A ROCKY FOUNDATION

      Dr. Howard Hendricks, told of being on a flight where an obnoxious man was raising a stink about every minor grievance he could think of. Even though most people would have told the guy where the exit door was, each time the stewardess responded with kindness and grace. After watching this for some time, Hendricks called her over and complimented her on her good attitude with this difficult man. He asked for her name so that he could commend her to the president of the airline. He was taken aback when the stewardess responded, “Thank you, sir, but I don’t work for American Airlines.” She looked like she worked for American Airlines. She had on their uniform and nametag. “You don’t?” Hendricks sputtered. “No,” she explained, “I work for Jesus Christ. American Airlines just pays the freight.” Paul told the Philippians   “conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that whether I come and see you or remain absent, I will hear of you that you are standing

  For years I thought Timbuktu was a made-up name for ‘the ends of the earth’. When I found out it is a real place, I developed a fascination for it. During a fact-finding trip to West Africa for Mission Aviation Fellowship in 1986 this fascination became an irresistible urge. I hitched a ride on a small plane chartered by UNICEF.   Two doctors were in Timbuktu and might fly back on the return flight. That meant I could be bumped but I decided to take the chance. The pilot approached me as I started for town. “The doctors are on their way,” he said. You’ll have to find another ride back, look for a truck.   But be careful westerners do not last long in the desert heat. Several have disappeared without a trace. The market place was crowded; the men were well armed and I felt their suspicious eyes. I went from person to person trying to find someone who spoke English. I finally came across a local policeman who understood my broken French. “I need a truck, to go to Bamako” I said.

                                                   Steve Saint with his father's killer The following   is another account of the Auca mission’s ripple effect; the story as given by Steve Saint, son of Nate Saint the pilot “As I made my final approach to the short jungle airstrip, I could tell I was coming in a little high. I pushed the flap lever all the way down, but it still wasn't going to be enough to get me down on the tiny mud and grass strip. I decided to pick up speed, staying on the approach glide path to get the feel for my next try. I had just spent three weeks building a new airstrip with the Huaorani (Auca) people, but this was my first landing in Auca territory.   Racing down the field just ten feet in the air, I could clearly see the faces of the Huaorani people lining the strip. As I banked to the left to start another approach, I could see the river and what was left of the sandbar where my father, Nate Saint, had made, the very first approach ever in Au