As I watched Jim almost lose his balance while crossing the little log bridge above the raging white water river, I began to be unsure, myself, whether I could make it. Than Nathan went across with no problem. So I began, holding tight to the two vine twined “handrails.” I made it about two thirds of the way across before I began to fall. The vines snapped in my hands and in the soup I went. I hit on my back end, soaked my clothes and my pack, but found that the most serious damage was to my ego… not for the first time that weekend. As Jim gave me a hand up the bank of the river he commented as to how good it would have been to have had a video camera in hand for that special moment. 

Our trip began the previous Saturday morning at 5:00AM, when we arrived at the Oaxaca Second Class bus station. As we stepped into this huge terminal we looked up and down the walls and saw them lined with petates (straw mats) of bundled-up people sleeping while waiting for their particular bus to leave. The boletero (ticket seller) finally opened at 5:45AM so we bought our tickets for Lachixova (lat-chee-soh-vah), the village from where we would launch our trek, by foot, to Leolao (lay-oh-lah-oh). The bus left fairly promptly at 6:15 after loading up the top with the usual load of stuff that people take back to their villages from the big city-huge bags of corn husks, pigs, goats, etc. The ride was 8 hours long, through the most incredibly beautiful country that you can imagine! The roads were seemingly impassible during this late rainy season, but the driver seemed to expect the ruts and potholes and managed to always get through them fine. We were concerned because we had been told over a week ago that we would be met at Lachixova by someone and guided into Leolao, but who knew whether that would happen for sure? Anyway, it was just another thing to worry about. Imagine being left on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere in a strange country with the next bus not due until the next day. We didn’t even know where Lachixova was! The cobrador (ticket taker & bus driver helper), laughing inside, I'm sure, at this up-tight gringo, assured us that they would let us know when we arrived at Lachixova. Sure enough, he did and there were two men there to greet us. As soon as we introduced ourselves we realized that these men didn’t speak Spanish – only Chinantec.

We began our hike down a 3000 ft. mountain switchback trail and by the time we got to the bottom our knees were shaking. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to just go uphill for a change. How wrong that turned out to be! As we crossed the river and began to climb we realized that this was going to be a grueling hike for us. We were about one quarter of the way up before I came to realize that I simply couldn’t do it. Nathan was fast coming to the same conclusion. I realized that my only choices were to either continue up what was a steep 5-thousand-ft. climb; to stop and camp there and try it the next day; or to go back, which would mean climbing the switchback which we just descended. I prayed to God and asked Him to take over my legs and heart, admitting that I simply could not do it. The two Chinantec men were patient with us, stopping quietly whenever we stopped, one in front and one behind. After many stops to let my old 50-something-year-old heart slow down and to get my breath, along with other stops where we just dropped our packs and fell to the ground for a few minutes of respite, three hours of climbing finally took us to the top, where we encountered a breathtaking view of our village destination of Leolao. The hike had taken around four hours, though it seemed much longer. We learned later that these skinny, wiry little guys usually make the trip in as little as an hour! Our guides took us to a patio area with about 4 houses and our gracious hosts introduced themselves to us in broken Spanish and showed us our home for the weekend. We soon learned that almost nobody here speaks Spanish. These hosts gave up the only real beds in the family patio to Nathan and me, of course without mattresses. We did bring sleeping bags and pillow, refusing to concede our spoiled western ways of sleeping and comfort. The baño consisted of a cane wall surrounding a hole in the ground with a tin roof at about chin level, perfect for most of these people. Men, picture using that!

After a few minutes of rest they came to get us for the showing of part of the Luke video. I had learned that men, like our two guides, had hauled in a 19” TV, a VCR, a generator, gasoline, and a 12-volt car battery for the weekend showing of this Gospel of Luke. We began walking to the church and I asked how long of a walk it would be to the church because were so tired and sore from the walk we didn’t feel we had it in us to walk much more. We were told over a half hour!

That night, though we were very tired, we had great difficulty sleeping due to the barking dogs, braying burros, snorting pigs and crowing roosters, which didn’t seem to know how to tell time! We got up at the crack of dawn and went out to explore. What a beautiful place we found ourselves in! However, there were no streets with houses, as you and I know them. Houses were perched on little spits of land on the mountainside and usually sported a thatch roof. To get to the next house you have to hike on little pathways that wind up and down throughout the village. The church was an incredible hike in itself, consisting of harrowing paths almost straight down and others almost straight up. My muscles were so sore that I didn’t feel that I could hike anywhere, but I had to. Church was scheduled to take place at 9:00AM, but nobody was sure if that was daylight savings time or tiempo del sol (regular time). It didn’t really matter because when Jim, the man who finished the translation of the New Testament here in this language almost 20 years ago, finally came to get us it was 11:00AM. By the time we arrived at 11:30 it still hadn’t started!

Jim first introduced these people to the concept of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ back in the early 1970s. Now there are 3 thriving churches here, each full of people whose lives have been transformed by the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. When Jim arrived here the people were barely able to subsist because the soil in which they planted their crops was pretty much depleted. He showed them how to do terrace farming and now they do well with raising and selling of coffee beans and black beans and corn, hauling these crops out either on their backs or via burro. The landscape is filled with fruit trees of all types: guyaba; papaya; orange; lemon; banana; mamay and mixpero. The people are happy here, in spite of having no electricity, phone or road into their village. They’ve been here for generations and would never think of leaving. They only learn enough Spanish to help them get supplies in the nearest towns of Lachixova and Camaltepec. A Spanish Bible for them would never suffice to teach them the deep truths of God’s Word. Services in the churches are all in their heart language of Chinantec. The songs they sing they sing to the top of their voices, praising God and making a joyful noise to Him. Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I sat in their midst worshipping with them as a brother, in spite of our different culture and language. As I sat there I had been wondering why God opened the doors for Nathan & me to come to Leolao. We had tried to get out of doing this, claiming to be too busy at work. He just wouldn’t let us off the hook that easily. But here I found myself, in a strange culture unable to even understand the simplest things, tired to the very bones, wondering how I was possibly going to ever hike out of here on Monday, unable to help do much of anything. Until that moment in that church meeting, worshipping in that packed building with over a hundred other brothers and sisters in Christ, I had no idea why I was here. Now I know. God wanted us to witness firsthand how He moves even among people in totally isolated places. He doesn’t need big fancy buildings like we build back home; just groups of people that share a deep love for Him. He doesn’t need sophisticated church growth schemes to build His church; just a people who desire a deeper relationship with Him and are exploding with joy to the point that they can’t help but shout His love to others. He doesn’t need preachers with lots of degrees; just Biblically sound men who can communicate His love to His people from the fountain of their own personal revelation from God’s Word. He doesn’t need music from expensive organs, fancy praise bands, 100-voice choirs, Steinway pianos; just an old out of tune guitar and a voice coming from a heart full of joy will do.  Please don’t misunderstand me! There is nothing wrong with the fancy buildings, the growth plans, the degreed preachers, the fancy instruments. He just showed me that weekend that He can build His church with none of those things. It’s what’s inside that counts.

Another thing I realized while sitting there with that body of believers: I was there for you, witnessing these things for you so I could share with you how your prayers for the lost in Mexico and for our work here are being answered. My everyday work here of administrating various things around the Oaxaca Valley and doing work for JAARS and Wycliffe is not why I do this. I am doing these things in order that people like the Chinantecs of Leolao can have God’s Word in their own language, that they can grow into mature believers, that they can have a vital, active relationship with Him and worship together in a living church of God right there in their own culture.  That’s exactly what He let me witness there in that little village. Think about it, you and I will be right there beside them, around the throne with people from every tribe, every nation, every language worshipping the Lamb of God together!!

Thank you so much for praying for us and supporting us so that we can be a part of what we witnessed in Leolao. Our presence there last week enables you to share in our joy over the spreading of the Gospel in places like Leolao.