Children's Corner: Wordless Willie

By Paul Schlener

Dark clouds rolled straight toward our mission compound from the opposite side of the Amazon River. Lightening flashed and thunder sizzled overhead, making us cringe. I sprinted to the house and dashed through the back door just as sheets of rain pounded on the aluminum roof. Tall palm trees in the front yard bent low, their branches stretched out like a dozen umbrellas turned inside-out.

A dark object upriver caught my eye. It appeared, disappeared, then re-appeared. I called to my wife, "Hey, Jessie, come here!" What we saw didn't look like ordinary debris. It was shaped like a canoe, but there was no passenger. I opened the shutter on the window and yelled to John, my brother and fellow missionary, in his house 30 yards away.

"Hey, Johhhhhhnn, looks like there's an empty canoe drifting down on the other side of the river." I repeated myself several times before John heard me above the roar of the storm

"We'd better go check it out. Could have broken loose from somebody's port, or there could be someone in trouble," John hollered back.

John grabbed a full tank of gas, a paddle, and a heavy box of tools. I hoisted our boat's 40-horsepower engine to my shoulder. Overloaded with equipment, we slipped and sloshed to the port 50 yards away.

Our boat bounced and slammed against the hard clay as we struggled to attach the heavy motor. Without taking time to bail water, we yanked the starter cord. Water gushed over the bow of our 16 ft. boat. At midstream we couldn't maneuver to avoid the debris. Fortunately enough trash fell from the tail of the motor, so we could keep on course.

Slowing to idle, we approached the scene of disaster. We saw a man on the far side of his swamped dugout. Wild-eyed, he clung for dear life to his nearly submerged canoe, his head barely above water. John eased our rocking boat closer to the dugout without smashing it. We grabbed the man, hoisted him on board, and pulled his small dugout across our bow.

In some cultures, a rescued person might say, "Hey guys, am I ever glad to see you! Thanks for saving my life!" But neither a smile nor a word came from this Indian.

"Where do you live? We'll take you home," John shouted. The man either couldn't speak Portuguese, was mute, or just didn't like us. He did understand us, for he stood up slowly and pointed toward his house. We nick-named our trembling passenger Wordless Willie.

As we approached shore, a group of curious neighbors gathered to see why a motor boat was stopping. The instant we touched the clay river bank Willie came alive. He sprang out of the boat as though he had escaped from a trap. Somebody helped him pull his canoe from our bow. He turned, still without uttering a word, and walked to his house.

We made fun of Wordless Willie, who failed to express even a hint of gratitude to us. Later we learned that even though his tribe was thankful, they didn't have the custom of outwardly expressing it.

We learned something from Wordless Willie that day. How often do we Christians forget to show gratitude to our heavenly Father? He reached down, pulled us out of our sin, brought us to safety, and put us on the solid Rock, the Lord Jesus Christ. That day Willie, without a word, taught us a lesson.

"Wordless Willie" is taken from a new book written by Paul Schlener. You won't want to miss it.