Wednesday, March 7, 2007

Flying Doctor

The first thing we did upon arriving onto the campus of the Conference office in Morogoro was to meet all the department directors and the president. One of the gentlemen proudly announced that he was the son of Mama Twing. On the walk to the church where we were to hold the seminar, was the grave of Dr. James Twing, Flying Doctor. I had heard he was buried there, but had never seen a photo of the grave. Didn't expect to be so moved at finally seeing his resting place. He was my dad. Just 14 when we met, I became a part of the youth group ever present at the Twing home. We did so many things together, Sabbath afternoon hikes, camping, parties, water skiing, and more. When I married their oldest son, Alan, the relationship became official.

When Dr. Twing died in 1972 I was overcome with grief. There was no funeral, just the words of his death delivered to me on my birthday. For years I caught glimpses of him in various people -- his characteristic walk, his hair, other very obvious features. Every time I saw his car, a blue VW rabbit, I was sure he would appear, that he did not die in Africa. Finally the reality set in and life went on. Now with my husband Randy (who owns the registration number of Dr. Twing's airplane), the granddaughter he never met, and Mama Twing's African children, I see his resting place. It was difficult to hold back the tears. Oh for that day when we will all be reunited!

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