One of the areas I served in during my mission was a very small island named Utila just off the northern coast of Honduras. Although small, it was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. When I was there it was picture post card perfect. We used to walk out on the pier which went out into the ocean for hundreds of feet and would dangle our feet in the ocean as we ate our lunch. And there was this bridge which crossed a little finger of water that stretched inward into the interior of the island where we could watch sharks and rays as they glided past under foot. We even saw a school of flying fish which must have made a wrong turn somewhere because they no sooner entered the bay than they turned themselves about and headed back out into open waters.
I have since located Utila using Google Earth and found that the island has now been so developed for tourism that I probably wouldn't even recognize it. There are scuba shops there now and several roads, hotels and even a new airport. When I arrived there was only one dirt road on the island with a few dozen homes dotting the road with more homes out among the bush and on into the interior of the island. All of the buildings on the island sat atop stilts incase of flooding surge of a passing hurricane. There were only a couple of cars on the island because it was so small not many were needed or would even fit there without causing problems. One or these was a truck for hire which would allow people to haul things around on the island when needed.
When I was there, the airport was a quarter mile long stretch of beach at one end of the island and on my first approach to the island it scared me a little because I wasn't sure that the pilot would be able to get the plane stopped before we ran out of runway. He did, of course, but not by much. My fears weren't totally unfounded, however, and I noted a gutted and abandoned twin engine airplane which hadn't made the approach and was so damaged that I was informed that they abandoned it there after stripping it of its engines and electronics. This was the Utila International Airport...at least that's what the sign said above the abandoned and nearly collapsed ticket office.
On this island, about half of the population were natives of Honduras and, as such, spoke only Spanish. The other half spoke English and I was told were they descendants of pirates. There were also a couple of transplants from the continental United States. This provided for a curious mixture of cultures and language which was, at first, strange and novel.
When I was first called to serve on this Island I was afraid that I would lose the Spanish I had struggled so hard to learn. By that time I had been in Honduras for about six months and was completely immersed in the Spanish language that whole time. And although I was far from sounding like a Catracho, which was their slang for a native of Honduras, I had begun to express myself well in Spanish. But, even though my vocabulary had expanded greatly and my word placement and sentence constructs were getting quite good, I still sounded like a gringo. That being said, however, even my accent had begun to improve and I was quite happy with the way Spanish had become more fluent and natural to me over time.
I had even started dreaming in Spanish instead of English which surprised me, but was very satisfying because it was a milestone in my progression toward really becoming someone who could express themselves well in Spanish. It meant that I was finally thinking in Spanish instead of merely translating my English thoughts into Spanish...a clumsy and slow process which made many of us who were new to Honduras and Spanish sound like a child in the way we spoke and expressed ourselves. It is cute when I child struggles to place his words correctly, but when an adult does this, it sounds ridiculous and sad.
For some, our strange brand of Spanish caused them to empathize with us and they would try to help us improve, but many took great delight in our inability to speak well and they would try to trip us up in our language so that they could laugh at us and make us look ridiculous. We were all relieved when we could speak Spanish well enough that we didn't make ourselves such easy marks for this kind of ridicule.
Because so many on the island spoke Spanish, my fears of losing my Spanish were unfounded and my Spanish remained well practiced and sharp. The duality of languages on the island did create a strange dynamic with which I never became fully comfortable.
In some households, one of the spouses spoke Spanish while the other spoke English. The strange thing about these dual language families was that the one who spoke Spanish spoke Spanish exclusively while the other would only speak English. Each in the pair would claim that they couldn't speak the other's language but that they understood one another perfectly.
This was something I was never able to appreciate fully or even comprehend. How can you understand another language perfectly when it is spoken to you without being to speak it also? It just didn't make sense to me and I always felt that speaking English with someone in the room who didn't speak it was somewhat impolite and therefore I was never really comfortable in these situations. But the proof was evident that each understood what was being said at these times because both would happily join the conversation, each in their native language. It was positively strange to be a part of conversations like this and they really kept you on your toes because you had to be prepared to converse in one language while you listened to another and sometimes there were two languages being spoken at once...very difficult.
Anyway, to get on with my story, there was one day when my companion and I were walking down a road and we were called over to the porch as we passed one of the larger homes on the island. We didn't know the man calling us, but because we were missionaries, we were always glad when anyone showed an interest in us because it gave us an opportunity to meet someone new who may be interested in listening to our message, so we went into his yard and introduced ourselves.
He invited us up onto his porch and offered us each a glass of lemonade. After thanking him for his kindness, he introduced himself simply as Rocky, and he wanted to know what we were doing on his island. We thought the way he referred to the island as being his was a little strange, but we let it pass and didn't press him for details. We told him that we were missionaries and that we were sent there to teach people about Jesus Christ and His gospel. We asked him if he would like to learn more about the Lord. He said no, and told us that sort of thing didn't really appeal to him and he followed with, But I don't mind if you preach the gospel here. That's OK with me. You can both stay. Again, a little bit strange.
We passed the time remaining while we sipped lemonade with Rocky in small talk and we learned that he had lived in New York City for quite awhile and that he had retired to Utila to live out the remaining days of his life. He owned a small key off the southern tip of the island and seemed to be quite wealthy. When we finished our lemonade he told us that he really liked us and that we should come around for lemonade again anytime we wanted. We thanked him again and left.
We didn't think about our conversation with Rocky again until it came up in conversation with a friend of ours and he told us to be careful around Rocky, that he had been a Mafioso while he lived in New York and rumor had it that he had killed several people. We thought this guy was pulling our leg until one day something happened which made us both reassess Rocky.
One of the facts of this Island was that there were five churches and five bars on the island and you can probably guess which got the most business. The bars were always full, the churches only on Sunday and even then, not so much.
Anyway, one day my companion and I were walking down the street past one of the bars and a very large man as tall as I was, but much bigger stumbled out the door of the bar and he and my companion collided in the street. This man decided that my companion was at fault in the accident and was determined to teach him a lesson. As he was winding up to let loose on my companion I stepped between the two and apologized. I told him that he was right about this being our fault and that we would be more careful in the future and asked him if he couldn't forgive us this one time.
This only seemed to only make him more angry than before and he threatened to take care of me without charging extra for the service. He grabbed me with one hand by the shirt and cocked his arm back ready to swing and after bracing for the inevitable impact from this man whose inhibitions had been loosened by alcohol I heard Rocky call out from the side of the bar John, these guys are my friends and have my permission to be here. Let them go. John immediately released me from his grip and apologized saying I'm so sorry. Are you guys OK? Then he called back over to Rocky and told him that he had no idea that we were friends of his and he swore that this would never happen again as he sought Rocky's forgiveness as well.
I think I could have taken a punch from this guy if I had to, but I'm sure glad I didn't have to. He looked big enough that if he landed a well placed punch he would have really hurt me.
Was Rocky really the Mafioso that everyone on the island respected (read feared here). Honestly, I don't know. But I do know this, the fear he brandished on that island was used to protect me and my companion that day and I ascribe this protection not to Rocky, but to the Lord. The Lord can use people of all sorts to accomplish His purposes many of whom never even realize that their actions are a part of God's magnificent plan.
There was never a time while I served my mission that I didn't feel safe or protected. Not because there weren't real dangers around me while I served, but because the Lord protected me and kept me safe from them. Some of the methods He employed while curious, causing me at times to marvel, were nonetheless very, very effective. He truly seems to know precisely what He is doing and how best to accomplish His divine purposes.
This was merely one of a half dozen or more times that I was aware of where the Lord intervened to protect me from harm. There were undoubtedly many others of which I never became aware where the Lord turned the danger away from me before it ever intruded into and upon my consciousness.
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