Holier Than Your Average Camping Trip

FOREWORD: I wrote this about a week ago, before reading this weeks's service meeting segment which featured 2013 Yearbook experiences of brothers and sisters in Myanmar preaching in the mountains. Those timely experiences have definitely strengthened my desire to try this again!

"You see all that over there?? asked Freddy, a young ministerial servant and pioneer in our congregation. He was pointing to a misty landscape of dark green hills along the horizon. They were far, and obviously steep. "That's where we'll be preaching on the gira (pronounced "HEER-ah", referring to a rural preaching tour) this weekend." My leg started to tingle just looking in the direction where he was pointing, and suddenly I was too old and too weak to go. Fast-forward three days, and I find myself with a good 25 pounds strapped to my back, hiking up a windy mountain path with my closed umbrella as a walking stick...and wondering how in the world I convinced myself to do this.

I had heard the gira discussed for maybe a week prior to this. It sounded like fun, in theory. I like camping. And this would be two days walking through woods, marshes, over creeks, and in meadows that connected farms; with the brothers and sisters, preaching to the inhabitants of these isolated territories. We would cook and bathe outdoors and sleep in hammocks. And it would be epic.

WHO ARE WE KIDDING???

Yes, I enjoy camping. In California, in state-maintained campgrounds, with rest areas and s'mores and tents an air mattresses. I know the woods in Cali. I know what to pack, what animal sounds to expect and what kinds of "visitors" to beware of. I could get bitten by a snake out here, or get caught in a tropical storm. What if I walked too slowly and held the group back? What if the terrain was too much for me? No one in the congregation has a vehicle, so if I got too tired it's not like I could opt to ride in the car. If I chose to do this, there was no turning back. So that day that I was talking to Freddy, when my leg started to conveniently bother me, I was secretly relieved. I'd promised myself, my family, Danielle, and Jehovah, that I'd listen to my body and not go beyond my own limits. This was obviously beyond my limits, so I could stay home in good conscience. I would love to be brave enough to go, I thought. I'd love to be in my 20's and be in good health and know I can handle this. But I'm not. Oh well. But my conscience would not leave me in peace. I really did want to go. I was just afraid. And if there is one thing I have learned about Jehovah is that he is always telling us not to be afraid. So at the urging of Danielle I decided to just attend the pre-gira meeting after the Service Meeting Thursday night. I'd only be going to see what was really involved. Maybe I could start getting myself in shape in time for the next gira. It turned out that Brother Sanchez, the elder who would be leading the group was bringing his three-year-old daughter. My pride would not allow me to sit that trip out of a 3-year-old could do it. Number two, my Bible student, Lebia, had already lent me a beautiful hammock for the trip. I'd feel dumb going back the next week and telling her I hadn't even used it. And that preparatory meeting was so crazy and funny and non-military (much different than what I was expecting). I prayed to Jehovah for a clear answer. My mind and heart started speaking to one another again, and I started packing that night, with the self-imposed stipulation that if I woke up the next morning to what I have come to recognize as the beginnings of a "bad MS day," I wouldn't go. When I woke up, I was fine. It was time to go.

There were 27 at the meeting for service that day. We started at 7:45 and walked about four miles to catch a bus that would take us to a higher altitude where we would begin service. We split into two groups that went split off in different directions to work the different homes. Houses up there were even more simple than the ones where we live, but it was not uncommon to run into someone with an outhouse, a pig rolling around in the front yard, a satellite dish and a flat screen T.V. It's all about priorities I suppose. People were very receptive, as the Witnesses don't make it up there very often, and as a result we placed a lot of literature. We stopped for lunch at 12 at the based of a hill where we all shared what we brought. A collection was taken up so that a couple of brothers could leave to find soda (again, priorities.) We continued until it started to get dark, at which point a few other brothers went to buy beans, rice, and vegetables. Meanwhile, one of Brother Sanchez's return visits told us that we could stay there in an empty building on his large property. The sisters converged upon the damp, dirty space and didn't relinquish it until it was many shades lighter than it was when we got there. The owner of the property also allowed us to use his outdoor kitchen to prepare dinner. The young brothers with us pulled off impressive acrobatics to be able to secure our hammocks to the rafters. I volunteered to offer my services to test each hammock's strength with my own body weight. When the lights went down after our consideration of some scriptures, all that could be seen and heard were the shadowy outlines of our wriggling cocoons and the faint sounds of whispers and giggles and shushing. It was everything you'd think summer camp would feel like, except it had a lasting purpose.

I slept well in the hammock, but the next day I had slightly less energy. I suppose I started off so strong that I didn't have as much for the second day. Since this is winter in Nicaragua, the 80-degree weather was considerably more agreeable than most days, but at one point the sun came out and it seemed to drain all of us. But every half hour someone shared an encouraging experience they had, or someone started a Kingdom song for us all to sing, or we'd just get downright goofy-and then I'd forget about the narrow, steep paths, the mud, the latrines, or my own unsteady footing. I prayed from the beginning that I'd have energy to continue. The last bus down the mountain left at 2 p.m., but at that time we were still preaching. I braced myself for the three-hour walk home. I had prayed since the beginning to endure the trip no matter what arose. When 4:30 rolled around on that second day, though, I was fading (I think we all were)and dark clouds were beginning to form above us. Just then, a man that one of the sisters in the grew knew drove by with a shipment of firewood in a large truck. He was going to Sebaco! We all piled into the truck. Brother Sanchez said that since he thought the truck had probably come in response to my prayer, I should probably sit up front. I'm sure the driver regretted that. That blessing had put me in a chatty mood, and by the time we got back to Sebaco, he looked over at me slowly and said, "Are you a pastor?"
I'm told we walked 25 mikes that day. i didn't feel them. There is another gira planned for next month. I'm not sure if I'll be able to go this time; it might be best for me to wait until the following one. I'm saying that now...but when I picture that parade of umbrellas and think of the laughs and upbuilding conversation, of the variety was saw in creation, and of the witness given to the hillside dwellers just to see that multicolored snake of umbrellas wind itself cheerfully up the road just to see them-I'm thinking I should probably start stretching and packing now.