Found in Translation (30 page)

The wildflowers seemed hardy enough to survive in their new home if we could just help them recover from being transplanted. Because the rubbish had helped prevent moisture from evaporating, the churchyard wasn’t as dry as the ground surrounding it. The flowers still needed water, though. At home, I would have unreeled the green garden hose or filled a plastic watering can, but I didn’t have those options in Santa María.

“Rob, may we pour some bottles of drinking water on these flowers? They may not survive if we don’t.”

His apologetic look tore me up. “I’m sorry, Kimmy, but we need to leave as much water for the villagers as possible. I don’t know where they got water before the storm or whether that source will become available again. They may have to survive on this bottled water for a while.”

So many questions. So few answers.

Once people saw what we were doing, though, water for the flowers flowed in a steady trickle of abundance. Whenever someone drank a bottle of water, he left an inch or two and poured it on the thirstiest-looking flower he saw. With help like that, the wildflowers would soon look as vigorous as they had in the field. I sang praises to God at the top of my lungs for the way He clothed and cared for the least of His creations.

We lined flowers along the front wall of the church and defined a wide pathway to the door with others.

Then Anjelita got my curiosity up. She somehow slid her hand beneath a flat, five-inch rock that would have been too heavy to grasp from the top even if her hand had been big enough. She managed to lift it to her chest. She let it drop on the pathway side of the flowers, but I still couldn’t figure out what she was doing.

But when she picked up another rock—there must have been mega-tons of them in the area—and dropped it a foot or so from the first one, I understood. She was making a rock border to separate the walkway from the surrounding churchyard. Her sense of aesthetics fascinated me, for she was purposely zigzagging rocks and flowers in parallel rows, creating a closer—yet still an uncrowded—look.

Although my hand was slightly larger than Anjelita’s, she must have been stronger than me after years of doing everything single-handedly. My eyes burned from sweat by the time I wrestled another rock up, and I thought my hand and arm would fall off by the time I dropped it in place.

We completed the bordering in less than an hour and collapsed in the churchyard with several bottles of water each.

Before I finished my first bottle, I jumped up again—if anyone could describe such an exhausted motion as jumping. But no amount of fatigue would keep me from testing an idea.

I maneuvered a rock into place on the yard side of the flowers, including those that fronted the building. Anjelita squealed. She must have loved the idea, even though it meant moving more rocks.

But she and I barely had the energy to force ourselves to move. I considered using the blanket, but by the time we could roll a rock onto the blanket, drag it where we needed it, and kick it into place, we would die of premature old age.

Only God’s strength enabled us to finish. After admiring our handiwork, we dragged ourselves to the mess tent, got supper, and collapsed. Almost too exhausted to eat, we stared at our food for a number of minutes.

Various guys and gals congratulated us on our churchyard beautification, and we were elated over our accomplishments. God’s accomplishments. Those flowers were His, and so were the rocks. The whole idea was probably His, too. His idea, His materials, and His strengthening of our weak, worn-out muscles had created something gorgeous and glorious. More important, though, the ancient, unused building now looked worthy of being used as a church. If my new assignment accomplished its goals, maybe it would be.

Although I hadn’t seen anything of Geoff the past several days, he stopped to comment. I wondered if his heart had softened any.

His first words answered my question. “Why the blue blazes did you waste time building a rock garden? The litter cleanup was dumb enough.”

After everyone else’s compliments, he might as well have slapped me in the face. “Why do you say ‘waste,’ Geoff? Beauty is never a waste.” I hadn’t intended to sound defensive; but Geoff was treading on holy ground, and I was too exhausted to put up with any of his mess.

“Those flowers won’t survive,” he whined. “They may last until we leave for home, although I doubt it, but what’ll happen after that? The villagers won’t water them. It’s not like that building you foolishly refer to as a church means anything to them, anyhow. They used the yard as a junk heap before the storm. You may have gotten rid of the debris, but the yard will be overgrown with weeds and more rubbish soon enough. It’s going to go back to looking like, uh …”

I knew what four-letter word he wanted to use. I’d used it often enough in the past. Maybe he would’ve said it if he hadn’t been so afraid of Rob sending him home. No matter how much the thought of bad language offended me now, I wouldn’t have told on him. I hadn’t given up on him yet, although this conversation wasn’t raising my hopes.

I’d never noticed how opinionated Geoff was. And every opinion came across as if it were a well-known and indisputable fact.

But I knew—or at least I had my own opinions—that he was wrong about everything. “Yeah, Geoff, I know. Anjelita and I took a chance. I don’t know about the water, but I’ll bet Anjelita tends the flowers as much as she can. She’s quite proud of the churchyard, and I think the other villagers are, too.”

“Anjelita!” he said under his breath.

“Don’t pick on her, Geoff.” I couldn’t have gotten much angrier if he’d slapped Anjelita. Although I was proud of myself for not cussing him out, I yielded to a stronger temptation.

I punched him in the arm as hard as I could. I didn’t hit him nearly as hard as I’d meant to. But I did the best I could left-handed. My assault didn’t even leave a red mark.

I was ashamed of myself, but Geoff did his best to humiliate me more. “Woo, baby!” he said in an exaggerated tone. “You’d better watch that temper. It’s not very becoming to the Christian Judith thinks is the finest one she’s ever known.”

Has Judith bragged on me to everyone who’ll listen? And did she have to say something to Geoff of all people?

He was laughing. Laughing hard. He’d won a strategic victory, and he was awarding himself an imaginary trophy.

Somewhere Satan was rejoicing, too. A more personal Satan than I’d believed in before.

I couldn’t respond at first. I could justify my anger, but I couldn’t rationalize hitting Geoff, no matter how puny my punch. What had Pastor Ron told us repeatedly? Anger isn’t sinful, but acting out inappropriately is.

Geoff’s attitude made me sick. I wanted him to go away and leave me alone. That little voice inside disagreed, though. God wasn’t finished with me for the evening.

But what could I do when Geoff was so good at battering my most sensitive spots and bringing out my worst? Jonah tried running away from God because he didn’t want to obey Him. It didn’t work. And I didn’t even have the option of trying to run.

If I avoided witnessing to Geoff—or failed to be nice to him—God would get my attention some other way and turn it in Geoff’s direction again. As impossible as it sounded, doing the right thing willingly would be more comfortable than provoking God into making me do it.

“Geoff, you’re right.” I was trying to work my way to a painful apology. “As perturbed as I was—”

“And you still are, aren’t you, Kimmy?” He trampled on my words as if they’d been flowers.

I trembled at the sound of his snort. It wasn’t a laugh, but the sound a large animal might make when preparing to attack and devour a defenseless, smaller one.

“Yes, I am. Geoff. Do you know how hard it is to be nice to you?” I breathed a deep prayer for guidance in the upcoming discussion, aware that I couldn’t have gotten off to a worse start.

“I’m glad to hear it, Kimmy. I don’t want you to be nice to me.”

I thought about what Rob said about Geoff wanting acceptance on his own terms. “So you say, Geoff. But—doggone it—I’m going to be nice to you, anyhow. If Jesus could love and forgive the people who put Him to death on the cross, I should be able to love and accept you the way you are.”

“Now you’re talking, Kimmy. Admit that I’m the enemy.”

I’d never met anyone so expert at taking words out of context. “Jesus spent His time on earth turning enemies into friends. I think He did a pretty good job of it. Don’t you?”

His silence stunned me.

“Geoff, I don’t know all of your background—” “But you know a lot of it, don’t you? Uncle Rob told you, even though he promised not to tell anyone; and you feel sorry for me. You’ve made me your pet mission project. Save the planet! Save the whales! Save Geoff! Isn’t that what you want to do?”

Lord …?
“Geoff, you’ve given me every reason to think you’re not a Christian. Knowing and following Jesus is the most important thing you can do with your life. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a boy as unhappy as you, but I know one thing. You’ll never be happy without Jesus in your life.”

Geoff might take my words as clichés—or perhaps as the beginning of a mini-sermon—but I couldn’t worry about that. They came straight from my heart. I’d told Geoff what I believed, not what Pastor Ron taught me to say or what I thought I should say.

I was no longer an eighteen-year-old girl talking to an obnoxious male peer, but more of an adult than I ever thought I could be, trying to talk patiently and lovingly with an obstinate, disobedient child—one whose misbehavior cried out for attention.

I was so concerned about Geoff now I didn’t care what he said.
Jonah, I think you’ve arrived in Nineveh. But will the crowd listen?

Without waiting for Geoff to respond, I threw my arms around him in a sisterly hug, being careful not to hit him with my cast. He wept as he hugged me back. I was in tears, too, confident that we’d finally connected.

But the Devil—how personal he was—wasn’t about to give Geoff up without a fight. Geoff broke away from my grasp and stalked away into the dusk, cursing me at every step while trying to stop crying.

With each step he took and every swear word he thrust in my direction, I cried harder—for him.

Day 10

D
awn had broken moments earlier, and Anjelita appeared out of nowhere. Tears flooded her face, and she hugged me so tightly I was afraid something terrible had happened to Rosa. Before I did anything else, though, I checked her neck for the prism necklace. It was there.

Regardless of the urgency of her tugging, I couldn’t go anywhere without throwing on my clothes. Although I got dressed in less than two minutes, Anjelita paced as impatiently as if I were taking hours.

Wait. If something’s happened to Rosa, Anjelita would still be at her mother’s side. It must be something else.

But even as she led me in a half walk, half run toward the churchyard, I had a nasty premonition about what I’d find. I hoped I was wrong ….

Yes, someone had leveled our flower garden. The culprit tore all the wildflowers up by the roots, threw them in a pile, and trampled them so viciously not one was intact. The perpetrator also picked up the rocks and scattered them throughout the churchyard.

Anjelita and I clung together and wept aloud—she, because our touch of beauty had been made desolate and ugly; and me, because of my certainty that Geoff was the culprit. Reminding myself that Jesus had prayed for His enemies under worse circumstances, I tried to focus my thoughts and prayers on the boy who kept doing his best to become my enemy.

I was determined to do the humanly impossible: to keep praying rather than giving in and hating him.

We remained in the churchyard for a number of minutes. Although Anjelita couldn’t understand my promise, I told her we’d remake the flower garden today. The calm in my voice seemed to help.

She couldn’t see the knot in my stomach, though.

As daylight brightened, I made eating motions. Anjelita smiled weakly and took my hand. We’d gone just a few yards toward the mess tent when I saw Geoff coming our way.

Lord, help us both ….

“You snitched on me, didn’t you?” An accusation more than a question, his words were the snarl of a wild beast straining every muscle to the max to break free from a trap.

“What are you talking about, Geoff? I haven’t—”

“You told Uncle Rob. He’s sending me home.”

Defensiveness grabbed me with such force I failed to take in what he’d said about being sent home. “I haven’t seen Rob today, and we haven’t talked about anything important in several days. Not even about you.”

“But somebody has. Who would do that but you?”

I shook my head in innocence. I said, “I didn’t” with such calm he couldn’t ignore it.

His venom weakened. “Kim, you’re … serious?”

“I am. I last saw Rob yesterday before supper. That was at least an hour before you and I talked. I wouldn’t have told him about our discussion, anyhow. That was between you and me.”

And God.

“But you must’ve told him about the flower garden this morning ….”

“That was you? You did that?” I hated pretending to be surprised, but I wanted him to admit what he’d done and apologize. Not so much for my sake, but for his. Most of all, I wanted him to turn to Jesus and seek His forgiveness.

“You knew it was me. Who else would …?”

“I wondered ….” I spoke as quietly as I could. He wasn’t going to goad me into anger or rash behavior today.

“Kimmy, I believed you were different when we first met. I still think so. I’ve listened to you—even when you thought I wasn’t. I was plenty angry last night, true, but I wasn’t angry at you ….”

“No?” I spoke as meekly as I could. The ungodly side of me was dying to retort, “You could’ve fooled me.”

“I was angry at myself. You were right—about everything—but it was easier to feel sorry for myself than to repent again.”

Repent again? What a strange statement. “It’s not too late, Geoff.” Not too late to repent of your sins, but perhaps too late to avoid the consequences.