After sitting very close to a fire, I was dry enough to go into the village for a Saturday night evangelistic service. The rain was still coming down, just more slowly. A small group of people huddled around a fire in the middle of a dirt floor home. I preached by flashlight from the books of Romans and John. We sang songs and prayed. I was preaching to them in their second language, a trade language called Tok Pisin. I have no comprehension of their native tongue, and they have no real understanding of mine. But here, in the cool damp air, the Gospel was being preached, and I believe it was clear.
Sunday was a full day. The believers have built a modest little building, having gone through the trouble of hand carrying sheet metal roofing over mountains to make a dry meeting place. I preached one gospel message for broader audiences in the morning and one message later in the day just for the professing believers. We also had a prayer meeting, possibly the first one they have ever had as a church. It was a joy. I introduced them to a new hymn they had never sung before and taught them how to sing the first verse and chorus. One more lonely night in the hut, and my time in Amia was up.