Of matches, papayas, mosquitoes, bats—and cold showers

That afternoon—just twenty-four hours after landing in Lomalinda—I heard a cheery voice at the back door, “Knock-knock.” That was my introduction to a Lomalinda tradition—everyone called “Knock-knock” instead of knocking.

A lady stepped inside our big screened-in porch, introducing herself as our neighbor across the road, Ruth, and in that moment I saw a real-time demonstration of Matthew 25:35 in action: I was a stranger and Ruth was welcoming me.

She handed me pruning shears. “You can borrow these,” she smiled, pointing to vines climbing up our porch screens and leggy hibiscus plants outside the kitchen window. How thoughtful! I never would have thought to pack pruning shears in our suitcases, but we sure did need them.

I led her to the kitchen where she handed me a tin of homemade granola and a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade. Ruth’s thoughtfulness blessed my heart.

“And this,” she said, “is papaya sauce—like applesauce but made with green papaya.” I didn’t know anything about papayas but was pleasantly surprised—we all liked applesauce so I expected our family would enjoy this new treat.

She also brought a ripe papaya and taught me how to peel it, scoop out its seeds, and cut up the flesh. Now, looking back, I continue to be touched by Ruth’s generosity and kind help.

She also showed me how to light my gas range and oven. The matches were half the size, in every dimension, of our wooden ones in the U.S. The stick part was short and made of something flimsy, maybe string, dipped in paraffin.

Ruth had to strike several matches before one flared up, but she never got flustered. I marveled at her quiet perseverance.

But even more than that, though I didn’t realize it at the time, watching her patiently striking those matches was like a parable teaching me how to live in Lomalinda. I wish I’d been more cognizant of that parable during our first couple of weeks in Lomalinda.

Nevertheless, in coming days and in various ways,

God impressed upon me—

in the silent way He sometimes does—

the importance of persisting in the face of obstacles.

I did keep fighting,

but those challenges loomed big.

Mighty big.

That evening, I looked back at the day. We’d had an uphill climb in more ways than one. Sweaty, gritty with dust—or sticky with mud, depending on the time of day—by evening I knew I should shower. But our house, like most in Lomalinda, had no water heater.

I’d have to take a cold shower.

Something inside me rebelled.

Dave had taken a shower earlier and suggested I lather up while standing toward the back of the stall, beyond the stream of water, and quickly rinse off afterward. I gave it a try, but the cold still took my breath away.

Spent, I dropped into our warm, damp bed and listened to mosquitoes dive-bombing my ears and bats rattling in the attic. Yes, bats. And they reeked something awful.

Were we crazy to move to Lomalinda?