Mission Possible

By Nancy Hastings

"Mission Possible" is the story of two ambitious young Americans convinced God has called them to share the good news of the gospel in South America. The couple, George and Alice, and their young son, Phillip, embark on the unknown in the early 1950s as they are given the plans for their mission work in the Presbyterian East Mission of Brazil. After a brief time serving a church in Tennessee, as a newly graduated seminary student, George is ready to fulfill his dream of serving abroad. Alice is excited to embark on this adventure in a land where she and her husband can bring a sense of hope to many, while grappling with a new life and a growing family. Their limitations and naivete are compounded with perils of the jungle, along with the endless physical, language and cultural differences encountered. Though often weary, both remain yielded to whatever means the Lord uses to train and equip them. Every part of their life goes beyond all the boundaries of their imagination as it is woven into a colorful tapestry sometimes torn, but always repaired. Their amazing adventure is fundamentally based on a real-life story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886167504

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Mission Possible

Nancy Hastings

Copyright © 2022 by Nancy Hastings

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Sketches by John M. Guthrie

Cover art by John R. Castellese

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

To my parents, who relished the long, sweet days, sudden sunsets, and hidden treasures in a country where they made a difference and brought joy to many. Their adventures and narrow escapes come alive in this fictional novel based on true events; however, some names and places have been changed, providing an adventurous tale of living life to its full potential. Thanks go to my parents who took the time to write down some of their memories to be carried forward in this story of fortuitous faith. The hope is to show how lifetime designs can form a colorful tapestry arising from our divine gifts, unique talents, desires, thoughts, choices, and actions.

Chapter 1

Embarking in a New World

The thought of arriving in a foreign land in the 1950s brought a cluster of anxious, exuberant feelings as we packed our bags the night before debarkation in the Port of Santos, near São Paulo, Brazil.

Our small family—consisting of me, George Peterson by name; my wife, Alice; and our son, Phillip—were going into the unknown with what seemed like nothing more than a shoebox to fill memories. We were embarking in a new world after receiving plans for mission work in the Presbyterian East Mission of Brazil.

The underdevelopment of this beautiful country in these early years lured missionaries like us to its vast interior in an effort to reach the unreached, some in areas with dire living conditions.

By contrast, our two-week journey by ship aboard the Nordeste was filled with an excitement like none other experienced in our young lifetimes. From world-class entertainment to modern amenities, the trip was marked with a hint of finality for the finer things life afforded.

An onboard babysitter for little Phillip had been provided for us as we took advantage of the flamboyant shows, ballroom dancing, and endless meals as our vessel cruised the high seas. The music and laughter found throughout the numerous decks somehow masked the dark waters churning below the ship’s bow.

Already in bed, I turned my head to address Alice, who was quickly organizing a suitcase after folding a pile of clothes.

I will set the suitcases outside our door before we retire tonight, so make sure you have what you need for our early-morning debarkation, I said to her as she frantically looked for the lined scarf she’d brought along for the trip.

It was important to her to dress with style, and that scarf was the only one that matched her green pantsuit hanging on the closet door. She liked the way the silky scarf felt on her sun-drenched skin and knew it would complete her outfit for our first day off the ship.

Yes, I need to make sure I lay out what we’re all wearing because our floor concierge said we have to be on the Lido Deck by 7:30 a.m., Alice responded. We’ll wake Phillip and dress him right before we leave the room for breakfast.

So why don’t we get up a little earlier to see the sunrise on deck? I asked.

I knew Alice felt the same sadness I hinted at as the dining room chatter that night had echoed disappointment for having to say goodbye to our journey filled with pleasures and delights. From maître d’ service to the fabulous theme nights, it all surpassed our expectations.

But we also knew there was something special about sunrise at sea, and even if it was our last day, it would be a fun way to start the morning while watching the ship arrive to port.

Even little Phillip didn’t seem to mind the early-morning breeze that was warm with a tropical feel on our faces while watching the sun burst on the scene with hues of gold and purple rays. A hurried breakfast outside was the perfect send-off before standing in line, where the ship’s directors waved as we joined other guests walking down the path to a new land with wonder in our eyes.

At least our stomachs are full since we don’t know when our next meal will come, I murmured to Alice as we walked down the gangway exit, where men of all ages were yelling taxi to those debarking in a hive of activity.

After experiencing continuous service at our fingertips for two weeks, we were relieved to make it past the confusing language heard among the hustling crowd as we simultaneously spotted a sign with our last name printed in large letters.

The sign was held high above the heads of an older couple just as had been promised. And hearing the English language come from their mouths was a relief for us among the confusing scene of drivers practically grabbing for luggage.

Welcome to your new home, Petersons! Milton Dauson waved with his smiling wife, Cary, by his side. We are here to whisk you away to a nearby hotel until your new quarters are ready.

This statement came as a bit of a surprise to me as I looked at Alice and shrugged before embracing our new friends, who happened to be leaders in the Presbyterian Mission.

Thank you so much for meeting us here as we don’t have a clue for what we need to do next, I said, taking Phillip from Alice’s arms so she could likewise embrace the eager and overworked couple awaiting us.

Dauson explained that the apartment complex where students stayed needed to be prepared as a couple had just moved out.

I’ll admit that the first few days in the hotel were the hardest for us. With help from the Dausons, we sent telegrams to our families back in the States, who earnestly waited to hear if the journey had ended and a safe arrival was achieved.

In our modest hotel that evening, we listened to a distant piano playing some sad Brazilian tune. With a soft breeze blowing the thin curtain back, I sauntered through an open window and leaned over the veranda. I was suddenly overcome with nostalgia. A great longing for home and family on the other side of the world almost overwhelmed me as I looked over at Alice fervently trying to dress Phillip in a sleeper he had nearly outgrown.

Milton said that, by tomorrow, we should be able to get settled in our new home, I told Alice in an effort to mask my nostalgia. But first we will be taken to the language school so we can see where we’ll spend the next year learning Portuguese.

We knew that only finding new friends would help us fill the void we both conspicuously felt. Staying busy and making the most of the unknowns would get easier with time. But taking care of a toddler eager to explore his surroundings was sometimes exhausting. So walking to the nearby park the next morning seemed like a harmless activity as we waited to hear when we could visit the school.

Alice’s red hair and freckles, along with her tan but white skin, stood out as we walked to the park that morning in the bright sunlight. We smiled, noticing the stares and gazes among the brown and black faces obviously curious about and perhaps a bit suspicious of the foreigners in their midst.

The stark differences between ourselves and this new human race were suddenly evident to us as we had been warned about the possibility of uncomfortable encounters.

Happily having young Phillip bouncing up and down the cobblestone sidewalk while holding onto our hands made us seem safe. But this didn’t deter the curiosity and stares as other young mothers and their children giggled while turning to take a second look at us, now strangers in a new setting.

Skin color was the least of worries for Phillip, who just wanted to play among the stepping-stones near a small fountain in the park. And language wasn’t an issue for neither him nor the youngster who came forward to show him a small shiny rock found near the fountain. Since they were both around the same age of two, a few one-word exclamations and sign gestures made their sudden friendship flourish.

As his parents in our midtwenties, however, we flushed with embarrassment at not being able to communicate adequately with the young boy’s Brazilian mother, who nervously stood nearby watching all the while. As we slowly approached her, I tried to breach the gap.

We just arrived from the United States yesterday, I told the woman slowly in long, broken syllables. We don’t speak Portuguese. Do you speak any English?

Showing her distrust, the woman forced a smile and shook her head, saying, Não intendo Inglês, meaning I don’t understand English.

With that statement, she whisked up her young toddler in her arms and walked swiftly toward a small group waiting for her near the park’s edge flanked with blooming azaleas.

Well, it looks like, the sooner we begin our language classes, the better, I told Alice, hoping to reassure her that soon all would change for the better as we started our new life in this beautiful country, where palm trees and flowering bushes seemed to blanket the landscape with color.

Chapter 2

Learning a New Language

The following morning, I could feel the anticipation mount as the morning sunlight streamed in through our hotel window. I could smell coffee brewing and listened to the chatter of some workers preparing for breakfast in the courtyard below. With no idea what they were saying, it was disorientating until George peered over my pillow.

Good morning, sunshine, George said while leaning over to give me a kiss. Remember that we have a 10:00 a.m. pickup in front of the hotel. I’ve already been out for a morning walk and have worked up an appetite. Lucky for us, they are setting up breakfast in the courtyard. It looks like they have fruit, cheese, some rolled-up ham, and little loaves of bread. The coffee smells great!

Since Phillip was still asleep, I quickly rose as if it were Christmas morning in order to dress for the day. Again sporting my green suit, I was excited to visit the school with George and connect with other young couples who were planning the same life ventures we dreamed of for years.

After getting Phillip up and dressed, we walked down the stairs to find several people sitting around small tables in the courtyard. The warm breeze made me feel lucky that we were in this glorious climate as I thought of my parents, who were probably dealing with several inches of snow back on the farm.

As the hour approached, we found ourselves weaving down the cobblestone streets in a small Volkswagen being driven by Milton Dauson, one of three directors at the school. Still a bit disoriented, I noticed how many bicycles and scooters seemed to dart in front of and around the vehicle.

Not everyone can afford a car here, so bicycles and scooters are prime modes of transportation, as you can see, Dauson said. "Everyone seems to be in a big hurry, and if you need in a line of traffic, people may honk, but they will let