Driving Mrs. Crazy

This place is not known for its organized driving. The economy is growing here and many people are buying cars for the first time. The roads are fresh, but the paint even fresher. The government decided that they needed to figure out a way to organize traffic a little better in The City. They bought paint and slapped it down. I wish I could have been there to see the chaos that caused; people thought the lines meant you were supposed to drive on them instead of between them. Today, people do both. I was invited early last week to preach at a graduation service for a church in a community near The City. We should have figured it out before we left when the car wouldn’t start, but we jumped it off and headed for the church. Didn’t quite make it though, good thing truckers hold the same mentality any where you are in the world. He helped us out by lending us a wrench to tighten down the battery terminal. Also, their advice is consistent, “ya’ll shouldn’t be here; there are a lot of thieves in this area”. Of course that is the “southern twist” rendition of the Portuguese event. When we arrived at the church it was evident. God knew this place and showed up frequently. The fire spread through the room whether you wanted it to or not. Anyone that didn’t know Jesus in that place had no excuse when they left. While I preached a vision came to me, I could see the stack of chairs in the back of the one room church as if I had brought them with us. I knew God had plans for this ministry to grow, and grow quickly.  We haven’t bought the chairs yet, but they have moved to the top of the grocery list. Church ended and we went to leave. We were told the neighborhood was rough and we shouldn’t stick around too long. “Everybody ready”, click click click, no start. We hooked the jumper cables up again and she fired right up – until the Lady let the gas pedal go. That’s when it got crazy. For the first time I felt like some foreigner would in my own country.  Packed in there like sardines, on a half situated visa, in the driver’s seat. I drove, in one of the craziest cities in the world to drive in, all the way back to The Compound. Blood rushed through my veins as cars and buses and motorcycles squealed by me as if the Montero Sport was an R/C car on the Autobahn. Whatever happened though, I could not let go of the gas pedal. It would have been impossible, well a God-thing, for someone to stop by and help. We made it. We always make it when we go with God.