It’s been a couple of years since I was last in El Salvador. I woke up as the plane was “banking” to the left, setting up its approach to the runway. As I looked out the window it was as if nothing changed. I could see waves lapping up on the beach and a truck moving quickly across a farmer’s field, dust flying every which way.
The plane got in a full 45 minutes early, so I waited a bit for my ride. The wait was good for me, I needed to slow down and take in the sights, smells, sounds all around me. It’s always a bit disconcerting, when you feel as if you can’t communicate. I’ve found that a nod of the head and a simple smile says a lot. I even “asked” a stranger if I could use his phone to call a friend because our plane had arrived so early.
By “ask” I mean, using a number of hand gestures and then seeking to string a few hopefully understood Spanish words together. Words, like “call,” “my friend,” “who lives in San Salvador.” After connecting with my friend, I patted the man on the shoulder and said, “Muchas, Muchas gracias, Senor” and handed him a $1 bill. I didn’t know if that was appropriate, but I was thankful to connect with my friend in El Salvador and for a brief moment to hear a bit English on the other end of the telephone.
Please pray for me. I am wanting to see what God wants me to see. I wanting to hear what God wants me to hear. I’m a foreign land. I’m the minority. I want God to make me fully aware of what that feels like all week long.
Tim