I always thought it amusing to think about the person sitting next to Dr. John Dreisbach when he flew. That person probably noted his sky-blue eyes, gentle manner, and quiet temper, but he or she could not know that this man had served God and mankind his whole life. The individual sitting next to him would not know that Dr. D. would one day receive the highest honor known to man, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” The following is just one small piece of a remarkable life spent for God.

As a young person, thinking about missions, God brought to my mind that it would be helpful to be a nurse. Medical missions was not even on my radar. In fact, I was pretty ignorant of what a missionary was.

 

I was a transfer nursing student at BJU in 1971, sitting in missions classes. I had never met anyone like this teacher before! He taught me how to set a bone, how to deliver a baby, how to construct an outdoor toilet, how to make myself a bucket shower that could be pulled up on a pulley. Then he would tell me about doing surgery in a hut on a dirt floor and on a horse that had ripped its insides out on a fence. I learned how to set up a mobile clinic with a table, a chair, a box of medicines, and a heart full of love.

 

His wife would challenge me in her classes with questions such as, WHY do you want to be a missionary, what are your goals, and how are you going to accomplish them. She assigned students to read missionary biographies of people I had never heard of, going to places I never knew existed, under conditions that almost were beyond belief.

 

Yes, I had the privilege of sitting under the teaching of Dr. and Mrs. John Dreisbach. They took me to their world of Muslims, deserts, clinics, camels, villages, campfires, mosquito nets, parasites, monkeys, hippopotamuses, leprosy, Land Rovers, dirt roads, generators, foods (snakes, monkeys, lizards), cooking from scratch (ketchup from bananas, marshmallows, candy, bread, sweet and sour tuna, cheese), surgeries by flashlight, extracting teeth, and delivering babies (“It’s easy, don’t worry. Call me if you have a problem.”)

 

Dr. D. (the love name for him by all who knew him) went to be with the Lord in 2009. Mrs. D. had preceded him by being the first to see the Lord face-to-face in 2000. It was a great loss to all of us who had received our vision for medical missions for the lost around the world from this couple. We were driving across desert terrain when we knew that Dr. D.’s funeral was happening in the USA. We stopped the truck in the middle of a vast desert wilderness, in the midst of hundreds of small thatched-roof mud huts, and thanked God for this man who had passed his vision along to us and many others.

 

“And of some having compassion making a difference” (Jude 22). That is the sum total of Dr. and Mrs. D.’s lives. Compassion! After Mrs. D. passed away, Dr. John came to live with us for a few months each year. As a young missionary doctor, he used to fly over the area of Lake Chad—a vast lake bordering Chad, Niger, Nigeria, and Cameroon. He had the vision for many years of ministering medically and reaching that unreached area. In 2006, he told us, “I want to go live in the village Djbouniba, on an island in Lake Chad.” Randall, Zane, and Dr. D. had visited the area, accessible only by a large canoe taxi—remote, entirely primitive, and suitable for a short visit, but impossible to live there. So, Randall and I told Dr. D. (age 85 at the time), “You can’t do it. It’s too hard. And we won’t help you with this crazy plan.” (For the record, Zane said that he would help as much as possible.)

 

The following year, Dr. D. came for his annual visit, this time with a young man named Joe in tow. He and Joe were going to live on the island in the village of Djbouniba. We sighed and got busy helping this man with a vision for the poor people of that village—an area with no medical or spiritual help. We ladies packed a big box of food that could be prepared over a camp stove and added some treats for the initial few days to soften the hardness.

 

The men first made a trip to secure housing on the island. They found a two-room, mud hut with a leaky roof on one room and the other room open to the sun. A bathroom hole had to be dug and mat fencing put up for privacy, and the wonderful bucket shower installed. The kitchen camp stove was put in the room without a roof, and a well dug for water. Two cots were installed in the dark room, and a table and chairs were put up in the “courtyard.” That was home for these two brave men for three months. Peter, Dr.D.’s son lived with them there and helped the first month.

 

Joe pushed Dr. D. around in a trolly with wheels since the long walk to and from the village was too hard for him. Our only contact was by satellite phone once a week at a set time. Dr. D. conducted Bible studies, made medical visits, delivered a baby whom they named Dreisbach, sang songs with the children, and visited with the men. He was a living, breathing, like-Christ representative to these people who today live under the fearful shadow of Boko Haram. He was “making a difference,” and only eternity will reveal the outcome.

 

We visited one time to encourage these pioneers! I didn’t relish getting out of the canoe taxi and wading through muddy, parasite-infested waters to get to the shore. We set up our tent in the courtyard. The well water was almost too murky for me to drink, and the mosquitoes were phenomenal in size and viciousness. As dusk settled, you had better be under a mosquito net. In fact, one of my favorite memories is my two teenagers sitting under a net at night, playing cards with Joe, who enjoyed the company! In the morning before our departure, we had tea at the table in the courtyard with Dr. D. in his “palace.” He felt himself so blessed and radiated contentment.

 

Last week, we were in Scotland and visited the Dr. David Livingstone Museum. As I walked through the story of his life so beautifully portrayed, I couldn’t help but feel that I had known a man who was a modern-day David Livingstone. Dr. D. loved the African people. He did what he could, and if he had had his way, he would have died in Africa. My tears were the only thing I could offer to thank God for these great men who rise above the cares of everyday life and risk all for the cause of Christ.

 

“If you have men who will only come if they know there is a good road, I don’t want them. I want men who will come if there is no road at all.”

~ David Livingstone