Stupidly, we got in the car

Olancho, Honduras

Our 25^th is coming up. It takes me back to the wedding and early days when Robert almost died. My dad had married us (with a special permit; he’s American) and committed us to Oz from day one. So after the wedding we took a trip to Honduras to recruit team-members, and there we were offered a ride through Guatemala and southern Mexico to meet new cultures. You didn’t pass up trips like this because the alternative was a series of long, uncomfortable bus rides.  We should have stayed behind when, the day before the trip, Robert was diagnosed with typhoid. But we didn't. No, instead, we handed him a heavy antibiotic, prayed, and stupidly got in the car.

It was a nightmare. Sick and sloshing around curves in the heat for hour after hour, Robert only got worse. In Guatemala City we took him to Emergency. The doctor, working off the first diagnosis, doubled the dose, and we drove on through more bad, mountainous roads.  

Robert got sicker and sicker, and by the time we got to Chiapas, Mexico, he couldn’t sit up and couldn’t get warm.  Now I look back and figure his blood pressure was plummeting. People avoided him in case he was contagious. Frightened, I took him off the drugs since they obviously weren’t working, and within a day, finally, his eyes turned yellow. It was not typhoid but hepatitis. Which damages your liver, so the last thing you need is heavy antibiotics pumping through it.  Off the meds, Robert improved a bit, and we limped around to a few Indian villages, but by this time he’d sunk into lethargy and even depression, and nothing clicked.  Doggedly, we pushed on. Now I can’t imagine why or how.

Chiapas, Mexico

After a long bus ride to Oaxaca City, we holed up in a hostel. We had contacts in the city but no phone numbers, so, since these were old-fashioned days, we sent a letter to a post office box and waited. Surprisingly, our friends came for us the next day and finally, after more rest, Robert started coming back to life, though just barely. I think back on how idealistic and blind we were to make this trip, but it did set us on our track toward the Mixtecs.

Especially for Robert , the whole trip is a blur. But the people we met in Oaxaca were wise, and after driving around as much as Robert could handle between long sleeps, we picked up that we needed to find ways to meet the people we wanted to reach before just landing on them unannounced in their villages. Landing as foreigners unannounced was the quickest way to get expelled.  These villages, unlike any in Honduras, had laws governing who could move in. We would be better off, we realized, going to northern Mexico to meet Indian workers in migrant camps. They were more open there and, after establishing good friendships, were likely to extend invitations to visit them in their home villages. And this is just how we met the Mixtecs two years later. God used our ridiculous trip to set us on our way. But that came later, when the hepatitis was gone, and the spirit was back—another story. This one is about how tough and dumb we can be. I'm grateful to see this 25th coming up, despite stupidly getting into cars.

Chiapas, Mexico