It is our policy for a passenger riding along, as is the case with my mom today, to be bumped from the flight in order to accommodate emergencies. I have room for our patient, a 9-year-old, and a nurse accompanying him. However, when the vehicle arrives, his mother is with him also wanting to travel with her badly injured son.

There’s a beautiful moment between my mom and me. We exchange a quick glance as we both realize what’s about to happen. I can almost hear my mom’s thoughts, “Do not deny me this blessing.” The thought of leaving my mom in this village by herself borders on traumatizing, but her look tells me there will be no discussion. This will be a mother for mother trade—one she is ready and eager to make.

Hape (the patient) makes it safely to the hospital where he can get the care he needs, his mom, Realebohile, by his side. And, as the Lord would have it, another medical evacuation flight call comes in just an hour later from the very same village! This time my mom is able to hop into the copilot’s seat and accompany her son (me) home.

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“Daddy, tomorrow I’m going to the hangar with you. We are going to go fly your airplane, eat our lunch in the mountains, and then fly home,” my four-year-old son Josiah declares with an air of confidence that’s immediately got me on my heels.

“Well, uhh, hmm, yeah, right—about that…” I stammer, in hopes something intelligent will come out. It doesn’t.

Early the next morning, he’s up and dressed on his own, aviator jacket donned, and in the kitchen loading his Paw Patrol lunch pail. Looks like I’m going to have an extra passenger along today! I’ve got an easy schedule so I figure, why not? Let’s do this!

Plane fueled, passengers loaded and briefed, Josiah buckled in behind me, my Pre-Start Checklist is interrupted with a sheepish, “Daddy?”

“Yes, son?” I answer.

An even quieter, “I love you, Daddy.”

My two passengers erupt with, “Aww’s!” and “Oooo’s!” I’m melted and more pleased than ever with my growing son. “I love you too, my boy,” I call to him through a broad smile.

It’s a short 30-minute flight over Lesotho’s mountains to our destination, and after a few thumbs-up from the back seat to the flight deck, we are circling overhead. Josiah yells over the roar of the engine, “Daddy, you are cleared to land!” I’m cracking up now and thinking this kid should fly with me more often. This is a blast!

My heart smiles as I consider how fortunate I’ve been to have my beloved son along this afternoon. The Lord blessed our time together today. I’ve had a number of memorable flights in Lesotho (and in my life for that matter), but this one just may be the most memorable and meaningful to me. We had our cold pizza for lunch, too, but today’s flight warms my heart with deep gratitude toward my Heavenly Father who orchestrated the whole thing in a way I never could.

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It’s a quick job, but I’ll need help. It generally takes four grown men to gently lower the 30 pound windsock “hanger” to the ground. Trouble is it’s attached to a 15-foot-long steel pole, so mathematically that’s in the 450+ pound range! Raising it back up in position is a feat, especially when volunteers are scarce!

What should have been a proud moment, admiring our accomplishment correctly indicating wind speed and direction, quickly became a moment of embarrassment when I realized I had somehow installed the windsock inside out! “Maybe no one will notice!” I reason. And with just a few volunteers on the ground, I don’t want to bring this behemoth down and back up again. I’ll just be quick to replace this windsock when it shows the first signs of wear – usually about a year.

That was over two years ago! My constant reminder outlasted its brother windsock, stationed on the other end of the airstrip (changed the same day), by almost a year! Though it represented the wind correctly, it always bothered me that I had been so careless.

Today was retirement day for the Energizer inside-out windsock. With three volunteer herd boys (men), we brought that pole down and got a new one installed. This time, I was careful to make sure it was right-side out! And as we stood back to admire our handiwork, I had the thought that maybe inside-out windsocks aren’t so bad after all.

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I’m on an epic bike ride I’ve scoped from the air dozens of times. Why this route? It is one of our most frequent Code 1, or medical evacuation, routes we fly. In fact, better than one in three of our Code 1 flights originate from this rural clinic called Manamaneng. It is situated deep in the Lesotho Mountains and serves numerous surrounding villages with primary health care. MAF provides air support, including the critical link between the clinic and a hospital. Of the 296 Code 1 flights MAF Lesotho flew in 2015, 112 originated from Manamaneng.

Why am I out here? I want to feel the desperate distances and heights these mountains impose, and know, at least in part, what it’s like for the people we fly when they need to travel this road with no air option.

The clinic has a road connecting it to a hospital where patients can receive higher levels of medical care than are available at the clinic. Unfortunately, it is in poor repair and appropriate vehicles to transfer patients simple may not be available. MAF planes, however, are uniquely equipped and available when needed most.

I’ve been playing leap frog with a taxi (think old beat up Toyota 12-passenger van loaded with 20+ people) ever since I left the airstrip in Manamaneng. With smoother or uphill sections of road, it passes me. Rougher sections or downhill, I’m well out in front. We crest Menoaneng Pass (9980 feet) at just about the same time. If I were a critical patient (and 10 more minutes of climbing, I would be!) with no air support (MAF), I’d have to travel to the hospital in that van.

After 4 hours 13 minutes, 60 kilometers (37 miles), and 1795m (5889 ft.) of climbing, I’ve made it! Seeing that airplane sitting on the airstrip waiting to take me home is a welcome sight! Coincidently, that’s just about how long it took my 20 new friends in the taxi too! And the same amount of time it would take an ambulance to cover that distance.

By air, the hospital is just a 10 minute flight from Manamaneng. Thank the Lord for MAF! Praise Him for the 296 critical patients we transferred in 2015, saving huge amounts of time, when time matters most.

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It’s quite difficult to win, however—Merrill lives deep in the mountains of Lesotho, away from all our normal flight routes. Airplane noise carries for miles out here. She’s dedicated her life to living among the Basotho people as a missionary. For me, overflying her house is a way of encouraging her, making sure she knows there are folks out there that love her and support her.

There is one approach from the north that is shielded, providing the best noise concealment to maximize my chances. She can’t see me from that direction either. I’m only exposed the last two miles; then I’m easily heard and spotted. But it’s my best shot.

Altitude, airspeed, power … all set. I’m configured perfectly to make the least amount of noise and be visible for the shortest time possible. I’m over the ridge now; I can see her village—which means she can see me too. I’m a sitting duck for nearly the next minute! Closer now, the radio is silent. Halfway there—still nothing! Did I finally catch her off guard?

“You got me!” My HF radio crackles to life as I zoom over her house. Glancing out the side window I see her waving 1000 feet below. It’s kind of a silly game, but sometimes words just don’t quite say it like a flyby does. For missionaries serving in remote areas around the world, it means, “We love you, support you, and look forward to the Glory of God with you.”

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Sebongile and Neheng are two of my favorite people. The best of friends with a lot common, they are the same age and go to the same school. They’re also MAF frequent flyers. And, they are both mute and deaf. However, for all the things they have in common, their homes aren’t one of them. Just 22 miles apart, their villages are separated by range after range of towering mountains.

It’s a pure delight to see these girls interacting. Their sign language gets better each time I see them—I only wish mine did too. So far I’ve got “you are my friend” down, and that seems to make them giggle. They’ve flown MAF for years, and each time I see them they seem a little more mature; and my jokes aren’t quite as funny.

They are not the only special needs kids we fly. MAF Lesotho flies about a half-dozen students for specialized schooling not available at their homes in the mountains. All of them are so precious.

Today my name is on the schedule with Sebongile and Neheng. I’ve got a bag of M&Ms… They’ll probably enjoy them more than I will. Plus, it will be worth it to see their smiles. Between two friends, a bag of M&Ms doesn’t last long, but their smiling and signing never miss a beat.

Neheng’s home is the third stop on the girls’ return trip, and we are there before you know it. Sebongile knows it, though. The moment to say goodbye comes and her countenance has fallen. The smiles are gone, replaced by tears. It will be two months before she sees her friend again.

Neheng tries to comfort her in sign words far beyond my comprehension but the message is clear, “I love you and I’ll see you soon my beloved friend.” Today I’m feeling like the terrible pilot that is separating two great friends. Tomorrow, though… tomorrow will bring a great reunion of these friends. I’m hoping my name will pop up on the schedule that day too!

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Every landing we verbalize our “decision point” and define beforehand how to accept or reject a landing. Each airstrip has one, even the easy ones. Past the abort point at Methaleneng, the airplane can’t climb fast enough or turn sharp enough to dodge the mountain filling the wind screen. No going beyond the abort point unless conditions are just right.

It is imperative that I have a stabilized approach, the wind isn’t too strong, and the turbulence is at an acceptable level. My altitude (not too high, not too low) and airspeed (not too slow, but definitely not too fast either) need to be right on.

If what I am about to do does not draw me or others closer to Christ, that’s my abort point. I will change direction; I won’t “land” there.

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Her name is Maleboheng; she is 81 years of age and has a broken femur. Earlier in the day she was in a bus that crashed while negotiating Lesotho’s treacherous mountain roads. MAF was called to transport seven of the most critical patients to a better-equipped facility. Maleboheng was the last of the seven, considered one of the most stable of the group.

I am astonished how well she is handling the pain, though I can see that it is intense as I fasten the last of the straps that will hold her to the floor of the aircraft. The first two planes responding to this accident used our four stretchers we keep at the ready. I have to strap Maleboheng to the floor using a specialized nylon strap specifically designed for such cases.

It is very functional and quite secure, but at the cost of comfort. It’s not my favorite to install, especially with her in so much pain, but I need to keep her safe for the 40-minute flight.

Maleboheng gives me a nod, assuring me that she is okay and ready for departure. Our flight together is short but I am so thankful I can help, even if I make her uncomfortable for a little while in order to get her to the help she needs.

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These flights took place in December. Please join us in praying for the healing of Maleboheng and the others involved in the crash.

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Now I meet deadlines, write emails, and do a lot of talking. Today, I met two big deadlines and I’m stoked to finally move on to more “fun” stuff, maybe even get my name back on the flight or maintenance side of things. However, the colonel of the military base we are stationed on is on the phone; he wants me to come to his office to do some more talking.

What he has to say drops my jaw to the floor: the runway improvements to our home base airport (that they have been talking about for years and have never actually done) are approved. “Oh, and the work should begin in about two weeks,” he says. “We’ll need to close the airport for 6 to 18 months.”

Wow! I’m stunned. Two major deadlines down and now this! “We would like you to move with us to the international airport 40 kilometers out of town,” he continues.

Moving our entire base of operations, albeit temporarily, is a massive undertaking. And did I mention there is no electricity or running water at the other hangar facilities?

I invite you to join us in prayer as we look into the details that go into this big move. Seems like I won’t be making it back on the schedule anytime soon. And that is okay. I am trusting God for His leading in our program, that He would be glorified in all that we do—even if it includes a temporary move to another airport!

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The day’s scheduled flights are canceled on account of strong winds. We leave medical emergency flight requests open on a case-by-case basis. A request for a teenage girl in need of a blood transfusion comes in around noon. At her particular airstrip we are able to take a lot of wind, so it’s an acceptable risk.

Trying to line my Cessna 206 up on final, it looks like I will exceed that acceptable risk. If I don’t land, I fly home and other arrangements will have to be made for the patient. I cannot let that compromise safety, however. The left rudder pedal is slammed to the floor; the airplane is at its maximum control input. If I can keep the airplane flying straight down the runway, I can land. And if not, I’ll need to return home, without the patient.

I’m barely keeping the airplane straight, definitely at my maximum personal limitations, and chuckle as decision time rapidly approaches. “This isn’t going to work,” I think out loud. But as if on queue, the airplane locks itself straight with the runway and on centerline. I pull the power, expecting to reject the landing at any moment, but trying to give the landing every opportunity. I touchdown firmly and apply heavy braking. I am down and safe on the ground!

My passenger/patient is not doing well. I tell her it will be a very bumpy ride but that she is less than an hour from the hospital. She seems too sick to understand, or care. Getting airborne again, I radio ahead for a wind report. My heart drops with the reply: it will be another landing, right to maximums. By God’s grace, I’m able to land again safely, and the girl makes it to the hospital.

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