Last night Marjorie and I were ready to prepare for bed when we heard someone sing out.  “Singout” is what you do here instead of knock on a door.  “Elda mo Sista Kerrnnns,” the voice sang.  No one ever comes to our isolated veranda at night, and no one can see in, so we don’t even bother to close our curtains.

“Just a minute.  We have to get decent,” I called back.  I recognized Sister Tarivuhavuha’s voice, but I didn’t recognize the young man with her.

“Elda Kerns,” Sister T. said, “this boy’s mother is in the hospital, and needs a blessing.  Can you come?”

“You bet.  Just let me put on a white shirt and tie.  I’ll call Tom Hokao to help me.”

Tom is an 18-year-old elder who will leave on his mission to Guam next month.  He’s my favorite because of his sunny disposition and ready smile.  He speaks Bislama and French, understands and reads English, but is hesitant to speak it.  We hurried to Tom’s house.  I regretted that I hadn’t asked him to put on a white shirt and tie.  I pointed my headlights into his dark yard, and in a minute Tom emerged from his house, shining in my lights, smartly dressed in a white shirt, a tie, and slacks.  I was very proud of him.

These young elders get more opportunities to use their Priesthood than do outgoing missionaries back home.  Last week one of them got to perform two baptisms.  Two others, including Tom, were asked to bless babies last Sunday in sacrament meeting.  I watched as Tom helped administer to a sick man two months ago, so I knew Tom had experience, but I carefully explained the procedure for anointing to him.  I went through it twice, and then we went to the woman’s bedside in the emergency room.

The sight was alarming.  I guessed the patient to be about 60 years old.  She was totally unresponsive, and was quite obviously on the verge of death.  She was surrounded by 8 very worried-looking family members who were rubbing her feet, and trying to open her eyes.  No doctor was in sight.  The crowd parted as Tom and I approached.  Tom anointed, and I sealed.  I found myself promising the nearly-dead old lady that she’d be healed.  I then stepped back and surveyed the situation.

“Where is the doctor?” I asked Sister T.

“No doctor,” she answered, “only a nurse.”

I hurried out to my pickup to find the phone number of my Chinese doctor friend, called him, and told him that one of my friends was in the emergency room, was very sick, and no doctor was there to care for her.  “I’ll be right down,” he answered.

The doctors’ quarters are only several hundred yards away.  I was grateful for the tender mercy that had been extended to me which had made Dr. Wang my friend.  We’d just taken him out to dinner the night before.  He marched into the emergency room, sized up the situation, asked a couple of questions, and stated, “…emergency…malaria…quinine…now!”  There was nothing more for Tom and me to do, so we left Sister T. to look after things, and I took Tom home.

That afternoon District President Mahit had called and asked, “Are you going to Palon tomorrow?”

“Yes, Sister Kerns is going there to begin giving piano lessons.  We’ll be going every Thursday from now on.”

“Can I go with you, and can we go get some sanbij?”

“Sandwiches?” I asked incredulously.

“No, sanbij, down by the sea.”

“Oh, sand!” I said comprehendingly.

So President Mahit and I had gone to the bij (beach), and filled some bags with sand.  I had also run into Palon Branch President Kelly in town who had announced that he’d spend the night at his brother’s house, and would also ride out to Palon with us in the morning.  These are both very fine men who I admire and enjoy.

This morning, along with the sand, I loaded Marjorie’s two portable keyboards into the pickup, plus a whiteboard, Marjorie, and the two presidents.  The two men sat in the back seat and alternately visited with us and between themselves.  At one point some jokes of some kind passed between them, and the two men began giggling so uncontrollably that I got caught up in their glee, despite the fact that I had no idea what was funny other than their laughing.

Whenever the conversation lagged, one of our friends had the habit of humming.   The other kept making a sharp “sheesh” sound.  I was dying to turn around and see him make the sound so that I could determine why and how he did it.  I could never catch him at it.  These people do a lot of spitting, and the only thing I could imagine was that this was his way of emptying his mouth of a buildup of saliva since he was inside the pickup where he couldn’t spit.

The last 7 kilometers of the road to Palon is the worst road on this island.  It’s worse than the giant craters that constitute most of Luganville’s streets.  The road to Palon climbs up a very steep pitch that is nothing more than sharp, rutted lava rocks and coral.  The Palon Branch is a very nice, modern (for Vanuatu), Church-constructed building in the middle of a clearing, in the middle of the bush, in the middle of numerous bush houses that are tucked back into the forest.  It’s an idyllic setting.

No one was at the meetinghouse when we arrived; but before we’d gotten the keyboards and whiteboard set up, the place had been swept, and chairs had been set up for the 20 students that appeared.  It was touching to see how eager they all were.  Marjorie gave a group lesson teaching about notes, measures, beats, timing, and how to conduct.  We all led 4/4 time, 3/4 time, and 2/4 time.  Four students at a time then gathered around each piano as Marjorie and I both taught them how to ping on a single key while properly playing quarter notes, half notes, dotted half notes, and whole notes.  It was a difficult concept for some of the students to grasp until one sharp young man caught on, and began animatedly telling the rest in Bislama how it was done.  Marjorie has already identified Stanley as her most promising Palon student.

We went home by way of Fanafo, but not before everyone loaded us down with produce from their gardens.  There’s no denying these people when they want to show you their gratitude.  The district president had business in Fanafo, and I wanted to collect school forms from the branch president there so that the children from the branch can have their school fees paid by the Church.  I’d also brought along a caulking gun so that I could caulk the missionaries’ shower.  I’d noticed that their wooden bathroom floor was soaking wet when I’d gone there two days previously to crawl around in their attic to inspect their wiring.  I found no junction boxes up there, and rodents had chewed the wiring.  I’ll take an electrician there next Tuesday to fix things and bring it up to code.

We made it back to Luganville with just 45 minutes to spare before the training meeting we’d scheduled with three seminary teachers.  I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, so I ate half a pineapple (since we now have four), and because these pineapples are incredible.

Marjorie and I hurried out to Banban and picked up Sister Tarohati and 3-year-old Sondra.  Sondra always gives me hugs around my legs.  She’s also the one who previously inspected Marjorie’s white legs so closely, even looking up under her skirt to see how far the white went.  We picked up Sister Tarivuhavuha on the way back.

I was scared to ask how her friend was doing in the hospital for fear that she hadn’t made it; but since we couldn’t just ignore it, Marjorie asked, “How is your friend?”

“Oh,” Sister T. answered matter-of-factly, “five minutes after Elda Kerns administered to her she opened her eyes, got up, and went home.”

This evening, after I’d started recording the above events, my phone rang.  It was Dr. Wang calling to say that he wanted our patient to come back tonight for a follow-up treatment.  We got dressed again, and gathered up Sister T., who took us to the lady’s house.  She came out carrying a baby!  This dying 60-year-old woman had been transformed into a very smiley, 30-year-old nursing mother!!!  It was another miracle.  I couldn’t believe it could possibly be the same woman.  We left them all at the hospital for the 2-hour treatment.  They’ll walk home.

Which is good, because we’re mighty tired.  Our senses are full.  So are our hearts and spirits.  How blessed we are to be here in this beautiful place among such beautiful, humble, faith-filled people.  How merciful the Lord is to have let us befriend Dr. Wang.  That young mother would have died last night except for the Priesthood blessing and for the fact that I knew who to call.