Drifting Down the Yukon River
Several years ago the missionary drifted alone in a little twelve-foot boat down the mighty Yukon River. Along the river were towns and villages that could be reached only by boat. It was early in the season, and his boat was the first one to brave the rocks and rapids after the winter ice and snow. Even the mail boat had not come down the river yet.
Imagine waiting all winter until the ice would melt in the river for your mailman to come-when some-times we find it hard to wait for tomorrow's delivery.
Sometimes swift rapids faced the missionary as he drifted down the river, and sometimes the wind whipped up the waves so high that they slopped into the boat. More than once he was marooned on a lonely island or shore until the wind died down.
Often he narrowly escaped tipping over when the swift current swept him toward large, fallen trees stretching out under the water from the banks. At times the banks along the river were twenty feet high, and went straight up so that there was no place that he could land. Sometimes the river had eaten into these banks and without warning they would cave in, sending a small landslide of dirt into the water that could easily upset a boat.
It was right after the ice break-up in May, that the missionary started down the river, and little icebergs were all about him in the icy water. Floating driftwood, too, was a hazard, for it more than once nearly upset his little boat. But perhaps the greatest danger was the whirlpools. As he drifted along, small whirlpools appeared around his boat, and then one time directly before him was a large whirlpool.
At this particular spot in the river many a prospector and trapper had lost his life. Once in the grasp of this large whirlpool a boat is swirled helplessly about in the current, and cannot escape tipping. Then the whirlpool sucks the person down, and down, and down.
Sighting this large whirlpool before him, the missionary with a prayer in his heart to the Lord, forced his boat quickly to the swift flowing current nearer the shore. The current tugged and pulled at the boat, as though unseen evil hands were intent upon drawing him into the grasp of the whirlpool. But the Lord had His stronger hand upon him, and guided him safely past the danger.
Drifting on swiftly, the missionary had to have every sense keenly wide awake, as now he must guide his boat sharply away from an unexpected jagged rock, and again guard against being squeezed between two small icebergs. Suddenly his oar was jerked from his hand as it was caught in some hidden snag. Snatching desperately for it, the water seemed to toss it up playfully-just out of his reach. With a sinking heart he watched it drift swiftly down on the racing current ahead of him.
Without that oar he was almost helpless against many of the dangers of the river. How could he reach safety with only one oar-let alone a village that needed the gospel?
"Dear Lord," he prayed, "Thou knowest how I need that oar, and the great danger I am in. Help me now, for Jesus' sake."
Immediately, the Lord answered his prayer, and brought to his mind what he should do. The oar was drifting down the current in much the same path he was now in and was already almost out of sight. But out in the middle of the river the current was much swifter. If he could get into that current, he would drift faster than the oar and overtake it.
Paddling with his one oar, he got into the rapid flow of the river. The current caught him and carried him swiftly downward at a dangerous pace. Should a floating piece of driftwood be in his path now he was going too swiftly to dodge it. But the Lord was with him, and before long he passed his oar. He continued on for several miles to give himself the advantage of enough time to get into position, and then paddled over into the quieter current into the path of the drifting oar.
As the oar neared him he steadied his boat with the other oar and prayerfully set himself to catch the drifting one. With a thankful heart he caught it. As he had done many times before, he marveled at the faithfulness of the Lord in hearing the cry of one of His own.
But the most thrilling part of his trip was the joy of landing at the fishing camps and native villages along the way. At one place all the Indian children came running as soon as they saw him coming. Great was the excitement-for this was the first boat they had seen since the summer before.
Knowing that they were all eagerly looking for the time when the mail boat would finally come, the missionary held out handfuls of Sunday school papers and tracts, as he called, "Mail! Mail from heaven for every one of you."
Older folk as well as children eagerly accepted them, for anything new to read was most welcome. The schoolteacher gave permission to use the schoolhouse for a meeting, and a curious crowd gathered. They knew no hymns or gospel songs, except for the carol, "Silent Night." So with this tune the missionary taught them to sing the words of John 3:1616For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16), and they were soon making the walls of the old schoolhouse ring with this and other choruses.
Using the blackboard, the missionary drew simple pictures to illustrate the gospel, and all seemed to listen with hungry hearts.
The missionary visited many towns along the river in this way. At one town the children followed him about the streets and paths, but he had to speak to them through an interpreter, for they knew no English at all.
Then one day he landed on a shore and had one of the happiest surprises of his whole life. A large group of children were waiting for him, for they had seen his boat coming, far up the river. As the missionary drew near enough to hear, he caught the strains of singing. As he came closer, he thought it sounded familiar. It was-they were singing a gospel hymn!
On the bank of the river the children were singing heartily, one chorus and hymn after another. As the missionary's boat touched the shore they were singing, "There is a fountain filled with blood, Drawn from Immanuel's veins, And sinners plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty stains!"
Standing in his boat, the missionary joined in with them, and how they made that good old hymn ring! Now it was the children's turn to have a joyful surprise when they found their visitor, too, knew and loved the Lord, and they fairly climbed all over him as they hung onto him, and went singing up the path.
After visiting so many dark villages where no one knew of the Lord, to find this welcome was a pleasant surprise, indeed! This was the town of Kokrines, and until recent years the people were staunch followers of the Old Russian Church, and would allow no missionary to ever visit them. In fact, they threatened their lives should they dare to come.
But an airplane missionary landed there in spite of their threats, and held meetings. The Holy Spirit wonderfully worked in the people's hearts, and they saw that this gospel was what they needed-they needed the Savior which the Old Russian Church had never given them. Every child in the village, and many grown-ups, received the Lord Jesus as their Savior.
Now this glad welcome awaited the missionary. And in his heart the desire to spread the gospel was greatly increased, that there might be many more bright spots for the Lord like this one, in the neglected, hard-to-reach villages of Alaska.