Kites Over Itaquera III

Never in my wildest dreams did I actually consider going to Brazil. I was content where I was at, sitting in the last pew and soaking up a good message. But it happened one day, plainly, simply, without fanfare.

We all know it and experience it: the voice from no worldly source that seems to gurgle from the depths until it is set free. For me, it came during announcements. Brad East, the Associate Pastor, read the announcements after the message and one was short-term mission opportunities to Mexico and Brazil. I’m not sure it rang a bell because of the warm climates–anything to get away from the St. Louis winters.

I have a writer’s heart which means I let my mind drift to places and never come back until I am ready. However, I never follow up on my ambitions since I also have a knack of talking myself out of things. Ernest Hemingway, Jack London, and Woody Guthrie would frown on me and it is probably why you never have seen my books in print.

St. Louis is my hometown and I attended Southeast Missouri State University about 100 miles from home (about 100 miles too far, I came to realize). Before my current job, I had only flown one time. I lead a boring life by every standard–even my clothes come off the rack at Wal-Mart. Missions or mission trips were for others.

Before I could rationalize this voice away, though, I knew I was going. The hard part was battling my own contentment. It was where the battle started and the enemy was winning handily.

As the trip drew closer, doubts started surfacing again and again. It’s too far, it costs too much. What happens if the plane crashes? Hemingway lived for days in the Amazon after his plane crashed, I would probably get swallered up by an Anaconda. Each day, the doubts intensified. In addition, I struggled with something else. The enemy was trying to cripple me.

I started to look around my church on Sundays and suddenly felt isolated, disenfranchised. Everybody else was going through the motions, it seemed, and I was the only “spiritual” person there. It turned out to be the other way around.

If it hadn’t been for Lou, I would not be writing this. I would not be at church on Sunday and I would be content as ever, at least in a worldly way. I don’t know Lou’s last name but he sits next to me every Sunday. There is never a boring moment at church and he is one of the funniest and ironic people I have met.

The battle came to a head one Sunday when I just wanted to leave. My back was sore from wrenching it earlier that week and I was tired of sitting and standing. The music suddenly sounded bland and everything told me I was better off at home. I was almost ready to turn out of the pew and be through with my church. Just then, Lou leaned over and said something funny, Biblically funny, and that one quip started a small spark of rejuvenation that overcame me.

We all know what would have happened if I had gone out that door. I would have waited a couple of weeks, tried another church a few times, then try another a couple of visits before darkening the door once in yet another before never being heard from again. The money saved from my tithes would look better in my bank account. Thankfully, I perservered because God was not done with me.

However, the doubts of going to Brazil still were as strong as ever. All the reasons for not going suddenly seemed right. It was too expensive, it was too close to Christmas, I couldn’t tear myself from work. But that inaudible voice was too strong and I managed to will away the doubts. But I almost forgot the most important thing: sign up for the trip and I was barely in time.

Administrative skills are not my strong suit. They can be when I want to but I don’t hardly want them to outside of work. I’d rather be in far away places in my office chair. If it had not been for the church staff, I would not have made it to Brazil. The only work I had to do was get my passport–and signing the check.

Filling in all those zero’s was difficult, but after I ripped the check from the register, I felt a sense of ease. It reminded me of another time when I did much the same thing, getting myself somewhere I never would have imagined.

I was at home listening to Focus on the Family in 1992. Bill McCartney, founder of Promise Keepers, was the guest. He talked about Godly men gathering in a stadium in Boulder, Colorado. The only problem was Boulder is about 1000 miles from home and I really couldn’t afford it. That inaudible voice appeared again telling me I had to go. Getting there was another matter.

There was a hotline for carpooling and I had free space in my ‘79 International Scout, a vehicle with more rust than paint. I received a call from a 14 year old boy. Later, I found I was the only person with room and he was the only one needing a ride. With this coincidence, I wish I could say it was of God. It turned out to be a ride from Hades instead.

Because of a late start and losing an hour to time change, we split the drive into two days. He ate with his mouth open. We spent the night halfway in Fort Hayes, Kansas and he snored. He also acted how I did at 14 years old. How did I live to see 15?

Before the trip, though, I lent money in an emergency with a promise to have it back in my account soon. I had no credit cards at the time; cash was king by necessity. I get to Fort Hayes that night and the money is not there. Almost all of my remaining cash is spent at the motel. The next morning: no money. Later that day: no money. Now the incline leading to the Rockies pushes my gas gauge faster and faster to empty. No gas stations are open, either, on the short-cut to Colorado Springs (the boy’s sister lives in Breckenridge, a supposed quick detour) probably because there were no gas stations. We arrive there with drops of gas in the tank. My last five dollars go into the tank. I worry all over again if we will make it to Breckenridge but we do barely. At least we are there. Still no money, however.

The next day, I survey the situation: I am 1000 miles from home with no money, no gas, and a boy I have never met. Could the situation get more bleak? Well, yes.

Before we set out, I have to borrow money from the boy and I felt really low. I feel even worse because if the money is not in the account, it is a long night in the Scout. Frazzled. I will have traveled 1000 miles for something I didn’t know what to expect and everything so far has gone wrong. I am miserable, tired, and Colorado now seems another planet.

When we arrive, I enroll and get my wristband. While the boy enrolls, I asked myself once again what I got myself into, why am I here and I cannot come up with a good answer. After he joins me, I look for my wristband and I cannot find it. At this point, I am feeling Old Testament-like. I want to tear at my clothes, my hair, whatever is in reach. I am, I’m sure, a pathetic sight and all I want is to be home right now.

Thankfully, the boy finds my wristband in with the other freebies we are handed. After a deep breath, I put it on. I feel unprepared for this meeting and I don’t want to go in–I am not feeling “spiritual,” whatever that means. However, God had other plans.

I cannot explain in human terms what happened the very instant I walked into the stadium. Something knocked me back on my heels and instantly all the cares of the world went away. All the trials now are a distant memory. The peace from the Holy Spirit overcame me that instant and it was much like entering another dimension. I knew instantly I was meant to be here, with the boy. We both learned that weekend what no man should be without.

That same feeling I got in Brazil, only it took a few days.