by Roger Bruner
If they seemed important enough to spend time, effort, and money on, that is.
I’d gained a new perspective on this humongous world I was part of by spending fourteen days on this grain of sand that fewer than two hundred people knew the existence of—two hundred people plus one huge, awesome God.
I felt like I’d put 3-D glasses on at the most exciting part of a movie, even though I hadn’t even left North America. If Santa María was this needy—physically and spiritually—what were the furthest reaches of the earth like? Were the needs there just as great?
I had to accept the fact I was just one person and my sphere of influence would probably remain small. I couldn’t imagine God calling me to be a Beth Moore or a female Billy Graham and lead thousands—perhaps millions—to Christ.
I learned something else, though, and I believed it with all my heart and soul. If God asked me to do something extraordinary, I’d jump right in—with faith that He’d enable me to succeed. If He could take a spoiled eighteen-year-old and enable her to carry out a meaningful ministry with a broken arm that limited her activities, I wouldn’t worry about the educational, vocational, and marital decisions I would face someday.
I wouldn’t waste time gazing into the heavens waiting for Jesus to rapture His church, either. I’d be too busy helping as many people as I could to find the new life God wanted them to have.
“Earth to Kim. Earth to Kim. Come in, please.”
“I’m sorry, Aleesha. I was … thinking.” I appreciated her respect for my privacy. I couldn’t have shared those thoughts if I’d wanted to. They would have run together in an unspeakable jumble.
I needed a jumble of joy on a day of great sadness.
chapter fifty-seven
As Aleesha and I walked wordlessly toward the mess tent, the sunrise in the eastern sky electrified me. It was by far the most gorgeous one I’d seen in Santa María, and I couldn’t keep from smiling. Dawn was similar to New Year’s, the arrival of spring, even the first day of school. It was also a little bit like baptism. Those were all signs of a new beginning.
But everything was upside-down today. This sunrise signaled an ending. I still wasn’t optimistic about the villagers’ being closer to Christ than before, and I hated leaving the results in God’s hands and going home knowing only that I’d been obedient.
Nonetheless, I’d keep up a good front for Anjelita’s sake. Saying good-bye would be hard enough.
Anjelita! Where are you, girl?
For well over a week, she’d woken Aleesha and me without missing a single day. Yet today—the most important day—she wasn’t in sight. Recalling my previous thoughts about where Anjelita would be if she died, I nearly panicked.
Maybe Aleesha couldn’t read my mind, but we were both on the same page. Wordlessly, we turned away from the mess tent and headed for Rosa’s house, almost at the far end of the single, so-called street. Although we didn’t have a logical reason to run, we couldn’t help it. We didn’t slow down until we were ten feet from the front door.
The house was deathly still, and the door was closed. Rosa kept it open except at night.
Aleesha and I eyed one another as if to say, “Should we go inside?”
I twisted the knob and opened the door as quietly as I could. It squeaked ominously. We bolted toward the opening at the same time, but Aleesha got inside first. She glanced at the two blankets lying edge to edge, one enveloping Rosa, the other enshrouding Anjelita.
Aleesha turned to me and whispered, “Let’s see if they’re breathing.”
I didn’t know how to check a pulse. But Aleesha did.
“They’re fine,” she said in a softer whisper than I was used to hearing her use. She touched Rosa’s forehead with the back of her hand and then Anjelita’s. Neither of them stirred.
“Not even a fever.”
She motioned for me to follow her outside. She probably couldn’t stand the quiet any longer.
We were still panting hard. Probably more from anxiety than exertion, though.
“So, they’re—”
“Asleep. Sound asleep.”
“You’re sure, Aleesha?”
“Are you doubting my medical judgment?” she said, laughing.
“I guess not.” I felt drained of what little rest last night’s sleep had provided.
“You know what I think, Miss Kim?”
“Not until you tell me, Miss Aleesha.”
“You’ve talked me into it. I think Rosa kept Anjelita from waking up early today. Don’t ask me how, ‘cause I don’t know. Maybe she wanted to keep Anjelita from seeing you leave.”
“No. She wouldn’t do that ….” I paused. “Would she?”
“My psychobabbological savvy isn’t as good as my medical knowledge, even if my dad is a shrink. I still think everybody but me is nuts.”
I giggled.
“But, seriously, I think Rosa wanted you to have time to get ready before Anjelita found you. Keeping her asleep probably seemed the best way to do that. I’d have had to pack for you this morning otherwise ‘cause Anjelita would’ve had you in her grasp like a fly in a spider web—”
I double-gulped, “Ugh! Yuck!” at her simile.
“And I might’ve accidentally moved that nice, new, barely used karaoke box from your suitcase to mine. Along with the extra batteries, of course.”
“You may be right about Rosa. About the karaoke system: Would you by any chance just possibly happen to need it?”
“Now that I’ve seen what it’ll do, I just might. You sure?”
I nodded.
If God used that karaoke box as effectively in Aleesha’s hands as He’d used it in the village as a PA system, I’d be more than satisfied. Maybe He’d had me bring the thing mostly to give to someone who could use it more.
chapter fifty-eight
The mess tent was crowded by the time Aleesha and I got back from Rosa’s. Only a few team members bothered sitting down, and they sat at the outer edge or out in the street where nobody would step on them. Facing a four-plus-hour bus ride, I couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to sit now.
Team members normally ravenous at this time of day poked at their food as if it had lost all of its appeal. Hushed conversations added to the funereal “if we’ve got to leave, let’s get it over with” atmosphere.
Funereal? Yes, I felt that way, too.
I managed to reach the food table in spite of the milling crowd. The thought of eating nauseated me, but I needed to get something into my system while I could.
We’d leave the ton of leftovers for the villagers. I chortled loudly at the sudden realization that the so-called church wasn’t the only shady spot in Santa María. The tabletop—the plywood across two sawhorses—provided shade much of the day, too.
In a rare but quickly passing moment of homesickness, I selected a small can of potted meat for breakfast. My last breakfast—the last one in Santa María, that is.
What if Christ had used potted meat or beef jerky instead of bread for that last meal with His disciples? Or warm bottled water instead of wine?
I burst out laughing. I wouldn’t have been my new normal self if I hadn’t.
My food tasted as good as possible under the circumstances; that meant it was awful. I didn’t crave it, and I didn’t enjoy it, either—not even the jerky I had for dessert.
I slipped an unopened package into my purse, though, and worked my way through the crowd to rejoin Aleesha. She was saving a standing-room-only spot for me.
Rob and Charlie addressed the group. Using my karaoke system for the last time—Aleesha had to get it out of her suitcase for them—they got our attention with feedback.
“Guys and girls, please return to your sleepsites and bring your belongings back here,” Rob said. “You might also make a final visit to the facilities.”
“We’re not sure how our buses will be equipped.” Charlie’s exaggerated cheerfulness diminished with each word as he continued. “Requesting restrooms on ea
ch bus doesn’t mean getting them. We learned that lesson last time.”
I turned my head to look at the countryside I’d become so accustomed to seeing and at the faces I’d grown to love. I stared at the Passover Church. Whether it would ever serve as a church or not, at least it now had a beautiful yard. What small miracles a God-led team could accomplish ….
Conflicting thoughts duked it out in my head. Although I’d been looking forward to the amenities of home, I’d adjusted amazingly well to Santa María’s simple way of life. Life among people who spoke my language would be a relief, but I would miss hearing the beautiful sound of Spanish in my everyday life and trying to figure out its meaning.
Just as Aleesha and I started our last walk to the field, Neil tapped me on the shoulder. I barely felt it. He still looked younger than sixteen. I fought the urge to rub my hands on his face to see if he had any fuzz growing there.
“Miss, uh, Kimmy …” He stopped. Even after being quasi-sweethearts for part of one evening, he would probably never overlook our “major” two-year age difference.
That fast-faded, make-believe romance seemed years ago, not just days. Neil and I had been able to talk with one another periodically after that. We may not have become fast friends—we didn’t have time to—but we were closer than mere acquaintances.
“Just plain Kimmy, please. I know your parents would be proud of you for respecting your elders, even if this elder is barely elder than you.”
The three of us laughed, and some of the tension on Neil’s face dissolved. “Kimmy, could I have the honor of sitting by you on the bus for a while? Please?”
Looking as guilty as if someone had caught him smoking behind the garage, he continued before I could respond. “Miss, uh, Aleesha, I know you and Kimmy are best friends, and I don’t want to intrude on your last few hours together, but I need to talk to Kimmy about something important. I don’t need to sit with her the whole time, though. Just long enough to, uh, make a major confession …”
His ellipsis timed out and became a period.
To make a major confession? To me? What could this cute little mouse of a boy possibly need to confess to me? We didn’t know each other well enough for him to be guilty of anything important. Especially not that important. My curiosity soared sky-high.
If he needed to get something off his chest, his concerns took priority over Aleesha’s exclusive company. I didn’t get to tell him that, though.
“Neil,” Aleesha said with unusual warmth, “as skinny as you and Kim are, the three of us should fit in one row just fine. But, boy, don’t think about getting fresh with us two fine gentlewomen. We know how to behave ourselves, and we know how to defend ourselves, too.”
After two weeks of having a few rough edges sanded down, she must’ve felt the need to practice being her old self again.
And so much for thinking of myself as petite. I could tolerate thin. But skinny? Ugh!
Neil smiled at Aleesha before excusing himself and heading for the boys’ field.
“Thanks for being my mouthpiece, girl,” I said, my laughter flooding the air like water spraying from a burst pipe.
Aleesha looked at me as if she hadn’t caught on at first, but then she started giggling, too.
“That’s right,” I said. “You never let me respond to Neil’s question.”
“It’s that drawl of yours,” she said. “You talk too slow. Neil didn’t have all day to wait for an answer. Besides, he asked me.”
“He asked you second. No, wait. He didn’t ask you anything. He was just explaining to you while I thought about the question.” I pretended to frown. “Tell me: Am I really skinny?” I didn’t care if I was. I’d simply said the first thing that popped into my head.
When we got back with our suitcases, we left them in the middle of Broad Street.
“If you plan to give away leftover clothes or anything else you can spare,” Rob said, “do that as soon as we break.”
That sounded more personal now than it had at orientation. We’d be sharing with family and friends, not strangers, and we understood their needs from being around them. I’d already set all of my good clothes and a few trinkets inside Rosa’s house, along with Rob’s air mattress, sleeping bag, and pillow.
Whoops! I should give Rosa the flashlight, too. I don’t think Rob wants it back, and we have enough of them at home.
I was wearing my original travel clothes—the ones I’d torn a hole in when I landed on the rock, the ones I’d slept in the first night, the ones I’d broken my arm in. The white sweatshirt wouldn’t make a decent dust rag now. I couldn’t see the original pizza stain anymore because I’d spilled something on the same spot at the Pizza Hut Rob and I ate in.
But I didn’t care. Why wear good clothes when I could do some good by leaving them behind? Not that I planned to arrive home looking as grubby as I did now. I’d have time to buy new clothes at the airport.
But first, I’d make sure my watch was set to San Diego time. Not that I’d need to use it. I’d get the time from my cell phone except while I was in the air.
Rob and Charlie took turns conducting a project wrap-up, but nobody was very talkative. Although I felt sorry for the two men, they didn’t act overly upset. They seemed to understand that we were just beginning to digest the significance of our time in Santa María; our thoughts were too intimate to share with anyone else yet.
Not even our closest teammates.
I wondered if Rob and Charlie felt that way, too. I’d observed them closely enough to conclude that even adults are capable of change. It just requires the proper stimulus.
I thought of my parents. Especially my dad.
After eight fruitless minutes of trying to get us to talk, Rob suggested we do some thinking and praying and e-mail the group once we felt more like sharing.
“Kimmy, you will read those e-mails, won’t you?” Rob winked at me. “Sometime this year or next year and certainly no later than the year after that.”
Everyone hooted and howled, and I laughed as hard as anyone. Although I’d trusted Rob not to reveal my failure to read the change-of-project-plans messages, someone had. Rob wouldn’t have referred to unread e-mail unless the story had become common knowledge.
I glanced at Aleesha. She wore that familiar, innocent-as-an-angel look with the upturned eyes. She always tickled me when she did that. How could I finish growing into adulthood without having her around to relieve the boredom? Although Betsy Jo would remain a good friend, I didn’t know if I’d feel as close to her now—or as close as I felt to Aleesha. Not having the Santa María experience in common might make a difference.
Although nobody had spoken to me about bringing my problems on myself, I’d overheard snatches of conversation the past several days—conversation that suggested my secret was out. The weird thing was I no longer felt self-conscious about it.
Team members had forgiven me for everything else. I didn’t think they’d hold this against me. As far as I could tell, they’d set their forgiveness counters to zero. Not just for me, but for one other.
Now … what about this major confession Neil wanted to make? Surely, he wasn’t the one who—
The sudden quiet interrupted my reflections. Charlie’s and Rob’s eyes were closed. Everyone else’s, too. Why had I let my thoughts drift when I should have been paying attention? Two weeks hadn’t been long enough to outgrow my irresponsibility and carelessness entirely.
But before I could think more about my immaturity, one lone voice broke into song. Then a second voice and a third. Soon we were all singing “Wherever There Is Need.” We joined hands and formed a circle that would have appeared hilariously ragged if seen from above.
But Someone was watching from above, and I couldn’t picture God laughing at its convoluted shape. He was more apt to be smiling at its unbrokenness.
Tears streamed down my face, burning my eyes, but I refused to break the circle to blot them. I wanted this bond to last until our buses arrived at t
he airport and we departed for our individual destinations. Every mountaintop high was different, and we’d probably never experience anything identical to this until heaven—not even if we held the reunion someone had suggested two weeks earlier.
Noticing the interspersion—now there was a Neil word—of the villagers among the team members, I fretted about the spiritual gap that still separated us. Although this physical chain of hands and emotional chain of hearts included theirs, each villager was—at the same time—a missing spiritual link.
Lord, I know You’ve blessed my scripture reading. But how?
If I hadn’t been so caught up in this time of close communion with my new brothers and sisters, I might have resented God’s refusal to answer my question. How many more times would I have to ask before it would be too late to find out?
My concerns disappeared for the moment after several repetitions of “Wherever There Is Need.” I thought I was in heaven when someone started “Joyful, Joyful” and I visualized this whole group surrounding the throne of God and singing His praises in person.
I glanced to my left when Neil—I hadn’t noticed him—lifted my arm parallel to the ground and draped it over Anjelita’s shoulder. She folded her arm and took my hand in hers.
Her hand and fingers felt tougher, stronger than they had two weeks ago. I wondered if they’d ever be soft again. Perhaps that kind of hardening symbolized growth into adulthood. Very much like the solidifying of my commitment to God and my determination to be His servant anyway He chose.
Neil moved to Rosa’s left. She took his hand and put her right hand on Anjelita’s shoulder, clasping our hands tightly. The circle had been broken for mere seconds. Yet it still felt incomplete.
Kim, don’t fret. You did what I asked you to do. You planted seeds. Don’t you trust Me to harvest My fields the way I deem best?
I nodded as if responding to an audible voice. I trust You, Lord, but I still want to see the results ….
If the villagers ever “made a joyful noise,” they did it that day. Each one seemed to apply his own words to Beethoven’s triumphant tune from the Ninth Symphony. I doubted that the villagers were expressing love and appreciation to God, though. They were more apt to be singing praises to us.
