Snapshots

Something that I realized in high school is that each experience that we have in this life makes us who we are. It sounds pretty basic but think about it. Everything you do and everything that others do to you, makes you who you are. We are a composite of every moment in our past. How we treat others, how others treat us, the things we see, the things we experience. Life is a million little snapshots that make up the people we are today.
What power we have to make every day more amazing. If we make a conscious choice to take what we are given today and make it into something better tomorrow.
Pull out some of those old snapshots and remember what got you to where you are today.

"take off my WHAT?!?!?!?" Part Two

(If you haven't read part one "take off my WHAT?!?!?!?" Take just a few moments and read my previous post before you start this one. And get comfortable. )

Now that we were in the corner we were out of direct site of the crazed thiefs (who were trying to keep 40 people under control on a speeding bus). We took the opportunity to put our shoes and pants under the corner seat, because once this was all over, what are two missionaries going to do in their underwear in the middle of a foreign country, miles from their apartment.
As we sped down the freeway I sat peering through the glass that held me captive. I heard a few male passengers speak up to the thieves and get quickly put back in their place with a swift knock to the back of the head with the butt of a pistol. This was all about intimidation, but I could tell that some of them were just as nervous as the passengers. Scared passengers and scared crooks, not a good combination.
At this point the bus was pretty quiet. All the passengers sat crouched in their seats trying to avoid looking at the crooks. A couple younger women were quietly sobbing. My blood was pumping as I thought, "Maybe I could break the glass and jump out when they slow down." I was thinking a million things at once. "Will I ever see my family again? Will we go down in history as the missionaries that died on a bus that was burned in the middle of a field somewhere.




(OK so the picture is a little much, but this is really what went through my head)

By far this was the single most terrifying experience that had ever happened to me. I prayed harder than I ever had before. My life flashed before me about 20 times as I sat hunched on that back seat.
Before long the bus began to slow down as we exited the freeway. I peered out the window to see if I recognized any landmarks, but I saw nothing familiar. We were a ways out of Valencia. A good 15 minutes out of our area. Suddenly the bus stopped at an empty bus stop and with two huge full bags each, three of the thieves got off the bus like they had just been shopping and hurried down the street with their new "purchases." The bus pulled away... but it wasn't over yet. Two of the men were still on the bus and we were getting back on the freeway. Everyone on the bus had to be silenced again and reminded that they weren't finished.
I don't remember exactly what the "boss" said but it was something to the effect of; Please be patient with us, we have to do this to get by. My blood boiled as I thought of many of the passengers who had just lost a huge part of all they owned.
Suddenly the driver was told to pull to the side of the freeway and the two remaining men got off and jumped in a car that had been following us and we took off yet again. I had never heard such commotion. People screaming and crying, men yelling and the bus driver telling everyone to stay down because they were still following us. He soon pulled off of the freeway and the men continued on their merry way to count their spoils.
The driver quickly drove us to a police station and parked the bus. It was over!!!!
As we collected our pants and shoes that had amazingly remained hidden; we got dressed with what we had. I luckily found my shirt that had also fallen to the floor in the chaos, but my companion wasn't so lucky. A woman was crouched by the front door sobbing. Grown men were walking around in nothing but their underwear. People were yelling at the police who said that there was not much they could do but offer everyone a phone.
(Thanks for being patient with my story. This is where the awesomeness happens)
Everyone was a bit bewildered. One girl was going off about everything they had taken from her. Jewelry, her shirt, her shoes, pretty much everything. An old old farmer approached her and said, "Thanks to God that you are still alive."
She shot back "Thanks to God for NOTHING!!!," and stormed off.
The old man turned to us (two gringos who looked even more pale than normal) He asked us if we were alright and if we knew where we were. We told him that we had no idea where we were. He motioned for us to follow him and told us that he would show us how to get home. We walked up the street, leaving behind the confusion of the police station parking lot.
The sun had gone down maybe a half hour before and the sky was getting pretty dim. We walked up the strange streets with this kind stranger leading the way. When we reached Bolivar Avenue, we realized where we were. It would take two scared, fast walking missionaries nearly 45 minutes to walk home from where we were.
"Did they leave you with any money for another bus?" he asked. We told him that they hadn't. Then he did something amazing. He pulled out a wallet and this poor farmer gave us plenty of money for a bus back home. He explained that when the men stood up he had torn a hole in the seat in front of him and stashed his wallet inside.
After some very sincere thank yous from two very grateful gringos the old man walked down the street into the night.



Now I'm not saying that I think that he was an angel or anything, but that old man made two very scared 20 year old missionaries feel like God was very mindful of their prayers and the prayers of their mothers while they were very far from home.
We got on another bus, with quite a bit of reluctance, and were shortly back close to home. As we walked the final stretch to our apartment, my companion was silent and I couldn't stop talking. "We are alive to tell about it!!! How often does that happen to a person!!!" He didn't say much in return.
When we returned to our apartment I called President Blacker to report the robbery and played it off like it was nothing so that his wife wouldn't wouldn't get sick worrying about us. After I hung up, I sat down, realizing what had really just happened and what could have happened. We didn't say much to each other for the rest of the night...
Once again that night my bedtime prayers were the most sincere they had ever been. I had so much to be grateful for. He had taken care of us and we knew it.
The End.

P.S. I didn't tell my Mom about it until I was back home.