That night, we showed the Jesus movie, in their language. Water Amigo held my hand the whole time. Then, we put on a little drama the college kids had worked up. They really didn't know what to do with me, so I was given the roll of the soldier who beat on Jesus while he carried the cross. I was told to just continue to lash the Jesus actor with an imaginary whip until the music stops. I started lashing; the music dragged on. More lashes, more music. The altitude was hitting me hard now. But that music just wouldn't stop. I think the Indians were making bets about who would get beaten down first, me or the Jesus actor.
The next morning, we walked a mile or two to a small village to talk to some more people. We split up. I followed my guides and interpreter up to the high country. I was to speak to a group of people up there, and they were getting their cattle ready to take out to graze. A young husband and wife team led us, and she had her 17 day old baby on her back. Well, that young woman, 17 days out of childbirth, just walked circles around me at that altitude. I think I did a pretty good job, for me, witnessing to that group, and we headed down.
They knew how I had struggled on the way up, and the husband guide ran ahead and found a donkey for me to ride down. Well, that was a major guilt trip, getting me a donkey to ride, just like they did for Jesus in the old day! Bad as I felt, they had the donkey, and there was just no way around it. I straddled the little donkey, my feet were touching the ground, and that pore' little donkey started swaying, then slowly falling over to one side! I had to walk down, but I felt better about it.
Our guide couple just really took a liking to me, and I could tell that they were putting a lot more stock in me than I deserved. At the bottom of the hill, they called the interpreter over, and made a long speech. The interpreter said they wanted me to be their children's-- she struggled for the right word-- godfather. They wanted me to do a dedication ceremony with each of their four children. I thanked them, told them that was a very great honor for me, and that I could arrange it. We left them there and went back to our village.
It wasn't long before they and their children showed up. They were all dressed up in their very best. I told them I would go get the little preacher to do the ceremony. The dad waved that off. No, he wanted me to do it.
I had no idea what a dedication ceremony should be like, but the principals were all dressed up and lined up, waiting. I just turned slightly away from the interpreter, so she couldn't hear what I said. One at a time, I put my hand on their head, raised the other arm, and began. I remember I had the child's name, the lord's prayer, portions of the 23rd psalm, and some other biblical statements in there.
If you are old, and go on a mission trip, you best be prepared for anything, I learned. continued
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We went to Barbara's family reunion last weekend. When Barbara and I just got married, the floor of her parent's house was soon covered with crawling babies. Now, 45 years later, the floor is even more covered with crawling babies and toddlers, her great-great nephews and nieces. Sport and Verla Mae's family is now 130 strong. Supposed to multiply and populate the Earth, but not necessarily alone.
I got myself in a pickle. Agreed to read a little thing about Sport I had written. Then, several of the sisters read something they had written, even more sappy than mine. Guess who bawled like a baby? That would be me.
You would have thought those strong Dunnahoe women had just read a happy little story. But, strength comes in different forms. Guess who was called on, when another toddler threw up in a big pile on my grandson's new toy, and he was screaming his head off? That would be me. I'm just glad to have some strength, in any form. I've always been the family dirty mess man. I don't even have any competition. Thank you, dear readers, for reading.
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