It was a late night Sunday back in September. Really has time flown by so? Yet I'll never forget Cristian if not simply for the fact that he can be included in my many taxi driver incidents that I seem to be a magnet for.
I was coming home from Dean Funes, a short weekend with my good friend Noemi you may have read about in a previous post (or could read about now, I suppose - ha). We split a taxi on our way home, so I was now alone with a younger man. So young that it lead to my question:
"How long have you been driving a taxi?"
"Oh I just started," he told me. "Where are you from?"
I get that a lot. Most people are nice about it and just say it's my blue eyes. Clear eyes is the direct translation. I kind of like that.. but I digress. People have been kind in the last few months that they only notice because I talk slower, although my pronunciation is good.
And so the conversation continued, mainly along the lines of why I am here and what I want to do with my life.
"You probably are only interested in guys from the United States," he probed at one point.
"Not necessarily," I explained. "But as I've told you before, I've got some big dreams.." (we had talked about the possibility of India for example) .."so whoever the guy is, he's gotta be willing to dream big too.
"It IS important that he believes in Jesus," I nonchalantly added.
We were arriving to the house and I noticed him slow down after I said that. He was looking in the rearview mirror at me a lot, and I kind of just brushed it off.
"Look," I finished. "All I'm trying to say is that if Jesus could die for me even when I didn't deserve it, the least I could do is serve His people who are in need, wherever that may be."
The car stopped, and he paused after he had given me back my change and receipt.
"That's really interesting," he said to me. "Really."
I can still remember how his composure had changed from his first, more uncomfortable question, to where we were now. I was praying for wisdom in our conversation, as well as for the meter to not go crazy with how slow he was going at the end there. I was also very thankful to have friends waiting outside the house the moment I had arrived. One of them joked with me when I came out after a few minutes, "What? Were you sharing the gospel with him or something?"
"Actually, yeah," I smiled.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Marta Franco
Meeting people often is dependent upon one or two smaller choices. As in, I had made the choice earlier in the week to go for a walk with Flor at 2pm on Thursday. I meet with Noemi every Thursday morning, in the middle of the city, at 11am. I always walk to the city, but sometimes, especially if you need to be back by 2, it's better to take the bus back.
The bus stop I'm best acquainted with for where I am on Thursday mornings has a bad reputation. I used to have to cook for 7, and had chosen to meet with Noemi on the same morning as the designated cook day at that time. The agony of waiting for that E4 had become intolerable--I was so thankful to have more time to get back home when we switched days.
Sure enough, the bus didn't come. I was alone at the stop for awhile, and was contemplating walking just a little bit further, to Nuevo Centro, to wait at the stop in which 3 buses that I could take home make a stop. "No, I will wait," I told myself.
The line slowly accumulated. I paid more attention to the kids across the street, waiting to go home from morning classes. Two boys started chasing each other. One fell and it caused the other to trip up too. Both were laughing furiously, and I joined them, thinking I had just witnessed a miniature version of something straight from the Three Stooges.
"I don't know what gets into boys to act that way," said the woman next to me.
I just laughed some more. "Boys will be boys."
She was not accustom to the irregularity of the E4 stopping where we were, and I could see her growing impatient. Bus after bus passed, but never the one we needed. I explained the inconstancy, but we were also noticing (the "we" now including the much larger line) that all of the buses were packed to the max. An E4 finally came, but refused to stop as it was too full.
She asked me where I was going as I had begun thinking about giving up and walking home after all. Maybe even just going to a place where it was easier to pick up a taxi (when I despise taking taxis if I can help it). I explained the approximate location and she said that she lived close. Just a few blocks earlier than where I get off. She invited me to take a cab, even willing to pay for the half that led to her house, and I would pay for the shorter trip onward to my humble abode.
Of course, then came the question of where I was from, as she could tell from my accent that I wasn't from Argentina. Completely lost in this conversation, another 15 minutes passed with no bus (nor taxi), but what seemed to be a budding friendship.
She is a student from the school of languages, studying French. She has four children, one girl who is my age. She is a Christian, with missionary friends from other countries.
Before I knew it, we continued the conversation on a very empty E4 that was taking an unusual route through the city. We exchanged information with an open invitation to her house to meet everyone.
When I got home, Flor called to say that she couldn't go for a walk today. Translation, I could have walked home any way.
The bus stop I'm best acquainted with for where I am on Thursday mornings has a bad reputation. I used to have to cook for 7, and had chosen to meet with Noemi on the same morning as the designated cook day at that time. The agony of waiting for that E4 had become intolerable--I was so thankful to have more time to get back home when we switched days.
Sure enough, the bus didn't come. I was alone at the stop for awhile, and was contemplating walking just a little bit further, to Nuevo Centro, to wait at the stop in which 3 buses that I could take home make a stop. "No, I will wait," I told myself.
The line slowly accumulated. I paid more attention to the kids across the street, waiting to go home from morning classes. Two boys started chasing each other. One fell and it caused the other to trip up too. Both were laughing furiously, and I joined them, thinking I had just witnessed a miniature version of something straight from the Three Stooges.
"I don't know what gets into boys to act that way," said the woman next to me.
I just laughed some more. "Boys will be boys."
She was not accustom to the irregularity of the E4 stopping where we were, and I could see her growing impatient. Bus after bus passed, but never the one we needed. I explained the inconstancy, but we were also noticing (the "we" now including the much larger line) that all of the buses were packed to the max. An E4 finally came, but refused to stop as it was too full.
She asked me where I was going as I had begun thinking about giving up and walking home after all. Maybe even just going to a place where it was easier to pick up a taxi (when I despise taking taxis if I can help it). I explained the approximate location and she said that she lived close. Just a few blocks earlier than where I get off. She invited me to take a cab, even willing to pay for the half that led to her house, and I would pay for the shorter trip onward to my humble abode.
Of course, then came the question of where I was from, as she could tell from my accent that I wasn't from Argentina. Completely lost in this conversation, another 15 minutes passed with no bus (nor taxi), but what seemed to be a budding friendship.
She is a student from the school of languages, studying French. She has four children, one girl who is my age. She is a Christian, with missionary friends from other countries.
Before I knew it, we continued the conversation on a very empty E4 that was taking an unusual route through the city. We exchanged information with an open invitation to her house to meet everyone.
When I got home, Flor called to say that she couldn't go for a walk today. Translation, I could have walked home any way.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Ariane
Sometimes you think you've figured someone out, and then they surprise you. I have much to learn from this one, and I'm thankful for the opportunity to know her. More so, I'm thankful that as God would have it, we have been able to hang out even more than I thought possible considering she lives over 500 km away.
Ariane is desperate for Jesus. She is consistent with reading the Word every morning, and she has a journal filled with prayers and lists and reminders of all the things God has done for her or shown her.
When she asks you questions, it's because she genuinely wants to know the answer. If someone interrupts the conversation, she lightly grabs your arm, "Can we finish this later?" she asks. "I really want to know."
She strives to know Spanish well. Instead of sitting with her fellow Germans in the group, you will always see Ari leaning over and beginning conversations with the Argentinians. She doesn't falter although her Spanish is lacking, for she sees every opportunity as one to get better. Or even more, every opportunity as one to share Christ.
She is sensitive to a fault. Sometimes she is too preoccupied about how someone feels that it makes her worry how she is perceived. But of all the faults to have, I suppose this is better than others.
Any way, I like Ari a lot. It's amazing the way God puts people in your lives that even if they live half a world away (she returns to Germany in August), He knows what He's doing.
Ariane is desperate for Jesus. She is consistent with reading the Word every morning, and she has a journal filled with prayers and lists and reminders of all the things God has done for her or shown her.
When she asks you questions, it's because she genuinely wants to know the answer. If someone interrupts the conversation, she lightly grabs your arm, "Can we finish this later?" she asks. "I really want to know."
She strives to know Spanish well. Instead of sitting with her fellow Germans in the group, you will always see Ari leaning over and beginning conversations with the Argentinians. She doesn't falter although her Spanish is lacking, for she sees every opportunity as one to get better. Or even more, every opportunity as one to share Christ.
She is sensitive to a fault. Sometimes she is too preoccupied about how someone feels that it makes her worry how she is perceived. But of all the faults to have, I suppose this is better than others.
Any way, I like Ari a lot. It's amazing the way God puts people in your lives that even if they live half a world away (she returns to Germany in August), He knows what He's doing.
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