The Big Yellow Chevy Pickup

Some time ago, our churches mission offering built a Christian school in the highlands of Sri Lanka. (Sri means blessed and Lanka means Island). But the people in the nearby villages were not friendly. In one village they said, “We wish you had not built your school so near to us.” And in another village the people said, “We won’t ever send our children to your school.”

 Now the mission station owned a big yellow pickup truck to carry supplies from Kandy, a town 20kms away. The children on the mission station loved to ride to Kandy in the big yellow truck. One day Mr. Juriansz, the school principal, hurried into his house and asked, “Mother, would you and the children like to take a ride to town in the big yellow truck?” “Oh, yes!” said Mother. “Oh yes, oh yes,” chorused the three older children. Even the baby seemed to know that there was some big treat coming, for she waved her arms and legs and cooed and cooed. “All right, get ready then,” said Daddy. “Mr. de Silva and I have to go to town for supplies, and he’s taking his family, too.” With squeals of delight, the children scrambled into the back of the big yellow truck. In a few minutes Mother climbed into the truck with the baby, Mr Juriansz stepped on the starter, the engine began to rumble, and the big yellow truck started off. Down the side of the hill, through the coconut palms, and past the school building it went. And the children were so happy they were laughing and singing. The baby was drinking milk from her bottle.

“Good-bye! Goodbye!” called the children as they waved to some of the students at work in the garden. “Good-bye! Goodbye!” they replied. “Have a good time!”

Then out of the gate, onto the road went the big yellow truck, and the children were so happy they were laughing and singing, and the baby kept drinking her milk from the bottle as she lay in her mother’s arms. The big yellow truck jogged merrily along the road, through the  village  where the people had said, “We wish you hadn’t  built your school so close to us,” and through the other village where people had said, “You needn’t think we’ll ever send any children to your Chrisian school.”

The big yellow truck jogged along, around the corner, over the ridge, and down a little hill to another corner. But just as they went around that second little corner, they were horrified to see a great big passenger bus right in front of them. There was no time to stop. There was no room to pass it. There was only room for Mr Juriansz to choose between hitting the bus head on or going off the road down the steep embankment about 50 metres high. The children screamed as they saw the big yellow truck turn sharply off the road: then they held their breath as they felt the truck plunging down the side of the embankment engine first. Bumpity-bumpity-bumpity-down, down down, over small bushes and rocks it went. For a moment the children were all squashed up on top of each other.

Then suddenly, with an extra big bump, the big yellow truck came to rest. Mr. Juriansz, the driver, got out of the truck. He ran to check on the children who were riding in the back, his face was as white as a sheep. Everyone was safe. As the children realized the danger was over, they became happy again and began laughing and singing again.

“We came down that steep 50 metre cliff and didn’t even turn over!” said Mr. de Silva.

“And there are only a few small dents on the front fenders,” said Mr. Juriansz. “I think the bushes and little trees helped hold us back.”

“I do too,” said Mr. de Silva.

“I think the angels held us in their hands,” said Mother.

“So do I.” “So do I.” “And so do I,” said the children. Then everybody was quiet for a moment, for you’re always quiet when you know real angels are close by.

The men from the passenger bus scrambled down the embankment. They were sure everyone in the truck was dead. But when they saw that the truck was standing on its wheels and the passengers were unhurt, and the children were laughing and singing, they said, “It’s a miracle! It’s a miracle! your God must be a strong and good God, and He is with you! If our bus had gone down this embankment, we would all have been killed.”

The truck had stopped among some coconut palms only 4 metres from a river. A small road passed nearby. The men pushed and pulled, and soon the big yellow truck was on the little road. Then the children scrambled back into the truck. Mr. Juriansz thanked the bus passengers, and then he started up the engine. The big yellow truck rumbled to life and jogged along the garden road and onto the main road. Then away it went all the way to town. And the children laughed and sang and thanked God for their miracle.

At last the men had bought all the supplies and packed them into the truck. The children climbed in and sat on top of the supplies. And off went the big yellow truck, through the village and down the hill and across the river and up the hill and around the corner and past the place where they’d had the accident.

But when the big yellow truck came to the village where the people had said, “We won’t ever send our children to your school,” the people ran out into the street, waving their hands and saying, “Stop! We want to see the big yellow truck! We’ve heard what your God has done for you! Your God is a good God! We want to send our children to your school now!”

And when they came to the village where the people said, “We wish you hadn’t built your school so near to us,” the people ran out and waved and said, “Stop! We want to see the big yellow truck! We’ve heard what your God has done for you. Your God is a good God! We are glad now that you are living near us.”

And when they arrived back at the mission school and passed the students who were working in the garden, the students waved and said, “Did you have a good time?” And the children said, “Yes! And we had a miracle!”

And surely, they did!

That big yellow truck served the mission for many more years, carrying coconuts to market and bringing back supplies for the school.