Little things mean a lot...

It has been a couple of weeks since I last posted here. Since it is raining and just a little bit on the chilly side outside, I think it's a good time to take some time to catch up. As a matter of fact, right now it is raining so hard that the sound of it on the corregated plastic roof is almost deafening.

My sister, Sheral, recently retired from her position at a wonderful foundation that funds ministries all over the world. She and husband, Ev, have taken several mission trips together and she just returned from another with a dear friend. We think alike in many ways.

When she found out what I was doing she was very happy for me. She made the comment, however, that she was having trouble seeing me working as a janitor. To be truthful, it feels a little strange to me, at times. But I shared with her a parable that I like, and I thought I'd share it with you, to help explain why I am in Costa Rica doing what I'm doing.

A man observed construction going on at a site and became curious, because there was no sign explaining the expected outcome from the work.

So he asked one of the workers, "My friend, what are you doing?" The man answered with a scowl, "Can't you see? I'm laying bricks. That's all I do all day, every day. I'm a brick layer. That's my job!"

Unsatisfied, the man asked a second worker, "Friend, what are you doing?"

With a frown that mirrored that of the first individukal, the man answered, "I'm cutting lumber. They tell me what they need and I cut it. That's what I do."

Beginning to feel frustrated, the man asked a third person, who was obviously carrying a hod-ful of bricks, "Friend, what are you doing?"

The man beamed brightly and said, "Why, I'm building a cathedral for the glory of God!"

Everyday here is different, and yet, in a sense, the same. Yesterday, for instance, I began the morning operating a power-washer on some of the sidewalks and steps around the university. You see, it is so green here, and so wet, that every surface becomes coated with a layer of....well....slime (for want of a better word). It continues to build up until it is a thick, black coating in patches everywhere.

Then, when it rains again (which it does a little every day) those surfaces become very, very slick and dangerous. It's almost like walking across ice. I, myself, have nearly come crashing to the ground several times because I didn't pay careful attention to where I stepped. I often feel like a doddering old man negotiating the streets here. (I may indeed be a doddering old man, but the slick surfaces on walks and roadways make it seem doubly so.)

So, quite often, steps, sidewalks, and even walls, need to be cleaned. Thus the need for the power-washer.

Later I repainted the front entranceway to the university which kept me busy for much of the afternoon, and then helped Sylvestre with some repairs in one of the bathrooms of the dorm.

Typical janitor stuff.

The mission for this university is to provide a quality biblical and theological education to anyone who desires to recieve it. Most, if not all, of the students are here on scholarship and many come from some of the most poor of backgrounds. Many of them are working on very significant things.

For instance, the woman across the walk from me in the apartments is working on developing a training program for churches in Chile dealing with AIDS and other issues surrounding sexuality.

One of the other students just two doors down is working to develop a program to help protect children and youth in his home country, and keep them from becoming involved in the rampant underage sex trade.

The first week I was here there were students from sixteen students from five different countries who were working on translations of the scripture into indigenous languages.

I am doing the work of a full-time employee here. That's at no cost to the university. Which means that they have some funds that might otherwise be spent on maintenance and are able to funnel those funds into scholarships and other programs to benefit the students who come here eager and willing to learn.

I remember some words from Brother Lawrence, the 17th century monk whose words and deeds became the background for a little volume called Practicing the Presence of God. Brother Lawrence, for most of his time, was assigned to work in the priory kitchen, where he worked with great joy and peace.

He said, "Nor is it needful that we should have great things to do...We can do little things for God. I turn the cake that is frying in the pan for love of Him...and prostrate myself in worship of Him who has given me grace to work..."

So, there is the sense that I might be 'just' a janitor here, but I choose to see what I do here as 'building a cathedral'.

When groups arrive, such as the one coming next week, I will be working alongside of them at whatever job they are given to do. That will free up Sylvestre to do other things instead of having to be on the jobsite to supervise their work. When I return in January or February, there will be a constant stream of work groups through June, so I should stay very busy working with them on construction and other tasks.

That will be different, as well, but I'm looking forward to the opportunity.

Of course, not everything we do here is just work.

A few days ago Sylvestre and Roberto (the grounds keeper) noticed a cluster of pejibaye ripening at the top of a tall palm. Pejibaye (peh-hee-by-eh) is a palm fruit that is native to this part of the world. It is quite good boiled and peeled. It is sold ubiquitously on the streets of San Jose by vendors with large boiling pots of the fruit. It's hard to describe the taste. It's not sweet, but a blend of chestnut and pumpkin and is very thickly fibrous. Many people eat it with a smear of mayonaise.

The palm on which the fruit grows seems devilishly protective of the fruit, which grows just beneath the palm leaves at the very top. The trunk of this particular palm is ringed with black bands about six inches in width, out of which grow tiny spikes, like porqupine quills, all around. I made the mistake of touching one out of curiosity one time, and I guarantee I will never consciously make that mistake again.

Our particular palm is about fifty feet tall. You can't climb the trunk, for obvious reasons, but Sylvestre was determined to get at the pejibaye.

So we hoisted up the forty-foot extension ladder which, because of the height, bent precariously in the center as we leaned it against the tree. Just getting it there was a major effort because the top of the tree was swaying two to three feet in a stiffening breeze. We finally were able to nestle it against the trunk.

Sylvestre climbed up and secured the two halves of the ladder with rope, assuring me that they might bend, but would never separate, and we moored the lower half to two other nearby palms. The whole thing made me very nervous and I mentioned that though I am not afraid of solo flight in a small airplane, you would never get me on that ladder.

Sylvestre, however, was not to be deterred.

He scampered up the ladder with a machete tied around his waist with a cord. He was still about four feet short of the cluster, which meant he had to hang on with one hand to the top of the ladder while hacking at the cluster with the machete with the other. All the while the tree and the ladder continued to sway with the wind.

Finally he managed to dislodge a chunk of the cluster which came hurtling toward - guess who - who was dutifully manning the bottom of the ladder to keep it from further slippage.

I managed to duck my head, but was not quick enough to get completely out of the way, and the ripening fruit hit my back with a smack, many of the fruit bursting open and staining my shirt. It hurt, but as soon as Sylvestre had concluded that I wasn't killed, he continued to hack away. When the next cluster fell I was ready for it and moved an appreciably safe distance to allow the cluster to burst on the ground.

When all the fruit was down that he could reach, we gathered it from the ground and went to the kitchen where we boiled a huge pot of water, added a little salt and some chicken broth, and later, when the fruit had softened sufficiently, we were able to share the results with the rest of the university community, who were very appreciative of the unexpected gift. Sylvestre beamed and related more than once the picture of me trying to get out of the way of the crashing spheroids.

Did I mention that it is never dull here?

I have no idea what I will be doing tomorrow when I get to 'the office', but whatever it is, it will go toward the building of a cathedral in this little part of Costa Rica.

Via con Dios, mis amigos. I know that each of you is building where you are as well, and I wish you well in your efforts.

Rick Hendricks
Sunday, November 13, 2011