Roland picked me up early at the bus station Thursday morning, we all went out to breakfast. After breakfast, we got back into the car, tired and ready to go back to bed. But the car wouldn't start. It didn't seem to be getting any gas, and then the battery began to die. While Roland was trying and trying to get it started, I tried to think of other things. And I prayed. While praying, I notice a man go into the restaurant. He was carrying a book. Roland tried the car again. The battery sounded near dead now.
What do we do about the car? We can't call someone from home to come help us in town. It's not even 7am yet! I went back into the restaurant, looked in the yellow pages and tried the pay phone. But none of the "service" stations I called actually come out and do service any more. That's what they told me anyway. So what do we do? I called another station. No one answered.
"Lord, why is this happening? You know Roland and I are both at the ends of our ropes already. Why add another thing? We're going to fall apart! Please help us get home."
In everything give praise. "Okay. I'm trying to sing that song, Rejoice, rejoice." Can't remember all the words though. "Rejoice, in the Lord...Rejoice, in the Lord..."
I stand in the restaurant and see a group of men at a back table. The man with the book is with them.
"Waitress, are they having a Bible study back there?"
"Yes."
Praise God! I walk back. Slowly and quietly though. I don't want to be a disruptive. At least, anymore than I have to be. Four feet from them, I stop and wait. One looks up, "Can we help you?" (Why do I always feel like crying at times like this?) (Don’t worry, I didn't. I just felt like it.)
I tell them our car trouble, and immediately two get up and come. They aren't able to get our car jump started though. There's something wrong with the fuel pump or filter, maybe. Maybe we need to call the dealer.
Okay. Then I ask, "Are you already through with devotions?"
"No, we've just begun. Would you like to join us?"
Yes. Roland and I say we would like to. So we went back in with them, and had a really great study. Roland participated in the discussion and prayed with them and it was great. (I also, actually, got a couple nagging questions answered. 2 Cor. 5:17, in the koine Greek, actually says BECOMING. NOT a sudden transformation. This was offered by one of the men without my even asking.)
The devotions over, a third man said he was going to look at the car. He even goes to his own car and gets coveralls. Another man brings a box of tools.
While they are working, I have further discussion with a fourth man in the lobby of the restaurant. He's a retired pastor. He tells me that just before I came in, they had finished reading the verses about gladly helping brothers that are in trouble. They had all thought it was pretty funny when I came in and asked for help directly after that.
Oh my. Oh My Lord Jesus, thank you.
A few minutes later, our car was running. It still needed a new part, but it would get us home. Seems like we just weren't supposed to leave that restaurant that day without getting our morning devotions done. It might still take awhile to figure out just why I came home early. I can think of lots of reasons, but don't know the Lord's reason yet. For that matter, it's going to take awhile to figure out what the whole Mexico trip was about. I'm suspecting that, as usual, there's a whole lot more to it then meets the eye.
Showing posts with label Mexico. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mexico. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
God's Work in Even the Most Disorganized of Lives: Part One
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I had walked across the bridge to El Paso on Tuesday morning just to call home and see how Roland's appointment went on Monday. I had to cross the border at 7am because Perla was crossing at that time and I caught a ride with her to the border. But I got out prior to the bridge and walked over on my own so as not to slow her down. (She had a special crossing pass).
It wasn't that hard to pass the guards. There was a line, but once I got to the guard, all I needed was my driver's license. No birth certificate. Well... a birth certificate might have helped me a little. He asked where I was born, and, my mind on a million other things, first I said Minnesota. Then I changed it to Rhode Island. Then I finally remembered and settled on Long Island. Yes, that was it. Long Island.
Hmmm. Any security conscience person should have pulled me aside right there. But no. As long as I was sure it was Long Island, it was okay and I could go through.
I walked a few blocks into El Paso until I found a nice park to sit and wait at. I didn't want to call Roland too early and wake him up. But it was a very nice morning and I bought a paper and caught up on US news. But when I began calling, I couldn't get ahold of Roland. My card wouldn't connect with the our home area as long as I was on a pay phone. (Don’t ask me why, that's just what I was told by the company)
I eventually walked to a bank and used one of their phones.
He told me that he was going to have a catheter put in to a main artery. His arms weren't good enough anymore for receiving the chemotherapy. From my past medical experience, I remembered that this type of catheter had to be kept sterile at all times because of its direct connection to the heart. In nursing homes, we used to clean these things every shift. So I was concerned. Who would be home to take care of it for him?
He said it was going in on Thursday at noon. We debated whether I should come home. It took a little while to talk about it. I couldn't decide, although I really wanted to go. I didn't like the idea of Roland going home with the catheter and not having anyone there to care for it.
But the time, we had finished talking, it was all ready 11:30 am. We decided I should call greyhound and find out details. Greyhound said that the bus that would get me home on time if I left El Paso at 1:30 pm that day. Only two hours away.
To catch that bus seemed impossible. I would have to walk back to the bridge, (which is about two blocks long?) cross it, get back to the children's home I was helping at and gather my belongings, get back to the bridge and walk across it again, stopping in a line for US customs and how ever long that would take, and then find the El Paso bus station. There's no way I could do that in just two hours. Less then two hours now, the more we debated.
After I got off the phone, I wondered what to do next. I tried to find a way to call the children's home, but the bank clerk told me she didn't know how to call Mexico. I called my Bible college and spoke to the Dean, then I tried calling my pastor to get money for my ticket, but his line was busy. I don't know how much time I was wasting.
So I called Roland back. He told me to try for the 1:30 bus, and if I didn't make it, catch the 9pm. He would call Pastor about the ticket. Okay. Nothing to do then but try.
So without even looking at the clock, I left. I didn't want to know the time. I walked quickly, but was surprised to see just how far I had come into El Paso that morning. When you are meandering with no goal in mind, you can actually travel pretty far. I finally came to the bridge and crossed it. No Mexican border guard spoke to me. I didn't even see any. But I did see a taxi on the other side. I only had about $17 dollars on me, but decided I had better take the taxi if I was going to make it on time.
Standing on the sidewalk, I asked the driver how much it would be to get to Juventud con Vision, and back, roound trip. He spoke in Spanish to a woman sitting in the front seat next to him. She puffed on her cigarette and then answered him in Spanish. Turning to me, he told me in broken English $15 for the round trip.
Okay. I have that. I got in.
He pulled out and went the opposite way.
"No, No!” I said 'Municipalo Libre' street. Or something like that."
"Si, Si." He said. Look, I may not know the names of these roads, but I know which direction they are in! Oh, what should I do? Get out? But I've never seen this neighborhood. I don't know where I was!
I sat tight hoping I would recognize something soon. Soon I did, and I told him to take a left. I was able to give him directions from there. Safely at the children's home, the cab waited while I ran in to get my things. The staff was very kind. They didn't ask many questions and were very helpful to getting me back on the road quickly. They even gave me some more money for the trip. That was a very helpful relief. Mrs. Stalwick also advised me to take only what I really needed. She would see to the rest. Okay. My computer and the souvenirs for the kids. Oh yes, and a hair brush.
So back into the taxi, he again turned a direction opposite to what I expected. Wait! Where are you going! The bridge is that way!
"Si, Si." He turned onto a road I'd never seen before and continued on his way. To my relief, I eventually saw the bridge. He stopped at a curb and I handed him my $15. "No,” he says. “ $20.” His girlfriend indicated it was a long ride.
No, I think to myself. I could have given him more from the money the Stalwicks had given me, but it was a single large bill and I didn't want him to know how much I had. Besides, a deal is a deal and he made it a long route on his own. I gave him the $17 and told him that was it. He grumbled and I got out of the car.
I hurried across the long bridge. The line at US customs seemed slow and long. But I never looked at the clock. I didn't want to know the time. It would only give me heartache to know.
Once past the guards, (no birth questions this time) I asked for directions to the bus station. Pastor Stalwick had thought it would be about three blocks. He was right about the direction it was in, but it was maybe 6 or 7 blocks away. My feet were really hurting by the time I made into the station, at 1:15 pm. I don't think I had walked this far in one day in years.
1:15 pm! Can you believe it?
But now I have to find out if I even have a ticket, and there was a line there, as well. A disheveled man standing in front of me kept swearing to himself. Sometimes he turned and stared straight at me. Long stares. I kept my eyes in the other direction and just prayed.
I couldn't keep my eyes from darting at the clock now. Twenty after. Then twenty-five after. Twenty-six after. I kept trying to tell myself that if I make the bus, I make the bus. Either way it goes, it's in the Lord's hands. I shouldn't worry about it because whatever happens, it's up to God. (I had to keep telling myself these things)
Finally, at twenty-seven after, a clerk nods at me to come up.
"Is there a ticket here for me?"
The man clicks the keyboard a couple times and looks it at the monitor. He asks the man next to him some questions. It appears that my clerk is new on the job. He needs help looking for the ticket.
"How do you spell your last name?" he asks me. I don't even want to look at the clock again. I pull out my driver's license to make things easier for him.
The next thing I know, he's printing the ticket out. I grab it from him and run...to which direction. I don't know. The direction that looked good. But my tired feet, not used to walking, balked at running and the next thing I knew they were tangled on each other and I was flat on my face with my computer sliding away in one direction and the souvenirs in another.
"Are you okay, Honey?"
"Si, Si. Which way is the bus to Montana?"
Well, there is no bus to Montana. I need another minute to figure out I'm going to Phoenix, and THEN up to Montana. But all that said...I made it just in time.
More to Come...Part II
.
I had walked across the bridge to El Paso on Tuesday morning just to call home and see how Roland's appointment went on Monday. I had to cross the border at 7am because Perla was crossing at that time and I caught a ride with her to the border. But I got out prior to the bridge and walked over on my own so as not to slow her down. (She had a special crossing pass).
It wasn't that hard to pass the guards. There was a line, but once I got to the guard, all I needed was my driver's license. No birth certificate. Well... a birth certificate might have helped me a little. He asked where I was born, and, my mind on a million other things, first I said Minnesota. Then I changed it to Rhode Island. Then I finally remembered and settled on Long Island. Yes, that was it. Long Island.
Hmmm. Any security conscience person should have pulled me aside right there. But no. As long as I was sure it was Long Island, it was okay and I could go through.
I walked a few blocks into El Paso until I found a nice park to sit and wait at. I didn't want to call Roland too early and wake him up. But it was a very nice morning and I bought a paper and caught up on US news. But when I began calling, I couldn't get ahold of Roland. My card wouldn't connect with the our home area as long as I was on a pay phone. (Don’t ask me why, that's just what I was told by the company)
I eventually walked to a bank and used one of their phones.
He told me that he was going to have a catheter put in to a main artery. His arms weren't good enough anymore for receiving the chemotherapy. From my past medical experience, I remembered that this type of catheter had to be kept sterile at all times because of its direct connection to the heart. In nursing homes, we used to clean these things every shift. So I was concerned. Who would be home to take care of it for him?
He said it was going in on Thursday at noon. We debated whether I should come home. It took a little while to talk about it. I couldn't decide, although I really wanted to go. I didn't like the idea of Roland going home with the catheter and not having anyone there to care for it.
But the time, we had finished talking, it was all ready 11:30 am. We decided I should call greyhound and find out details. Greyhound said that the bus that would get me home on time if I left El Paso at 1:30 pm that day. Only two hours away.
To catch that bus seemed impossible. I would have to walk back to the bridge, (which is about two blocks long?) cross it, get back to the children's home I was helping at and gather my belongings, get back to the bridge and walk across it again, stopping in a line for US customs and how ever long that would take, and then find the El Paso bus station. There's no way I could do that in just two hours. Less then two hours now, the more we debated.
After I got off the phone, I wondered what to do next. I tried to find a way to call the children's home, but the bank clerk told me she didn't know how to call Mexico. I called my Bible college and spoke to the Dean, then I tried calling my pastor to get money for my ticket, but his line was busy. I don't know how much time I was wasting.
So I called Roland back. He told me to try for the 1:30 bus, and if I didn't make it, catch the 9pm. He would call Pastor about the ticket. Okay. Nothing to do then but try.
So without even looking at the clock, I left. I didn't want to know the time. I walked quickly, but was surprised to see just how far I had come into El Paso that morning. When you are meandering with no goal in mind, you can actually travel pretty far. I finally came to the bridge and crossed it. No Mexican border guard spoke to me. I didn't even see any. But I did see a taxi on the other side. I only had about $17 dollars on me, but decided I had better take the taxi if I was going to make it on time.
Standing on the sidewalk, I asked the driver how much it would be to get to Juventud con Vision, and back, roound trip. He spoke in Spanish to a woman sitting in the front seat next to him. She puffed on her cigarette and then answered him in Spanish. Turning to me, he told me in broken English $15 for the round trip.
Okay. I have that. I got in.
He pulled out and went the opposite way.
"No, No!” I said 'Municipalo Libre' street. Or something like that."
"Si, Si." He said. Look, I may not know the names of these roads, but I know which direction they are in! Oh, what should I do? Get out? But I've never seen this neighborhood. I don't know where I was!
I sat tight hoping I would recognize something soon. Soon I did, and I told him to take a left. I was able to give him directions from there. Safely at the children's home, the cab waited while I ran in to get my things. The staff was very kind. They didn't ask many questions and were very helpful to getting me back on the road quickly. They even gave me some more money for the trip. That was a very helpful relief. Mrs. Stalwick also advised me to take only what I really needed. She would see to the rest. Okay. My computer and the souvenirs for the kids. Oh yes, and a hair brush.
So back into the taxi, he again turned a direction opposite to what I expected. Wait! Where are you going! The bridge is that way!
"Si, Si." He turned onto a road I'd never seen before and continued on his way. To my relief, I eventually saw the bridge. He stopped at a curb and I handed him my $15. "No,” he says. “ $20.” His girlfriend indicated it was a long ride.
No, I think to myself. I could have given him more from the money the Stalwicks had given me, but it was a single large bill and I didn't want him to know how much I had. Besides, a deal is a deal and he made it a long route on his own. I gave him the $17 and told him that was it. He grumbled and I got out of the car.
I hurried across the long bridge. The line at US customs seemed slow and long. But I never looked at the clock. I didn't want to know the time. It would only give me heartache to know.
Once past the guards, (no birth questions this time) I asked for directions to the bus station. Pastor Stalwick had thought it would be about three blocks. He was right about the direction it was in, but it was maybe 6 or 7 blocks away. My feet were really hurting by the time I made into the station, at 1:15 pm. I don't think I had walked this far in one day in years.
1:15 pm! Can you believe it?
But now I have to find out if I even have a ticket, and there was a line there, as well. A disheveled man standing in front of me kept swearing to himself. Sometimes he turned and stared straight at me. Long stares. I kept my eyes in the other direction and just prayed.
I couldn't keep my eyes from darting at the clock now. Twenty after. Then twenty-five after. Twenty-six after. I kept trying to tell myself that if I make the bus, I make the bus. Either way it goes, it's in the Lord's hands. I shouldn't worry about it because whatever happens, it's up to God. (I had to keep telling myself these things)
Finally, at twenty-seven after, a clerk nods at me to come up.
"Is there a ticket here for me?"
The man clicks the keyboard a couple times and looks it at the monitor. He asks the man next to him some questions. It appears that my clerk is new on the job. He needs help looking for the ticket.
"How do you spell your last name?" he asks me. I don't even want to look at the clock again. I pull out my driver's license to make things easier for him.
The next thing I know, he's printing the ticket out. I grab it from him and run...to which direction. I don't know. The direction that looked good. But my tired feet, not used to walking, balked at running and the next thing I knew they were tangled on each other and I was flat on my face with my computer sliding away in one direction and the souvenirs in another.
"Are you okay, Honey?"
"Si, Si. Which way is the bus to Montana?"
Well, there is no bus to Montana. I need another minute to figure out I'm going to Phoenix, and THEN up to Montana. But all that said...I made it just in time.
More to Come...Part II
.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Christmas in a Mexican Children's Home
.
Celebrating as a family didn't feel right after Roland died. So we decided not to. Instead, we drive to Juarez; to a children's home on the west side, built on a old dump, barbed wire surrounding it.
Jose had lost his market place in a fire a few months ago, and their family and the children's mission were having a very tight time because of it. I gave him the Bibles, computers, and monetary donation we had brought with, and told him we'd also be buying Christmas food. But as we visited our friends, we saw their needs were greater than we had expected.
We walked into Ines' home on Dec. 23 and saw that there was absolutely nothing in her small, cinderblock home for Christmas for her five children. We also learned that another woman, Sylvia, had only had a Christmas present once before in her life. This month, her husband was laid off of his job, and she was unable to work more than two days a week as a maid. (she used to work everyday for Jose's family, until the market burned and they couldn't afford to pay her every day).
Sylvia, with an 18 month old toddler, also had nothing for Christmas. And then, of course, there was Juventud, the children's home we were visiting. Many of the children teenagers did have relatives to visit for Christmas. But there were four still at the home, and they also had no gifts. Chuy's mother had died a few years ago and he had never known his father. Scott, (11 yrs old) had a father, but he was afraid to be with him because of drunkenness and beatings. He asked Jose if he could please stay at the home. (His dad did try to come and get him while we were there, and Scott was crying and begging to stay at Juventud. His dad finally left angrily.)
Jose also asked us if we would make it our mission (mine and my teenagers) during our stay to talk to Chuy, who is almost 18, and tell him the importance of living for Christ, because Chuy hadn't been walking with Jesus. He'd been somewhat disobedient lately, and Jose was worried that once Chuy turned 18, he'd leave and get into trouble. I was fine with what ever Jose asked us to do. I would serve any of his needs.
But then he asked for something unusual. He wanted our children to spend time with his own children just having fun. They asked our kids to stay up late one night just to play worship music together. I wasn't sure at first, thinking that this didn't sound like "mission work." Then I realized that it was. It was ministery to the mission director and his family. I had asked God to just show us what was needed and help us to fill the gaps. This is what Jose was saying was needed.
Anyway, our family enjoyed everything we had the opportunity to do while we were there.
Everyone came together at Jose's house for Christmas Eve. We had a wonderful time. My son did a "Little Drummer Boy" thing for them, and we sang Christmas carols, had tamales for dinner, and handed out the gifts we had brought them. Nothing huge, just small, nice things.
It was so wonderful. All my children were laughing - just enjoying watching the others open their gifts. None of them looked for anything for themselves under the tree. They understood. It was awesome to see them this way - happy with just being there to help.
Ines then invited the whole group for dinner at her house for Christmas the next day. She made a traditional soup and we bought a piñata and stuffed it with candy.
The final evening we were there, on the 26th, everyone met at Juventud con Vision for a chicken barbecue. Now Jose asked me to say something. Jose gathered everyone together before dinner and I read parts of Proverbs 4 to the youth. Then I told them Roland's story. I know it's not normal to tell someone else's story. But I wanted the children to know of God's presence on Roland's last day. I now had their full attention, and I reminded them that we are all going to die. I wanted them to know that we are all just sojourner's in this land, and the real life, the life that really matters, is with God's coming kingdom; the next life. It doesn't matter if we are rich or poor. All that matters is if we are serving Jesus. My son began crying quietly. When I was finished, you could feel God's presence. Jose then told me that he felt he should "do a calling", and he asked the youth how many wanted to recommit their lives to Christ. Hands shot up, including Chuy's.
It was a wonderful three days. Jose asked when we would be coming back, as did several others. I don't know! We do intend to go back, but I hadn't begun to think about when.
Once we were on the road home though, my daughter and I began talking. We had been surprised by the number of cars that needed relatively minor work to put them back on the road. No one in Jose's group does any kind of car mechanics. Jose didn't even know how to change the bulb in his tail light. She had gone to the store to help him buy the bulb to put in. We wished there had been more time so we could have changed a timing belt on an old van.
Next time, we'll go prepared to work on cars.
.
Celebrating as a family didn't feel right after Roland died. So we decided not to. Instead, we drive to Juarez; to a children's home on the west side, built on a old dump, barbed wire surrounding it.
Jose had lost his market place in a fire a few months ago, and their family and the children's mission were having a very tight time because of it. I gave him the Bibles, computers, and monetary donation we had brought with, and told him we'd also be buying Christmas food. But as we visited our friends, we saw their needs were greater than we had expected.
We walked into Ines' home on Dec. 23 and saw that there was absolutely nothing in her small, cinderblock home for Christmas for her five children. We also learned that another woman, Sylvia, had only had a Christmas present once before in her life. This month, her husband was laid off of his job, and she was unable to work more than two days a week as a maid. (she used to work everyday for Jose's family, until the market burned and they couldn't afford to pay her every day).
Sylvia, with an 18 month old toddler, also had nothing for Christmas. And then, of course, there was Juventud, the children's home we were visiting. Many of the children teenagers did have relatives to visit for Christmas. But there were four still at the home, and they also had no gifts. Chuy's mother had died a few years ago and he had never known his father. Scott, (11 yrs old) had a father, but he was afraid to be with him because of drunkenness and beatings. He asked Jose if he could please stay at the home. (His dad did try to come and get him while we were there, and Scott was crying and begging to stay at Juventud. His dad finally left angrily.)
Jose also asked us if we would make it our mission (mine and my teenagers) during our stay to talk to Chuy, who is almost 18, and tell him the importance of living for Christ, because Chuy hadn't been walking with Jesus. He'd been somewhat disobedient lately, and Jose was worried that once Chuy turned 18, he'd leave and get into trouble. I was fine with what ever Jose asked us to do. I would serve any of his needs.
But then he asked for something unusual. He wanted our children to spend time with his own children just having fun. They asked our kids to stay up late one night just to play worship music together. I wasn't sure at first, thinking that this didn't sound like "mission work." Then I realized that it was. It was ministery to the mission director and his family. I had asked God to just show us what was needed and help us to fill the gaps. This is what Jose was saying was needed.
Anyway, our family enjoyed everything we had the opportunity to do while we were there.
Everyone came together at Jose's house for Christmas Eve. We had a wonderful time. My son did a "Little Drummer Boy" thing for them, and we sang Christmas carols, had tamales for dinner, and handed out the gifts we had brought them. Nothing huge, just small, nice things.
It was so wonderful. All my children were laughing - just enjoying watching the others open their gifts. None of them looked for anything for themselves under the tree. They understood. It was awesome to see them this way - happy with just being there to help.
Ines then invited the whole group for dinner at her house for Christmas the next day. She made a traditional soup and we bought a piñata and stuffed it with candy.
The final evening we were there, on the 26th, everyone met at Juventud con Vision for a chicken barbecue. Now Jose asked me to say something. Jose gathered everyone together before dinner and I read parts of Proverbs 4 to the youth. Then I told them Roland's story. I know it's not normal to tell someone else's story. But I wanted the children to know of God's presence on Roland's last day. I now had their full attention, and I reminded them that we are all going to die. I wanted them to know that we are all just sojourner's in this land, and the real life, the life that really matters, is with God's coming kingdom; the next life. It doesn't matter if we are rich or poor. All that matters is if we are serving Jesus. My son began crying quietly. When I was finished, you could feel God's presence. Jose then told me that he felt he should "do a calling", and he asked the youth how many wanted to recommit their lives to Christ. Hands shot up, including Chuy's.
It was a wonderful three days. Jose asked when we would be coming back, as did several others. I don't know! We do intend to go back, but I hadn't begun to think about when.
Once we were on the road home though, my daughter and I began talking. We had been surprised by the number of cars that needed relatively minor work to put them back on the road. No one in Jose's group does any kind of car mechanics. Jose didn't even know how to change the bulb in his tail light. She had gone to the store to help him buy the bulb to put in. We wished there had been more time so we could have changed a timing belt on an old van.
Next time, we'll go prepared to work on cars.
.
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