Another Crazy Day…. Under control

We loaded the car around 9:30; Ashley, Colby, Sam and I.  Our destination was the airport.  We arrived and went through the check-in procedures with Colby as Sam went to Dunkin Donuts.  I knew it was already going to be a rough day as Ashley and Colby are so close.  We all said out good-byes as Colby meandered to the security checkpoint.  Hungry, tired, and grieving a little, we headed back to the truck.  At this point, we were just looking forward to a Church’s Pancho sandwich.  (At least, I know I was).  Mmmm, I could already taste the savory chicken with the crisp tortillas as we pulled out of the airport parking lot.  Then the day got crazy.

I saw a motorcycle rapidly approaching the rear driver’s side door.  I thought there is no way he is going to live through this.  I saw his motorcycle start to wobble from an attempt to break and swerve.  Finally, both motorcycle and driver slid across the hot asphalt.  I heard the eerie sound of metal and plastic skidding across blacktop.  I was fearful for what happened to the driver until I saw him stand and throw his hands up.  Sam continued in to Church’s.  I had suddenly lost my appetite.  Both a box truck and an angry taxi informed us that we needed to return to the scene of the accident because we were at fault.  I told Sam forget the food lets go back.

 We returned to chaos.  At first, I didn’t see a motorcycle or a driver and I thought thank the Lord we are off the hook.  But for some reason, the screams continued.  “You shouldn’t be allowed to drive in this country.”  “The police are on their way.”  Panic stuck me.  We are screwed.  The police do not have the best reputation in Honduras, especially among gringos (slang for white foreigners).  I figured it was time to turn to my Savior to rescue me yet again.  I prayed as the police arrived and the driver reappeared with his bike and a trail of blood streaming from his right leg.  I asked God to deliver us from this frightening situation.  As I leaned on the bed of the truck, hands folded, head bowed in reverence, I felt a calm drift over the situation.  I prayed for Ashley’s Spanish, because I knew mine would be of no help here.  By God’s grace, the two policemen that showed up were helpful.  They handled the situation very well.  And to top it all off ,the man, who I later found out was Manuel, was as kind as anyone with a broken leg that gushed blood could be.  Finally, we were able to leave the scene and take Manuel to the hospital.  And of course, God stepped in again.  Doctor Larios, a bone specialist, happens to be a close friend.  That day God had made him available.  He is such a kind man that he did his work for free, cutting the hospital bill in half.  The extent of Manuel’s injuries included two hairline fractures in his ankle and a deep cut requiring four stitches.  Though he lost a lot of blood, the injuries were quite minor.  And if God wasn’t good enough he allowed us to spend the day with Manuel.

            Manuel was about 30 with two kids.  He had lived in the states near San Francisco for eight years.  Fortunately I had been, so it gave us conversation during our 6 or so hours at the hospital.  I also learned that he bought buses from Lima, Ohio and had been there, not far from me.  He runs his own business of renting buses out; perfect for a missions team, and his prices were quite reasonable.  I think God might have been showing off a little at this point.  But, I thank him all the more for showing how much he really does love me.

In our most fragile moments, the Father cradles us in his all encompassing arms.

Control is never ours, anyway.