Bends In The Road

Editors Note: The post and photos this week are by Daniel.

Bam, bam, bam. Knocking on my door makes only slightly more noise than the hum of my fan. Maybe if I roll over they’ll go away. No such luck.

“Daniel, time to eat,” Mom yells. “10:30 is way too early to eat,” I mumble, as I roll out of bed, grab a shirt and slip on some shoes.

Today is Saturday. David is coming over and I have a party to go to. Breakfast on Saturdays is always Tea and such. Post breakfast consists of chores and straightening up my room. Not that it needs it.

The electricity goes out just as we are pulling out to pickup David, and wouldn’t you know it the gate won’t open. So we wait for the gate to be manually opened. Once the gate is opened we go, pick up David and get back just in time to time watch the second half of the US vs. Panama (The US won 2-1, yes!). After we ate comida we headed over to the party, which wasn’t much of a party considering everyone left before we got there. Not a problem though, we just talked and threw around the football which was fun until I turned around to see the football spiraling toward my face. The sun had already set and it was getting dark when we hailed a cab to take us home.

David had asked earlier if I wanted to go bowling with him and another group tonight. I had mentioned it to my parents before we left. I thought they would say “yes”, the only thing was that the special deal at the bowling ally was from 10pm-1am. “Guess we’ll know what my parents decided when we get home,” I said. David nodded.

Sure enough Dad said it was fine. On the way to David’s house, he said something about don’t be out late because he would be up waiting for me. I smiled to myself. I wonder if 1:30 was too late. When we got to the Servin’s house, David needed to practice keyboard for church tomorrow. It wasn’t a problem; I just waited in the living room watching another soccer game.

Finally, the guy comes in a two seat pickup truck and there are five of us counting him. So David and I rode in the back of the truck with the smell of tacos and night air. Meanwhile our conversation was lost in the roar of the truck. When we got there the place was packed. Since the other people weren’t there yet we sat and talked.

Then David said, “Why don’t you stay the night?” Why not, I mean it is getting late. “Is that ok with your folks?” I asked, “Yes.” Well that being said Dad agreed and later mentioned that he thought if I was going to be out that late why not spend the night anyway.

Well I’m not much of a bowler. In fact I didn’t crack one hundred in the two games we played, but we still had fun and it was fun to watch David win a game. While every one started a third game David and I walked over to the pool tables. Pool is more my game so it felt good when I beat him the three games we played by three or more balls. I guess since winning is better then losing then pool is better than bowling.

We got home around 1:30 and I headed straight for bed. It was then that I realized I had no change of clothes, no toothbrush or toothpaste, no deodorant etc. What next? I don’t remember a lot about that night except that the room was hot and stuffy, I smelled like smoke, the mattress tilted to one side which may have contributed to my tossing and turning in the night, and I learned that David snores, but it’s all good.

When I woke up it was almost 9:00. “Hmm…That’s odd” I thought, “They have to leave in an hour and no one is up.” A few minutes later David told me it was a good time for a shower and threw me his towel. I think my lack of sleep may have kept me from asking, “Can I have a clean towel?” Thankfully Mrs. Servin handed me a clean towel before I walked into the bathroom (I knew I always liked her). I just wish there had been some soap, but there was shampoo and my hair was what smelled anyway.

Breakfast flew by with a ham and cheese sandwich, and a glass of chocolate milk. Everyone was rushing to get out the door, put the music equipment into the taxi and get loaded up. Well we got there late, set up the church, finished up the service, and had a great Father’s day meal (complete with pumpkin pie). I’ll never forget the great time I had with David - from hanging out Saturday, bowling, spending the night, and the Sunday morning dash.

So I’ll remember to love God, be flexible, and enjoy life for what it is, because we never know when we are coming up on the end of the road.


*Special thanks to Deborah Mangum for helping me to organize my thoughts on paper. Check out her blog at http://www.deborahmangum.blogspot.com/.

Brokenhearted...But or And

Ermila has a little convenience store in the front corner of the market. She is kind, willing to work at a conversation and a very dedicated Catholic. Today while we were talking the subject turned to our children. I think it hit a nerve. She has three children. One daughter has traveled to England, Germany and Japan. The traveling has changed her daughter who has turned her back on Catholicism and has embraced of all things – Buddhism. Oh the pain, the pain for a mother who wants her daughter back and the pain for a daughter who has nothing to come back to.

It was just a matter of being at the right place at the right time. We looked down on a graduation reception that was taking place at a medical school. Palm trees lined the perfectly manicured lawn. White clothed tables holding exotic flower arrangements and lavished with food dotted the lawn. When guests arrived they were served wine by sharply dressed young men in tuxes as the mariachi band played in the background. Just across the street the sun was setting on one of the poorest sections of town. It is home for those who try to scratch out a living day by day. Smelly trash lines the muddy streets where the children play. Marcus is ten but neither he nor his sister attends school. Another family lives in a rusty boxcar with windows cut open like a sardine can. Life is much different here and much simpler – survival.

We know Juan and his family reasonably well, and we should. We take the weekly pilgrimage to their little store every Friday to purchase cola and chips for family night. It didn’t take many trips there to notice the images up in the far left hand corner of their store behind the counter. Last week though something on the bottom shelf caught my eye. It was the flicker of candles. Never had I seen that before. I looked closer. There to my horror and heartbreak they were honoring the angel of death.

Could someone please tell me why I’m brokenhearted...but I don't weep? Why don’t I weep like a William Burns - a mentor to Hudson Taylor? “When Burns was seventeen his mother was separated from him while shopping in Glasgow. After retracing her steps she discovered him in an alley with tears streaming down his face. She could see he was suffering great agony and said, "Willie my boy, what ails you? Are you ill?" With broken cries he replied, "Oh, mother, mother - the thud of these Christless feet on the way to hell breaks my heart." Lord to be brokenhearted...and to weep.

My Bad Habit

I need to make a confession. I don’t really want to but feel the need. I have a bad habit. It’s a habit that has fallen into ill repute in Christian circles. But none the less…sigh…I hand out Christian literature. It can be tracts, gospels, books or Bibles. I have used them all. To make matters worse I often give this literature to total strangers. There it’s out!

As I look back over my life I can now see that my family is to blame. Uncle Vernie was known for two things – riding his bicycle around town and handing out tracts on the streets of Williamsport, PA. I am confident he gave out tens of thousands. Others of our family have followed his example. You know how hard family influence can be to break.

As a young man it was like I couldn’t help myself. The gospel had to go out and literature distribution seemed to be my lot. So, it was off to the World’s Fair in Knoxville, door to door in our community, the University of Tennessee campus, the National park where I was politely asked not to return, and the raceway where I was asked to leave and ended up at the police station. That’s how it started and it’s continued to be a lifelong problem.

Now that we are in Mexico the problem has resurfaced. And like many who have a bad habit I have plenty of excuses. 1) There are literally millions that we could potentially come across on any given day and will perhaps never see again. 2) It’s easy to get the Word out there while the language skills are developing. 3) Opportunities here are abundant with whistlers, gas attendants and street venders everywhere.

You should know also there are people in the shadows who are bad influences. People like R.A. Torrey who said, “There are a great many people who, if you try to talk with them, will put you off; but if you put a tract in their hands and ask God to bless it, after they go away and are alone they will read the tract and God will carry it home to their hearts by the power of the Holy Ghost.” People like Frank Jenner and his faithful ministry in Sydney, Australia (His story found on our website – click and scroll down). People like all those who have written to encourage us in this habit of Bible distribution.

I guess the worst of all is that I don’t want to change. As long as there is the gospel printed on a piece of paper, I feel the need, no the compulsion to sow “seeds” in the lives of those whose heart God has prepared. And so I stand as a man guilty and condemned for this bad habit.

Disclaimer: The editors of this blog recognize and acknowledge the importance of the gospel being shared in the context of life as well.

A few Photos from our anniversary:

I Can’t Help Myself

I’ve said it. I believe it. But sometimes when it happens you are still left with your mouth hanging open. It’s not that you don’t expect God to be at work, it’s just that when He does it in unexpected ways at unexpected times it can catch you off guard. That’s why I can’t help myself and must tell you this story.

I had no ulterior motives, really. It was just suppose to be a somewhat selfish afternoon with our music teacher to have a cappuccino and practice my Spanish. When he came out to the van with the bilingual Bible we gave him, I knew something was up. Honestly I thought he was returning it. Maybe his strong Catholic background just wouldn’t let him keep it, or maybe he misunderstood and thought I had given it to him on loan. He clarified those assumptions almost immediately when he asked, “Is it okay if I bring along the Bible to the café so that we can talk about some things?”

After a long friendly discussion of about everything and nothing he asked, “Would you mind if everyone in your family selected a chapter and recorded for me in English?” I had to think about that one. Would we mind being the Spirit’s instrument by selecting five chapters to fuel His fire? “Yes we would be glad to do that.” From that point I open my Bible and we discussed, of all books, Lamentations. Then at his insistence we ended up the time with his tutoring me in a reading lesson. We had to read all of Colossians chapter 2 together.

Such times make you wonder what’s behind the next door. It makes you wonder how wide open He can throw open that door. It makes you wonder just what is possible with God. Maybe I shouldn’t wonder so much, but, I just can’t help myself.

The following pictures are from our end of the school year program: