Kazakhstan 5

Johnny Jones, 26 June 2002

I left you last week at Heathrow Airport, ready to board the British Airways flight back to Chicago.

I didn't feel well. The airline food going over was great, but coming back, it didn't seem as delicious. The beef dish I had for lunch was really grotesque. Well, they said it was beef. It was so tough and dark it was hard to tell. I forced enough down for what I thought were my nutritional needs, since I was to be on planes forever.

Not a good move.

The fish for dinner was also less than wonderful. I sighed, but reasoned I had to have something. After I ate it, I went to the back of the plane, near the restrooms, where a couple of us were stretching. One of the ladies remarked, "U. S. airlines give you more room on international flights." Actually, I think they give you more room on domestic. The seat was small and crowded close to the next one.

I went back to my seat and began reading my book, but then I started feeling dizzy. I walked back the few feet to the restroom, and a man, seeing my look, insisted that I go next, ahead of him. "I don't think I want to," I slurred. I was starting to fade.

Then things started turning round and round. I held onto the part of the plane and must have been either white or green, because the man said, "I'll call the flight attendant."

She lay me down in the aisle and propped my feet on pillows. Normally this would have been embarrassing. Not now. I was too ill. She asked, "Where were you? What did you have to eat?"

When I told her I came from Kazakhstan, she replied, "It may have been some dirty food, dear."

When turbulence began, the flight attendant said, "Now, dear, if you can walk, we need to get you up to Business Class." Another stewardess reclined the seat for me. All I did for hours was rest and pray, "Thank you, Lord, that I can lie down."

The Business Class flight attendant eventually came by and scolded me: "Who put you here?"

"Another stewardess," I groaned.

She left me alone.

I was so thankful to be able to walk off the plane in Chicago. But I felt badly enough there that a gate agent got me a wheelchair and an attendant to go to the medical facility.

There they said that if they couldn't help me I would have to go to the hospital.

I didn't want to take that chance. I just wanted to get home.

About that time, the diarrhea kicked in. I spent the next couple of hours in and out of the bathroom and praying, "Lord, please don't let me faint or have diarrhea on the plane. And help me get off and on the jetramps."

I considered that would be miraculous. I was one of the last to board, since I had to be in the ladies' room one more time.

But the Lord answered my prayer. During the flight I had no problem. Chip and Amy met me at Lambert with flowers and smiles. I was so glad it wasn't candy! I headed for the ladies' room at the airport, and hoped to make it home.

It took a week or so to get back to normal. It may have been the fish on the plane. Or it may have been that the first night in Kazakhstan, I forgot to drink filtered water, and took my night time medicine with the straight stuff..

But even with the difficult ending, I am so glad I went. I want to go back. My friend Leslie said, "You got to be a missionary for a week." I did, and I loved it. I have a heart for the women there, in particular. I have an idea for ministry for them. I invited one of the young women to visit us. We ordered the Bertlitz Russian tapes.

So I'm home, but our world has expanded. Now it includes Kazakhstan.