Things are seldom what I expect when visiting the small villages and towns of Central America, but somehow this knowledge doesn’t stop me from being surprised. Three years into this following and I still find myself utterly baffled by circumstance.
This morning our team awoke with instruction from our host, the pastor of nine rural churches, that while our child team (Adam, Cameron, Iexa, Maddy, and Nada) led a four hour Bible School, our labor team (Dalton, Jacob, Kaylee, Logan, and Vince) would be subdivided into two small groups: stucco mixers and rock gatherers.
After a query of the labor team it was mutually decided that Jacob and Vince would join me as part of the rock gathering team and we were directed to climb into the back of the pastor’s Ford F150 pickup truck. I was feeling pretty confident about the task at hand since I’ve gone multiple times to construction stores to purchase rock, sand, and gravel. It seemed reasonable to expect that this would be another simple trip where we selected our substrate and then loaded bags of material. I decided to go along because it seemed straight forward, and I’d have the opportunity to buy some new gloves for our team while there.
The three of us (myself, Jacob, and Vince) climbed into the truck and sat down on the small bench that had been constructed inside the bed, against the cab. Pastor started the engine… and we all lurched towards the tailgate as he slammed it into drive and mashed the gas pedal. Wow! We laughed nervously as we joked that he must be teasing us… and then we gripped anything we could hold ever tighter as the truck continued to accelerate, spraying gravel and dirt from the roadway, and even squealing tires when we took corners.
It was at this moment when I began to think that maybe this trip was not routine.
We bounced and slammed inside of that truck bed like checkers being dropped in Connect Four, although we never seemed to get four in a row and the chaos just continued. Finally we stopped at a small wooden plank house, loaded a wheel-barrow, and then rapidly returned it back at the church where the pastor turned off the truck engine. We were exactly where we’d started. We were all baffled as we stood in the rising heat of the morning sun.
The pastor returned and our wild ride picked up right where it left off. The lazy, relaxed nature of the culture somehow did not apply to operating an automobile. We bounced up and down rock and hole roads until coming to a sliding stop at the edge of a rock quarry, nearly colliding with the large dump truck that awaited our presence with a pile of burlap sacks. Now there was no denying it… my assumptions were completely off base.
The three of us were handed a single white glove. Yes, a single white glove, not a pair mind you. Jacob and Vince tossed it at me and remarked that I could wear it like Michael Jackson. And so, with the appropriate flair and squeal, I pulled that little glove on like OJ Simpson on trial. Unfortunately for me, the glove fit, so I could not quit.
Our task was to climb within the quarry, fill the burlap sacks to a level that was just below hernia, and then carry them to the dump truck where they would be poured out, and then we’d continue with the redundancy of shampoo instructions, “Rinse, lather and repeat.” Vince volunteered to climb up into the massive truck bed while Jacob and I joined several men from the church, along with village kids that seemed to come from nowhere as we collectively began to fill up the bed of that truck.
Meanwhile, to our further surprise, the pastor suddenly drove off, taking with him our water and sunscreen. Yes, I realized that this was in fact, NOTHING like what I’d expected. I shook my head and laughed at myself… someday maybe I’ll learn… that I know nothing.
The sun continued to climb in the sky as it pulled up the temperature. Soon my Minnetonka Roll-up Hat performed a feat that it had never done in the previous 8 years that I’ve owned it, but now it repeated it for the third time in three weeks… I had so thoroughly soaked that 100% leather hat with my sweat that it dripped in great drops, falling from the center of the front brim, hitting the dry ground in dusty bursts.
It’s moments like this that I began to evaluate the decisions of my life. I’m a 42 year old man with a wife of 21 years and three great children. I’ve had some really great careers and somehow I find myself abandoned in a rock-pit in Central America, doing prison yard labor. I marvel at the way my God works.
It’s never what I expect either.
As I selected rocks about the size of a Red Delicious apple, I began to examine their composition. The rocks were varied shades of white, with small veins of dark red running through them. While they were extremely hard, something had exerted enough force on them to shatter them in this place. They were beautiful stones and I carefully selected each one before tossing it in my bag, hefting it painfully on my shoulder, and tossing it up onto the high bed of the truck. I knew it would be worth it in the end, because these rocks would be going into the stucco that was being prepared by the other part of our labor team.
Wrong. Again.
In the meantime, on of the men from the church carried over a pile of local coconuts, expertly trimmed them with a machete, and then with a mighty swing with the right hand while he held it firmly in his left, cleaved just enough of the inner shell away to reveal a small hole for drinking. I wasn’t sure if fresh coconut juice would be accepted by my body, but I gratefully turned that coconut up, stuck my face into the hold, and drank deep of the cook, delicious milk.
After gorging myself with the milk of a massive coconut, me and the other guys finally finished the job, climbed into the back of the dump truck, riding now on top of the rocks we’d hefted into that bed, and rode back to the church where I could discover my latest episode of erroneous thinking.
The beautiful rock that I’d hand selected was not to be used for a wall, it was going to be dumped into a series of large mud-holes between the church yard and the road. Rain had washed away large patches of earth, leaving mud that swallowed parked cars. We weren’t part of a grand and beautiful piece of craftsmanship… we were just filling holes.
So many times in my life, I have grandiose thoughts of the great things that I am called to do for the Kingdom of God. But the truth of the matter is that God needs a lot more hole fillers than he does wall builders. While I think that my life should result in some impressive, beautiful construction… God calls me to reconcile what is broken, and to help make the way straight for others to come to Him.
Yeah… things in this life are seldom what I expect. This lifetime following of the Nazarene carpenter that is God is forever full of surprises. Sometimes it is a wild ride and I feel like I only have half of the equipment I need as I flair and squeal. And… at other times I am able to drink so deeply of the living water of God that I’m sure I’ll burst.
All in all, there’s just no place I’d rather be. While I can’t seem to learn that I have much more to learn than I know… I am learning a little deeper each day that God’s plans are better than my plans. So… bring it on tomorrow. You’ll probably knock me for a loop, but I am thankful for each bump… Along the Way.
#Emmaus2016 #Burninghearts #Lk24
This morning our team awoke with instruction from our host, the pastor of nine rural churches, that while our child team (Adam, Cameron, Iexa, Maddy, and Nada) led a four hour Bible School, our labor team (Dalton, Jacob, Kaylee, Logan, and Vince) would be subdivided into two small groups: stucco mixers and rock gatherers.
After a query of the labor team it was mutually decided that Jacob and Vince would join me as part of the rock gathering team and we were directed to climb into the back of the pastor’s Ford F150 pickup truck. I was feeling pretty confident about the task at hand since I’ve gone multiple times to construction stores to purchase rock, sand, and gravel. It seemed reasonable to expect that this would be another simple trip where we selected our substrate and then loaded bags of material. I decided to go along because it seemed straight forward, and I’d have the opportunity to buy some new gloves for our team while there.
The three of us (myself, Jacob, and Vince) climbed into the truck and sat down on the small bench that had been constructed inside the bed, against the cab. Pastor started the engine… and we all lurched towards the tailgate as he slammed it into drive and mashed the gas pedal. Wow! We laughed nervously as we joked that he must be teasing us… and then we gripped anything we could hold ever tighter as the truck continued to accelerate, spraying gravel and dirt from the roadway, and even squealing tires when we took corners.
It was at this moment when I began to think that maybe this trip was not routine.
We bounced and slammed inside of that truck bed like checkers being dropped in Connect Four, although we never seemed to get four in a row and the chaos just continued. Finally we stopped at a small wooden plank house, loaded a wheel-barrow, and then rapidly returned it back at the church where the pastor turned off the truck engine. We were exactly where we’d started. We were all baffled as we stood in the rising heat of the morning sun.
The pastor returned and our wild ride picked up right where it left off. The lazy, relaxed nature of the culture somehow did not apply to operating an automobile. We bounced up and down rock and hole roads until coming to a sliding stop at the edge of a rock quarry, nearly colliding with the large dump truck that awaited our presence with a pile of burlap sacks. Now there was no denying it… my assumptions were completely off base.
The three of us were handed a single white glove. Yes, a single white glove, not a pair mind you. Jacob and Vince tossed it at me and remarked that I could wear it like Michael Jackson. And so, with the appropriate flair and squeal, I pulled that little glove on like OJ Simpson on trial. Unfortunately for me, the glove fit, so I could not quit.
Our task was to climb within the quarry, fill the burlap sacks to a level that was just below hernia, and then carry them to the dump truck where they would be poured out, and then we’d continue with the redundancy of shampoo instructions, “Rinse, lather and repeat.” Vince volunteered to climb up into the massive truck bed while Jacob and I joined several men from the church, along with village kids that seemed to come from nowhere as we collectively began to fill up the bed of that truck.
Meanwhile, to our further surprise, the pastor suddenly drove off, taking with him our water and sunscreen. Yes, I realized that this was in fact, NOTHING like what I’d expected. I shook my head and laughed at myself… someday maybe I’ll learn… that I know nothing.
The sun continued to climb in the sky as it pulled up the temperature. Soon my Minnetonka Roll-up Hat performed a feat that it had never done in the previous 8 years that I’ve owned it, but now it repeated it for the third time in three weeks… I had so thoroughly soaked that 100% leather hat with my sweat that it dripped in great drops, falling from the center of the front brim, hitting the dry ground in dusty bursts.
It’s moments like this that I began to evaluate the decisions of my life. I’m a 42 year old man with a wife of 21 years and three great children. I’ve had some really great careers and somehow I find myself abandoned in a rock-pit in Central America, doing prison yard labor. I marvel at the way my God works.
It’s never what I expect either.
As I selected rocks about the size of a Red Delicious apple, I began to examine their composition. The rocks were varied shades of white, with small veins of dark red running through them. While they were extremely hard, something had exerted enough force on them to shatter them in this place. They were beautiful stones and I carefully selected each one before tossing it in my bag, hefting it painfully on my shoulder, and tossing it up onto the high bed of the truck. I knew it would be worth it in the end, because these rocks would be going into the stucco that was being prepared by the other part of our labor team.
Wrong. Again.
In the meantime, on of the men from the church carried over a pile of local coconuts, expertly trimmed them with a machete, and then with a mighty swing with the right hand while he held it firmly in his left, cleaved just enough of the inner shell away to reveal a small hole for drinking. I wasn’t sure if fresh coconut juice would be accepted by my body, but I gratefully turned that coconut up, stuck my face into the hold, and drank deep of the cook, delicious milk.
After gorging myself with the milk of a massive coconut, me and the other guys finally finished the job, climbed into the back of the dump truck, riding now on top of the rocks we’d hefted into that bed, and rode back to the church where I could discover my latest episode of erroneous thinking.
The beautiful rock that I’d hand selected was not to be used for a wall, it was going to be dumped into a series of large mud-holes between the church yard and the road. Rain had washed away large patches of earth, leaving mud that swallowed parked cars. We weren’t part of a grand and beautiful piece of craftsmanship… we were just filling holes.
So many times in my life, I have grandiose thoughts of the great things that I am called to do for the Kingdom of God. But the truth of the matter is that God needs a lot more hole fillers than he does wall builders. While I think that my life should result in some impressive, beautiful construction… God calls me to reconcile what is broken, and to help make the way straight for others to come to Him.
Yeah… things in this life are seldom what I expect. This lifetime following of the Nazarene carpenter that is God is forever full of surprises. Sometimes it is a wild ride and I feel like I only have half of the equipment I need as I flair and squeal. And… at other times I am able to drink so deeply of the living water of God that I’m sure I’ll burst.
All in all, there’s just no place I’d rather be. While I can’t seem to learn that I have much more to learn than I know… I am learning a little deeper each day that God’s plans are better than my plans. So… bring it on tomorrow. You’ll probably knock me for a loop, but I am thankful for each bump… Along the Way.
#Emmaus2016 #Burninghearts #Lk24
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