One of Those Weeks

There are times, in spite of my proclamation in the last sentence of my previous post, that the tame and comfortable looks mighty appealing. Last week was one of those times... and here are a few snapshots.

The children come into the house to inform me that there’s someone at the gate asking for me. As I tramp out to meet her, she bursts into exclamations of “Hello, Sister Naomi!!! How are you doing?” I find myself stiffening involuntarily… I have never talked to this woman before and here she is greeting me like an old friend. This can mean only one thing-she is here to ask something of me. I recognize her as a lady who came to church recently and made a lengthy speech in front of the congregation about her relationship with God and her son who has sores on his head and could we please pardon the bother and help her out??? Sure enough, at my gate she repeats the story of her son’s problem and explained that he had an appointment at the hospital “this very afternoon” and would I please pardon the bother and lend her 200 lempiras (about ten dollars) and she will most certainly pay them back by Saturday… Her well-fed and well-dressed figure causes me some suspicion, but I refer her to Tim, who lends her the money and she goes on her way. About an hour later my phone rings and it is Edna calling. A sigh escapes her voice as she asks if I remember that lady who was in church recently and asked for help for her son who has sores on his head??? As a matter of fact, I do remember her. Edna wants to know if we know her well and whether we believe her needs are genuine? Because she is now at Edna’s gate with a new story… It seems her mother fell and injured her head and is in the hospital possibly needing surgery and could Edna please [pardon the bother] and give her 500 lempiras???… Relating to a dependent culture and trying to distinguish the legitimate needs from the fake is one of the single most exhausting aspects of mission life… Oh for the spirit of Peter! (Acts 5)

We are just fixing to serve lunch when I notice a commotion at the gate and realize we have guests. I recognize the woman as someone we had contact with years ago when one of our youth teams built her a house. There is no doubt she is poor, but the greater difficulty in relating to her is the evidences of her immoral life in her speech, dress, and behavior. I watch from the window as Tim obviously tries to keep her from entering the house. Meanwhile, her small daughter barges in and asks for a drink of water. We hand her a cup, and then she runs to the kitchen and begs for food from the girls who are finishing up meal preparations. I tell her rather sternly that I will share food with her, but she must NOT go into the kitchen and beg. At this she runs outdoors and tells her mother that I invited them to come in to eat, and as soon as Tim turns his back, both mother and daughter burst in the door. More disturbing than her artificial warmth and incessant chatter is the vexation I feel in my own spirit. When the question is asked whether she does not get on my nerves, I admit that indeed she does… But what if I am the only “Jesus” she ever sees? How am I representing Him???

It is naptime, and Derek is nowhere to be found. I wander outside, calling his name, when I spy him trudging up the hill from the chicken house. “I got a bunch of eggs!” he announces cheerfully, showing me the brown treasures gently cradled in his shirttail. “Where did you find them?” I ask a little suspiciously. “Down there by the old aquaponics,” he explains, gesturing toward the abandoned barrels where we had begun our experiments. I sigh, “Oh Derek, I’m afraid those eggs aren’t good, because Josh said a hen has been setting on them for a long time… Here, just lay them in the flower bed and then we’ll deal with them later.” Derek squats down and carefully places the eggs, one by one, into the soft earth. As he places the last egg on the pile, there is a sudden noise like a gunshot and poor Derek is dripping with slimy rotten egg. I stare in disbelief as he turns and marches away without a word. Six seconds later he suddenly erupts into wails of terror while I try my best to not laugh out loud. “It’s just like Templeton’s egg in Charlotte’s Web!” I exclaim enthusiastically, but he is not to be distracted that easily. After a shower and some severe scrubbing, he meekly crawls into the safety of his bed.

Pineapple Day…. I wanted around eighty pineapples to can, and somehow ended up with 120 instead. Thanks to the energetic young people around here- Bertha and her two sisters who were visiting, and Dave (our helper for six months)- they were all cut up and in jars by lunchtime. One hundred and seventeen quarts!!! The processing, however, seemed endless, what with a small stove which had only very small burners, and jars that kept breaking. (What causes jars to break at the bottom when the water is only heating, not near boiling yet??? No, they were not mayonnaise jars; yes, they were setting on a rack; no, we did not turn the rings too tight, but we did cool the water before submerging jars…???) We celebrated by going out to eat fish, which was another experience in itself. We went to our favorite restaurant about two miles away, only to discover they were closed. So we drove a few more miles to a bigger and more expensive place, and just as we had all decided what to order we found out they were out of fish! We ended up driving an additional ten miles to a place at the edge of the lake where we did in fact eat fish while being eaten by mosquitoes.

My kitchen counter is spread with all the ingredients for a haystack supper… lettuce, chili bean mixture, fried rice, chopped tomatoes, crushed tortilla chips… I pause to wonder whether there is enough to feed a dozen people, and secretly hope the bread will serve as a “filler” for hungry boys. We are having meetings this weekend and the first service starts in less than an hour, but my family and guests are still scattered. I announce that supper is ready when my eye catches sight of another vehicle at the gate... Before my mind can wrap itself around the turn of events, we are blessed with six more guests for supper! There is no time to fret about the possibility of running out of food, and in a matter of minutes appreciative guests are bent over their heaping plates. Half an hour later when everyone has drifted away from the kitchen, I stare incredulously at the leftovers… Every single dish still has food in it, and I am simply convinced that God has once again multiplied my loaves and fishes!!!

My life is a lot of things right now, but dull is not one of them.