Leaving my job, I drove down the mountain with not a notion as to where I was going or as to what I was going to do. I didn’t have many belongings, but I did have a Pitbull that went about everywhere with me. I guess that was my only limitation. Since I had no specific direction, and no emergencies, I stopped by to visit my sister who lived in Sweetwater, Idaho at the time. We visited, and I explained a little about what I was up to. In the conversation, she mentioned that she had an extra room if I wanted to stay with her for a while. That made sense and on top of that, she had no pet restrictions.

Searching for what I was “supposed” to do, returning to college came to mind.   Maybe I did not give it enough thought, however, not wanting to waste time, I signed up for some classes.  Soon after, I received a phone call from the leader of the Work and Witness team that had gone to Honduras the year before.  I was surprised to hear Bob Shea’s voice, and even a little more taken back by the conversation. He was putting another team together to return to Honduras with the objective of finishing the church building that we worked on. He was asking if I would be interested.

Of course, it seemed like a nice thing to do, but I just did not want to go.  I enjoyed the first trip, but you know, once was enough, “I had other things to do.” However, he continued to call, expressing the need for a welder.  They were going to put up the roof structure and needed a welder on the team.  I still didn’t want to go. But he called again, and then again, insisting that I should go. Eventually, it was my brother who convinced me: “Oh, go ahead and go.  You can pick up your classes when you get back.”  The next time Bob called, I said “okay.”

Back then, you had to mail in your passport to obtain a visa to enter Honduras.  I mailed in the passport and days went by.  We did not have a lot of time to lose as the date for the trip was rapidly approaching. As the departure date drew near, I called Bob: “Hey Bob, God has spoken.  The U.S. mail has lost my passport.”  He wouldn’t hear of it. He responded: “Why don’t you come on over to Spokane, and we can go to the immigration office in Seattle and get a new passport.  

I still don’t know exactly how he did it, but I met him at the airport, and he handed me the new passport with the visa stamped in it. We were on our way to Tegucigalpa, Honduras.  It was January 1983. 

From the beginning, the trip just felt different.  I can’t explain what I mean by that, but it was different.  Upon arrival, we got settled down in the Las Colinas Church in Tegucigalpa, the same place we stayed the year before. We had the option of sleeping on foam mats on the floor or on the church benches.  I don’t remember anyone complaining. 

One night I had a dream.  In that dream we were working on the Pedregal Church which was situated on something of an elevated area close to the airport. I envisioned that I was at the East side in the sanctuary, looking towards the open double door to the west.  The sun was setting, making it difficult to see clearly.  However, I could make out the silhouette of missionary Paul Jetter standing in the doorway. It was easy to know it was him as he is very tall and thin. In that dream state, I walked over to where he was and said: “Hey, I’ll stay and finish this if you want.”  Then I woke up.  That was it. 

It was strange, but I didn’t think much of it until a couple days later when Paul stopped to talk as we were leaving for work. That conversation was about as strange as the dream.  He just kind of got on with it: “Hey, you don’t suppose you could stay and help me for a while?”  My immediate response was: “What? Well, no, I have things to do.”  While in all actuality I had no concrete plans; “I just happened to have things to do somewhere else.”  Nevertheless, Paul went on to explain as to how he was the only missionary in the country and then went down a long list of his responsibilities.  I guess I just didn’t see where I fit into that scheme. 

Over the next few days, I could not help but think as to how strange it was for Missionary Paul to invite me to stay without really knowing me.  Oh, I had been with him and the others for a couple of weeks the year before, but that certainly wasn’t enough to get to know someone.  I tried to put it all out of my head as our departure day approached.  

Just like the year before, all the team members had worked hard for two full weeks, however the church was still not quite complete.  We did get the roof on so that was a big step but there were many details left.  The day before our departure, we were picking things up after work.  I had brought my own welding tools with me and was in the process of packing all that stuff up in a big duffel bag.  As I knelt on one knee, placing everything in the bag, I happened to look over my shoulder.  There it was, just exactly as I had seen it in the dream. 

The sun was setting, but I could make out Missionary Paul’s silhouette in the open-door frame.  I could hardly believe it as it was so exact.  I knew once again I had a choice.  I could do the logical thing and get on the plane with everyone else the next day, or I could continue the journey that God was laying out for me.  None of it made a lot of sense right then, but I did know I had to decide. 

I got up from where I had been gathering my stuff and walked over to where Paul was.  I supposed it would be better to just stick to the script: “Hey, I’ll stay and finish this if you want.”  He thought that was a great idea.  The next day, everyone got on the plane except me.  I went back to work on the church. 

Isaiah 55:8-9

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD.

“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”