It was the summer of 1978. The blazing summer sun beat down on the 35,000 excited people who had gathered near Salem, Oregon for the Jesus Northwest Festival. Campsites were overflowing with thousands of tents. The scene resembled a Christian version of a Woodstock hippie gathering. Excitement and chaos was in the air.
All the muscles in my upper body burned with pain as I paced the length of the airport terminal — a sleepless infant in a front carrier, a loaded backpack on my back, and a heavy diaper bag repeatedly slipping from my shoulder…
In a split second, my lively pace came to a halt when I heard a bloodcurdling shriek come from the valley to my right. The cool air of the early morning stood still as I looked around with wide eyes and paused to listen.
When Amy Carmichael set off for Japan on her first missionary venture as a young woman in her twenties, almost immediately she faced unexpected disaster. As her ship approached the shoreline, it was caught in the tail end of a typhoon — causing it to pitch back and forth sickeningly, making landing impossible. She had already said a heart-wrenching “forever goodbye” to her beloved friends and family in England. Now, she was completely alone on a foreign ship on the other side of the world, and caught in a deadly storm.
Let’s pretend that we are getting to know each other at a support group for Christian women struggling with various issues. Such groups exist, but they’re sometimes called Bible studies and mommy play-dates.
My heart should have been soaring with excitement over the adventure unfolding before me, but instead I was sinking under the oppressive weight of anxiety and fear.
I was on my way to London, England with my mum and auntie, for a few days of proper touristing before we’d make our way north to the beautiful Lake District.