Monday, April 16, 2007
To Sixaola and Back
At the risk of making our life sound more "glamorous" than it is, I'm going to relate the events of the week end. Don't get me wrong. We live in a nice house, drive a good car, and have hot water. But, from time to time, we leave the comforts of home and journey to other parts for various reasons...not for fun, I assure you. We aren't campers and don't particularly care to "rough it" without reason. But there are times when our work calls for us to experience spartan accommodations.
This last week end was one of those. Those who live in Latin America (and other places too, I suspect) learn that flexibility is an attribute that is definitely an asset. I guess I should have taken it as a sign that we were in for one of those times when I received the call on Thursday night. One of our regular bus drivers (for when we have volunteer groups) needed me to go with him to the "Tribunal" to pay a ticket he had received the day before. He needed me to testify that he was driving for missionaries that day and not tourists. The policeman took his license plates because he was in a private car which didn't have the "Turistas" sticker on it. He wouldn't accept the driver's word that the gringos in the car weren't sight-seeing, but working with a church in the area. OK. Not a problem. I could go with him even though it was going to make the planned departure for our week end trip a half day late.
After making two fruitless stops, we finally got the ticket paid, but he still didn't have his license plates. That's a whole other story...not related.
Note that all of the plans for the trip had been coordinated with a national missionary...in Spanish...on the telephone...and..."plans" are nothing more than a loose idea of what may happen...among a lot of other things. Compound that with the fact that he had made plans with other nationals as to what we would be doing. So now you have multiple people involved.
I'll try to make this short. I knew we were going to Cahuita, a small village on the Caribbean.(Mitzi and I went there a couple of times in 1999.) It's a, shall we say, different kind of place...full of beach bums, people looking for a good time (at what I'm not sure. There's nothing there.), bars, weird restaurants, and, no doubt, drugs. Several years ago two young ladies were murdered there. Why did we go in "99? Good question. Actually, it's an interesting place. But...I'm getting sidetracked.
We made the 3 hour drive to Cahuita, found the pastor we were to visit with, much to his surprise. He had forgotten. After an hour with him, Daniel, the Tico missionary, indicated we were leaving. This was somewhat of a surprise, because my understanding was that we were going to spend the night there in some cabinas the pastor had. Wrong.
We continued on to Sixaola, which is all the way to the Panama border. I had no idea we were going there, although I did get that impression during the conversation sometime during the day. After another couple of hours driving we arrived at the church in Sixaola.There were a couple of ladies waiting for us there and after a short conversation, I learned that we were staying in an apartment over the church and having a meeting with church people at 6:30 that night.
We went into the center of Sixaola to eat dinner. Well, I don't know if a little village strung out for a quarter of a mile along a gravel road has a center, but we found the bus station and a restaurant...of sorts.
Daniel had asked me if I would tell about our work and how we could work with the church during the service the next morning. I agreed but, in fact, that happened Saturday night during the meeting.
Finally, we went up to the apartment for the night. There was only a single bed in the room where Mitzi and I were to sleep, but there was a little 2 inch foam mattress leaning against the wall. That was to be my bed. I wasn't popular with the Central American tropical cockroaches when I moved the mattress. They scurried in several directions. I hoped they didn't return to claim their mattress during the night. With their size, they could have carried it, and me, off. The bed, and the mattress, had only a mattress cover...no sheets. The little bed had a pillow. I had some wadded up curtains for a pillow.
We thought about taking a shower before we went to bed, but changed our minds when we discovered that there was no hot water. Facing a cold shower twice was more than I wanted to brave. Twice, because we covered ourselves with generous amounts of bug spray before going to bed, and the smell, and feel, would have called for a second shower the next morning.
Surviving the night without incident we arose to another hot day and the prospect of a not too unwelcome cold shower.
I won't go in to all the details about the services on Sunday morning.Suffice it to say that the schedule, as we had understood it, changed at least four times before the morning was over. Rather than tell the adults about our work, I gave an illustration with a soccer ball(not a demonstration...I don't play soccer) to about 35 children.
One more story...On the way home, we stopped in Cahuita to eat lunch. Now, finding a good place there is difficult, because everything looks...well...crummy. We finally settled on a place called "Ingrid's", mainly because that's Daniel's wife's name. We didn't pay any attention to the sign which said "Health Food". Daniel wanted a fruit salad with ice cream...nope. Ice cream isn't healthy. I was having trouble deciding between a tomato, grabanzo, onion sandwich or one with olives, carrots and cheese when the waitress asked for our drink orders. Having gotten the point that this was a health food restaurant, I ordered a "diet" coke. No coke, at least not Coca Cola. I feel sure we could have gotten some of the other kind of coke...or at least marijuana, since that's a plant. Funny how that works. Some of those folks won't eat meat, but will blow their minds away with drugs.
Oh well. We made it home, took a nice hot shower and slept in our own bed with clean sheets.
Please do pray for Manuel, the pastor at Cahuita. He is discouraged, as are the people of the church at Sixaola, because they don't have a pastor.
This last week end was one of those. Those who live in Latin America (and other places too, I suspect) learn that flexibility is an attribute that is definitely an asset. I guess I should have taken it as a sign that we were in for one of those times when I received the call on Thursday night. One of our regular bus drivers (for when we have volunteer groups) needed me to go with him to the "Tribunal" to pay a ticket he had received the day before. He needed me to testify that he was driving for missionaries that day and not tourists. The policeman took his license plates because he was in a private car which didn't have the "Turistas" sticker on it. He wouldn't accept the driver's word that the gringos in the car weren't sight-seeing, but working with a church in the area. OK. Not a problem. I could go with him even though it was going to make the planned departure for our week end trip a half day late.
After making two fruitless stops, we finally got the ticket paid, but he still didn't have his license plates. That's a whole other story...not related.
Note that all of the plans for the trip had been coordinated with a national missionary...in Spanish...on the telephone...and..."plans" are nothing more than a loose idea of what may happen...among a lot of other things. Compound that with the fact that he had made plans with other nationals as to what we would be doing. So now you have multiple people involved.
I'll try to make this short. I knew we were going to Cahuita, a small village on the Caribbean.(Mitzi and I went there a couple of times in 1999.) It's a, shall we say, different kind of place...full of beach bums, people looking for a good time (at what I'm not sure. There's nothing there.), bars, weird restaurants, and, no doubt, drugs. Several years ago two young ladies were murdered there. Why did we go in "99? Good question. Actually, it's an interesting place. But...I'm getting sidetracked.
We made the 3 hour drive to Cahuita, found the pastor we were to visit with, much to his surprise. He had forgotten. After an hour with him, Daniel, the Tico missionary, indicated we were leaving. This was somewhat of a surprise, because my understanding was that we were going to spend the night there in some cabinas the pastor had. Wrong.
We continued on to Sixaola, which is all the way to the Panama border. I had no idea we were going there, although I did get that impression during the conversation sometime during the day. After another couple of hours driving we arrived at the church in Sixaola.There were a couple of ladies waiting for us there and after a short conversation, I learned that we were staying in an apartment over the church and having a meeting with church people at 6:30 that night.
We went into the center of Sixaola to eat dinner. Well, I don't know if a little village strung out for a quarter of a mile along a gravel road has a center, but we found the bus station and a restaurant...of sorts.
Daniel had asked me if I would tell about our work and how we could work with the church during the service the next morning. I agreed but, in fact, that happened Saturday night during the meeting.
Finally, we went up to the apartment for the night. There was only a single bed in the room where Mitzi and I were to sleep, but there was a little 2 inch foam mattress leaning against the wall. That was to be my bed. I wasn't popular with the Central American tropical cockroaches when I moved the mattress. They scurried in several directions. I hoped they didn't return to claim their mattress during the night. With their size, they could have carried it, and me, off. The bed, and the mattress, had only a mattress cover...no sheets. The little bed had a pillow. I had some wadded up curtains for a pillow.
We thought about taking a shower before we went to bed, but changed our minds when we discovered that there was no hot water. Facing a cold shower twice was more than I wanted to brave. Twice, because we covered ourselves with generous amounts of bug spray before going to bed, and the smell, and feel, would have called for a second shower the next morning.
Surviving the night without incident we arose to another hot day and the prospect of a not too unwelcome cold shower.
I won't go in to all the details about the services on Sunday morning.Suffice it to say that the schedule, as we had understood it, changed at least four times before the morning was over. Rather than tell the adults about our work, I gave an illustration with a soccer ball(not a demonstration...I don't play soccer) to about 35 children.
One more story...On the way home, we stopped in Cahuita to eat lunch. Now, finding a good place there is difficult, because everything looks...well...crummy. We finally settled on a place called "Ingrid's", mainly because that's Daniel's wife's name. We didn't pay any attention to the sign which said "Health Food". Daniel wanted a fruit salad with ice cream...nope. Ice cream isn't healthy. I was having trouble deciding between a tomato, grabanzo, onion sandwich or one with olives, carrots and cheese when the waitress asked for our drink orders. Having gotten the point that this was a health food restaurant, I ordered a "diet" coke. No coke, at least not Coca Cola. I feel sure we could have gotten some of the other kind of coke...or at least marijuana, since that's a plant. Funny how that works. Some of those folks won't eat meat, but will blow their minds away with drugs.
Oh well. We made it home, took a nice hot shower and slept in our own bed with clean sheets.
Please do pray for Manuel, the pastor at Cahuita. He is discouraged, as are the people of the church at Sixaola, because they don't have a pastor.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Kids, Cameras, and Crocodiles
What do kids, cameras, and crocodiles have in common? Not a lot really, but it seems every kid does have a camera. The crocodiles we'll get to later. I can remember when Mitzi and I first thought about getting a digital camera. It was a big deal. We shopped and finally bought a mid-range Kodak...well, it was mid-range then...kind of outdated now. Not a big deal anymore. Everyone has one.
Last week I had the privilege of working with a volunteer group from Tennessee...mostly young people, 15-17 or so. They had some adults along too of course. Normally, I dread groups with lots of teen-agers. Well, I dreaded this one a little too. One never knows just what you're in for. I needn't have worried.These kids were great. Disciplined, polite, prompt, obedient...speaks well for their parents and leader. And they worked hard without complaining. We had lots of walking, most of it up steep hills. Oh, there was a lot of good-natured kidding about whose hills were the toughest, but I heard no gripes.
The week was good. We distributed somewhere between 400 and 500 copies of the gospel of John, showed two movies in the little church with whom we were working, prayer-walked the whole area, and got to know some new friends. The pastor said 5 people accepted Christ as Savior, and several families were located that expressed an interest in a visit from the pastor and wanted more information. Praise the Lord for that.
Oh yeah...the cameras and crocodiles. Well, virtually each kid had a camera...and knew how to use it. They got pictures of every combination and even were adept at taking pictures of themselves. It's so easy these days.
One day we made the obligatory stop at what is called the "Crocodile Bridge." It's a bridge that passes over a river, which is about 30-40 below. There is always a "herd" (What do you call a bunch/group of crocodiles?) of crocs lying along the river below the bridge. Naturally, the group took a ton of pictures, and...one of the young ladies somehow dropped her camera off the bridge. (Fortunately, it was of the disposable type and not an expensive digital.) She was a little upset. The camera was no big loss, but there were lots of good shots on it. We looked and thought. "How can we get that camera back? There must be a way."
We examined the route from the end of the bridge to the location of the camera. It wasn't in the river, but you would have to cross some pretty muddy area and wade a portion of the river to get to it. Now the mud didn't bother me too much, nor did the water...and the crocs weren't close to the camera, at least not at that time. I just wasn't sure I could outrun a hungry crocodile in mud and knee deep water. We went on to our destination...but we didn't forget that camera. Our driver thought all afternoon about some way to rescue the dropped camera, and came up with an ingenious idea. We could first lower a 2 liter coke bottle filled with sand and place it just behind the camera to brace it. Then we could lower a small plastic trash bucket down and scoop up the camera into the bucket. Seemed like it would work.
So on our way home, some 8 hours later, we stopped again. Sure enough, the camera was still there. Same place,same crocs...except this time they were closer. (I had the thought of lowering someone down on a rope and letting them pick up the camera before the crocodiles could get to them. Bad idea.) We lowered the coke bottle. No problem. We lowered the trash bucket. Well, this caught the attention of the crocodiles. They were sure it was something to eat. After a couple of attempts to lower it between them, one of the largest ones grabbed it in his jaws. When he discovered that it wasn't good to eat, he spit it out, but not before pretty well smashing it.
About that time a river tour boat pulled up. One of the guides told us in no uncertain terms to stop tormenting the crocodiles and not to "feed" them plastic buckets. It would kill them if they ate it. We tried to explain about the camera, and eventually he got the message. But he had a show to do. He got out of the boat, fed the crocs by hand...and even held some fish in his mouth while the crocodile grabbed it out. Finally he finished his "show" and came over and got the camera and put it in the bucket which we lowered, but not before taking a couple of pictures of us from his vantage point on the river bed.
So...all in all the kids had a good week filled with work,fun, picture taking and a story to tell. It's a commentary that we probably will remember the crocodile/camera incident more vividly than we will the people who accepted Christ. I was asked several times how long crocodiles live. I really don't know, but I do know this...not as long as someone who has come to know the Lord and will have eternal life.
Last week I had the privilege of working with a volunteer group from Tennessee...mostly young people, 15-17 or so. They had some adults along too of course. Normally, I dread groups with lots of teen-agers. Well, I dreaded this one a little too. One never knows just what you're in for. I needn't have worried.These kids were great. Disciplined, polite, prompt, obedient...speaks well for their parents and leader. And they worked hard without complaining. We had lots of walking, most of it up steep hills. Oh, there was a lot of good-natured kidding about whose hills were the toughest, but I heard no gripes.
The week was good. We distributed somewhere between 400 and 500 copies of the gospel of John, showed two movies in the little church with whom we were working, prayer-walked the whole area, and got to know some new friends. The pastor said 5 people accepted Christ as Savior, and several families were located that expressed an interest in a visit from the pastor and wanted more information. Praise the Lord for that.
Oh yeah...the cameras and crocodiles. Well, virtually each kid had a camera...and knew how to use it. They got pictures of every combination and even were adept at taking pictures of themselves. It's so easy these days.
One day we made the obligatory stop at what is called the "Crocodile Bridge." It's a bridge that passes over a river, which is about 30-40 below. There is always a "herd" (What do you call a bunch/group of crocodiles?) of crocs lying along the river below the bridge. Naturally, the group took a ton of pictures, and...one of the young ladies somehow dropped her camera off the bridge. (Fortunately, it was of the disposable type and not an expensive digital.) She was a little upset. The camera was no big loss, but there were lots of good shots on it. We looked and thought. "How can we get that camera back? There must be a way."
We examined the route from the end of the bridge to the location of the camera. It wasn't in the river, but you would have to cross some pretty muddy area and wade a portion of the river to get to it. Now the mud didn't bother me too much, nor did the water...and the crocs weren't close to the camera, at least not at that time. I just wasn't sure I could outrun a hungry crocodile in mud and knee deep water. We went on to our destination...but we didn't forget that camera. Our driver thought all afternoon about some way to rescue the dropped camera, and came up with an ingenious idea. We could first lower a 2 liter coke bottle filled with sand and place it just behind the camera to brace it. Then we could lower a small plastic trash bucket down and scoop up the camera into the bucket. Seemed like it would work.
So on our way home, some 8 hours later, we stopped again. Sure enough, the camera was still there. Same place,same crocs...except this time they were closer. (I had the thought of lowering someone down on a rope and letting them pick up the camera before the crocodiles could get to them. Bad idea.) We lowered the coke bottle. No problem. We lowered the trash bucket. Well, this caught the attention of the crocodiles. They were sure it was something to eat. After a couple of attempts to lower it between them, one of the largest ones grabbed it in his jaws. When he discovered that it wasn't good to eat, he spit it out, but not before pretty well smashing it.
About that time a river tour boat pulled up. One of the guides told us in no uncertain terms to stop tormenting the crocodiles and not to "feed" them plastic buckets. It would kill them if they ate it. We tried to explain about the camera, and eventually he got the message. But he had a show to do. He got out of the boat, fed the crocs by hand...and even held some fish in his mouth while the crocodile grabbed it out. Finally he finished his "show" and came over and got the camera and put it in the bucket which we lowered, but not before taking a couple of pictures of us from his vantage point on the river bed.
So...all in all the kids had a good week filled with work,fun, picture taking and a story to tell. It's a commentary that we probably will remember the crocodile/camera incident more vividly than we will the people who accepted Christ. I was asked several times how long crocodiles live. I really don't know, but I do know this...not as long as someone who has come to know the Lord and will have eternal life.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Volunteer Groups - In General
As you may have gathered if you read many of our posts, we often work with volunteer groups from the U.S. It is usually beneficial to the work, encouraging to the national believers, inspirational to the members of the groups...and...always interesting. After a few groups one learns that every group is different...and alike. Each group has its own group personality. But, also, each group nearly always has some common individual personalities.
Virtually every group has at least one person that has a servant's heart. It may be a man or a woman, but this person loves to help. They routinely are asking what they can do or what equipment they can set up. They volunteer to fill everyone's water bottle or keep the materials supplied each day. They pick up the trash left in the bus or offer to carry luggage or boxes.
Then generally there is someone who is the technician. They can help with sound and video equipment. They may not have the most outgoing personality, but they are the resource if you need technical advice or expertise.
Nearly every group has at least one person who has been on mission trips before. These types can vary. Sometimes they have been around enough to know that with each trip, each country, the situation is a little different. Others are sure that their trip to Slombodoviastan was done just the way mission trips should be done, and every trip should follow that pattern.
Most group members are very adaptable and accept whatever the circumstances are for the time they are here. They will put up with cold water showers (and sometimes no water), strange food and customs, hot days, and heavy rain. For them it's an adventure. Then there is the one that can't understand why every village doesn't have a MacDonald's, you can't get waffles for breakfast, every meal comes with rice and black beans and no one speaks English.
Fortunately, most groups have a leader...someone who makes decisions for the group, although sometimes it is just too democratic. What do you do when there are 12 people in a group and 4 want to eat chicken for supper,3 want to go to a typical restaurant, 3 want to just eat some bread from the local panaderia, and 2 want to go to the grocery store and get snacks.
Oh, I almost forgot. There is often a designated photographer in the group. For this I'm thankful. (Although it hasn't helped me get photos of the project. I nearly always ask the group to send me 6-12 of their best pictures by email after they get home. Guess how many have actually done it...two...out of about a dozen groups. Out of sight, out of mind.) Having a group picture taker keeps everyone else from having to constantly stop working to take pictures.
And, oh the benefits of technology...except on the mission trip. There's really nothing we can do about it these days, I guess. Groups hardly hit the ground until they are looking for phone cards and internet cafes to communicate with the folks back home. I'm thinking about making it part of their orientation before they come to plan on not communicating with home until they get back, unless it's an emergency. I have no doubt that there would still be some clandestine trips to the closest public computer.
For the most part groups are a blessing. They bring with them a great desire to serve the Lord and take the gospel to those who need to hear it. They are sometimes inspirational, sometimes fun, sometimes trying, usually encouraging, and always an interesting experience. I am glad we live in an age when people can see first hand the world and the need for the gospel. I am glad they can go home having experienced the mission field for themselves and missions has become more than something they read in a book or only during times of special offerings.
Virtually every group has at least one person that has a servant's heart. It may be a man or a woman, but this person loves to help. They routinely are asking what they can do or what equipment they can set up. They volunteer to fill everyone's water bottle or keep the materials supplied each day. They pick up the trash left in the bus or offer to carry luggage or boxes.
Then generally there is someone who is the technician. They can help with sound and video equipment. They may not have the most outgoing personality, but they are the resource if you need technical advice or expertise.
Nearly every group has at least one person who has been on mission trips before. These types can vary. Sometimes they have been around enough to know that with each trip, each country, the situation is a little different. Others are sure that their trip to Slombodoviastan was done just the way mission trips should be done, and every trip should follow that pattern.
Most group members are very adaptable and accept whatever the circumstances are for the time they are here. They will put up with cold water showers (and sometimes no water), strange food and customs, hot days, and heavy rain. For them it's an adventure. Then there is the one that can't understand why every village doesn't have a MacDonald's, you can't get waffles for breakfast, every meal comes with rice and black beans and no one speaks English.
Fortunately, most groups have a leader...someone who makes decisions for the group, although sometimes it is just too democratic. What do you do when there are 12 people in a group and 4 want to eat chicken for supper,3 want to go to a typical restaurant, 3 want to just eat some bread from the local panaderia, and 2 want to go to the grocery store and get snacks.
Oh, I almost forgot. There is often a designated photographer in the group. For this I'm thankful. (Although it hasn't helped me get photos of the project. I nearly always ask the group to send me 6-12 of their best pictures by email after they get home. Guess how many have actually done it...two...out of about a dozen groups. Out of sight, out of mind.) Having a group picture taker keeps everyone else from having to constantly stop working to take pictures.
And, oh the benefits of technology...except on the mission trip. There's really nothing we can do about it these days, I guess. Groups hardly hit the ground until they are looking for phone cards and internet cafes to communicate with the folks back home. I'm thinking about making it part of their orientation before they come to plan on not communicating with home until they get back, unless it's an emergency. I have no doubt that there would still be some clandestine trips to the closest public computer.
For the most part groups are a blessing. They bring with them a great desire to serve the Lord and take the gospel to those who need to hear it. They are sometimes inspirational, sometimes fun, sometimes trying, usually encouraging, and always an interesting experience. I am glad we live in an age when people can see first hand the world and the need for the gospel. I am glad they can go home having experienced the mission field for themselves and missions has become more than something they read in a book or only during times of special offerings.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Coast to Coast
I never thought I'd be one who commutes to work coast to coast. Yesterday it occurred to me that I have become just that. No. I didn't hop on a jet and fly business class to the west coast one day and then hurry back to the east coast the next. What I did do was drive to the Pacific coast on Wednesday, meeting with a couple of national pastors on the way, and return home Wednesday night...and...had everything gone as planned, I would have driven to the Caribbean coast on Thursday for a meeting. (As it turned out, I went about half way to pick up the pastor who had arranged the meeting only to find out that the meeting had been called off because of some sort of communication breakdown. He had tried to call me before I got there, but there is no cell phone service as I pass through the mountains.) So...my whole illustration lost some of its umph, because, although it's entirely feasible that it could have happened, it didn't. (Of course, this type of traveling is possible in Costa Rica...look at a map.)
How many times in our lives do plans change? things that could have been, don't occur? What a life I would have had if all my plans would have panned out. Just think, in this case I could have bragged about being a coast to coast commuter. I could have said I had dinner on a Pacific beach Wednesday night and breakfast at the Caribbean on Thursday. It would have sounded so good. No need to give all the facts.
Ever feel a need to embellish a story or maybe leave out a few facts, just to make it sound better...actually to make you sound better, or more interesting? Wonder why we do that. You see, it wouldn't have been a lie to say I sometimes commuted coast to coast. But leaving out that one little fact that I live in Costa Rica sort of taints the story.
OK. So I don't really know why I posted this silly thought. Just seemed like there was a lesson there somewhere. I'll let you make your own application.
How many times in our lives do plans change? things that could have been, don't occur? What a life I would have had if all my plans would have panned out. Just think, in this case I could have bragged about being a coast to coast commuter. I could have said I had dinner on a Pacific beach Wednesday night and breakfast at the Caribbean on Thursday. It would have sounded so good. No need to give all the facts.
Ever feel a need to embellish a story or maybe leave out a few facts, just to make it sound better...actually to make you sound better, or more interesting? Wonder why we do that. You see, it wouldn't have been a lie to say I sometimes commuted coast to coast. But leaving out that one little fact that I live in Costa Rica sort of taints the story.
OK. So I don't really know why I posted this silly thought. Just seemed like there was a lesson there somewhere. I'll let you make your own application.
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