over me as we made our way to a taxi waiting outside. The drivers of the two taxis our baggage required held up a one hundred dollar bill and said, "We want 3 of these." After negotiating with the men, we were on our way through the garbage and debris-lined streets of the sprawling capital.

We made our way to a place called CAP last visited in 1969 by Jim and I, when we took a trip to Congo to see if the Lord was calling us there. I remember standing at Laban's grave, 4 months' pregnant with Nicol, asking God if Congo was in His plan for us. Inside I prayed that it would never be in His plan. He didn't listen. Jim's missionary "Aunt Renie and Uncle Howard" were running the hotel then, and it was quite appealing. Nine years later it boasted one grey towel, half clean sheets, and hosted cockroaches, lizards, and mosquitos. My nausea intensified.

Diarrhea set in a couple of days later, but we managed to attend The International Church of Kinshasa. Visitors were asked to stand and introduce themselves. Jim did so and explained we were on our way to the Interior or Bush to meet his mother who had preceded us by a month, or so we thought. The next day, Dr. Fountain, a missionary doctor, met Jim on the porch and told him Marcella had died 3 weeks before at Nkara, where we would eventually make our home.

Jim sank in disbelief and the aroma of death was paralyzing. We were perplexed as well by the paperwork needed for us to go up country. Things had changed drastically in just 9 years. We just got there, but the thought of returning to America passed through our minds.

The next day out of seemingly no where, a lady by the name of Jody Voth appeared at our door step. She said, "Get your bags packed. You're coming home with me, and I don't want any arguing." Now, I am a shy person by nature, but I knew God had sent an angel, and so I ran back into the room and started packing.

We went from a non-rated excuse for a hotel to a comfortable, air-conditioned, beautifully furnished embassy home. Oh joy! Jody had heard Jim's testimony, went home and told her husband she sensed the Lord wanted them to take us in, and after he agreed, she came to get us. In my heart of hearts I will always believe that the Voths are the biggest reason we stayed in Congo.

We lived with them for 7 weeks, after which we made our way to Kikwit (a town of 700,000 people at thst time) after all our paper work was in order, staying there 6 weeks, and then into the bush at the mission station of Nkara. I dealt with all kinds of emotions depending on my hormonal level from Dec 6 to early March when we arrived at Nkara, but was sure once we got there, the will of God would fit like a glove. Not!

There is so much more to the story. Come back tomorrow for more. This is enough for one setting.