It was over 30 years ago. Our “little family” was sitting at the table, enjoying a nice meal. It still amazes me how Veronica held us together as a family of seventeen A big part in that was organized family meals. Ten of our 15 kids are males, and boy, did those boys eat!
At any rate, let’s try to stay on topic here, because you know how I can be…
We looked out the front window and making their way up our walk was Porvenir’s mayor, the chief of police, and two other men whom we did not know but they were obviously undercover judiciales—stay away from those tigers, they smack first and ask questions never!
The whole scene seemed rather surreal. Primarily, because they knocked on the door. Everyone knows that judiciales don’t knock, they just kick the door in. Secondly because, when I answered it, the chief of the local police explained that these judiciales had received a report that Marcos has a meth lab a few streets over.
Does no one keep a secret anymore?
No, I am kidding. I had no meth lab.
The judiciales, when they arrived to Porvenir, stopped by city hall to ask where Marcos lived. The mayor and the chief interceded on my behalf. “No way, José, that Marcos has a meth lab.” (I don’t know if they really said the “no way José” part, but it makes the story richer.)
So the mayor and the chief offered to accompany them to knock on Marcos' door—oops, I mean to go talk with Marcos.
They explained this to me outside my house, so I told Veronica what was happening, and that I was going to take these nice gentlemen to see the two rooms we rent for storage, a few streets over.
It just so happened that next door to these two little rooms lived Goose. Goose was not his real name, but in Porvenir it is common to not even to know a person’s given name, the nicknames are rich and imaginative and quite descriptive. Goose was not one of Porvenir’s most outstanding citizens. He had been arrested a few days previous in a drug bust, taken by the judiciales who smacked him around for a while, and then he confessed that he purchased his crystal meth from Brother Marcos, who had a lab right next door to his residence.
When mayor and chief and judiciales and missionary arrived at the two rooms, I opened the door (quickly before anyone had the chance to kick it in!) and the half inch of dust covering the scattered bins and boxes and bats and balls assured our visiting undercover detectives that Mr Goose had been gandering them all along.
We parted ways. I headed home because I knew my tacos were getting cold. But, at home, the family was concerned. Dad going away with judiciales sounded like the beginning of a story that could have a bad ending. So I decided to have some fun. Ecclesiastes says there is a time to laugh, and I sensed my moment had arrived.
I abruptly opened the front door; all eyes were on Dad. Holding my gut, I wretchedly announced to my lovely wife, “They shot me.” I staggered a few final steps onto center stage, fell to the floor and died there before a horrified crowd.
Unfortunately, I was a bit too convincing. The ten boys in the room loved it, but one of the prominent members of my audience—let’s call her “Veronica”—did not appreciated my fine performance. She thought a different verse in Ecclesiastes would have been more applicable—“there is a time to refrain from speaking.”
We have had high times and hard times. Such is the nature of the task. We have seen God give fruit way beyond what our meager abilities could have produced. The job is not yet done. And how we thank you for your support of Olive Tree.