James Rush Manley – Writer

I was MAF’s (Mission Aviation Fellowship) Ecuador Program Manager stationed in the Andean mountain city of Quito, Ecuador when a mission director asked for a special flight. Two days earlier, he sent a large team down into Ecuador’s coastal jungle to minister in a small town.

“But,” he explained, “a government official summoned us to a critical meeting tomorrow morning. I need three of the men on that team for this meeting and there’s no way they can get back here in time. Could you fly there today, spend the night, and bring them back as soon as possible in the morning?” read more ...

Clouds really like mountains—or maybe mountains really like clouds. Either way, the ceiling lowered the closer I flew to the badlands. A dark grey layer pressed down, obscuring all peaks and ridges. I dared not climb into the murk above. Soft, wispy grey hid solid granite. It was too far to go around to the left or right. Thick forest punctuated by a rock-strewn river set the lower limit. A narrow canyon offered the only way through the rock wall.

I configured the airplane for terrain flying by slowing to 80 knots and setting the flaps at 20°. Lower speed meant a tighter turning radius. Extending partial flaps gave more margin above stall speed. It also lowered the nose for a better view of what lay ahead. Setup like this, the airplane would immediately climb if I added any power, not that that was an option now. read more ...

Our plateau jutted out the sudden eastern edge of the Andes mountains. It ran east 10 more miles, almost flat, until it dropped over a cliff 2,000 feet into the Amazon Jungle below. Weather from the northeast hit the cliffs first, accelerated upward, then smacked against the massive peaks behind. So, it rained. A lot. Twenty-one feet per year. We called three rainless days a drought—broiling sun and oppressive humidity. Lumbering trucks and packed buses morphed dirt roads into towering billows of fine, choking dust visible from the air as undulating brown ribbons. read more ...

God leaves his fingerprints everywhere.

Of course, finding them can present a daunting challenge. We claw, tearing off our heart’s fingernails, trying to uncover even one tangible token of hope. We’re not dumb. We know the world abuses everyone regardless of social, cultural, or political persuasion. Fortunately, on rare, serendipitous days, we suddenly plunge deep into a refreshing torrent that massages soul muscles we forgot we had.

Last week four of us rafted and hiked along the base of the Grand Teton Mountains. I expected beauty and anticipated quiet. And I received all that. But wonder set a trap and awe ambushed me. The God who created the entire universe—yes, I’m an astronomy nerd enchanted by stars, solar systems, nebulas, and galaxies—left a piece right here for touching, smelling, seeing, and hearing. No telescope required. Just as music and stories bypass my Scrooge-like thinking and lance my heart, so did quiet water and immense majesty touch the deep place where my dreams are born. read more ...

A few weeks ago I flew to Montana and, just west of Helena, I crossed the Great Divide of the Americas. In the north, we call it the Rocky Mountains. In the south, they name it the Andes Mountains. This 10,000-mile-long geological colossus runs from the Bearing Strait in Alaska to the Strait of Magellan at the tip of South America and rules both continents in surprising ways.

Take the rain, for example. Billions of drops hurtle down upon the Divide. One inch of rain in a small, ten-acre shower produces a 1,130-ton onslaught. Where will it go? All the drops in a shower might start east, but turbulence pushes some west. Then a gust smacks others back east. Those collide with other drops and dive west. At the ridge, some ricochet off pine needles and tumble back to the east, hit rocks, and slide into the trickle feeding a stream that joins a creek, connects to a small river, then another larger flow, and, days later, melds with the Atlantic. Others miss the first trees and flow west. Despite their original trajectory, the Divide determines their end. All rivers on the east side of the Divide flow toward the Atlantic and on its west the Pacific—destinations thousands of miles apart. read more ...