COVID Campout
We threw everything in the car—sleeping bags, water, food, a whole bunch of chips and cookies—and headed for the mountains. Though our general destination was only 15 miles away, we drove for about 80 minutes—60 of those being on a windy dirt road. As we ascended into the mountains, we had no exact idea of where we would stay.
Where Are We Going?
Once we got to our destination, each of us were handed an envelope which contained the information we were anxiously anticipating for the past few weeks: which country we were getting sent to. The boys were praying for jungles and mountains for the past few months. Our oldest son, Robert, had been hoping and praying specifically for Peru. We eagerly took our envelope and make a short hike to an area where we could lay out blankets to eat lunch and pray.
Racing In Coahuila
After the formal gathering ended, and while were were still chatting with the participants, one of the missionary kids asked me to help her communicate to a young Spanish-speaking girl that she wanted to race with her. Before long, almost all of the kids (and some adults), English- and Spanish-speaking alike, were taking part in the game. At the count of uno, dos, tres, another group would run competitively across the dusty field. Even one of the dads carrying a toddler on his shoulders joined in on the fun.
General Cepeda Encounter
María de Jesús introduced us to Cipriano, the ninety-something man who was taken in from an early age by the family across the street. They had hired him as their farm-hand and he apparently did that for the rest of his life. I was somewhat disturbed by how disproportionately large his hands were in relation to his body, as well as his unkempt, thick, inch-long fingernails.
