This story is adapted from a newsletter article David wrote for Gospel Mission Aviation, Inc., in January 2022. —Editors.
I was startled out of sleep by vehicle lights . . .
Then, voices. “That’s it, right over there.” I lay still in my hammock, willing my brain to kick into gear. It came back to me slowly. My plane and I had been pushed scores of miles off course by storms and were forced to stay overnight at this little airport off my route. I looked at my phone: 9:30 p.m. I had been asleep for an hour already.
As I peered over the edge of my hammock, I was blinded by headlights. Judging by the shape, they belonged to the brand-new blacked-out Land Cruiser I had seen earlier that day. The voices came closer, a group of them. “Amigo,” someone called in a low voice. A fresh wave of tension swept over me. Why were they back? This was not a curiosity visit. I had been warned that there was a lot of suspicious traffic in this remote town and no everyday folks drove brand-new Land Cruisers. These individuals appeared to be in charge of the airport, as it had been mysteriously shut down a month ago. A man sidled up to my hammock. “My friend wants to talk with you. Can you get up?”
I swung my feet over the edge and sat up, counting five men coming toward me. In the glare of the headlights I recognized the driver and several others I had met that afternoon. A few yards away they stopped in an awkward cluster, seemingly confused over what to do. The driver eventually started an interrogation thinly masked in “normal” conversation. He asked what I was doing. I explained everything just as I had that afternoon. I was on my way to Pando (Bolivia’s northern jungle province) with some dental equipment to join a medical team doing work in a remote community. The interrogation ended with heavy pressure to put my airplane, the Cub, in his hangar. He would even give me a ride to the hotel. They would push the Cub over for me. . . right now. “Let’s go!” He took a few steps toward the Cub. When I continued to decline, several others joined in the pressure. In my mind’s eye I could see the Cub locked securely away and “nobody” around the next morning, or the next or the next. What an easy way to steal an airplane under the pretense of being helpful and hospitable. If I resisted, would they get rid of me so no one could tell the tale?
I was startled out of sleep by vehicle lights … Then, voices.
An Odd Switch
Switching tactics, the driver looked at his phone. “I checked out your website. You fly in the mountains near Cochabamba?” This was truly an odd conversation! I explained again where I had come from and whom I worked with. “Do you need fuel?” This topic had been covered earlier as well. Yes, I would like fuel, as it would allow me to go directly to my destination. I had burned too much already because of bad weather. “OK, I’ll send fuel at 5:00 a.m.,” he said, almost sounding like he meant it. With that, the men returned to the Land Cruiser.
The sound of the vehicle faded quickly into the night, and I lay down in my hammock, breathing prayers of thanks. A moment later the aftershock of adrenaline hit. I had felt strangely calm during the “conversation.” With trembling hands I pulled out my phone and texted Jodi. “Just had a weird moment with the locals. Pray for chariots of fire.” Meditating on God’s protection of Elisha in Dothan quickly gave me peace, and I drifted off to sleep.
I was packing up the next morning when a vehicle rounded the corner at 5:00 a.m. sharp. A young Brazilian who had been with the group jumped out and pulled a large jug out of the pickup. In the light of my headlamp, the fuel looked and smelled like aviation fuel. We chatted like old friends in my broken Spanish and his Portuguese/Spanish mix while we fueled the Cub. When the Cub was full and I had paid for the fuel, I gave him a Christmas present, The Desire of Ages. Would he be able to read it since it was in Spanish? Yes, his wife was Bolivian. As he drove away, I stood marveling. What had just happened? I couldn’t say for sure, but I knew I’d been protected.
The Story Continues
The rest of the flight wasn’t easy—storms pushed me around, and a solid wall of rain blocked the last stretch to the airstrip. But once again God cleared the way. The weather that should’ve been there wasn’t. I landed on dry ground under a dry sky. Looking at the photo I snapped of the radar and the window view, all I could do was whisper, “Thank You, Lord.” I had set out to bring help to a remote village—and I arrived, reminded once again that I was never flying alone.
