By June Goodman
Portland, Oregon

Ken and I were on our way to a village in Nigeria after spending 10 years as missionaries in Kumba, Cameroon. It was the middle of the West African dry season. We pulled our van, loaded with all our possessions, up at the edge of the Donga River, near the border. "I’m sorry," the ferryman told us. "The water is too low to cross with all that weight in your van. My barge will run aground if you don’t leave something here."

I looked out at the river in front of us. The ferryman had cause for concern. Rocks jutted from the low, slow-moving water. There was only one item we could remove from our van that would make us light enough to cross.

Wedged into the back was an upright piano—a gift from a British neighbor years before, during our fledgling days in Kumba. Ken had tuned and tinkered with it, and soon it sounded good enough to accompany us during Sunday hymns. Ken gave a few music lessons during the week. The piano became a bridge between us and the refugees in Kumba.

My husband and I traded glances, each hoping the other would have an answer. To leave that faithful old upright behind on the riverbank just didn’t seem right. God, this piano has been such a blessing to us and to our work in Africa. Please help us find a way to get it across the river.

Then I heard it—a soft tapping on the windshield. Raindrops! Before long the rain was coming down in torrents.

An hour later, the ferryman knocked on our window. "I think we can take you over now." We drove aboard the barge and it floated easily on the rain-swollen river. In no time we were across and on our way again.