All I Need to Know

Jarred awake, I reached out in the darkness to steady myself and grabbed the great pile of boxes and bags that jostled and swayed. Road dust stung my eyes, and its taste filled my mouth. A woman seated next to me leaned against my shoulder as she slept. A young boy rested his head against a box and my knee. Pam slumped against my other shoulder, her legs pushed uncomfortably between her seat and the pile of luggage. Our girls slept next to her.
Sleepily, I recalled how, earlier that night, our driver and his helper had piled everyone’s baggage between the two benches that lined the sides of the small flat-bed truck and lashed what remained to the tarp covered frame that sheltered the back. After prayers, handshakes and hugs from the staff of the Sepik Mission, our truck lumbered away into the darkness, stopping occasionally to pick up more passengers
and luggage.
As we climbed into the coastal hills, the lights of Wewak and its harbor flickered in the darkness below and then disappeared in the dense jungle foliage. Beyond these hills lay the vast plain of the Sepik with its winding channels and wetlands stretching westward.
Tomorrow we would begin our voyage up the Sepik through torrential rain and blistering sun. As darkness fell, our motor would break down and allow us to drift dangerously close to submerged logs in the strong current before our companion boat rescued us. Then, with the two boats lashed together, we would limp slowly into May River about 26 hours after leaving Wewak.
But as we bumped along in the back of the truck I knew none of this. All I knew was that the God who had faithfully cared for my family this far would continue to watch over us on the river, and that’s all I really needed to know. Come to think of it, that’s all any of us really need to know. —John Lello