In Memoriam

Sister Gee from New Covenant Church in Mandeville passed away this morning at Mandeville Hospital.

She sang "Great is Thy Faithfulness" Sunday in church.

She will be missed by her family and the family of New Covenant.

She was a great woman of God, submitted to her church leadership.

Jamaica 2008 - Introduction

This was not my first trip to Jamaica. It was my third. We have been working with Bishop Jim and Mary McIver for several years in Jamaica. When we are in Jamaica, we stay in Mandeville, the third largest city on the island. It is the closest city to the churches we work with. This was Perla's first trip to Jamaica.

Revival Fires Fellowship International has two churches in Jamaica in its fellowship; now three.

Pastor Williams' church is in Topsham*. He has been with us for several years now. Topsham is in the mountains. The roads to get there are very curvy. People beep when driving on them as they are coming to a curve. This is to let any oncoming traffic know you are coming. At night, the beep becomes a flash of the high beams. They also beep when they know someone, think they know someone, live in the same area as them, have seen them a lot or to say thanks for letting them pass. Needless to say there can be a lot of beeping. Where I would rush to the mechanic if my air conditioner wasn't working, I imagine they really need that horn.

Pastor Stevens' church is in Wanstead. Wanstead is even farther into the country. Pastor Stevens has been with RFFI for a couple years now also.

Pastor White of New Covenant Church in Mandeville contacted Bishop McIver with an interest to come under his leadership. The other churches were also desiring a visit from us. Bishop was not able to make the trip at this time due to prior obligations, so he sent Perla and I in his place.

It was a very fruitful trip!

*I discovered during this trip that it may actually be Topsand, but everyone there says and spells it as Topsham. I may never know. Neither one googles for Jamaica. However, there are cities in the US, Canada and the UK called Topsham, so I'm inclined to go with that one.

Jamaica

We're back. What a successful trip!

I will bring you more details in the following days.

God showed up!

"No pockets, No store!"

I went to the grocery store the other day. I only needed to pick up a couple things, so I knew I wouldn't be long. I had on some basketball shorts - no I don't play basketball - but they are comfortable and I usually only wear them around the house or gardening. So, since I knew I would only take a couple minutes, I decided not to change. These shorts have no pockets, I could just carry my wallet, phone and keys. I've done it before.

I am sure you think you can see it coming.

I got a cart going in, for two reasons; I needed to get spring water. We only use spring water for drinking and cooking. Our city's water tastes like potting soil. I like gardening, but not enough to drink it. The second reason was that I knew I could keep my wallet, keys and phone in the top section. I usually only use the top section because I do not like impaling myself on the handlebar at the register trying to get everything out of the main section. And from the end of the cart, you can't reach the top section. They make these things just too big. I like those mini ones they have now, but again the spring water... So, once I put a few things in the top, my valuables would be covered and secure, right?

I grabbed the first few items; bread, milk, eggs. Now my wallet, phone and keys are covered up. I keep shopping, stepping away from the cart only a couple times to grab some stuff off the shelves or whatever. I check on my personal hidden items periodically.

Now, for those of you who think you know where this is going, you are wrong.

I get to the register, unload my stuff and see that my wallet, keys and phone are all secure in the top basket. I pay for my stuff and put my bags on top of them once again and proceed to the car. I had left the car unlocked. I do this on hot days; windows open and all. There is nothing in the car worth taking and neither is the car itself. As I am putting my stuff in the car, I note that my wallet, keys and phone are all in the top basket - they made it! - Not that I had any doubts.

I get in the car and drive off.

Hmmm.

I get about 1/4 mile from the store and look at the seat beside me. Did I put my wallet and phone under the bags?

They're not there. I am still driving. Maybe I put them on the floor with the spring water. Maybe I put them in the little pocket in the dashboard. Nope, not there. But there in the little pocket is my wife's phone! She apparently left it in the car when she got home from work, just before I darted out to the store. Oh no! My phone AND my wallet are in the cart!

I am one of those people who do not put the cart away. Sue me! I have a 6 year-old and when he was younger I got into that habit. He was just too valuable to have taken out of his car seat while I was doing something they pay people to do. I had heard of it happening and I was wise. Hee-hee. So the cart I had, is sitting alongside an empty parking space just waiting for the next shopper.

My quick prayer went something like this:

"Father, I'm sorry I was so dumb. Please let my stuff still be there when I get back."

I decided, as I was turning around, to use my wife's cell phone to call my phone, in case it was in the car somewhere. It rang, I could not hear it ringing in the car. Someone answers. OK, at this point I am trusting in the mercy of God to let this be one of the many honest people in the world.

"Perla?!", she says, seeing my wife's name pop up. "Do you know whose phone this is?!"

"Yes, it's mine." I replied, embarrassed.

"I am in the parking lot and I have your phone AND your wallet in a cart here!"

Thank you for pointing out my MULTIPLE losses, as if leaving one thing was not mortifying enough.

"I'll be right there."

I drive in and see these two ladies, looking around, standing by my cart - OK, their cart.

I stop the car and get out. I thank them. They point out how it was good that someone like them found it. We didn't know whether to take it inside or not, etc, etc. I show them my license to prove it's me. I thank them again. I point out that this is the last time I go shopping without pockets. I start walking back to my car.

One of them shouts out, "No pockets, no store!"

Good motto.

The next day, I spoke to a woman who was a prospective client for our cleaning business.

"Did you get your phone back?" she asks.

"Uh, yeah," I said, revisiting my mortification of the previous day.

"Yeah, some lady called me yesterday. I guess I was the last call you made before you went to the grocery store. She asked me if I knew whose phone it was. I said yes, but that the only other way I knew of to contact you was by email. As we were talking, she said, 'Someone named Perla is calling the phone'. Oh! that's his wife! Answer it! Answer it!"

That was me calling from my wife's phone.

We had a good laugh. I expressed my hope that this was not going to cast a shadow on us and our first impression.

Well, she is now a customer.
I have my phone and my wallet back.
All turned out well.
Trust in God in every thing.
And if any of you can learn from my mistakes, feel free - No pockets, no store!

And here's a scripture for you:

Every word of God is pure: he is a shield unto them that put their trust in him.

Proverbs 30:5

Mass Transit - Part Two, Kilometro 21

Please be strapped into your chair as you read this. I do not want anyone getting hurt as their laughter knocks them to the floor.


View Larger Map

This is Kilometro 21.

On the left, the large white building is the gas station with the tan building being a sort of 'convenience' store. On the right of the dirt road, you can barely make out some taxis parked on the corner, with some garages for repair/storage of those taxis just to their south on the dirt road.


I can't believe I was able to locate this place on Google maps!


So here I am standing at Kilometro 21, (not my in-laws house). It is just before 9 pm. The buses I am told, run until 10. I am waiting for the bus to come by. I know the bus I was on was "no longer operating for the evening", but there are multiple buses that run the same route. I know what it looks like. It always stops here. There are other people waiting.

Two words: Taxi driver.

Oh, he seemed so helpful. I knew when he approached me that he was just looking for a fare from the norteamericano. I explained my recent adventure to him. He asked about where my in-laws lived. I gave him the half-tire-my-property-line-Paraguay vs Germany-Vicente-Felipa-three-turns-in-from-the-church 'directions'. He ended up being the only Paraguayan who did not pretend to know everyone in town. He looked puzzled. He calls across the street to some other taxi drivers. About 4 of them now are all talking Guarani seeming as if they are attempting to figure out the great mystery of the ages. One of the younger ones says something and they ALL say, "Oh yes, yes. I know where that is!" "Oh, Great!" I felt more secure with his uncertainty. He assures me that he knows where this church is and that the young kid actually KNOWS my in-laws. Heh.

Two words: It rained.

As we get into the taxi and drive off, it starts raining; not a lot, but raining. This rain is only the manifestation of the humidity I had been 'enjoying' all evening. I am 6'1" and 280 pounds. I sweat. Humidity condenses on me. He was shorter, but just as stocky for his height. Perspiration? We were equal.

I am not so sure what kind of car this was. It seemed to be a mixture of several different cars all put together in one of those garages. I realized as we drove off that this vehicle was a stick shift with no first gear. We jerked violently to a start. We were off! As we drove along toward the church, which is on this same road, the rain really started coming down. He winds up his window, except for a crack at the top. I follow suit. He is not using his wipers. We make a turn. I tell him that the church is straight ahead. he assures me that my desired destination is that way.

The car stops. "Is that it?" he asks. I look out the window to see a church. Nice church. Not the church. "Oh, OK", he replies. "It must be the one that is that way. We jerk to a start. We're off again. The rain is really coming down now. He takes me to about 4 different churches. None of them are the right one. If you knew the make-up of this area or any back roads towns in rural Paraguay, you would understand my amazement at the fact that there were even so many churches and that he knew where so many were! I keep trying to explain to him that the church that I am referring to is back on the 'main' dirt road. He assures me again that Fernando and Felipa live that way, and he knows how to get there. Oh, Father! Please come to my aid. It's Vicente and Felipa! Who knows who this Fernando and Felipa are. I am sure they are very nice people and may even take in a lost norteamericano for the night. But my wife and children are at Vicente and Felipa's house.

Three words: Mechanic for hire.

So as we are driving in the manifested humidity, we too big sweaty men in this Toyo-nissa-onda-ford taxi, the windows are fogging up. Now, as I said, he is not using his wipers. Had he used them, he may have avoided the fogging up of his windshield. Now, he is not using the defroster either. Such the foreigner I am! The car stops; and stops in the most secluded, darkest spot on the planet.

He reaches under his steering wheel. Again, I am thinking 'easy prey'. He fiddles around with something.

The engine dies.
The lights go out.

He pulls out a wire from the dashboard and connects it to whatever he was fiddling with under the steering wheel.

The radio, the wipers and the defroster all come on.

We sit there a while, in the dark.

He says nothing.
I am praying.

The windshield clears up.

He disconnects the wires again; dead car, no wipers, no defrost, no radio, no engine, no lights

He reconnects the other wires. The car starts, the lights go on, we violently jump over first gear and we're off again!

After our late night local Capiata church tour, I finally convince him at 9:30 to take me back to Kilometro 21 (not my in-laws house) so that I can at least make one final attempt to get on the last bus. He obliges me. We finally both agree on one thing: Kilometro 21 is (say it with me); that way!

I can now see 'kilometro 21'. It is well lit, there is a gas station, some taxis, some people hanging around, loud music. That is not my in-laws' house. We arrive. He charges me the equivalent of $1.40 for my 45 minute church tour. I pay him the equivalent of $7.00.

It has been almost 3 hours since I last saw Julian.

To be continued....

What is YOUR Cardboard Testimony?