Praying For Rain in Africa

We lived in Senegal, West Africa where three months out of the year it was green and pretty and there were red, fuzzy bugs with black spots covering the ground.

The other nine months of the year was called the "dry season" and was marked by brown, barren land covered in dust. It is called the dry season for that very reason, it is dry. During those nine months it does not rain at all. Not one drop. It is not that bad if you are used to it, if you expect it and are ready. But one cannot be ready for everything, and one can never foresee a sudden sickness.

One day my dad got a call over the radio that a missionary lady living in an African tribe far in-country was deathly ill due to a course of malaria. Malaria, once contracted, lives in the blood for the rest of your life. You can treat it with medicine and treat the symptoms once they appear, but you will only be sending the disease into remission. A flare-up of symptoms could send a person straight to the hospital and if one were too far away, could send them straight to the grave.

I know such things because my dad had malaria. He contracted it in Africa when he was young. He also almost died from it several times, so he knew how dire the situation with this woman was. He knew he would have to prep his plane and take off right away to reach this lady in time. There was only one problem ... the dry season.

Looking out the window all you could see was a wall of sand. Sand storms were common during the dry season and could last for hours, eight or more hours at a time. There was no way my dad could fly up in a sand storm because the sand would ruin his engine and not allow him to see.

He turned to my mom and my sisters and I and explained the situation. We could tell that our parents were under stress. It was killing my dad to not be able to do his job, that every minute that passed was a minute closer to death for this missionary.

My sisters and I told my mom that we were going to pray for rain ... rain would knock down the sand and allow my dad to fly. My mom knew that this was impossible — we were in the middle of the dry season and there was not a cloud in the sky. But we were so young, only 4, 5 and 6 years old, and there was no way my mom could explain to us that even though we desperately needed rain to fall, it was an impossible prayer request. So she knelt down and began to pray with us.

"God, send us rain. Daddy needs to fly to save this lady. Please send the rain so that he can see." 

I am sure that you can guess what happened next, although it still gives me chill bumps to think about it ... It started to rain.

You know the second when you realize that something amazing just happened and all you can do is stand there and smile? Well, my dad did not have time to take that moment. He saw the rain and immediately jumped into action. He did not know how long it would stay, so he had to move fast. He rushed to the plane to take off while my mom rushed to the radio to let the village know that help was on the way. My dad took off in the rain and flew all the way to the village. The rain stayed with him the whole way. He landed and ran to get the woman, loaded her into the plane and turned to look at the sky.

The rain was over him but ended at the end of the airstrip and he could see the sand storm waiting there. Waiting for the rain to get out of its way and let it rule the sky once again. My dad jumped back into the plane and took off. He told my mom later that he could see the rain stopping right behind him and the wall of sand chasing him home, never able to get him because the rain stayed right over him. That is our Miracle of Rain. Every now and then I like to think about all the miracles I have seen in my lifetime, and there were many.