Found in Translation (6 page)

The first hearing of earth-shattering, ten-day-old news still had me reeling. Too overwhelmed to wonder whether I might have been the only person to stay home, I also didn’t consider the possibility that—with even a hint of advance notice—I might have been enthusiastic about the project change.

Maybe this kind of project was what my work with the migrant children had prepared me for.

“Since the village is entirely outdoors now, we told you to bring a sleeping bag and a small pillow. The Passover Church is in the center of the village. You young ladies will sleep in a field about two hundred yards on one side of it and the boys equidistant on the other side. Since Santa María’s rainy season isn’t due for a month, you won’t need tents.”

Although I focused hard on absorbing this information, many of the other team members began fidgeting, apparently bored at having to listen to what they already knew. More and more of them got up and went to the side of the room to get water from a table that almost overflowed with plastic pitchers, glasses, and a bowl of cubed ice. They didn’t seem to be in a rush to sit down again.

“We told you to leave your small electrical appliances at home. You couldn’t use them in Santa María—no electricity, remember?—and the dust and daytime heat might ruin them. You would have little use for makeup, shampoo—all that sort of thing. We said bring strong insect repellent, even stronger sunscreen, and lots of hand sanitizer. Stuff your suitcase with all the deodorant you can find room for. Without access to anything but bottled water, well, you get the idea ….”

“I paid seventy-five dollars for excess, overweight baggage,” I said in a purposely pathetic tone of voice. “I brought a battery-powered karaoke box to sing with in Ciudad de Plata—I bought it just for this trip—and I have a professional hair dryer. I have a full makeup kit, shampoo, conditioner, and a variety of skin care products, and you’re saying I brought it all for nothing? I paid seventy-five dollars to bring what everyone else knew to leave home?”

A nasty spark had lit my fuse. It was burning down fast, and everyone knew it. Apparently reluctant to chance setting me off further, people tiptoed back to their seats. Nobody was laughing.

“I can only imagine how frustrated you are, Kim. We all feel for you, don’t we, gang?”

A light breeze of nods and grunts blew in my direction from different parts of the room, but real empathy was conspicuously absent. These kids didn’t care what the best of intentions had cost me.

I felt a pat on my back. At least the girl sitting behind me cared.

“Kim, we told you to bring your grungiest clothes and the most comfortable shoes you could afford to ruin. We suggested leaving your used work clothes in Santa María. The village women might be able to make something from the remnants, no matter how small.”

I quieted down again, but I was nearly in tears.

“I brought my favorite American Eagle jeans—I’m wearing a pair of them now—some really nice Aéropostale skirts, my best Hollister tops, and several pairs of Gucci leather flats.” I didn’t care if I was whining or not. “You expect me to do dirty, sweaty work in clothes like those?”

“Long live Miss Prep!”

“Somewhere else.”

“Like back home on whatever planet you came from.” Rob grabbed the microphone from Charlie. His face was two shades past livid. “That’s enough!” He could barely control his voice. “You sound like the crowd at Jesus’ crucifixion. Do we have to send all of you home—tonight?”

That got everybody’s attention. He meant it.

“You need to work together like a little church—a beacon to Santa María’s darkness. Everyone has a right to his opinion about what God has planned, but you need to minimize your differences—or you won’t accomplish anything. As Christians, you should be fair, honest, and loving in dealing with differences. In this branch of the Christian family, a verbal snipe—especially sarcasm—is as serious and out of place as a physical attack.”

Quite a few people began studying their shoes with new interest. This time, I didn’t have to.

“Kim,” Charlie said after several moments of dead silence, “I may not appreciate the way you’ve expressed yourself,”—did I swear without realizing it?—“but at least you’ve been honest. I respect that. If you didn’t receive the messages about the project change—and I believe you—I’m sorry. I’m sure Rob will gladly refund your money and get you on the next flight back to Atlanta. We’ll pay for your excess, overweight baggage, too.”

I wondered if somebody might laugh at Charlie’s last remark, but nobody did. I guess they were all still too terrified of being sent home. I had to hand it to Charlie. His offer was not only kind, but one he didn’t have to make.

I noticed a strange look on Rob’s face while Charlie was talking, though. I couldn’t quite interpret it. But then he caught me off guard with an understanding smile.

“Absolutely, Kim,” Rob said. “Just say the word if you want to go home.”

I hadn’t missed his use of the word if, even though Charlie hadn’t expressed any doubts about my leaving.

I looked around the ballroom at all the kids waiting for me to “say the word” and head for the door. If Rob hadn’t rebuked the crowd so severely, they might have broken out chanting, “Say the word, Kim! Say the word! Go home, Kim! Kim, go home!”

Suddenly aware of that gentle touch on my back again, I twisted around and looked at the girl behind me. She was whispering something I couldn’t quite hear. But I knew it wasn’t “Go home, Kim.”

I might not have had the heart to stay if she’d turned against me. Despite my inability to read her lips, her eyes said, “Stay.”

Although I sensed God trying to encourage me through her, my blatantly negative behavior before this group of fellow believers didn’t make me feel any better. My disfluency, conspicuously absent during my selfish and thoughtless tirades, showed up now in full force.
Lord, please help me get through this.

“Rob, uh, Rob and Charlie, thank … thank you. As much as I … as much as I want to go home now, and …” I started coughing before I could point at the other kids and add “as much as I think they want me to.”
Okay, Lord, I’ll tone it down.

“I don’t think God … I don’t think God wants me to go home. I’m shocked to hear myself say that. As much as I might prefer evangelism to construction and Ciudad de Plata to Santa María, God has brought me here for a reason. Maybe He did it this way because He knew I wouldn’t come if I had any inkling of what I was getting into.”

I stood up, turned around, and faced the team members sitting behind me. Although they appeared to be listening, I wondered what they were thinking.

“I want to be part of this team. I didn’t expect to do construction in Mexico, but I want to help rebuild Santa María and evangelize the villagers in the process. I don’t believe in coincidences. So—if you haven’t caught on yet—I’m going to Santa María with you.”

I’d become so engrossed in sharing what was on my heart that my disfluency disappeared by the time I reached the middle of the second paragraph. Maybe sooner.

“I’ve made mistakes, and I don’t expect to become everyone’s favorite girl by tomorrow, but I’ll try to do better than I’ve done today. I hope you’ll forgive me for causing so many problems. If you don’t do it today or tomorrow or next week, that’s okay. But sometime between now and eternity.”

In a book or a play, on TV or in a movie, a suddenly humbled and forgiving group of Christian young adults would break out in enthusiastic applause—maybe give a standing ovation—at a moving speech like mine. But the only response was a silence so strong I feared it would last throughout the evening and beyond.

Only God knew how far beyond.

H
ello. I’m Aleesha Jefferson.” She spoke with a boldness that an often-shy person like me hadn’t expected. “Would you like to eat with me, Miss Kim?” Although nobody had said anything overtly negative to me after Rob’s call down, no one else had expressed the least interest in my company.

Aleesha’s eyes twinkled with a special kindness that made her invitation sound as sincere as her earlier encouragement. She wanted my company as I much as I wanted hers. I wasn’t blind to the fact she was the only African American in the room other than a few of the servers setting up the buffet table, and I knew some Christians weren’t as … accepting of their non-Caucasian brothers and sisters as I was.

I raised my right hand to give her a high five, but she extended hers in a handshake. In a compromise move, we knocked knuckles and giggled.

“I hope they don’t feed us pizza, Aleesha. I’ve already had my fill of that today.” I explained about getting sick at the airport.

“My word, Miss Kim! You’re wearing enough pizza on that sweatshirt to have a bedtime snack every day for the next two weeks.”

“Aleesha, how long are you going to keep calling me Miss Kim?”

“Only till you change your name to something else. Then I’ll address you as ‘Miss Something Else’ …” She winked at me and then laughed. “I’ve been taught to address my elders that way.”

I gave her a “you think I’m older than you?” look.

Shaking her head playfully, she added, “And people I meet for the first time.”

“Well, Miss Aleesha, just don’t give me any special treatment.”

“You’re special to God, aren’t you? So you’re special to me. I love to tease, though. You might as well get used to it. I’m just warming up.”

“Deal,” I said, extending my hand at waist level, expecting a handshake. She held her hand up in the air—palm out—ready for a high five. We knocked knuckles again.

After sitting down side by side at one of the empty dinner tables, we started giggling over the various pieces of silverware we couldn’t figure out a use for. Didn’t this hotel know all but two of us were just teens?

Five minutes later, we moved to opposite sides of the table. Not because the closeness was bothering us. We were both getting sore necks staying turned toward one another.

Our whole meal was fun. Although Betsy Jo had always been easy to talk with, she could be reserved at times. Aleesha wasn’t like that, and she didn’t act the least bit stuffy.

“What’s your favorite book?” she asked.

“Gone with the Wind,”
I said. “Book and movie.” I hoped that would gain some brownie points with her.

“Hmm. Bottom of my list.”

“Why’s that?” I was incredulous. “After all, that lady who played Mammy—I forget her name—won an Academy Award for her part. First black woman to do that.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed the demeaning way Margaret Mitchell portrayed black people.”

“Uh, sorry about that. But I dream of being Scarlett O’Hara searching for my Rhett Butler.”

She smiled. “No problem. You have a right to your own perspective, even if it’s off-color.” That set off a lengthy giggling spell.

“I have something in common with Scarlett,” I told her.

“What? Chasing after married men?” Man, did she keep a straight face when she said that.

“No, ma’am. I always think in terms of tomorrow.” It seemed like time for a change of topic. “Why did you come on this trip?”

“It’s my graduation present.” She grinned. “I already had everything else I wanted.” “Oh? You have a car?” “Nope. You?”

“Recent model Mustang convertible. I wanted a ‘Vette, though. Do you have an iPod or MP3 player of some kind?”

“Oh, you mean MVP3—the third Most Valuable Player?” She cackled. “That means no. I do all the singing I need to hear. But you have one?”

“Yes.” I hesitated. I hadn’t intended for this conversation to become a bragging contest that I seemed to be winning.

But if I felt uneasy about it at first, I shouldn’t have. Aleesha was eating this conversation up. She’d probably never been around such a spoiled white girl before, and she was making the most of it.

“Go on, girl,” she said. “What’s next? A cell phone? Don’t have one of them, either, although everyone else in my family does. Even the baby.”

My tongue must have drooped halfway to the floor.

“Don’t go getting caught up in racial stereotypes, girl. I didn’t say ‘my baby.’ I was talking about my kid sister. I’m not getting married until I’m fifty—if then—and not having kids till I’m seventy. By then it won’t matter whether I’m married yet or not.”

She chuckled to herself, and I hoped she couldn’t hear my sigh of relief.

“Aren’t you going to ask why everyone in my family has a cell phone but me?”

I wasn’t used to conversations that moved along so quickly. Talking with Aleesha was anything but boring.

“Uh, wh—?”

“Because I’m so shy. I hate to talk. That’s obvious, isn’t it? The way you’ve had to drag every word out of me …”

I thought I’d fall off the chair. Instead, I knocked over both glasses of iced tea.

“Kim, you haven’t asked about a computer.”

We sat there mopping up the tablecloth with our fancy cloth napkins.

“That’s because I don’t have one. You do?”

“A laptop of my very own.”

“Oh.” I tried not sounding jealous, but I hated sharing the family computer with Dad.

“But, Kim, there’s still one thing you haven’t asked me about ….”

What? A boyfriend? I had too many to say I had one. I wasn’t going to guess, so I just looked at her. “Ask if I’m happy.”

“Aleesha, are you …?” I couldn’t imagine this upbeat girl having a negative answer.

“I told you I have everything I need, but I never said I was talking about stuff. My family is pretty well-to-do, but we do our best to put God first, others second, and ourselves last. And unnecessities are at the bottom of our list of interests. Who wouldn’t be happy living a life like that?”

“Amen!” But then I sighed. It sounded like my life might be missing something.

I
can’t remember what was on the buffet, but it wasn’t pizza and there was a lot of it. We felt like two deer a taxidermist had gotten hold of by the time we finished.

Before Rob and Charlie herded us out to our buses, Rob asked if anyone was into weightlifting. He didn’t offer an explanation, and Aleesha and I were probably the only ones who understood the question, even though I’d confessed publicly to the mortal sin of excess baggage.