Lost in the Darkness - Papua New Guinea

By Patrick and Kellis Melson

"Pat, where's Lydia?" asked my wife Kellis.

"I thought she was with you," I said.

"I thought she was with you," she replied. "If she's not with you, where is she?"

"Oh, she's in the house," I answered.

"Where in the house?" Kellis wanted to know.

"I don't know, probably in the bedroom," I said. "She's probably in her bed, asleep."

She wasn't. Lydia wasn't in her bed or in one of her sisters' beds; she wasn't in the closets or the bathroom. Lydia was not inside and it was dark.

"She's probably playing at the Teachouts' or the Smiths'," I ammended my guess. These fellow-missionaries have children Lydia's age (3 years) and she often played at their houses.

It had been a good day. For years we had planned to start a program for unmarried women at the Goroka Baptist Bible College. Fourteen people from America were helping to build a 4,000 square-foot girl's dorm. This day, Thursday, August 8, 1996, ended with a feast, a mumu. Meat, local vegetables and greens steam-cook for hours in a pit lined with banana leaves. Local village people and some of our students prepared the feast. It was fun to listen to the work team comment on the mumu. "They eat ferns?" "What is that?" "Go ahead, take a big one, you'll like it!" "What's worse than finding three worms in a banana?" (Finding two-and-a-half, which I did.)

All the local missionaries were at this feast: the Smith, Aholt, Edwards, Tobias, Root and Teachout families. We ate, talked and joked, then the younger children began wandering off in groups to play. Around 6:15 Kellis took one-year-old Abi back to the house because the mosquitoes were coming out. It was getting dark and in PNG, just below the Equator, darkness falls fast.

As I walked in the darkness toward the Smiths' and Teachouts' houses, I was upset that Lydia was not at home. "Kel," I said, "you check the Smiths' and I'll check the Teachouts'." An experienced pilot, Herman and Tami Teachout have three children; Andrea, four years and Brian, three, were Lydia's buddies. I heard Lori Smith answer "No," to Kellis. I knew it! I thought, as Tami opened her door, Lydia is at the Teachouts'.

"Hello, is Lydia here?" I asked Tami.

"Lydia? No. Uh, Brian said something about Lydia falling in dirty water and--she couldn't get out, but you know how the kids are always saying, 'Brian did this' or 'Andrea did that.' I didn't think it was significant," Tami said.

Turning, I could only think of one place to look. "Kel," I yelled, "I'm going to the swamp!" I ran faster than I thought possible.

Kellis

When Lori told me Lydia wasn't at their house, I decided to check the dormitory building site. As I got close I saw Caleb and Herman Teachout, Bill Tobias and Bill Pollard, a contractor on the work team, but none of them had seen Lydia. My heart was racing. Lydia's in the dark and she won't be able find her way home. Then I heard a yell, "Kellie, Lydia's in the swamp!" I ran as fast as I could. I knew if she was in the swamp, it was already too late.

Patrick

The swamp had high banks around it, and waist-deep water swarming with fish, frogs and water lilies. I trembled with overwhelming guilt. How could I have let Kellis down? How could Lydia have gotten into the swamp? She couldn't, SHE COULDN'T, SHE COULDN'T! Through tears I searched the banks, looking for changes in the water: stirred up mud, signs of struggle, or a body. I yelled to some of the building team for help. I had almost gone all the way around the swamp. Lydia's not here, I thought. She's not here!

Then I heard howls of anguish. Naomi, our seven year-old, and her sisters, Beka (11), and Rachel (9), were running toward the swamp. "No, no. Not Lydia! Lydia's in the swamp! Oh no, Lydia! Lydia! Lydia. . ." Naomi was hysterical, moaning the loss of her sister, each wail piercing and wounding. I just wanted to sit and cry. The darkness was winning.

Splash! Kellis had jumped into the swamp. I jumped in, too, and more splashes followed. If Lydia was in the swamp, we had to find her. Michael Zollinger, a work team member and professor in computer animation, yelled, "Hold it! We have to do this right! Let's lock arms and walk all the way across!" Fellow missionaries Bill Tobias and Herman Teachout were in the water with members of the building team and several nationals. We began moving across the murky, clammy water. Naomi's wailing ceased. Was someone helping our girls?

Now a car's headlights, then a spotlight, shone on the water. "Search with your hands!" instructed Michael, whom we later learned was a trained lifeguard. I threw my flashlights on the bank and put my arms in the chilling water. "Help us Jesus!" prayed Kevin Corey, a teacher. I prayed too, but I could not speak. I tried, but words would not come out. This was a time when "the Spirit himself interceded for me with groans that words cannot express" as we read in Romans 8:26.

"What was that? I jerked back, shuddering, bumping something in the water. Is it a leg? No, the trunk of a banana plant. I searched the dark waters again and again for what we hoped not to find. My tears fell in prayers to the One who knows all about lost children. "Help us, God. Help us . . ."

Kellis

I had jumped into the swamp, but I didn't want to be there. Every time I felt something -- a tree branch, a tire, an old can -- I didn't want to feel again for fear it would be Lydia. A lot of people had gathered including Lori, a nurse. I knew if Lydia was found she would be given to Lori, and it would be too late. I went home: I had to check on my other girls and I had to call my pastor.

I called Pastor Steckiel at Temple Baptist Church in Tacoma, Washington . After telling him I was sorry to wake him (at 2:00 a.m. Tacoma time) I confessed that I was scared because we couldn't find Lydia. The pastor told me, "God knows where she is." He comforted me and prayed with me, and I knew our church family would soon be praying.

Patrick

When we didn't find Lydia in the swamp, I felt hope returning. But as I climbed onto the bank I thought What am I missing? What am I not thinking about? Brian said something about dirty water. Where else is there dirty water? Everyone was running all over the place, yelling. This isn't helping, I thought. We've got to get organized.

Someone yelled, "She's over there, by the basketball court."

I ran to the court only to discover it wasn't Lydia but Gina Corey, a college senior from the work team, who had twisted her ankle in one of the drainage ditches. I felt sorry for Gina, for all those searching in the dark. But I knew Lydia was somewhere needing help.Where was she?

I went to the Smiths' house to question our girls. The last place they had seen Lydia was in the backyard. Even though I felt two-year-old Brian had told us all he could, I wanted to talk to him again. Somehow, Brian is the key to all this.

I was just about to return to our house when I learned that Brian had been seen crying on the hill above the chapel. By this time many people from the haus lain (local village) were searching in that area with missionaries. About half a football field in size, the hill contains married students' apartments, a toilet block, a partially finished cook-house, a couple of old outhouses, a storage building and several piles of old equipment.

Lucas Allen, a high-school senior, was searching by an outhouse. "This one's open," he called to Mike Edwards. Looking inside, he found Lydia standing knee-deep in the mire about four feet down in the hole. "I found her!" yelled Lucas. His shout was repeated down to our house. I exploded through the door. I was going to bring Lydia home.

Kellis

I decided to shower off all the swamp mud so I could go hug my girls and talk with them. As I showered I prayed and tried to get myself together. Lord, I said, I know she belongs to you, but I'd really like to have her back for a while. I'll accept whatever You send my way.

As soon as I finished praying I heard the screaming, "We found her!" I held my breath. Was she okay? I heard Debbie Tobias yell, "Is she all right?" and a chorus of angels sang down the hill, "Yes! She's all right!"

Patrick

And Lydia was all right, except for scrapes under her arms and chin from falling in the hole, and over 40 mosquito bites. When Bill Tobias handed her to me, wrapped in Steve Root's shirt, I was crying. Lydia was so cold; she had been down in that pit for hours. Steve Aholt offered us a ride home but I thought it would take too long. Then he mentioned his car heater was on. The warmth and the company of friends felt good, but there was a greater warmth of gratitude I felt for all those who had helped search for Lydia. It was the unspeakable joy of a father whose child "was dead and is alive again, was lost, but now is found."

Later we discovered that Lydia and Brian had walked up the hill, "to find a place to hide from our mommies." Lydia did a good job. The outhouse just has a floor with a hole in it. The normal cover for the hole was out of place, so she fell in. Though crying, scared and hurt, Lydia had the presence of mind to say to Brian, "Tell my mommy I fell in dirty water and I can't get out." That's pretty amazing for a three-year-old, but no less amazing is that two-year-old Brian delivered that message and helped us find Lydia.

Lydia's scrapes and bites are gone, but she has trouble sleeping sometimes when it is dark. She still may get malaria or hepatitis A. But for now, a day does not pass without thanking God, hugging Lydia and our other girls, and thinking about what could have been. Late at night when all is quiet, I slip into Lydia's room just to watch her sleep. And I am reminded of the treasure -- the sacred trust -- God has given us in our children.

The swamp is being filled. About a dozen dark-skinned children watch as two tractors gouge and scrape the ground in unison, pulling and pushing earth into the dark waters. The chug of tractors brings tears to my eyes, for our story could have been so different. I watch the children as they laugh and dodge in and out of the trees, and realize I am still crying. Some of these children are lost in the darkness, too-and I shudder.

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