Mrs. Grayson grabbed her husband’s arm as their car slid out of control and slammed into a ditch. Then all was silent. Getting out to survey the damage, they saw mud oozing around the axles. Their predicament would be bad enough on a busy road. But it was a lonely part of Nigeria, Africa.
«I’ll have to walk to Lassa,» Mr. Grayson announced. «It’s too far for you. You’ll have to wait here.»
«That’s OK,» his wife responded with a lot more confidence than she felt.
Soon after her husband left, night descended, filling her ears with the sounds of the jungle. A screech owl screamed. Hyenas moaned. Jackals barked.
Suddenly she heard voices. Flicking on the headlights, she noticed two men walking toward her. They paused by the car, asked who she was, then left. What are they up to? Mrs. Grayson wondered.
Soon the men returned, accompanied by two women carrying bundles of wood. The concerned missionary watched as her mysterious visitors spread blankets on the wet ground, lit the wood into a blazing fire, and sat down. «Come join us,» they invited.
Timidly, Mrs. Grayson took her place by the fire and soon warmed to the friendliness of the group. “Who are you and why have you come to keep me company?» she asked.
“Three years ago, your husband drove through our village and stopped to talk to us,» one explained. “My little daughter was ill, and he took her in this car to a mission hospital, where she got well. We’ve been waiting to thank him.