Teaming Up

Two years later, in 1959, we were able to return to that beautiful spot overlooking the sea in Monrovia, Liberia. But those two years held more than a few surprises for us.

   When we flew back to the States after our three months in West Africa, we couldn't hug our children enough. Our friends Aleta and Roy had done such a good job that I sensed we had missed the children more than they had missed us. Five-year-old David had grown considerably and was full of neighborhood news. The girls had continued with their singing; even as we were unpacking, the phone rang with another invitation for them.

  As soon as we could get our slides developed, we showed the pictures to our church family at an evening service. But while we wanted to share with our church our experiences and the needs we saw, we also wanted to get the children used to the idea of going to Liberia to live.

   At home, we often showed the slides and shared our adventures. Occasionally we asked the children, "Wouldn't you like to go there?"

   Their answers always came in the form of more questions. "Where would we go to school?" "What do they do for fun?" "Do they play baseball?" "Do they have TV?"

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   While we were settling back into a normal family routine, our dear friends at Bethany Alliance Church called and asked us to come to the Bronx and tell about our African trip. Of course we said yes and we spent a delightful weekend sharing our new vision with old friends.

   While in New York, Howard followed up on a letter from Billy Graham that had been waiting for us when we arrived home from Africa. In it, Dr. Graham told of lamenting to a mutual friend about needing a black on his staff to reach a broader audience. Having heard about our trip, his friend suggested Howard's name. In short, Dr. Graham wanted to meet Howard — in New York City.

   This was right before the 1957 Madison Square Garden Crusade, and the trip back across Pennsylvania to New York became the turning point of our lives. Then and there Dr. Graham asked Howard to serve as the first black evangelist on his team. This called for long prayer sessions. This wasn't a decision to be made lightly. Of course we wanted to do whatever the Lord wanted, but we had just returned from Liberia and were anxious to be settled again. Finally, Howard expressed his desire to join him but also his reluctance to leave our church so soon after having returned from an extended absence. But when Dr. Graham wrote a letter to our church asking that they release Howard from his responsibilities for twelve weeks, they readily agreed, saying, "We don't want to hinder him in any way."

   Part of Howard's duties were to get more blacks and other ethnic people involved in the 1957 crusade. Dr. Graham wanted the New York crusade to model blacks and whites working together for the cause of Jesus Christ and the gospel — an incredible goal for the times.

   The thought of Howard's being in New York while the children and I stayed in Cleveland didn't appeal to me. He needed me. I needed him, especially since I didn't yet have a driver's license. But I'd learned a valuable lesson as a young pregnant wife, stuck alone in a New York upstairs apartment. I wouldn't fret over the "what if"; I'd just give my concern for Howard's safety and my overwhelming parenting responsibilities

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to the Lord. Besides, all during the African journey, I'd wondered why whites and blacks couldn't work together for the good of His kingdom; how could I let nervous fretting destroy the very dream we'd had?

   Howard wrote often and called home every week; still I counted the days till he would be back by my side, helping me with the children and the house. But whenever I was tempted to ask him to come back home, I'd remind myself of God's promise to be my husband in Howard's absence. Those early morning visits with the Lord that Howard and I always had together, we now spent apart. But being dependent on the Lord only for my strength, those prayer times were now even more vital to my daily routine — both by myself in the morning and with the children in the evening.

*     *     *

   When Howard was away it seemed as though something was always going wrong in the house. I had to call a plumber; the lights shorted out; we came close to being flooded out.

   We lived along a creek that had swollen rapidly because of prolonged, heavy rain. Each day I watched the water rise closer to our door, but I just kept praying, asking the Lord to keep the water outside from coming in. When a policeman in high boots came to tell us to gather as many of our belongings as possible and leave within the hour, I had nowhere to turn but to the Lord; I couldn't reach Howard to ask for his help. Oberlin was too far away for any of our relatives to come that quickly. And of course I couldn't drive. Just as the fears started to overwhelm me, "fear not" verses filled my mind: "Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not" (Isaiah 35:4); "Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God" (Isaiah 41:10).

   "All right, Lord," I said aloud, "where shall we go?"

   Immediately I thought of Mrs. Emma Bennett, one of our church members. The mother of a large family, she always appeared unruffled. When I called her and explained our plight, she (a nondriver also) sent someone over within twenty minutes to gather us and all our clothes into the car.

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   Soon we were safe and sound, sitting around Mrs. Bennett's large table. All I had to do was see her big "take-charge" grin and I relaxed. We stayed there for three days, and when we were able to return home, we were joyous that the water hadn't risen past the steps. How thankful I was that the Lord had protected us and our property in Howard's absence — through the capable hands of Mrs. Bennett, who is still a beloved friend.

   Just as we were settling into our routine again, eight-year-old Phyllis decided she didn't want to live with us anymore.

   She had always loved cats and repeatedly begged for one of her own. One afternoon, a kitten followed her home, but my answer was the usual — no, you can't have a cat. Even my explanation that the owner would be lonely and looking for it didn't erase the defiance that suddenly came into her eyes.

   "I'm not going to live here anymore. I don't think this family likes me."

   Now Howard and I had always tried to stress our love for our children — by our actions and even by our choice of stories to be read for family devotions; so such a declaration cut through me. Still, not wanting to draw battle lines, I decided to approach this casually. "Oh?" I said, "Where would you go? Do you have a suitcase big enough?"

   She nodded and pulled the largest one from the closet.

   I watched her pack a few little articles and then asked, "Do you have someplace to go where people will love you?"

   She nodded, so I continued. "Good, because we love you and don't want you to be with people who'll love you as much as we do."

   She paused, so, thinking I'd won, I said, "Honey there are lots of times we all want things that we can't have."

   At that, she merely closed her suitcase and dragged it out onto the porch and down the steps.

   I watched her go and prayed the whole way. "O Lord, what have I done to make my child not want to stay here?" I whispered.

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   Then louder I called, "Phyllis, Honey, call me when you get to your new house. Remember we love you."

   By then she was almost to the street. Suddenly she let go of the suitcase, turned around, and came running back. "Oh Mama, I love you too. I don't want to go."

   I held out my arms and welcomed her back.

*     *     *

   While Howard was busy in New York, I was busy with softball games, piano lessons, gardening, church activities, family visits to Oberlin, managing the girls' singing itinerary, and taking driving lessons. And, into that hectic schedule walked the unwelcome, but familiar, prejudice. This time it was directed toward five-year-old David.

   I'd felt the brunt of prejudice against my children before — but when Howard had been home to help me deal with the problem. The daughter of one of our neighbors was in Cheryl's grade. We were the only black family living on our street and every day Ellen, as we'll call her, had followed Cheryl, Gail, and Phyllis home from school, calling them names. Howard and I had advised the girls to ignore the taunts, but gradually the taunts turned to shoving and pinching.

   When I had visited the mother and asked her to help resolve the situation, she had accused me of lying and being a troublemaker. I had come home saddened. Why would someone choose to teach her child hatred instead of kindness? Finally Howard had advised the girls that if Ellen bothered them again, they were to turn around and fight back. The very next day, the girls faced their tormentor, who proved to be a quick learner, never bothering them again.

   Now the the problem crept up again in August when I registered David at the school where he would be starting kindergarten. While the mothers filled out the forms, the children sang and played together — all planned to get them excited about the first day of school. But as we walked home, David let me know things hadn't gone as well as I had thought.

   "Mama, what's wrong with my color?"

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   My heart beat faster at the thought of someone trying to hurt my child when he was so young. We had talked to all of our children about people who feel so bad about themselves that they have to belittle others by calling them names; so surely his question was prompted by more than someone calling him "nigger." To see the pain in my kindergartner was almost unbearable. I took a deep breath before answering him.

   "Nothing's wrong with your color, Honey. Why do you ask?"

   "Well, I was playing with the big blocks. And one of the kids said, 'You can't play with us 'cause you're the wrong color. You should be white like us.' Am I the wrong color, Mama?"

   As David spoke, he grew glum and I knew tears were gathering in his eyes.

   I blinked hard and answered. "No, of course you aren't the wrong color. God made you just as He made all the other races, and there aren't any that are the 'wrong' color. You're special because you're a child of God; you remember that!"

   Suddenly I thought of my mama and how often she had told me those very same words. I smiled at the memory and then launched into a discussion of how God looks at races.

   "Honey, you truly are special. As you get older, you're going to find people who will try to use the Bible to prove that some races are better than others, but don't you believe it. We're all sinners in God's eyes. We all need Jesus Christ. The true divisions in the Bible have nothing to do with race. In every group of people there are some who live for God and some who don't. Those are the only divisions that God sees. You just make sure you live for Him!"

   I didn't know if he had absorbed all that so I squeezed his hand in our special one-two-three code, which meant "I love you." He looked up at me and grinned.

*     *     *

   Gradually the summer passed and soon the children and I took the Greyhound bus to New York to attend the crusade.

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The sight of Howard's smile sent goosebumps up my spine. I was here to take him home, as the New York assignment was over. Seeing the fruit of Howard's work was a thrill for me. People of all races gathered together that week, filling Madison Square Garden. But I was especially excited to see Howard sitting on the platform with the other associates.

   While I was grinning at Howard, the children were elbowing one another and nodding toward the choir. Finally, Cheryl leaned over to me. "Isn't that 'Beulah' up there?"

   Sure enough, there sat Ethel Waters herself. Already a legend, Miss Waters had been in show business many years and was the star of a popular TV show. Even before that, I'd listened to her sing over the radio; the kids weren't the only ones who were delighted to see her in person. Later we learned she had asked to sing in the choir but didn't want a big fuss made about it. During that crusade she recommitted her life to Christ, regaining the peace she had lost over years of backsliding. Later she was asked to sing regularly at crusades and share her testimony as a blessing to thousands — both black and white — who listened. Out of that crusade grew a wonderful friendship with Miss Waters, or "Mom Waters" as she called herself. And how it tickled me to hear her call Howard, "Howie"!

   Howard had introduced me to her in the waiting rooms behind the platform after that first evening of the crusade. She was so heavy at that time, the workers had to take out the arm between the two chairs, but her strong sense of humor turned even that into a joke. She was always friendly but had a no-nonsense attitude toward those who were disrespectful to older people.

   She was interested in every aspect of the crusade and showed endless love to everyone involved — especially our children. As our friendship grew over the years, she'd return to New York and have me pick her up at the airport. After greeting us all with hugs, she'd say, "Let's get something to eat!" All through dinner, she'd tell amusing stories of her childhood or of filming Beulah."

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   She's been with the Lord for several years now, but we still miss her.

   When the New York crusade was over, Howard came home for the winter, but Dr. Graham asked him to work again the following year preparing for the 1958 San Francisco crusade. How was this going to work out? We wanted to return to Africa, and yet we had this marvelous opportunity to reach the black community right within our own country. "Lord," we prayed again, "what do You want us to do?"

   The Bible verse that had meant so much to me during college kept repeating itself in my mind that summer: "God is able" (2 Cor. 9:8).

   I thought we'd eventually have to make a decision between serving on the Billy Graham team or in Africa. But because of Dr. Graham's dream to launch a series of crusades in Africa, we could do both. And radio station ELWA in Monrovia was to become our home base!

   By the end of that summer of 1958 we had made our plans, written ELWA as to our expected arrival, and prepared for our tearful good-byes to our second church family.

   When Ray and Sophie de la Haye of ELWA learned we were returning to Liberia, they hired contractors to begin our home by the sea. But it wasn't on the lot Sophie and I had chosen; the mission didn't want us at the end of the lane, as they thought the townspeople might interpret that position to be discriminatory.

   Thus, on a clear night in February 1959, Howard and I and the four children sailed from the New York harbor. As our ship pulled away from the dock, we watched the diminishing lights of the Statue of Liberty. The children clustered around us, not at all sure if they were going to like this new adventure. That night all of us were too excited to sleep well.

   The trip across the Atlantic took us almost twelve days, and provided us with the most glorious sunsets we'd ever seen — and also the roughest storm. The children and I were all seasick, so if I was going to have doubts about this venture they would have surfaced then. Fortunately, all of the doubts had

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been turned over the Lord long ago. We were sailing with His clear blessing.

   At last, on the morning of the twelfth day, our ship approached the docks of Monrovia. I watched the shore grow closer and noticed strong young swimmers coming out to greet the ship. Several passengers threw coins for which the youngsters dove. We looked at the murky water with its occasional floating garbage and shuddered that kids were swimming in it. But even as my mind formed those thoughts, I thought of the millions who were spiritually swimming in far murkier waters.

   "O Lord," I prayed, "we are Yours. Use us to offer Your living water to a thirsty, dying world."

   Our dear friends from ELWA were at the dock to meet us. We introduced the children and all chatted at once. With all the commotion, none of the children said much after we stepped off the ship. Once the truck was loaded and we were on our way to our new home, they gawked at the goats, as numerous as trucks, and all the pedestrians walking along, trying to avoid both.

   As we watched the street scenes before us, the girls or David occasionally poked one another and pointed out some interesting sight, such as a ten-year-old girl who stood with a toddler on each hip, but for the most part they were silent. Finally twelve-year-old Cheryl leaned forward and touched me on the shoulder. "Mama," she said quietly, "is this the city?"

   I looked out at the white, low buildings and contrasted them to the tall buildings of Cleveland and New York that she was used to. I turned to answer, concerned that she might be homesick already. Instead I saw only adventure in her shining eyes. They were going to be just fine.

   Shortly we arrived at our new home. We explored the rooms with our ELWA friends: Ray and Sophie de la Haye, Dick and Jane Reed, Tom and Cathy Lowe, Bill and Betty Thompson, and many others who helped us pray, plan, and build our beautiful seaside home with funds provided by the Billy Graham evangelistic Association. Our home had four bedrooms, a cozy study room near the master bedroom, and a sitting room complete with fireplace — so nice in the rainy

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season. The kitchen and dining area were in the back of the house, and the open patio at the front of the house faced the ocean.

   As we walked through the rooms, we expressed our delight, thanking our friends for their careful planning and work. When we circled back to the front door, we instinctively joined our hands while Howard prayed, dedicating to the Lord not only our new home but the next five years of our "Operation Africa" as well.

   As Howard said "five years," soon-to-be-nine-year-old Phyllis squeezed my fingers — her familiar way of expressing concern. Undoubtedly, five years seemed like forever to her. I gently squeezed her hand back, and she leaned her head against my arm, trusting me — just as we were trusting our heavenly Father for the days ahead.

*     *     *

   Within just a few days, the earthly goods we'd brought with us were settled into our new home; we were ready to begin our work.

   The racial discrimination I'd encountered in Africa two years before had been outside Liberia, so I was confident such pettiness wouldn't hinder our work here.

   Howard's agreement with Billy Graham was that Howard wouldn't have to travel until we had been settled almost a year. That gave us plenty of time to develop a schedule not only for our family but for our work, which was centered on the radio ministry of ELWA.

   Since we wanted the children to stay with us and to be involved in the radio ministry, we chose not to send them to boarding school. Rather, we enrolled them in ELWA Academy and Cheryl took a correspondence course. My teaching degree, which I'd never used, enabled me to help the children with their lessons and to teach at ELWA's preschool. I also taught literacy classes for the Liberian staff, including those who helped us with the cooking and housework. With Howard away so much

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and my responsibilities at the station, I don't know how I would have managed without the household helpers.

   Our days passed far too quickly. Every morning all of us were up early to have breakfast and family devotions together. Even as hectic as our days often were, Howard and I insisted upon that family time to emphasize that we had to be listening for God's instructions for each day. After all, our work was His work.

   After devotions, everyone took vitamins and antimalarial medicines. Even though we slept under mosquito netting every night, all of us contracted malaria shortly after we arrived. The medicine made us high strung — and I mean high strung. Sometimes I wondered if the prevention was worse than the disease. But if we cut back on the dose, we'd become ill again. Malaria affects people in different ways. It gives some people the cold shakes. Some get high fevers and trembling. Still others get high fevers and diarrhea. For me, it meant fevers and muscle aches so severe I couldn't move. I'd put off swallowing the medicine as long as possible because it was so awful, but eventually I'd have to give in. It was the children who worried us most when they were ill, so we insisted they take the medicine regularly.

   After the medicine taking and kitchen clean-up, we spent the mornings in study — the children at their lessons, Howard preparing his sermons, and I gleaning stories of the women in the Scriptures for use in my radio program "Women of Faith."

   We devoted afternoons to mission work in the surrounding villages or programming at the studio. During the week I often led a Bible study in the two closest villages, and on most Sunday mornings I held a Sunday school class in our living room. To my delight, presenting the gospel was called "passing the Word."

   One of the Liberian women, called Aunt Clara by all of the children, worked at the station and influenced many of the Liberians to attend the various services. On Sunday afternoons after our ELWA church service, she would accompany several of us as we went out to one of the villages to conduct a service.

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There never seemed to be enough hours to accomplish all we wanted to do.

   Our children weren't involved in the village church services as much as they were in the radio programming. There the girls continued their singing, and, with David, they worked on the weekly children's program called the "Happy Half-Hour." Soon, they were writing their own scripts, illustrating how to solve problems with biblical solutions.

   When we first arrived, David and the girls missed all their after-school activities and television programs. Repeatedly, I coaxed them along with a line: "Now you'll just have to think about all of the good experiences you're collecting to tell your own children." But eventually I found myself trying to keep track of their schedules and wondering if these were the same children who had once missed television and hamburgers.

   As they had been for several years, Howard's sermons were broadcast on Sunday evening — the "Pastor Jones Program." My shorter program was aired once a week. Basing my points on the women of the Bible, I'd talk about prayer or proper relationships among family members. My musical theme was Paul Nicholson's recording of "My Faith Looks Up to Thee." As the music would fade out, I'd be cued in . . . "Greetings to all of my friends today. This is Wanda Jones coming to you from radio station ELWA, Monrovia, Liberia. We trust the Lord is blessing you today and trust you will stay tuned as we lift up the Lord Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord . . ."

   Howard and I also co-hosted a program, "Question Box." We received numerous letters from listeners, asking for all kinds of advice — from clarification of a particular Scripture to how to deal with a wayward spouse. We never revealed any identifying details on the air, of course, but we'd share appropriate Scripture for the situation and encourage the individual to seek God's answer.

   We both believe the Bible gives a beautiful picture of what marriage and family life can be and should be. That's what we wanted for our listeners. If a problem was terribly complicated, we asked the person to correspond with the counseling

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department at the station. Occasionally we'd receive a letter listing all of a family's traumas. Then they'd end by saying how wonderful it was that we — a minister and his wife — didn't have any problems. We had our share all right, but in comparison, ours weren't anywhere near as great as some because we had continued with our newlywed pledge of making Christ the head of the home.

*     *     *

   As the months passed, we settled into a routine of station and missionary responsibilities, interrupted by an occasional bout with malaria and eventually Howard's trips away to begin preparations for and then travel with the 1960 Billy Graham African crusade tour.

   In the 1960 Billy Graham African crusade tour, Monrovia was the first stop on the schedule, followed by Ghana and Nigeria. No interpreter was needed for Billy in Monrovia since it is English-speaking. It was the same as if Billy were preaching back in the States — only to a mass of blacks rather than whites. The first time the Jones Sisters Trio sang for the Billy Graham crusade was in Monrovia.

   During the Monrovian crusade, Billy also dedicated our new home. It was one of those perfect Liberian days — a gentle breeze from the sea and an incredible blue sky. The president and vice president of Liberia sat in the house for the dedication ceremony. Workers had built a thatched roof shelter to protect the other guests from having to stand in the sun as they listened to Billy that afternoon.

   In addition to Billy, Dick Reed sang "Bless This House" and President Tubman spoke, expressing his happiness at the dedication, saying that he listened to Howard on Sunday and to me in the morning.

   By the time Billy Graham arrived, Howard had completed the advance work of preaching at churches in the areas where Billy would speak. His duties on the tour into Ghana and Nigeria included secondary meetings. It was a packed, hectic

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schedule. At the end of the crusade, Howard came home with malaria.

   One afternoon, just before Howard returned, the girls and David pestered me to go to the beach with them. We parents were constantly warning our children about the sea. Sharks often swam just a few hundred yards beyond the beach, so we were always watching for that familiar dark fin against the brilliant blue of the water.

   The children enjoyed the waves, but the favorite spot for all of the mothers was a little lagoon where the overflow of the waves had collected. It was deep enough that we could sit comfortably in it and shallow enough that it was easily warmed by the sun's rays. I'd ease down until the water was up to my neck, and marvel at the beauty around me.

   But this particular afternoon I was just too busy. Because of a malarial attack, I was behind on my scripts for my "Women of Faith" programs. "No, I can't come down now. You go ahead," I said but then I gave a firm warning. "The water is rough. Stay in the surf, close to the shore. Don't go out very far." That settled I turned back to my lesson.

   It never occurred to me that one of them would disobey, but, just as I closed my notebook, I heard someone shout my name.

   I hurried to the patio just as another missionary mother reached the bottom step.

   "Wanda! Gail fell out of the boat. Her head. It's cut badly!"

   While we ran toward the water, my heart prayed, "O Lord, please. Let Gail be all right." But even as I prayed, I felt so guilty. A good mother would have taken them to the beach. I was also angry. How could she have disobeyed me? Why did this have to happen when Howard was away? "All right, Lord, You've promised to be the Husband of the husbandless, and right now I need You to take that role. Help me be strong."

   By then the other children were at my feet. Cheryl and Phyllis were holding David's hands and sobbing out of fear. Before I reached her side, I could see Gail, face-down on the

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white sand, her head wrapped in someone's T-shirt, the bright spot of blood growing larger even as I ran toward her.

   Amazingly, she wasn't unconscious; she smiled weakly as I knelt beside her and caressed her shoulder.

   "I'm right here, Baby. Mama's right here."

   As the other mothers helped me carry her into someone's waiting car, I learned what had happened. Gail and her friend had decided to take the boat out by themselves and watch for sharks from it's supposed safety. When they hadn't found any, they had — as children will — tried to scare one another by rocking the boat. Gail had fallen in, striking the back of her head on the still-moving boat.

   The station nurse took one look and refused to stitch the wound, sending us instead to a town doctor. As Sophie took Cheryl, Phyllis, and David home with her, I cradled Gail on my lap in the back seat of the car. As the other mother carefully drove, I pressed a fresh towel against the back of Gail's head. Being a Saturday afternoon, most of the doctors had left their offices, but finally we found one who examined the gash.

   After making sympathetic noises, he said, "I have no medicine to numb the area while I stitch. She will have to be very brave. First, I'll have to shave the back of her head. You must hold her very tightly."

   Gail tightened her grip on my fingers. "Mama? I'm sorry I disobeyed. Next time, I'll stay where you tell me to be."

   Tears sprang into my eyes. "We'll not talk about that now, Honey. Just lie quietly. And remember that Jesus is here with us."

   I wrapped my arms tightly around my girl. Then with my mouth close to her ear, I prayed for the Lord's special comfort. Her body sagged a little as she relaxed — even while the doctor began to shave the back of her head. Twelve stitches later, I carried her back out to the car and we headed home.

   For several days, Gail was the main attraction at the station. But while she enjoyed the attention, I knew that was the end of her deliberate disobedience.

   Thank goodness the children didn't save all of their naughtiness for when Howard was away. All of us at the station

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had a firm rule: Our children weren't to go into the surrounding villages alone. We were concerned about their safety but we also didn't want them pestering the people. Just after David's seventh birthday, he and his little towheaded friend, Jimmy Lowe, decided they had a good reason to break that rule.

   One afternoon, before dinner, while Howard rested from another malarial attack, David came rushing into the house.

   "Guess what Jimbo and I did!"

  Nonchalantly, I looked up just as Howard entered the room. "I don't know, Honey. What?" I answered.

   "We went preaching! In the village!"

   Howard reacted before I did. "You did what?" he asked even though he'd clearly heard the boast. "You know you aren't supposed to go there without permission." But things got worse.

   David momentarily recoiled and then brightened. "Look. We took up an offering too!"

   He shoved his hand into his pocket and brought out so many pennies that several fell to the floor. I gasped. Each penny represented a sacrifice. The villagers had nothing to spare. Howard was trying to be calm, yet he was stern. "Tell me what happened, son."

   David's grin faded. "We went to the village and I preached and Jimmy handed out tracts."

   "You preached? What did you say?"

   "I told them John 3:16. 'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' And then I said if they loved Jesus they would go to heaven, but if they didn't love Jesus they would be lost. Some of them raised their hands to receive Jesus. And then we took up the offering."

   Howard and I both sighed. Almost as though hesitant to ask, Howard leaned toward David. "What did the people say?"

   David's quick grin was back. "Oh, they told us to come back again. Dad, I was 'passing the Word!' "

   There was a moment of silence, as Howard and I both struggled to know how we should react. We certainly didn't want to discourage evangelistic enthusiasm. For several years

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David had loved to play a preaching game. While I studied my radio script, he'd stand on the kitchen stool and imitate Howard, gestures and all — pointing toward heaven, then toward his imaginary audience.

   Howard spoke first, "David, you disobeyed when you left the compound; we'll deal with that shortly. We don't want you ever going into the villages again without an adult with you. I'm glad you want to tell people about Jesus. But you know, son, you can do that without taking up a collection."

   At that comment, both of us were trying to hold back a chuckle. Howard continued. "You're going to take the money over to the station now and find Aunt Clara and give it to her. She'll know what to buy for the people in that village. Now scoot!"

   Our future preacher went skipping out the door.

   While that was the end of David and Jimbo's unescorted trips into the villages, it wasn't the end of Howard's battles with malaria. While he was on a trip with Billy Graham, the fever returned and worsened after Howard returned home. I tried not to worry, but I'd heard stories of people dying from cerebral malaria. Even Howard's doctor became concerned when the fevers lingered no matter what he prescribed.

   And then I discovered that I was pregnant again! The malarial medicines had never agreed with my system, and we had no idea how a pregnancy would complicate my health — or how the medicines would affect the baby. The tall English doctor leaned forward behind his plain desk as Howard and I waited for his advice.

   "I must recommend that you all return to the States for six months so Rev. Jones can recuperate. And you, Mrs. Jones, should stay there until after the birth of your baby so you can be free of the malarial drugs. If you stay here, I will help you as best I can, but you must know that staying will be dangerous for both of you."

   Howard and I looked at each other mournfully. We had been at ELWA only two and one-half years. Was our dream to end here, with our packing up and going home before our term was up?

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   That afternoon, Howard told the children the doctor's recommendation and our decision to return to the States. I tried to keep from crying, but I expected that they would take to the idea of going. I was surprised to see that they displayed no joy at the thought of leaving.

   Ten-year-old Phyllis spoke first. "But if we go, can we come back home?"

   Home. She had called Liberia "home." Howard smiled at me across their heads as he answered. "We'll come back home just as soon as we can, Sweetie."

   The next two weeks were hectic as Howard and I tried to tape several programs ahead and begin the necessary packing. Friends helped us pack our clothing and some of Howard's books, but we were leaving the rest of the things; after all, we would soon return. When we'd wired that we were returning in a few weeks, Howard's mother and father had immediately asked us to stay with them at Howard's family home on Main Street in Oberlin. With joy, we accepted.

   That morning as our plane taxied down the Liberian runway, we all leaned forward to look out the windows. I squeezed Howard's hand as I fought the tears.

   "Oh, please, Lord," my heart prayed, "please bring us back and let us finish this term. But if for some reason that isn't your will, then thank You for letting us be here for even these three years."

   The plane lifted and I whispered a good-bye as we flew over the ELWA transmitter.

*     *     *

   Our time back in the States called for rapid readjustment, partially because we were startled at how much Howard's parents had aged. The physical strength about which his father had once boasted had ebbed. Even Mother Jones was more frail. Still, their hearty hugs for all of us were as powerful as ever.

   As we settled into a comfortable routine of American life, Howard's health gradually improved. The children, enrolled in school, completed their homework after dinner around the

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same table where Howard and Clarence had done theirs. The surroundings were familiar, yet we longed to go back to Liberia to finish the work the Lord had given us.

   The months passed and the letters from Liberia were full of news of the ministry. As Howard's health improved, we sent back tapes, continuing our broadcasts. We were involved, yet it wasn't the same as being right in the thick of the battle. We longed to return as soon as the baby was born.

   But my doctor insisted the baby couldn't travel until he or she was three months old. Disappointed, Howard and I came up with a revised plan. Maybe he, Gail, Phyllis, and David could return soon after the baby's birth. Cheryl, soon to be fifteen, could stay to help me, and we'd join the rest of the family when the doctor agreed. Those plans made, we settled down to enjoy the Christmas holidays.

   Howard took me shopping to buy clothes for the baby and presents for the other children. But Lisa, born three days before Christmas 1960, was everyone's best present. David had always wanted a baby brother, but after we brought Lisa home he couldn't resist giving her a kiss each time he walked past her bassinet.

   The days between her birth and Howard's return to Liberia passed all too quickly. As I helped Howard pack one snowy morning, I started to chuckle. "Howard, remember that time I was pregnant with Cheryl and couldn't stand your being two hours late? Now here we are, facing the longest time we've had to be away from each other, and yet God is giving me the strength to let you and the children go. Isn't that something?"

   He turned away from the closet door to enfold me in his arms. "That's funny you mentioned that; I was just thinking about the struggle I had learning to trust God for your safety. We'll be separated by an ocean. But God has promised to be a whisper away."

*     *     *

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   Amazingly, those twelve weeks passed more quickly than we thought they would, and soon Cheryl, Lisa, and I boarded a plane headed for Liberia.

   As our plane approached Africa, Cheryl peered out the window, eager to catch sight of the coast. When we finally saw the station transmitter, we both gasped with delight. We were home!

   Never has a plane seemed to land more slowly than that one. Finally we faced the welcoming crowd from the station. I could see David and Gail standing next to Howard. Phyllis must be behind them, I thought. But before I could ask, we were swarmed by everyone and Howard's strong arms were encircling the three of us. He timidly took Lisa into his arms and grinned at her. "Hello, Sweetheart. Remember me? I'm your daddy."

   Suddenly in the midst of the clamor of hugs and greetings, I realized Phyllis wasn't in the group. "Howard, where's Phyllis?" It was more a demand than a question.

   Howard momentarily looked startled. "Oh, she didn't come. I'll tell you about it on the way home."

   "You tell me right now. What's wrong with Phyllis?"

   "Now listen, she's okay." And yet Howard seemed a little nervous to me. "She had a scratch on her face. It got infected and turned into a boil."

   Oh my, I thought. This keeps getting worse.

   "Penicillin wasn't helping," Howard continued. "I was trying to find somebody who knew how to treat it, and a Firestone plantation doctor said they could handle it at their hospital." The last details had come out in a mighty rush.

   I gasped. "She's in the hospital?! With an infected boil on her face?!"

   He nodded. "Wanda, we caught it in time — before the infection went into her brain."

   "Her brain! Get me to the hospital right now." I had to see my child.

   "She's doing just fine," Howard assured. "We prayed and God provided. Come on, she's waiting to see her new sister."

   Only after I was able to see Phyllis for myself did I stop

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worrying. After that afternoon, Howard's statement of "we prayed and God provided" ran through my mind. This was one more example of His constant care for His children — no matter what part of the world we were in.

Chapter Seven  ||  Table of Contents