Special Mission
I pulled the throttles back to seventeen inches of manifold pressure. The sound of the constant speed props turned from a powerful drone to a whisper.
"All right ladies, pipe down, I've got to talk to flight center and find out what's up with this weather."
The six choirgirls I was flying to a revival went to a low chortle; they knowing I meant business when it came to their safety as well as mine. Viewing a large solid arc of black and greenish clouds sweeping west and to the rear encircling us to the front and to the east, I knew I didn't want to chance trying to get under it. Greenish clouds mean hail and tornadoes. The Iowa corn and soybean fields stretched out in all directions as I called the center.
"Flight center, Triple Two Niner Sierra, 120 DME off your 240-degree radial, requesting weather info on to Twin Cities," I called.
"2229 Sierra, get on the ground or try to 180 and go south to safety. Terrible weather is forecast for the next twenty-four hours," they replied.
"Flight center, roger, we're looking for a strip to set her down," I shot back at them.
The girls were in muffled prayer as their eyes peered out into the darkening sky ahead.
"OK ladies, we're going down and read water tower names while looking for an airport, long strip of smooth road, or a field to set it down in for the night."
All of a sudden the plane filled with a harmonizing, "Hold My Hand Precious Lord" as we descended. There was the name, 'Dallas Center' on the water tower, but no place to land.
We continued on and saw a nice stretch of road five or so miles out of town with a large covered hay storage shed on the edge of the road. Looking at the direction the corn tops were blowing, I turned into the wind and dropped the landing gear.
A perfect landing and a start-up chorus of 'What A Friend We Have In Jesus.” I had to chuckle, but those girls were serious.
We taxied under the shed, got out and found rope to secure the plane in case of violent winds. The corn must have been eight feet high so we were pretty well protected.
I told the girls we would just have to live on our water and whatever they had left in their travel picnic basket until the weather broke or we could get to town.
They settled down on a pile of cornhusks and were visiting when a farmer came down the road pulling into the cover of the shed.
He got out and I volunteered who we were and what our problem was, telling him I didn't have much money on me and credit cards were out of the question out there in corn country.
I finally told him, if he would take us to a larger town, I would see that he was paid for his trouble. The girls started harmonizing 'Jesus Hold My Hand' and they were really good at it too. I could see the old farmer's eyes start to get a little damp when he said, "Well, there's just my wife and I and we have this big old farmhouse just down the road.
We can make a few pallets and I'm sure we can put y'all up 'til this weather blows over." The girls finished and I told them about his offer. They were elated that they weren't going to have spend the night under that shed in bad weather and told him they would gladly pay for their stay with their singing if he'd like and started a song, "We'll Sing in the Sunshine, We'll Sing in the Rain," a happy tune that made the old farmer smile. He loaded us up in his truck and took us to his home. Telling his wife what was up, she smiled and fixed lunch -- I mean ham, devilled eggs, homemade bread, and fresh garden vegetables. After lunch the girls jumped up, as they were used to doing all the chores at the home, and promptly did the dishes, cleaning and impressing the farmer's wife.
We sat around talking and listening to the girls quietly practice. I noticed the farmer and his wife were intently listening and holding hands. They then said they'd like to invite some couples over for supper and have them listen to the girls too.
They all squealed they'd love to "sing for their supper" to an audience since they were missing the revival.
The farmer got on the phone; his wife went to the garden with the girls, gathering all kinds of wonderful things.
That evening, three other farm couples came, sitting around listening to the songs. How those girls could harmonize, like professionals. We had a nice supper with the girls cleaning up afterwards, and then they really got into the songs. Standing in front of the fireplace with the four couples and myself spaced around on the couches, they started their show with happy hymns and invocationals.
I noticed that it wasn't very long and all the couples were holding hands, from time to time squeezing each other’s as the songs flowed. For an hour or so they sang, then finalized with 'The Old Rugged Cross'.
There was not a dry eye among them or a dry hanky in their hands.
The old farmer got up and told me none of them had been to church in several years but they were going to start going again the coming Sunday because they were so inspired by our visit.
Lifting off the country road the next day with full tummies heading home, we all felt great. Though we didn't make our destination, I feel God sent us on a special mission that stormy day and we came through for Him.
-- Mark Crider
Existential philosopher and raconteur